“Five million one hundred and ninety-five thousand kronor. That’s our starting price. But if I’m going to get the seller to bypass the bidding process, well, I guess probably somewhere in the neighborhood of . . .”

“Six million.”

“Six?”

“Half a million more if I can move in tonight.”

“Six and a half . . . ?”

“If we can sign the papers before I leave here—and I have the key in hand no later than two PM.”

The broker was the kind of guy whose cheeks turned red when he got excited. Even his neck turned bright red.

“The seller lives there. The whole family. They’re probably having breakfast right now in the kitchen you see in those pictures. Moving out right now without any warning, it seems . . .”

“Seven million kronor. The last five hundred thousand is for you. If you can get them to leave the kitchen table and the beds behind.”

When a half hour later Piet Hoffmann backed out of the narrow parking lot of the real estate office, he did so with the deed to a new apartment in hand. The increasingly elated broker only lost his smile for a moment when he realized the buyer insisted on paying that last half million as cash in two sealed envelopes. But he regained it, his smile perhaps even more wide and fake, when a third envelope with an additional one hundred thousand kronor was added to the other two in appreciation for how professionally the whole matter had been handled. Cash. Always useful. A year ago he left North Africa with a suitcase of dollar bills. Most of it he’d been able to launder through various bank accounts and old contacts who took twenty-five percent for their trouble, but some of it still lay in the safe that Zofia didn’t know about.

Hoffmann drove to the garage under Globen Stadium and parked next to the car he’d left there this morning along with the phone. Three missed calls—and one text message. Which he opened.

Tonight we exchange our most valuable possessions. You get our weapon and we get your family. After you finish your mission, we trade back. If you fail, the exchange never happens. We’ll be in touch about the precise time.

Avoid. Lie. Delay.

He had to answer.

Somehow.

But he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want them to hear his new voice, so he’d have to text.

Been stuck in a meeting. I will do what you ask.