But a couple of hours later, Ben’s estimate of their remaining distance from their destination having turned out almost exactly right, they’d seen no more sign of fierce horse-mounted Afghan tribal warriors galloping, yowling like banshees, over the plains towards them than they had of Taliban patrol convoys. In fact, there was no sign of anything alive stirring anywhere all around the points of the compass as the two dusty, battered vehicles cleared the top of a rise and, through the haze of early evening, they sighted the village quarter of a mile away on the far bank of a glittering river. Perched on the hillside some way above were the buildings of the Christian mission and orphanage. Further to the west in the background, lit blood red by the rays of the sunset, stood a tall sandstone escarpment that stretched for miles, north to south, the site of the fabled caves that Rigby Cahill had dreamed in vain for so many years of exploring.

‘Gurghazar,’ Madison breathed, her eyes burning with excitement as she shielded them from the glare of the setting sun with her hand. ‘We found it.’

‘Let’s see what else we find,’ Ben said.

Chapter 39

Ben and Madison climbed up onto the roof of the Humvee to get a better view of the place through their binoculars before they ventured any closer. From this distance the village looked pretty much like any other typical rural hinterlands settlement of its kind, a rambling cluster of thirty or forty primitive flat-roofed adobe houses and outbuildings, some of them dug partly into the rising slope above the river bank, the whole circled by a low drystone wall. A couple of animal corrals stood a short distance away from the perimeter, but nothing was moving within them and they appeared to be disused.

‘Looks awful quiet,’ Madison said, scanning the houses. ‘I can’t see a soul anywhere.’

Ben had been thinking the same thing. The village appeared totally abandoned, as empty as the pens that had housed its livestock. The reason for that was clear enough, and it had to do with what had happened to the orphanage. Even from far off and in fading light the silhouettes of its broken down walls and collapsed roof were plainly visible through his powerful binocs. But the thing he’d been most concerned about seeing was enemy troop movement, and there was no sign of that.

‘The coast’s clear,’ he called down to Holt. ‘Let’s move in.’

This side of the river the bank sloped gently down to the water, thick with reeds and bushes. The water was about thirty yards across, its soft ripples catching the red light of the sunset. ‘Looks shallow enough to ford,’ Ben said. ‘All the same, better be sure.’ He jumped out, trotted down the bank and waded into the cold, clear water.