Unaccustomed to using an army vehicle, or any vehicle other than a bicycle, Leo drove slowly. The allocation of a Soviet UAZ-469, a Russian version of the American Jeep with bulletproof windows and reinforced-armour sides, was an attempt to ensure their safety. There were distress flares in the back, spare gasoline, a first-aid kit, water, dry rations, guns and ammunition. Even so, he much preferred his bicycle as a way of getting around. The dust trails launched up from the back tyres of the jeep formed a plume of sand that rose for at least twenty metres, signalling the vehicle’s presence to the entire valley. Captain Vashchenko had insisted that they take the UAZ-469, not understanding that driving a conspicuously Soviet vehicle made it far more likely that someone would shoot at you. The belief in technology as a solution to the dangers of the insurgency was flawed. The armour and bulletproof glass might protect Leo and Nara today but in a few months the enemy would improvise new methods of destruction. The Soviet response would be to increase the vehicle’s defences, to reinforce the doors and clad the undercarriage. But it was always easier to destroy something than to protect it and that was ultimately why Leo was sure the edifice of this occupation would fail: there was too much to protect, with too many people seeking to destroy it. No matter how many troops were sent, or how much money was spent, the imbalance would remain.

Seated next to him, Nara had hardly spoken since being given the orders to interrogate her parents. Shortly after daybreak, her mother and father had been extracted from their home village, a Spetsnaz team securing the area, pulling them from their house and bundling them onto the helicopter. Hearing this, Nara had asked if they’d been injured, concerned for their welfare, convinced that they were innocent of the allegations. In her mind she was heading to the prison with one agenda: to arrange their release.

Leo preferred to travel in silence; however, in this silence he could hear Nara’s thoughts as clear as if she were speaking aloud: her attempts to argue the evidence and to defend her parents’ behaviour.

They love me.

They would never hurt me.

They’re peaceful people.

They’re good people.

I’m their daughter.

Puzzling over how best to prove their innocence, busy constructing explanations as to why her parents happened to be away when the attack took place, Nara finally couldn’t resist testing her arguments on him.

—My father has built more of Kabul than any other man alive. He is a creator, a visionary, not a terrorist. He might be old fashioned. Most men are. I might have disappointed him in some respects. That does not make him a murderer.