Bubble: A Thriller

by Anders de la Motte

  He looked at her in a way that made her nod unconsciously in agreement.

  “But, because I trust you, I will do my best to satisfy your curiosity. Tell me what you know, and I shall try to fill in the gaps . . .”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  The fact that Sammer was working for both the Palace and Security Police explained a fair amount. But she had plenty more questions, a great deal more, and now she had to try to reformulate them.

  “The safe-deposit box . . .” she began. “You knew there was a gun in it, didn’t you?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly.

  “I certainly suspected as much. As I said, your father had begun to act on his own, and made a number of ill-considered decisions. It would be extremely unfortunate if the weapon were to be traced back to . . .”

  He gestured toward the window.

  “. . . events in the past.”

  He fell silent and looked at her.

  “A safe-deposit box is in many ways a sort of bubble, Rebecca. A place where time has stopped and all the normal rules have ceased to apply. But as you already know, bubbles have one thing in common . . .”

  “Sooner or later they’re bound to burst,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “And the passports?”

  “There’s less risk attached to them, but I’d still be grateful if you could let me have them, along with the gun. Not least to protect your father’s memory . . .”

  She didn’t answer and tried instead to put her questions together into something resembling a narrative.

  “That piece of paper you gave Henke, out in the cemetery. You said you wanted to give him a message, that that was why you needed to get in touch with him . . .”

  Sammer didn’t respond and seemed to be waiting for her to suggest something.

  “I don’t quite see how it all fits together . . .” she said.

  He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a sigh.

  “I promised your father that I’d look after you. Both you and Henrik. When we started to receive information that suggested Henke was seriously involved in the Game, I decided to break the rules . . .”

  “Something happened out there by the Kaknäs Tower, didn’t it . . . ?” she said.

  He glanced briefly out the window.

  “I suppose you could say that I decided to use rather unorthodox tactics . . .”

  “Come on, this is my little brother we’re talking about! You have to tell me, Uncle Tage!”

  He lowered his voice and leaned forward.

  “Henrik doesn’t like me, does he? He doesn’t like the fact that you and I are close?”

  “Er . . . what?” The question took her by surprise. “Well, maybe not. But not because of you.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Rebecca . . .”

  He took a deep breath and appeared to think for a few moments.

  “Let me explain. Most participants in the Game become afflicted sooner or later with severe paranoia. They have difficulty seeing the difference between fantasy and reality, and begin to see conspiracy theories around every corner . . .”

  He paused, and she couldn’t help nodding.

  “Just as I feared, I’m afraid this applies to Henrik. He has long since passed the point where it was possible to appeal to his common sense . . .”

  She went on nodding, more firmly now.

  “Unfortunately the only way to save him is to make use of his condition. It’s not something I’m proud of, Rebecca, I hope you can understand . . .”

  “But that’s what you did?”

  “I managed to persuade Henrik that I was actually the Game Master.”

  “W-what . . . ?!”

  He held up his hand to stop her.

  “I can understand what you’re thinking, Rebecca, and, as I said, I’m not proud of what I did. But I thought my deception was the only way to save him. You see, I gave him a task. A task that was so unthinkable that Henrik would be unable even to consider carrying it out. Instead he was supposed to look for a way to break free of the Game’s grasp. To return to reality, so to speak, where he would once again be reachable, possibly even—”

  “Willing to cooperate!” she interrupted. “You wanted to get him to spill the beans about the Game, to become an informer. Was that why he was pulled in by the Security Police?”

  Sammer nodded slowly.

  “But Eskil acted a little prematurely. Henrik wasn’t ready, and once that lawyer showed up . . .”

  “. . . Stigsson got cold feet and let Henrik go.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “So the plan was to put Henrik under so much pressure that he’d jump ship. But instead you pushed him over the edge, and for some reason he ended up trying to attack Black. And now you’re worried it’s all going to get out. That’s why you wanted to get to Henrik first, to make sure he didn’t give you away . . .”

  “No, no, absolutely not, you misunderstand . . .”

  He held up both hands as if to stop her from finishing the sentence.

  “My dear Rebecca, you really must believe me when I say that I only want the best for you both. You and Henrik. Erland was a friend, a trusted comrade who was always loyal to me and our cause. The fact that I wasn’t in a position to save him from himself is one of my greatest regrets in life. The forces that have got their claws into Henrik are closely related to Erland’s fate, and that is why I chose to take such drastic measures . . .”

  Her heart suddenly began to beat faster.

  “You mean that Dad was also being used by the Game?”

  Sammer grimaced.

  “You can’t answer that, can you?” she said.

  He glanced out the window again.

  The chauffeur was still standing a short distance away on the sidewalk, and to judge by his body language the night air was pretty cold.

  “We don’t have much time left, Rebecca,” Sammer went on.

  “What was the task?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The task you gave Henrik out at the pet cemetery, the unthinkable task that you thought would make him jump ship. What exactly was it?”

