She’d told him before that he—once the master of it, since he did it to her every day—had gotten rusty at lying. And she was right. Lying, just like everything else, is about practice, consistency. It had to be second nature to him in order not to be noticed.

“I have two people guarding the house. You won’t see them, but they’re good at what they do. If anything happens, anything that doesn’t feel right, you call me immediately.”

“And the kids, what should I tell . . .”

“I love you.”

He kissed her, and she asked no more questions. He then managed to avoid the creaking on the staircase and the action figures on the hall floor, but he couldn’t escape the buzz of that fucking vibration as a third text message arrived while he was on his way out the door.

Later today you will receive your orders. The weapon you should use on our account. Time and place in our next message.

Go take care of a few things.

That’s how he described those filled-in boxes in the crossword puzzle stuffed into his pocket, which provided the plan not just for his escape, but for his family’s, and a place for them to escape to.

Later today.

Piet Hoffmann knew he didn’t have much time.

And now he understood how very little.

He started the car he’d parked at the rusty gate of the house that had been their home since Hugo was born. He could still see Zofia standing there, pregnant, laughing until she made him laugh, until they were both giggling and didn’t want to stop, it had felt so enormous—that first time they stepped over the threshold hand in hand into their very own house.

Morning traffic hadn’t really gotten going yet, almost no slowdowns at all as he drove in the direction of Stockholm’s inner city.

He was always one step ahead, that’s how he survived.

But not now.

The timing of his actions was being decided by those who threatened him. And when they contacted him later, he’d do what he could to stall them until this evening, maybe until tonight; with a bit of luck and some lies that were more skillful than the ones he’d give to Zofia, he’d stall them until tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours. But he wouldn’t get more than that. He would just have to be ready by then. One step ahead of a faceless organization with arms so long they reached into the upper echelons of the Stockholm police.

•   •   •