Buzz: A Thriller

by Anders de la Motte

  She scrolled up to the sender’s number, and spent a few seconds wondering what to do. More angry texts in reply would hardly help, she’d already tried that. But on the other hand the tactic of simply ignoring him didn’t seem to work either. She had to do something about it, something that would make him get the message, once and for all.

  She switched the menu on her phone and, after a few unfamiliar clicks, she managed to get the web browser going. It took her almost ten minutes to find the information she was looking for.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Bang!

  This time the shocks came toward the top of his thighs. All the air flew out of him, the muscles in his abdomen cramped, and for a moment he thought he was going to piss himself. Tears were streaming from his eyes as the cramps slowly faded to a rumbling ache. Fuck, that hurt! A couple more shocks like that and he’d be ready for a care home.

  Elroy seemed to have his sights set on an even higher target.

  “Next time it’ll be your balls.” He grinned.

  No shit, Sherlock, he’d never have guessed . . .

  Oddly enough, he still wasn’t anywhere near as terrified as he should have been. Scared, yes, no question about that . . . But not totally panic-stricken and petrified he was going to die, like down in Dubai.

  Okay, so a twelve-volt battery could cause a hell of a lot of pain, and getting his balls jump-started wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to, but at least it was unlikely to kill him.

  Well, he didn’t think it would . . .

  He tugged tentatively at the straps. One advantage of his wild convulsions was that the ties had loosened slightly. As he gradually regained control of his limbs, he did his best to loosen them further without anyone noticing.

  “So, Henrik, you seriously expect us to believe that you infiltrated us entirely of your own volition? That you assumed a false identity simply because you were seized with an irresistible desire to get a job . . . ?”

  The two men at the end of the bed smirked at each other, and HP took the chance to stretch the loops a little more.

  His cover was blown, they knew his name, but the real question was what else they had managed to find out during the night. Did they know he was Player 128, the man they had framed for Anna’s death, or were they happy simply to have identified him as Henrik Pettersson?

  He needed to keep a cool head, get them to play all their cards while simultaneously keeping his own story close enough to the truth to seem credible.

  “It’s true. Honestly! Why would I lie? I needed a job, I’d heard good things about you, but there was no way you’d employ me given my criminal record . . .” He paused but there was no electric shock. “Mange, the real Mange, I mean, is away, and I just borrowed him . . . People doctor their CVs every day. The net’s full of fabricated identities. No big deal . . .”

  Still no shock. HP had stopped pulling at the straps. Philip actually seemed to be listening to what he was saying. And why not? For once he was actually telling the truth . . .

  “Everything I’ve done while I’ve been with you has been real. I’ve done my best. I like the job, the whole deal with the company, and . . . well, everything . . .” he concluded, aiming a long look at Elroy.

  A few seconds of silence followed.

  HP didn’t move a muscle.

  “You certainly seem quite genuine, Henrik . . .” Philip said thoughtfully.

  HP nodded. It was actually all true, totally absolutely true, in fact! For the first time in his life he had a job he liked, regular female company, and something resembling a future.

  The twelve-volt kick had woken him from the dream, dumped him back in reality, which in a way was actually a hell of a relief! Now at least he wouldn’t have to start each day with a reality check to keep fact and fantasy separate. The only question was: What happened now?

  Could he be forgiven . . . ?

  Philip seemed to have softened slightly. In spite of everything, he was bloody good at what he did, a freaking made guy . . . ArgosEye’s very own golden boy.

  “Let me vocalize a thought which has been growing stronger and stronger as you’ve been talking, Henrik . . .”

  HP was nodding furiously.

  Vocalize, thought, stronger . . .

  That sounded promising!

  “When I worked in the Military Intelligence and Security Service, we had to deal with infiltrators, or spies as they’re sometimes known . . .”

  HP’s head was still moving up and down, but the movement was gradually slowing down.

  “The very best of them, the ones who are hardest to crack, don’t even know that they’re spies. They believe that what they’re doing is for a good cause, and they don’t understand that everything is just a game. That they’re actually being manipulated by outside forces . . .”

  HP’s nodding died away completely. His mouth suddenly felt as if it were full of sand.

  “Could that be the case, Henrik? That you seriously believe that your intentions are good, but that someone else is actually pulling the strings? Someone who’s manipulating you into doing things?

  “Someone who’s making you see things that might not actually be real?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  She quickly jotted down the information on the screen of her cell onto the rental-firm label that was dangling from the rearview mirror.

  SALK tennis hall, tomorrow evening, 18:30.

  That was earlier than she had imagined. But it was just as well to get it over and done with as soon as possible. She folded the note and put it in the pocket of her jeans, then went back to her surveillance.

  It was almost half past nine. The red-haired man had been in there for more than an hour, but she still hadn’t seen any sign of either Henke or John. The whole district seemed just as sleepy as Östermalm ought to be at that time on a Sunday morning, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that Henke was in some sort of trouble.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Elroy leaned over him, and for a second he let the jumper cables touch each other right in front of his nose. A flash of blue lightning sparked between them and HP twisted his body to move his head away from them.

