I know that. Who else?

No one. She has no idea what he is after and how she should respond. Should she pretend to be confident? Friendly? Pathetic?

Zigic is already irritated. You will tell me! Who are they? And what do they want! Or else, no deal.

Ive no idea what youre talking about. I work for the DCIG and n.o.body else.

He stares as if wanting to see straight through her. Her words only seem to make everything worse. What? Malene, do you want me to believe you sent that e-mail all on your own?

I havent sent any e-mail.

Iben cannot understand why she didnt instantly recognize Mirko Zigic. He looks exactly like the man in the old family photos unearthed by Interpol. Through a mutual friend, Iben had got hold of the photos from an information officer in the DCIGs British counterpart. The pictures were accompanied by a video and doc.u.ments about his parents and younger siblings. His family had also made statements, swearing that Mirko couldnt have been the executioner and torturer of the Serbian camps. He was kindness itself, they insisted. They must have gotten him mixed up with someone else. It was impossible that he could have built up his own section in the Serb Mafia.

The video was a grainy black-and-white copy of CCTV footage from a Munich burger bar. As far as Interpol was concerned, it was the last time Zigic had been spotted. Poor-quality images showed him, a tall man with long blond hair, having an argument with one of the counter staff about his change, or something like that. Then Zigic jumps over the counter. He grabs the other mans head, bends his neck back, and pushes the handle of a white plastic fork up one of his nostrils. By driving the fork home, Zigic caused so much brain damage that the man died almost instantly.

The camera records Zigic jumping back and calmly leaving the bar before anyone understood what had happened. Since then, no one has seen him.

Iben picks up a strong smell of male genitals. She cant be sure if its coming from him or whether her mind is still malfunctioning.

He smiles when he notices her looking around at the men he has posted. Why make such a fuss about an ordinary Danish office worker?

He answers without being asked. I take no chances, Malene. Youve been a very smart girl.

A pause, and he goes on. Id like to handle this peacefully. We will do a deal with you and your bosses. But if you and your people wont play along, Ill defend myself with force. And I can promise you wont like that at all.

Okay. Lets talk.

Thats better. Youre being sensible. Now tell me who you work for.

A bus halts. Zigic edges forward, just enough to ease himself between Iben and the bus. She has no doubt what would happen if she tried to board it with the other pa.s.sengers.

She watches as the lovers in their long coats, the teenage girl, and a few others disappear into the warm yellow light of the bus. The doors close with a loud sucking noise and the bus pulls away, leaving Iben and Zigic standing in the stench of diesel fumes.

I work alone.

He laughs out loud. Thats good. You wont tell me who youre acting for. I think I like you. But you must know Im not stupid. I know what youre saying isnt true. If it were true, I would kill you right here. And you know that too, Malene; you have guts.

As if she has pa.s.sed some kind of test, he grins at her. She tries to smile back.

Yes. I suppose so.

She observes how the skin on his face is oddly lifeless. It is exactly as Ljiljana Peric described it: carved in wax. In a horrible way it seems somehow to fit the way he smells. She looks down the dark street. No one is around now except his men.

I appreciate it that none of my men has been charged. Thats good and I understand. You want to do a deal.

Iben doesnt have a clue what he is talking about. Obviously, if she has any chance of getting out of this, she must remain calm and tough. She can do it. She is able to stand still, without trembling; she is able to look him in the eye. Im pleased you think so.

But you know what we want from you.

Well, no it could be quite a few different things.

He winks. Come on then. Lets go to your apartment and start your computer. And well see whats in it.

He signals to his men, turns, and starts to usher Iben in the direction of Malenes apartment.

All I need is to get my list of addresses back, along with my diary and all the backup copies. Please. Then youll be free to go.

As they walk, everything Iben has learned runs through her mind. He apparently believes that Malene got hold of a computer disk that contained not only his address book but also information that would indict everyone whose name appears in it. Without their support, Zigic will no longer be able to escape the clutches of the War Crimes Tribunal. He will wait for the file as long as he believes that she has it. But as soon as he realizes the truth, he will kill her. Shes well aware that he has raped and mutilated hundreds of victims until they told him everything they knew.

Its only a hundred feet from the bus stop to the entrance of Malenes building. The man in the denim outfit is posted outside to keep guard.

Iben has her keys ready, but the man in the pilots jacket wants to show off to his boss. He has already slipped the lock and opened the door to Malenes apartment by the time Iben and Zigic reach the landing.

What if Malene is in there? Perhaps she didnt want to let Iben in earlier. Iben would like to call out a warning to give Malene a chance to run down the back stairs, but theres no way. Besides, if shes at home, they will kill Iben at once and spare Malene.

