A few minutes after the woman left, two ‘escorts’ crashed open his cell door. ‘Come!’

‘Where we going?’ he croaked.

‘You said you wanna see the Adviser. Now’s your chance.’

He hauled himself up, eyes liquid and jumping with fatigue, body smelling, hair itching. In the days he’d been there he’d barely eaten, but his guts were heavy and nervous. ‘I need a shit.’

‘No time.’ They forced him on by the arms, one each side, crossing the courtyard, rain now falling, the muddy water splashing round his bare feet. He tried to stop and look up at the clouded skies; they tightened their grip. It felt like the dark heart of night.

Two small wooden chairs sat empty on the flood-lit platform. They pulled him up the steps and directed him towards one. He began to murmur. ‘Why—’

‘Shut it!’

The interior of the barn was airless, silent except for rain tapping on the slate roof. He sat; minutes passed. He tried again. ‘I need to shit, man.’ The tension within was building; he really did need to go.

‘Stay!’

The escorts disappeared. He sat alone, not daring to move, understanding nothing except his own terror.

He heard a clanking. A figure in blue denim overalls, a canvas-like hood over his head, enchained around his ankles, his masculine feet bared, was dragged in by the escorts. They planted him on the seat opposite Sami. He flopped, his covered head bowed, bleats of sobbing. The only sounds as more minutes passed.

‘We welcome you again, brother Sami.’ The Adviser’s rich voice, echoing through the vaulted barn.

Sami whipped his head around and saw, in the corner, the Adviser, sitting on a high-backed, throne-like chair. Standing beside him was the thick-set man. No sign of the woman.

Sami detected a movement of the head beneath the hood opposite. ‘We have brought you to meet another brother,’ said the Adviser. ‘A friend of yours. He is in need of advice.’

The escorts loosened the rope holding down the hood so they could yank it off. The head was revealed – half-open eyes looked imploringly at him.

‘Oh fuck,’ whispered Sami. ‘Asif. Is that really you, man? What the fuck are you doing here?’ Asif’s face was a blur of blood and bruises. His lips bled – or was it coming from smashed teeth? ‘What they done to you, man?’ Sami dreaded to think what might lie beneath the overalls.

‘I dunno,’ croaked Asif. ‘I dunno what happened.’

The Adviser’s soothing voice broke in. ‘And we welcome you again, brother Asif, however much you have wronged us.’

‘I ain’t wronged anyone,’ said Asif. He was hardly audible.