‘But that’s no place for you.’

Jacob just nods. ‘Well, it will have to be. Drive me as close as you can.’

The driver shrugs and mutters something inaudible, but at least he speeds up.

The envelope is on Jacob’s knee, and he fumbles to get a finger in one corner, under the tab. With a quick flick he opens it, grabs hold of the contents, and pulls them into the light.

23–24 November

Brussels

Klara jumps off the sofa as soon as she hears the key slide into the lock. She knows it’s George, but still she’s so tense, so close to breaking point, that she runs into the kitchen. She’s grabbing a large carving knife from out of the top drawer, when he enters the kitchen bearing two plastic bags full of aluminium containers from the restaurant.

‘Hey!’ he says and slowly lowers the bags onto the kitchen floor, then holds his hands up. ‘What the hell are you up to?’

She’s holding the knife in front of her, pointing it at him. She points it downwards, then drops it with a jangle onto the tile floor. Then she sinks down and looks up at him.

‘I’m so fucking messed up,’ she whispers, then lowers her eyes. ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing any more. I’m being followed, I see men on every street corner…’

He also sinks down in front of her and puts a hand on her cheek. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know exactly what it’s like.’

‘You know?’ she says sceptically and looks at him again. ‘I honestly don’t think you can imagine how…’

But he’s not listening; he’s moved his hand from her face to somewhere behind his back and he seems to be pulling something from the waistband of his trousers. When he brings his hand forward again, he’s holding something so big and black and terrifying that Klara scoots back and almost falls backwards onto the floor.

‘What the hell!’ she says. ‘A gun? Are you crazy?’

He holds it in his palm and gently puts it down on the floor between them. ‘You’re not the only one with issues, Klara. Why do you think I’m moving home? Why do you think I’m leaving my fucking dream job? After everything we went through in the archipelago a couple of years ago, then this summer… I didn’t think I’d survive it. And I’m so tired of being afraid.’

She meets his naked, terrified eyes. ‘I didn’t know you…’ she begins.

‘You remember that Christmas in the archipelago two years ago? I was kidnapped by my clients who turned out to be a freaking CIA death squad, as you might remember?’

He smiles crookedly.