‘Roadblock,’ said Hassad. His voice was tense and strained.

Porter peered into the darkness up ahead of them. He could see a couple of cars pulled across the road. Next to it there was a brazier with some hot coals in it, where some men were keeping themselves warm. In total, there looked to be about three men, all with AK-47s hung over their shoulders. But there could be many more lurking in the background.

Hassad slowed the Fiat to a crawl. Between the two cars, a long wooden plank had been placed, and beneath that there was a net studded with nails. You could try to ram your way through, but the nails would blow out your tyres. You’d be easy meat for the gunmen standing right behind you.

‘Leave this to me,’ whispered Hassad.

A man was leaning into the side of the car. Hassad wound down the window, and they exchanged a few terse words in Arabic. Katie was sitting still, her face covered by the burka, while Porter had wrapped a scarf he found on the floor of the van up high around his neck. In the dark, with the weather-beaten appearance his skin had had ever since he started sleeping rough, it wasn’t hard for him to pass for an Arab. Even so, his hand was under the seat, holding the AK-47.

The door opened. The soldier’s gun was raised, and he was snapping something at Hassad, but Porter couldn’t follow the conversation. Another soldier walked over. An older man, Porter judged. Thirty maybe, with a close-cropped black beard, and eyes as hard as steel. He tapped the younger man on the shoulder, and leant forwards. Porter glanced across. It was clear that he recognised Hassad. They exchanged greetings but there was no warmth there, Porter noted. More words. Then suddenly the door slammed shut, and Hassad had fired up the engine. The plank and the net that were slung across the road were removed, and the Fiat was moving on again.

Porter remained silent, but inwardly he was breathing a sigh of relief. He took a quick look back, making sure they were a safe distance from the roadblock and that no one was following them.

‘Do they know Katie’s escaped?’ he asked.

Hassad shook his head. ‘Not yet, but they might soon. Apparently a lot of communications are down because of the missile strike, and it’s going to take a few days to get them back up again. Until then, they won’t know that she’s out.’

‘That should make things easier for us.’

‘Maybe,’ said Hassad with a shrug. ‘Or maybe nobody has spoken to the guys at this roadblock. We don’t know about the next one.’

‘Just so long as we get out here,’ said Katie, speaking through her burka.

‘We will,’ Hassad snapped. ‘Trust me.’

They picked up some speed. The road flattened out as they put the roadblock behind them. There were fewer potholes in the tarmac, and the landscape looked less damaged. On the left-hand side of the road, they were snaking close to Israel: at some points it was perhaps only twenty miles to the west of them. Another hour or so to the border point, Hassad told them. It was nearly nine now. They should hit it at around ten.