He crossed the traffic, arriving at the last few stalls positioned in front of the tea rooms. There were two fold-out tables covered with steel bowls filled with pumpkin seeds, green lentils, pulses and grains. Neither man seemed remotely interested in Leo. He moved on, pausing by a wagon spread with cuts of meat. A butchered cow’s head stared into the sky, cheek populated with flies walking a sinew tightrope. Mingled with the smell of offal was something sweet and following the smell he arrived at a narrow wagon covered with wooden boxes. The boxes were like small drawers each filled with an array of sugary snacks, nuql-e-nakhud, sugar-coated chickpeas, nuql-e-badam, sugar-coated almonds, nuql-e-pistah, sugar-coated pistachio nuts. Leo didn’t look at vendor, examining the products, choosing one, before making eye contact, saying at the same time:

—Nuql-e-badam, three hundred grams.

The man was young, no older than thirty, with smart eyes. Unlike the other two men he was interested in Leo. His expression gave little away and in so doing gave everything away. The control was practised, hatred contained. He filled a paper bag with the sugar-coated almonds. Leo paid for them, reaching for his wallet, putting his pomegranates down on the edge of the wagon. The man took the money and watched as Leo moved off. There had been no opportunity to ask his name without alerting his suspicions, no way of engaging him in conversation. Leo reckoned the odds that he was the suspect were high. However, hatred of the occupation was not confined to the insurgents.

At the end of the road, some five hundred metres from the roundabout, Leo met an impatient captain. Nara was standing beside him. Leo said:

—There’s a man selling sugared almonds at the north end of the market.

—Is it him? Is it Dost Mohammad?

—I couldn’t ask his name.

—You have a sense for these things? Was it him?

Leo had worked many cases, arrested many men.

—It was probably him. Captain, I should warn you, this is going to end badly.

The captain nodded.

—But not for me.

***

Leo sat on the steps of a house, looking down at the paper bag of sticky sugar-coated almonds. A fly landed, sticking to the nuts, legs flailing, wings congealed with sugar and syrup.

The hidden troops emerged, guns ready. The captain set off, leading his team, intent on making his arrest and sending his powerful statement to the city. Leo closed his eyes, listening to the screech of the tyres, the commotion in the market. There was screaming, shouting, a mixture of Russian and Dari. Shots were fired. Leo stood up. Beside him was the figure of Nara, perhaps the loneliest-looking person he’d ever seen.