‘Moving the men presents a security risk,’ said Shishani. ‘It took weeks for them to filter into Sirte. If they all leave at once, people will talk, and they will talk wherever we move them to. You can’t have thirty fighters arrive in some remote village without someone noticing.’

‘So what other suggestions do you have?’ said Kadyrov, sharply.

The giant Chechen’s eyes flashed with a sudden anger as he spoke, and Argun Shishani felt a momentary frisson of fear.

For the first time, he wondered if Khasmohmad Kadyrov planned to eliminate him as he had dealt with the men on the beach and at the staging house in Saïdia, to ensure the trail stayed as cold as the grave.

It was almost as though Kadyrov read his mind.

‘Do not worry, brother,’ he said, softly. ‘When all this is over, you and I shall be far away, and we shall live in comfort, in the knowledge that we struck a great blow. And it is a good point that you make. Thirty men, it’s too many. But if we move Ayub and ten of his best men…? In two or three vehicles?’

‘Perhaps we could do that quietly,’ said Shishani.

‘I have a friend way down in Sinawin,’ said Kadyrov. ‘I can speak to him. He will send us another ten or a dozen north. That will be enough.’

Shishani nodded. ‘So you contact your man Shaladi in Sirte…’

‘I tell him we need a new location,’ said Kadyrov. ‘Somewhere a few hundred kilometres away. The dog will want more money, of course, but it is what it is. We land, we move after dark, we keep a low profile.’

‘That might work.’

‘So we just need to work out roughly where to land. Pass me the map of Libya.’

45.

HALF AN HOUR later, Argun Shishani stuck his head out of the wheelhouse and yelled at the nearest seaman to fetch the skipper.

He appeared a few moments later, a small, stooped man, with a face creased and lined like an old walnut by the sun and the salt of the sea.

‘Come in and sit down, captain,’ said Shishani. ‘The emir wants to speak to you.’

He did as he was told.

‘There’s been a change of plan,’ said Kadyrov.

‘Oh, yes?’ said the skipper. He was terrified of the giant Chechen, and his dark-eyed companion, but he tried hard not to show it. ‘May I ask why?’

‘No, you may not,’ said Kadyrov. ‘We were going to Tabarka in Tunisia, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now we’re not going to Tabarka. We’re going to Al Khums, instead.’

‘In Libya?’

‘Yes, in Libya.’

The skipper pulled off his cap, scratching his head as he did so. ‘But it’s not safe.’

‘I will personally guarantee your safe passage,’ said Kadyrov. ‘You know my reputation.’

‘Yes. But…’

‘But what?’

The skipper said nothing, but looked at his feet.

‘How much longer is the journey?’ said Kadyrov.

‘I will need to look at my charts.’