George told him they had found a note that said something about the Beatles. He was probably referring to one of the notes that Daniel and his fellow prisoners had exchanged with the female hostages in the toilet.

‘What do you know about the Beatles?’ they asked, and Toni and Daniel told them that they called them John, George and Ringo, because they didn’t know their real names.

The interrogation stopped there and, after an hour, they pulled off the road and switched cars. That was the last time Daniel saw the Beatles – until one of them appeared in a video he would see two months later.

The driver of the car made Daniel and Toni put on blindfolds while he drove along small bumpy roads, before turning on to a larger, asphalted road.

After a few hours they were led into a house. They were allowed to move freely between two rooms, a toilet and a corridor, where there was an open window. Daniel recognized an orange floral blanket that one of the other hostages had had with him in the cell. It was a good sign.

A muscular warrior and a little boy came in with hummus, sardines and butter. Toni only ate the butter, while Daniel tucked into the rest, before falling, exhausted, into a deep sleep.

Late in the afternoon they were woken up with yoghurt and twelve pancakes, and, in the middle of the night, bread, tuna and cream cheese were served. After yet another night, on the morning of 19 June, they were hurriedly given hoods and handcuffed and herded a few hundred yards across a gravel yard to a new room, where Daniel did his usual training exercises to keep a cool head.

He was interrupted by a friendly man, who asked, ‘Is there anything you need?’

Daniel and Toni said, ‘No, thanks.’

They had no idea how they were supposed to reply to a question they hadn’t been asked for months. They just said, ‘We’re fine.’

‘Do you have shampoo and toothbrushes?’ asked the man and continued without waiting for an answer, ‘You need some new clothes. What size are you? Large?’

The man wrote a shopping list and came back with toothbrushes, shampoo, towels, cream, hair gel, soap, cotton buds, toothpicks, nail clippers and some lotion for the scars on Daniel’s wrists.

They were promised a bath later in the day, so they waited to change their clothes.

Then another man appeared in the doorway and motioned for them to follow him. Daniel bent down to pick up his blindfold and handcuffs from the floor.

‘No, no, you’re free now,’ the man said. ‘Just take your things and come with me.’

Daniel lifted the plastic bags containing toiletries and clothes and stepped out into the light. His fear disappeared immediately. The soft afternoon sun streamed out to meet him and he could see the outside world, the sand-coloured buildings, a gate, a street with two men on a motorcycle, a checkpoint with armed men. He suddenly felt that he had forgotten something – his keys or his wallet, which he always double-checked before he left home. Then he laughed at himself.

A young and slightly fat man asked Daniel to get into his four-wheel drive, while Toni was shown a place where he could take a bath. Daniel looked around him from the back seat. A few older men in tunics were drinking tea on the other side of the street and a man with a long beard was talking to the driver. They laughed and the man looked at Daniel, who looked down. Toni soon came back and the scent of soap permeated the car.

‘The water isn’t very good here. You’ll get a bath later,’ they promised Daniel.

As they drove off, Daniel looked at the small shops along the road, at the people out shopping, and at the dry, brown fields that stretched to the Turkish border. Life had obviously been going on as usual during the thirteen months he had been in captivity. It was only inside him that everything had changed.

The driver said he had also driven an Italian with a full beard and two aid workers from Médecins Sans Frontières.

‘Cool guys,’ he remarked, before continuing, ‘You will always be welcome to come back to the Islamic State. You just need a press permit. We have nothing against journalists as long as we know who you are. If you don’t have one, we have to arrest you.’

They had reached the outskirts of the Syrian border town of Tel Abyad, where small farms lay spread out over green fields. A shepherd was crossing the road with his animals.

‘Dawlah has taken control here,’ said the driver, meaning ISIS. ‘We’re much bigger than you think. You’ll get a shock when you see how powerful we are.’

They arrived at a building on the border; there were bullet holes in the walls and it was in the process of being renovated; some men were outside watering the plants. Once inside, Daniel signed what appeared to be informal exit papers, before being shown upstairs, where he took a short bath and rubbed lotion on the scars on his wrists.

Although the clothes in the bag had been bought in large sizes, the tight green shirt didn’t cover his stomach and the underpants were too small, so his penis hung out under the heavy, olive-coloured trousers he’d been given.

Toni and Daniel sat for a few hours in a waiting room with a fridge and some heavy furniture. While they were waiting, the driver showed them a BBC graphic on his mobile, showing how far the caliphate had spread in the past year. Daniel could see that ISIS had increased its territory from Raqqa and northern Syria across the border into Iraq, where they now held Mosul.

‘The caliphate is a well-functioning society under the rule of law,’ the driver said. ‘We aren’t as bad as people think. Send an email next time you want to come to Syria.’ He followed them out into the foyer, where another young man with glasses received them.

The man asked about James Foley, about whether or not he was still alive, because he had heard rumours that he was dead. Daniel was then asked to write down the names of those hostages who he knew were still in captivity, before he and Toni were taken outside.

It was pitch-black along the border. Daniel could hear the cicadas as he walked over to a large car park near the border fence. The only thing he could see ahead was a military truck with some Turkish soldiers. The yellow glow from the border lights illuminated the soldiers, who jumped into a car as soon as they had let Daniel through a gate. He had thought a million times about this moment, where each step took him a few more inches away from all the horrible things he had been subjected to during his captivity.

In this instant, his mind was empty. He was caught in a void between what had recently been the constant fear of death, and now, life and the ordinary thoughts that he could look forward to. The transition happened during the few hundred yards it took to reach the Turkish border police. Then he was struck by a practical thought: would he have to try to find a flight home or would there be someone to meet him?

The Turkish guards invited Daniel, Toni and the Syrian who had accompanied them across the border into the border post, where police officers were busy watching a World Cup match between Colombia and the Ivory Coast. They sat down on a sofa and joined them. At one point an advertising banner rolled across the screen. For the first time in more than a year Daniel heard music with drums and guitar, while a sexy woman ran along a beach.

‘Daniel, would you like to borrow my mobile?’ asked the Syrian thoughtfully.

Daniel hadn’t given a single thought to being able to call home. He hurried outside and stood under a canopy beneath the starry Turkish sky. On 19 June at 8.37 p.m. he dialled his mother’s mobile number and heard her pick up the phone.

‘Hi Mum, it’s Daniel.’

Return to Freedom

Susanne came home from work, took a long bath and put on an old sweatsuit and thick socks. Kjeld was away at a gymnastics meet, so she crawled under the blanket on the sofa and turned on the television. She watched a news report about some people in a nearby park who shot rook chicks, which they then prepared and invited the townspeople to come and taste. The owner of a local wine shop was asked which wine would go best with the meal.