Ultimatum

by Anders de la Motte

  She opened the front door and her nose immediately detected the acrid smell. She encountered the first tendrils of smoke on the first-floor landing. She ran up the last two flights. The smoke was thicker there and made her eyes sting. She heard a door open below her, then agitated voices shouting in a language she didn’t understand.

  “There’s a fire,” she called. “Everyone needs to get out!” She repeated the message in both Arabic and English.

  She knocked lightly on Cassandra’s door. It opened at once and for a moment Natalie thought she’d been found out, that her plan was blown and the woman with the shoulder-length red hair who opened the door was a police officer who was about to arrest her. Then she saw that the woman was wearing the same paramedic’s outfit as she was. She recognized the large glasses she had put in the Ellos box and realized that the woman in front of her was Cassandra.

  “Your hair . . .” she couldn’t help saying.

  Cassandra shrugged. “Trimmed and dyed. You said I should try to make myself look different.”

  Natalie’s expression showed how impressed she was. Then she glanced quickly at her watch again. The sound of sirens was echoing off the buildings: big gas-powered horns approaching at speed.

  “Are you ready?” she asked. Cassandra nodded. On the floor in front of her was the orange backpack that had also been in the Ellos box, now packed with essentials, hopefully. Tindra looked out from behind Cassandra’s legs. The black dress made her look even smaller than she was.

  Natalie crouched down. “My name’s Natalie. I’m friends with your uncle Atif. I’m going to take you and your mom to him, but first we have to play a pretending game. But there’s nothing to worry about really, okay?” She held out a transparent breathing mask. “You put this over your nose and mouth, just like you do at the doctor’s.”

  The girl nodded. “Mom’s told me.” She took the mask and pulled the elastic strap over her head and put it on.

  “Good girl.” Natalie nodded at Cassandra. “Get ready.”

  She stood up and looked out through the peephole. The emergency vehicles must have arrived; the sirens were deafeningly loud outside. From out in the stairwell came the sound of heavy footsteps and the clatter of equipment, then doors opening and voices speaking loudly in several different languages.

  Cassandra pulled the black hijab over Tindra’s hair and as far down her forehead as she could. Then she picked the girl up in her arms.

  “I’m Darth Vader,” Tindra twittered through the breathing mask. It covered half her face and made the little voice sound hollow.

  “You certainly are, sweetheart,” Natalie murmured. She couldn’t help smiling. She quickly grew serious again.

  She exchanged a quick glance with Cassandra before looking through the peephole again. Four firemen stomped past on their way to the attic. The smoke had gotten a bit thicker.

  “Okay, then,” she said, picking up the backpack and pulling it on. “Just say when you can’t carry her anymore and we’ll swap. We walk straight out. Don’t look around. Don’t talk to anyone. We’re two paramedics on our way out with a child suffering from smoke inhalation, and no one’s going to stop us. Okay?”

  She waited until Cassandra nodded reluctantly at her.

  “All right, let’s go!”

  The stairwell was full of smoke now. From the attic they could hear the sound of metal against metal. A sledgehammer or some other heavy tool striking a steel door. The sound echoed in the stairwell, bouncing off the concrete walls.

  They encountered the first cops one floor below. A man and a woman: Natalie recognized them from her reconnaissance. All of their attention was focused on the upper floors, and they passed without so much as pausing. On the next floor they encountered a team of paramedics in similar green outfits as they were wearing, and with matching orange backpacks. Natalie greeted them in what she hoped was a collegial way.

  “Any more?” one of the paramedics called, pointing upward.

  Natalie nodded. “Top floor.” She turned back toward Tindra and Cassandra to indicate that she was in a hurry.

  They continued downstairs, but the staircase was temporarily blocked by agitated people and they were forced to stop. The noises up above changed character, becoming a painful metallic creak as the steel door and its frame reluctantly let go of each other. Another minute or so, maximum, then the firemen would be in the attic and would find the smoke flare Cassandra had put there and understand that the fire was deliberate. Behind the sound of the sledgehammer, Natalie thought she could hear the cops banging on the door to Cassandra’s apartment. Time was running out. They needed to get away from there immediately.

  Someone touched her arm. Natalie turned her head and found herself standing face-to-face with one of the handsome cops from the gas station. The man was staring at her; his lips were moving slowly but the cacophony of hammering, banging, and shouting made it impossible to hear what he said. Natalie’s heart skipped a beat. She felt Cassandra tuck herself and Tindra behind her back.

  “What?” she yelled. Trying to win a bit of time. The cop was standing in front of them now, blocking their way. His colleague was standing on the next step down. For a moment she considered turning and pushing Cassandra and Tindra back up the stairs again, but there were already two cops up there. They were stuck, caught in a trap.

  The noise from the attic turned into something resembling a scream. Then suddenly there was silence up there. The handsome cop’s lips suddenly formed audible words.

  “Follow me!” he shouted. “I’ll help get you out.” He gesticulated to his partner to proceed upstairs.

