Jarlsson sat cross-legged on the floor of the abandoned building, his surroundings lit by an LED lantern at his side. Items were scattered in a rough semicircle around him, including several paper-thin acrylic tablet computers, a pocket-sized atomic-decay clock, and more than a dozen books, some of them cracked and yellowed with age. It was the final object, though, which dominated the scene. Three metres away, lurking in the shadows, the sleek rifle was locked atop a gyroscopically balanced ...
