by Kepler, Lars
Every time a vehicle passes he pulls back slightly to stop himself being lit up by the headlamps.
Black dust swirls in the backdraught from each car.
With his pistol pointed at the floor, Joona hurries forward the moment a motorbike has passed him.
He has to know if the person who’s stopped behind his car is Jurek.
Very slowly, he moves towards the light, and sees the filthy emergency telephone on the wall, the striped shadows across the rough concrete.
It’s still impossible to see the other vehicle clearly.
He moves cautiously to one side to get a better angle, and can now see part of the back of the van.
There’s no doubt that it’s the same white van he saw parked in Saga’s street.
The cloud of exhaust fumes swirls about each time a vehicle passes.
Joona moves as far as he can, and sees that the driver is sitting at the wheel, but it’s impossible to make out a face because of reflections in the glass.
A truck passes by, heading towards the city centre. Its weight makes the ground shake, and the headlamps light up the van long enough for Joona to see a large man with sloping shoulders.
An air-freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror is obscuring most of his face.
But Joona is certain that it isn’t Jurek Walter. Maybe he’s just had his first glimpse of Jurek’s new recruit.
It’s impossible to know.
Joona lowers his pistol.
If it had been, he could have shot him the next time a large vehicle drove past, but because he can’t be certain that the man in the van is Jurek’s accomplice he can’t do that – as long as the man remains passive.
The van shakes slightly as the man inside moves.
Joona stands motionless with his pistol aimed at the ground. He can hear rats rustling amongst the plastic bags behind him.
The van rocks again.
A large, noisy bus is approaching.
Joona moves back slightly.
The glare of the headlamps fills the tunnel, and the light hits the cab of the van from the side.
The large man is no longer sitting behind the wheel.
He’s gone.
As the bus passes the ground trembles.
The air fills with dust and rubbish.
The only sound is the distant rumble of the large fans in the roof.
Joona crouches down and tries to see under the van, but it’s too dark, he can’t tell if his pursuer is hiding there or not.
He waits for the next vehicle and aims his pistol towards the gloom between the front and rear wheels.
Joona can see the lights from another vehicle approaching in the distance, and as it approaches the beam bounces across the carriageway until it reaches the van.
For a moment the muddy chassis, driveshaft, and tyres are lit up.
There’s no one there.
Joona lowers his pistol again and is just getting to his feet when the van starts to reverse, then it stops before turning left and disappearing into the tunnel leading to the city centre.
Joona listens as the sound of the engine fades away.
He waits several minutes, then approaches his own car at a crouch with his pistol aimed in front of him, checks beneath the car, looks around and then gets back in the driver’s seat.
He reverses, then drives to the central station, pulls up in front of the main entrance and stops in a no-parking zone.
He walks round the car, pulls out his mobile and sees that Valeria has called. He removes the SIM card and destroys it, then opens the boot of the car.
There are two black shoulder-bags in the space where the spare wheel should be, one large, one small. He takes them both out, then gets back in the driver’s seat. One of the bags contains a short knife designed for close combat. He fastens it to his lower left arm with tape, puts the pistol in the glove compartment, locks the car and walks away.
The car will soon be removed by the Transport Police and stored in a compound outside the city until he collects it.
Joona walks in through the main entrance and glances up at the departure board. He moves through the slow-moving crowd with his head lowered.
He walks straight to the plate-glass window of the bookshop and stares intently at the reflections of the people moving behind him.
No one seems to be following him.
He walks over to the counter and buys a ticket to Copenhagen, paying for it with cash.
The train leaves in eleven minutes, and is already waiting at Platform 12.
He walks over to the platform, past the information boards and ticket machines. A cold wind is blowing along the tracks. Crows are circling the dark, canopied roofs. There’s a beggar sleeping beside one of the bins, wrapped in a padded green quilt. Joona drops his mobile phone in her cup, then climbs onto the train.
24
Joona has an aisle seat and is reading Keith Richards’ autobiography. From time to time he looks up to observe his fellow passengers. The woman on the seat next to him has her face turned towards the window and is talking on her phone in a monotone. On the other side of the aisle is an older man with dirt-marks on the trousers of his pale brown suit. He’s leafing through the free magazine from the pocket on the back of the seat in front, before leaning his head against the head-rest and closing his eyes.
The train crosses the long viaduct and stops at Södertälje Syd station. A large man sits down in one of the seats a few rows behind Joona.
A heavy smell of aftershave drifts along the carriage.
The conductor passes through, asking for new passengers, and clings onto the parcel shelf when the train jolts before he moves on to the next carriage.
The landscape is frosty and grey.
The large man must have joined the train in Stockholm seeing as the conductor didn’t want to check his ticket, but waited until they had passed Södertälje before taking his seat.
The thin thread of a migraine flares behind one of Joona’s eyes. His vision loses its clarity and he has to shut his eyes for a while before he can go on reading.
Keith Richards is describing with great enthusiasm a recipe involving sausages.
After a while Joona stands up and glances back down the carriage.
