Ultimatum

by Anders de la Motte

  She felt his whole body twitch, and the hand that was clutching her throat let go and fell to his side. She struggled to get free, to reach the floor. Cassandra was still shrieking. She didn’t stop until Natalie managed to get to her feet.

  “The window,” she gasped, almost absentmindedly wiping the blood from her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “We have to get out of here.”

  • • •

  The Sniper had watched the commotion through the telescopic sight. A door opening, bodies moving about inside the cabin. A fight was clearly taking place, but he couldn’t tell who was who. He had been in similar situations before. Knew it paid to be patient. To wait for the right moment.

  The noise had died down and he moved his finger back to the trigger. Placed the crosshairs in the middle of the window. Father Ivor’s voice was louder than before, almost strong enough to make him lose his concentration. As if his old mentor were right behind him.

  Do you have regrets, my son?

  His pulse was suddenly throbbing in his throat, temples, eyes. It was making him feel sick. He held his breath, forced his nausea back into his stomach while trying to slow his heart rate the way he usually did. But this time his normal routine failed him.

  He spotted movement in the window. It flew open. He saw a red-haired woman appear in the sights. The moment he squeezed the trigger, a microsecond after it was too late, he regretted it.

  • • •

  Atif flew into the main room of the cabin. He swept the room with the hand holding the pistol. Eldar’s dead body lay spread across the big dining table. Tindra was curled up behind an armchair.

  “Amu!” The girl threw her arms around his neck and hid her little face against his shoulder. It almost made him forget the pain.

  He carried Tindra over to the door of the little bedroom. He stopped in the doorway. Cassandra was lying on her back, her mouth open, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A pool of blood was slowly spreading out across the pine floorboards, forming a striped pattern.

  “It came from outside,” Natalie sniffed as she knelt by the body. “There was nothing I could do.”

  The window was wide-open. Moving slowly back and forth in the evening wind, as if it were waving good-bye.

  Forty-Four

  Oscar Wallin was half lying across his desk. The police radio beside him was tuned to the operations channel. Four dead bodies so far, one of them a woman. He already knew who. Knew that the stupid little bitch would never fuck with him or his family again.

  In half an hour the media would be awash with hastily put-together reports. They’d be broadcasting live from the crime scene. Another gangland massacre in the backyard of the Regional Crime Unit, and in all likelihood the final nail in the coffin of Staffan Kollander’s career. And for Pärson, the fat bastard.

  Natalie, Kollander, Pärson, all knocked out in one single stroke of genius that could never be traced back to him. He reached out to switch the radio off, but stopped with his finger on the button. Why was he hesitating?

  He certainly had other things to concentrate on. Julia Gabrielsson had outdone herself and had provided him with the tools he needed to regain admittance to the center of power. In an odd way he felt proud of her. She was his protégée, and his strategic investment in her was now paying a higher dividend than he had ever dared imagine. Julia was very different from all the idiots he had been forced to work with on the force. She was smart, driven, and dependable, rather like him. Together they could go far, toward a brighter future. All that was needed was one last push. Or sacrifice, depending on how you looked at it.

  So, why didn’t he just switch off the police radio?

  Probably because of the little dot that was moving slowly across the map on his screen. Heading northeast along the motorway, toward Arlanda. At a guess it was Kassab, or possibly Cassandra Nygren, who had managed to get away and was fleeing for his or her life.

  It wasn’t really any of his concern now. But he hated loose ends.

  Wallin took his pay-as-you-go cell phone out of his pocket. Before he had even pressed the buttons, he decided that this would be the last call he would make with it. He’d get rid of it at the same time as he deleted the tracking program from his computer, and Natalie Aden from his memory.

  Susanna answered on the first ring.

  • • •

  “What are we going to tell her?” Natalie said quietly, so that Tindra—who was leaning on her chest—didn’t wake up. It probably wasn’t necessary. The air blowing through the bullet holes in the car doors was almost as loud as her voice.

  “Nothing,” Atif said over his shoulder. “We stick to what we said in the cabin: that her mom climbed out through the window. That she had to do it to save Tindra from the bad men. That Cassandra asked you to take care of her for the time being.”

  “We can’t do that, can we? She has a right to know the truth.”

  “Yes, she does. But not now, not until she’s safe. Tindra’s been through enough already.”

  Natalie didn’t answer, just looked out through the window. Ten more minutes and they’d be at Arlanda. Everything had changed. She’d never be able to return home even if she wanted to. The cabin was full of her fingerprints. The man she’d rented it from would be able to identify her. Obviously they should have set fire to it, but whoever had shot Cassandra was still out there somewhere. Their only option had been to grab their things, get in her shot-up old Golf, and get out of there as fast as they could.

  They passed the first patrol car about a kilometer from the junction with the road. It would take the police a long time to secure the scene, get a forensics team out there, and run all the findings through their system. But she guessed that she’d be as wanted as Atif by tomorrow evening, at the very latest. She held her right hand up. It was shaking.

