He looks sad, then he turns and smiles at her again. ‘But I hate the police. So, good for you. I said you talked to me. But you wanted to go to Berlin.’

‘Not so stupid, I’d say,’ Klara says and leans back in the chair. ‘Pretty smart, in fact. You surely bought us some time.’

*

Klara’s been sitting with the burner phone since they left the police, trying to gather her strength. Now she finally turns it on and it blinks to life. Takes a deep breath, opens the browser, and goes into her secret email account.

There’s only one new message, sent yesterday, and from a Hotmail address that consists only of numbers. Yesterday? Did they release her yesterday?

Klara clicks on the message. Three sentences. ‘We have to meet as soon as you come back from Brussels. Email me here to tell me you’re okay, nowhere else. Don’t contact the police before we meet.’

The last sentence has been bolded. Klara looks up from the phone and stares into the darkness and the gushing rain. ‘What is this, Gabi?’ she whispers. ‘What the hell is this?’

Then she turns to the truck driver. ‘Where in Sweden are you headed?’ she asks.

‘Gävle,’ he says, without looking away from the road.

‘Can we go with you to Stockholm?’ He turns and looks at her with an amused expression.

‘You think I throw you out now? After I lied to the police for you?’

Klara smiles and shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I don’t.’

25 November

Malmö

Somebody is shaking him gently, and Jacob rolls into a ball to protect himself. He’s back in that damp basement; they’re waking him up to assault him. Reluctantly he opens his eyes and around him is only blackness. The air is so stuffy he has to take a deep breath to get any oxygen at all into his lungs. But then he hears the sound of the engine, gets the unmistakable feeling of movement.

‘Wake up, kid,’ George says, shaking him, more impatiently now. ‘You slept through Germany, sleepyhead.’

Slowly Jacob sits up. A faint streak of blue light from the driver’s cabin penetrates through the gap in the drapes. George whispers something to Klara. Then he turns back to Jacob again.

‘Come and look,’ he says, pulling back the drapes. ‘Home.’

Jacob crawls towards the opening and sees only night and asphalt. But part of the night is compact and bottomless and he realizes that must be the sea, and beyond the sea are the lights of a city. And in front of them stands a high, sleek bridge, lit up like silver in the dark.

‘Malmö,’ George says, pointing to the glittering lights. ‘Feel good to be home?’