“There’s supposed to be really bad weather tonight.” The woman nodded toward the dark horizon. “The shipping forecast warned we might get thunder.”
“Thunder in winter?” Sarac said.
“It sometimes happens out in the archipelago,” the woman said. “Every ten years or so. Something to do with the difference in temperature between the sea and the air. My grandfather used to call it Janus thunder. Said it was a bad omen.”
• • •
Natalie’s cell phone rang just as she had managed to open her front door. She dropped one of her gloves in a puddle on the floor and swore out loud to herself.
“Hello, this is Natalie.” She bent down to pick up the glove, grimacing at the pain in her rib cage.
“Rickard here,” the man on the other end said.
A short silence followed.
“You mean Oscar Wallin,” Natalie said. “That is your real name, isn’t it?”
“Something’s going to happen out on the island this evening,” the man said, without taking the slightest notice of what she’d just said. “I need you there to keep an eye on things.”
“Oscar, did you ever really think about fixing my criminal record? Is that even possible?” she said.
“What do you think, Natalie?” the voice over the phone said, and she was immediately reminded of Sarac and von Katzow’s verbal duel.
“I think you say whatever it takes to get people to cooperate, Oscar. Things they don’t really believe, not deep down, but want so fucking desperately that they’re prepared to do practically anything if there’s even a tiny chance of it happening.”
To her surprise Natalie heard the man laugh.
“You’ve learned quite a lot from spending time with Sarac, I see.” He fell silent, and when he opened his mouth to speak again the amused tone had vanished.
“There’ll be a car outside your door in five minutes. The police officers in it will either arrest you on suspicion of aggravated fraud or drive you to the ferry. Your choice, Natalie.”
Natalie opened her mouth to say something, but the line had already gone dead.
FIFTY-FOUR
“Atif here, I’m in position.”
“Good. How’s the weather over there?” Hunter said.
“It’s snowing pretty heavily, looking like it’s getting worse,” Atif said.
“Okay. Now take the boat across to Rindö and wait there. It’s the yellow, open-decked car ferry.”
Atif looked out through the windshield. He could see lights approaching some way off in the sound. He started the engine and rolled over to join the line of cars. He wondered if he ought to call Abu Hamsa and give him an update. He decided to wait. The plan was still working; neither Hunter nor Abu Hamsa appeared to have realized he was playing them both. Not yet, anyway.
• • •
Natalie was the last one up the steps to the little waiting room. She stopped briefly to peer out through the snow. Just as she had hoped, she could see the taillights of the dark Volvo pulling away from the harbor. Perfect.
Neither of the policemen in the car had uttered a word on the way there, which had given her plenty of time to think. She had long since cleared her computer of any possible evidence. She had got rid of anything that might link her to the fake kidnappings the day she agreed to work for Wallin. She hoped that would be enough, and that all he could do to her was lock her up for a few days. But there was obviously no way she could be certain. She was planning to play along for a bit longer. Pretend to cooperate, catch the ferry out to the island, then travel back as quickly as she could. She could blame the concussion she had received in the collision with the van. Wallin could hardly come down hard on her if she had been willing to go all the way out to the island. At least that was what she was hoping.
Off to one side of the staircase the car deck had already been emptied and new vehicles were starting to drive on board. There weren’t many, maybe ten in total. A blue van with plenty of rust on it went past her. It had a tiny set of Christmas lights inside the windshield that caught her attention. Only after the van had driven past did she realize that she recognized the driver. She stopped abruptly and turned to look at the van.
“Probably best if you go into the waiting room,” a member of the crew shouted at her. Natalie nodded and took another couple of steps up the staircase. She fished out her cell phone and tried Sarac’s number.
“The number you have called cannot be reached.”
She swore to herself and tried again. The cold was making her fingers stiff.
Natalie looked over at the van again. It was parked more or less in the middle of the car deck. The driver was staying inside.
She carried on up the staircase and tried to call again as soon as she was inside the waiting room. Still nothing. The snow was falling more heavily now, forcing the captain to use the foghorn.
Somehow she had to find a way to warn David that the man was on his way out to the island. She tried once more with the phone but still couldn’t get through. The foghorn blew again, making the windows of the waiting room rattle. Natalie thought for a few seconds. Then she took her scarf off and wound it around her head and face, so just her eyes were visible. She opened the door and went slowly back down the steps.
It was snowing hard now, covering the van’s windows. To start with Atif kept the windshield wipers running but switched them off after a while. He couldn’t have his engine running on the ferry, and he didn’t want to risk draining the battery. Besides, the snow-covered windows gave him a chance to go through his equipment in peace and quiet. He took the pistol out of his pocket and opened it to check that there was a bullet in the chamber.
There wasn’t actually any need to look; he’d checked only an hour ago and there was no way anything could have happened to the gun since then. It was more about how he felt. The need to feel he was prepared.
He turned his head and looked into the back of the van. Crowbar, spade, axe, saw, duct tape, and a roll of black trash bags. And, right at the back, a long, heavy chain. Everything he needed to make Janus disappear for good.
