Once Hartono had departed, an unnatural quiet settled over the abandoned village. The chickens and pigs had also fled, and there were no birds in the trees. Mia cleaned the sweat from her sunglasses. Although early morning, there was a static feeling in the sticky air signalling the imminent arrival of the wet season.

‘They’re watching us.’ Singkepe was scanning the line of trees through his binoculars.

‘Can you blame them?’

Across forested hills, the mission lay no more than two days’ march west, and Mia stared longingly across the ridgelines. Paul might be dead, but there was still a network of villagers up there who might be able to help. She glanced at Singkepe.

‘You know dumping us here is the same as putting a bullet through Frank’s head? What he needs is a hospital. I know of one not too far away. Couldn’t we take him there? I would pay you well.’

Singkepe would not meet her eye. ‘I think bush medicine his best chance now.’

They heard the chopper lift off from the Albany, invisible below the line of trees 600 metres away. When it turned upriver, Mia guessed it was headed for the Hoosenbeck. She wondered if Rob was on board, and whether she would ever see him again.

After a time, they heard voices, and a small group of villagers straggled in, mostly women in old Western clothes, some old men, and a string of naked children. Singkepe called over an old man with a knobbly stick, who flashed yellow tusks in a nervous smile.

‘Westap algeta man go?’ Where are all your men?

‘Sampela go wok awe, sompela pinis.’ He nodded mournfully at the forest. ‘Indo nogut.’

Between war, poverty and crime, Hufi was a dying hamlet. Singkepe gave the old man some cigarettes and asked if there was a witch doctor in the village.

The old man nodded excitedly. ‘Ya, ya! Strongpele majik-dokta klostu hia.’

Mia knew ‘close to here’ could mean anything from the next hut to fifty kilometres away.

‘Longwe wokabaut?’ she asked.

‘No tasol,’ the old man said, pointing west. ‘Sikismail, sikismail!’

He called over the oldest child, a skinny barefoot boy of about ten, clad in a pair of old football shorts. Receiving his instructions, the boy looked nervous. Ten kilometres through the jungle to fetch a terrifying sorcerer was a daunting proposition. Mia reached into her pocket, found half a roll of mints and handed them over. The boy beamed at her and, without another word, shot off with a trail of smaller children clamouring for a share.

She checked Douglas. Only the faintest movement could be seen in the rise and fall of his chest.

‘We need to get him under cover,’ she told Singkepe.