—What if I’m wrong? This man is a minister.

Leo nodded.

—We’ll be in a lot of trouble. But if we try and obtain permission we’ll offend the minister and give the suspect enough time to flee. So, the trick is…

Leo raised a finger to his mouth, indicating thith mudara remain silent. If they were wrong, they would sneak out without leaving any trace of their search. Eventually hearing the click of the heavy latch, Leo pushed the door.

Were their assumptions to prove correct he thought it unlikely that the minister was personally involved or even aware of his daughter’s situation. The risk to the minister was too great and judging from his record he was too canny a politician not to realize the extent of the repercussions, not with his Soviet allies, but with his Afghan colleagues. It was one thing to work with the Soviets, it was quite another to marry a daughter to a Soviet soldier. Leo doubted that the couple had fled the city already, although, privately, he hoped that was exactly what they’d done. His loyalties were not divided: they were firmly on the side of the couple. The daughter, whose name was Ara, was almost certainly sheltering her lover and planning their next move, believing they could wait out the first wave of searches and make their journey when attention was directed elsewhere.

An unusually large house, the ground floor was deserted. Like burglars, Leo and Nara stealthily climbed the stairs. Nara was so young and inexperienced that there was a peculiar sense of playacting about the moment, as if this were an exercise in agenting rather than the real thing. They arrived at a closed door. Leo pushed it open. Ara was seated at a writing table, papers spread before her, with her back to them. She heard their entrance, stood up and turned around, startled and afraid. There was no longer any option but to commit to the search. Taking a moment to recover her composure, she said, in Russian:

—Who are you? What are you doing in my house?

She was remarkably beautiful, with poise and grandeur, typically associated with privilege and education. Her shock was genuine. However, her indignation was forced, her voice trembling not with anger but with nervousness, a quite different tone. The deserter was here, Leo was sure of it.

Leo’s eyes darted around the room. There was no obvious hiding place. He spoke to Ara in Dari.

—My name is Leo Demidov. I’m special adviser to the secret police. Where is he?

—Who?