He'd been gone a month. Jahni was in better shape than he had been even on the day he'd finished his SAS training, because he spent so much of his free time in the gym. Less free time than before of course, with more paperwork, more meetings, more briefings with Rahama, at the defence ministry, even with the king.

He'd been to one now, and the king had briefly brought along his son to meet his hero, before sending the boy back off to his lessons. It felt awkward and had embarrassed Jahni to try to talk to the enthusiastic child, who of course could have no concept of the reality of Jahni's work. How did you say it?

But tonight he wasn't in the gym. Tonight he had an invitation to Sophia's. She'd arrived back in Qumar almost two weeks ago and had called Jahni a day after that, to ask how he was and to say he must come round, so they could catch up.

He'd lied and claimed to be busy for the next few nights, but eventually accepted her invitation. It wasn't that he didn't like her... they could call each other friends, or at least allies. But spending time with her wasn't at the top of his agenda.

He'd hoped that it would be a party, so he wouldn't be alone, but no such luck. Her housekeeper was around of course, since it would be improper for him to be in the flat alone with her.

She gave him a drink and said dinner would be ready soon, and offered him small pastry things he tried to make last two bites, out of politeness. Just like an official function. Perhaps he should have worn his dress uniform.

To his surprise she asked if he minded if she smoked. He knew she smoked cigarettes sometimes, Faris had mentioned it. But she'd certainly never smoked one in front of Jahni. That wasn't ladylike. She was always ladylike. He said to go ahead and smoke. It was her flat after all.

Perhaps she felt as nervous and awkward as him. Their conversation started out with the small talk, catching up. She asked him how he was getting along commanding the unit, how his helicopter lessons were progressing. She told him more than he wanted to know about the Italian civil courts and property and inheritance laws. Though he noticed she didn't mention exactly how the court cases had turned out, just how long they'd taken.

What if the result had been bad for her? Left her less well off and in the market for another well off husband. He frowned, at himself for such unworthy speculation. Westerners just didn't talk about money that way. They considered it a private matter.

"So, Kahil," she said, sitting on the couch, but near the edge of it, not comfortable. Jahni still stood, sipping his drink. "I'm sorry I didn't get back before Faris left."

She could have flown back for a day or two. It wasn't that far away. Yet she hadn't. Jahni still wondered about that. He wasn't so childish as to think it meant she didn't care about Faris; he believed she genuinely did. So there had to be something deeper there. She'd wanted to avoid him, but why?

"He'd have liked to have seen you. He asked me to pass on his regards."

A guilty look there perhaps. "I admit, I was astonished when he called me and told me where he was going," she said. "But he is a man of principle, of course."

"Yes."

"That's one of his most admirable qualities."

"Yes."

She looked at Jahni and smiled. "Still, even he is not a saint, in the face of temptation."

Jahni felt heat rise to his face. Was she taunting him? She knew about their feelings for each other. Did she also know that Jahni knew Madari had told her about those feelings.

"What temptation do you think he's facing?" Jahni asked.

"Oh, none. At least not out there. Sometimes a man runs away from temptation. Fears his own weakness."

"And sometimes loneliness can make a man weak in the face of temptation." She surely looked guilty again. If she feared that Madari had given in to temptation while she'd been gone, then she must blame herself for being gone so long. She thinks he ran from me, Jahni thought. Is she implying he's weak, or that I...? Well of course, he couldn't deny the way he'd acted with Madari, after hearing Sophia was free to marry. As confused as his feelings were, and as disgusted at himself as he'd been, still part of him had persisted in teasing and flirting with Madari. Desperate to make him believe he was not a man who could take a wife. A man of principle couldn't marry while carrying on an affair with his male friend. As much as he still feared the idea of sex with a man, Jahni would have let it happen, if that's what it took. But then Madari had amazed him by running away.

The question was, which of them was he running from?

"So, have you heard from him much?" Sophia asked.

"He sent a telegram to say he arrived safely, and I've had a letter, just last week in fact, though he sent it nearly two weeks before that."

"No telephone calls?"

"No. They have a satellite phone, mostly for emergencies, he said. The land line coverage is minimal."

"What's a satellite phone?"

"It's..." Well, there was no sense in going into any technical details that she wouldn't understand. "It's a kind of radio telephone."

"Like your cell phones?"

"Well, a little, except much longer range."

"Did he have anything interesting to say in the letter?"

Jahni sighed. Not as interesting as Jahni would hope. Madari would never be so foolish as to put anything compromising on paper. The letter was entirely innocent, a man writing to his dear friend, not to his lover. He wanted to use the word, even if they could never be that in every sense.

