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Anders sees that one pocket of his coat has caught on a loose strut. He quickly pulls it free, holds his breath and pushes himself out again. He is filled with a rising sense of panic. He scrapes his stomach and knee, but grabs the edge of the bed with one hand and pulls himself out.

Panting, he turns round and gets unsteadily to his feet with the knife in his hand.

Jurek is lying on his side, one eye half-open in sleep, staring blindly.

Anders hurries over to the door and meets the Senior Consultant’s anxious gaze through the reinforced glass and tries to smile, but stress cuts through his voice as he says:

‘Open the door.’

Roland Brolin opens the hatch instead.

‘Pass the knife out first.’

Anders gives him a quizzical look, then hands the knife over.

‘You found something else as well,’ Roland Brolin says.

‘No,’ Anders replies, glancing at Jurek.

‘A letter.’

‘There wasn’t anything else.’

Jurek is starting to writhe on the floor, and is gasping weakly.

‘Check his pockets,’ the Senior Consultant says with a stressed smile.