The soldier’s eyes flashed through the cabin of the Fiat. He was no more than twenty-five, with a clean-shaven face, and close-cropped black hair. But from the neat creases to his uniform, Porter reckoned he was some kind of Rupert, or Mustafa, or whatever the hell they called them out in this place. He was looking closely at Katie, his eyes running over her head, and down the length of her body. She was sitting rock still. How do they feel about lifting a burka round here? Porter wondered. In Britain, the border police are too politically correct, but I reckon around here they don’t give a toss. If they want to take a look they will.

The soldier snapped a couple of brief commands at Hassad.

Hassad tried to smile, then shrugged and muttered a few words in reply.

The soldier barked another command. One of his colleagues walked over from the gate, and stood right behind. His finger, Porter noticed, was twitching on the finger of his AK-47. No more than a teenager. Trigger-happy didn’t even begin to capture the look on his face. Trigger-bloody-ecstatic, Porter told himself grimly.

He gripped harder on the tip of his own assault weapon. Every muscle in his body was poised for action.

Another series of barked commands. Hassad was arguing, his face turning red. Then he suddenly smiled. He turned to look at Porter. ‘They’re letting us through,’ he said. ‘You’re out of here.’

TWENTY-SEVEN

Hassad slammed the door of the van shut behind him. Porter watched as the man walked slowly back into the Lebanon. He wasn’t so bad, Porter thought. He did what he said he was going to do, and you couldn’t ask for more from a guy than that.

Shifting across to the driver’s seat, he grabbed hold of the wheel and tapped his foot on the accelerator. Up ahead, the gates were starting to swing open. The road stretched into the demilitarised zone, and there was one more set of Hezbollah guards on the other side, but they had already been cleared, and Porter wasn’t expecting any trouble from them.

‘We’ve made it,’ he said, looking at Katie. ‘We’re back.’

He could see the relief flooding through her. ‘Thank Christ for that.’

Porter drove slowly. It was a mile across the demilitarised zone, and then they would have to get through the Israeli border controls as well. Driving too quickly would only make the guards suspicious, Porter warned himself. Better to take it gradually.

The Fiat slid through the gates, which shut quickly behind them. Just ahead, about two hundred metres in the distance, Porter could see a guard flagging them down. The man was six feet tall, wearing a Hezbollah uniform, with some kind of scarf covering his face. He was holding an AK-47 in his arms, and motioning for the van to pull over.

‘Shit,’ Porter muttered.

‘What does he want?’ Katie asked anxiously.

‘How the hell should I know?’

Looking ahead, Porter wondered whether he should jam his foot on the accelerator, and make a dash for the Israeli border. He could see the one guard flagging them down, and two more men standing behind him. To the side, there was a small hut that seemed to be serving as a sentry post, but could be hiding more men. The Fiat wasn’t in bad shape, but it was still only a van, and there wasn’t much acceleration in the engine. The chances of getting away were minimal.