She takes out the computer they bought in Malmö from her bag, and sets it on the glass table. With a few quick clicks on the keyboard, she opens the folder where she saved the documents and slides the computer over to Hassan.

‘It’s a long story,’ she says. ‘Jacob met a man in Beirut who asked him to carry something out of the Middle East. It turned out the information wasn’t what Jacob was led to believe; in fact it seems to be something much, much more serious. Something connected to what happened in Paris. Or a new Paris.’

‘And you don’t want to go to the police because Jacob is in danger of getting hurt?’

‘We know too little,’ Klara says. ‘We need to know what it’s about first, and I think we do in broad terms, but the documents in front of you are in Arabic. We need your help to understand what they contain.’

Hassan fishes a pair of reading glasses out of his front pocket and pulls the computer closer. Slowly he starts to scroll through the first document without saying a word. Klara can feel her legs twitching; it’s so difficult to stay still with all this nervous energy coursing inside her. She glances at her phone. The time is half past six. One and a half hours until the meeting in Bergort.

Finally, Hassan looks away from the screen, takes off the glasses and meets Klara’s eyes. His face is quite pale, his eyes wide and serious.

‘This is a plan for a terrorist attack at the Opera House,’ he says. ‘Detailed instructions. What weapons they should have, who they are, names, where to meet, all of it.’

‘Damn it,’ she says. ‘I knew it.’

‘Klara,’ Hassan says, looking away from the documents, turning them back to her. ‘They write about coordinated attacks. Are there any more documents?’

She nods. ‘Brussels, London and Rome,’ she says quietly.

Hassan bends over the table towards her. ‘The plan is supposed to take place tomorrow evening,’ he says.

‘Oh, Jesus.’

Klara is overcome by dizziness and she closes her eyes. ‘But they can’t carry it out without these documents.’ Hassan doesn’t answer, and Klara opens her eyes. ‘Right?’ she says. ‘How can they attack without plans? That’s the whole point.’

‘Maybe,’ Hassan says. ‘Unless each cell has a set of documents. Maybe Jacob’s job was to get these to the Brussels cell? Maybe there’s a Jacob for every cell.’

The air stands still between them while this thought penetrates Klara’s mind. Perhaps there are three more sets of documents, three cells getting ready out there.

‘I have to hurry,’ she says, finally, standing up.

*