‘Not without a replacement motherboard, it can’t,’ said Liebowitz. ‘I’m pretty good at electronics. Tried switching out some components from one of our radio handsets in the hope I could bring it back to life, but no go. Kept hold of it, just in case by some freakin’ miracle we manage to find the right spare parts. But until then it’s toast.’

Ben nodded. ‘Right. So you have no idea of what’s happening with Francine Blanchet and the kids. And a lot can happen in twelve days.’

‘I’m well aware of that, buddy. But right now we have to assume they’re okay and hiding somewhere nearby. If they’re still holding out after all this time, they’re gonna be badly in need of help.’

‘That’s where we come in,’ Wolf said.

‘To rescue forty children,’ Ben said, raising an eyebrow. ‘The seven of you, in these vehicles, with Taliban units swarming everywhere hunting for them. I used to find missing people for a living. Just finding one could take months, not to mention the risk of extracting them from danger. But forty, all at once?’

‘You saying you wouldn’t have taken those odds?’ Holt asked him.

‘I probably would have,’ Ben admitted. ‘I was crazy enough to.’

‘Hey, nobody said it was going to be easy,’ Wolf replied, shrugging. ‘If we can even find them they’ll have to be fed, protected and transported out of danger right under the enemy’s nose. Then we’ve got to find some way of relocating them to a safe new home.’

‘Which doesn’t exist,’ Baldacci said. ‘Not in this country, not any more.’

‘It’s a challenge,’ Liebowitz said. ‘Mission fuckin’ impossible.’

‘I love challenges,’ Wolf answered with a savage grin that made him look like his namesake.

‘Let’s just say there are a few logistical issues to contend with,’ Holt said. ‘Which is why we need all the manpower we can get.’

Ben said nothing, carefully studying the map by the lantern light. He traced his finger along the route Holt had pointed out, drinking in names, places, topographical detail. That was when he realised he’d seen this map before. Or one very much like it: the print of the old map that he’d got from old Karim at the Cultural Institute in Kabul. He reached inside his kameez, pulled out the print and laid it side by side with the modern one on the Humvee’s bonnet.

‘What’s that?’ Wolf asked, peering.

Ben was too focused to reply. He’d been right. The place names weren’t all the same, and the city of Zakara didn’t feature at all on the modern version. But the cartographers from centuries ago had pretty much nailed it, in terms of geographical accuracy. There was no question in his mind that the two maps depicted the same region.