by Thomas Enger
At the top of the page, a clock was ticking.
WILL THEY AGREE? was written underneath, on a sign bearing a picture of Iselin and Toralf – staring at each other as if engaged in a duel that was a matter of life or death. The clock continued to tick. It was one hour and fourteen minutes until the countdown would be over.
‘In a countdown,’ Blix said, looking at Kovic while struggling to hide how afraid he now felt, ‘do you end with one, or do you end with zero?’
‘Zero,’ Kovic said. ‘Zero is also a number.’
Spot on, Blix thought.
The clock always ticked right down to zero.
97
‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ Kovic said as Blix heaved himself into the driving seat.
‘Even Eckhoff,’ Blix replied, turning the ignition. ‘He’s trying to trick us, the way he’s tricked us all along.’
‘How?’
‘Dahlmann was number two,’ he explained as the engine fired up. ‘The double murderer. The chronology and the countdown fit. He was just a useful idiot Eckhoff used until his turn came. He must have been at the farm, which is why no one could track him down. Eckhoff hired him to do minor tasks here and there, such as delivering an envelope to Radio 4 and planting a phone on the floor at a press conference. And then he was killed when the time was right, once Pastor Hansteen was dead and Eckhoff had no further use for him.’
‘What else?’
‘The final show,’ Blix answered through compressed lips. ‘Worthy Winner. Eckhoff has been in the wings the entire time. He’s prepared something for number zero as well.’
‘Shouldn’t we speak to Fosse about this?’
‘To hell with Fosse,’ Blix said, thumping the steering wheel impatiently as he waited for the garage door to slide open. ‘Phone the operations centre and tell them we’re on our way to Nydalen. Ask them to send backup.’
Kovic made the call, gave a brief summary, then listened for a moment.
‘They’ve broken into number ten Drivhusveien,’ she told him. ‘Martha Elisabeth Eckhoff is dead. She’s sitting there tied to a chair. Emma’s there too.’
Blix glanced across at Kovic. She put her finger into her ear to hear better.
‘They’re on the way to hospital with her now,’ she told him.
He was relieved that Emma was safe. At the same time, she impressed him. Breaking a window with your head showed great single-mindedness.
The sound of their siren reverberated off the buildings flanking the road. Vehicles moved aside to let them pass.
‘What will we do when we get there?’ Kovic asked.
‘Find Eckhoff,’ Blix replied. ‘Stop whatever he’s planning to do.’
Blix checked the dashboard clock. The transmission had begun. He realised he should’ve been there already. A few things had got in the way, he thought grimly. He tried to put himself in Eckhoff’s mind, imagining what might be about to happen. His whole plan had been rigged up like a countdown. In the TV studios, the clock was still ticking down to zero – to the selection of a ‘worthy winner’.
When they arrived at the vast studio building, there was nothing to suggest anything untoward was about to occur. A man stood outside smoking, a woman tugged impatiently at the lead of a dog sniffing around one of the lampposts. Blix turned off the blue light and siren, and manoeuvred the car into the smoking area beside the main entrance. The man standing there looked at them inquisitively as he stubbed out his cigarette.
Blix checked his gun before holstering it to his hip, so that it was hidden beneath his jacket.
Then they marched in.
An enormous TV screen on the wall in reception was showing live images from the studio. Iselin and Toralf were seated on the sofa on stage chatting to the presenter.
One of the security guards Blix had spoken to the previous day got to his feet on the other side of the counter.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Even Eckhoff?’ Blix inquired. ‘Is he here today?’
‘I saw him a minute ago,’ the guard replied, nodding. ‘He’s probably backstage.’
‘I need a pass,’ Blix said.
Making no objection, the guard pulled out a drawer and took out a card marked Visitor.
‘Are you any closer to reaching a decision?’ Tore Berg Tollersrud asked on the TV screen, glancing at the clock. ‘In twenty-eight minutes we must have an answer.’
