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He had thoroughly cleaned the rental car, using a handkerchief to wipe the steering-wheel and door handle after he had got out for the last time. The Saudi was adept at covering his tracks. He had to be: his existence depended on no one suspecting what he was up to. In a world run by Americans, the merest suspicion of terrorist activity meant a one-way trip to a prison cell in Guantanamo Bay.
    The Thai girl at the Qantas check-in desk greeted him with a cold smile and a mechanical ‘ Sawasdee ka .’ The Saudi knew that most Thais didn’t like Arabs. It was nothing to do with the problems in the Middle East: it was racism, pure and simple. He enjoyed the confusion on her face as he handed her his British passport. She looked at the photograph, then at his face as if unable to believe that an Arab might be British. Then she examined his Australian visa. The Saudi smiled coldly. The Thais guarded their citizenship jealously and barely a handful of foreigners were granted a Thai passport each year, and only then after meeting strict criteria. The British had no such reservations. It was no longer a person’s race or background that stipulated British citizenship: it was whether or not they had the correct paperwork. And the paperwork was for sale to anyone with enough money or the right connections. Russian asset-strippers, American conmen, Nigerian drug-dealers, Indian fraudsters, Muslim terrorists, the British had issued passports to them all. And they were making no move to stem the tide. It was politically incorrect even to mention that the proportion of foreigners holding British passports was growing, that the country’s cultural identity was becoming so watered down that no one had any idea now of what it meant to be British.
    It wasn’t just the British who were committing cultural suicide, the Saudi mused. Most of Europe was following suit. Virtually all of his friends held European passports, and made good use of them. The Saudi had been British since he was a teenager: his father had invested heavily in high-profile companies and institutions, and made significant donations to the major political parties. There had been other payments, too, in cash and in secret, to politicians and bureaucrats who had smoothed the way for the family’s citizenship application. Now the Saudi was British, and always would be. Once granted, British citizenship was almost impossible to lose. And with it came the freedom to travel the world.
    The girl handed him his passport and boarding pass, and gave him a wai , her fingertips pressed together beneath her chin. ‘The flight will be boarding soon, sir,’ she said.
    The Saudi headed for the gate. The metal detector bleeped as he walked through the security check. A girl in a dark blue suit motioned for him to stand on a small wooden plinth and he waited patiently as she ran a portable detector over his body. It buzzed as it went over his watch and he showed her his twenty-five-thousand-dollar diamond-encrusted watch, enjoying the jealousy that flashed across her face. The detector buzzed again as it passed over his wallet and he handed it to her. There was a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills inside, probably more than a year’s salary for the girl, and all the credit cards were gold or platinum.
    The Saudi stepped off the plinth, collected his briefcase and headed for the gate.
    He walked by several television screens, all showing CNN. Groups of travellers were huddled in front of them. The Saudi frowned. A headline ran across the bottom of the nearest: HUNDREDS DEAD IN PHUKET . His mind whirled. Had the bomb gone off early? Had his people detonated the device by accident? Or had the police stormed the building, guns blazing? He frowned. There was a map of South East Asia on the screen now.
    Another headline appeared: TSUNAMI KILLS THOUSANDS IN INDONESIA.
    The frown deepened. A tsunami? His English was fluent but ‘tsunami’ looked like a Japanese word. Then he remembered. A