I put thoughts of Stefan’s probable interrogation out of my mind and checked Aliya’s Vkontakte account. It was still putting out messages. She had moved on from conspiracy theories about the President’s death to encouraging Astana’s citizens to gather in memory and defiance.

She was encouraging people to meet at Independence Square.

I logged in to her phone, looked at her London photos again, then checked the phone’s current location. It came up as the Eagilik bookshop, Kenesary Street. According to social media, people were gathering there in preparation for a march or memorial or protest of some kind: no one seemed entirely sure which.

Individuals were spilling out by the time I arrived, some with candles, others placards. I saw Aliya, pulled up alongside her, opened the passenger door.

‘Get in.’

‘Toby?’ She looked terrified. Her companions stared. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘I know who you are.’

‘I doubt it. Please, get in.’

‘You are Christopher Bohren. You work for MI6.’

‘Close. You’re in trouble, Aliya. I need to know why you went to London.’

Now she felt the heat of her friends’ attention, just as I did. Others were watching. It was a tense morning and my presence wasn’t making it any more comprehensible.

‘Please.’

She got in.

‘Aliya?’ a young woman with a candle said. ‘It’s okay.’

I began to drive.

‘I want to talk to you about Worldwide Media,’ I said. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can.’

‘Let me out.’

‘In a minute.’

‘This is what it was all about. Café Corso … ’

‘Not all of it.’

She sat frozen, silent, while I drove. I didn’t want a scene in the car. I wanted her somewhere isolated.

When we got to the motel she panicked, tried to grab the wheel. I stopped the car, persuaded her again that I wasn’t the threat, that she needed me to save her, which was sounding less convincing by the minute. She stayed in the car while I paid for a room. I bought a bottle of vodka from the shop. We went into the room and I set the vodka down, fetched tumblers from the bathroom and gave her one.

‘Have a drink.’

‘You kissed me.’ Aliya shook her head. ‘Drive me back,’ she said. ‘Please.’

‘I will drive you back. Now, or any time you want. But I am concerned about what you’re involved in, and I think it might place you in danger. Look at your last posts: you’re tweeting about another bomb. Is that going to happen? How do you know that’s going to happen?’

‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘But it is. I think it is, other people will think it is. That brings danger to you and your family.’