Blix took the pass and let himself into a corridor.
‘Stay here,’ he told Kovic who was standing behind him. ‘Wait for our backup.’
He used the pass again to open a side door leading into the studio, then fumbled his way through a dark curtain and peered inside. The stage was fifteen metres away from him. On the floor between the stage and the audience, four cameras were set up.
He scrutinised them before letting his eyes rove across the audience. He could see Merete and Jan-Egil, but saw nothing of Eckhoff.
His gaze moved on up to the roof. Under the ceiling, spotlights in various sizes and colours were rigged up. There were ladders and cable ducts, which meant someone could be up there, but the lighting made it difficult to see clearly.
Blix moved from the side door out into the corridor and found his way backstage. Several members of the production team were huddled around screens showing live images of what was taking place on the other side. The voices from the stage and the sound of the audience’s reactions were muffled and not completely in sync with the pictures on the screen.
‘You’ve been living in the house for ten weeks now,’ Tollersrud said. ‘The safe containing the prize money has been in there with you the entire time. One million kroner.’
A woman wearing a headset nodded at Blix and smiled in recognition.
‘Have you seen Even Eckhoff?’ he asked her.
The woman looked around, as if Eckhoff should really have been in the room with them. Then she shook her head and turned back to the screen.
Blix walked on into the area behind the stage.
‘The safe has a coded lock,’ he heard Tollersrud explain. ‘Have you never been tempted to try to open it?’
‘Jonas did,’ Toralf answered, referring to the contestant who’d been eliminated in the previous show.
This comment provoked a ripple of laughter in the auditorium. Blix investigated a cubicle, where he found a number of coffee pots and plates of biscuits.
Tollersrud held up an envelope.
‘Inside this are the four digits needed to unlock the safe. You can take it with you, go back into the house and open the safe. But don’t forget: only one of you gets to take the million kroner out with you.’
Music and applause filled the air as the presenter announced that there were twenty-five minutes left until time was up.
Blix proceeded out into the corridor again to check the make-up room, then followed a spiral staircase up to a large break room. Two security guards were seated there. On a large TV screen, he saw Iselin open the envelope containing the code for the safe.
‘Three-two-one-zero,’ she read out, with a chuckle.
The camera located her mother in the audience. Merete laughed and clutched Jan-Egil’s hand beside her. The picture shifted to Toralf, who was keying in the code.
Blix’s phone rang. Gard Fosse’s name appeared on the display. Blix dismissed the call and tapped in Kovic’s number as he approached the guards.
‘Have you seen Even Eckhoff?’ he asked.
One of the security guards half turned towards him and shook his head.
Kovic answered.
‘Has backup arrived yet?’ Blix demanded. ‘We need more feet on the ground.’
‘One patrol car has turned up,’ she replied. ‘The emergency squad are apparently three minutes away.’
‘Didn’t he say we had twenty-five minutes left?’ Iselin said on screen.
Blix could hear that she was confused, and there was apprehension in her voice. He pivoted around to the TV monitor. Saw the came
ra zoom in on the contents of the safe.
There was no money inside.
Instead he could see some red flashing lights: they were numbers on a clock. And it was ticking down from three minutes and twenty-one seconds.
Blix used his free hand to grab on to a nearby chair for support.
Something surged inside him.
‘Fuck,’ Blix swore into his phone. ‘Eckhoff has planted a bomb in the TV building. We’ve got three minutes before it goes off!’
98
Blix charged down the spiral staircase, along the corridor and into the studio. There was a crackling sound coming from the studio manager’s headset, but neither he nor the camera operators seemed to have understood the situation. Tollersrud was still on stage. A monitor showed a close-up of the contents of the safe. The device ticking down. 02.56 nudged towards 02.55. It was possible to see the leads protruding from four bulky, grey packages.
