Ralf fought the impulse to react. He didn’t think he would ever be able to get along with anyone in uniform. “What’s the place called again?” he asked Sara in Dutch.

She addressed herself to the man and gave him the name and location of the hotel. Her voice had a proud note, as if to say, You weren’t expecting that, were you? Two teenagers in a fancy place like that. Ralf wondered whether the customs officers knew every hotel in the country, or if they only asked questions like that to see how you reacted. Maybe it was suspicious if you looked like you’d memorized the answers, or if you took slightly too long to think about it.

“My parents are already there,” she continued, before complaining in fluent English about the closure of the Eurotunnel and the ensuing delay. She asked him whether he knew what was going on.

The customs officer told her there was a technical problem. He still had their IDs in his hands and looked like he was mulling something over.

Ralf could feel himself sweating. His T-shirt was clammy and tight. What if the man called the hotel to check Sara’s story?

The second officer had apparently been unable to find anything suspicious. He took another look over his colleague’s shoulder for the sake of form before walking off.

“Have a nice stay.” The man handed the IDs back to Ralf, who gave him a friendly nod and tried to drive off without any screeching tires.

Sara fell back into her seat. “Jeez, what a bunch of paper pushers.”

She had a lot more to say, but he was only half listening. He knew he had just dodged a bullet. If the officer had searched his bag . . .

Don’t think about it.

Was that it? he wondered. Would there be no more checkpoints? Or could they expect to go through the same thing again tomorrow in England?

He didn’t feel confident.

31

31

Werner lay down next to her in bed. “I thought that was a very enjoyable evening. How about you?”

“It was very interesting.”

“I know, right? Good tip from Serge. The contrast is pretty great too—this historic hotel, and then that restaurant.”

“Yes, very different. Like day and night.”

“Speaking of which . . .” There was a cord hanging over the bed. Werner gave it a tug, and the light went out. “Good night,” he said, and turned his back on her.

32

32

Ralf and Sara were in agreement: a hotel was a waste of money. And anyway, all the cheap hotels nearby would be full thanks to the disruption in the tunnel. The car had a lock, the seats were fully reclinable, and the entire terminal site was under so much surveillance, it felt like an open-air prison.