Maybe this is good for him, to get out a little, focus on something other than his suffocating worry that Yassim might never get in touch with him again.

He’s wearing jeans and a dark-green Ralph Lauren shirt with neatly rolled-up sleeves. One of three identical shirts in various colours that he bought on sale two years ago, which he now switches between for special occasions. He has a tote bag carrying his keys, phone and wallet on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and fishes out the wallet to flip through his confusing mix of dollars and Lebanese pounds. How much is this night going to cost? His student loan money hasn’t come in yet, and the little he managed to save from packing ulcer medicine in Fyrislund for two months at the beginning of the summer has to last him all the way to Christmas. So far Beirut has been much more expensive than he imagined. He needs to be frugal. Even if he’s used to stretching to make ends meet, the thought of money always fills him with piercing anxiety.

‘Mr Seger?’

Jacob jumps a little, pushes his wallet back down into his tote, and turns in the direction of the voice who said his name. A midnight-blue Volvo SUV with blue diplomatic plates is sitting in traffic right in front of him, with the window of the passenger door rolled down. The driver is trying to get his attention. Jacob goes over to the car.

‘I’m Jacob Seger,’ he says in English.

‘Ambassador Vargander asked me to pick you up,’ the man says. ‘I’m a driver for the Swedish embassy.’

Vargander has sent a diplomatic car. Jacob tries to hide his widening smile as he opens the back door, jumps in and settles in on the light leather seats. The air is cool and dry inside; it doesn’t even smell like garbage.

‘There are refreshments,’ the driver says. ‘Just help yourself to whatever you want.’

The driver stretches a hand back between the seats and taps on what turns out to be a built-in refrigerator on the floor at Jacob’s feet. Jacob bends over and opens the door. Two bottles of white wine are cooling inside, along with a few bottles of beer and four wine glasses.

‘I…’ he begins. ‘I don’t even know where we’re going, I hope you do?’

The driver nods calmly. ‘Trust me. Also, the ambassador wanted me to tell you tonight is on him. He was very specific on that point. He’s paying for everything. There’s money in an envelope over there.’

He points to the fridge again and Jacob opens it. Sure enough, a white envelope is tucked between the wine glasses. He plucks it out and opens it. A small bundle of twenty-dollar bills – he counts ten of them. In Beirut, he’s learned, US dollars are as useful as Lebanese pounds.