  Philip hadn’t bought his story, which probably wasn’t all that strange. He hardly knew himself why he had taken the job at ArgosEye.

  Where had he actually got the idea from?

  “So, how do you want it?” Elroy muttered, repeating the trick with the jumper cables in front of his nose.

  Another blue flash, larger this time. Then another.

  Blink.

  Hallucinations . . .

  Blink.

  Things that didn’t exist . . .

  Blink.

  A

  Blink.

  dream?

  Elroy attached one of the jumper cables to one of HP’s nostrils, putting an abrupt stop to the screen dumps in his head. The metal was ice-cold and almost numbed the pain in his skin. Then, with exaggerated slowness, he moved the second cable toward the first.

  HP was writhing his body, twisting his head desperately, but all he could manage was to win himself a couple of seconds’ reprieve.

  Damn, damn, DAMN!

  Elroy put one knee on his chest, locking him to the bed as he waved the loose jumper cable in the direction of his face.

  Red.

  Which meant that the blue one was already in position.

  This time he didn’t get to make the decision.

  Both pills at the same time.

  Open up and swallow . . .

  The cable was approaching his face. He didn’t exactly have any choice. Double or quits?

  Red or blue?

  The cable was almost there.

  5

  4

  3

  2 . . .

  “Ghourab Al-Bain!” he roared just before the cables touched and everything went black.

  29

  I’M OUT!

  VOICES.

  Agitated voices.

  “ . . .
did you hear what he said?”

  “Rourab Al-Bain . . . ?”

  “ . . . group we’ve never heard of . . .”

  “ . . . international connections . . .”

  “This could jeopardize the whole operation . . .”

  “We’ll postpone the meeting for a few hours until we know more. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes . . .”

  He kept his eyes closed on purpose, but ran a quick function check. Sight, hearing, arms, and legs all seemed more or less okay. His crotch ought to be throbbing with pain, but somewhere along the way his brain seemed simply to have decided to shut down its connection to his groin, because he could hardly feel anything.

  He heard the door of the flat slam, then steps returning to the bedroom. But this time the sound seemed to come from just one person and he opened one eye a crack to see if he was right.

  True enough, Elroy had been left on guard while his boss went to check this worrying new information. A minute or so of his best dying swan seemed to do the trick, because he heard steps in the hall, then a tap running in the kitchen.

  He carefully opened his eyes.

  The room was empty.

  The straps around his wrists, which had already shown signs of giving way, hadn’t withstood his convulsions, and it took him just a few seconds to get one hand free. Whichever one of the girl guides had been responsible for his arms should have her knot badge withdrawn, because he dealt with the second one even quicker. The straps around his ankles were tied rather more tightly, however.

  Elroy was clattering about in the kitchen, it sounded like he was busy with the coffeemaker.

  With some difficulty, HP managed to untie the third knot. Only one leg left, the only question was would he be able to slip out through the hall and out of the door without the red-haired gorilla catching him?

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Two hours’ surveillance without any result whatsoever. But at least she had worked out what to do about her meeting tomorrow. She’d only get one chance, if she hesitated or seemed even slightly uncertain he’d just carry on, assuming that she’d change her mind, the way she had before. But the difference this time was that she really did want to get rid of him.

  For good!

  Her cell bleeped.

  We think we’ve found his broadband supplier.

  MayBey seems to be based to the east of the city.

  Hugs

  Micke

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  He tugged at the strap, but the last knot refused to budge. But as luck would have it, the girls had only used one long length of fabric at each end, looping it around the frame of the bed to tie both limbs. Even if the knot was tied too tightly around his ankle to undo, at least he was free from the bed.

  He wound the strap around his leg a few times, then knotted it loosely to stop him from tripping over it.

  Then he stood up laboriously from the bed and took a couple of unsteady steps across the bedroom floor. The connection between his brain and his groin was gradually kicking in again, and he had to bite his lip not to groan out loud from the pain.

  He poked his head out into the little hallway, but quickly pulled back. The flat was considerably smaller than he had thought, and Elroy’s back was just a couple of meters away. There was no chance of making it to the front door, certainly not in his current state.

  He retreated into the bedroom, went around the double bed, and struggled over to the curtained window.

  He carefully nudged the curtain aside, and instead of windows there was a glass door leading to a small terrace. He tried the handle gently.

  Locked.

  Damn!

  But then he discovered the child safety catch at the top of the handle. He pressed the little button in and tried again.

  YES!

  The handle went down and he opened the door as carefully as he could. One centimeter at a time, until the gap was wide enough for him to squeeze through.

  Hell, it was cold!

  He had almost managed to suppress the fact that he was still naked. It had to be five, maybe ten degrees below freezing, and there was a stiff wind. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, but so far his escape seemed to have gone unnoticed. He peered over the railing of the terrace.

