Needless to say, Ben wasn’t searching for a pleasant park where he could stroll around enjoying the feeling of grass under his feet and find a bench in the sunshine. He was headed for the offices of the Kabul Cultural Institute, where Madison’s Afghan contact Aziz worked – or had worked, before he’d apparently gone missing at the same time as Madison. That was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Ben had already researched the Institute’s address, back at Le Val when he was trying to figure out some kind of plan.

Now he was here, he still didn’t have much of a plan. But checking the place out would be a good start.

It felt good to get away from the task force, though he knew he had maybe a couple of hours of liberty at most before he’d have to return to base. His mental map guided him along a twisty route through Kabul that, as he’d hoped, circumnavigated the numerous Taliban checkpoints. Even so, he must have passed a dozen or more of their military patrols as they cruised around the city intimidating the locals and hunting for infidels and traitors to hang, disembowel or torture to death. But Ben felt fairly safe in his van, just another anonymous vehicle out of thousands.

Safe, for the moment, leaving him to concentrate on the art of negotiating Kabul’s terribly potholed roads. Drive too fast, you could end up breaking an axle. Drive too slow, you’d soon be accosted by hordes of beggars and street kids. In his dubious disguise the last thing he needed was too much attention.

Ben’s destination was on a long, broad street near the centre, filled with chaotic traffic, motorcycles and scooters zipping in all directions. The air was hot and laden with fumes and dust. He passed by bazaars with their donkey carts and wagons and awnings. Ruined buildings still peppered with the scars of old bomb and battle damage. Billboards and flagpoles lining the roadside displaying the ubiquitous Taliban banner. A large mosque surrounded by a seething crowd of people, the pale sunshine gleaming on its dome and minarets; and then finally he spotted the two-storey Cultural Institute office building whose image he’d found in his online research.