Last Will (37 page)

“That was a long time ago,” Birgitta Larsén said. “In the late 1980s new regulations were introduced and the whole animal testing industry was tightened up. But before then there were all sorts of animals, all over the place.”

She closed the door and swept on; they passed a room marked
Termination
and emerged into what looked like an operating room.

“Have you seen Bernhard Thorell?” she asked a young man who was busy taking blood samples from a box of rodents.

“What’s that?” Annika asked, looking at a steel contraption on one of the tables.

“A stereotactic instrument,” Birgitta Larsén said. “You use it to hold animals in place when you’re operating on them. Over there, on the wall, is the equipment for anesthetizing them first. As you can see, this one’s got screws and drills so it can cut through the skull with millimeter precision. This is a fairly small version—we’ve got larger ones too.”

Annika looked at the contraption, with all its spokes and arms, and shivered—she’d seen pictures of animals strapped into instruments like this.

“Ah, there you are!” the professor exclaimed happily, bouncing off down the corridor. “You see what awful conditions we have to work in?”

A man replied something that Annika couldn’t hear. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the operation instruments at the end of the table.

“What are those?” she asked the young man beside her. He had just finished taking the samples from the mice.

“Various tools,” he said, pointing. “Scalpels, clamps, needle holders, pincers, forceps …”

“And it doesn’t hurt the animals?” Annika asked.

He smiled shyly.

“Well, they’re unconscious, and any that need to be put down are just given a bit of extra anesthetic.”

“Do you always use drugs when you put them down?” Annika asked, glancing at the door to the termination room.

“The easiest way to put mice down is a quick tug of the head: you break the spinal cord, basically. Larger animals are put in a cage and given a mixture of oxygen and carbon dioxide.”

A gas chamber, Annika thought, nodding.

Birgitta Larsén came over to her with Bernhard Thorell at her side. He too was wearing a blue cap and green coat.

“This is Annika Bengtzon,” the professor said.

Annika’s latex glove shook hands with Thorell’s latex glove.

“It’s doctoral students like you who are the future of science,” he said with a smile so wide it gleamed.

Birgitta Larsén laughed.

“Annika’s a reporter,” she said. “She’s here to write about the world of scientific research. Annika, perhaps you’d like to write something about Bernhard, he’s promised to help finance the renovation of our facilities.”

“I’d rather see it as the subject of negotiation,” Bernhard Thorell said, smiling at Birgitta Larsén.

“Imagine,” the professor said, throwing out her arms, “bright yellow walls, a soft color scheme, better lighting, smarter floors.”

She turned to Annika.

“Bernhard is a huge asset to the Institute,” she said, taking the MD’s arm. “We’re so happy to have you here!”

She patted his latex glove.

“Niklas, can you show Ms. Bengtzon out?”

A young man who looked after the animals appeared behind them in a green coat and blue cap.

She seems extremely fond of him, Annika thought to herself as Professor Larsén disappeared into the room containing the rats, with Bernhard Thorell glued to her side.

Thomas glanced nervously at the time. There were only ten minutes left now.

He rubbed his shoulders and tried to relax—this was all rather ridiculous.

I’m not getting married, he thought, it’s just an ordinary briefing. They take place every Monday, so what am I getting so worked up about?

He stood up, unable to stay seated, and wandered down the corridor to Per Cramne’s room.

“Shall we go?” he said.

Cramne was trying frantically to squeeze a large bundle of papers into a plastic folder that was far too small.

“You’re going in as item number five,” the section boss said. “First crime will be running through something about the courts, something about employment practices if I remember rightly. Then there are several different matters regarding the police, so it’ll be fine if you come up at eleven or so. I’m dealing with the new document of appropriation, so I’m heading up there now.”

Thomas nodded, feeling a little flushed. He knew this, that the document governing the work of the police authorities over the coming year usually took time to go through. It was all about the nuances in formulation, the order in which things should be listed, and deciding which priorities should be emphasized on the front page.

