As the vehicle stopped, Shishani jumped out and limped over to the huge metal gates.

The man they had followed here – the eldest son of their contact in a Sirte, who was a gangster called Shaladi – put his shoulder to the gates, and Shishani helped.

Slowly, creaking and moaning, they swung open, and the Chechen’s vehicle drove through.

‘You should be fine here for a while,’ said Shaladi Junior, handing over a set of keys. ‘As you requested, it’s out of the way. The owner died a year ago, and his family are all overseas. Nearest dwellings are half a kilometre. Farmers come twice a day to water the dates in the plantations, but they won’t pay you any attention.’

‘Good,’ said Shishani. ‘Food and water?’

‘I brought stocks for you myself. Enough for two weeks.’

‘Generator?’

Shaladi pointed to the left.

‘Works fine,’ he said. ‘Oil tank is full.’

‘Good,’ said Shishani, again. ‘But tell your father we will want a new place soon.’

Shaladi paused, and looked at the Chechen, his eyes narrowed.

‘None of my business,’ he said. ‘But what exactly are you doing?’

‘As you say,’ said Shishani, ‘it’s none of your business.’

But then he thought again.

No point in antagonising this kid, or his father.

‘We’re not doing anything, yet, my friend,’ he said, flashing a reassuring smile, and clapping the young man on the shoulder. ‘We just need somewhere safe to hole up for a while.’

Shaladi nodded. ‘You have our contact details,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in a week if I don’t hear, just to check you’re all okay.’

You mean, to nose around and find out what we’re up to, thought Shishani, but he just smiled and nodded.

He followed the young Libyan back out through the gates and waved through his other two vehicles.

Once they had closed the gates, and they were certain that Shaladi had gone, his men removed the two women from their hiding places, and hustled them away.

Kadyrov came over.

‘This is a good place,’ he said, in a low voice. He nodded approvingly. ‘A very good place. I prefer it to Sirte, in fact.’ He looked up. ‘Have one of the men take a machine gun up there. But tell him to be sure it is hidden from the skies.’

Shishani nodded. ‘It’s a big compound, though. Is nine men enough?’

‘Eleven, counting ourselves,’ said Kadyrov. ‘But no, I think not. I don’t want anyone from Sirte to come down here – that would just create a trail. Pay them off and send them home.’ He chuckled. ‘They will never know how lucky they are. I have spoken to my friend in Sinawin – he is sending a few more up to us.’

‘Just in case,’ said Shishani.

‘Just in case.’

‘Across the desert, even if they are seen no-one will make the connection.’

‘Exactly, brother,’ said Kadyrov. ‘Now, time for some food.’