The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (27 page)

Martha couldn’t forget the scenes from the retirement home where she had seen the grey, miserable life that the people led there. She knew what it was like if you didn’t live in
cosy, pleasant surroundings and couldn’t eat good and nourishing food. The people who lived in the retirement homes and the staff who worked there – they all suffered. She and her
friends were going to put a stop to that. If possible, all those who were in need should get help, even the poor who sat on the streets begging. Sweden’s cultural heritage was priceless and
Martha had high hopes. If only they could steal the nation’s gold treasures, then they ought to be able to get enough money to help those in need. But it wouldn’t be easy.

‘Oh, look, isn’t that lovely! It makes one so happy to see something as beautiful as this. The architects have really succeeded here,’ said Anna-Greta halfway down the stairs.
She had studied art history in her youth and delighted in what she saw.

‘Not all architects were born inside a rectangle,’ said Martha.

‘Today’s unimaginative builders should to stick to Lego instead; they’d cause less damage,’ Gunnar sighed.

‘Or they could design tiny, tiny postage stamps,’ said Rake.

When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Anna-Greta hung onto the railing a while.

‘Oh my goodness, how will we manage all these steps with the gold and everything?’

‘Easy as pie, there’s a lift for the disabled,’ said Christina.

‘And every public space must have an evacuation plan clearly visible,’ Brains added, pointing at a map on one of the walls. He pulled out his mobile phone and took a photograph.
‘By the way, are we going to have powered wheelchairs again? I mean, this time I could perhaps improve them even more.’

‘We have no need to exit the museum like rockets, surely?’ muttered Rake.

‘There’re more than fifty kilos of gold and two hundred and fifty kilos of silver here. Let me see, gold costs about three hundred thousand a kilo, or perhaps more at the moment.
That would mean fifteen million straight off, and then there’s the silver too,’ said Anna-Greta in a satisfied tone. ‘But really we need more; this isn’t going to go far
when it comes to caring for the elderly.’

‘No, but I had thought about extortion. I vote for a ransom sum of, say, five hundred million. The Swedish state can’t simply ignore the value of the country’s ancient
past,’ Martha chuckled.

‘Oh yes, you wouldn’t believe what they can ignore!’ said Rake.

‘But how are we going to lay our hands on the gold?’ Christina butted in. ‘First things first: we must carry out a successful robbery.’

Her question seemed to hover in the air while the five of them wandered around in the basement exhibition area. Inside the display cases lay large, fat rings, exquisitely decorated bracelets and
jewellery of the finest gold.

‘Just look at that!’ Rake burst out, pointing at a well-preserved helmet that had been found at Vendel Church in Uppland. A stylish bronze comb ran from the neck piece right up over
the top and slightly below the eye-holes, while some dragon-like creatures slithered up towards the forehead.

‘Magnificent!’ Brains agreed.

Rake stood there with his nose pressed against the display window for a long time and just sighed, and the others had to drag him away. They walked around inside the Gold Room and read about
farmers who had ploughed their fields and found gold in the earth, and it wasn’t long before they were all in really high spirits. Martha thought about the fields full of rape seed down in
Österlen, where she ran around when she was a little girl, and she wondered whether there had been gold there too. Christina tried to work out how much gold had come from her home district in
the Jönköping area. For a while, Rake went on about how they should buy a metal detector and fetch silver and gold themselves from graves on Gotland, but then the others shushed him and
said that it was illegal and he always had ridiculous ideas.

When they had done a last round of all the exhibits in the room, and were on their way up to the cafeteria, Martha suddenly emitted a roar, one of those happy aha-roars that made them all turn
round. She waited until an elderly gentleman had gone past and then she gathered her friends together around the museum’s large pictorial stone from Gotland. It was a high stone from the
Viking era from Ardre with several images carved on the front. You could see Oden’s eight-legged horse Sleipner, a Viking ship with a sail, and something that looked like Volund’s
Smithy. Martha stood with her hands on her stomach and emitted the strangest of sounds. They all looked at her. What was wrong?

‘What’s the matter, Martha dear?’ Brains asked.

‘I hope you haven’t done yourself an injury. Do you feel ill?’ Anna-Greta asked.

‘No, no,’ Martha sobbed with laughter. ‘I’ve got it. Now I know exactly what we should do! Brains, can’t you take a photo of us all together here beside the
pictorial stone?’

