I tried to empty my mind of such thoughts and concentrate on the problem at hand. The lorry’s suspension was almost non-existent, and as we seemed to be taking dirt tracks through the forest, it felt like we were sitting on a drunk camel. The first time we had hit a sizeable bump, a couple of miles back, Isabelle had let out a yelp, and all three of our guards had tensed, as had a few of the other soldiers. But the guard on the left, the one with the scars on his cheeks, had let out his own cry, almost simultaneous with Isabelle’s, and raised his gun, enough to make me think he was serious about using it.

I had no idea if Isabelle was aware just how precarious the situation was: a bigger bump, a bigger yelp, and one or both of us could get a round through the legs, or worse. I’d seen Alebayo give instructions to the men before they had taken us in hand, and I guessed he had told them that the two Westerners should not, under any circumstances, be killed - hence their aiming at our legs. And I was confident that they would try to carry out the order, because Alebayo had a reputation for rough justice: the report I’d read back in London had recounted how he’d had one of his soldiers executed by firing squad for shooting an unarmed Biafran. But would he take into account the bumps in the road, and Isabelle’s nerves? If I were accidentally killed, the man responsible might also face a firing squad - but that wouldn’t help my corpse.

‘Do any of you speak English?’ I said to the guards, in the clearest, calmest voice I could muster.

All three coiled in response, and I could feel Isabelle doing the same beside me. Coiled, but there was no harm done, yet. Fingers gripping triggers, but no shots fired, yet.

‘Do not speak,’ said the man with the scars. ‘The colonel told us if you speak, we shoot you.’

‘That’s just it,’ I said quickly, before he could think about it. ‘I’m worried you might shoot us by accident. My colleague here is very nervous, and if we hit a big bump, I’m worried someone might . . .’

‘Do not speak,’ said the man. ‘If I were you.’ But he gave a tiny nod and kept his eyes locked on mine, as if to say he understood the problem. A few minutes later, he leaned over and whispered in the ear of the guard next to him, who in turn whispered something to the third man. And a few minutes after that, Scarface quietly put his gun onto safety, and the other two followed suit.