Gunner obliged. I remembered the way he’d walked down the aisle towards me on the aeroplane from Lagos - cocky, swaggering. He was a different man now - the sweat was streaming down his face. He had gone from fraternizing with the enemy to deserting with a suspected enemy agent - he knew he would face a firing squad if we didn’t pull this off.

‘Keep calm,’ I said. ‘We’re nearly there. Just act as though you’ve been given urgent orders by Alebayo. They won’t argue.’

He nodded, but his jaw continued to shake after he had done so. I placed the Stechkin under my feet and tore away a piece of my shirtsleeve.

‘Here,’ I said. ‘Mop your brow. You need to stay calm.’

Without looking, he took it from me and held the rag to his forehead, as though it were a steak on a bruise.

I turned to Boxer and Senegal, crouched down in the back. ‘If there’s any trouble,’ I said, ‘just follow my lead.’ I couldn’t trust any of these men, of course, but they might now believe I could, or think it enough to delay their reactions for a fraction of a second if things got out of control.

‘Next right,’ I told Gunner, and he veered sharply, nearly taking us off a couple of the wheels. Waves of pain again, but now I could feel them stretching out their tentacles for my chest. I slumped back as far as I could in the bucket seat and tried not to breathe in too many mosquitoes.

We made the turning, and the gate came into view at the end of the road. The light at the end of the tunnel. I desperately wanted to tell Gunner to slow down, but I bit my tongue. I was in too much pain to waste words, and he needed these seconds to gather his confidence and remember he was in charge. I was just his prisoner now.

He slowed down a few yards from the gate, triggering a light in the hut. One of the guards came out a few seconds later, rifle at the ready and arm raised. There had been eight when I had counted - how many would be on duty now?

‘Where are you going?’ said the man, the barrel of his Kalashnikov lined up with my head. ‘It is past curfew.’

‘Let us through,’ said Gunner with an admirable tone of authority in his voice. ‘The Colonel just ordered me to take this man to Port Harcourt.’ He gestured at me.

The soldier took a step closer.

‘Who is he?’

‘That is none of your business,’ Gunner snapped. The guard’s jaw tightened and Gunner pretended to soften. ‘A British journalist. The Colonel wants him out the way - tonight.’

Too much. He’d said too much. The guard swivelled on his heel and leaned in to look at his face.