  “How do you think they found us?” she said. “Could they find us again?”

  • • •

  The Sniper had packed his gun and camping mat away with the usual five practiced movements. He crept carefully around the little lake, through the forest, and up among the houses where his rental car was parked. He had driven almost thirty kilometers from the Scout cabin when his cell phone rang.

  “Eldar’s dead,” Susanna said. Her voice was cold, more factual than sad. “The other two as well. Kassab managed to escape.”

  “I’m sorry,” the Sniper said. He wondered about adding something about Eldar being a good man, but decided against it.

  “How far are you from Arlanda?”

  He looked up and saw a road sign.

  “Quarter of an hour, max.”

  “Good, they’re already there. Put an end to this.”

  Forty-Five

  Jesper Stenberg splashed water on his face, then straightened up and looked at himself in the mirror above the basin. Karolina and his mother-in-law had taken the girls down to the jetty. That had given him a chance to have a power nap in the guest cottage before his next mangling. He had been woken by the phone. It was the national police chief herself no less, informing him of another gangland shoot-out, this time in the southern suburbs of Stockholm. But he had lost interest in details of that sort. Before too long, the person he appointed as home minister would be in charge of the police and the fight against organized crime. He was on his way toward a different goal altogether.

  “Prime Minister Jesper Stenberg,” he said, trying it out in front of the mirror. He changed the emphasis slightly: “Prime Minister Jesper Stenberg.” That sounded better.

  It was going to happen tomorrow. The first step toward the absolute pinnacle. A press conference at Rosenbad. The prime minister would give a short election speech, and then it would be time for him to climb the podium to be presented as the prime minister’s running mate and the future of the party. All he had ever wished for. The question was: What had his elevation cost? And did he
really want to know?

  He had turned the matter over in his mind repeatedly and arrived at one possible conclusion. The only possible conclusion.

  Sophie had committed suicide. John had died of a heart attack. Wallin’s insinuations, Boman’s unpleasant talk of unconditional loyalty, and his own increasingly confused nightmares were all very irritating. But none of that constituted evidence of any sort. And without evidence there was nothing he could do. Which left him with two choices: decline the offer and throw away all the work he and Karolina had put in, all the sacrifices they had made to get this far. Or say yes to the job and move on. Use his new position to do good. For the good of the country.

  He wiped his face on one of the guest towels. Time for yet another run-through of his speech with his press secretary. A familiar feeling began to spread through his body. Something he hadn’t felt for ages. A feeling of absolute presence.

  • • •

  There were only a couple more flights due to leave that evening, so the terminal was almost empty. Atif would have preferred to go through security at once, get all the way to the gate before they stopped for food or rest. But Natalie had forced him to sit down and wait on the benches outside the restrooms. She must have been in there for a good ten minutes now. Not that there was anything odd about that. He remembered the first time he had killed someone. How he had thrown up once the adrenaline kick ebbed away. It was actually pretty impressive that she had held it together this far. But Natalie was tough, probably one of the toughest people he knew. She’d even had the sense to patch his injuries up out in the airport parking lot.

  You can’t go into the terminal building with a bloody great hole right through your face, now, can you?

  He touched the neat bandage covering one of his cheeks. Then the other one. Although her hands had been shaking, the pain hadn’t flared up until after she patched him up. A four, which the painkillers were turning into a three.

  Tindra was lying with her head on his lap. She had barely woken up when they made their way from the car to the terminal. Which wasn’t that strange either. She must be completely exhausted. But now they had to gather their strength. Make one last effort in order to get to safety.

  “Is this seat free?” a voice said in English.

  Atif looked up and saw a black-clad man, about the same age as him, ordinary looking, carrying a rolled-up newspaper in one hand. The man indicated the bench opposite.

  “Sure,” Atif mumbled.

  The man sat down. Looked at him for a few seconds.

  “Pretty girl,” he said. “Your daughter?” His English was good, with just a trace of an accent. Eastern European, maybe? Russian?

  “Niece.”

  The man went on looking at him. His gaze was friendly, but there was still something in it that Atif felt he recognized. Something very familiar.

  “Can I ask you a question? It might sound a bit strange . . . but I’m genuinely interested in your answer.”

  Atif frowned. Almost fifteen minutes had passed since Natalie disappeared. She ought to be back soon. He glanced over toward the women’s restroom. Then at the man opposite.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Do you ever have any regrets?”

  Atif was taken aback. “Regrets about what?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders.

  “This life. The fact that we became the people we did. The things we’ve done . . .”

  “I’ve done many things I’ve regretted,” Atif said, to his own surprise. Tiredness must have lowered his guard.

  The man nodded slowly. “Me too. Once I shot a man from a distance of seven hundred meters. I lay hidden on a forest slope for over twenty-four hours waiting for the right moment. Killed him when he went out onto his balcony to get some air. Ten bodyguards couldn’t stop me.”