Brains obediently raised his iPhone, pulled a few faces to get the others to laugh, and then took the picture.

‘But why do you want me to take a photo just here?’ he asked.

‘Where else, when we are going to commit the boldest robbery of the century?’ Martha answered.

After visiting the museum they took a taxi to the House of Culture in the city centre and sat down in the café up on the fifth floor. From up there they had a great view
of all the stressed city-dwellers and a never-ending stream of cars that drove round the fountain with Edvin Öhrströms’ glass obelisk in the middle. It felt really good to be
surrounded by culture without having to steal it; indeed, spending a little time in the House of Culture was almost like a mini-holiday. But, regrettably, the café could offer neither wafer
biscuits nor cloudberry liqueur.

‘Are we really going to steal that gold?’ Christina wondered out loud as she stared absentmindedly out through the panoramic windows while looking for her lipstick and powder compact
in her handbag. ‘Isn’t that rather a pity?’

‘But, my dear, three hundred kilos of the very finest precious metal is worth the effort,’ Martha answered. ‘The state ought to pay a lot of money for our national
heritage!’

‘But the Gold Room is like a bunker. We can’t break in just like that,’ said Brains.

‘Who said we should break in? No, this must be carried out in an elegant and sophisticated manner,’ Martha explained.

‘Glad to hear that – no explosives, then; I was beginning to get worried,’ Brains said.

‘No, they’re absolutely out of the question. Don’t forget that we are dealing with cultural artefacts,’ Martha pointed out.

‘But how will we be able to get any money for them?’ Anna-Greta asked. ‘Is it really worth all the trouble?’

‘Of course it is. Please remember: we must fill the coffers of the Robbery Fund, otherwise our charity project will just completely collapse. The old people must not be ill-treated one
single day more.’

‘Or we could simply abandon the idea of saving everything and everyone, Martha. You want to save the whole world . . .’ Rake sighed.

‘Until we’ve sorted this out, we really can’t retire,’ Brains said. ‘Martha is right.’

‘But I don’t want to end up in prison,’ said Christina in a serious tone. ‘What if they put us on a diet of bread and water among a load of scary prisoners? Now that the
state has started to make cuts, where will it all end?’

‘Well, prison would at least be better than a retirement home,’ Rake argued.

‘And we wouldn’t be plied with sedatives.’

‘Pah, we will neither go back into prison nor to a retirement home. The plan is watertight, I promise,’ Martha said in her best reassuring voice.

‘It sounds exciting. I’m on board,’ Gunnar said politely, and a little excited to be involved in another crime.

‘In that case, and if you are with us, then I can go along with another coup,’ said Anna-Greta.

‘Gunnar, how nice that you want to join us. We need all the keen minds we can get. Besides, my dear friends,’ said Martha as she rummaged around in her big cloth handbag for a pen
and a notepad, ‘Have a look here. This plan is really quite something. We’re going to have lots of fun and I bet you a million that we won’t get caught.’

Emma turned her mobile off and looked at the bed where her daughter lay asleep. Goodness, what a grandmother little Malin had. An elderly, elegant woman who carried out bank
robberies and quoted literary masters. And now Christina had phoned to say that she couldn’t be a babysitter this week. Something had cropped up and she couldn’t do it. Emma
couldn’t help but smile. Her mother, who at one time had been a rather subservient housewife in the posh district of Östermalm, had now developed into a more confident and decisive
woman. Perhaps she could learn something from that? Emma was far too weedy and ought to do something with her life. Emma lit a cigarette, but stubbed it out again when she saw Malin. She
mustn’t smoke anywhere near the child, no, and she didn’t feel like going outside onto the balcony while it was raining. A pity that Anders’ children weren’t the same age as
Malin, now that he and she got together so often. It was delightful to get on so well her brother. And absolutely necessary. She herself was little and looked frail but was tough inside, while
Anders was handy and strong but lacked patience. Yes, they were both needed as assistants for the League of Pensioners, it was actually a full-time job!

Emma slowly combed her blond, fluffy hair. Christina was always so neat and well groomed, while Emma didn’t really care about her appearance – more or less in
protest. She was now on maternity leave and also had her hands full with the League of Pensioners. Make-up and nice clothes would have to wait until she was back at her old job again. She was just
about to put a load of dirty clothes in the washer when Malin started to scream. It was time to feed her again. And change her nappy. Did babies do anything else besides eat and defecate? Emma
pulled a face. She’d better see to Malin right away. Then she mustn’t forget to arrange a childminder for the end of the month. The League of Pensioners evidently had a new crime in the
offing.

