Samad Khan was part of the landscape. The only member of the Jirga without a family, his wife – another Jia – to whom he had been betrothed from birth, had been the only person he ever loved. He was a short, dark-skinned Pathan, she pale and attractive, as intelligent as she was fierce. He would show her off and bask in her beauty, both of them laughing privately at the comments they received about their contrasting skin tones. They had wanted for nothing in life. Except for good health. Doctors had advised them that childbirth would prove disastrous. But his wife was stubborn and ignored the warnings. The baby didn’t survive, and neither did she. After she died, Samad buried himself in work, emerging only when called by the Jirga.

Without a family to distract him, his business flourished. His curries were served by royal warrant and found on supermarket shelves and kitchen cupboards across the country. He knew power, how to wield it and take it, but it meant nothing to him.

His curry house was next door to the travel agency Nowak was using as his money-laundering headquarters. That was why Jia was here. She and her men needed access to put their plan into action. Samad was no threat to their operation, but without him and his blessing there was no plan.

‘There is nothing you can do,’ Samad Khan said. ‘The paving of the path to respect began many years ago. Only with time will you know if it reaches your front door. And besides, you are a woman, what will you do in the world of men?’

‘It is because I am a woman that you should trust my judgement,’ Jia replied.

Samad Khan was intrigued. She was his wife’s namesake and reminded him of her. ‘Explain,’ he said.

‘Under Islamic law a man must divorce his wife in the presence of a qazi three times before they are no longer bound,’ Jia said. ‘After the first two talaq they can still reconcile. Men are easily angered, slaves to their passion and makers of rash judgements, as you and I know. A woman, she must only say once that she wants it and it is done. We women are more tolerant, we measure and weigh up before we make our decisions. This is God’s ruling, not mine. But there are few who understand it. There is little choice here, Khan Baba. Nowak must go. He destroyed some of your storage centres, he has sent informants to the police saying that you hire illegal workers. It was only by my providing you with a tip-off that the raid came to nothing. On this you agree?’ she said.