The car park was five hundred metres from the main terminal. It was a grey, overcast afternoon, with clouds hanging low in the sky. Stanton pressed the locks on a Volvo C70, and slung Porter’s bag on the back seat. ‘We’re heading south, then your bus will take you to the border,’ he said, his tone suggesting they were plenty of places he’d rather be going.

‘What’s it like there?’ said Porter.

‘Pretty much like the rest of this hellhole,’ said Stanton. ‘Bloody awful.’

The Volvo pulled out of the car park, and started heading up towards the exit ramps. There was a roadblock with Lebanese soldiers checking vehicles as they left, but Stanton had diplomatic papers and they waved him straight through. He turned onto the roundabout, swearing furiously at a truck that tried to cut him up as they turned towards the highway leading out of the city. A barrage of honking and swearing filled the air, but Stanton tapped his foot on the accelerator, ignoring it.

‘Bloody Lebanese,’ he muttered, concentrating on the road. ‘When they aren’t trying to kill each other with guns they’re doing it with the sodding cars.’

Porter grinned. Welcome to hell, he thought. I should be right at home.

‘What’s the situation like up at the border?’

‘What is it you army boys say?’ said Stanton. ‘Snafu – situation normal, all fucked up? That’s about it. The war between Israel and Hezbollah is officially supposed to be over, but that doesn’t mean they’ve given each other a big hug and made up. The border region is swarming with armies, some of them private, some of them religious, some of them Lebanese government, some of them Hezbollah. Basically, you see a bloke with a gun, then he’s going to be fighting for someone, but you won’t have a clue who until he’s put a few rounds of ammunition into you. In short, it’s a nasty place, full of very nasty people.’

‘That’s where I’m going?’

‘For starters, anyway.’

‘You don’t reckon Katie Dartmouth is up by the border anywhere?’

Stanton shrugged. They were out on the main highway now, heading along the coastline that would take you straight into Israel if you kept going for long enough. The traffic was light, apart from some tanks and jeeps hogging the slow lane. There was some sign of damage to the road: places where shelling or Israeli bombers had knocked chunks out of the concrete, but nothing bad enough to stop the flow of vehicles. ‘By now, probably not,’ he replied. ‘They’re planning on collecting you up there, so I reckon it’s a decoy. Hezbollah might be nutters, but they are as cunning as sewer rats. They wouldn’t have survived as long as they have in this hellhole if they weren’t. They’re picking you up by the Syrian border, so they have to figure we’ll think she’s somewhere around there. Which means she probably isn’t.’

‘And you haven’t a clue where she is?’

Stanton shook his head. ‘We don’t have great contacts out here. Iraq has been a bloody disaster for the British in the Middle East. They all hate us now, rather than just 90 per cent of the buggers like before. We’ve been told to spend whatever money is necessary, and we’ve put the word out on the street that there’s some easy cash to be earned by tipping us off about where they’ve stashed her.’