And if he has a lover, he can't have a wife. Not him anyway. Other men. Less worthy men. Sophia's late husband for one. But not him. He shook himself, seeing she was waiting for him to answer.

"He told me about the officers he has there with him. One of them's a woman."

"A woman officer!" Sophia looked amazed and then laughed. "Oh, Faris won't know what to make of that! And where is this lady officer from?"

"Australia."

Sophia chuckled again. "Well, we shall just have to hope she's a plain and dull woman, who won't turn his head."

"We?" No, don't challenge that. Perhaps she slipped. Don't make her insist she tells you why she included me in that hope.

"Well, I'm sure neither of us wants him to run off to Sydney and open a surf shop."

"Um, no. No we don't."

"Well, I'll go and check on dinner. I'm sure you're ready to eat."

She left the room and Jahni finished his drink and thought about making a dash for it, to avoid whatever difficult conversation they might have over dinner. On the other hand, that would make him look like a coward. And of course, the food... better than most restaurants in the city.

So he stayed. For the food.

~~~~

Though some people came to the Lodge to see Madari, with their stories of brutality and torture at the hands of the police, usually Madari had to go to them. The distances here were vast, the roads bad and most of the people had no means of transportation. A message would arrive at the lodge to say the people from a village had information for him. Then they just had to find the village.

The maps showed few of them, most too small or too remote. But the Brigadier and his staff proved invaluable there, knowing the local area well. Often one of the Brigadier's security men would come along as a guide, and to make introductions to the local people, who might otherwise be wary of the soldiers.

Almost a month into the mission, they trekked to a village so far off the beaten track they'd had to walk almost ten miles from the last piece of road the Land Rovers could negotiate.

"We really should have had a helicopter for this job," Ritchie said, as they headed down a slope, almost at the village now.

"I'll attempt to requisition one," Madari said. "And if they don't have a pilot for us, I know where I can hire a very good one." He chuckled, at the thought of Murdock livening things up around here, but then winced and rubbed his chin. His skin felt ravaged. Shaving was a daily agony in this climate.

"Mr Ritchie," he called. "Have you found the humidity makes shaving painful?"

"Cant say I've noticed. I use an electric one though."

"That shows optimism," Bennett said. "Bringing an electric razor to a country like this. CO I had on a posting in India blew the lights for the whole town every time he plugged his in."

Madari nodded. "Excellent point. I use a blade myself. But I think I may grow my beard."

"Thought most of you fellas had beards anyway," Bennett said.

"It's not an absolute religious rule. And of course, the same issue with beards applies to us as it does everyone else in the military."

"Getting a good seal on a gas mask," Bennett said, nodding.

"Exactly. My men often use tear gas and smoke grenades." He rubbed his chin again. Yes, he'd grow it. No call for tear gas and smoke grenades here. He wondered what Sophia's reaction would be if he went home with a beard. She'd never seen him with one except in photographs. To wear one now would bring back memories of his time as a guerilla. He'd shaved it on going back to the regular Army of course, and would do the same when he left here. But it might be interesting to at least keep it until he got home, just to see her expression.

"I think I will grow it. I apologise in advance for my appearance until it comes through properly. Mr Ritchie, you have my permission to grow one too, if you want to stop shaving."

"Do I need to get permission to stop shaving my legs?" Bennett said.

"Um... no..." he said, glancing back at her. But she was grinning.

"Ignore her, sir," Ritchie said. "Karen thinks she's funny."

"She does have a very... lively sense of humour."

"Thank you, sir," she said grinning.

That humour delighted and shocked him by turn. Soldier humour coming from a man could still shock him - as an officer he was at least partly sheltered from the cruder humour that the men laughed at - but from a woman... Not that she was ever crude as such... Still, she shocked him. But Bennett came from a very different culture. Ritchie too, of course, he reminded himself, not intending to single her out.

"It's the Australian method," she'd explained, when he overheard her refer to Sergeant Abasi as a 'bastard' to his face. Though the man had just laughed, Madari had taken her aside for a stern warning to treat the locals with respect and that he was surprised at her, since she seemed to get on so well with the Lodge staff. She said that not only was getting along with people by insulting them the Australian way, but that the word 'bastard' itself was generally used as a term of great affection. Madari had only believed that because of his experience living in London, where they had similar... methods and the terms and slang Jahni had brought home from his training.

So he gave her and Ritchie some leeway with the Australian method. He saw that it startled the doctor sometimes too and they often shared mutual looks of bafflement. But the men 'got' it. So did the Brigadier and his security men. The Brigadier was inordinately fond of Bennett in fact. The old goat.

They reached the valley floor and saw people gathering in the village, waiting for them. Madari called the man who'd accompanied them today as a guide, and asked him to help with the introductions. Hopefully the people spoke French, but some might speak only Swahili. There were translators for that among his men, and the doctor spoke it too.

As they approached the village, some children who'd been playing nearby ran to greet them, though didn't actually come up to them, just stopped a few yards away and then turned and went ahead of them, back towards the village.

One boy shouted out as they went, in French, calling for his father. And Madari's party heard the words he called to tell his father who was here.

"Papa! Ici est M'sieur Chapeau Bleu!"

Bennett started to giggle and Madari sighed. "I hate nicknames."

"I like it," Bennett said. "Mr Blue Hat."

"I suppose it's a term of affection, Miss Bennett."

"I'd call it a term of respect," she said and winked. "Well, you get a M'sieur, don't you?"

The villagers were polite, though reserved too. They offered food that they probably couldn't afford to spare and Madari made sure they received as much in return so they wouldn't be left short.

Three of the men from the village had complaints of police torture and through the day they spent in the village, Madari and Ritchie interviewed the men. The doctor examined them, and Bennett, who was the unit's official photographer, took pictures of their scars under the doctor's direction.

When she wasn't doing that, she spent most of the day playing with the children, and their laughter and shouts formed an incongruous background accompaniment to the more grim tasks of the male officers.

He didn't mind her doing that. Hearts and minds were part of the mission here, and perhaps she should be shielded from some things. Not only because she was a woman, but because she was so young. Though she had a few years experience in the Army, she was still so idealistic about the world, still so full of hope. He'd hate to see her spirit crushed.

He stood at the door of a hut, watching her playing with the children, chasing them and swinging them around when she caught them, before letting them go to run off and be chased again. Inside the hut a strong man, a farmer, who fed his family with the strength in his back, was weeping, with the pain of the memories of what the police had done to him. To come out here and see such an innocent and happy scene put some hope back into Madari.

The doctor called him back inside then, and he turned away. When he came out nearly twenty minutes later the children – the boys at least - were playing football with some of the Cameroonian soldiers. Bennett was talking to a group of the village women.

It began to rain.