Some of the spectators in the front rows were scrambling out of their seats now. Blix spotted a fire alarm, rushed over to it and smashed the glass so that bells began to ring. The image on the monitor went black. Someone shouted that there was a bomb. It took only a few seconds for panic to begin to spread. A cameraman dashed to the exit, with another close on his heels. Members of the audience clambered over the rows of seats, pushing and shoving. Shouting, screaming.
Blix bounded on to the stage and darted toward the house entrance. The sliding doors had no handles, so he tried to push them aside. They would not budge. He cast around for some kind of tool.
Looking around he saw the studio was still full of people. Kovic and four uniformed officers were fighting their way through the stream of fleeing spectators. The producer, Petter Due-Eriksen, was with them.
On the screen, which had turned black, a message appeared stating that the transmission would be ‘back shortly’. Two smaller screens still showed pictures from the interior of the House. One camera seemed to be fixed on the clock. 02.39, 02.38. The other screen automatically shadowed the movements of the contestants. Iselin and Toralf were standing at the security doors, the other exit from the House. But they were also shut.
‘What’s happening?’ Due-Eriksen asked.
‘Even Eckhoff,’ Blix said with no further explanation. ‘Open the doors!’
‘They’re electronically controlled,’ Due-Eriksen told him. ‘They shouldn’t be locked, just shut.’
Due-Eriksen tried to push the doors open while one of the uniformed police officers applied all his weight to the other section of the door, but to no avail.
Blix grabbed hold of another policeman’s shoulder. ‘Battering ram!’ he roared.
The policeman passed on the message. The emergency squad responded that they were less than a minute away with all the necessary equipment.
The on-screen clock had counted down to 02.09. The seconds were ticking far too fast.
‘Is there another way in?’ asked the officer who’d tried to open the doors.
‘The security doors,’ Due-Eriksen replied, and disappeared with him.
The remaining police officers continued to work on the sliding doors. One of them had found a hammer he used to batter the hinges. The other had picked up a metal bar.
Iselin and Toralf were making their way back through the house. The cameras followed them, and a moment later they heard knocking from inside. The TV pictures showed that Toralf was using his fists.
Blix was at a loss. He was about to draw his gun and shoot at the hinges when the emergency squad arrived, dressed in dark jumpsuits and balaclavas, armed with machine pistols. Two of them carried a battering ram between them. Heavy boots clattered across the TV studio floor.
They leapt on to the stage without a word. Blix pointed at the sliding doors, and urged them to be as fast as possible. The men took up position. Two of them lifted the battering ram and let it smack against the doors. The timber splintered, the doors were dislodged, but did not give way.
Blix kept an eye on the screen showing pictures from inside. Iselin and Toralf had moved back a little. The battering ram struck again, but not with enough force. Iselin took a step back, turned around and disappeared out of view. The camera tracked Toralf as he stepped towards the sliding doors and pulled at some loose beading.
‘Where did she go?’ asked Kovic.
The camera beside them now displayed 01.24. Still time, Blix thought in panic, as the battering ram broke through. Then the back of Iselin’s head appeared, obscuring the camera angle.
‘She’s closing the door of the safe,’ Kovic said.
Blix nodded, pleased at her presence of mind. This would reduce the effect of the explosion.
‘Everybody out!’ the leader of the emergency squad ordered.
Toralf was hauled out through the shattered door. Due-Eriksen was already heading for the exit, along with the uniformed police officers.
‘What about the bomb?’ Kovic asked.
The emergency squad officer shook his head.
‘Too little time,’ he said before repeating the command to his crew: ‘Everybody out!’
Blix forced his way through to the opening.
‘Iselin!’ he yelled.
He hunkered down and squeezed through. Called out again.
‘Blix!’ Kovic shouted at him.
‘You get out!’ he roared back.
‘The security doors!’ Kovic told him, pointing at the two screens relaying images from inside the house.
Blix was unable to see what she was talking about. He turned, peered through the opening and saw on the screen that the security doors were open.
‘Eckhoff,’ Kovic gasped. ‘He went inside.’
