It’s half past eight by the time they drive past Södertälje, above water and rocks and trees, and then in among the warehouses, office complexes and grey, dreary industrial areas that start popping up more and more frequently. Small pieces of ice beat ever more intensely against the windshield as Jacob opens his eyes.
‘How long did I sleep?’ he asks.
‘On and off since Vättern,’ George says, looking at him in the rear-view mirror.
How can he still hold his eyes open? The first night they were in the truck and then he drove basically without stopping from Malmö. He looks a little pale, but otherwise unfazed.
‘Almost there,’ George says. ‘I just wish I knew what the hell was happening. All I know is that she wants to meet in some goddamn depressing suburb where she got some help from your Arabic teacher. And now she’s turned off her phone.’
Jacob bends forward to look at Yassim. His head is resting against the window, his mouth half open.
‘Is he alive?’ he asks worriedly.
George throws a glance at Yassim. ‘He doesn’t seem easy to kill,’ George says. ‘Besides, he’s spent more time awake on this trip than you have.’
George has turned off the highway now and slowed down. They drive by wholesalers and car washes, bare trees and empty streets; ten-storey apartment buildings rise up like towers on the horizon.
‘That’s our destination,’ George says. He appears to shiver. ‘This trip just keeps getting more and more depressing.’
*
Yassim wakes up as they slowly roll into the mix of ageing concrete apartment buildings and playgrounds, bare bushes with white berries, all lit by yellow streetlights waving in the wind. Jacob can see his eyes light up when they look at each other in the rear-view mirror, but he grimaces as he turns towards him.
‘You’re in pain,’ Jacob says. ‘I’m worried about you.’ Jacob leans forward and puts his hand on an unexpectedly warm cheek. ‘You have a fever. We need someone to look at your wound.’
Yassim smiles weakly. ‘It’s fine. We have more important things to think about now.’
‘I think we’re there,’ George says. ‘Or as close as we can get.’
They park the car by a school. Low buildings in yellow brick, like barracks, a playground with broken swings, basketball courts without a net, a dark, empty parking lot.
Yassim grimaces as he gets out of the car, but won’t let Jacob support him. Instead, he gently pats his cheek and stares into his eyes. ‘I can handle it, Jacob. You don’t have to take care of me.’
He doesn’t get further than that before the muffled sound of an engine revving reaches their ears, and they turn to the entrance of the parking lot where two black, unmarked vans roll in with their headlights off.
‘What the hell is it now?’ George whispers.
They are in the middle of the parking lot.
The vans stop about twenty metres away, their long sides facing them. From the corner of his eye, Jacob sees Yassim put his working hand inside his jacket, down to the small of his back where he grabs his gun. He glances at Jacob. ‘Our only hope now is your friend,’ he says.
Then he squats down, without ever looking away from the vans, and lays his gun on the ground. He kicks it a few metres beyond their reach. ‘Do not resist,’ Yassim says. ‘But say nothing. Not a sound. Whatever they threaten with, you can’t trust anything they say.’ He looks at Jacob with desperation in his eyes. ‘You got back the chip in Malmö,’ he says. ‘You have it, right?’
Jacob puts his hand in his pocket. His sweaty hands slippery on the memory card as he fumbles for it. He nods.
‘That’s all they want,’ Yassim says. ‘But if we give it to them, it’s over. Do you understand? Then we have nothing.’
‘Who are they?’ Jacob asks. ‘Russians?’
‘We should have stayed away from here,’ George whispers. ‘I should have known better.’
As if in slow motion, Jacob takes the card out of his pocket with trembling fingers. He looks at Yassim who nods calmly, and Jacob raises his fingers to his mouth. He puts the card as far back as he can, closes his lips, and swallows.
They can hear the side doors being pulled open. Then everything happens so fast that Jacob can hardly register it. A number of men in civilian clothes jump out of the van, wide-chested, ski masks over their heads, small, effective automatic weapons in their hands. Everything happens so fast, everything is violence, the threat of violence, and Jacob feels like he might vomit.
‘Lie down!’ the men scream in Swedish. ‘Lie down!’
Weapons raised and aimed at them, low centre of gravity and short, quick steps towards them.
‘Do as they say,’ Yassim says next to him, as he falls down to his knees with his hands up.
Jacob follows his example, but they’re already there and someone pushes so hard on his back that he falls forward. He feels the asphalt against his face, feels it scraping his cheek, feels blood in his mouth.
‘Who are you?’ Jacob screams. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I said lie down,’ someone says in a remarkably deep voice behind him.
It feels like they should be screaming more loudly, like they’re holding back. But now Jacob’s hands are pulled behind his head and something hard and cold is wrapped around them. He can hear George nearby. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he screams. ‘I’m not fucking resisting!’
‘Keep your mouth shut,’ says one of the faceless men and pushes a foot into his back, pressing him down next to Jacob.
Voices all around him, still deep, strangely low. ‘It looks like the two plus one more,’ says a voice.
Then somebody lifts Jacob or maybe drags him by his arms up to his feet, someone shoves him, and he turns his head and sees them doing the same thing to George and Yassim, pushing them all towards the vans.
‘Who are you?’ George shouts now. ‘What the hell are you doing? What right do you have to detain me?’
‘I’m serious,’ one of the men in black says. ‘Shut your mouth now.’
When they get to the van someone opens the door. They push Yassim up the steps and then George.
Jacob has just put his foot onto the step when a shot rings out through the frozen darkness, and he stops short. The men in black do too. Then they turn in the direction the shot came from and see the whole sky illuminated by white, electric light.