He can’t see the tall passenger’s face, he’s looking out of the window and is wearing a black woollen hat.
Joona takes the smaller bag with him but leaves his jacket hanging on a hook by his seat and the larger bag up on the rack.
He walks to the buffet car and buys a cheese sandwich and a mug of coffee. When he turns back he sees someone watching him from the noisy space between the carriages. He can’t tell who it is through the glass door, but as soon as he starts to move in that direction the figure disappears.
Joona returns to his carriage and notes that the tall man is sitting in his seat as if he hasn’t moved.
They pass a set of points, and the rumble from the wheels travels down the train.
Joona sits back down in his seat and carries on reading.
The train is approaching Norrköping.
There are many hours to go before they reach Copenhagen.
The landscape flattens out.
The woman next to him is looking through a report from the Central Bank on her laptop.
Putting his book down on the seat, and leaving the coffee-cup and half-eaten sandwich on the table, Joona takes the small bag and goes and stands outside the toilet, waiting for it to become free.
The train slows down and shudders as it changes track and approaches the platform. Just as the train pulls to a halt at the station, Joona moves into the next carriage.
A group of passengers is lined up in the aisle, waiting with their bags and pushchairs to get off. The doors open with a wheeze and Joona leaves the train under cover of the group. He stops behind a large vending machine on the platform, kneeling down so he won’t be seen, pulls out the dagger and conceals it against his body, then waits.
The larger o
f his two bags is still on the rack above his seat, his jacket is hanging from the hook, and his coffee-cup is on the table.
The air is full of the smell of the train’s brakes. There are cigarette butts and portions of chewing tobacco on the ground.
The conductor blows his whistle and the doors close with a hiss. Slowly the train sets off from the platform as the electric cables hum.
Joona tucks the dagger away in his bag, then gets to his feet and runs towards the station building. A bus is pulling away as he turns the corner. There are two cars waiting at the taxi-rank, and Joona opens the door of the first one, gets in and explains quickly to the driver that he needs to get to Skavsta Airport in a hurry.
As the taxi pulls away from the station Joona watches as the train accelerates.
The taxi slows down to let an old woman with a rollator use a pedestrian crossing. Some magpies are picking through the rubbish in front of a hotdog kiosk.
The taxi is cruising along Norra Promenaden when the train stops in the distance, close to the imposing bulk of the police station.
Someone’s pulled the emergency brake.
The taxi passes some large buildings, blocking Joona’s view of the train. The driver tries to engage him in conversation about taking a trip to the sun, but Joona keeps his replies short as he looks behind them.
Just before they head down into the tunnel under the goods yard Joona catches sight of the train again. A man is running along the track towards the station.
Thirty-six minutes later the taxi stops outside the grey terminal building at Skavsta Airport. Tossing his bag over his shoulder, Joona goes in through the main entrance, passes beneath the plane hanging from the roof and makes his way to the customer service desk. He takes a numbered ticket and waits with his back to the wall, his hand clasping the dagger inside the bag.
People come and go through the doors. The pale sky glints in the glass every time the doors swing open.
A tired-looking man is trying to check in a full set of golf equipment for a flight to the Canary Islands, and a very old woman needs help phoning her sister.
When it’s Joona’s turn he walks up to the woman at the desk. She stares into his eyes as he asks for a ticket to Béziers in the South of France.
‘France? You don’t fancy staying in Nyköping instead?’ she says with a smile, then blushes.
‘In another life,’ he replies.
‘You know where I am.’
After getting his boarding card he goes into the bathroom, carefully wipes all traces of his fingerprints from the knife, wraps it in toilet paper and drops it in the bin.
Only once the last call for boarding has been announced does he pass through security, making sure he’s the last passenger on board. The door swings shut behind him, the plane starts to taxi and the purser steps into the aisle to begin the safety demonstration.
Joona turns to look through the window. He feels the plane’s engines start to roar, then the whirr as the flaps extend. He’s sent detailed instructions to Nathan Pollock. The first thing Nathan needs to do is make sure Valeria gets police protection, at the very highest level.
When Joona lands in France he’ll change his identity. He has a different passport in his bag, a new driving licence, cash in various currencies, everything he needs.
If Jurek figures out that Joona has gone to France, he’ll assume that Joona’s going to meet Lumi in Marseille, but Joona will be driving his rental car in the opposite direction, to pick up a bag in Bouloc, north of Toulouse.
To the right of the Rue Jean Jourès, before you enter the town, is a small farm on the edge of a field.
Joona has buried an aluminium case there, next to the slurry pit.
It contains two pistols, ammunition, explosives and detonators.
Once he’s collected the case he’ll make his way to Geneva on minor roads to meet up with Lumi.
25
Saga’s knees are resting on the matt-black petrol tank, and she can feel the vibrations from the engine against the insides of her thighs. She’s heading along the motorway in sixth gear, parallel to the railway line, then leans gently to the left and takes the exit for Sollentuna, eases up on the throttle, changes down through the gears and turns so sharply that one of the silencers scrapes the tarmac.
