The satellite phone quickly found our next destination and displayed the route. ‘As Moha knows the way,’ I said to Cakes, ‘we’ll follow you.’ With Mick beside me riding “shotgun” we drove east across the city. I stayed close behind the pickup truck to avoid losing visual contact. Driving in this way gave me the opportunity to study the “borrowed” vehicle. Stickers and writing covered much of the white bodywork. Although the images and words were unknown to me, it seemed likely they were the insignias and identifications of a gang of some kind, most likely tribal based and violent and lawless as we had discovered. With 2.9 miles of our journey remaining, I made contact with Banksy and Cakes. The city roads on which we now travelled were less busy than the ones of earlier. ‘Moha isn’t lost, is he?’ I said. ‘He knows a shortcut,’ Cakes said. ‘I’ve just seen a Burger King I think I recognise,’ Banksy said lifting his voice helpfully. ‘Can we stop?’ Mick asked.
