The traffic is still sparse, so she finds it puzzling when the cars in front of her slow down and then stop completely. She stretches up in her seat, trying to see what’s happening. There are only two cars in front of her, and in front of them stands a police officer in a black helmet with an automatic weapon hanging across his chest.

Her heart starts to pound. The SWAT team she saw earlier. Some kind of crackdown. The other drivers open their doors and step out to get a better look, and Klara does the same.

Further down the street she sees a black Volkswagen van and at least two regular police vehicles. Around them stand dozens of police officers, all heavily armed. They don’t have their weapons raised yet, but they’re dressed in black, with helmets and Kevlar, and they seem prepared for a face-off at one of the buildings. Klara raises her eyes slightly and sees the Lindblad & Wiman flag they just joked about waving outside Gabriella’s office.

It takes a moment to make the connection, but when she does, her blood runs cold. No, it’s too surreal, too crazy. The police are at the door of the Lindblad & Wiman office.

24 August

Beirut

Sunday was empty and endless, so it’s a relief when his workweek starts again. A release to step into the safe buzzing of the air conditioner, to pour himself a cup of coffee in the small, windowless kitchenette.

‘You’ve been following the news, right?’ Agneta asks.

She spreads cottage cheese on crispbread and looks at him in her friendly way. He thought diplomats would be different, more exotic, and cosmopolitan. Or at least they’d eat Lebanese snacks. He does his best to hide his disappointment that they’re more like grey bureaucrats, that they usually do their best to recreate a Swedish work environment, complete with caviar, cottage cheese and crispbread. He nods, almost tells her he was there, at the protests on Saturday, about Yassim, and everything. But he stops himself. He was told not to go anywhere near the government district, and Yassim isn’t his boyfriend – he’s a ghost.

What if he really is? What if Jacob just made him up?

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘It’s crazy. What are the others saying? And where are they?’

It’s usually only Agneta who gets to the office before him, but it’s almost half past ten, and he hasn’t seen Frida or Vargander.

‘Meetings with the other EU ambassadors all day,’ Agneta sighs. ‘They’re at full capacity after the riots this weekend. They’re talking about an Arab Spring here too, you know. It’s typical that you’d end up in the middle of all this, Johan. As if it weren’t messy enough after the move from Damascus and all that.’

He feels his heart sink in his chest again. ‘Jacob,’ he says quietly.

‘Excuse me?’