by Dan Sehlberg
‘Hey, come on. It’s time to see the wife.’
Eric walked slowly into the long corridor, which was similar to the one he’d been in the last time he visited Hanna. He remembered the angry nurse and the large Securitas guard. The unit was quiet, and the lights were dim. He grabbed two blue shoe covers from a pile on the floor, and pulled them over his shoes. Paul seemed to have relaxed a bit, but Abrahamsson still looked stressed. Michael’s face was expressionless; he still hadn’t said a word since they’d met in the car at Arlanda. Paul gestured theatrically at the corridor.
‘Shall we?’
They started walking, and Martin Abrahamsson flipped through his papers. Without turning around, Paul called out, ‘If I remember correctly, it’s room one-fifteen.’
One of the doors flew open with a bang, and several people came out into the corridor. At first, Eric recognised only Thomas Wethje. There was a flash, and a tumult broke out. Thomas said something, his voice shrill and agitated. Eric grimaced as a camera flashed in his eyes. Then someone shouted, over and over. He recognised the voice immediately. It was Jens! Eric took a step to the side and caught sight of his friend, with his green loafers, yellow pants, dark-blue shirt, and bushy blond hair. He was standing with his legs planted wide apart, in front of a pale Martin Abrahamsson, pushing his press card with its yellow-and-red Aftonbladet logo into Abrahamsson’s face. He bellowed his questions with exaggerated aggression.
‘Can the ministry confirm that the government of Sweden is selling out a sick Swedish citizen to the American FBI? Can the ministry confirm that they’re trying to hush up a risk of infection by getting rid of the patient instead of treating her? Can the ministry confirm that the surrender of the patient has been pushed by anti-Semitic voices in the government?
Abrahamsson backed away and tried to protect himself from the flashing cameras. Behind Jens were two photographers — a black-haired woman in a leather jacket, and a young man with greasy hair, wearing a T-shirt. Their cameras were clattering like automatic weapons.
‘What the fuck!’
Paul turned around and looked at Eric, his eyes glowing in fury.
‘You did this! You fucking idiot!’
Martin Abrahamsson tore open a door at random to get away from the commotion. The last thing Eric saw was him fumbling with the buttons on his mobile phone. Jens turned his attention to the Americans.
‘Who do you report to? Does the American ambassador know that the FBI is trying to kidnap Swedish citizens?’
Paul shoved the camera away.
‘Go to hell.’
He tried to shove past Jens to get to Hanna’s room, but the reporter was too large and bulky. Thomas Wethje had moved around the photographers, and was now standing beside Eric. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and nodded toward the agents swearing under the flood of flashes.
‘Don’t worry, it will be okay. We’re just waiting to see what instructions the ministry guy gets.’
They didn’t have to wait long. The door opened, and Martin Abrahamsson looked out, waving Paul and Michael over. Jens and the photographers let them go while they stayed in the middle of the corridor. The Ministry for Foreign Affairs and the FBI closed the door on what one could only assume was an emergency meeting. Things had not gone at all as Paul had planned. Jens must have received the text message that Eric had sent just before the plane took off. And now Aftonbladet’s involvement had changed the rules of the game. This was the Fourth Estate at its best.
Eric made eye contact with Jens for the first time. Jens gave him a short nod, and Eric smiled wanly and nodded back. Paul came out into the corridor. His hands were balled into fists, and his face was red. He walked past Eric without a word. Just behind him was Michael, who jostled Eric as he went by. They both disappeared through the glass door, slamming it behind them. Martin Abrahamsson also came out of the room, now looking much calmer. He walked up to Eric.
‘I’ve spoken with my boss, and I’m sorry to have to tell you that we can no longer agree to the surrender of your wife. I hope this isn’t too much of a disappointment to you. I’m sure that the Swedish health-care system will also be able to help her get better.’
Eric gave a weak smile.
‘I think so, too. What’s going on with our American friends?’
‘They’re going straight to Arlanda. They will be declared persona non grata. Tell your journalist over there that the ministry has no comment on what just happened. I would appreciate it if we were left out of it. Good luck.’
He walked briskly toward the exit and disappeared. Eric turned to Thomas Wethje.
‘How is my wife?’
‘I wish I had good news, but unfortunately I don’t. She is not well at all.’
They started toward Jens.
‘Which means?’
‘She’s still in a coma, and her heartbeat is irregular. Her body is worn out, her vital functions are under great stress, and we still haven’t seen anything to indicate that her illness might take a different course than Mats Hagström’s. You’re aware that we lost him?’
Eric nodded.
‘How come he died, but Hanna is still alive?’
‘We’re not really sure. The body is placed under great strain when the virus attacks the vital organs. Mats couldn’t handle it. Hanna has been able to withstand it, so far.’ They came up to Jens, who was just thanking his two colleagues.
‘I was right, wasn’t I? You didn’t even need to have memory cards in your cameras. Thanks again. See you.’
The woman in the leather jacket hugged him. Then they walked down the corridor, with the woman humming something as she went. When the door closed again, the three men looked at each other in silence. Eric realised that they were standing outside room 115. He sought his friend’s gaze.
‘Hi, Jens.’
