Rae knew the Sahara, knew that most Arabic names had familiar meanings. He was a Middle East historian and a lecturer in Third World Politics. He had lately written a book called The Illusion of an Islamic Threat. When he appeared on TV or was quoted in a newspaper he was referred to as an Islamic expert, a label he disliked because, he told Sammar, there could be no such monolith. Sammar was the translator in Rae's department. She worked on several projects at the same time, historical texts, newspaper articles in Arab newspapers, and now this political manifesto Rae had given her. Al-Nidaa were an extremist group in the south of Egypt. The document was handwritten, badly photo-copied and filled with spelling mistakes. It was stained with tea and what she guessed to be beans mashed with oil. Last night she stayed up late transforming the Arabic rhetoric into English, imagining she could smell beans cooked in the way she had known long ago, with cumin and olive oil. All the time trying not to think too much about the meeting next day, not to make a big thing out of it.