5th November 1997. Cairo, Egypt. 23:10 hrs

When you called yesterday, it was the first time since Maputo that I had heard your voice. That was almost a year ago. Mon amour, you sounded so far away! Not the miles, but the reticence. You do not trust me. Should that surprise me? So many times I have allowed you to come close, and each time I have crushed you. My behaviour towards you has been unforgiveable. I look inside myself and see again the hateful poles at work.

In Istanbul you opened yourself to me. I know it is very difficult for you to do this. You have seen and done terrible things. You are not a talkative man. And yet you tried. You told me things you have not told anyone else. I know you were trying to be as honest with me and with yourself as you could. And for a few days we were close, so close. I felt closer to you then than I have to anyone before or since.

Why did I turn you away? Was it losing the child – our baby? You wrote to me twice from prison in Cyprus, and not once did I answer. Your letters sat on my bureau for months, calling out to me, but I steadfastly, stubbornly ignored them, with all the discipline and self-abnegation a good Muslim woman could summon. Was it guilt? An illicit affair with a kafir is a mortal sin. God punished me by destroying the fruit of my transgression.

And now I am calling you back again. Can you forgive me? Will you come?

Yesterday, when we were speaking on the phone, I saw a car pull up across the street. Two men jumped out and started towards my flat. It was the two policemen who questioned me the day before – Moonface and the tall one. I could tell right away that this time, they had not come to talk. I knew that I needed to run.

The Directorate trained me well, Claymore, as you have seen. I had already worked out alternative escape routes. My bag was packed and ready to go. I was out on the rear balcony and over the railing and down into the back garden before the policemen were halfway up the front stairs. By the time I heard the crash of my door being broken down, I was already in the back alley and making my way to the metro station.

Where are you now, chéri? Are you thinking of me, I wonder? Hurry to me, please.