It was far too hot for exercise, but after four days cooped up on the boat Nash was stir-crazy. Out on the helicopter pad, he stripped off his sodden shirt. Acknowledging Singkepe’s crack about mad dogs and white men with an ironic salute, Nash proceeded to skip, star jump, squat and run on the spot – anything he could do without pressing flesh to metal – until he could barely see for the rivulets of sweat. A group of locals enthusiastically cheered and clapped every set.

A cool down in the crocodile-infested river was out of the question, so Nash utilised the washing-up bucket to haul up loads of lukewarm water to sluice off.

Suddenly, a loud roar filled the sky as a chopper appeared low and fast over the village. The sleek gold Bell 505 Jet Ranger flared just once before it touched down on the pad Nash had just hastily evacuated. As the pilot decreased power, the Albany’s stern settled lower in the river.

A tiny woman alighted before the rotor stopped spinning. Indifferent to the prop wash, she moved with a lithe and confident elegance. Her body-hugging jumpsuit was made of some technological fabric which accentuated her figure, and a small pink headscarf, which was more of a headband, contained her shoulder-length black hair. Waving over Kaboro’s sailors, she had them unload her Victorinox bags, which would not have looked out of place in a first-class lounge. The remainder of the load – several heavy-duty plastic crates – were stacked by the edge of the pad. The woman twirled an elegant finger skywards at the pilot – a darkly handsome Indonesian version of Maverick in Top Gun – and, with a flash of gold Aviators and white teeth, he took off, winging it back in the direction from which they had come.

Douglas welcomed her and then introduced Nash.

‘Mr Nash.’ Her eyes ran over his dripping wet body. ‘I’ve been bingeing your films. Impressive.’

The sing-song Javanese accent made it hard to determine whether this was as insincere as it sounded. Nash responded with a vague compliment about her documentary work. Privately, he hadn’t thought that much of what he’d found on YouTube. A lightweight series called Wild Indonesia, which totally glossed over the fact her country was burning every shred of habitat for palm oil.

Sura looked over the top of her Gucci sunglasses with a faint smile on her face.

‘Still, I imagine the Hoosenbeck will be a challenge, even for you.’

‘Indeed, it will. Which is why we need to begin planning ASAP. I’d like to start with a full inventory of your resources, proposed timeline . . . oh, and of course a script –’

She cut him off to snap at one of the crew sitting on a suitcase.

‘Get off dispela kago!’

‘You can speak pidgin?’ Nash was impressed.