Up at the entrance that connects the terminal building and the parking lot sits a grey van with tinted windows, slowly rolling past the roadblocks and security guards. Panic grips his chest, bouncing through his blood. He thinks of the men at the Armenian bookstore in Hamra. The gunshot through the rear window of the taxi. How did they find him?

Jacob lowers the visor on his helmet with trembling hands and grabs hold of Bashir’s waist again.

‘Drive!’ he says. ‘Please drive away from here.’

24 November

Brussels

George takes four pills from the bottle Gabriella’s neighbour gave to Klara and puts them on a wooden cutting board in the kitchen.

‘Google suggests you do this,’ he says, starting to hack the pills up with a sharp Japanese knife. ‘And you know you can always count on the sociopaths, right?’

‘This is the craziest plan I’ve ever heard in my life,’ Klara says. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if I just ran away as fast as I could and jumped into the subway?’

‘That’s Plan B,’ George says. He stops hacking and turns to her. ‘Don’t you want to find out who’s following you?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I just don’t see how this will help me answer that.’

George bends over the cutting board and chops the last of the pills into a fine powder that he gently brushes into a small plastic container.

‘Stop nagging and just trust me. We don’t have any time to lose if this is going to work. He’ll be done with his coffee soon.’

He throws on his coat and puts the bottle on the floor of the hall while he ties his shoes. ‘Give me three minutes,’ he says. ‘That’s all, Klara. There are small margins in this brilliant plan.’

Klara shakes her head sceptically. ‘You’ve fucking lost it.’

‘Come up with something better then,’ he says with an even stare.

‘I just did,’ she says. ‘Run down into the subway.’

George puts an arm on her shoulder. ‘What do we have to lose?’ he says. ‘If this works, we’ll find out more about these people. If it doesn’t work, we do your plan, okay?’

Klara sighs. ‘Just do it then.’

*

It’s a clear, cold morning as she steps out of George’s building exactly three minutes after he disappeared up the street, heading towards the intersection, past the BMW where her suspected pursuer sits.

She pulls her coat more tightly around her, forcing herself not to look at the BMW. But after she passes, she can’t help but glance back at the man sitting there. Just like George said: wide shoulders and short beard, the same style coat as the other men she’s seen following her. He’s still holding a coffee cup in his hand. That’s good, at least.