‘We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled,’ said McMullen, with a grin, ‘but I was planning to do that anyway.’

‘So that Firas guy is taking us down there?’ said Carr.

‘Yes,’ said Arabella. ‘He’ll pick you up here tomorrow morning at nine.’

‘Reliable?’ said Carr.

‘Of course,’ said Arabella. ‘He’s a hundred per cent trustworthy. He’s been trained by us.’

‘With respect, Arabella,’ said Carr, ‘that doesn’t fill me with confidence.’

She said nothing, and Carr shrugged. At the end of the day, it was a drive south from Tunis to the first RV. He had no real choice but to trust Nicholls and this girl and Firas.

‘And what’s our story?’

‘Story is, he’s your tour guide, taking you down to Ksar Ouled Soltane, to see the granary there.’

‘Why would four blokes be going to see a fucking granary, pet?’ said Geordie.

‘You’re Star Wars nerds,’ said Arabella, with a grin. ‘They filmed bits of The Phantom Menace there. It’s supposed to be the slave quarters of Mos Espa, where Anakin Skywalker lived as a boy.’

‘I actually wouldn’t mind seeing that,’ said Kevin McMullen. ‘My kids have watched all them films a million times. Picture of me in the ruins would go down well.’

Carr looked at him and shook his head.

‘Fuck me,’ he said.

Arabella picked up the sports bag that the bearded guy had left and slid it across the table to Carr.

He opened it and pulled out four faded T-shirts from the Star Wars franchise and four small digital cameras.

‘The cameras are preloaded with tourist shots of Tunis,’ said Arabella. She grinned. ‘And the T-shirts have been washed repeatedly to make it look like you’ve all worn them for many years.’

Carr picked up one of them, a black thing with a white stormtrooper’s head motif, and looked at it.

‘I get the cover story,’ he said. ‘But do we look like fucking geeks to you?’

He stood up, peeled off his own T-shirt, and pulled the stormtrooper on.

He looked at her. ‘I mean, for fuck’s sake,’ he said.

Arabella’s eyes drifted over his biceps, and lingered on his shoulders and chest.

‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘Well, I think it looks pretty good on you.’

‘Aye, well you can store that one in your memory bank,’ said Carr, with a grin. He peeled it off again and dropped it on the floor. ‘I won’t be wearing it again. It might work if we were a group of pencil necks from your outfit, but otherwise, no. We’ll rely on Firas to talk us out of any shit.’ He laughed. ‘I’m surprised you’re not asking us to wear shemaghs and false beards.’

Arabella watched him put his own T-shirt back on, and then looked away.