  Shit! That was a serious drop! Five floors down to street level, and no sign of life below. Damned Östermalm! The majority of its inhabitants already had one foot in the grave, and the rest were probably already celebrating Christmas “in the country,” which presumably meant some small castle in Södermanland or an old merchant’s villa out in the archipelago . . .

  And where were the cops when you actually needed one for once?

  With a sudden crash the terrace door flew open behind him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The news from Micke sounded promising, but right now she had matters of a more practical nature to think about. She had been desperate for a pee for a while now, and her bladder was so uncomfortable that she could no longer sit still. There were no shops open nearby, and the thought of squatting down in the gutter when it was minus six degrees outside wasn’t particularly appealing.

  So she would have to leave her post, at least for fifteen minutes or so. Not ideal, but she didn’t have much choice.

  She started the car, put it in gear, and rolled slowly away from the edge of the pavement. She drove past the red-haired man’s illegally parked Mercedes, and was just about to turn right, down toward Strandvägen, when she suddenly changed her mind.

  She did a U-turn and stopped right behind the big Merc. Call it police instinct or whatever, but something was telling her it would be a good idea to take a closer look at the car before she left.

  She pulled on the hand brake and took out her cell.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Elroy raced through the terrace door, heading straight for him.

  Without even thinking, HP climbed over the railing. There was a balcony a couple of meters below him, slightly to one side of him, and if he dangled from the railing he might be able to lower himself down.

  He turned to face the building, struggled to lock his hands around the railing, then, as Elroy lunged at him, he did a little jump and let his body fall.

  But he had misjudged his speed. His cold fingers couldn’t quite take the strain and instead of dangling from his arms from the bottom of the railing, he found himself falling helplessly.

  He landed on a small pile of snow, but the force was still enough to knock the air from him. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, and when he looked up at the roof terrace there was no longer anyone in sight.

  Quick, time to move!

  The balcony was long, stretching most of the way along the front of the building. He ran past several windows until he reached a door. The cold was making his skin sting, his body ached both from the hard landing and the electric shocks earlier as he threw himself at the glass and banged on it with both fists.

  A scared old lady’s face appeared on the inside.

  “Open up!” he screamed. “Open up, dammit, you old bag!”

  The old lady didn’t move.

  Would he have opened the door to a completely naked man who had suddenly landed on his balcony?

  “Please, let me in . . .” he cried.

  Suddenly the woman was gone. He took a couple of steps back and peered over the edge.

  A similar balcony two floors below. Could he . . . ?

  He returned to the door, pressed his face against the glass, and raised his hand to bang on it again. But instead he jerked back toward the balcony railing. Philip Argos was suddenly staring at him through the glass.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, now, Henrik,” Philip said, trying the door handle.

  The old lady’s face appeared, she seemed to be showing Philip how to release the safety catch. Another dark figure came into view behind her. Presumably Elroy.

  HP laboriously swung one leg over the wrought-iron railing. His body was getting stiffer and stiffer, and he could feel th
at he was losing the sensation in his fingers.

  “Stop and think about this, Henrik . . .” Philip’s muffled voice cajoled from the other side of the door.

  He was right, this was never going to work. It had to be six or seven meters down, and even if—against all reasonable expectation—he managed to dangle from his arms this time, there was a still a long way to drop.

  Philip and the old lady seemed to be almost fighting over the door handle. He had just a matter of seconds to make up his mind.

  Suddenly he caught sight of the length of velvet wound around his ankle. He leaned over to get it off. Weirdly it slipped off his foot almost with ease. Must have been the cold.

  He looped the strap around the railing and then wound the ends around his wrists. Then he clambered over the railing and squatted down.

  The door flew open with a crash.

  Bodies tumbling out into the cold. Feet slipping, swearing, hands reaching out for him.

  He jumped . . .

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  A rattling sound made her look up, but the view through the windshield was limited and all she could see was falling snow.

  She had just spoken to central command. A check on the car license plate hadn’t produced much. A company car registered to ArgosEye Ltd., with an address in one of the skyscrapers at Hötorget. Maybe there’d be something more interesting inside the car. She opened the door and got out of the driver’s seat.

  A clump of snow landed on the pavement a few meters away, but she paid no attention to it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The jolt was hard, and made the narrow velvet strap cut into his frozen wrists. He could feel someone pulling at it, and looked up to see Elroy hanging over the railing a couple of meters above him. For a few seconds he dangled in front of the building like some naked blasted puppet as they tried to pull him back up.

  Then he managed to get his hands free, and fell the last few meters onto the balcony below. The landing was considerably softer this time, but by now his feet were numb with cold and he barely noticed the difference. He didn’t waste any time banging on windows. His pursuers weren’t stupid, and in the unlikely event of him being let into the apartment, he’d still have to deal with them in the stairwell.

  The street was still at least six meters below him, but the balcony he was on now was the lowest one. He stumbled along the building trying in vain to find a way out.