Blix wheeled around again and drew his gun.
99
Someone had turned off the fire alarm. A weird silence enveloped Blix. He held his pistol out in front of him, in his right hand, using his left hand to support it. He tried to recall the TV images he had seen over the weeks to find his bearings in the house, then moving forwards with practised movements.
He first caught sight of them in one of the huge one-way mirrors on the wall. Eckhoff stood waiting with Iselin in front of him. He was pressing a pistol to her temple and had the other hand tight around her torso.
He had already also spotted Blix.
‘Come out!’ he commanded.
Blix filled his lungs and tried to gain control over his own breathing. He looked around the corner. Avoiding eye contact with Iselin, he focused on Eckhoff and the sight on the barrel of his own pistol.
‘Release her!’ he ordered.
Eckhoff smiled. ‘We’re still on air,’ he said, gesturing towards one of the fixed cameras streaming live on the Internet.
‘Let her go!’ Blix yelled.
Eckhoff took two steps back, hauling Iselin with him, shrinking behind her body. Blix was four metres away now. Iselin was pale. Her lips were quivering. Tears filled her eyes.
Blix had Eckhoff’s left eye in his line of sight, just above Iselin’s shoulder. His gaze was steady, as if he felt no doubt or remorse.
‘What’s it been like, watching your daughter become more and more famous in here?’ Eckhoff asked, blinking away a bead of perspiration.
Blix didn’t reply, but took a step closer to increase the size of the target.
Eckhoff motioned again towards the camera. ‘You know, Blix, you’re going to be a celebrity yourself now?’
Blix didn’t reply. His pistol barrel had begun to tremble. He had held his aim for too long. Tensed muscles and frayed nerves. The red dot was dancing around the sight. He was suddenly back in Teisen nineteen years earlier. The picture of Emma and her father clamoured for space in his thoughts. It was as if a fog had descended over his eyes, blurring what was happening in front of him.
‘It’ll soon be over,’ Eckhoff said.
Blix felt the pulse throb in his neck. He took a deep breath and held it in.
‘How long do we have left?’ Eckhoff continued, kicking the close
d safe.
The slight movement made the sight slip across to Iselin’s forehead. Blix breathed out again. Adjusted.
‘Ten seconds?’ Eckhoff suggested.
Blix curled his finger around the trigger. Focused his mind, his body, his emotions.
Eckhoff’s voice changed into a slow echo: ‘Nine seconds? Or eight?’ He smiled.
Blix held his breath again.
And fired.
The shot penetrated Eckhoff’s left eye, knocking him back in a cloud of blood. Before he hit the floor, Blix had fired two more shots into his chest.
The shower of blood splashed over Iselin, covering the left side of her face. Sobbing uncontrollably, she was about to collapse. But Blix rushed forwards, grabbed her in his arms and dragged her towards the front exit. He pushed her in front of him, out through the splintered door, then pulled her across the stage and towards the public entrance. Counting to himself.
Four, three, two.
Iselin tripped on a step beside him. Blix hauled her up, and pulled her out into the corridor.
Then came the explosion.
A resounding boom that made everything shake.
Blix flung himself over his daughter and used his arms to protect his own head. The door behind them was blown open. A cloud of dust scudded out. Objects clattered down from the walls and ceiling. Tinkling glass all around. The lights went out and an alarm began to wail.
Blix scrambled to his knees and checked Iselin in the dim light.
‘Are you OK?’
She coughed, but then nodded and clutched him tightly. Blix helped her up and supported her with his body as they moved towards the exit.
The doors were thrown open and four firemen hauled them out, shoving them further into the chaos outside.
And then Kovic was beside them, holding people off and waving to an ambulance.
Merete broke through the barrier the police were struggling to set up, and rushed towards them. Iselin let go of Blix and threw her arms around her mother’s neck.
Leaning forwards, Blix rested his hands on his knees. Took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
It was over, he thought.
