Samad Khan nodded. ‘Those boys save every penny I give them to send home to their parents,’ he said. ‘They sleep ten in a room some of them, work all evening and late at night to help their families, marrying off their sisters, educating their brothers. They are not here to enjoy living off the benefits of the state. Nowak and his men, it is a sin what they are doing.’ Speaking about the kitchen staff had unnerved Samad Khan. With no sons of his own he thought of these boys as his children, paying for their airfare, finding legal representation to iron out citizenship problems, helping them when they were sick. He was shaking now as he spoke.

Seeing this, Jia softened her tone. ‘Yes, Baba, you are right,’ she said. ‘That is why you have my promise that by cooperating with us in dealing with our mutual problem, no harm will come to you or your staff. Just make sure your insurance is in order and I will do the rest. When this is over we will sit down and discuss how to assist you further. My legal team and expertise will be at your disposal. You have my word.’

The old man smiled. He had spent more than sixty years of his life toiling, and most of that without his wife. He was ready to retire. He had just been waiting for someone to hand things over to.

‘My wife would have liked you,’ he told Jia.

‘And I would have liked her, I’m sure,’ Jia said. ‘You have my word…as the daughter of Pukhtunwali, I will help your people.’

The old man stood up. ‘Please excuse me, it is time for my Isha namaaz,’ he said. Then he placed his hand on Jia’s head and brought it forward, kissing her forehead. She smiled and thanked him for his hospitality. Before leaving, she turned to the old man. ‘Pray for me, Khan Baba,’ she said. ‘It seems the time for sacrifice is here. And we must all pay. You with your place of business, and I with my soul.’

CHAPTER 43

Nadeem awoke to the sound of his daughter crying. The little girl was standing by his door, clutching the shawl her mother had embroidered before she was born, her hair as red as her grandfather’s. That was where the similarity to Bazigh Khan ended.

‘Sweetie, what is it?’ Nadeem asked.

The little girl rubbed her eyes and swallowed hard. ‘Baba…Baba, there’s a monster in my room. Can I stay here? With you?’ Nadeem pulled the bed covers back and his daughter raced to climb in. She snuggled up to him, her tiny five-year-old feet ice cold. Nadeem rubbed them gently. ‘Haala jaan, did you really see a monster?’ he asked.