The Cabin

by Jorn Lier Horst

  She stopped at a half-finished sentence and began to search through the papers and notes strewn across the desk. A noise from the floor below made her pause. Someone was inside the house.

  70

  It sounded like footsteps.

  Line sat up straight, in silence, listening intently until she was certain. The fifth step on the staircase creaked. It had always creaked. Someone was on their way up to where she sat.

  Her hand cast around for the phone. Grabbing it, she pushed herself up as quietly as she could from her chair.

  Whoever was on their way up would find her easily. The stairs led to a small space with a short hallway in either direction giving on to four rooms: one bathroom, her old bedroom, where Amalie lay sleeping, her brother’s old room and the room where she now stood.

  She opened the keypad lock on her phone, at the same time scanning the room for somewhere to hide or something she could use to defend herself.

  Nothing.

  Her thumb slid over the cracked phone screen. She dialled three digits: 112, the emergency number.

  She could hear it ring, but it was too late to raise the alarm. The doorway was filled with a man in black jogging trousers, a T-shirt, gloves, and a balaclava pulled down over his face.

  Line took a step back, nudging the office chair so that she was left standing with her back to the desk. She heard her emergency call being answered and let the phone drop to the seat in the hope that the operator would understand what was going on and trace the call.

  The man strode all the way into the room.

  ‘What do you want?’ Line asked. Her voice sounded weaker than she had intended.

  The man did not reply but instead crossed to the chair, picked up the phone and broke the connection before dropping it on the floor and crushing it under his heel. Then he lashed out at her with a sudden movement. ‘Lying cunt!’ he snarled. ‘Where’s your father?’

  The blow knocked her off balance and the intense pain made her dizzy. ‘Not here,’ she stammered, moving her hand to her face.

  Her lip must have split open. Blood was trickling down her chin.

  ‘What about your daughter?’ he demanded. ‘Where’s she?’

  Line could not bring herself to answer. Another smack was delivered to her face, but she managed to repress a cry of pain.

  ‘Didn’t you realize we knew?’ the man went on.

  This must be Daniel Lindberg facing her, but she had no idea what he meant.

  ‘I know who your father is,’ he practically spat out. ‘Bloody pig.’

  He took hold of her, one hand gripping her neck and squeezing tight. ‘What a fucking nerve,’ he continued. ‘Using his own daughter.’

  He ran his free hand over the desk, sweeping notes and photos on to the floor.

  Line struggled to breathe, but she still managed to keep a clear head. They had discovered who her father was and had somehow seen through the investigation. They must have known there was no money in Bernhard Clausen’s garage, but there was no way they could know that it was here.

  ‘Your two-faced games have made this personal,’ the man in the balaclava went on. ‘Your father’s going to get a personal message.’

  He shoved her down on to the office chair. ‘This is what you can write to him,’ he said, releasing his stranglehold. Slapping a sheet of paper in front of her, he indicated that she should pick up a pen. She did as she was told.

  ‘Don’t give a fuck,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Line stuttered.

  ‘That’s the message for your father: he should stop giving a fuck. Drop the case. Nothing good will come of it if he keeps going.’

  He hovered over her, his breath hot and sickly sweet.

  Line began to write. The blood on her hand smeared red streaks on the page.

  She suddenly understood why he had come. The robbers knew it was only a question of time before the past caught up with them. They were willing to go to any lengths to kill the investigation. The language they used was violence and threats.

  ‘Then you can draw a cat, since you’re so good at that,’ he added.

  Line’s hand began to shake uncontrollably. She drew a cat’s ears and a tail, and then stopped with the tip of the pen pressed on the paper, unsure whether the man in the balaclava had heard what she had.

  ‘Mummy!’ Amalie yelled again from the bedroom.

  71

  ‘Alpha, this is Bravo 3-0.’

  Audun Thule grabbed the police radio and answered the call.

  ‘Regarding the silver-grey Volkswagen Passat 1.6 TDI, we have three sightings of it. The driver is a male, but the vehicle is on hire from Hertz by Henriette Koppang of Inside Media.’

  ‘Copy,’ Thule replied, sitting up straight in his chair.

  Wisting sat with his eyes fixed on the onscreen map. The red dot had made a short stop in the street outside his own house before moving on to stop beside Line’s house. Daniel Lindberg was probably in the car with Henriette Koppang. That meant it was most likely that the driver of the Volkswagen had been Aleksander Kvamme. He must have spotted the undercover detectives and realized that this was a trap.

  ‘I think our cover’s blown,’ he said, without taking his eyes from the map.

  Thule disagreed. ‘They’ve been here to do a recce,’ he said. ‘Now it’s grown dark. They’ll be back some time tonight.’

  Wisting grabbed the phone and called Line. There was silence as he tried to connect, and then came a series of staccato signals. He swore and tried again but could not get through. Instead, he phoned headquarters.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the Chief of Police when he answered. ‘I was a bit tied up with a serious road traffic accident, but I was just about to call you. The patrol car has been past. There’s no Audi at the address you gave.’

