She turns around and sees one of the vans from the parking lot following them. They’re driving fast now, up the on-ramp to the highway. She knows that she shouldn’t give in to the impulse, but it is growing like a balloon inside her. ‘You got played. You all got played,’ she says. She shakes her head. ‘The Russians tricked you into arresting Gabriella. Did you seriously believe she was involved in a fucking terrorist attack? I thought Säpo’s job was to protect us from Russian spies. Not do their bidding.’

He looks calmly at her. ‘It was good that you called,’ he says. ‘For everyone’s sake.’

The anger she feels is mixed with something else, the feeling that she too doesn’t really know what’s going on.

‘Who’s after us?’ she asks, and feels her anxiety come back with full force. ‘Where are my friends?’

25 November

Bromma Airport

They’ve been driving for about half an hour when the car finally slows. Yassim is lying on Jacob’s lap and his feverish, damp forehead shines whenever the occasional headlight flashes through the high, latticed window. Yassim wavers on the edge of consciousness and Jacob’s panic feels ever tighter in his chest. George somehow succeeds in getting up onto his feet, and he starts kicking and pounding on the wall to the cab. But the wall is solid, and it’s clear that nobody will hear them.

‘He’ll soon lose consciousness completely,’ Jacob whispers. ‘What the hell should we do then? They can’t just let him die.’

Jacob can see Yassim’s lips moving, and he leans over him. Yassim’s voice is so weak, Jacob can barely make out what he’s saying. But at the very moment the van stops and the door slides open again, he hears: ‘Tell them nothing.’

When the door opens, Jacob sees a pair of dark and familiar eyes.

‘Looky here,’ Myriam Awad says. ‘Have you missed me?’

*

There are probably five or six other people. They’re all burly and bearded, wearing flak jackets and black guns in the holsters over their jeans.

‘Up and out,’ says one of them. ‘Get outta the van.’

‘This man is injured,’ George says. ‘He’s lost consciousness and needs help immediately.’

The bearded men look at him with disinterest. ‘He’s a terrorist,’ says one of them. ‘That’s the price he pays.’

Two of them step into the bus and lift Yassim roughly, carry him out together. Jacob stands up, but his hands are bound behind him, and he can’t do a thing.

‘Help him!’ Jacob screams at the top of his lungs. ‘He needs help!’

Myriam stands in front of him and slaps him across the face.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ she says.

Then someone pulls a hood over his head, and everything goes black.

*