From the corner of his eye, Jacob sees George start to raise his hands to show the cops he’s unarmed. And at that very moment a grey car stops in front of them, and he hears a voice shouting in English from the driver’s seat, sees the passenger-side door thrown open ahead of him.

A shot goes off from inside the car. Then another. Then he hears the screaming and the panic behind him. He feels it in his chest, his throat. He hasn’t been hit. They weren’t shooting at him.

He turns to George, who looks as shocked as Jacob feels – and just as unscathed. Jacob turns to the car again and sees the face leaning out of it. And before he knows it he’s in the back seat with George on top of him, and the car is speeding away, as surreal as a bullet or a dream.

25 November

Bergort

At first, in the darkness, she sees only the silhouette of a man, but as he gets closer, she can make out his face in the dim light shining from inside the building. Jacob told her his old Arabic teacher is in his sixties, with thick, neatly trimmed grey hair, that he usually wore suits and carried a brown suitcase. The man in front of her fits that description perfectly.

‘I’m looking for Hassan Rahamin,’ she says.

The man looks at her for a moment, then passes by her, punches the code in and opens the door.

‘I don’t know who that is,’ he says, stepping inside.

Before Klara can react the door shuts behind him, and the light in the staircase flickers on.

‘Damn,’ she mutters, going over to the door where the lights are still on. She pushes her cheek against the glass and reads the names on the board in the stairwell. A Rahamin is listed as residing on the second floor. She pushes on the door, but it’s locked. She sighs and turns around. She settles against a bike rack opposite the door. Nothing to do but wait.

*

It takes no more than ten minutes until a woman with a stroller and some grocery bags approaches the front door. Klara takes a couple of quick steps towards her as she struggles to punch in the code while keeping her paper bags off of the wet ground.

‘Let me help you,’ Klara says, gently squeezing past her and pushing the door open just as the code has been accepted.

‘Oh, thank you,’ the woman says. ‘I’ve got a lot on my hands right now.’

‘What floor?’ Klara says. ‘I can carry the bags for you.’

‘Oh, that’s so sweet,’ the woman says. ‘Thank you!’