  ‘I know,’ Wisting replied. ‘They’ve moved.’

  Swallowing, he carried on. ‘A situation has arisen,’ he said. ‘They may have got wind of our operation. As I said, I’m outside Oslo, but our suspect seems to be at my home address. My daughter and granddaughter are there, alone.’

  ‘Are they under threat?’ the Police Chief asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Wisting replied. ‘But I can’t get through to them on the phone.’

  ‘Do you want me to send a car?’ the Police Chief queried. ‘I don’t have one available right now, but I will free one up.’

  Wisting felt his pulse begin to pound in his ears. Their operation might still be viable. The robbers might still believe the cash was in the son’s garage. The red dot outside his house and Line’s might not mean anything more than a recce before they drove back to Oslo. Sending a patrol car would ruin everything.

  ‘No,’ he answered. ‘That won’t be necessary. Thanks anyway.’

  He hung up and called Espen Mortensen. ‘Jump in your car,’ he said. ‘Drive to my house. Call me when you’re almost there.’

  Mortensen asked no questions.

  ‘I think it’s urgent,’ Wisting added.

  72

  Amalie called out again. ‘Mummy!’

  Line did not answer and merely watched as the lips behind the opening in the balaclava parted and formed into a grin. ‘The money’s in the basement,’ she whispered.

  The man jerked his head as if someone had slapped him. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

  ‘The money from the robbery,’ Line explained. ‘It’s in the basement.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The man in the balaclava began to laugh. ‘Why on earth?’ he asked.

  ‘The investigation group …’ Line ventured. ‘They have their base here.’

  The laughter subsided as the man suddenly hauled Line up from the chair.

  ‘Show me!’ he ordered as he catapulted her towards the door.

  Line landed on the floor but managed to scramble to her feet, continually hoping that Amalie had not left her bedroom.

  ‘Mummy!’ she heard her daughter shout a
gain.

  ‘Wait!’ she yelled back. ‘I’m coming soon, sweetheart.’

  The man gave her a rough shove in the back, propelling her forward. Line almost lost her balance again but succeeded in making her way to the staircase.

  ‘In there,’ she said, pointing at the door to the basement.

  The man took hold of the door handle. ‘It’s locked,’ he said. ‘Where is the key?’

  ‘My dad has it,’ Line replied.

  The man took a step back and studied the door with its simple lock. The keys for the other doors in the house would almost certainly fit.

  Dragging Line by the arm across to the bathroom, he checked the inside of the door. No key. The next door was a cupboard containing winter jackets and ski trousers. No key.

  The man yanked her back to the locked door and tentatively put his shoulder to it.

  The alarm would be activated if he forced it open. That would terrify Amalie but might also chase off the intruder and alert her father.

  He lifted one foot and readied himself to deliver a hefty kick.

  ‘The alarm,’ Line said.

  The man planted his foot on the floor again. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘There’s an alarm in there,’ Line told him.

  ‘Do you know the code?’

  Line shook her head. ‘No,’ she lied.

  ‘But the money’s in there?’

  Line nodded. ‘Nine cardboard boxes.’

  The man swore, looked around and dragged her across to the hall cupboard, where he flung her to the floor and switched on the light. He cast around, tearing clothes from their hangers, and found a belt before ordering her to put her hands behind her back. The leather chafed her skin as he drew it tight.

  Two sleeping bags were stowed on the top shelf. Grabbing one of them, he pulled it over her until her head was at the foot of the bag. Her throat felt constricted. She began to cough and had to fight to hold her panic in check. The man dragged her across the floor and she felt him wrap another belt around her ankles and pull it tight.

  ‘No!’ she shouted, bringing on another fit of coughing. ‘Please!’

  She felt a kick in the stomach and heard him shut the cupboard door behind him. His footsteps disappeared into the distance and she heard the front door close. Then there was only silence.

  The air around her grew denser with every breath she took.

  She twisted on to her side and began to work on her hands behind her back. There was some give in the leather belt. She wriggled around the other way and felt something cold and sharp against her face. The zip. She applied her lips to it and tried to suck in fresh air through the metal hooks as she twisted and turned her hands to work them loose.

  Warm, clammy air wafted over her face, along with the perspiration dripping off her.

  The belt loosened as she drew her right arm up towards her and pushed in the other direction with the left. She felt the skin on the back of her hand peel off as she slid her hand through.

  Drawing up her knees, she flexed her back against the fabric of the sleeping bag and moved her hands up above her head. If she remembered right, the ring for the zip was at the foot of the sleeping bag.

  She followed the zip to the very end and realized that she was mistaken, but with her hands free it was easier to work on the belt wound around her feet.

  She sat up and felt her way to the belt through the fabric and found the buckle. Grasping the end of the belt, she tugged hard and felt it loosen.

  She wriggled out and gulped greedy mouthfuls of the fresh air that streamed towards her.

  Once she was free, she threw aside the sleeping bag and lay on her back to collect her thoughts.

  She heard a noise at the front door, followed by footsteps and voices, but she could not catch what was said.

