Page 7 - MILK - TRANSLATION - MICHAEL - word dokument-converted

Bjørn answers: "On the ground floor of the Food Hall, and from there they

will partly be able to be your back-up if needed, and at the same time act as my
support to my orders, in a case of an attempt to escape. Ashore they will be able

to cut them off in collaboration with common police."

"Very well."
Tom hangs up the call, and ponders on what happened to him 2 years ago

in Munich, when KRÄSEN’s people captured him. He feels slightly embarrassed

when thinking of the whole debacle. That wasn’t supposed to happen to an agent,
the least of all him. They had apparently managed to break the code to PET's

internal network, being able to track his every move. With all this information
about PET’s agent and Tom, they had an easy time kidnapping him, when he

decided to investigate to Kräsen Farm in Germany. For a short while, he sits and

looks at the internal, interactive map of the PET, while he uploads all relevant
information his service phone. A high-level map connected with a live update of

locations, showing all the agents’ positions, granting them communication

between each other.
From the restaurant opposite of him, classical music flows out through

the door, which is now left open and small crowds of people flows in and out
from the entrance. Whether it is to smoke a cigarette or just get some fresh air,

he can’t tell, many of the guests still have their drinks in their hands; they’re all

clearly drunk. The conversation is lively amongst the crowd outside, and none of
the partying people take notice of him.

In this moment he suddenly feels a sting of envy. As in a flash he

remembers his own carefree youth. It could have been him standing there,
enjoying a glass of great wine, watching the snow descent towards the ground in

a lightly, almost dancing movement. Such a night it could be, and with his first

great love Minna.
When he narrows his eyes, he can just manage to read the sign the

restaurant name on it: Francophile. Its letters is neatly twisted in an almost

archaic fashion. The drunken guests are not even noticing his parked car out in
front; who would bother to look at this anonymous middle-aged man in his up-

scale car on a Saturday night? There are too many types like him in this area.