Frend was conscious of Zorya appraising him, but he tried not to look at her. She smelled of a combination of dryness and dampness, like an ancient cavern through which water had once flowed.

The waiter returned with the tea. Ilić watched the sightseers go by in the courtyard, following the prettiest of the girls, molesting them with his eyes. Frend reflected that the hour of Ilić’s death could not come soon enough.

‘You say this Hendricksen is ex-military?’ said Ilić, his gaze still fixed on young flesh.

‘He served in the Balkans,’ said Frend. ‘His battalion was at Srebrenica.’

‘Is he trying to atone?’

‘Who knows?’

‘We’ll have to find out. Zorya will ask him.’

‘What about Spiridon?’ says Frend. ‘Has there been any change in his position regarding Belgrade?’

Ilić shrugged. ‘Radovan is trying to reason with him, but Spiridon does not believe in running away.’

Frend pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was largely immune to headaches, except in extreme circumstances, but he could feel the pain of one coming on now.

‘And you,’ said Frend, for want of a better question, ‘what do you believe in?’

‘Money. Pussy. What else is there?’

‘God?’ Frend suggested. He was half-joking. Even after all this time, he struggled to balance these men’s devotion to Serbian Orthodoxy with their relish for sadism and murder. But Ilić appeared to be giving the question his serious consideration.

‘Zorya says there is an existence beyond this one,’ conceded Ilić, ‘and she does not lie. But even if she’s right, I won’t see God when I die, or not for long. You won’t either, so you shouldn’t concern yourself with the mechanics of His existence.’

Frend felt a pressure on his right hand: the nail of Zorya’s index finger was tracing a pattern over the veins, writing a word. Three letters: P-I-A.

Pia.

‘That’s your daughter’s name, isn’t it?’ said Zorya. Her voice was too deep, too cracked.

‘Yes,’ said Frend. ‘Did you learn that from Spiridon?’

‘Spiridon has never mentioned her, and neither has Radovan. Would you like me to share more with you about her?’

‘No.’

She ignored him.

‘I can tell you that you’re never going to see her again.’

‘I don’t think I want to have this conversation,’ said Frend.

One of Zorya’s fingernails scratched the back of his hand. He quickly withdrew it from her reach. Ilić sniggered.

‘She has all kinds of parlor tricks,’ said Ilić. ‘I wouldn’t let her bother you, though.’

Zorya hissed at Ilić. It was a peculiarly adolescent action, although it struck Frend as being almost entirely without malice. Zorya gave the impression of liking Ilić, or not actively disliking him. In Frend’s opinion, it didn’t say much for either of them.

‘They tracked down Fouad,’ said Ilić.