Looking hurt, he went back to cleaning his machine gun.

‘Soldiers must follow orders.’

‘But what if those orders are wrong? I don’t need to tell you these Indonesians are a bad business. Not after what they did on the river. And I don’t think you like helping them.’

He paused to consider this. ‘They are bad people,’ he agreed. ‘Very bad people.’

‘Then help us,’ she pleaded. ‘We should report them to the police. They can investigate what is going on here. Surely that is the right thing to do?’

Singkepe looked uncomfortable. Eventually he gave a small shrug.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mia snapped in frustration. ‘Why can’t you –?’

He cut her off angrily. ‘You don’t understand, Doctor Carter. This is PNG. If you’re a big man in this country, no one messes with you – not even the law. I got a family. Three kids and a wife. I know you want me to help you, and I feel sorry for you, but what’s going to happen to them if I stick my neck out? Did you ever think of that?’

‘No.’ She swallowed and looked away. ‘No, I didn’t. And I’m sorry your country is such a fucking mess. But this is wrong.’

As night fell, two shy native women came bearing green banana-leaf plates loaded with chunks of fire-baked fish and saksak balls made from the pith of the sago palm. Knowing how many calories they were sacrificing to feed them, Mia smiled warmly.

‘Tenkyu,’ she told the women, patting her stomach. ‘Namba wan!’

Complete darkness fell with its usual speed. The inevitable presence of the ravenous mosquitoes was somewhat mitigated by the smoky fire, which tickled her throat. Mia lay down by Douglas, who was still cool to touch. With half an eye open, she watched Singkepe. Thick smoke trickled through his fingers as he quietly puffed on a cigarette. She hoped he would soon roll over and go to sleep. At any moment, help from Kinsame might arrive, and she dreaded being the cause of further violence.

She had fallen into a half-sleep when an urgent rustling sound at the rear of the haus tamberan startled her into consciousness. The fire was low, and she searched the gloom. There was no sign of Singkepe, and she figured he must be outside taking a piss. She had just got to her feet when a man wearing green football shorts stepped through the hole he’d just made with a gleaming machete. His sweaty torso seemed chiselled out of black marble, and his feet were bare.

‘Dokta Mia?’

She felt a surge of joy. It was Kinsame’s son!

‘Tenkyu, Paomente.’ She grasped his leathery hand. ‘We must hariap, PNG soldia close!’