They drove in silence – a slow, heavy, quiet car with tinted windows. He wore handcuffs tethered to leg shackles, but no goggles this time. The two agents held his upper arms on the way to the car, and sat in the back seat with him.

It was dark outside and the windows were dark. The car moved through the wide and low-lit streets of the town, the sidewalks empty and frosted, and he felt more than saw the movement as they turned the corners, soft headlamps lighting the way. It was like one of those games he played as a child, where the victim was blindfolded and turned around and around and around and led somewhere. And then they were on a motorway – a freeway – and they fell into a line with other cars.

He did not seriously believe they were taking him to the airport until they arrived at the bright lights and glass of the terminal entrance. But then they drove past the building and on, out onto the tarmac. They got out and the car disappeared, swinging silently round and moving off.

There were steps leading up to a hole in the jetbridge, and he shuffled up these, escorted by the agents and security, the pilots and cabin crew watching. A lipstick-smiling blonde greeted him at the threshold: ‘Hello, how are you, welcome aboard.’

Once on the plane, his restraints were removed. The trapdoor was closed and the steps wheeled away. A few minutes later, the other passengers boarded.

The first ones he saw were an Uncle and Auntie type, grey beard, hijab and saree. It seemed a good omen. The woman glanced at him across the empty cabin, and briefly smiled.

When they left the East Coast behind, he looked across the aisle to see glimpses of the land receding. He had once wanted to see the United States. But this was the last he would set eyes on them now.

The agents spoke to each other occasionally on the flight. One read a book – some light fiction by an American author. The other did nothing except stare ahead with eyes open, except when wanting to eat or drink or use the toilet, and then the novel-reader would put down his book and pay attention.

The American stewardess looked at him and at the men on either side as she handed him down his halal meal. It was better than prison food.