  She saw the way he was looking out the window. The chauffeur had turned around and was on his way back to the car. Just as he was about to open the door, Sammer leaned closer to her, so close she could smell his aftershave.

  “He was supposed to carry out an attack on the royal wedding.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  They had gone another two hundred meters or so, and the tunnel was sloping downward more steeply.

  There were noises now, a vague rumble from a ventilation system. A large grille in the right wall of the tunnel suddenly blew out a gust of air, and a few seconds later an underground train rattled past on the other side.

  In the distance he could hear the announcement from the platform.

  Far ahead in the tunnel he could make out what looked like builders’ huts. One on each side of the tunnel.

  And suddenly he realized where they were going.

  Damn it to hell!

  He stopped dead and looked back quickly over his shoulder. Nora had locked the gate up there, and the key was in her jacket pocket. And he’d never be able to run all the way back.

  “Are you coming or what?” Jeff took a step closer.

  HP leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.

  “Wait a moment,” he muttered, trying to sound exhausted, which wasn’t exactly difficult. His pulse had been racing for a while and it felt like the air was getting harder to breathe.

  He needed to buy himself some time, get a few moments to think.

  They had been veering left the whole way, and had been going down, which meant that the subway station he could hear had to be Slussen.

  So those huts up ahead had to be right underneath . . .

  “We’re going to meet the Source, aren’t we?” he said, looking up.

  Neither of
the others had much of a poker face.

  “Come on,” Jeff said, taking another step closer.

  HP didn’t move.

  “Your source is called Erman. I met him a long time ago. Back then he was hiding out in the bush and claiming to have been thrown out of the Game.”

  He spat a gob of saliva onto the floor of the tunnel.

  “Erman’s working for the Game Master. I saw them together just a few hours ago with the cops. And before that I saw him go down in the lift that comes out over there.”

  He gestured toward the huts.

  Jeff tried to say something but HP ignored him. Instead he stared straight at Nora, trying to catch her eye.

  “This whole thing is a trap, Nora . . .” he said as calmly as he could. “At best the Source has sold you out, getting you to run errands for the Game . . .”

  She didn’t respond, but a little frown had appeared above her nose.

  “. . . or else you’ve been working for the Game Master all along.”

  He couldn’t quite make out the expression on Nora’s face, but he was still pretty convinced that she was just as disconcerted as he was. But right now that really didn’t matter.

  “Either way, the Game’s been trying to find me. They’re desperate to get hold of me at any cost. And you’re about to deliver me to them, exactly as they want. Don’t you get it?”

  He paused for breath.

  “Damn it,” Jeff growled. “So you expect us to believe that you’ve met the Source and the Game Master?”

  He grinned and tilted his head toward Nora.

  “We’ve got a real heavyweight here, eh . . . ?”

  “What does he look like?”

  It took HP a moment to realize that Nora was talking to him.

  “W-what? Who?”

  “The Game Master, of course, who do you think?”

  “Er, well . . . he’s around seventy, well dressed, walks with a stick . . . a typical gray old man . . .”

  He slowly straightened up.

  “He calls himself Tage Sammer.”

  “And you’ve met?”

  HP nodded. Her tone of voice and the expression on her face reinforced his theory. There was no way she was consciously working for the Game.

  “I even had coffee with him out at the pet cemetery just beyond the Kaknäs Tower. He had a check-patterned flask in a little camping box, typical old-man stuff . . .”

  “And you seriously expect us to believe that?”

  Jeff again, but HP ignored him.

  It was Nora he had to convince, and not just for the simple reason that he didn’t want to be handed over to Erman and the Game Master. He actually wanted her to believe him.

  Properly.

  “Well, what do you say?”

  He held his arms up toward Nora and fired off his most charming smile.

  “You’re right,” she said, and he noticed Jeff twitch. “The Source wants to meet you. He’s waiting down there . . .”

  She gestured over her shoulder, toward the huts.

  “He’s usually incredibly cautious, but as soon as we told him you were backing out, he wanted to set up a meeting. That has to mean something . . .”

  “It just means he wants to get hold of me . . . !”

  Without warning Jeff suddenly grabbed HP by the arm and tried to get him in some sort of police hold.

  But HP was ready. He resisted for a fraction of a second, then took aim and spun around to the right.

  Just before they collided he raised his left leg and planted his knee hard into Jeff’s crown jewels.

  The man collapsed like a house of cards, almost taking HP down with him as he fell. But at the last moment HP managed to pull free.

  He took a couple of stumbling steps, then regained his balance and started running toward the huts.

  Nora stuck out her arms in an attempt to stop him, but the tunnel was wide enough for him to dart past without any problem.

  Fifty meters to the huts and lift.

  His heart was already pounding in his chest.

  Running straight toward danger wasn’t exactly the best idea, but he didn’t have any other options.

  With a bit of luck Erman was hiding in one of the huts not daring to look out.

  Thirty meters, and suddenly he could hear steps behind him.

  It had to be Nora, Jeff would hardly be in a fit state to run.

