When he says it, he knows it’s true. This is what he longed for, and almost lost in his wish to do right, to move forward. This is who he really is. Yassim has given him the chance to be someone who can make a difference, who is not afraid, not exploited, not just grateful.

‘You know the international bookstore at Gefinor Center in Hamra?’ Yassim says.

Jacob nods. ‘Why?’

‘This happened so fast,’ Yassim says. ‘You’ll need tickets and other things. Lie low today and go there tomorrow after lunch. The owner is an old Armenian who likes his cigars.’

‘I know,’ Jacob says. They suggested it to him at the embassy, and he spent several hours there going through the selection of English paperbacks.

‘Good. Ask him if he’s received any new deliveries in the last twenty-four hours. He’ll give you what you need. Use what’s in the envelope. Promise me that. Don’t improvise.’

Jacob nods.

Yassim reaches over him to open the taxi door. He kisses him quickly on the cheek before nudging him to jump out. Then Jacob is standing on the sidewalk, leaning over the car door.

‘I have to go,’ Yassim says. ‘There’s no turning back. See you in two weeks. I’ll miss you.’

Yassim waves to him through the car window as the taxi turns around and heads back west. Jacob holds up a hand in reply. Then he’s alone on a narrow sidewalk in eastern Beirut with a small memory card embedded beneath his skin.

What should he do now?

What is he supposed to do when he’s landed in the middle of something so much bigger than he ever imagined? Live your life like usual, Yassim told him. He should go to the embassy and call Myriam. He should pretend everything is normal, that nothing has happened.

Yassim and the chip and the mission, he feels the weight of it all now. Confusion and euphoria, fear and love and longing. He stumbles into Urbanista and orders a coffee. Drinks it with trembling hands. His mind is on Yassim’s hands, Yassim’s mouth. And how he’s going to manage this. If he will possibly be strong enough.

As he stands up, the small wound tightens on his back, and he feels dizzy. He leans forward, supporting himself with the table, then finally is able to make his way out into the sun again. The phone buzzes in his pocket just as he’s about to cross the street, and he fishes it out of his pocket. Yassim!

But it’s not Yassim. It’s Myriam.

15:00 Sursock Museum Last chance.

2

23 November

Brussels

At the very moment the plane bounces onto the runway at Zaventem Airport just outside Brussels, she opens her eyes. She must have fallen asleep as soon as she sat down because she has no memory of the flight itself.