“Were you thinking of moving in, or what?” Cramne said from the door.

Thomas quickly hurried out of his colleague’s office and headed back to his own room.

He couldn’t think of anything more he could do.

On Friday he had thrashed his way through all the material one more time together with Cramne, the director general for legal affairs, and the undersecretary of state, and there were no obvious question marks left. After that his work had gone off to be copied, so that the minister could read everything over the weekend. Thomas had happened to see the heap of papers being carried in to the minister later that afternoon. Even if he read around the clock, there was no way he could possibly have gotten through everything.

With an irritated sigh, Thomas sat down at his computer again. He double-clicked on Freecell, the game of patience that always worked out
if you were smart enough. The statistics showed that he had 87 percent wins, and had won his last eleven games. He clicked on
New Game
and got a really tricky layout, with three kings at the bottom and two aces right up at the top.

Nothing can really go wrong now, he thought. The results wouldn’t have been passed if they’d been too thin or inconclusive.

He put two nines and a three in the free cells to the left and uncovered an ace.

The thought of what would happen after today’s briefing made him feel slightly dizzy. The proposal would start to be embedded within the party; the government and parliamentary group would be informed; it was possible that the matter would reach the Management Committee. And if everyone was happy with it, a legislative proposal would be drawn up, upon which the Supreme Court and the Supreme Administrative Court in the Legislative Council would check to see if the proposal contravened the constitution.

His work.
His work
.

His cell phone started to ring somewhere at the bottom of his briefcase and he let go of the mouse to dig it out. He looked at the display. He didn’t have time for any nonsense right now. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Is that Thomas Samuelsson, Kalle’s father?”

Shit, the nursery school.

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” the nursery teacher said, sounding pretty upset. “Kalle’s fallen off the jungle gym and has quite a deep cut on his forehead, and we’re worried he may have a concussion as well. The cut needs sewing up—how soon can you get here?”

Thomas felt his stomach clench into a rock-hard ball, and looked at the time.

Ten to eleven.

“I’m ridiculously busy right now,” he said, looking at the playing cards on the screen. “Have you tried ringing Annika? I know she’s not working today.”

“We can’t get any answer at home and her cell phone is switched off.”

The teacher’s voice was harder now.

Fucking, goddamn, fucking shit!

He tugged at his hair and stood up.

“I can’t come right now,” he said. “I’m in the middle of a meeting until about quarter past eleven—I can’t leave before then.”

“Your son probably has got a concussion because the other children pushed him off a two-meter-high jungle gym,” the woman on the other end said, sounding angry now. “How soon can you get here?”

“How long does it take to drive from Rosenbad?” he said, trying to sound icy and important.

She didn’t react at all to the fact that he given the address of the seat of government.

“We’ll be waiting for you,” she said, “but if he loses consciousness we’re calling an ambulance.”

Then she hung up.

He was left holding the phone and staring at the screen. Then he sat down again and finished the move he had been contemplating before the phone rang, a six on a seven, then the whole screen shuddered. He had just one more move left, then he would have lost the game.

What the hell was he supposed to do? Should he go, and hand over the briefing in the Blue Room to someone else? Let someone else row his boat home?

He put a nine on the ten.

Sorry, you lost!

Thomas turned off the screen, gathered his papers, pushed his chair under the desk and adjusted his collar. He didn’t usually wear a tie to work, but this morning he had thought about it. He had decided not to, hadn’t wanted to look conspicuously well-dressed—it would look amateurish somehow.

He took the lift up to the sixth floor, opening the security door with his own passcard.

His work, his proposal, his influence.

After the Legislative Council the proposal would be passed at a cabinet meeting, then the whole package of legislation would be presented to Parliament in the form of a government proposition.

Good God, what was he doing? He ought to turn round, he ought to leave, he ought to be with Kalle.

A few civil servants were waiting in the foyer outside the Blue Room, tapping their feet, hands in pockets. Thomas sat down at a table at the end of the corridor.