  Natalie nodded, glanced quickly over her shoulder at Cassandra, and set off after the man’s broad shoulders. He efficiently forged a path through the agitated crowd milling about in the stairwell, enabling them to get through. First Natalie with the backpack, then Cassandra with Tindra in her arms.

  They reached the foot of the stairs and forced their way out through the front door, out into the fresh air. Another group of firemen was waiting out there, concentrating on their comms radio.

  The handsome cop turned to Natalie. He barely looked at Cassandra and Tindra.

  “Where’s your ambulance?”

  “Around the corner.” Natalie gestured with her free hand.

  “Is it far? I can carry the girl if you like.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” Natalie took a quick step to place herself between the cop and Cassandra. For a brief moment the cop seemed to be wise to them. His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Thanks for your help.” Natalie forced a smile. “We need to get this little one away from here.”

  She pulled Cassandra and Tindra with her toward the corner of the building. The cop’s eyes burned into their backs.

  “Don’t look back,” Natalie hissed through her teeth, as much to herself as to Cassandra. “Just keep walking.”

  Just as they turned the corner, she heard one of the firemen’s comms radios crackle at top volume. “They’ve found a smoke flare up in the attic.”

  Natalie shoved Cassandra in the back. “Run,” she said. “Run!”

  Thirty-Four

  It was hot inside the little smoke shop. The air was almost still and the feeble fan the owner had set up on the counter wasn’t doing much to improve things.

  “Sorry.” The man on the other side of the counter shrugged.

  “What do you mean, ‘Sorry’?” Atif said.

  “The passports aren’t ready. The printer broke and I had to order some replacement parts. Won’t get them until Monday. You know, 3-D printers are complicated things.”

  “And you’re telling me this now?”

  The man shrugged once more. The rings of sweat under his arms were well on their way to conquering the chest of his stained shirt.

  “You didn’t leave a number the last time you w
ere here. I tried calling Zio Erdun but all I got was his idiot grandson. I thought you’d rather I didn’t leave a message with him. The new passports are difficult. Far more security features. They take much more work. But, believe me, you’ll thank me when you’re standing there at customs.”

  Atif tried to control his anger. Without the passports, their whole plan fell apart. There were other ways of getting across Europe and off to the east. If he’d been on his own he probably would have dared to attempt such a road trip, but now he had Cassandra and Tindra to think about. Getting fake passports—good ones that couldn’t really be differentiated from the real thing—and flying across the continent was still the best option, no question. But the risk was greater now. They’d have to stay in Stockholm while every cop and something like half the criminals in the city were trying to find them. Hundreds of eyes searching for them. He clenched his fists, then opened them slowly. He fought an urge to wipe the grin off the shrugging fool on the other side of the counter.

  • • •

  Natalie opened the back door of the VW Golf. She helped Tindra and Cassandra into the backseat before dumping the backpack in the trunk. Only when she got in the driver’s seat did she realize that her shirt was soaked with sweat.

  “There are water bottles in the pockets in the doors,” she gasped, but got no answer.

  She looked quickly in the rearview mirror. There were no cops running after them.

  She turned the engine on, put the car in first gear, and pulled away from the little courtyard. Resisted the temptation to put her foot down.

  “Keep your heads down,” she said to the pair in the back. “The sunshades cover the side windows, but you’re still visible through the windshield.

  They reached the main road and were approaching the place where one of the cop cars was usually parked. Natalie looked around. Cassandra was lying down in the backseat with her arms around Tindra.

  The unmarked car, a blue Passat, was still there, unfortunately. She had hoped that all the cops would drop what they were doing and head to the apartment. But clearly one of them had been smart enough to hold back. She tried to keep her eyes fixed firmly ahead, but it was almost impossible not to glance at the Passat as she drove past.

  There were two people sitting in it; both of them seemed to be looking at her car. One of them was holding a microphone to his mouth. Just as she passed she saw the unmarked car’s headlights switch on.

  Shit!

  She looked in the rearview mirror and saw the police car lurch into motion. Natalie changed to a lower gear and put her foot down. But her car didn’t stand a chance. The Passat was gaining on them fast as blue lights started to flash at the front of the car. Embarking on a car chase in a battered old Golf with a child on board was hardly an option. Better to just give up.

  She indicated left and slowed down. But instead of following suit, the Passat pulled out into the other lane and continued to accelerate. It swept past so fast that Natalie hardly had time to react before it was way ahead of her. Astonished, she started to speed up again. She saw the Passat’s brake lights go on, then the driver performed a sharp left turn and disappeared from view along a narrow cycling path.

  She accelerated and made her way onto the motorway. She slipped in among the rest of the traffic and headed back toward the city. One kilometer or so farther on, a whole row of police cars with flashing blue lights and sirens came toward them. None of them made any attempt to slow down or turn around.

  Relief washed over her, then turned to delight. We’re going to make it! We’re fucking well going to make it!

  After another kilometer or so she turned around.

  “You can sit up. We’re safe now.”

  • • •

  When Atif opened the door for them, Natalie realized at once that something was wrong. She saw the somber look in his eyes before they filled with joy at seeing his little niece again. Even so, she couldn’t stifle her surprise when he told her what had happened.

