Death in Oslo (44 page)

‘A fair bit. But now I’ve got a problem. I have to access my secured pages, but if I use your computer, that will immediately tell them that I’m alive, and not only that, where I am.’

Hanne sniffed and wiped her nose with her finger.

‘A problem, hmm. What should we do?’

‘My computer,’ Johanne said, surprised at herself, and raised her finger. ‘What about using that?’

‘Your computer?’

‘Do you have a computer? Here?’

The other two looked warily at her.

‘It’s in the car,’ Johanne said eagerly. ‘And it’s registered with the University of Oslo. They would, of course, also be able to trace the IP address there, but it would take longer to . . . They would have to contact the university first, then they would have to find out who the laptop had been lent to, and then they would have to establish where I was. And in fact . . .’ she looked guiltily at her mobile phone again, ‘Adam is the only one who knows,’ she finished, subdued. ‘And he doesn’t really know either.’

‘Do you know,’ the President said. ‘I think that’s a good idea. I don’t need more than a couple of hours. And that is presumably the amount of time we can buy by using another computer.’

Hanne was the only one who was still sceptical.

‘I don’t know a lot about IP addresses and things like that,’ she said. ‘But is either of you absolutely certain that this will work? That it’s not the line itself that’s traced?’

Johanne and Helen Bentley exchanged looks.

‘I’m not certain,’ the President said. ‘I simply have to take that chance. Could you get it?’

‘Of course,’ Johanne said and got up. ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’

As the front door closed, Helen Bentley sat down on the chair beside Hanne’s wheelchair. She seemed to be struggling to find the right words. Hanne looked at her with an expressionless face, as if she had all the time in the world.

‘Hannah. Do you . . . You said you were a retired policewoman. Do you have a gun in the house?’

Hanne rolled away from the table.

‘A gun? What do you want—’

‘Shhh,’ the President said. There was a hint of authority in her voice that made Hanne stiffen. ‘Please. I’d rather Johanne didn’t know about this. I wouldn’t like my one-year-old to be
in the same flat as a loaded gun. Of course, I don’t think it will be necessary to use it. But you must remember that—’

‘Do you know why I’m sitting here? Has the thought never occurred to you? I’m sitting in this bloody wheelchair because I was shot. My spine was destroyed by a bullet. I don’t exactly have a good relationship with guns.’

‘Hannah!
Hannah! Listen to me!
’

Hanne tightened her lips and looked straight at Helen Bentley.

‘I am normally one of the world’s best-guarded people,’ the President almost whispered, as if she was frightened that Johanne might already be back. ‘I have heavily armed bodyguards with me everywhere, all the time. That’s not for no reason, Hannah. It is absolutely necessary. The moment that it’s known that I’m here in this flat, I will be completely defenceless. Until the right people get here, and then I’ll be protected by them again. But until then, I have to be able to defend myself. I know you’ll understand, if you just think about it.’

Hanne was the first one to look away.

‘I do have a gun,’ she said eventually. ‘And ammunition. I never had those heavy steel cupboards removed, and they . . . Are you any good?’

The President gave a shy smile.

‘My teachers might say otherwise. But I can handle a gun. I’m the commander-in-chief, remember?’

Hanne was still staring at the table without expression.

‘One more thing,’ Helen Bentley said, and laid her hand on Hanne’s arm. ‘I think it’s best if you all leave. Leave the flat, in case something happens.’

Hanne lifted her head and stared at the President with a look of exaggerated disbelief. Then she started to laugh. She threw her head back and roared with laughter.

‘Good luck,’ she hiccuped. ‘I will
not
be budged. And as for
Mary, she lives with a radius of about thirty metres. You will never, and I repeat
never
, get her to leave this flat. I occasionally manage to convince her to go down into the cellar, but you won’t be able to do that. And as for—’

‘Here you go,’ Johanne said, out of breath. ‘It’s full summer outside, by the way!’

She put her laptop down on the kitchen table. With practised hands, she plugged in the external mouse, laid down a mat, put the plug in a socket and turned on the machine.

