by Kepler, Lars
The twelfth-century church at Ed shimmers like a white jewel in the darkness, beside the slumbering fields and black lake.
The team is already there.
Their black vehicles glint like splashes of ink in the distance.
Nathan turns onto a bumpy track, drives past the wall of the church and the signs warning of military manoeuvres.
It’s just past midnight, and if Jurek follows the same pattern as previous nights they still have plenty of time to take up their positions.
Scattered lampposts light up the deserted car park.
Nathan stays in the car while Saga goes to see the team. She shakes hands with each of the six men from the National Response Unit, their commanding officer, and the forensics officers from the Security Police. Then she goes over to the three snipers who are standing slightly apart from the others.
Two of them are from the Special Operations Group in Karlsborg, plain-clothed men in their thirties. Linus is tall and blond and holds Saga’s gaze slightly too long when they say hello, whereas Raul has deep scars across his cheeks and hides his mouth with his left hand when he smiles.
Behind them stands Jennifer Larsen from the Stockholm Police. She’s dressed in black, has her brown hair in a thick plait, and has tied sports tape round her right hand.
‘Do you feel like coming along for a while, then?’ Saga says.
‘Anywhere you say,’ Linus smiles.
‘Good,’ Saga says, without smiling back.
‘Just tell me who we’re going to shoot,’ Raul says.
‘I’m going to need some time to set up my equipment and sort out the ballistics,’ Jennifer says.
‘How long?’
‘Twenty minutes should do it.’
‘You’ll have more than half an hour after my briefing.’
‘Perfect.’
The three snipers follow Saga back to the rest of the group. The entire area around the medieval church is quiet.
A half-moon trembles on the thin ice covering the lake.
So far Jurek has suggested a new meeting place each time, to avoid potential traps. If Saga is right, and Jurek is hiding out in the gravel pit, her plan might well succeed.
When Jurek contacts her, she’s going to claim that she knows where his brother’s remains are, but say she needs proof that her dad’s still alive before she’ll agree to an exchange.
Perfectly reasonable.
What Jurek doesn’t know is that they’ve already got snipers outside his hiding place. The moment he shows himself, one of the snipers will have time to incapacitate him.
The only thing that happens if she’s wrong about his hiding place is that the operation gets called off.
The most dangerous scenario is if the snipers miss or merely injure Jurek and he manages to get away.
If that happens, the rapid response team will storm the building.
But if Jurek gets away and her dad isn’t there, she’ll probably never find out where he is.
And all trust between her and Jurek will be gone.
The same thing applies if Jurek realises they’re there, if he’s got some sort of alarm system or hidden-camera surveillance.
But this is her only chance.
She would never have gone through with this operation if the odds weren’t as good as they are.
Saga gathers her team in a circle, hands out maps of the gravel pit, and meticulously goes through the positioning of each sniper. Jurek Walter won’t be able to leave the old workers’ barracks without finding himself in a perfect line of fire. She shows the rapid response team which way to go in, where to gather, entry routes for ambulances, and somewhere a helicopter would be able to land.
While she delivers the operational tactics briefing, she thinks about what Joona said about disregarding all caution, all regulations when it comes to Jurek Walter. The only thing that counts is killing him. That’s worth all the losses, all the potential consequences you could possibly imagine.
‘So you don’t want us to shoot the other one, the tall guy?’ Linus asks.
‘Not until the prime target has been incapacitated.’
‘Incapacitated?’
‘This should be regarded as a hostage situation,’ Saga explains, and hears the tension in her voice. ‘You’re not to hesitate, you’re not to miss, and you’ll only get one chance.’
‘OK,’ Linus says, holding his hands up.
‘Listen, everyone … to remove any trace of doubt when the situation becomes critical, I want to stress that the word incapacitate means that the shot needs to be fatal.’
The circle around her falls completely silent. A cold wind is blowing from the churchyard, lifting the frozen leaves from the ground.
‘This isn’t a complex operation when it comes down to it,’ Saga goes on in a slightly milder voice. ‘The various stages are clear, you’ve all been briefed, and we break off if anything goes wrong … I’ll be with sniper number one, that’s you, Jennifer, and we maintain strict radio silence until the order to proceed is given.’
61
The snipers return to their cars and start to get their rifles, helmets and camouflage nets out.
They change into warm, waterproof clothing in the dim light from the boots of the two vehicles.
Saga sees Raul do a little roll of his hips with his hands behind his neck once he’s pulled his trousers on.
She goes over to the group from the National Response Unit to confirm their tactics when they force open the reinforced doors.
The men are specially trained for hostage situations, where storming the location is the only alternative.
‘It’s possible that the hostage is in a bad way, and a pressure wave could do serious harm,’ she says.
‘We’ll start with welding arcs on the hinges and bolts,’ the group leader says.
Saga is about to discuss the use of explosives as a last resort, but stops when she hears the snipers arguing.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jennifer asks angrily.
Linus looks at his friend with a grin and shakes his head.
‘What did you just do?’ she asks.
‘Nothing,’ he replies.