  “What do you mean, ‘no passports’?”

  She could hear how stupid she sounded. What exactly hadn’t she understood in what he’d said?

  “So we can’t fly out tonight? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Great. One more obvious statement of fact and she’d have a hat trick. She pressed her lips together and tried to synchronize her thoughts and speech. This couldn’t be happening!

  Atif squirmed. Tindra had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She hadn’t let go of him since they got inside Natalie’s apartment. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he looked as if all he wanted to do was sit there with a silly grin on his face.

  “We’ll just have to lie low for a few days before we can leave,” he said. “It doesn’t really change anything.”

  “What are you talking about? For fuck’s sake, it changes everything!”

  Tindra looked up from Atif’s arms.

  “You’re not allowed to swear,” she said. “Mommy said.”

  Natalie opened her mouth to explain that she’d swear as much as she fucking wanted, that this was her fucking home and that Tindra’s mommy was too busy smoking her fucking cigarettes under Natalie’s fucking fan in the kitchen to bother about anyone’s language. But she stopped herself at the last moment.

  “You’re quite right, Tindra,” she said instead. “I promise to do better.”

  Natalie glared at Atif. Tried to gather her thoughts.

  “How long?”

  “Monday, the guy thought.”

  Natalie thought about Wallin’s visit. What would happen if he showed up again? That wasn’t out of the question, given how crazy he’d seemed. What if he caught sight of Cassandra or Tindra? He wouldn’t even have to break into a sweat to get his revenge.

  She looked at Atif and the little girl, who were still hugging on the sofa. She heard Cassandra poking about in the kitchen. The kitchen fan was weak and the smell of smoke was already invading the living room. A cigarette would have been great just then, would have helped calm her down.

  According to their original plan, they should have been halfway to Arlanda by now, all four of them. And by lunchtime tomorrow she’d have had her money. Cash in hand, just as she’d been promised. Free to go wherever she wanted. Make a fresh start, far away from Sweden, far from the parents who barely spoke to her, and, not least, far from Oscar fucking Wallin.

  The thought of being shut inside an apartment that reeked of smoke at the height of summer with three wanted individuals for the duration of a holiday weekend while Wallin lurked around the corner wasn’t exactly appealing. She needed to rethink things, come up with a different plan. Preferably straightaway.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?” Atif said.

  “Too big a risk. I’ll see if I can come up with something else,” she added, before he had time to protest.

  Thirty-Five

  Stenberg drank a mouthful of chamomile tea. The fog outside the kitchen window was easing as the morning sun rose steadily higher. The birds out in the garden were already in full swing with their morning serenade, even though it wasn’t yet six o’clock. He couldn’t claim to be quite as awake.

  He thought he’d sleep better now that John Thorning was no longer disturbing his thoughts. That the nightmares about Sophie would disappear again now that no one was reminding him about her. And for the first few nights he did sleep better. But after the memorial service, Wallin’s comments, and that meal at the Grand, the dreams were back. Sophie was still tormenting him, waking him in the middle of the night.

  But the dream was slightly different. Instead of putting the car in reverse and driving back into the garage with Sophie’s dead body on the hood, he gets out of the car. Looks up at the building and the open window up above. Thinks he sees the silhouette of a wiry little man leaning out. The man’s unnaturally blue eyes m
eet his, and he nods faintly at him, as if there is an understanding between them.

  A necessary sacrifice.

  It was her or you.

  You had no choice.

  We had no choice . . .

  When he turns around and looks in the car, past Sophie’s shattered body, he sees John Thorning sitting in the backseat. Staring at him accusingly.

  Then he woke up. Had to lie there quietly listening to Karolina’s calm breathing while his thoughts formed a swirling maelstrom, dragging him deeper and deeper.

  Was Wallin right? Had someone gotten John Thorning out of the way? If so, there was only one suspect.

  Former soldier and loyal underling Nisse Boman. What was it he had said about the Cedergren family? That he owed them everything—that they had chosen to ignore his little peculiarities. Could one of those peculiarities be that he was capable of murder? Killing a man in a way that couldn’t be detected? Or maybe even pushing a young woman out of a window?

  Up until the memorial service Stenberg had never thought of Sophie’s death as anything but suicide. But Oscar Wallin had ignited his paranoia. And now he couldn’t get it back under control, even though he kept repeating the same mantra: There’s no evidence at all to suggest anyone else was involved in either Sophie’s or John’s death. Their deaths were two separate, very tragic events that had nothing to do with him. He needed to put the past behind him. Focus on the future instead: onward and upward.

  Prime Minister Jesper Stenberg.

  He drank some more tea and looked out at the garden. The fog was almost completely gone now, and the sun was shining in a clear blue sky.

  “No evidence at all,” he muttered to himself.

  • • •

  Wallin gestured to Julia to sit down beside him on the green bench. “I heard Regional Crime had a busy day of it yesterday.”

  She sat down and crossed her legs. The tall trees in the little park in front of Rosenbad, together with the cool breeze blowing off Riddarfjärden, offered just enough relief from the summer heat. Wallin held out a bag of cherries to her but she shook her head.