They’ll probably get hold of Annika, he thought. What was he supposed to do? Leave everything to Cramne?

A moment later the double doors of the briefing room opened and a dozen or so people streamed out. Last of all came Cramne, who stopped when he saw Thomas and gestured him in.

“Rock ’n’ roll,” he said.

Thomas walked past the civil servants, feeling their eyes on him. He stepped into the Blue Room as Cramne closed the doors behind him.

It was bigger than he expected. The walls really were light blue, with white paneling, giving the room a fresh, almost chilly, atmosphere. The windows were large, letting in light from both south and west. Behind thin white curtains he could see the spire of Storkyrkan in Gamla stan, as well as the tower of City Hall, topped off with its three golden crowns.

“Bugging,” Jimmy Halenius said. “Welcome! There’s bottled water in the fridge if you’d like some?”

He pointed to a fridge just to the left of the door.

Thomas shook his head, then followed Cramne to the far end of the room and sat down with his back to the waters of Riddarfjärden. Around him sat the seven or eight civil servants who had taken part in the previous discussion and who were evidently going to be part of this one as well.

He cleared his throat quietly.

Should I say something about Kalle? he thought. The minister has children, I’m sure he’d understand.

Jimmy Halenius leaned over to talk quietly to the minister, who listened and made notes.

Thomas looked around, trying not to look at all anxious.

The other children pushed him off, his friends hurt him so badly that he might need to go to hospital and be
stitched up
?

The room was dominated by a circular table of birchwood, and there was an octagonal blue-gray rug on the floor. The minister and his assistants sat beside each other with their backs to a large painting of an archipelago scene. It was completely gray, like when the weather was really bad.

I’ll give them a thrashing, Thomas thought. No one hurts my son and gets away with it.

On one wall was a large fireplace, the mantelpiece holding the flags of Sweden and the EU. There were chairs right around the table and along the walls, birchwood, pale leather seats. He looked up at the ceiling, and up there, beyond the white porcelain lamps, was the prime minister’s office.

“Can you give us a summary of the content?” Halenius said.

Thomas straightened his back. He stumbled slightly as he explained the main points of the project he had spent the past six months working on.

Kalle, I’m on my way! I’ll make it right!

The minister sat and read and leafed through and made notes.

“It’s good that the legal safeguards are highlighted,” the minister said. “Anyone who is bugged must have the right to legal representation, all instances must be approved by a court and reauthorized every month, that’s good.”

He leafed through a bit further and read in silence for a few seconds.

“But there’s one section of the proposal I’d like to remove,” he said. “Bugging for the purposes of prevention, on page 43. That’s going too far.”

Birger Jarlsgatan, Thomas thought, that ought to be quicker than Sveavägen and Valhallavägen at this time of day.

“Page 43,” Cramne said quietly next to him, and Thomas felt the heat rise to his face as he leafed through to find the right page.

“We’ll limit the preventive measures to phone tapping and intercepting mail,” the minister said. “We’ll restrict bugging to crimes that have already been committed. Good!”

He put the folder to one side and picked up the next one, and as if on a given signal Cramne and most of the other civil servants stood up.

Was it over?

Could he go now?

“It’s time for the security police now,” Cramne whispered, “which means that anyone without clearance has to leave.”

Thomas quickly gathered his papers and walked out after the others.

“I have to go,” he said to Cramne. “My kid’s got a concussion, I’ve got to get him to the hospital.”

“Oh dear,” Cramne said. “Are we still having dinner this evening?”

“Of course,” Thomas said, and managed a smile. He could feel sweat breaking out on his brow.

“But tell me, is it true that Halenius is coming?” Cramne asked.

“Yes, he emailed to say he’d be there.”

“Well,” Per Cramne said, moving to stand closer to Thomas and lowering his voice. “One doesn’t usually invite politicians, just so you know …”

Thomas felt his cheeks burning as the section head moved away again.