There was a video camera on a tripod, its lens aimed at the man kneeling on the floor, his hands secured behind his back with cable ties. He was blindfolded. There was a bucket on the floor, a hose and a dirty towel.

Duffy took a clipboard from the table next to the camera.

“Let me see.” Duffy looked down at a piece of paper on the clipboard. “What’s your name? It’s Faik, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Faik al-Kaysi?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Alright, then.” He knelt down and untied the blindfold. The man had bloodshot hazel eyes, and he blinked at the sudden light. “Hello, Faik. Let me tell you how this is going to go down. I want you to listen to me when I’m talking to you. I want you to look at me. I want you to think very carefully about my questions, and I want you to give me honest answers. You understand?”

The boy glared up at him.

“If you don’t do any of those things, there are going to be consequences for you. If you give me attitude, I’m going to make you sorry. If you are insolent, I’m going to make you sorry. If you lie to me—especially if you lie to me—I’m going to make you sorry you were ever born. Are you getting all this?”

The boy looked away.

Duffy slapped him across the face.

“You need to keep looking at me, Faik.”

He glared back at him. There was fear in his eyes. That was good.

“Let me explain to you why I am here. You are under the jurisdiction of my friends from the Basra police department over there, but we think you might have some information that is helpful to my employers. Seeing as the Basra police and my employers have an excellent working relationship, they’ve agreed to let me have a talk with you. So we’re going to have a chat, and you’re going to help me out. You do that, maybe I can make things go a little easier for you. Are we clear on all of this so far?”

Faik glared at him.

“Yes or no, Faik?”

No response. Hatred seeped out of him like poison.

Duffy struck him again.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Now, first of all, I understand you have a complaint?”

“Your men, your mercenaries, they shot my mother.”

“At the protest. Yes, I heard about that. Awful. It’s a pity.”

The boy’s anger flared. “A pity? Is that all you can say?”

“You should watch your temper, Faik.”

“Are the men being prosecuted?”

Duffy laughed. “Who?”

“The men who did it.”

“No, Faik. They are not. There was an attack on a facility that is guarded by my company. The men responded appropriately. That is that. The protesters shouldn’t have been there. And they shouldn’t have attacked the gates. What happened next is their fault, not ours.”

“I want to make a complaint. I demand that they be arrested.”