The garden gate squeaked and steps could be heard outside. Somebody was on their way down the path to the house. Martha put the evacuation plan of the Gold Room aside and
looked quickly around her to ensure that nothing else of a revealing nature was visible. This particular morning she was alone at home and unprepared for a visit. Christina had gone to Emma’s
and the others were out shopping. Martha hadn’t had the energy to go along with them, but now she regretted it. Just as long as it wasn’t Tompa and Jörgen, she thought and felt her
stomach tighten. She did what she could to look her usual unconcerned self, but deep inside she was afraid of them. The sound of the doorbell cut through the house and she didn’t even have to
look through the window to know who was there. Despite the new paving on the garden path, she had recognized the footsteps. The bikers were after something. She knew they didn’t want to
borrow some milk. Martha swallowed, put her knitting aside and went towards the door. In the hall she quickly combed her hair, threw a glance at her tense face in the mirror, and opened the front
door.

‘What a surprise, visitors today! Please come in!’ Martha said as boldly as she could muster, but her voice was thin. She held open the door and Tompa and Jörgen entered and
walked right into the living room without taking their boots off. They looked around.

‘Where are all your mates?’ Tompa asked.

‘They’ve just gone out shopping. I was too tired to go along. You don’t have so much energy when you get older. Coffee?’ Martha attempted a smile.

‘Yeah, why not?’ Tompa and Jörgen nodded and followed Martha into the kitchen. She prepared some coffee and put out a plate of wafers too.

‘A little cloudberry liqueur to go with it, perhaps?’

Without waiting for an answer, she put out three glasses and started to pour.

‘Thanks, but I don’t think—’

‘Pah, don’t be shy, boys.’ Martha raised her glass. ‘
Skål
, dear neighbours!’

‘Yes, right, skål, skål,’ Tompa and Jörgen mumbled and tried to drink without pulling a face.

‘Well now, have you got any new tattoos today then, boys?’ Martha said and glanced at their forearms. Tompa scratched himself on his neck, embarrassed, but obediently rolled up his
sleeve.

‘Only these.’

‘Oh, so fancy! A skull. Perhaps I should get one. No, I’ve probably got too many wrinkles.’

‘To have a tattoo?’ Tompa laughed out loud, but this time it sounded scornful.

‘Yes, I think so. Although, won’t your skulls look weird when you get older?’ Martha asked as innocently as possible.

‘Errr,’ mumbled Jörgen.

‘They might even turn into smiling skulls,’ Martha giggled nervously and put down her glass more clumsily than usual. She cleared her throat. ‘Well now, boys, what’s on
your mind?’

‘It’s about the land here. We’d like to lease your plot.’

‘Our plot? Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but that’s out of the question. Rake has his garden and we like to sit in the lilac arbour and enjoy our afternoon coffee and the lovely
view. No, we need all our land ourselves, quite simply. Sorry.’

‘But at the right price?’ Jörgen asked.

‘Nothing less than five hundred million.’

Tompa’s and Jörgen’s ingratiating smiles vanished and their eyes darkened. They moved a little closer to Martha.

‘Perhaps you should ask your wise friends, because we need this land,’ said Jörgen, now in quite another tone of voice.

‘Like I said, five hundred million.’

‘Then we’ll have to solve it some other way.’

They moved even closer, and Tompa discreetly rubbed his finger on his ring with the skull motif.

‘Solve it some other way?’ Martha tried to sound indifferent but there was a bit of a flutter to her voice. She shouldn’t have stayed at home all alone, she should have known
better. She could hardly engage the two men in close combat! Martha sipped the hot coffee and tried to think of some way to get the two giants out of the house. Her hand holding the coffee cup
shook and when she put the cup down she knocked it against her bag out of nervousness. Oh yes, of course, she had the remote control in there. Now how did it work? Brains had said that if you put
the remote against your throat you could use yourself as an aerial and open car locks from a distance – indeed, from up to one hundred metres. Would that work for other apparatuses? Brains
had modernized most of the things inside the house. Martha pulled out the remote and pressed it against her throat, pressing one of the buttons as she did so.