They are in the middle of the parking lot.

The vans stop about twenty metres away, their long sides facing them. From the corner of his eye, Jacob sees Yassim put his working hand inside his jacket, down to the small of his back where he grabs his gun. He glances at Jacob. ‘Our only hope now is your friend,’ he says.

Then he squats down, without ever looking away from the vans, and lays his gun on the ground. He kicks it a few metres beyond their reach. ‘Do not resist,’ Yassim says. ‘But say nothing. Not a sound. Whatever they threaten with, you can’t trust anything they say.’ He looks at Jacob with desperation in his eyes. ‘You got back the chip in Malmö,’ he says. ‘You have it, right?’

Jacob puts his hand in his pocket. His sweaty hands slippery on the memory card as he fumbles for it. He nods.

‘That’s all they want,’ Yassim says. ‘But if we give it to them, it’s over. Do you understand? Then we have nothing.’

‘Who are they?’ Jacob asks. ‘Russians?’

‘We should have stayed away from here,’ George whispers. ‘I should have known better.’

As if in slow motion, Jacob takes the card out of his pocket with trembling fingers. He looks at Yassim who nods calmly, and Jacob raises his fingers to his mouth. He puts the card as far back as he can, closes his lips, and swallows.

They can hear the side doors being pulled open. Then everything happens so fast that Jacob can hardly register it. A number of men in civilian clothes jump out of the van, wide-chested, ski masks over their heads, small, effective automatic weapons in their hands. Everything happens so fast, everything is violence, the threat of violence, and Jacob feels like he might vomit.

‘Lie down!’ the men scream in Swedish. ‘Lie down!’

Weapons raised and aimed at them, low centre of gravity and short, quick steps towards them.

‘Do as they say,’ Yassim says next to him, as he falls down to his knees with his hands up.

Jacob follows his example, but they’re already there and someone pushes so hard on his back that he falls forward. He feels the asphalt against his face, feels it scraping his cheek, feels blood in his mouth.

‘Who are you?’ Jacob screams. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I said lie down,’ someone says in a remarkably deep voice behind him.

It feels like they should be screaming more loudly, like they’re holding back. But now Jacob’s hands are pulled behind his head and something hard and cold is wrapped around them. He can hear George nearby. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he screams. ‘I’m not fucking resisting!’

‘Keep your mouth shut,’ says one of the faceless men and pushes a foot into his back, pressing him down next to Jacob.