But these evasive explanations didn’t help. A knot was forming in her stomach. They tried in vain to call Daniel’s mobile and they called Signe, who hadn’t heard anything from him either. Nevertheless, she would still go to Copenhagen Airport to pick him up at 10 p.m., as agreed.

During dinner on Fanø, Susanne noticed that Kjeld wasn’t drinking any red wine. She looked at him enquiringly. He leaned over towards her ear and whispered, ‘I think we’ll have to go home this evening.’

It was the final of the Eurovision Song Contest and Susanne and Kjeld and their friends watched with 150 million other viewers as a barefooted Danish girl, Emmelie de Forest, sang herself into the hearts of Europeans to win with ‘Only Teardrops’.

Kjeld had difficulty concentrating and, just after 10 p.m., Signe rang. Daniel hadn’t been on the plane. But was it the one he should have been on? There was confusion about the arrival time. The note Daniel had written was at home on the table in Hedegård. Kjeld remembered that Daniel had crossed out the flight time and written a new one, but no one could now say with certainty when he was supposed to arrive.

‘We have to go home,’ said Kjeld.

The last ferry sailed from Fanø at 11.30 p.m. They just made it.

When they got home, Kjeld immediately found Daniel’s note. He should have landed by now. Kjeld went into his office and at 1 a.m. he called Arthur’s number.

· * ·

Daniel didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard footsteps on the stairs and a man ordered him to sit up and cross his legs. A hand pushed the blindfold down around his neck and Daniel could just make out the contours of a man sitting on a stool, holding something that looked like his notebook.

The man’s movements were calm. He asked questions in broken English about Daniel’s notebook and the names and experiences written in it. As Daniel was practically blind without his glasses, the man had to hold the notebook up to his eyes, while he read the notes out loud in Danish.

Daniel told him he was a gymnast and reminded himself that he shouldn’t talk about religion but about family, which the kidnapper might be able to relate to. To illustrate that he was telling the truth, he got up from the mattress and did the splits with his hands cuffed.

‘Stop that,’ the man said. ‘If the others see that I’m sitting like this with you right now, I’ll be in trouble.’

Daniel was overflowing with questions he didn’t dare ask, frightened of provoking his kidnappers.

‘I really hope that the others believe your story as much as I do. Whatever happens, they won’t kill you,’ the man stated, before blindfolding Daniel again and disappearing from the basement.

Soon there was noise on the stairs, as if several people were coming down into the basement room. Daniel heard the tramp of boots – and the sound of a stun gun that buzzed close to him. Suddenly there was a huge blast as a shot was fired into the ceiling. His ears were ringing.

‘You, CIA!’ a voice shouted.

Daniel didn’t answer; his thoughts were whirling in his head.

‘We shoot you! We cut your head off!’

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Will this take three days … or three weeks? he wondered.

Daniel felt several pairs of hands on his body, carrying him up the stairs, and then they beat him over the head with what felt like the barrel of a rifle, before he was loaded into a van. At first he thought he was alone in the back of the car, but after they had driven a little way, he heard Ayman’s tearful voice. He was either shouting or praying to Allah.

The smell of diesel fuel entered Daniel’s nose and he tensed his muscles to keep his balance against the swinging of the vehicle. He felt defenceless with his hands cuffed behind his back.

They were going to die. He could hear that in Ayman’s prayers. He imagined drowsily how they would soon stop the car and shoot him and Ayman, a bullet in the back of the head for each of them. He became strangely peaceful at the thought. Sounds and smells and dreams disappeared instantly. All that was left was the memory of his life.

I have experienced a lot in my short life. I’m grateful for that. Maybe I’ve constantly been pushing at the boundaries. Now I’ve felt the real world. Some things have consequences and that is what is happening now. I will go to my father; maybe I ’ll meet him now. And Nan and G ü nther the cat. Signe, we found each other again. Mum and Dad, you have been the most wonderful parents … and Grandma and Grandpa …

The car stopped, pulling Daniel abruptly out of his thoughts. He was dragged from the car and thrown into a cold basement room with a tiled floor that seemed like a bathroom.

He fell asleep on the hard floor in the foetal position, with handcuffs and blindfold still in place, and woke up only when cold water was thrown over his head. Other prisoners were brought into the room, but Daniel didn’t dare to speak to them or Ayman. Perhaps they were spies and his driver’s accomplices, he thought.

During the night, his body shook with cold. During the day, what sounded like young men came and made frivolous interrogations.

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ asked one of them.

‘Yes, Signe,’ said Daniel from his position on the floor. The young men laughed triumphantly.

‘You should just know that when people like you disappear, the girls leave you. She’s probably screwing someone else already. That’s what they do in the country you come from.’

After two days the blindfold was removed and Daniel and Ayman were handcuffed together, Daniel’s left hand with Ayman’s right. The kidnappers weren’t taking any chances, pulling a set of shackles through the bars of a small basement window and putting them on their hostages’ feet.

Daniel and Ayman sat down together and cried.

· * ·

Arthur was in Ukraine and still awake when his mobile rang at 2 a.m. on Sunday, 19 May. He didn’t recognize the number on the display.

‘Hello, my name’s Kjeld Rye and I’m Daniel Rye’s father. Excuse me for calling so late.’

Kjeld explained that his son hadn’t come home from Syria on Saturday evening as planned.

‘Why do you think something has happened to Daniel?’ asked Arthur.

‘Because we haven’t had any text messages, as we agreed,’ said Kjeld.

Arthur knew there could be many reasons why Daniel hadn’t kept in touch. The telephone network was often down in Syria; the borders opened and closed without notice; Daniel could have been slightly injured and be lying in a hospital. But the matter had to be investigated, so Arthur asked Kjeld to send him all the information he had been given by Daniel.

A few hours later Arthur was contacted by Signe, who had left the airport, out of her mind with worry. She wrote:

I’ve just talked to Daniel’s fixer. Daniel has been arrested by the Jabhat al-Nusra faction just outside Azaz while taking photographs. He has been in their custody since 10 o’clock Friday morning. His fixer says they are negotiating and that Daniel will most probably be out again in a few days. He says that they aren’t violent, but very angry. Daniel’s parents can’t speak English, so right now I’m the one who has contact with the fixer. You are welcome to call me when you read this. And maybe call his parents, so they can be reassured.

First of all Arthur had to try to map out Daniel’s route into Syria and make contact with the people he had been with or spoken to on the trip. Signe’s exchange with the fixer Ahmed was a good start, although Arthur always approached sources critically.

Arthur had learned from the James Foley case how important it is to control information, so there were not more rumours than facts in circulation. If too many people became aware of Daniel’s situation, it would make collecting intelligence on him more difficult. It couldn’t be ruled out, either, that some of the people with whom Daniel had had contact were behind the kidnapping. So there was an important question buzzing in Arthur’s head: who was Ahmed?