a Celtic flute and drum in a primitive rhythm. Evan passed a booth selling mead and others selling Celtic jewelry and music CDs. Banners floated out in the wind. Students were wearing cloaks and strange head dresses. Some were dressed like Druids; some wore the Welsh tartan. A stage had been set up in the middle of the quad, and it was on this that the band was playing. The sign announced them to be CARREG LAFAR. As Evan approached, a young girl stepped up to the mike to start singing in a high sweet voice. Her hair floated out behind her in the brisk wind. The music had an ancient quality to it that added to the unreality Evan was feeling. He climbed up the steps at the side of the stage and scanned the crowd. A security man tugged at him.
"Get down please, sir."
"I'm a police officer," Evan said quietly to him. "And I'm looking for a young Pakistani man who could be dangerous. Have you see any Muslim men in the crowd?"
"It wouldn't exactly be the right night for them, would it?" The security man asked. "Not at a Celtic folk festival." He looked amused.
Evan's eyes continued scanning as the man spoke. Rashid shouldn't be that hard to pick out, not if he was wearing the traditional white robes. But then, if his plan was not to be noticed, he'd be dressed to blend into the crowd. Then he stiffened. He had spotted a glimpse of white in the midst of the sea of dancing figures. He noted the direction and came down from the stage. Painfully slowly, he maneuvered his way through the crowd. Hands grabbed at him. "Come and dance with us," one girl shouted, tugging at him. He managed to smile and shake himself free. "Spoilsport," she called after him in Welsh.
He was now where the crowd was thickest, right at the center of the quad. He hadn't stopped to think what he would say to Rashid when he reached him, but he was driven on by a terrible feeling of urgency. If Rashid did indeed have some kind of bomb, he'd have to act with extreme caution. Rashid had proved himself a volatile enough man at the best of times. Then the crowd parted, and he saw a glimpse of the white leggings. His hunch had been right. He was there . . . and he was wearing a backpack. Evan knew very little about homemade bombs. He wasn't sure what Rashid would have to do to detonate an explosive device currently carried on his back. Wouldn't he have to take it off and set the timer first? That was Evan's hope as he inched nearer, hoping to advance on Rashid from his blind side. If he merely had to push some kind of detonator button whenever he wanted, then Evan's own chances weren't too good. Neither were those of those fresh-faced, laughing kids around him.
He felt cold beads of sweat running down the back of his neck. It was becoming harder to breathe. At the last minute a group of kids in front of him joined hands and swung into a jiglike dance, laughing crazily. They broke apart and Evan found himself looking directly into Rashid's face. He saw a whole gamut of emotions flicker across that face-surprise, then fear and hate. It only took Rashid a second to register who Evan was, then instantly he turned and pushed his way through the crowd. At least he didn't have a detonator switch in his hand. Evan breathed a sigh of relief and gave chase.
"Rashid, wait," he shouted. The music seemed to have risen in intensity with the throb of a drum competing with the sounds of violins and pipes. "Stay away from me," Rashid shouted back and kept on moving. Evan caught up with him and grabbed his arm. "Rashid, slow down. We need to talk."
"What have you done with my sister?" Rashid shouted. "Where is Jamila? What right do you have to take my sister away? Just who do you think you are?"
"I did nothing," Evan said. "My wife did nothing. It was Jamila herself who ran away. Now calm down and let's talk about this sensibly."
"Talk sensibly, you say? When did we ever get a fair deal from your sort? You despise us just as much as we despise you. Well, you're going to see. You're going to be sorry when the wrath of Allah falls upon you. Then you'll