‘I need Francis, provisions, a Land Cruiser with a full tank of diesel, a working GPS and the coordinates of our five biggest below-the-line suppliers. Text the coordinates to my phone. Right away. As in, we leave in ten minutes.’

This Butcher fellow scratched the two-day-old stubble on his double chin with one hand and cupped his belly protectively with the other. It was obvious he wanted to ask who we were and what Caleb had in mind but thought better of it. Instead he scuttled off and returned riding up front in an enormous, dusty Toyota 4 x 4, evidently expecting to come with us.

‘Get out,’ said Caleb.

‘But shouldn’t I –’

‘Do as I say? Yes,’ Caleb said simply. ‘You’re in charge here at the moment, are you not? My father will want to tell you when to hand over the reins in person.’ More kindly, his voice lowering conspiratorially, he went on. ‘Mind the fort, there’s a good chap. Jack here’s family and Dad has asked me to show them what’s what.’

Before Butcher had a chance to object, Caleb opened the passenger door, and ushered him out, motioning for Marcel to take his place. The three of us promptly climbed into the air-conditioned rear. Caleb’s boss-like sense of entitlement was contagious. None of us so much as glanced at Butcher as Francis, the driver, did as Caleb ordered and slewed the truck round in a three-point turn, raising a cloud of dust that blotted out the foreman as we sped off towards the setting sun and chain-link boundary fence.

‘Take us to Bleu-Neuf-Cinq first,’ Caleb instructed Francis. With less certainty he continued, ‘You know where that is, right?’

The driver had lines of scar-tissue bisecting both cheeks. They creased up with the quick smile of relief that accompanied his nodding. Clearly he wanted to please Caleb. ‘Of course, sir,’ he said, flipping down the mirrored sunglasses perched on his head.

‘Very good,’ said Caleb. ‘Quick as possible, please.’ He sat back and started fiddling with the handheld GPS Butcher had given him. Last time I’d travelled with him he’d have cut off a finger before admitting he didn’t know how to read it, but today he simply handed the device to Amelia and said, ‘You’ll probably work this thing out quicker than me.’

As it happened, I got the device working. Simple stuff like on-off buttons aren’t Amelia’s strong point. But I admit she took over after that, programming in the coordinates Butcher had dutifully texted to Caleb. Having done this, she spent a while fiddling with her phone, cross-checking maps she’d downloaded with information she pulled off the GPS. At length she sat back.

‘The coordinates of two of these five suppliers place them within protected areas. The mine we’re heading for is one of them.’

‘You’re sure?’ I stupidly asked.

‘No, I’m guessing at random. What do you think!’