‘Blind it is,’ Alexa says drily. ‘But it doesn’t really matter.’ She sighs and leans towards him, puts the passport back in the envelope again, lowers her voice. ‘Either you have information about war crimes beneath your skin, which the Americans, or somebody else, don’t want made public. Or you have instructions for a terrorist attack or network or something like that. Either way you’re fair game, Jacob. Either way, you’ll be hunted and imprisoned.’

He sobs and puts his forehead on the table. The extent of what he’s got himself into is finally coming into focus. ‘I know,’ he whispers.

‘In other words, there is no help for you,’ she says. ‘But you know that. There is no state or institution that you can trust.’

Jacob tries to nod, still with his forehead to the desk. It doesn’t matter what’s on the chip, or if he trusts Yassim, or if what Yassim says is true. He will be on the run or locked up; he’ll be in danger no matter what he does.

‘Is there anyone else who can help you?’ Alexa’s voice sounds distant, barely able to penetrate his self-pity. He shakes his head so that his cheek lies against the table as he looks at her.

‘What do you mean, anyone else?’ he asks. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Someone at the university? A politician. Any journalist? Anyone really, just someone you trust who has the power and influence. Wasta. Do you understand?’

Wasta. Always this wasta, these patrons. Always someone you can call when the police stop you or when you’re denied some permit, or when you want your daughter to get into one of the French schools. A distant relative who’s the mayor of a small town. A godfather whose brother is chief of the police. The connections are complicated, and the paths between people often laughably long. But Jacob has nobody. No one at all. He just shakes his head.

‘Not here,’ Alexa says. ‘I mean in Sweden.’

‘Sweden doesn’t work like that,’ he mutters. ‘It doesn’t matter who you know.’

‘I get that it’s not like here,’ she says. A slight note of irritation in her voice now. She doesn’t have time for the obvious. ‘But someone who’s independent. Someone you trust and who trusts you?’

‘I don’t know anyone,’ he says. ‘I don’t have those kind of contacts.’

As he sits up in his chair and opens his eyes again, he remembers something he caught a glimpse of. Someone he read about. It’s not much. Almost nothing.

‘Can I borrow your computer or phone?’ he says. ‘I want to check something.’

24 November

Brussels

Pale sunshine streams in through the bedroom window, and Klara wakes up in a panic and sits straight up. Has she slept the whole day away and missed the meeting?