‘
Voilà!
’ she said and logged on. ‘There you go, Madam President. A computer that it will take time to trace!’

She was so excited that she didn’t notice Hanne’s worried face as she reversed out from the table, turned round and rolled off into the flat. The rubber wheels squeaked on the parquet floor. The sound vanished when a door was shut, somewhere deep in the heart of the enormous flat.

T
he young man who was sitting in front of a monitor in a tiny office close to the Situation Room in the White House noticed that the characters and numbers were starting to dance on the screen. He closed his eyes hard, shook his head and tried again. It was still difficult to focus on one row, one column. He gave his neck a massage. The stringent smell of old sweat rose up from his armpits and made him drop his arms in shame and hope that no one would come in.

This wasn’t what he had gone to university for. When he got a job at the White House, two years after qualifying as a computer engineer and having worked in the commercial sector, he couldn’t believe his luck. Now, five months on, he was already bored. He had demonstrated his abilities in the small computer company that had headhunted him after graduation, and had thought that it was his indisputable talents as a programmer that had made the Bentley administration poach him.

But now, nearly six months later, he felt he had been little more than a runner.

And he had been sitting in a stuffy room with no windows, sweating and stinking, for twenty-three hours, staring at codes that flickered on the screen. He had been asked to create some kind of order in the chaos. It was important that he kept focused.

He pressed his fingers against his eyes.

He was so exhausted that he was no longer sleepy. It was as
if his brain had just stopped. It didn’t want to do any more. He felt like his own hard disk had logged out and left the rest of his body to fend for itself. His hands felt numb and a stabbing pain in his lower back had been bothering him for hours.

He breathed out slowly, and opened his eyes as wide as he could to try to get some moisture. He should really get something more to drink, but it was another quarter of an hour before he could take a break. He must try to have a shower.

There. There was something there.

Something.

He blinked and his fingers moved like lightning across the keyboard. The screen froze. He lifted a reluctant hand and ran his index finger along a row from left to right, before he started to hammer on the keyboard again.

Another screen came up.

It couldn’t be true.

It
was
true, and he was the one who had seen it. He had discovered before anyone else, and suddenly he didn’t regret switching jobs any more. Once again his fingers moved busily over the keyboard. Then he pressed Print, grabbed the phone and waited in suspense for the next screen.

‘She’s alive,’ he whispered, forgetting to breathe. ‘She’s fucking alive!’

‘T
his is the most beautiful place in the whole of Oslo,’ Adam Stubo said, and pointed to a simple bench by the water. ‘I think we could both do with a bit of air.’Summer had ambushed the city. The temperature had risen by nearly ten degrees in the course of twenty-four hours. The sun blasted the sky in an explosion of white light. The leaves on the trees along the banks of the Aker River seemed to have turned a darker shade of green in that time alone, and there was so much pollen in the air that Adam’s eyes started to run as soon as they got out of the car.

‘Is this a park?’ Warren Scifford asked without any real interest. ‘A big park?’

‘No. This is the edge of the city. Or the start of the forest, whichever way you want to look at it. This is where the two meet, trees and houses. Lovely, isn’t it? Sit yourself down.’

Warren looked at the dirty bench with suspicion. Adam produced a hanky and wiped away the remains of the national-day celebrations. A patch of hardened chocolate ice cream, a stripe of ketchup and something he’d rather not guess at.

‘There. Sit down.’

He took two enormous rolls and two cans of Diet Coke out of a plastic bag.

‘Have to think about my weight,’ he said, putting it all down on the bench between them. ‘I actually prefer regular Coke.
The real thing
. But you know . . .’

He patted his stomach. Warren said nothing. He didn’t
touch the food. Instead he sat watching three Canada geese. A small dog, which was half the size of the largest bird, was being chased around on the grassy bank down by the water. It seemed to be enjoying itself. Every time the biggest goose chased it away with a snapping beak, the swift little beast spun round and zigzagged its way back.

‘Don’t you want any?’ Adam asked with his mouth full.

Warren still didn’t say anything.

