‘The High Commission in Dhaka,’ Miranda agreed. ‘There must be someone there who at least has some idea about how the parents are getting British passports. Or are issuing the passports themselves. It would be very hard to traffic a newborn into the UK without a passport, even using a private jet. Then there would have to be a legitimate doctor in the UK who can sign off all the standard documentation.’

‘Whoever is organising the passports would probably have the names of everyone who has ever been out there,’ Hessa followed. ‘And they might know who is coordinating the whole thing.’

‘So I rang Luke,’ said Casey. ‘In Delhi, last night.’

Currently the Post’s India correspondent, Luke Armitage had had to leave London for Delhi quite abruptly after a misunderstanding over the Home Secretary’s phone bill during the last general election. Following that eruption, Dash had decided Luke should spend a bit of time as the Post’s Delhi correspondent.

Out of sight, out of mind, just for a year or so. You’ll like Delhi, Luke.

I bloody won’t.

Get on the sodding plane, Armitage.

Luke and Casey got on well.

‘I need a list of anyone dodgy in the Dhaka High Commission,’ Casey had said to Luke the night before. ‘Someone who could get people passports, when they’re not supposed to.’

Bangladesh, part of the old Commonwealth, had a High Commission, not an embassy.

‘Passports are a nightmare when you’re travelling with babies,’ Heather had agreed. ‘Haven’t taken my husband’s name, have I? And the kids have his surname. I had to show a border guard my flaming C-section scar to get the twins past one joker when I was travelling on my own. Tell you what, they let me through pretty quick when I started taking my top off. Sodding patriarchy.’

They were tough, border controls, with an eye out for a trafficked child all the way around the world. They still got through, of course.

‘When’ – Luke rarely wasted words – ‘did this passport lark get started?’

‘Let’s say some time in the last five years,’ said Casey. ‘They may not be there any more.’

Diplomatic staff moved on to a new posting every few years, skimming around the globe, oh so politely.

‘It would probably have to be someone quite senior,’ Luke thought aloud. ‘Without many people checking above.’

‘Yes,’ said Casey. ‘It takes months to get passports in normal surrogacy cases.’

‘For cash or blackmail?’

‘Could be either.’

‘You’ – there was amusement in Luke’s voice – ‘don’t ask for much.’

‘I know,’ said Casey. ‘Sorry.’

‘Any time.’

This morning, Casey had arrived in the office to an encrypted email from Luke. Call me when you get in. Doesn’t matter what time.

Luke had answered the phone immediately.