He looked at me blankly, and I pointed to his helmet.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Arsenal.’

I looked down at the crates. ‘You make sure the weapons get to the front?’

‘No, no,’ he said, looking at me like I was a fool. ‘I support Arsenal Football Club!’

I started laughing. It must have been a physical need welling up in me, because it wasn’t the funniest joke I’d ever heard and yet tears were soon running down my cheeks. After a few moments, Gunner joined in, nervously at first, and then full- bloodedly. It changed the shape of his face, lighting it up, and I realized just how young he was. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen.

Then, abruptly, he stopped.

‘Why you laugh at me?’

‘I’m not,’ I said, between heaves. But how to explain to him that I found his devotion to an English football team surreal without insulting him? And then something occurred to me. ‘You lost the cup to Swindon . . .’ But that thought just set me off again, and Gunner’s eyes, which were starting to bulge with anger, only made it worse.

‘Do not mention this word!’ he shouted. ‘I do not want to hear about these Swindon thieves!’

I waved a hand at him to stop, and he actually went quiet until I’d regained some control. Then he looked at me very seriously, and I wondered if he was going to ask to see my press pass.

‘Tell me, honestly, Mister - what is your name?’

‘Robert Kane.’

‘Tell me, Mister Robert, have you ever heard of such a bunch of crooked sportsmen in your life as Swindon Town?’

‘No,’ I said, trying to match his tone. ‘I haven’t.’

My exclusive interview with Captain Alele came to an abrupt close just then, as the curtain was drawn and an anxious face peered out at us.

‘Captain - we have some trouble with the plane. The pilot wants to know how to proceed.’

The trouble, Isabelle told me when I had returned to my seat, was that a message had come through from Enugu saying it was not safe to land there. Gunner and the pilot were now locked in heated debate about what to do. Isabelle’s theory was that the Biafrans had coordinated one of their rare air strikes.

‘What other airports do the Federals have?’ I asked her.

‘Not many,’ she said. ‘We already passed Benin City, so perhaps they will have to try Port Harcourt.’

I looked at the map. Suddenly the world wasn’t so funny. Port Harcourt was a good hundred miles south of Udi. It looked like my strategy had completely backfired - we were now heading away from my target.