I stepped toward Tvist. “You need to seize this material. If it goes out, it’s going to imperil my family.”

Tvist turned to the camera team. “Stop filming.”

The cameraman near me put down his camera.

“Begge to,” said Tvist. Both of you.

Tvist looked at the second cameraman. You could feel the man’s reluctance; the instinct for a story trilling in his blood. Tvist nodded toward a policewoman, who stepped forward. The second cameraman put down his camera.

“Cal,” said Tvist, “we are going to take you to a place of safety.”

People were turning. I looked down at the Glock, lying a meter or so from me. I crouched beside it.

“Whatever the provocation,” said Tvist, very quietly, “don’t.”

I sensed fingers tightening on triggers. I looked up, into the faces of armed police, their rifles shouldered, ready. I ignored the rifles. Something had broken in me, I thought. This last year had been too much. I looked down at the pistol on the grass.

Vee was at my side.

“Dad,” she said softly.

That look on my daughter’s face: so adult. She crouched down beside me, brought her face very close to mine.

“Dad, stand up.”

“All right.” I stood up.

I looked about me. All around me rifles were shouldered. I raised my hands.

“Step away. It’s okay.” Tvist’s voice. I turned, met his gaze, nodded.

Vee was fast. She reached down, picked up the pistol. She stood.

Those rifles, trained on my daughter now.

“Vee,” I said. “No.”

“What are they going to do, Dad?” She turned toward the police. “Are you guys even allowed to shoot me?”

She began to walk, the pistol in her right hand, her intention clear.

“Stop this girl,” shouted John Andersen. “You must stop her.”

The police were looking to Tvist for guidance.

“Viktoria,” said Tvist. “Viktoria, you must stay where you are.”

Vee walked briskly past Tvist, past John Andersen.

Everything else was still. Every eye was on my daughter. She stopped a pace in front of Bror, a little to the side. She began to raise the pistol.

I looked about me in terror, waiting for the rifle shot that would end this.

Vee paused, the gun at Bror’s chest, as if she too were surprised by her action. The gun swayed in her hands, and for a moment I thought this was no more than a child’s game.

Bror smiled a lacerating smile.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t think so.” He turned to the nearest police officer, held his hands together at the wrists. “Skal vi?”

Fingers hovered on triggers. All eyes on Bror.

“Shall we?” said Bror, this time in English.