He leaned back in his seat, shut his eyes, and thought about his little garden at home, and the starry sky high above it. But for some reason the memory was getting harder to conjure. He found his thoughts wandering to Tindra. As soon as this was all over he was planning to go up to Leksand and take her back home. Maybe he could even persuade Cassandra that they should all go to Iraq together and visit his mother. He tried to imagine the look on his mother’s face when she saw her first and only grandchild in the flesh rather than in photographs. The way she’d look at him and silently thank Atif for making it happen.
• • •
Natalie crept across the open car deck, holding on to the walls beneath the waiting room as she blinked in an attempt to get rid of the snowflakes that were swirling around her face. Approximately halfway to the van was a small door marked Crew only.
She opened it cautiously and peered inside. A flight of steps led down, presumably to the engine room. There was a large toolbox hanging on the wall above it. She lifted the lid and found what she was looking for.
The ferry turned slightly, meaning that the snow was blowing straight at her when she reemerged on deck. She blinked hard a couple of times and pulled the scarf lower over her forehead.
Her body was protesting, but she did her best to ignore the pain. She crept slowly over toward the van.
Fifteen left.
Ten.
Five.
One.
• • •
Atif put his coffee cup down. It felt as if the van had just rocked. Were they already there?
He switched the windshield wipers on. They moved back and forth a couple of times, pushing the snow aside. But all he could see in front of the bow was dark water and swirling snow. Must have been the wind.
He swallowed his pills with the last of the coffee, then screwed the plastic cup back on top of the flask. He looked at his watch
. It was almost six o’clock.
“Not long now, Adnan,” he muttered.
• • •
Natalie was huddled up next to the right rear wheel of the van. She felt in her pocket and took out the awl she had stolen from the toolbox. She felt frozen already. Her fingers were stiff and wouldn’t grasp the plastic handle properly. She ended up using both hands. A blast from the foghorn made her jump. The awl fell onto the deck and rolled away under the van. Fuck!
Off in the distance she could see the lights of the little harbor on the island. It wouldn’t be many more minutes before they arrived. She thought about getting up and hurrying back to the waiting room. But she had to delay the man and get a chance to warn David.
She lay down on her stomach with an effort and looked under the van. Her cracked ribs complained but she blinked the pain away. The awl was only a yard or so away. She stretched out her arm as far as she could and nudged the plastic handle. The sound of the ferry’s engines eased a couple of notches. They were almost there.
She crept a bit further under the van. Her chest was protesting louder now. She reached out . . .
• • •
The jolt was very noticeable. They must have docked. Atif turned the key in the ignition and put the wipers on full, front and back. Then he lowered the side windows halfway so he could knock the snow away. He glimpsed something in the right side-view mirror. He turned instinctively and saw the back of a light-colored coat and covered head. A member of the crew, probably. Pretty awful job to have on a day like this.
The ramp was lowered and the cars in front of him began to roll slowly off the ferry. Atif set off slowly after them in the van. As soon as he was on dry land he realized that something was wrong. The rear tires weren’t getting a proper grip on the snow, and the van was pulling to the right. A growing rhythmic thudding increased his suspicions. A puncture.
He pulled over and jumped out. The right rear tire was completely flat. When he crouched down to inspect the damage he discovered three neat holes in the side of the tire, right next to the rim. He frowned, then looked around him slowly.
• • •
The other passengers in the waiting room had already left down the staircase at the other end by the time Natalie climbed back up. She had to wait a while to try to thaw out her frozen hands on one of the radiators. She wished she’d kept her thick Lovika mittens instead of swapping them for the thin leather gloves that may have been dry but didn’t stand a chance against the cold. Once her fingers had warmed up a bit she tried calling Sarac’s cell phone again. Still no answer. She didn’t have much choice, then. She had to get to the villa before the man in the van got there.
She went down the steps and crossed the ramp. The van was parked at the side of the cul-de-sac, right where she had to walk. The man from Gamla stan was crouching beside it, inspecting the punctured tire. Beyond him the taillights of the last cars were disappearing into the snow. Shit, she’d been hoping she could get a lift! The house was a mile and a half away. If she walked fast she could still get there first. Warn Sarac and get to safety with a neighbor. There was just one problem with that plan: she had to cross the cul-de-sac and go past the man with the van.
Natalie lowered her gaze, pulled her scarf lower down over her forehead again, and started walking.
FIFTY-FIVE
The black 4x4 was standing in the drive. Sarac found Molnar and Josef in the kitchen.
“Did you come via Värmdö?” he said as he pushed his hood back and brushed the snow from his clothes.
Molnar nodded, then removed his unlit cigar from his mouth and spat a strand of tobacco onto the floor.
“And the others?” Sarac said. He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Molnar.
“I’ve put them to work sweeping the terrain,” Molnar said. “Want to make sure Wallin’s people aren’t hiding in the bushes. By the way, is your cell phone turned off, David?”
Sarac nodded. “I switched it off before I caught the ferry back in the city.”
“Good, we’ll stick to short wave, our own kit, not the force’s.” Molnar put a small communication radio on the table.
“So when’s he coming, David?” Josef said. His voice sounded tense.
