both: cover identities

Sure, they were scared of him, too, but everyone who knew Daddy was scared of him. Unless they were even crazier than Adam and Eve, and they knew they were totally, wonderfully batshit.

They could fake sane, though. Like now. They drove past the building in a late-model Volkswagen Golf, which was the most popular model in Sweden. More so than the locally manufactured Volvo. The Golf was white, because that was also the most common. It was a standard model, without too many obvious luxuries. A working person’s car. A commuter car of the kind that had every reason to be abroad on the boulevard. The mundanity of it made it virtually invisible despite passing the ECDC building seven times over the last five hours.

Adam drove because he liked to drive. Eve took pictures because she was better with a camera. Neither had guns or knives anywhere on their persons or in the car. There were groceries in the backseat. There was a car seat for a toddler and some well-chewed dog toys on the backseat floor. The junk in the boot was deliberately ordinary—a can of oil, the packaging from replacement wiper blades, a jack, a donut spare, bungee cords, a mangled paperback book—a stained cookbook by Camilla Läckberg.

The ID they each carried was bulletproof. Adam was Ralph Asplundh, a freelance website designer for a manufacturing business; Eve was Léonie, a photographer for commercial real estate. Even deep Net searches would find nothing amiss.

-Rage pg. 94-95, Kindle Edition.