  Line stood up, moved to the cupboard door and put her eye to the keyhole. Depending on which way she tilted her head, she could see the porch, parts of the hallway and the door to the basement.

  The man had rolled up his balaclava and she now recognized him from the photos. It was Daniel Lindberg. Close behind him she caught sight of Henriette Koppang.

  ‘Where is she?’ she asked.

  Daniel Lindberg pointed at the cupboard. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘She won’t escape.’

  Standing in front of the basement door, he raised his foot and kicked hard. There was an explosion of splinters as the door imploded, the lower hinge burst open and the door was left hanging at a crooked angle.

  The alarm began to flash.

  Daniel Lindberg stormed in, with Henriette Koppang at his heels. From where Line stood, she could see only fragments of the room before they both emerged again, each carrying a cardboard box.

  They dashed out before returning again and grabbing two more boxes. The alarm began to howl as they moved back and forth three more times to pick up all nine boxes. Line waited for a while longer before she ventured out.

  ‘Mummy!’ Amalie stood at the top of the stairs, covering her ears with her hands.

  Line raced up to her, swept her up into her arms and held her close. ‘It’s all over now,’ she reassured her.

  73

  The red dot was back in front of Wisting’s house. He got to his feet, his mouth dry and his hands clammy. Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he swallowed hard and called Mortensen. ‘Where are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Five minutes away. Maybe less. What’s going on?’

  Wisting briefed him on the situation and how worried he was for Line and Amalie’s safety. He heard a text message deliver as he spoke.

  ‘Wait!’ Mortensen broke off. ‘The alarm’s gone off.’

  Wisting took his phone from his ear to gaze at the same message.

  ‘Both sensors have been set off,’ he heard Mortensen say.

  Two new messages came in from the alarm company. Wisting opened the footage and saw there were two people in the basement. The sparse light made the picture fuzzy, but he could see a man and a woman, each carrying a cardboard box.

  ‘Christ,’ he swore aloud.

  ‘Movement!’ Thule said, pointing at the onscreen map.

  The red dot moved out of the residential area, on to Brunlaveien, and continued north.

  Wisting put the phone to his ear again. ‘What route are you taking?’ he asked.

  ‘The inland road.’

  ‘Then you’re going to meet them.’

  ‘Shall I try to stop them?’

  Wisting grabbed the chair back with his free hand. ‘No, go straight to my house,’ he answered. ‘Find Line.’ He rang off, breathing in and out with jagged breaths.

  Another message arrived from the alarm company. He opened it and saw a picture of Line with Amalie in her arms, switching off the alarm.

  The sight made his pulse beat a little more slowly. He saw how Line held Amalie’s head to her chest and used her free hand to cover her other ear. They seemed unharmed.

  Closing the image, he wondered whether he should phone her, but instead he called the number for the switchboard in Oslo.

  He gave his name and rank. ‘I’m in charge of a special operation assigned by the Director General,’ he continued, knowing that this would put a stop to any questions. ‘A critical situation has arisen. We have a man and a woman on their way from Vestfold to Oslo by car. They have just broken into an external evidence store and stolen a considerable sum of money. I need back-up to stop them and place them under arrest.’

  ‘One moment,’ the operator replied. ‘You can speak directly to the senior officer.’

  He was transferred and repeated what he had said. ‘We have an electronic tracker on the car,’ he said, glancing at the map. ‘It shows them on the E18 between Larvik and Sandefjord, driving within the speed limit, on their way north. They’ll be in your jurisdiction in ninety minutes.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On the other side of Oslo. Kolbotn.’

  ‘Are you mobile?’

  ‘Abso
lutely.’

  ‘Then I suggest you meet up with our incident commander at the Shell garage in Høvik and you can make plans for a roadblock from there.’

  Wisting made a note of the commander’s direct number. Audun Thule headed for the door and summoned the cars outside. ‘We’re calling it a day,’ he said.

  In the time it took Wisting and Thule to travel from Kolbotn to Høvik, the red dot had passed Drammen. ‘They’ll be here in twenty minutes,’ Thule reckoned.

  They parked up at the petrol station, where the incident commander had gathered a force and issued them instructions.

  Wisting had spoken to Line en route. Mortensen was with her. She had not said very much about what had happened but explained her theories surrounding Bernhard Clausen.

  Wisting scanned the traffic as it whizzed past on the motorway. It was impossible to imagine what the couple planned to do next. They had to be aware that the net was closing in on them.

  Having finished his briefing, the incident commander approached them. ‘We’ve tackled this kind of thing before,’ he said, probably to give reassurance.

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘We’ll put two unmarked cars behind them and stop a bus in the public transport lane further ahead in order to block the road. Then we’ll send the unmarked cars forward in the two other lanes. They’ll slow down and draw to a halt when they’re level with the bus, and then we’ll move in from behind.’

  It was a good, simple plan, but there was also a great deal that could go wrong.

  Almost ten minutes ticked past before the unmarked cars reported that they were located west of their position. ‘Two cars in place behind, steady speed,’ they reported.

  The red dot passed Slependen and approached Sandvika.