He over-emphasises his strides so he can make headway over loose soil. Gravel scrunching, escaping underfoot, he keeps his hands in his pockets, trying not to fall. He passes workmen in hard hats, their frames squat and shoulders broad, suited men gathered around ATM-sized computer banks analysing dark screens of information, and the inert figures of lifeless machines: diggers, flatbed trucks, others he’s never seen. Beyond them, a larger group of people mills, growing to a knot of crowd. There’s no shimmering film here, just open space. Geoff gets close before he sees it’s actually two separate groups. The nearest, stood with their backs straight, are dressed alike. Coming behind them as he does, without his glasses, he has to squint before he sees they’re army. The further group are dishevelled and broken. Geoff notes mucky faces, the single-file queue. Many are covered in blankets, hunched. Some limp away from the soldiers to gather beside a white bendy bus at the bottom of a grassy incline. Civilians, he tells himself. Rejects.

He circles the soldiers, pushing to the front of the queue. The waiting people shuffle and give him bad looks, but even now they do that typical English thing and remain silent. Three soldiers dressed in fatigues, two men and one woman, stand by a makeshift desk and computer set-up, scanning IDs and fingerprints against names on the screens, checking them off, sending the relevant person on their way. Geoff forces a smile to his lips. Be calm, he warns himself. Another four soldiers are poised in varied positions of battle readiness, hands on rifles, scanning the crowd. As Geoff moves closer, the largest steps towards him.

‘Can I help?’

He feigns another smile at the giant of a man, all lips, no teeth. The giant looks through him. He imagines the man’s thinking of the best place to put a bullet if he makes a sudden move. The man is blond, wide-faced, cheeks flecked red.

‘I’m all right, actually. Just wanted a word with Lieutenant Parks.’

She looks up from the screen. Her eyes widen before she composes herself.

‘Mr Morgan. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I am.’ He’s less sure now, thrown by their need to negotiate the moment as strangers rather than what they are. If anything. ‘Is it all right to speak for a minute? Won’t take long.’

Parks turns to the giant. She blinks, lips pursed, and he steps back into position. Her colleagues try to keep their attention on the civilians. She leaves and Geoff follows, walking down the incline until no one’s close, between the bus, the people, the shadow of his block and the closest strut.

‘What’re you doing?’ she’s hissing. ‘You trying to get us both in trouble?’

‘No, I just … I didn’t know you’d be here. How would I?’