‘Listen,’ Adam said and swallowed. ‘I’ve been given the job of following you around. It’s becoming more and more obvious that you’re not particularly keen on telling me anything at all. Or perhaps I should say us. Keeping us informed. So can’t we just . . .’ he took another big bite of his roll, ‘enjoy ourselves instead?’

The words disappeared in the food.

The dog had got bored, and no longer cared about the hissing geese. Instead it was scurrying around on the bank with its nose on the ground, heading towards Maridalsvannet.

Adam continued eating in silence. Warren turned his face to the sun, rested his left foot on his right knee and closed his eyes against the bright light.

‘What’s up?’ Adam asked when he’d finished his roll and eaten half of Warren’s.

He crumpled up the plastic wrappers and put them in the bag, then opened one of the cans and took a drink. ‘What’s up with you?’ he repeated and tried to swallow a burp.

Warren still didn’t move.

‘As you like,’ Adam said, taking out a pair of sunglasses from his breast pocket.

‘There’s a monster out there,’ Warren said, without changing position.

‘There are lots of them.’ Adam nodded. ‘Far too many, if you ask me.’

‘There’s one that wants to break us.’

‘Uhum . . .’

‘He’s already started. The problem is that I don’t know how he intends to continue. And there’s no one who’ll listen to me.’

Adam tried to find a more comfortable position on the wooden bench. For a moment he put his foot on his knee, like Warren. But his stomach protested against being squashed, and he put his foot down again.

‘I’m sitting here,’ he said. ‘My ears are open.’

Finally, Warren smiled. He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked around.

‘It really is beautiful here,’ he said quietly. ‘How’s Johanne?’

‘Well . . . she’s very well.’

Adam rummaged around in the plastic bag and produced a bar of chocolate. He opened it and offered it to Warren.

‘No thanks. With my hand on my heart, I can say that she was the best, brightest student I ever had.’

Adam looked at the chocolate. Then he wrapped the paper around it again and put it back in the bag.

‘Johanne’s very well,’ he repeated. ‘We had a daughter last winter. A healthy, lovely little girl. And other than that, I think we should change the subject, Warren.’

‘Is it that bad? Is she still . . .?’

Adam took off his sunglasses.

‘Yes, it’s that bad. I don’t want to talk to you about Johanne. It would be fundamentally disloyal. And in any case, I just don’t want to. OK?’

‘Of course.’

The American bowed slightly and opened his hands.

‘My greatest weakness,’ he said with a tight-lipped smile. ‘Women.’

Adam didn’t know what to say to that. He started to wonder whether the outing had been a good idea. An hour earlier, when Warren had appeared at Peter Salhus’ office without warning and without really having anything to tell, Adam had
thought that a break in their usual routine might help them to get talking again.

But he certainly did not want to talk about Johanne.

‘You know,’ Warren continued. ‘Sometimes when I lie awake at night and sweat, thinking about the mistakes I’ve made in my life, it strikes me that they are all related to women. And now I find myself in a situation where, if President Bentley is not found alive, my career is over. A woman holds my destiny in her hands.’

He gave a demonstrative sigh.

‘Women. I don’t understand them. They are irresistible and incomprehensible.’

Adam realised he was grinding his teeth. He concentrated on not doing it. It was almost impossible, and he stroked his cheek with his hand to try to relax it.

‘You don’t agree,’ Warren laughed.

‘No.’ Adam sat up abruptly. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I find very, very few of them irresistible. Most of them are very easy to understand. Not always, not all the time, but generally. But . . .’ he threw open his arms and looked completely the other way, ‘that also means that you have to see them as equals.’

‘
Touché,
’ Warren said and gave the sun a broad smile. ‘Very politically correct. Very . . . Scandinavian.’

A ringtone interrupted the sound of birdsong and running water. Adam felt all his pockets to locate his phone.

‘Hello,’ he barked, when he finally found it.

‘Adam?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Peter.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Peter Salhus.’

‘Oh, right. Hello.’

Adam was about to get up and move away from the bench when he suddenly remembered that Warren didn’t speak Norwegian.

‘Anything new?’ he asked.

‘Yes. But between you and me, Adam. Can I have your word?’