Saga sees him calmly fasten his camouflage trousers. He has broad shoulders, and is at least a head taller than Jennifer.
‘I’m thirty-six years old and I’ve got two children,’ Jennifer says. ‘I’ve worked in the police for eight years, and no one just happens to pinch another person’s nipple. That’s a tactic used to humiliate and exclude women from certain professions.’
‘All that matters to us is how good a shot you are,’ Linus says coldly.
‘Listen,’ Saga says, stopping in front of them. ‘That was fucking uncalled for and fucking unprofessional … No, shut up. Jennifer’s right, every woman’s had that happen to them, no one likes it, so lay the fuck off in future.’
Linus’s cheeks are flushed.
‘So call my boss and get me fired. I’m one of your best, but now that you ladies have teamed up …’
‘We’ll deal with this afterwards,’ Saga says.
The men check their equipment with sullen looks on their faces. Saga goes over to Jennifer’s car and sees that she’s mounted a night-sight on her rifle, and has wrapped four magazines in camouflage tape, all lined up in the boot.
‘I need three snipers,’ Saga says. ‘There’s no time to find a replacement for him.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Jennifer says, pulling some stray strands of hair from her mouth.
She fastens a knife in her belt, above her left hip, then puts her protective vest on and fastens the straps at the side.
‘You’re going to be lying over four hundred metres from the target area,’ Saga says.
‘I’ll make the necessary adjustments,’ Jennifer says.
‘You handled those idiots well,’ Saga says in a quieter voice.
‘I used to let things like that go,’ she replies wearily. ‘And, oh, you know … felt ashamed of it. But now I
’ve got way too much going on in my life to tolerate any more shit. My mum’s got Alzheimer’s and the rest of the family are already fighting over the inheritance.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Saga says.
‘But the worst thing right now is that my husband’s determined to run the Stockholm Marathon.’
‘They all have their little projects,’ Saga replies. ‘I mean, my guy’s got it into his head that he’s a photographer.’
‘Not naked pictures?’ Jennifer asks with a wry smile.
‘Yes, but very artistic,’ she smiles.
‘My husband went through that phase too … the marathon is much worse. I hope you manage to avoid that one.’
Saga is about to reply when her phone buzzes in her hand. She reads the short text message from Jurek: Lidingö golf club 2 a.m.
She takes a couple of steps away from Jennifer, composes herself, thinks through how to reply, then taps with trembling fingers: I know where your brother’s body is now. Before any exchange I need to see that my dad’s OK.
She reads her message twice, takes a deep breath, then clicks send. There’s no way back now, she thinks. She’s just lied to Jurek, and it’s going to be very hard to maintain that lie if anything goes wrong.
While she’s waiting for him to reply she looks out across the fields.
The forest is dark behind the church. The amber-coloured lighting on the façade makes the little building shimmer like molten glass.
There’s a chance she might be able to put everything right.
Her phone buzzes again. Saga looks at the screen and shivers when she reads: Make sure you’ve got a laptop handy.
She walks across the car park with her heart pounding and raises her voice so everyone can hear her.
‘Listen, we’ve had word from the hostage-taker, the situation is now live, you know what to do, take up your positions, make sure none of you is spotted, and await further orders.’
62
Saga is in the lead minibus, parked on a forest track on the top of the Stockholm Ridge, approximately one kilometre from the edge of the large gravel pit where she thinks Jurek is hiding out.
She’s been sitting there for forty minutes now.
To be on the safe side, the forensics officers and team leader have left her alone in there.
They’ve cleared the inner panel inside the van and have set up a white backdrop. Saga is leaning against it, sitting on her cushion with her laptop on her knees and the Game of Thrones mug beside her. The only light comes from the screen and the standard lamp she’s brought from her flat.
If she doesn’t move the laptop, it will look like she’s sitting at home in her flat when their computers connect and the cameras are activated.
She thinks through what she’s going to say if Jurek asks her to take the laptop into a particular room in her flat. Hopefully it will be enough if she tells him the battery’s charging and that they might lose their connection if she moves.
The cars passing by on the main road are almost inaudible, but the siren of an ambulance down on the motorway reaches into the minibus.
The snipers ought to be in position around the old workers’ barracks now, and the rapid response team will have split into three pairs in the forest up above.
Saga thinks through the coming conversation once more. She’s going to suggest an immediate exchange, but without seeming to be in too much of a hurry. Jurek takes nourishment from their conversations, the feeling that he’s dissecting her soul.
She controls her breathing, feels the gentle movements of her stomach, and breathes out more slowly.
When the burbling sound indicating an incoming skype call starts up, Saga feels oddly calm.
It’s almost as if she’s got opiates in her system.
She moves her cold fingers over the pad, moves the cursor to the green symbol, and clicks to accept the call.
Jurek’s face appears on her screen. He’s disconcertingly close. She can see the network of wrinkles and countless scars on his forehead, chin, and one cheek.
Jurek’s eyes inspect her calmly.