  “HP, stop!” she yelled, and he fought the urge to look back.

  Twenty meters now.

  Fifteen.

  His throat was burning, shrinking to the size of a drinking straw.

  The footsteps were getting closer.

  Ten meters left.

  The tunnel narrowed to a path between the huts, and beyond that there was a pale rectangle in the rock face that had to be the door of the lift.

  It was open!

  “HP, stop!”

  Her voice was sharper now, and this time he couldn’t resist the urge to turn his head.

  She was six or seven meters behind him, close, but still farther away than he had imagined.

  It might just work . . .

  It was going to work!

  The next moment he saw movement from the corner of his eye.

  He started turning his head to the front again, and just had time to see the door opening right in front of him.

  Then everything went dark.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yes, he’s coming around . . .”

  He felt something cool and wet over his eyes and forehead.

  His head ached, his nose felt blocked, and he was having to breathe through his mouth.

  Long, rattling breaths.

  “Can you hear me, Henke?”

  The object over his eyes vanished and he blinked up at the light.

  Nora’s face was floating above him, and for a few moments he felt full of a sense of well-being. She was calling him Henke, just like his sister did . . .

  Then suddenly he remembered where he was.

  And why!

  They must have dragged him inside one of the huts . . .

  He tried to sit up, pulling his legs toward him to get to his feet.

  “Easy . . .”

  She was holding on to him, trying to stop him, but without putting much force into it.

  “The Source . . .” he panted. “Erman, I’ve got to . . .”

  Then he caught sight of him.

  He was sitting on a chair a few meters away, leaning forward. Thin, receding hair, with dark-framed glasses, just like the description. Their eyes met and for a few moments HP’s brain tried to take in what he was seeing. What it meant.

  But it was impossible.

  Completely.

  Fucking.

  Impossible.

  “Hi, HP. Good of you to drop by . . .” Mange grinned.

  18

  IMPOSSIBLE THINGS BEFORE BREAKFAST

  “HOW . . .

  “THE . . .

  “FUCK . . .

  “CAN . . .

  “YOU . . .

  “BE . . .

  “HERE . . . ?!!!”

  He was sitting astride Mange’s chest, his fingers clasped tightly around his throat and neck as he beat his balding head against the floor.

  “Steuurrp . . . H . . . P . . . Furrrfurck . . . !!” Mange gurgled, his arms flailing.

  HP didn’t care.

  Someone was pulling at his shoulders, grabbing his arms. Nora was screaming in one ear, but he wasn’t listening. He was going to kill the lying little fucker . . .

  A powerful arm suddenly wrapped around his neck and got him in a grip that instantly shut off the blood supply to his brain.

  His vision started to turn black, his fingers began to twitch spasmodically, and he lost his grip around Mange’s throat. The next moment he was dragged onto his feet. The stranglehold around his neck eased slightly, just enough for his eyesight to return.

  He could see Nora leaning over Mange.

&
nbsp; “Okay, mate, are you going to calm down or what?” Jeff snarled in his ear. “If not, I’ll be only too happy to break your neck . . .”

  HP tried to resist, feeling behind him with his hands in an attempt to grab whatever part of Jeff he might be able to damage. But it was hopeless. Jeff’s grip was rock-solid and his pathetic attempts at resistance just led to Jeff lifting him up so his toes were only just touching the ground.

  All his energy drained away. His arms and legs felt heavy as lead and he could no longer hold them up, could hardly hold himself up.

  Jeff dragged him a couple of meters and then dropped him down on a small sofa.

  It took him a few seconds to gather the strength to sit up.

  Mange had got to his feet and was feeling his neck as he drank a glass of water that Nora seemed to have conjured up out of nowhere.

  HP could have done with something to drink; his throat felt parched and right now thirst was the only sensible feeling he had to cling on to.

  Mange was the Source.

  Mange

  Was

  The

  Source.

  Which meant . . .

  Which meant???

  He closed his eyes and put his hand over his forehead. Tears were pricking his eyes, and he screwed them tightly shut to stop anything from leaking out.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  Fuck!!

  Mange picked up the chair he had been sitting on and put it in front of HP.

  “Here!”

  He held out the glass of water, still half-full.

  HP just stared at him.

  “Come on, HP! No need to be scared, you’re among friends . . .”

  HP grabbed the glass and gulped down the contents. The water was ice-cold and made his throat sting.

  “How long?”

  “What?”

  “How long have you been involved in the Game, Mange, or Farook, or whatever the hell you’re calling yourself this week . . . ?”

  Mange shrugged.

  “Quite a while, actually . . .”

  HP put the glass down, leaned forward, and rubbed his temples. He was still trying in vain to get his brain to make the right connections. But it was totally fucking impossible.

  “W-what, why . . . well . . . er.”

  He carried on rubbing his face, harder and harder. Digging his fingers in until his skin stung.

  “From the start?” he finally managed to say toward the floor. “Were you involved right from the start?” he said in a slightly clearer voice as he straightened up.