—Imagine fighting in a museum, that’s what it was like. You’re taking cover behind antiques worth more than I’ll earn in a lifetime. Considering there was not a hope they were going to win, those guards fought bravely. I guess they knew they were going to die whatever happened. We secured the palace room by room. I wanted to be the one who caught or killed the President. What a prize that would’ve been! I made a guess he would be hiding in his bedroom. Doesn’t everyone retreat to the bedroom in times of danger? People associate it with safety, or the most appropriate room to die in. I was wrong. Another member of my team found the President in the bar. He had his own private bar. He was sitting on a chair, his back to the door, drinking a fifty-year-old Scotch. They shot him in the back, careful not to destroy the decanter. We drank the Scotch to celebrate. But I didn’t felt like celebrating. I’m still annoyed I picked the wrong room.

The captain shook his head in regret.

—I’ve never shot a dictator.

Leo remarked:

—You’ve installed another one. Perhaps you’ll get another chance.

To his surprise this amused the captain.

—If the time comes, I’ll be heading straight to his private bar. He turned around, an unexpressive man allowing himself a modest smirk.

—How about you translate that for her?

It was the last thing the captain had said before leaving Leo and Nara alone last night. He knew that they’d kissed. Leo had been right. The rooms had been bugged.

The Border of Laghman and

Nangarhar Provinces - Village of Sokh Rot

116 Kilometres East of Kabul

9 Kilometres West of Jalalabad - Same Day

Approaching the site of the massacre, the landscape began to change. The trees were no longer flecked with blossom; they were charred – branches scorched black, entire trunks burnt, reduced to charcoal silhouettes like a child’s pencil drawing. At the epicentre the road disappeared, replaced by a series of ash-black craters, circled by jagged stubs, like trolls’ teeth, where the trees had stood.

The captain ordered the car to stop. Leo stepped out, immediately noticing the sharp chemical smell leaching from the ground around him. When the wind blew, fine dust spiralled in the air, coils of black circling around them. Ash crunched underfoot. He caught Nara’s eye. She’d never seen the war outside Kabul. She was shocked. He wondered how long it would take her to justify this destruction, to rationalize it and formulate arguments about its necessity. No doubt the process had already begun.

The mud walls of the houses were not in ruins but altogether missing. In a few cases, on the outskirts, there were remnants, mu heaped in a mound, dried out and cracked by the heat. Leo asked:

—What did this?