He’s wearing an unbuttoned black hooded anorak on top of the same check shirt he was wearing last time. He’s not wearing the prosthetic. The sleeve of the anorak is hanging empty. She can make out the shape of the stump beneath the fabric.
‘You should have found your dad’s car by now,’ he says.
‘I knew it wouldn’t lead us anywhere, but I joined in with the search because it was expected of me,’ she replies honestly.
Somewhere behind Jurek comes the sound of tired coughing. He doesn’t react to the sound, his pale stare doesn’t deviate from her face for a moment.
‘I’ve been thinking about what happened when you found my brother,’ he says.
‘You’d been given a high dose of Cisordinol and happened to mention Leninsk,’ Saga says.
‘No, that … you couldn’t have understood what I said.’
It’s impossible to tell if he’s feigning surprise, or if he genuinely didn’t know that.
‘That was how we found you.’
He breathes in and leans closer to the screen. Saga forces herself not to look away.
‘You know that Joona executed my brother?’
‘How do you mean?’ she asks quietly.
‘According to the post-mortem report, he shot Igor in the heart from such close range that the powder from the barrel penetrated his skin.’
Saga has also read the post-mortem report, and knows that Jurek is right, in purely technical terms. There were no witnesses when Igor died, and Joona refused to answer any questions at the obligatory debriefing that gets triggered automatically when firearms are discharged.
‘I know Joona intended to arrest your brother,’ she says in a steady voice. ‘Something must have happened, or he wouldn’t have fired.’
‘Why not? People flatter themselves by claiming there are accepted norms for human behaviour … but everyone is basically jealous, cowardly, full of hate … bound by their environment and ready to defend their territory with unpalatable aggression … destroy other people … because in the end, when you’re still alive and sitting down to dinner with your family, other people’s suffering means nothing.’
‘I want to see that my dad’s OK,’ Saga whispers.
‘I want to see that my brother’s OK,’ he says, turning his computer.
Bare cement walls flicker past the camera in the top edge of the laptop before it stops on Saga’s dad.
He’s lying curled up on his side on the cement floor, next to a blue plastic drum. His bare feet are sandy, and his corduroy jacket is filthy.
‘Lars-Erik, sit up,’ Jurek says.
Saga sees her dad curl up, but he makes no move to sit up.
‘Sit up now,’ Jurek says, kicking him gently in the shoulder.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ her dad whimpers, and sits up against the wall, trembling.
He squints into the light, and almost topples over, but puts his hand on the floor to steady himself. He has traces of blood under his nostrils, on his cracked lips and in his white stubble.
Her dad is looking in surprise at Jurek, who turns his back on him and returns to the computer.
‘Are you giving him water?’ Saga asks.
Jurek sits down in front of the screen again. His pale eyes study her face.
‘Why do you care so much about your dad all of a sudden?’ he wonders. ‘A few years ago you didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.’
‘I’ve always cared about my dad,’ she says, swallowing hard. ‘And I need to be certain you’re going to let him go if I give you what you want.’
‘The Beaver will drive Lars-Erik to a petrol station, where he’ll be given a mobile to call you.’
‘OK,’ Saga whispers.
Jurek leans closer to the screen and studies her intently.
‘How did you find out where my brother’s remains are?’ he asks after a pause.
‘I can’
t tell you that,’ she says, and notices that the laptop has started to tremble on her lap.
The silence between them grows. Jurek very slowly tilts his head to one side without taking his eyes off her.
‘How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?’ he asks calmly.
‘Because you wouldn’t be asking that question if you thought I was.’
Jurek’s lips form a thin smile, and Saga thinks that if she’s wrong, if Jurek and her dad aren’t here in the gravel pit, then she’ll go through with the exchange anyway. She’ll lie about knowing where his brother’s body is, say it’s being stored in a secret cold store at the Karolinska Institute.
Jurek stands up and takes the laptop with him as he leaves the room where her dad’s lying. Saga catches a glimpse of a small room with cement walls before he closes and locks a thick steel door and sets off along a dark tunnel.
‘We’ll soon be finished with each other,’ he says into the computer. ‘But I need to see you one last time to find out why someone took Igor’s body.’
‘I promise you’ll get your answers,’ she says. ‘Should I set off to Lidingö golf club right away?’
‘You’ll get a new address,’ he replies, and ends the call.
63
Saga quickly pulls on her camouflage gear and protective vest, fastens the holster round her hips and pulls on her rucksack. She takes out a compass, then starts to run through the forest.
The muted light of her torch picks out a grey path across the black ground. She veers round a tree and jumps over some huge roots.
In four hundred metres she’ll have to switch the torch off, and then it will be extremely dark.
She counts her steps and turns round, keeping her head down, and pushes through a dense thicket backwards, then turns and runs again.
She slows down when she’s a hundred metres or so from Jennifer’s position, breathing through her nose. She checks the compass, switches the torch off, and bends to duck under a low pine branch.
She moves cautiously forward, holding one hand out, dodges a tree, and slips on a rock.
To her left she can make out a floodlight in the gravel pit, but it’s too far away to be of any use to them.
