The Khampas were throwing themselves at the door. I scrambled to some narrow, wooden steps that were the only way out. Upstairs was a storage area, filled with sheets of metal, paints, and gas cylinders. A narrow window.

I wrenched at the handle and climbed through it, finding myself on a small ledge overlooking a lane. It faced a balcony at the same level on the other side of the street. The opposite door was open. I could see a family inside eating breakfast.

I leaped onto their balcony and raced through where the family was sitting on the floor. Amid cries of shock and indignation I hurried downstairs, quickly finding the front door of the house.

Outside, I ducked into an alley parallel to the street where the taxi would be waiting. As I ran, I heard a huge crash as the Khampas broke through the door of the factory.

They were only seconds behind.

I rounded a corner and sprinted back towards Sharma’s street. I had never felt such primal fear. My only thought was to get to the taxi—and out of Patan.

There was furious shouting as the Khampas followed my tracks through the family’s home.

Just a few yards and I’d be at the road.

But when I arrived and looked up the street, there was no taxi. The place was as deserted as when we’d arrived.

I had no choice but to keep running. There was a furious bellow of recognition behind me. The sound of heavy, pounding footsteps. Glancing about, I was desperate for options.

There were only a few people about in the early morning. Stores were just opening up. Uniformed kids dawdled on their way to school. Up ahead of me a uniformed courier got off his purple Mahindra scooter, and was ordering food from a vendor at the roadside. Holding the scooter lightly in his left hand, he was reaching out with his right.

I used to ride a Vespa in London. Almost without thinking I jumped on his scooter and pulled the throttle down hard. I burned away, cries of fury following in my wake. A can of soft drink flew dangerously close past my left cheek. I felt a thud of pain as another missile struck my back. If I could put more distance between the Khampas and me, I’d be out of danger. That, at least, was the plan.

I had no idea where I was. Swerving into a larger street I had the single imperative to get away. To drive through Patan in what I hoped was the right direction towards Thamel.

Traffic on this street suddenly got busier. I nosed through a chaos of bicycles, heavy vehicles, and commuting scooters. Even in that moment, with all senses on high alert, part of my mind was shocked at how easily, how reflexively, I’d stolen the scooter. How fast things had spun out of control.