MemoRandom: A Thriller (45 page)

“is just anticipation!”

“It’s about David Sarac, Minister.” Wallin looked over his shoulder as if to make sure that Stenberg’s door was closed. “Something seems to be going on.”

“Really?” Stenberg tried to show just the right degree of interest.

“Approximately twenty minutes ago Peter Molnar received a text message from a pay-as-you-go cell phone. We’re sure it was from Sarac.” Wallin handed over a piece of paper.

The island, 20.00. He’s coming.

“The island?” Stenberg said.

“Skarpö, in the Vaxholm archipelago,” Wallin said. “Sarac has a house out there, registered in his sister’s name. That’s where he’s spent the past few weeks hiding.”

“And you think he’s going to meet this infiltrator, Janus?” Stenberg said.

“Of course we can’t be sure, but that certainly could be the case.” Wallin nodded.

Stenberg sat without saying anything for a while, trying to look as if he were thinking. This was the chance he had been looking for. The repaid favor that would set him free, once and for all. But he had to get Wallin to back off slightly. And make it sound as if it were his idea.

“What do you suggest we do, Oscar?” he said.

“Well, obviously we could watch the house. The problem is that Molnar’s men are smart. They’ll do their homework. We’d need winter equipment, night-vision binoculars, and a whole lot more. Ten, fifteen people in total, experienced officers. An
operation of that size, at short notice and managed with the utmost discretion . . .” Wallin shook his head slightly. “It’ll be difficult, I’m afraid, Minister.”

“I see,” Stenberg said drily.

He noted that Wallin looked worried. People with ambitions like his weren’t keen on disappointing the boss. But today Wallin’s shortcomings played right into his hands. He forced himself to quell the beginnings of a little smile.

“Is there any other option?” he asked, in the same measured tone as before.

Wallin nodded.

“The island is served by two different car ferries. One from Vaxholm, and one from Värmdö. I can have people at both points on the mainland where the ferries leave from, and take pictures of everyone coming and going.”

Stenberg nodded, then switched to a suitably disappointed tone of voice.

“Well, if that’s the only suggestion you’ve got, Oscar, I suppose it will have to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Stenberg stood up to indicate that he had more important things to be getting on with.

As soon as Wallin left the room he got out his own pay-as-you-go cell phone and walked over to the little sink. He turned the tap on, then dialed the number and held the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he washed his hands. He made up his mind to ditch the phone in the lake in Ösby when he was taking Tubbe for his evening walk.

•  •  •

Sarac got dressed, did thirty push-ups in a row, followed by the same number of sit-ups. Then he pulled on the bulletproof vest Bergh had given him and taped the little snub-nosed revolver around his ankle with black insulating tape. He strapped the holster containing his service pistol to his belt and adjusted it so it was just above his right hip. He closed his eyes, then practiced
drawing the weapon in front of the mirror. It went better than he had expected.

When he was done he took down all the photographs and Post-it notes from the whiteboard and put them in the kitchen sink. He put his notebook on top of them and used the last of the matches from Club Babel to set light to the whole lot. The fire quickly took hold, and the heat made the photographs curl up, reversing the colors for a few seconds. Turning black to white.

As soon as the flames had died down he pulled on his leather jacket and checked the room one last time. He found himself staring at the Janus face that was still in the middle of the whiteboard. He went over and wiped it off.

•  •  •

“Vaxholm,” Hunter said in Atif’s cell phone. “I want you to be in position by six o’clock. Text me when you get to the ferry.”

“Sure,” Atif muttered. “No problem.” He ended the call without saying good-bye.

He leaned back in bed. His body felt terrible. His right foot had swollen up like a football, and he would have to bind it uncomfortably tightly to get it into his boot. His knee was bluish-lilac, and his ribs, left arm, and left hand hadn’t fared much better from falling from a height of twenty feet. But it could have been worse. If he hadn’t landed in a snowdrift he’d have broken his legs, no question. And would have been lying on a wooden bunk in prison now instead of this creaking bed in his hotel room.

He got up, staggered into the bathroom, and swallowed down a handful of pills. He glanced in the bathroom mirror and concluded that he looked pretty much the way he felt. It was half past nine, plenty of time to have something to eat and get hold of another vehicle.

He pulled out his cell and dug out the right number.

“Hello?”

“Abu Hamsa, it’s Atif.” He sat down on the bed again with effort. “Something seems to be going on. This evening, out near Vaxholm,” he said.

“Really? Good. You’ll keep me informed, I hope?”

“Of course,” Atif said. “I always keep my promises.”

“Excellent. Well, make sure you’re properly dressed, my friend. Apparently there’s going to be bad weather out in the archipelago.”

Atif remained seated on the bed, thinking hard. There was something about the conversation that didn’t make sense. The tone of voice, and that talk about the weather. As though Abu Hamsa knew more than he himself did.

•  •  •

The boat from the city out to Vaxholm only took an hour. Ice had started to creep out from the shores, but the swell from the big Finland ferries was keeping it a long way from the shipping lanes. The car ferry hadn’t arrived, so Sarac had time to find a tobacconist and buy a fresh pack of cigarettes. He pulled up the hood of his jacket, then stood on the car deck and smoked two cigarettes during the short journey out to the island.

He had a stroke of luck when they got there: a woman who lived fairly close to him had been on the ferry and gave him a lift to the end of the drive.

“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.

“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 feet 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.