‘Look out for crocodiles,’ Madison called anxiously from the Humvee. Ben had not long ago returned from Australia where he’d learned all about crocodiles, specifically not to get anywhere near the damn things. But Afghanistan’s deadly predators were more of the two-legged variety. ‘Crocodiles, honestly,’ he muttered. He waded out to the middle of the river where the water was no more than waist-deep, turned back towards the shore and clambered dripping into the driver’s seat. The truck followed the Humvee across the river, and soon they were rolling up the far bank towards the village.

Drawing closer, their first impressions seemed to be confirmed that the villagers had abandoned their homes and fled. Maybe they’d return and maybe they wouldn’t; right now, for Ben and the others, the shelled buildings further up the hill were the main priority. A narrow dirt road, not much more than a track, skirted past the village and led up the parched, rocky slope towards the orphanage.

Up close, the devastation there looked much worse. A chilly wind was blowing down from the escarpment and whistled through the desolate, fire-blackened ruins. They’d already known what to expect, from the report Holt had been given by Hassan, his man in Abu Dhabi. Even so, the extent of the damage was terrible to see, knowing that hundreds of children might have been inside the building at the time of the attack.

Everyone climbed out of the vehicles, the prince and his men emerging last from the back of the truck and gathering in a silent crowd.

‘The fuckers certainly did a number on this place, didn’t they?’ Nobby Scraggs muttered, scowling at the wrecked buildings. They had never been grand, that was for sure. But they had provided a secure and stable home for generations of kids for whom life had been unkind until Francine Blanchet and her brother Patrick took them into their loving care. It was sad to see them now.

‘Nothing we haven’t seen before,’ Wolf said.

Father Bugnolio shivered and crossed himself, muttering, ‘I fear the worst has happened here.’

‘We know they made it to safety,’ Ben reminded him. ‘Francine Blanchet was in contact with Chris’s contacts after it happened. Only her brother was killed.’

But the priest shook his head dolefully, far from reassured. ‘Where is safe in this terrible place? God help them. And us,’ he added.

‘I don’t like it here,’ Ramin said, looking around him at the deepening shadows as the sun sank over the escarpment. ‘Where are we going to camp?’

‘Quit bitching, Ramin,’ Madison snapped at him. ‘We’ve made it this far.’

‘She’s right,’ Aziz said softly, placing a hand on his colleague’s tense shoulder. ‘Everything will be fine, you’ll see.’