‘Lawyer, yes,’ Klara says. ‘But that doesn’t seem to matter to a national SWAT team.’

It takes her a whole cigarette to tell him what happened yesterday, and George listens without interrupting. They stand in the grey twilight while Klara tells him everything she knows. About the letter Gabriella wrote to her, and the men who were following her, and who now seem to be following Klara.

‘We need another beer,’ is the only thing he says when she’s done. ‘At least one more.’

They have two more beers, then three and Klara can feel herself almost floating out of her chair, her head finally empty and manageable, her breathing easy.

‘Shall we have one more?’ she says.

But George just stretches a hand over the table and carefully, unexpectedly, takes her hand.

‘You’re gonna meet this guy Karl tomorrow,’ he says gently. ‘Tomorrow is the twenty-fourth. You have to be sharp for that. No more beer for you now.’

She pulls her hand away and leans back in her chair. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ she says, barely slurring. ‘I drink as much beer as I want.’

His eyes seem worried now, and it makes her furious. Where did she put her bag? She looks around. There, on the floor. She bends down and gets her wallet, heads over to the bar. George can do whatever the hell he wants; she’s having another drink.

‘Where are you staying?’ he asks before she’s made it to the bar. ‘What hotel?’

She stops. Staying? The pleasant, blurry feeling in her head scatters and gives way to something else lurking beneath, something sharp and stinging. She hasn’t even thought about where she’s going to stay tonight.

‘I…’ she begins.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘You’re staying with me. We’ll have another drink when we get there. I promise.’

14–15 November

Beirut

How long does he lie in the garden without moving a muscle? He doesn’t know, just notes that darkness has fallen by the time his strength starts to return, and he realizes he’s next to the bench that he and Yassim sat on that night in August. The temperature is falling fast as the sun goes down, and he grabs his backpack off the sparse grass next to the bench. He takes out a sweatshirt and pulls it on. He takes his phone out of his pocket, mostly to check what time it is. But it’s turned off at Yassim’s request.

‘Always turn it off and throw it away if anything strange happens,’ he told Jacob. ‘They can track everything.’

If anything strange happens. He takes a last look at the phone and throws it into the bushes. You can’t describe the last twelve hours as anything other than strange.

He sits up straight on the bench, but then has to lean forward with his head between his knees as a wave of dizziness hits him.