‘We obviously can’t rely on the clinic’s systems any more,’ said Casey. ‘But we will manage, don’t worry about that.’

‘All right,’ Bantham had agreed, in the end. ‘All right.’

Now Casey looked at him straight. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for doing this.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I needed . . .’ He stopped talking. ‘Maybe you coming to Washington wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me.’

There was a glimmer of a smile in her eyes, and a second later, it almost echoed in his.

‘And you promise . . .’

‘I promise,’ she said. ‘It would hardly help me now, anyway.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘That much is true.’

Bantham handed over the passport now. ‘I’ll come back in a few hours,’ he promised. ‘Get you to the airport.’

After he had gone, Casey stood up. ‘I have to go.’

Hessa stood too. ‘I’ll go and find a couple of tuk-tuks.’

‘Be careful,’ was all that Miranda said. ‘And shower first.’

Outside, a few minutes later, the blazing heat reached down into Casey’s lungs, choking her. Dust rose from the road, whirling in the hot wind. She felt exhausted, bruised by the fear of the night.

Hessa and Casey sat in an tired silence as the tuk-tuk made its way along the crowded streets, past rows of sagging shacks. A second tuk-tuk, carrying the three girls, puttered behind.

Idle dogs watched as their tuk-tuk creaked past, its motor like an angry wasp in a jar. Garlands of black wires criss-crossed the narrow street. There were street peddlers everywhere, crouching beside makeshift market stalls. Bags of crisps were carefully lined up under a tattered tarpaulin, next to stacks of oranges, or skinny, fatalistic chickens. Here and there, Casey saw trophies swiped – or sold on – from the refugee camps. A UNHCR blanket here, a Save the Children rucksack there. The black market always thrives.

On one corner, a small gang of street children waited patiently, nowhere better to be. A small boy, hair cropped close, held his little brother’s hand, swiping at his nose with the other. There was an adult slump to the older boy’s shoulders as he stood there in his ragged, oversized T-shirt.

As Casey watched, the boy glanced up, and she saw his expression shift from childish interest to calculation in a split second. Then the tuk-tuk pulled away, leaving the boys far behind.

Finally, they pulled up next to an ugly, low-slung building, and the driver gestured. They climbed out, Romida’s eyes wide and thoughtful.

A girl in a sari opened the door cautiously. She relaxed when she saw Casey.

‘I messaged Savannah,’ Casey explained to Hessa. ‘They knew we were coming.’

The girl led them down a tiled corridor, cool after the scorch of the street. In a blur, Savannah burst through a door. ‘They made it.’ She dragged Casey into a hug. ‘You made it. They got out. You found Romida!’