‘Hey, you. How have things been?’
‘Turbulent. How are you?’
‘Worried.’
They became quiet again. Jens ran both hands over his face — a gesture that indicated how tired he was. Then he looked at Eric.
‘Do you have it?’
‘What?’
‘The anti-virus?’
Eric was nonplussed. Was he being sarcastic? He collected himself and nodded.
‘I have it.’
He dug in his pocket, found the iPod, and held it up.
‘Here, embedded in symphonies and minuets.’
‘What are you planning to do with it?’
‘I’m planning to upload it to Mind Surf and transfer it to her.’
Jens nodded.
‘Good. What can I do?’ This was incredible. Jens must have been feeling desperate — ready to try anything, even a digital anti-virus. Eric turned triumphantly to Thomas. The doctor shook his head.
‘We’ve just started trying the anti-retroviral drug Centric Novatrone. In a few days we’ll know if it has any effect. It’s a modified version; I have high hopes for it.’
He hesitated.
‘I remember your theory about the computer virus. But it’s impossible for a person to be affected by a computer virus. Thus the hypothesis that Hanna could be cured by an anti-virus is completely absurd — absurd and impossible.’
Jens placed a hand on the doctor’s shoulder.
‘Thomas, I know you have a hard time believing this story, so I’ll ask you this instead: do you really think it might be dangerous for Hanna to be hooked up to Eric’s computer? I mean, you’ve already got a whole ton of machines hooked up to her in there.’ He nodded toward the closed room. ‘Surely one more won’t make any damn difference?’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. Her neural activity is very fragile, and the tiniest disturbance could do her harm. Forget the science-fiction stories, and let’s wait for the anti-retroviral.’
/>
Eric couldn’t restrain his rage.
‘Don’t you get it? We have no time to waste. You’ve been testing all kinds of shit for several weeks. One of your patients is already dead. What are the chances that this drug will work when everything else has failed?’
Thomas looked him straight in the eye.
‘And why would your method be any better?’
‘Because it’s something totally different. Something new.’
He clenched his fists.
‘Thomas, I truly believe we can save her. Honestly. It’s unorthodox. It’s totally crazy, without a doubt. But I’ve travelled around the world to get hold of this fucking program. I’m her husband. I love her. And what have we got to lose?’
The doctor looked up at the ceiling, standing stock-still with his neck bent back, apparently studying the grooves on the ceiling tiles. Then he lowered his head and looked at them, first at Jens and then at Eric.
‘Do you two really believe that this is an actual possibility?’
Jens nodded.
‘Eric is no idiot. And if we don’t try everything, what hope do we have?’
Thomas threw up his hands.
‘I’ll try Centric Novatrone, but if it doesn’t work I have no more weapons in my arsenal. All that’s left is magic spells and …’ He sighed in resignation. ‘… science fiction. Bring in your program and the equipment you need. But before you do anything clinical, you will explain to me in detail what you’re planning to do. If there’s anything that risks harming my patient or making her worse, I will refuse.’
Eric nodded.
‘You won’t regret it. Thank you for being willing to believe in something so far-fetched.’
The doctor shook his head.
‘No, you’ve misunderstood. I don’t believe for a second that a computer virus could have infected Hanna Söderqvist. But as long as I know that what you do won’t harm her, I will let you have your way. I would have done the same thing if you’d wanted to hang a Star of David over her bed, put garlic under her pillow, or have a rabbi read over her. It’s all for your sake, Eric. If, God forbid, we should lose her, you won’t have to regret that you didn’t get to try everything. But I would prefer not to inform the rest of the staff. And this isn’t something I’m going to write about for a journal. If anybody claims later on that I agreed to this, I will deny it. Understood?’
Eric nodded and looked excitedly at Jens.
‘I’ll stay here and go through the plans with the doctor. You go to my house and get the Mind Surf equipment. I’ll write down everything I need.’
He looked around for a piece of paper. Thomas handed him a notepad and a small green pen, which Eric used to fill a page before handing it to Jens.
‘And you’ll need my keys.’
Eric smacked his forehead.
‘No … Shit. I don’t have any.’
For a few seconds, he was at a loss. Then Jens placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Brother, I still have your keys from when I watered your flowers at Christmas. Just have to go home and get them.’
‘Brilliant! But I’m warning you, there are a lot of things to bring. Can you manage by yourself?’
Jens nodded, stuck the paper in his pocket, and left.
Eric turned to the doctor.
‘Can we sit down somewhere? I’m going to try to explain what I’m planning to do.’
Thomas shook his head.
‘No rush. Jens won’t be back for at least an hour, will he?’
He reached out and held open the door to room 115.
‘Before we talk about your computer program, I think you should sit with the lady in here for a while.’
Eric got a lump in his throat. He had purposefully put off seeing her again.
‘You have to put on a gown, gloves, and an FFP3.’
‘A what?’ He stepped into the small room between the doors.
‘A face mask. They’re in that box. And don’t take it off while you’re in there with her.’ Thomas let go of the door, which closed softly after him. Eric was alone in the little anteroom. He put on the protective gear, swallowed, and entered the room.