~~~~

"Sir," Bennett said. "I've got something for you." Madari looked up from gazing into the campfire. She handed him an envelope, with the name of the village they'd left earlier written on it, along with the name of a family. He nodded and she sat down beside him.

He took three sheets of coarse and already yellowing paper out of the envelope. It looked as if it had been torn from a school exercise book. The sheets were filled on both sides with a letter, in French, in carefully rounded handwriting, that grew more careless and messy as the letter went on. No... not careless, but rather... agitated. The pen had dug more deeply into the paper, so he could feel the shapes of letters from one side pressing through to the other side. The writing no longer stayed neatly on the thin, blue ruled lines. Madari didn't read it, not yet. It wasn't his letter.

"What is this, Lieutenant?"

"One of the women gave it to me, sir. It's from her son, who went off to Kinshasa for work. Apparently on the way there he got arrested in a town, after he got into a fight. The police tried to make him confess to various other crimes – which he couldn't have committed, since he only just arrived. The letter describes the things they did to him to get a confession." She didn't elaborate.

"Is this man still in prison?"

"No. A magistrate released him eventually and he went on to Kinshasa as planned. But he wrote to his family to tell them what happened. His mother... well, she said the family didn't really tell anyone about it, because people would say her son was a criminal. But she knows that what they did to make him confess is what we're here to investigate, so she gave me the letter. In case it would help."

Madari remembered her talking to the women, after she'd been playing with the children. Hearts and minds. Bennett didn't just have a heart, she had a mind too. Playing with the children gained her the trust of the mothers, and the trust of the woman who gave her this. An unsolicited, written complaint about torture with... he glanced over the letter quickly, dates and places.

"Karen, this is excellent. This is very valuable evidence. Very good work obtaining it."

"No problem, sir. Hey, gotta look like I was doing some work and not just playing 'catch' all day."

"If playing 'catch' is part of your method for obtaining such good evidence, then feel free to play it as much as you like."

"You can join in next time, if you like, sir."

"Ah, thank you, no. I doubt if I could keep up. Did you find out anything else?"

She nodded, the firelight catching the edges of her hair that she'd pulled from its usual band tying it back. The light of the flames turned it from light brown to gold.

"There was something else... it isn't anything to do with our mission here though so I don't know if you want to hear it, but I want to report it anyway."