Sarac looked at the time.
“Soon,” he said. “Very soon.”
• • •
Atif saw the woman walk past ten feet away. She had a scarf wrapped around her head and wasn’t even looking in his direction. She was probably on her way to the parking lot a bit farther on.
He turned around and held his hand up to keep the snow out of his eyes as he stared at the rear tire. This was no ordinary puncture. If it was, the hole would be in the tread of the tire rather than the side. And there were also three holes. Conclusion: someone had sabotaged his van, most likely on board the ferry.
He thought about the person he had glimpsed in the side-view mirror and tried to conjure the image again. Light-colored coat, head covered. Could it have been a scarf?
He turned around and looked in the direction the woman had gone in. But she had already been swallowed up by the falling snow.
• • •
Natalie’s heart was pounding hard as she passed the van. The man was big, almost seven feet tall. He made her feel even smaller than she actually was. She fixed her eyes on the ground, pulled the scarf tighter around her head, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
The road ran along the north side of the island, right next to the sea, without any trees or bushes to give shelter from the strengthening wind. There was a faint rumble from off to the north, suggesting that the storm wasn’t yet at full strength. Natalie swore silently to herself. Jeans and a raincoat were completely the wrong sort of clothes for a task like this. But her padded jacket was both smeared in blood and covered with powder from the air bag. Besides, she’d hardly expected to have to go for a hike through a fucking snowstorm. She turned around, looking for car headlights, but couldn’t see any. She was already freezing; the cold was making her already stiff limbs even harder to control. Unless she wanted to return to the ferry, the nearest house was on the other side of the little bridge that connected the two islands. And that was at least three thousand feet away, if not more.
This was a bad idea, Natalie, really fucking stupid! Why the hell couldn’t you just stick to the plan and go back to Vaxholm?
• • •
“So, are you planning to explain or not?” Molnar said as soon as Josef had gone out to move the 4x4 from the drive. “How did you crack it, David?”
“Guess,” Sarac said.
Molnar gave him a long look, then leaned back in the kitchen chair.
“You managed to find the place you’d been using as your base,” he said.
Sarac nodded.
“It was only a thousand feet from my apartment.”
“Jesus,” Molnar said. “Did you find any account numbers?”
“Better than that. I found a whiteboard covered with photographs. A big web featuring everyone involved in the operation. Abu Hamsa, a guy called Eldar.”
Molnar nodded. His voice was eager. “Hamsa’s quite a celebrity. He’s got a finger in all sorts of pies. Money laundering, bureaus de change, and plenty more. Eldar’s his bodyguard slash crown prince.”
“There were others,” Sarac said. “A couple of biker-gang thugs. Micke Lund and someone called Karim, then two Russians. Zimin and Ivazov.”
“Lund’s Hells Angels, Karim Bandidos,” Molnar said. “Despite all the talk of them being enemies, they look out for each other and share a number of business deals with those Russians. Anyone else?”
Sarac nodded.
“A bald guy called Sasha. Head like a skull. I’ve got a feeling he’s a Yugo?”
“Serbian, to be precise. A real psycho, if it’s the man I’m thinking of. Have you got the pictures with you?”
“No,” Sarac said. “I cleared the room of evidence. Burned the pictures and notebook.”
“I burned the notebook.”
Molnar ran his tongue over his teeth a couple of times, and a little vein throbbed in his temple, but he said nothing. The radio crackled and broke the strained atmosphere.
“Why?” he said after a pause.
Sarac shrugged his shoulders. “No loose ends, just like you said.”
“But what about the rest of the information?” Molnar said.
“Just a load of meetings with encrypted sources, people I no longer remember,” Sarac said. “Worthless without the pages that were torn out.”
He leaned across the table. “The pages you tore out, Peter.”
The radio crackled again, no voices, just white noise. A dull rumble could be heard in the distance.
“What makes you think that, David?” Molnar was frowning.
“Because you wanted me to focus on the Janus list, and those numbers. Everything else was unimportant.”
Molnar raised his eyebrows slightly. “I thought we were agreed on that?” he said.
“Yes, that’s true,” Sarac said. “I was just as keen as you to find Janus. To not trust anyone, to protect the secret, just like it said on the note up at the hospital, and scrawled on my bedroom wall.”
“Sorry, but what are you talking about, David?” Molnar said.
“I’m talking about the fact that someone’s been manipulating me. Trying to steer me in a particular direction. Messages, whispers, notes, phone calls.”
“You’re starting to sound like a nutter now, David,” Molnar said. “If you’ve got something to say, I suggest you come right out with it.”
“What really happened on the night of my crash?” Sarac said.
“We’ve already been through that several times,” Molnar said. “You and Janus met Hansen. He tried to blackmail you, Janus got rid of him.”
“So it was Janus who killed him, you’re sure of that?” Sarac said.
Molnar shrugged. “It must have been. You realized you’d lost control of him, of the entire operation. You called the other three sources. Told them to get out of the city, that Janus might be after them as well. Then you took a load of drugs and called me. After which . . .”
MemoRandom Page 36
