She smiled her lovely smile and wished him good luck, and it occurred to him how nice it would feel to just stay here. Become another person with another face living another life. But he was in a hurry. He had to keep moving toward those who threatened him. And now he could—in a new shape. Get closer, close enough to take back Paula.

•   •   •

He’d changed cars again, now back to the one he’d started the day with, and then settled down at a café that stayed open late and put the phone down on the table in front of him. Three cups of coffee and biscottis later. Until the text finally arrived at half past ten.

Latitude 59.279751. Longitude 18.229393.

Northeastern edge of Knipträsket lake.

Between the stone and two anthills.

Dig one half meter down.

Collect it before midnight.

Piet Hoffmann looked up the coordinates on his phone. It showed a spot about twenty kilometers south of Stockholm, not far from Saltsjöbaden and Fisksätra. A short walk into the large natural reserve. That’s where they buried it.

He’d play their game. But just a little longer. He had to make them think he was doing what they wanted, so he could get close enough to stab them in the back.

It took twenty minutes by car. From the artificial light of the city to the dense darkness and absolute stillness of the forest.

He held a GPS and a flashlight in one hand and pulled a small cart behind him with the other, zigzagging between thick branches and mossy stones down a narrow forest path. He stumbled a few times over a stray root, but never fell, always forward, forward, he had to keep moving.

Buried in the forest.

That’s how a lot of the criminals in Stockholm stored their weapons—within a twenty-kilometer radius of the city there were hundreds of private stockpiles buried beneath the ground. Criminals in the underworld hoarded and guarded their weapons like gold—many groups had shared custody of a stockpile, maybe a couple of Walther P99s, a Kalashnikov, which they dug up as needed.

He stopped, checked his GPS. He was almost to the small lake called Knipträsket. The northeast side, with his flashlight it was easy enough to find a large clearing where a big stone shared space with a couple of huge anthills. He was soon standing in front of a newly cleared piece of ground, and checked again to make sure the hood of his jacket covered his face before unfolding his spade.

He assumed they had him under surveillance here, and they didn’t need to see his new face yet.

Powerful thrusts.

Aimed toward a weapon worth one hundred thousand kronor a piece. Much more expensive than anything else circulating in this city.