She hasn’t quite got used to how little lean this motorbike tolerates.
When her old Triumph reached the end of its life, her dad let her borrow his Indian Chief Dark Horse, seeing as he only uses it in perfect summer weather.
Her dad’s sentimental about the brand, and the fact that it was a guy from Småland who founded Indian and built the first motorbike. When Lars-Erik was young he lived in San Francisco for a while, and rode a clapped out 1950 Indian.
Now that he’s middle-aged and can afford it, he’s indulged himself by buying a new one, but he’s grown too accustomed to creature comforts to use it.
She brakes on the steep hill leading to Nathan Pollock’s driveway and pulls up behind his SUV.
They’re due to have a meeting with their respective bosses at the headquarters of the Security Police in Solna, but wanted to look through the material Joona has had couriered to Nathan before that.
The black villa is situated on a slope, and looks out across the dark, choppy waters of Edsviken.
Saga hangs her helmet on the handlebars and walks round Nathan’s car.
Dead plants are rustling on a flaking trellis surrounding a bench.
Saga carries on towards the house and sees a bag of groceries on the path some ten metres from the veranda. Bread, a bag of frozen peas and three packs of free-range bacon have spilled out onto the yellow grass.
She stops and listens. She can hear thudding sounds from inside the house. It sounds like a door being slammed five times, then the noise suddenly stops.
Saga sets off towards the veranda but comes to an abrupt halt when she hears a woman’s voice shouting inside the house.
Saga crouches down and pulls her Glock from its holster, feeds a bullet into the chamber, then walks around the house with the barrel aimed at the ground.
She can see into the living room through the first window. A high-backed chair is lying on the floor.
Saga squeezes the trigger until it reaches the first notch, and walks past an apple tree to get a view through the second window. In the gap between the curtains she can see Nathan’s wife. She’s standing in the door to the living room wiping tears from her eyes.
Slowly Saga moves sideways, and sees Nathan enter the room and empty a drawer of colourful underwear on the floor.
His wife yells something at him, but he doesn’t answer, just goes out again with the empty drawer.
They’re obviously in the middle of a big row.
Saga puts her pistol back in the holster and walks round to the front of the house, and is about to get back on the motorbike and ride home when the front door opens and Veronica comes out with a packet of cigarettes in her hand, and catches sight of her.
‘Hello,’ she says quickly, and lights a cigarette.
‘Is this a bad time?’
‘Quite the contrary,’ Veronica says, without looking at Saga.
Nathan is standing in the porch behind her.
‘She wants a divorce,’ he says.
‘Shall I come back later?’
‘No, it’s no big deal, she’ll probably change her mind.’
‘I won’t,’ Veronica says bitterly, and takes a deep drag on the cigarette.
‘Maybe not, I’m sure you’re right, why would you stay with me?’ he says, holding the door open for Saga.
Veronica lowers her cigarette and looks at Saga with an exhausted expression.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ she says. ‘I’ll let Nathan explain the pile of underwear in—’
‘Nicky, I just think—’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she interrupts sharply. ‘I hate it, I’ve always hated it, I only pretended to think it was cute back at the start.’
/> ‘OK,’ he smiles, and goes into the hall with Saga. He helps her out of the leather jacket she’s wearing over her hooded top.
‘You don’t need a reason to get a divorce in Sweden, but—’
‘I’ve got a thousand reasons!’ Veronica calls from outside.
‘But if one person objects, then there’s a delay, the court will give the couple six months’ thinking time,’ he says.
Saga isn’t sure how many times he’s been married, but she remembers his previous wife, a blonde woman the same age as him, and before her he was married to a forensics expert called Kristina.
They carry on through the glazed veranda, with its cane furniture and potted ivy plants. The leaded windows rattle when the front door opens and shuts again.
‘Veronica isn’t keen on the six months’ thinking time, and I can understand that. Things are very fraught right now,’ he says in a carefree voice.
‘Are you upset about the divorce?’
‘You know,’ he says, ‘I’m fairly used to getting divorced by now.’
‘Well I’m not, and I’m upset,’ Veronica says behind them.
‘You weren’t supposed to hear that,’ Nathan says over his shoulder.
‘Of course I was,’ she says wearily.
‘All I’m saying is, you should think about it – that’s why the law’s been designed this way,’ he replies with irritating calmness.
‘I’ve already thought about it, you know that perfectly well, this is just you throwing your weight about.’
‘She wants to sell the house and divide the contents before the divorce goes through,’ Nathan says to Saga.
‘What difference would that make to you?’ Veronica says, wiping the tears that have started to fall again. ‘It’s going to happen, whether you like it or not.’
‘In which case I’m sure you can wait another six months, Nicky.’
‘Am I going to have to hit you?’ she asks provocatively.
‘I’ve got a witness,’ he smiles, tossing his long, silver-grey ponytail over his shoulder.
Veronica sighs, whispers something to herself, retrieves an item of clothing from the floor and puts it on one of the cane chairs, then picks up a mug of tea from the table.
