‘We have to get out of here,’ she says. ‘I have no idea how much time we have. We don’t know a fucking thing.’

She checks where they are as they jog down towards the bridge. Maybe they can at least get some kind of cover there.

‘What should we do?’ George pants.

‘Call a taxi,’ Klara says. ‘And pray the driver hasn’t read the morning papers yet.’

*

They’re sheltered behind one of the columns beneath the bridge when they see the taxi approach.

‘Come on,’ Klara says. ‘Let’s try not to look like we’re on the run.’

They brush themselves off and walk down to the road just as the taxi stops. Klara gets into the front seat. She can feel the weight of the gun in her right pocket, and she sticks a hand inside and runs her fingers along cool metal. A last resort. Her hand closes around it.

But the driver seems tired, completely uninterested, and she gently releases her grip on the gun.

‘Malmö Central Station,’ she says. ‘Our car broke down.’

The driver nods quickly and rolls up the hill, back towards the rest stop where the truck dropped them off. As they pass by the exit, Klara sees two police cars still in place, blue lights still flashing. The taxi driver turns his head to look, then speeds onto the highway.

‘Malmö,’ he sighs. ‘Always some bullshit going on.’

*

The central station is starting to fill up with morning commuters as they cross the departure hall towards the ticket machines. Their faces are on the morning papers and on broadsheets everywhere.

‘This is surreal,’ George mutters. ‘Klara shows up in Brussels and two days later I’m a wanted man in Malmö.’

‘We have to get out of here,’ Klara says. ‘We can’t flounce around surrounded by pictures of ourselves.’

George nods. ‘I’ll take Jacob. He doesn’t really seem to be able to handle himself right now.’

They both glance over at Jacob walking beside them with his straggling hair and empty expression.

‘You have to give me that memory card,’ Klara says. ‘Whatever it is, we have to make sure it doesn’t disappear.’

Jacob takes the card out of his pocket and puts it in Klara’s outstretched hand, then takes his cell phone from his pocket. ‘I think I might have the solution,’ he says, holding the screen up to her.

His hand shakes as he holds the phone out, and Klara grabs hold of his wrist to steady it. A message is on the screen. A long line of numbers, letters and symbols.

‘Is that what I think?’ Klara says.

Jacob blinks and looks around nervously. ‘How should I know?’ he says. ‘But I got the phone from Yassim… it’s his phone.’

George pulls Jacob’s hand closer to get a proper look at the screen. ‘The password,’ he says quietly. ‘Who sent that to you?’