George is hunched down next to Jacob. They’re by the harbour now, where the wind is icy. The temperature’s fallen since this morning.
They’ve been walking around Malmö for about an hour since they said goodbye to Klara. George wanted to keep them moving so nobody would have time to figure out who they were.
But why did they go down here to the harbour? Jacob is so cold he’s shaking. When he lifts his eyes, he sees the grey, solid concrete of Öresund Bridge to his left and the dim, ghostly contours of Copenhagen on the horizon, straight ahead.
‘We will go to the police,’ George insists. ‘We have to assume that if we have the plans, the terrorists can’t carry them out. Klara just has to meet Gabi first, and we need to find out what the documents contain before we do anything else. Then we’ll know what this means for you and for her. For all of us.’
He stands up and stretches out a hand to Jacob, pulling him up. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘We can’t sit here; it’s too cold.’
He turns his wrist and looks at his huge watch. Several times Jacob has thought about asking to look at it, he’s never seen anything more enticing, a concrete symbol of success and competence.
‘Besides, we don’t have long until our train leaves.’
Jacob stands up and they walk in silence, past the newly built apartment buildings with a view of the sea and Copenhagen, past the spacious balconies of the comfortable bourgeoisie with a year’s worth of salary in the bank and excellent credit. Past everything that will be out of reach for him now.
‘I like your watch,’ Jacob says quietly. ‘It’s… serious.’
George looks at him with something like suspicion in his eyes. ‘Did you talk to Klara?’ he asks.
‘About your watch?’ Jacob says.
‘She thinks it’s vulgar. But you know what?’ George turns to Jacob and smiles easily. ‘Maybe it’s okay to be a little vulgar.’
Jacob shakes his head, feeling his panic rise again. They’re in the middle of chaos, and they’re walking around talking about watches.
‘We could get caught anytime,’ he says, his voice hardly more than a whisper. ‘Maybe Klara got caught already.’
‘Anything can happen,’ George interrupts him. ‘At any time whatsoever. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few years it’s that. All we can do is focus on the task at hand and do it as well as we can. We have to get to Stockholm. Then we’ll figure out a way to solve this. We’re taking the train, so the risk of being discovered will be much less than flying. Don’t think about the big picture, the fucking terrorists and being wanted and all that other shit. You just take it one step at a time: we head to Stockholm, and we don’t get caught. And then we solve this.’
He looks at Jacob again. They’re almost to the central station now.
‘You follow me?’ George continues. ‘Just imagine this is a normal day, long before any of this happened. You’re just taking the train to Stockholm to hang out with some friends. Nothing strange about that.’
Jacob takes a deep breath and tries to smile. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
But almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he sees two police cars parked outside the central station and a voice starts to scream: ‘There they are! There they are!’
Jacob twists his head to see a woman with a stroller screaming at the top of her lungs while simultaneously backing away, her eyes glued to them. She’s no more than fifteen metres away.
Jacob stops, but he can feel George still pulling him along. ‘Oh fuck,’ he whispers in Jacob’s ear. ‘Just when I was telling you to calm down. Ignore it, people think she’s crazy, okay?’
But the people coming in and out of the departures hall turn towards the woman and then to where she’s pointing.
Jacob stops and wrenches himself out of George’s hand. Slowly he pulls his hood down and takes off his hat and turns to the woman.
‘What the hell!’ George shouts. ‘Come on, Jacob!’
But it’s too late. Two police officers are on their way out of the arrivals hall. They see her, see where she’s pointing. The people around them are screaming and jumping away from them in every direction.
‘Come on!’
George tugs Jacob, drawing him into the crowd as if they were just part of the screaming, terrified masses. They stumble down the street; he can barely see straight, doesn’t know if he’s up, down, underwater.
‘Stop!’ he hears one of the police officers shout behind him. ‘Stop or I shoot!’
They’re still hunched over, but Jacob feels George’s arm loosen at his wrist. ‘No matter what happens…’ George says, ‘stay calm.’
From the corner of his eye, Jacob sees George start to raise his hands to show the cops he’s unarmed. And at that very moment a grey car stops in front of them, and he hears a voice shouting in English from the driver’s seat, sees the passenger-side door thrown open ahead of him.
A shot goes off from inside the car. Then another. Then he hears the screaming and the panic behind him. He feels it in his chest, his throat. He hasn’t been hit. They weren’t shooting at him.
He turns to George, who looks as shocked as Jacob feels – and just as unscathed. Jacob turns to the car again and sees the face leaning out of it. And before he knows it he’s in the back seat with George on top of him, and the car is speeding away, as surreal as a bullet or a dream.