A little flutter somewhere in her stomach, a little buzz in her ears. How is it possible for an arsehole like George Lööw to cause these feelings inside her? Someone who’s all surface and talk and quick success.

Or maybe he’s more than that? He did save her life. And last summer, when they met, she saw another side of him, a calm behind the expensive shirts and the jargon.

She walks over to the window, takes another gulp of cold wine, and lets her eyes wander down to the yellow shine on the street below. She almost drops her glass on the floor. Just a little bit down the street she sees a man in a doorway sheltering from the snow. Maybe it’s a coincidence, someone out for a late-night walk surprised by the intensity of the snow, waiting for it to let up. But somehow, she knows that’s not the case. Her hand trembles slightly as she pours the last of the wine into her glass. She’s sure. Whoever was watching Gabriella has found a new target. And it’s her.

14 November

Beirut

The rain has started falling harder, and Jacob can hear it drumming on the roofs of the cars parked outside.

The question hovers like a cloud above them. He should have asked it a long time ago.

‘They definitely think so,’ Yassim answers evenly. ‘To them, I’m a terrorist.’

The air trembles around them as Jacob turns to Yassim. Myriam’s story is true. There’s no way to deny it any more. He should stand up and just run away, don’t look back, never go back again. But he can’t move.

‘But it’s not black and white, Jacob,’ Yassim continues. ‘A person is many things. And I’m a terrorist in the same way Snowden is a terrorist. In the same way Assange is a terrorist.’

Jacob shakes his head. ‘What do you mean?’ he says. ‘What the hell are you talking about now?’

‘My trips,’ Yassim says. ‘You’re right. I’m not a photographer. Or I am one, but that’s not all. Recently that’s not why I’ve been going to Syria. I’m working on a project compiling information about drone strikes and the West’s other military efforts in Syria and Iraq.’

Yassim pauses, drinks from his can and puts it down again. He puts a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, but Jacob pulls away.

‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about,’ he says. ‘What project?’

‘Statements from witnesses,’ Yassim says. ‘Videos, photographs. Any information that might help us map their attacks on civilians and children. To prove who the real terrorists are. I’m close now. We’re close. We’ll soon be handing over the information to someone who can publish it.’