It was nearly dark. There was just a dim ceiling light, and a small reading lamp beside the single bed on the far side of the room, next to a window with drawn curtains. A rhythmic clicking and hissing sound came from the respirator, and blue lines ran gently across two black screens. The room smelled of disinfectant. He walked quietly, as though not to wake her, and held his breath all the way up to the bed. The face mask was pinching his nose. When he saw her, the dam broke and he started crying, sobbing violently in a release of weeping that had built up during the last day and had only trickled out here and there — until now. The tears streamed down his cheeks, and he grasped the silver rail at the end of the bed.
‘Dear, dear love. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all this crap. For everything I’ve done.’
The words streamed out of him as uncontrollably as the tears, and he mumbled and sniffled. She was so beautiful lying there, like a porcelain doll — a Sleeping Beauty. Her arms rested on top of the blanket; her thin hands were clasped as if in prayer. He swallowed and tried to compose himself. Then he sat down on the chair beside the bed. He smoothed the blanket and then carefully stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. He whispered quietly, ‘I’m here. And I’ll never leave you again. Never.’
The room was enormous, like a giant hangar. Everything was blindingly white — walls, floor, ceiling. She was lying on a metal bed in the middle of the room. Like on an altar. She was lying on an altar like a holy goddess. A temple! That’s what it was, she was in a temple. There were no windows, and no furniture except for the steel altar. She tried to lift her head, but something stopped her. She was tied down. White straps crossed her chest, her waist, her knees, and her ankles. Even though she was vulnerable and captive, there was something calming about the situation. Something fantastic was about to happen — something she’d dreamed of. She was meant to be here. Everything was in balance. Like a distant dream, there was NK and the silhouette that had come toward her. But the man she had seen no longer seemed frightening. Now she longed for him. Longed for the man without a face.
The door of the unit opened with a bang, and Jens shoved in a stretcher loaded with boxes and plastic bags. Thomas Wethje hurried to help him.
‘Put it all into room 115.’ When they arrived in Hanna’s room, he nodded at Eric and panted through his mask.
‘Hey, that was an awful lot of stuff you needed. I emptied your whole house. I opened the windows while I was there — it was pretty stuffy. And don’t even ask about your flowers.’
Thomas popped up just behind him, and shot a doubtful look at the boxes. Maybe he had changed his mind. Eric was just about to say something when a nurse with short blonde hair opened the door behind him. She looked at them in bewilderment.
Thomas cast a quick glance at Eric and then gave a strained nod to the woman.
‘Hi, Pia, everything is fine. Apparently, we’re getting a new EKG. Finally.’
The short woman looked sceptically at the tense men standing around the stretcher full of cardboard boxes and ICA grocery bags. Then she turned to Thomas.
‘Another EKG?’
Thomas’s tone became sharper. ‘That’s right. I’d appreciate it if you dealt with Lannerstedt in 117. She’s been complaining of a headache. Considering her hypertension and medication …’
The woman stood still for a moment, her eyes on the stretcher, and then she shook her head and went back into the corridor. Thomas turned to Eric.
‘Pia’s a great gal. I might have to tell her what we … what you’re doing.’
‘That’s for you to decide. As long as all hell doesn’t break loose and we aren’t interrupted
before we’ve finished.’
Thomas didn’t answer. He still looked doubtful, but didn’t say anything as they rolled the stretcher into the room. They aligned it with the bed, and Eric immediately started digging through the boxes and bags. He found the computer in the largest box. It took him about an hour to hook up the system, find the right cords, find extension cords to plug things in, and place all fifty wires from the sensor helmet into the converter. Nurse Pia hovered around the room, and finally Thomas took her into the office to explain. He had worked with her for many years, and assured them that they could trust her. Jens was restless.
‘How’s it going?’
‘I’m almost ready. You brought the nanogel, right?’
Jens nodded and searched through the ICA bags.
‘Here.’
He fished out a small tube of shimmering purple liquid. Thomas showed up with a clipboard in his hand.
‘Like me, Pia didn’t understand any of this science fiction, but she respects the fact that you believe in it. She won’t cause any trouble.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem. Now I need to do some tests on my patient. As I said, several hours ago we started a trial of a modified version of the anti-retroviral Centric Novatrone. This new formula has just been approved for clinical use. We’re the first ones in Europe to use it.’
Eric looked up at him from his spot on the floor where he was braiding wires together.
‘The first? That sounds alarming.’
Thomas gave a small smile.
‘Yes, unfortunately it wasn’t manufactured in a cellar full of terrorists. It was developed by one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical companies, so there is every reason to worry.’
‘Touché. But you know what you’re doing, right?’
‘I know what I’m doing. I have a hypothesis about how the virus reproduces. If I’m right, Centric Novatrone might make a big difference.’
He went over to Hanna and started typing commands on a small keyboard just below the black screens. Eric pulled a chair over and sat at the stretcher, which was functioning as an improvised computer table. He pressed the start button on the keyboard, and heard the fans start up on the server that stood on the floor under the stretcher. The screen flickered into life and started listing drivers. He took the small tube of gel and went to Hanna. Thomas stood beside him, writing on the clipboard.