Iben holds her breath, waiting for Malenes voice. What if she shouts out, Iben! You cant just let yourself in! You shouldve handed the keys back ages ago! Zigic would demand to see their IDs, and the next moment hed get rid of Iben. He wouldnt use a gun, thats for sure. Something quiet: a plastic fork, a piece of string, his bare hands.

Pilot Jacket goes in first. Zigic gives Iben a push and follows.

The men dont inspect the apartment with their pistols drawn, the way they always do in American films. Instead they wander from room to room, completely at ease but examining everything thoroughly, while keeping an expert eye out for a possible attack. Their movements are silent but coordinated, and within a minute or two their inspection is complete. They have checked all cupboards, corners, and recesses, switched on the necessary lights, and drawn the curtains. Its as if they had practiced house searches from early childhood, Iben thinks, and now they do them as easily as telling the time or tying their shoelaces.

Luckily the apartment is empty, but Malene might just have popped down to the kiosk or the corner shop. Perhaps sh.e.l.l show up in a few minutes?

Malenes bulletin board hangs on the wall in the hallway. Iben walks on the other side of Zigic and talks to him so h.e.l.l look away from it toward her. Four photos of Iben used to be pinned on the board, but when she discreetly glances over Zigics shoulder, the pictures of her arent there anymore. Instead there are photos of Malene with Rasmus, which she had originally removed when Rasmus left her.

In the living room Zigic turns to her. First, prove to me that you have the disk. Then well talk about what you want.

What makes you think its here? Im not that stupid. Ive kept copies elsewhere. I need to have the money first. And then you get your disk.

I understand that. How much do you want?

Ive been told to say one million euros.

Thats not a problem.

Iben would dearly like to say, Good, lets go get the cash now. Better not.

Zigic is smiling in a way that in another man might be charming, almost fresh.

Come on now, Malene! Show me. I know you have it here.

Thats not true.

Of course you have a copy on this computer.

Iben doesnt answer. She tries to look confident.

Zigic is starting to lose patience. Please turn on your computer.

The lets do a deal game is over. But then, the whole suggestion of a deal was never realistic anyone who has seen the file must die, and she knows it.

The computer boots up. Pilot Jacket tells Iben to type in the pa.s.sword.

Iben knows that Malenes pa.s.sword used to be lofa, for lots of future ahead, but she might have changed it.

Neither of the men says anything. She has to try something.

She keys in the letters. This has to work. She has only one chance.

Windows opens. Iben suppresses a sigh of relief. Pilot Jacket shoves her out of the way, clicks on Find, and enters Zigic.

While theyre waiting for the computer, Zigic steers Iben over to the sofa and puts his hand on her shoulder.

Why dont you sit down? Stay here on the sofa. Read a magazine or something. Meanwhile, well have a look around the apartment.

For some reason, something collapses inside her. She cant hold back her tears any longer and starts to cry without making a sound.

He stands there. What does he want? He said something about reading a magazine. There is a small pile of Eurowoman on the coffee table. She picks up a copy and opens it up, holding it in front of her face. Finally he moves away.

Hes over by Malenes bookshelf now. She hears him take out a few books, leaf through them, and toss them to the floor. Iben peers at him from behind the magazine. He raises his arm and his command is like a blow: Read!

Iben turns her eyes to the pages in front of her, but the text is blurring. Is there some truth in what he has told her? Why else would he risk coming to Denmark?

Its Malenes fault if I die now, Iben thinks. Its Malene whos been in touch with Zigic, not Camilla. And, despite what the others think, Im not the one whos been paranoid. In fact, Im the only one who has faced up to reality.

Theres something else: this means that it wasnt me sending those e-mails after all. I did remember writing them, at least I thought I did because it all seemed so real, so vivid and convincing, but that was just a fantasy. Now its all gone. But then, was it Malene who sent them? Ever since I came back from Kenya shes been full of resentment toward me. Why shouldnt it have been her?

Zigic has finished going through the contents of the shelf. He has found a box of homemade CDs, which he puts down next to Pilot Jacket. If Iben heard correctly, Zigic calls Pilot Jacket Nenad. She has the impression that Nenad is uneasy, presumably because he cannot find the file.

Zigic disappears into the bedroom and starts rummaging. Shes alone with Nenad, whose back is turned. Why arent they taking any precautions to stop her from trying to escape? They havent even searched her; they dont know that she has a knife hidden away. Maybe they dont give a d.a.m.n because they are convinced of their own power?

