The suspension on the Fiat was creaking as it ploughed through the potholes in the road. Porter reckoned the machine wouldn’t hold out much longer. You needed an off-roader and preferably a jeep for this kind of territory. As they drew closer to the checkpoint, he could see a few men on the streets, but they were all soldiers or militia. Either the civilians had fled or they were cowering in their houses.

‘Just keep your faces covered, and don’t say anything,’ said Hassad. ‘I’ll take you to the border, then drop you there and make my own way home.’

Porter nodded.

Even if I wanted to say something, my mouth hurts too much, he thought.

At his side, he could feel Katie shaking. He gripped the side of her arm to provide some reassurance: the fear was getting to her, the same way he had seen it get to Collinson seventeen years ago. ‘Just try and hold yourself together,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll be out of here soon.’

The checkpoint was brightly lit. There were two big wooden watchtowers, reaching thirty feet into the sky, each one with a searchlight flashing onto the ground. Porter glanced up. A machine gun was placed in the centre of each tower, on a pivot so that it could fire in any direction. The road led to a gate. There were two sentry posts on either side of it, and beyond that the empty desolate scrubland of the demilitarised zone. Cross that, Porter told himself, and we’re safe.

‘What’s your story?’ said Porter, glancing across at Hassad.

‘My story?’

‘You’ve got to give them some reason why you’re driving a van into Israel. What is it?’

Hassad paused. ‘Medical supplies,’ he answered. ‘I’ll tell them we’re delivering some blood.’

‘With a couple of dozen chickens in the back?’

Hassad laughed. ‘This is the Lebanon. Everyone trades in chickens on the side.’

Porter looked back ahead. There were two soldiers manning the sentry posts, and three more checking the vehicles moving through. It was just before ten at night, Porter noted. Not a time when many people were likely to be attempting to get across any border, never mind the boundary between Lebanon and Israel. There was no more dangerous crossing anywhere in the world, he thought. No one would try to get through it unless they had to.

Back in Britain, people would be anxiously waiting for news about Katie. They might be starting to suspect something had happened. So far, however, they would have no idea what.

Two vehicles were parked at the side of the road: one van and one car. The car looked to be empty, and the van’s driver was standing outside it, smoking a cigarette. No traffic was coming through from the Israeli side. Hassad had pulled the Fiat up, but left the engine idling. One of the soldiers was walking towards them. Porter pulled the scarf up high around his neck, and made sure that Katie’s burka was drawn completely across her face. His hand was dropped beneath the seat, cradling the tip of his AK-47.