Bronzelius rolls down the window and holds up his badge. ‘We have a report of a kidnapping situation,’ he says briefly. ‘Open the gates.’

The guard barely looks at his badge, staring at Bronzelius with confused, icy blue eyes. ‘There is no kidnapping here,’ he says. ‘However, the security of this nation is depending on this operation. I can’t let you in, and I think you already know that.’

Without looking away from the guard, Bronzelius lifts his radio to his mouth. ‘Force the gate,’ he says. ‘Now.’

They drive forward so fast the guard is forced to jump aside. Klara sees other guards streaming in through the gate, uncertain what’s required here or permitted. They finger their weapons, but don’t raise them.

The doors to the hangar open, and several SWAT vehicles drive in at full speed and police officers jump out with automatic weapons. Armed men like the one at the gate, and with ski masks over their faces, look up in confusion, but in the end they lower their weapons and raise their hands.

The situation is confusing at first, a chaotic mix of flashing lights, cars, people with guns and a rumbling plane in the middle of it all.

Klara scans the hangar as she follows Bronzelius out of the car. A man in a black hood is lying on the floor. He was being guarded by two of the men in the hangar, but now there are two police officers at his side, and they’re waving over the EMTs.

She also sees Jacob lying on the floor with his hands bound behind his back, his face pressed into the concrete, and a police officer leaning over him.

‘Is there anyone here who considers themselves responsible for this goddamn circus?’ Bronzelius roars.

His voice manages to be heard even above the roar of the engines. Klara turns to him. He seems so unimaginably stable, almost like a father figure, in his leather jacket, his jeans, his sturdy boots.

‘Can somebody turn off that goddamn plane?’ he roars. ‘Now!’

It takes a moment, but soon the sound is muffled.

‘Again,’ he says. ‘Who the hell is in charge of what’s going on in here?’

A woman, just a few years older than Klara, with dark hair and eyes, takes a step forward and is restrained by the police. She looks furious, at her breaking point. ‘What in the hell is this?’ she yells. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’

Bronzelius walks over to her. ‘So you’re the one who’s responsible here?’ he asks. ‘Who are you, first of all?’

‘Myriam Awad,’ she seethes. ‘The Office for Special Acquisition. I suggest that you turn around and leave immediately.’

If it weren’t for the uniformed police officer standing between them, she would probably launch herself at Bronzelius. There’s no doubt that she would win that fight.