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money could be taken from aid funds. Involving other ministries and gathering opinions so that all expert resources were used and everyone was in agreement was the Swedish model—in the Government Offices it was called “joint preparation.” But there was nothing more trying than preparations that ran amok like this, or ran aground in a storm of e-mails.
    A group of civil servants in dark suits thronged past in the corridor. She recognized Johan Eriksson’s familiar laugh and smiled at a half-caught remark about not all Danes having horses in their gardens. A woman paused and loitered in the doorway.
    “Hi, Carina.” Her penetrating voice filled the room. Deputy department head, Marina Steinhofer, was a burly woman with her hair tied up in a knot like a strict, old-fashioned schoolteacher. “We’re having a department meeting now.” Steinhofer cast a disapproving glance around the room. “You’re coming?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Carina had completely forgotten about the meeting. Really, she needed every last minute to finish responding to the questions from Finance, but, whatever, she would have to work half the evening anyway. She dug up her calendar and the small black oilcloth notebook she used to take notes, and followed Steinhofer out into the corridor.
    Those who participate in meetings at the Ministry must know their place. Anyone who sits in the wrong place is without exception admonished with a smile and a wave of the hand, revealing by way of their mistake that they do not belong and should not be present.
    In the outer ring, on the chairs lined up against the walls, sat the assistants, interns, temps, and others who didn’t belong to the core group. Around the table, in the inner circle, sat the diplomats, according to rank. The department head always sat at the end withthe deputy department head beside him and the rest of the civil servants in descending order of rank to the other end of the table. An outsider would probably marvel at the fact that everyone managed to be seated like this, but it was something you learned to do quickly and soon it seemed natural. It was barely a rule—more a frame of mind.
    The Security Policy Department was the largest department in the MFA. They were responsible for policies concerning war and peace, security, terrorism, and disasters.
    Conversations ended abruptly when the department head, a tall man with a serious face, entered the room. As if a signal had been emitted, all faces turned in unison toward the end of the table where he sat down. Carina took her usual seat close to the middle of the table.
    The room was silent. Only the sound of papers could be heard, as the department head leafed through a few documents before looking up and, in a muted voice, saying, “Well.”
    The meeting had begun.
    It started with a welcome for a new colleague, the new unit head who had joined the department. Anders Wahlund got up. So that was what her new boss looked like, she thought. He was about the same age as Carina. A sandy-haired, pale man in a pinstriped suit that was a little too stylish. The newcomer looked around with a broad smile and said a few words about how happy he was to return home to the Ministry and especially to the Security Policy Department. Everyone knew that he was one of the rising stars in the MFA. He was young, and had already distinguished himself in Kiev, Moscow, and Damascus. He seemed lively and perhaps a little aggressive. The dim room and rows of motionless faces looking back at him seemed only to give him more energy, as he feasted on their gazes.
    “Once again, a warm welcome to Anders,” said the department head.
    Everyone quietly noted the familiar way his first name was used. Her new boss sat down and, at that moment, their eyes met and he seemed to understand who she was. He nodded at her with a smile.
    “Let’s continue. G1, if you please.”
    The unit head for G1 took the floor. He was a lieutenant colonel and filled the room with the