  Atif stiffened. He gently lifted Tindra’s head and slid out sideways. No sign of Natalie. The man had come from the direction of the toilets. He looked at the rolled-up newspaper. Wondered what sort of weapon it was hiding.

  “There are only a few people on the planet who could do something like that,” the man went on. “So I should have felt proud. I suppose I did, for many years.” He paused and met Atif’s gaze again. “But not anymore. Now I’ve started to . . .”

  “Have regrets,” Atif said.

  The man nodded. Then smiled weakly.

  The two men sat in silence for several seconds, looking at each other across the narrow gangway.

  “Did you kill her?” Atif said. Tried to keep his voice calm.

  “Did I kill who?”

  “Natalie.” Atif nodded toward the toilets. “Did you kill her?”

  The man pursed his lips.

  “That was my task. Kill the red-haired woman. Susanna promised her source that she’d do that in exchange for him telling her where you were.” He pulled an apologetic face. “But I made a mistake, didn’t I? Killed the wrong woman back at the cabin. The girl’s mother . . .”

  Atif knitted his hands. Tindra stirred anxiously beside him.

  “Susanna’s husband and I are old acquaintances,” the man said. “His uncle and I fought together. We were friends . . .”

  “Eldar’s dead,” Atif said bluntly.

  The man raised his eyebrows slightly. “Yes, I heard. So, in a way, perhaps you could say that we’re quits?”

  Atif shook his head. Felt the pain from the wound to his cheeks increase as his blood pressure rose. He leaned forward.

  “You killed an innocent woman,” he whispered. “We’re not quits. Not by a long shot.”

  The man nodded slowly.

  “I thought that was how you’d see it.”

  He laid the newspaper in his lap. Atif pressed his soles to the floor, got ready to move.

  “Susanna will never give up,” the man said slowly. “Even if you kill me, and the person she sends to replace me, and the one after that.”

  “Susanna is finished. Without the money there’s no deal. Her creditors will turn on her for breaking her promise.”

  “You underestimate her. She had her own father killed, sacrificed him to save herself. Now Eldar is dead and the grieving widow will find a way of exploiting that fact to get out of the trap. Blame Eldar, make another deal with the same people. Whatever she offers, it will involve you and therefore everyone you care about. None of you will be safe. It doesn’t matter where you hide.”

  He leaned closer.

  “I have regrets.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I regret things I’ve done, things I didn’t do. This is my last job. I’m never going to take another life. But for people like you and me, it makes no difference how much regret we feel. Our punishment has already been meted out. All we can do is put as much as we can right. I’ve done what I can. The rest is up to you.”

  He slowly unrolled the newspaper and passed it to Atif. Then he stood up and walked calmly away.

  On the back of the paper was an address and a simple sketch of a building, along with six digits followed by a roughly drawn square. It took a few seconds before Atif realized what it all meant.

  “Who was that?”

  Atif looked up. Natalie was standing in front of him, a bit pale, but otherwise unharmed.

  He stood up and came close to throwing his arms around her but stopped himself at the last moment.

  “Who?” he managed to say.

  “That guy you were talking to.” She pointed over her shoulder toward the man, who was slowly walking off through the terminal.

  “No one special,” Atif muttered. “He just wanted to give me his newspaper.” He gestured for Natalie to sit down opposite him and rolled the newspaper up. The man’s words echoed inside his head. Susanna will never give up. It doesn’t matter where you hide.

  “Change of plan,” he said. He tried to keep his voice neutral. “Yo
u and Tindra have to travel on your own.”

  Natalie started. The tiredness in her eyes was suddenly replaced by confusion.

  “Without you? Why? How?”

  “You go ahead, I’ll give you the codes to the numbered account. Take Tindra to Abu Dhabi and see that she, my mom, and my aunt settle into the house okay. You speak Arabic; it’ll be fine. You can keep half the money. If Gilsén was telling the truth, that should be seven or eight million. Enough to make you a millionaire.”

  “But what are you going to do here? Everyone’s looking for you.”

  “There are a couple of things I need to sort out before I leave.”

  “And you’ve only just realized that, an hour before the plane takes off?”

  He kept his eyes on her.

  “I didn’t think it would be necessary. I’d hoped to avoid it, but now I realize it has to be done. Otherwise none of us is safe.”

  Natalie sat there without saying anything for several moments.

  “What about Tindra?” She gestured toward the girl, who looked like she might be about to wake up.

  “I’ll explain it to her. It won’t be a problem. She likes you, Natalie. Trusts you . . .” He found himself swallowing, involuntarily.

  Natalie looked at the girl, then back at Atif. “I like her too,” she said slowly.

  Atif picked Tindra up in his arms. Held her tight.

  “Why do you have to go, Amu?” Tindra said into his neck. She must have heard what he’d just told Natalie. He gulped and did his best to keep his voice steady.

  “Sometimes that’s just how it is. But Natalie will look after you. And I’ll see you soon.”

  “With Mommy and Grandma and Khalti? In our new house with the swimming pool?”

  He nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to put the lie into words. He felt Natalie looking at him.