Both front doors in the newly arrived truck swung open at the same time, as if it was stretching its wings. Langdon’s driver stepped out of one, the same guy that had driven us in Kinshasa: I recognised his quick-stepping bandy-legged walk. More slowly, as if moving through water, Langdon himself emerged from the other door. He surveyed the five of us for a moment without saying anything. His shirt was busy, as ever, black swirls on silvery grey today. The corners of his mouth twitched and he gave a little wave.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said.

I sensed Caleb stiffen, but it was Francis’s reaction – he was actually quivering with worry, the scar-lines on his cheeks pinched tight – that made me step up: we’d come here because of me, not them.

‘Weird, that he’s here too,’ said Amelia. ‘It’s almost as if …’

She’s so fast at the difficult stuff and yet misses the obvious. I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her saying any more, and stepped forward.

‘I’m sorry we came alone. I’m desperate. My parents. I knew you’d be doing everything you could in Kinshasa. The other trail led here. I made everyone come. I –’

‘Of course,’ smiled Langdon. ‘And I’m here as well now, if a bit late, to help.’

‘Yes, but it was my decision to come, nobody else’s,’ I said lamely.

‘You seem to think I might have a problem with that?’ One of Langdon’s eyebrows lifted.

‘No, but …’

‘No. But,’ he repeated.

I had one motive in that moment, to stop him going down to the mine and talking to his guards. If they let on that I’d been taking photographs, well, nothing good could come of that.

‘I think you’ve shown admirable initiative,’ Langdon went on. ‘Getting yourself here. Finding your own way.’ His gaze passed over Caleb to rest upon Francis. ‘Making use of the help.’

Caleb spoke up. ‘I gave Francis the order. He just did what I told him to do, Dad.’

The word ‘Dad’, tagged on to the end of Caleb’s assertion, made him sound as young as I felt in that moment. Langdon merely smiled at him, but everything about my uncle’s calm, friendly facade felt fake. Beneath it, he was seething, I could tell. The fact he said nothing further to Francis made no difference: the driver would definitely get it in the neck, and soon.

‘Either way, I’ve had no luck turning up leads,’ I said, trying to change the focus. ‘Nothing at Canonhead, and nothing here either. We talked to the guys in charge, but they hadn’t heard anything about a visit from Mum and Dad.’