"Of course. Go on. What is it?"

"The women mentioned they'd lost a child from the village, about a month ago. He went out playing one day and didn't come back. He was nine."

"Could he have been attacked by an animal?"

"Well, that's what they think must have happened. Everyone searched. They know where the dangerous animals are around here, and some of the men went to check there and see if they could find... you know, remains. But they found nothing. Of course… it's a lot to search, and thick undergrowth, even for locals. They probably just missed finding the body. But... well... maybe that's not what happened."

She meant another kind of dangerous animal, Madari thought. The most dangerous one on the planet.

"They think he could have been taken by someone?"

"Well, you hear of people traffickers. Someone could have grabbed him and sold him to go work in a mine, or factory or something." She grimaced in disgust, and Madari realised he was doing the same. But a moment later, he sighed.

"There really isn't anything I can do about this, you realise that?"

"I know, sir. Just thought, well there should be a report."

"Of course. Please pass me all the details when we get back to the Lodge and I will include them in my report from the village. That's all I can do."

"Thank you, sir." She looked into the fire for a while, a far away expression on her face. Then she turned and gave Madari a weak smile. "Like you said; we're not here to rescue the whole country."

"We just don't have that power."

"Not even M'sieur Chapeau Bleu?" She was smiling wider now.

"There's no chance I could persuade you to forget you heard that?"

"Snowballs and hell come to mind."

He shook his head. "From Knight of the North to Mr Blue Hat. I need to go and start a war somewhere to get a more glorious nickname again." Now he was teasing her, and she laughed.

"Knight of the North? Where did you pick that one up then?"

"Oh, I used to be a guerilla warlord." He affected his most casual tone.

She stared at him for a moment, mouth open, then shook her head. "You are full of surprises, Colonel. I thought you were posh."

"I am."

"So tell me, how'd you get that nickname?"

Ah, a chance to rival the Brigadier's and even Ahmed's tall tales. "Well, have you ever heard of The A-Team?"

~~~~

Jahni waited in Rahama's outer office, looking out of the window into the courtyard. The sound of the fountain drifted up to him through the open window. It lifted his grim mood a little.

He should be happy. Thrilled even. All those lessons and finally he had his helicopter pilot's licence. But without Faris here, who did he have to celebrate it with? The men congratulated him, and that felt good. But still. He could call Murdock, but he'd resolved to surprise him next time they went to the US. Except, who knows if they ever could go together again. Couldn't leave the unit deprived of both its senior officers while they went off on holiday.

He'd have loved to have gone with Faris to that trip to Yellowstone. Spent those days and nights together, under the stars. Chaperoned of course, with Hannibal there, but it could have been wonderful.

Would they ever have more than perhaps a weekend like that now? No. Probably not. Weekends, evenings, afternoons, nothing more.

The voice of Rahama's clerk broke into his thoughts.

"You can go in now, Captain."

"Captain Jahni reporting as ordered, sir," Jahni said, stepping up to Rahama's desk and handing him the folder he carried. "My report on the last training exercise and recommendations."

"Excellent, thank you, Captain. I asked you to bring it to me personally so I could also offer my congratulations on your new pilot's licence."

"Thank you, sir. I hope it will prove useful." He hoped it would. Their work kept changing, offering new challenges. Intel now told of training camps out in the desert and the mountains. Training camps for terrorists. Dealing with them would be a different challenge than raiding houses here in the city. Long range combat skills, far away from backup would be needed, and a wider range of skills. Plus of course, the need to improvise. Jahni smiled to himself. Like the old days. He was good at improvising.

"Please come to dinner tonight at my house, so we can celebrate," Rahama said. "Quite informal of course, just us, no party. Unless you already have plans?"

"No, sir, no plans. I'd be delighted to accept."

"Excellent. My driver will collect you from your home at eight."

"I..." He almost protested that he'd drive over himself, but stopped. If Rahama wanted to send a driver, then Jahni would be happy to be chauffeured in the big Mercedes. "Thank you, sir. I look forward to it."

~~~~

Rahama's personal chauffeur must be ex-military, Jahni thought. He buzzed at Jahni's flat at exactly eight o'clock. Jahni was ready of course, freshly showered and shaved, his shoes polished, clothes pressed, hair neat. In a moment he was in the back of the Mercedes, carefully balancing the decorative floral arrangement he was bringing as a gift.