Her common sense is fading. She desperately wants to believe that her executioners are going to let her live that after all a deal will really be possible. But if her work at the DCIG has taught her anything, it is that genocide perpetrators always give their victims a glimmer of hope that theyll survive if they cooperate and dont provoke anger. This illusion allows the perpetrators to peacefully take the victims weapons and slowly oppress them until they are incapable of resistance. In the end, their execution is as easy and inevitable as swatting a fly.

Iben urges herself to accept the truth of her situation: there is no hope. After all, the inmates in the Warsaw ghetto and the Sobibor camp revolted only when they faced up to the fact that they had nothing to lose.

Nenad still sits facing in the other direction.

She gets up, slowly and soundlessly. Then she takes a step past the coffee table.

Nenads voice is loud. No!

Zigic suddenly appears at the door. Iben practically falls down onto the sofa and quickly raises the magazine to her face. Blindly, she waits for what will happen next, but when she peeps out from behind the pages, Zigic has returned to the bedroom. She stares at an article about handbags. How did they know? Did Nenad see her image reflected in something shiny on Malenes desk? Was Zigic merely pa.s.sing by?

A reel is playing in her head showing the landscape of Bosnia, the camps and buildings, the corpses excavated from ma.s.s graves piles of corpses with cracked skulls and cut-off fingers; close-ups of the better-preserved bodies; the black marks of the ties that held straining torture victims to their chairs.

She has spent two years trying to understand men like the ones now in Malenes apartment. Is the smell of evil around them different from the smell of ordinary people? All she can get a whiff of is a mixture of aftershave and deodorant expensive aftershave and deodorant. Zigic has enough money.

Zigic returns to the living room and walks around testing Malenes chairs, lifting them and shaking them. He slams several of the chairs against the floor, selects one, places it in the middle of the floor, and then turns to Iben. Do you have any string?

There might be some in the fourth drawer down next to the kitchen sink. Iben has no intention of telling him that theres some in Malenes desk.

When he goes to fetch it, sh.e.l.l be alone with Nenad for a few seconds, her last chance before they tie her down and start torturing her. She has to run for the front door. Losing them in the hallway and the stairwell is going to be nearly impossible, but she forces herself to remember Warsaw. And Sobibor.

Her whole body tenses. She hides her face behind the magazine. They mustnt notice. Now she leans forward. Her heels against the floor.

Only Zigic does not go to the kitchen. Nenad goes instead. Ill fix some coffee as well.

Zigic and Iben listen to Nenad opening and closing drawers in the kitchen.

Theres nothing here!

Zigic suddenly remembers seeing a ball of string. He shuffles through the desk contents scattered on the floor and finds it under the radiator. He walks to the chair and turns to Iben.

Malene, come over here. Weve got to leave you alone for a moment. We wont be long. But Im afraid I will have to tie you to a chair.

It doesnt matter whether she can see through his lie or not, and he knows it. What can she do except hope that her common sense, all her instincts, are mistaken?

While Zigic ties her arms behind her back, Nenad pops his head around the kitchen door. The scene doesnt bother him at all it must be routine. Hey, wheres your coffee?

Iben finds it hard to speak; her vocal cords seem coated with thick glue. In the jar by the windowsill.

Nenad seems to have another idea. He looks pleased with himself and c.o.c.ks an eyebrow. You have any cakes or cookies?

No.

Zigic tightens the string. It cuts into her wrists and hurts badly nothing compared to the pain to come. Soon h.e.l.l discover her knife.

You know, there are some cookies. Only three left. Hes probably eating them all right now.

Zigic seems to find that funny. He yanks hard at the string to make sure she cant move and wanders off to the kitchen.

Iben, its now or never. Now!

She kicks her right leg up under the chair as far as it can go, reaches for the knife, and grabs it. Its something she has practiced many times. She nicks herself as she jabs the tip of the knife under the string, but suddenly her arms are free and she can stand up.

Soundlessly she slips into the hallway. Shes able to reach the door without being discovered.

Denim Suit, however, is guarding the door downstairs. The moment she turns the deadbolt to the apartment theyll hear it in the kitchen. A couple of deep breaths. Someone in the kitchen throws something; she hears him run.

She turns the lock and almost flies down Malenes stairwell, her feet barely touching the steps. Theyre only a few yards behind her. As she throws herself around a turn in the staircase, she hits the handrail and almost tumbles into an endless fall. She grabs the handrail with her bloodied hands to stop her body from crashing down the steps. The knife clatters to the ground. The near fall only speeds her descent while she manages to pick up the knife.

The men behind her call out in Serbian to their guard below.

He shouts back: Okay!

Shes already on the second-floor landing when he comes into view, walking slowly up toward her. Hes a big man.