He falls silent when the pieces finally fall into place. Myriam says nothing. She just sits on the other side of the table, staring at him with those dark, icy eyes.

‘It was a trap,’ he whispers. ‘The car, the bathhouse, the guy who hit on me. Vargander arranged everything.’

Myriam shakes her head in frustration. ‘Vargander is just a useful idiot,’ she says. ‘He loaned the car out to you because we asked him to. He doesn’t know anything about this, and you shouldn’t tell him either.’

‘This can’t be happening,’ Jacob mumbles. It’s not happening, it’s not happening, it’s not happening…

He doesn’t stop his mantra until Myriam takes him by the chin and forces him to look deep into her eyes, her face no more than a few centimetres from his. ‘It’s happening, Jacob,’ she says. ‘The sooner you accept it, the better things will be for you. None of this will matter if you just do what I ask you to do. It’s fucking ridiculous that I would have to go to these lengths to get you to do what’s right. You’re dating a terrorist, for fuck’s sake. Wake up!’

Her eyes are so intense that Jacob has to look away.

She stands up and slams a piece of paper onto the table. ‘My number. You call me when your boyfriend’s back in town. Or we’ll let the law take care of this matter.’

When Jacob finally looks up again, Myriam is gone. It could have been a dream. If it weren’t for the thumb drive and the phone number on the table in front of him.

22 November

Stockholm

Klara takes a step out from behind the car door, and heads to one of three heavily armed police officers blocking traffic. Something’s happening further down the street, and the police officer turns around to see it. The SWAT team is making its move: two of them are heading slowly towards the doors of Lindblad & Wiman, one of them has a machine gun in his arms, and the other seems to be taking out handcuffs from a pocket in his belt.

They open the building’s door with caution. Klara catches a glimpse of Gabriella’s red hair and jacket. Then the police scream something she can’t make out. But now she’s almost to the barricade, staring beyond it, her pulse pounding at her temples.

‘I said: Get back in your car!’

Suddenly there’s an officer in a black helmet right in front of her, his eyes black with adrenaline and authority. She didn’t hear him, barely even saw him; now she stops mid-step.

Gabriella is out on the stairs of the office, and the police are moving towards her. Klara can hear her surprised, incredulous voice, despite the distance.

‘What the hell is this?’ she shouts.