The driver gave him a look in the rear view mirror now and again, but didn't say much. Was he awed by the famous Captain Jahni? That seemed to happen a lot these days. He'd rather be anonymous, to be frank. The plane hijack - that's when it had started, his face and name appearing in the newspapers and on TV. They'd kept the rest of the unit out of there, but Madari had explained that Rahama considered the two of them the unit's public face. They were the focus of the public support the unit would need in the years ahead.

Rahama avoided such serious subjects that evening though, playing the friendly old uncle role he was so good at, avuncular and harmless. He accepted the gift and said his wife would find it charming, and told the servant to please serve dinner at once.

They walked through to the dining room, Rahama talking Jahni's arm. That startled Jahni initially, but then it pleased him to be the object of such a friendly gesture. Rahama was his commander and a good friend to Faris, but perhaps Jahni had forgotten to notice that the Colonel was his friend too. Perhaps he made this intimate, informal gesture to remind Jahni of that. Jahni was a wary man, and a stranger touching him certainly put him on heightened alert. But friends had leave to make that contact.

"I know it's quite early," Rahama said, "But I find at my age I can't eat too late at night. Especially not the rich food my chef prepares."

"That's fine, sir. I'm always ready to eat."

"So I hear, Captain, so I hear."

"And you always serve your guests generously and with delicious food."

"Ah, your diplomacy skills are coming along very well."

Jahni chuckled and took his seat at the small table, set for two. He hadn't eaten in this room before, though he'd been to dinner parties at Rahama's home often. Was this the room where Rahama shared private meals with his wife or close friends?

A servant brought in the first course and after he left, Rahama picked up the bottle of red wine the man had placed on the table.

"You'll have some, Captain?"

Jahni hesitated, but then picked up his glass and held it out for Rahama to pour. No doubt Rahama knew that Jahni took a drink sometimes. He knew that Rahama did the same, and again, he felt that sense of intimacy with the colonel. Rahama only drank wine at dinners with close friends, not at larger gatherings.

Still Jahni felt the need to say, "I know I shouldn't."

"Please, don't worry about appearances with me," Rahama said. He poured his own wine and sat back. "I'm not as strict as Faris."

Jahni sipped his wine. Madari might be strict on abstaining from alcohol himself, and didn't approve of Jahni drinking either, but in other religious matters... well, he had some issues. How much of that did Rahama know?

"Colonel Madari's religious faith is stronger than mine, I'm afraid," Jahni said. Something of an understatement, but diplomatic.

"And mine." Rahama nodded, smiling. "Religion is... well, its rituals are a comfort to many people of course. It gives us rules to live by. But I wonder if intelligent men who know their own minds need comfort and proscription like that."

Jahni stared, then put his wine glass down carefully, not certain how to respond, without giving away too many of his own secrets. Did Rahama have secrets too?

"Intelligent and practical minded men, I should say. Faris is of course an intelligent man, but he always had a spiritual side." He sighed. "The son of a poet and the grandson of a warrior, and influenced equally by both." He smiled again. "Perhaps one day I'll fully understand him, but until that day I know he'll surprise me every day."

Jahni said nothing. How much did he understand Faris himself, if Rahama, who'd known him for so long, did not? Of course, though Madari and Rahama had a long friendship, Madari and Jahni had one that was more... intimate. Jahni knew so much about him that Rahama didn't. Couldn't ever know.

"Oh, I almost forgot why I asked you to dine with me in the first place." Rahama raised his glass in a toast. "Congratulations on gaining your pilot's licence."

Jahni raised his own glass in thanks for the toast.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to take the training. Thank you for..." he hesitated, blushing. "Thank you for all the support you've given me since I transferred, Colonel. I know it's made a huge difference."

"Oh, my dear young fellow, you're welcome. And very welcome in the regiment. I've never regretted signing that transfer order." He raised his glass again. "Let us drink to your high-flying future."

Jahni grinned and they clinked glasses, then sat back and continued eating.

"I read your report," Rahama said later, between courses. "Some good recommendations there. When do you intend to put them into effect?"

"Well, when Colonel Madari returns, I'll put them to him and see which he approves."

"Why wait?"

"Sir?"

"Does Colonel Madari usually accept your recommendations?"

"Most of them."

"So he trusts your judgement?" Rahama pressed.

"I think so. On operational matters, training matters, yes, I think he does."

"Then don't wait. If you have new initiatives, put them in place now. When Faris returns you can report on how effective they were. Of course, then it will be his decision on whether or not to keep them."

"Of course."

"But you're in command now, Captain. I'd like to see you do more than keep his chair warm." He smiled, eyes twinkling in the kindly uncle fashion again. But Jahni knew he'd just been given an order.