‘If they were going to kill him, they would have done so by now,’ said Idris, kneeling beside his Sanam Khan. ‘Instead they have moved him – we’ve checked the old mills. He’s not there. They must be hoping to buy some time. Don’t worry, we will bring Ben home. Now, why don’t you go and see if the chai is ready?’ He understood that his aunt needed a task, and feeding her family would give her a sense of purpose. She nodded, kissing his forehead as she left the room.

When she’d gone, Jia took her seat. ‘What do we know about this Brotherhood?’ she asked Idris.

‘Not much,’ he replied. ‘Andrzej Nowak is the head of the group – he’s fairly new in town.’

‘I’ve met him,’ said Jia, with a grimace. ‘I defended his cousin on a drugs charge last year.’

‘They are from across Eastern Europe, but the kids here assume they’re all Polish, hence the name “Brotherhood”. They’ve been here for a few years, making in-roads in a couple of other cities. Some of the kids whose parents came here when our fathers did have joined them. But some of our boys have married their women and so we keep track of things. They’ve not really caused any major trouble until now. Your father asked me to look into their dealings last month. He said they were angling for control, trying to take apart the Jirga and pick its proceeds. He knew they were planning something but I never thought they would be brave enough to kill him, and this soon.’

Jia listened intently to her cousin. Idris was the Khan’s lawyer and chief adviser. He knew everything there was to know about the family business. If the old ways had continued he would have been her husband, and it was widely known that Akbar Khan had hoped his daughter would choose her eldest cousin as a spouse. The arrival of Elyas had ended the hope of a familial union, but while the open secret could have caused bad blood between other families, Jia and Idris were different to most people. He held her in high regard and she recognised in him sound judgement. She knew that the death of Akbar Khan would leave a gaping wound in the Pukhtun brotherhood; it required the kind of ‘handling’ that only a Pukhtun man with a steady hand and a steel mind could do. She was glad he was here. ‘You should speak to the Jirga, Idris. This is not my world, but you understand it,’ she said.

Trusted, respected and obsessed with detail, her cousin was an important linchpin in the Khan empire. But he knew he was no leader. ‘No,’ Idris said. ‘It’s not my place. I have laid the groundwork and I’ll do whatever you need, but the succession must continue with you.’