‘Are they on to us?’ said Shishani. ‘The timing…’

‘I think not,’ said Kadyrov. ‘As far as my contact can tell it was coincidental. They were on another of their operations to round up Balochi separatists, and unfortunately he was caught up in the net. As long as it’s just the Army, they won’t know who they have. Once they realise he is not involved in any of that independence nonsense I would think they’ll give him a beating and then just let him go. But ISI are bound to be sniffing around, too, and if they come across him…’ Kadyrov pulled a face. ‘If that happens, he’s finished. He’s on their systems for Karachi.’ He sighed. ‘Such is life. He knew the risks. It’s the path we follow.’

The path of shadows and sorrow.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Argun Shishani looked out of the window at the late afternoon sea, now golden with the slowly sinking sun.

‘Forgive me, Khasmohmad,’ he said. ‘I mean this respectfully, but what does this al-Shafra know? In case the worst happens?’

‘He knows who I am,’ said the older man, with a shrug. ‘But the Americans, the British, the French, the Germans… They all want me anyway. I’ll take my chances. He doesn’t know who you are, and he doesn’t know how we knew that the girl would be on the beach. He doesn’t know we’re on this boat. So we’re safe for now.’

‘Does he know we’re going back onto land at Tunisia?’

Kadyrov nodded, regretfully.

‘He arranged to pay off the Tunisian colonel,’ he said. ‘The one who’s due to meet us at Tabarka, and take us across to the Libyan border at Bir Zar in military vehicles.’

It was Shishani’s turn to pull a face.

‘And he knows our destination is Sirte, also?’ he said.

‘Yes, that too,’ said Kadyrov. ‘In fact, he suggested it. He doesn’t know the exact location – for obvious reasons, I arranged that myself with a fellow in Sirte called Shaladi. But al-Shafra arranged the money for it, and for the men who are waiting there.’

He cursed, and punched the palm of his own hand with a giant fist.

‘So we may be compromised?’ said Shishani.

‘It’s possible. I suppose we should work on that basis.’

‘Then we must change our plans.’

‘I think so.’

Both men sat there, saying nothing, feeling the gentle roll of the boat.

Eventually, Khasmohmad Kadyrov cleared his throat.

‘So,’ he said, stroking his huge beard. ‘We must assume that Tabarka is blown, yes? So is Sirte. So, really, it’s simple – we must land somewhere else, and we must end up somewhere else. The question is where? So let’s think logically. We have arranged a safe house in Libya. We have men waiting in Libya, too. And transport.’ He stared at his hands, idly picking dirt from under his fingernails. ‘What is the logic, Argun?’ he said. ‘The logic is that we just need a new safe house in Libya. The transport and the men we can move.’