The second floor was just the same – or it would have been, if Ben hadn’t come across the old man there. He was at least eighty, tiny and wizened and so urgently preoccupied with the task of cleaning up the debris left behind by the looters that at first he didn’t notice Ben’s presence there in the office doorway. The room was in such a mess that the poor old fellow clearly didn’t know where to start, and he seemed close to tears with helplessness. Having pointlessly tried to arrange scattered files and piles of disordered paperwork into stacks, now he was struggling to right a tall bookcase that was much too heavy for him to manage.

Ben said in Dari, ‘Salaam alaikum. Can I help you, father?’

The old man dropped the corner of the bookcase, almost crushing his feet in the process as he turned towards the doorway with fear and shock in his eyes. He took one look at Ben standing there – the baggy kameez, the dark beard, the head covering – and bolted towards another door in such panic that he tripped over a fallen chair and went tumbling. He seemed to be having difficulty getting to his feet, so Ben went over to him, grasped a skinny arm and helped him up. The old man seemed to weigh almost nothing. Ben’s gesture hadn’t done much to alleviate his terror, and he still backed away. At least he didn’t pull out a gun.

Ben said, ‘It’s all right. I’m not one of them.’ To prove the point beyond any doubt, he yanked off the fake beard and removed his head covering. He placed his right hand over his heard and nodded gently to show respect and sincerity. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, father. Are you hurt?’

The old man looked at him very curiously for the longest time, taking in the blond hair and the blue eyes and clearly mystified by the stranger’s appearance. At last he shook his head and replied in Dari, ‘I’m not hurt. Who are you?’

Ben picked up the overturned chair that the old man had tripped over, set it upright and motioned for him to sit. He picked up another and sat in it himself, emphasising that he was no threat. ‘I’m nobody you need to be afraid of. You have my word on it, I’m not here to hurt anyone.’

‘Then why are you here?’ the old man asked. ‘You’re not from this country, I can see that. Even though you wear Afghan clothes and try to pass yourself off as one of us. Why would you do that?’

‘No, I’m from a long way away. My name’s Ben. What’s yours?’

‘Karim.’

‘Do you work here, Karim?’