The Swimmer (31 page)

The low, thin door to the built-in closet was unlocked, and George opened it to peek into the darkness. Cold, stale air washed over him. Just as he was closing the door again, he heard a crackling noise and what sounded like a muffled voice. He opened the door again and tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness. On the left side, just inside the door, he saw a flash of pale green light.

George crouched down and ran his fingers over the unfinished wood floor. The green light was coming from a small electric charger. He grabbed hold of it and lifted it up into the light. In the charger sat what seemed to be a small radio and a Bluetooth headset, of the same model that Reiper’s people kept in their ears. He couldn’t believe his eyes. They must have left in such a hurry that they’d forgotten the spare set charging in the closet. The headset crackled again, short staccato sentences answered by short staccato sentences, and George glanced at the locked door to the bedroom. You could hear everything in this house. He’d hear if Kirsten came up the stairs. He fastened the tiny device around his ear with trembling hands and sat down on the floor, with his back to the door.

Sankt Anna’s Outer Archipelago, Sweden

Klara hadn’t been mistaken. The storm limited visibility, but smoke was definitely coming out of the chimney of the cabin. She let the binoculars fall and turned to Bosse, paralyzed by fear. How had they found their way here? To her only hideout? Bosse didn’t slow down, just met her gaze calmly. A smile at the corner of his mouth.

‘Take it easy, Klara,’ he said. ‘I was by here and lit the fire before I went in to Arkösund to getch ya. Couldn’t very well let you sit in the cold, could I?’

‘Damnit, Bosse,’ Klara said grimly. ‘You scared the life out of me.’

She turned to Gabriella, who’d woken up from her slumber.

‘Dear lord,’ she said. ‘You’re really on edge. I was about to have a heart attack.’

Klara sighed deeply and felt her heart rate returning to normal.

‘How much wood did you push into that stove if it’s still burning?’ she said and turned to Bosse.

‘I’d say enough,’ Bosse said contently.

A few minutes later Bosse pulled up to the rounded cliffs of Smugglers Rock. Klara was standing on the foredeck and hopped straight down onto the rocks with ease, lashing the bow line around one of the rotting poles of the battered jetty. She had to hunch over in the wind and sleet. With a hand on her forehead to protect her eyes, she squinted past the rocks toward the small cabin. It had once been barn red like everything else out here in the archipelago, but storms and sun had scraped and bleached the paint off until the century-old fir planks were completely bare. It was a miracle the mullioned windows were still intact. Bosse hadn’t exactly lavished care on this part of his inheritance.

They docked by the dilapidated jetty in the natural harbor, which faced back toward the mainland. From the jetty it was maybe fifty yards up to the little cottage. On the other side of the island Klara could see the waves bearing down, already white and violent. It would get worse through the afternoon and into the night. Beyond the rocks stood only gray, merciless sea all the way to the horizon. The first time Bosse had brought her here, she’d thought this place must be what the end of the world looked like.

She turned and saw Bosse helping Gabriella down from the boat. Gabriella looked tired and a little disoriented. Klara felt momentarily guilty for dragging her out here. But she didn’t know how she would have managed to deal with this on her own.

‘Well, now,’ shouted Bosse through the wind and slush. ‘It’s gonna be a nasty night out here. A gale at the very least. And snow. I’ll think about ya when I’m snuggled up at home under my covers.’

He laughed and put his arm around Gabriella.

‘It’s a bit different from your city life in a law firm, ain’t it?’ he said with satisfaction.

Gabriella looked at him, annoyed. Klara smiled to herself. If there was anyone you shouldn’t underestimate, it was Gabriella. No matter what. Klara took her by the arm.

‘Gabriella is no ordinary lawyer, Bosse,’ she said. ‘She’s my friend.’

‘Well, well,’ Bosse said. ‘You’ve also gone and become a lawyer. And you’re not payin’ any taxes to boot.’

He shook his head and took the lead up to the cottage.

‘He grows on you,’ whispered Klara.

‘I’m sure,’ Gabriella said with a smile. ‘But let’s just say that the two of you have evolved in slightly different directions?’

Bosse opened the door to the cabin and they hurried inside and out of the storm. The house consisted of just one room of about three hundred square feet, open to the roof. At one end a rickety ladder led up to a sleeping loft. In front of the fireplace stood an old saggy green sofa. The walls were untreated pine, just like the floor. Under the loft stood a makeshift kitchen, consisting of a gas stove and a couple of coolers. Bosse hurried over to the stove and threw a few logs on the fire.

‘You should have enough to get by,’ he said. ‘And I filled the gas stove. You’ll find some milk and cheese in the coolers. Some hash browns, eggs, and red beets. Smoked salmon. Some potatoes. It’ll last ya’ few days at least. And I brought ya some a’ this, too.’

He pulled out an old 1.5-liter Coke bottle with a peeling label, which contained some kind of clear liquid.

‘Oh?’ Gabriella said. ‘And what is that?’

Klara shook her head.

‘Well hell, Bosse,’ she said and turned to Gabriella. ‘That there is Bosse’s finest vintage. Moonshine from his very own machine, I’d guess?’

‘That’s right!’ Bosse said. ‘An island specialty. There’s no better liquor than this here liquid gold. It’s Christmas! You’ll need something tasty, right?’

He looked at his wristwatch.

‘All right, you’ve got what ya’ need. I’ll come back tomorrow, weather permittin’. But at the moment I’ve got things to attend to.’

‘Get going then,’ Klara said, suddenly relieved to be alone with Gabriella. ‘We’ll be fine.’

She went over to Bosse and gave him a hug.

‘Thanks for everything,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve saved my life again.’

Bosse looked embarrassed and shrugged.

‘Oh, come now. I only wish I could do more.’

‘You’ve done enough,’ Klara said.

Bosse went to the door and stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

‘By the way,’ he said. ‘Just in case. I brought your gun.’

He pointed toward the stove, where Klara’s shotgun was lying next to a few boxes of cartridges.

Klara went over and patted him on the cheek.

‘That was nice,’ she said. ‘But if I end up needing it, it will probably already be too late.’

Arkösund, Sweden

From where George was sitting, on the floor with his back against the locked door, he could hear the old house creak and complain about the winter storm like a tired old man. The headset had been silent since he’d put it on. Someone had undoubtedly been speaking in it when he took it out of the closet, but since then it hadn’t made a peep. George had checked the battery and volume several times, but everything seemed to be in order. He could only hope that the last orders he’d heard hadn’t been instructions to change frequency.

But maybe it didn’t matter. He still didn’t know what he’d do with any information that he managed to get a hold of. He was a prisoner. And a cowardly prisoner too. Apparently he lacked both moral courage and any real survival instinct. How else to explain being drawn deeper and deeper into this mess without doing anything about it, neither trying to escape nor to stop what was about to happen to Klara? He was in so deep that he couldn’t even figure out how to get out of this room. Again, he buried his face in his hands and let out a long moan.

Then he heard Reiper’s voice in his ear, so clearly that he jumped and, with his heart racing, started to turn around before realizing the neutral, unsettling voice was coming from the radio.

‘Beta one to alpha one,’ Reiper said.

It took a second before Kirsten’s voice came on.

‘Come in. Alpha one here, over.’

‘Switch to channel five. Copy, over.’

‘Copy that. Switching to channel five, over.’

‘Roger, see you there, over and out.’

‘Over and out.’

George fumbled with the radio. Channel five, channel five, channel five. He found a control labeled channels. A few keystrokes later, the radio display indicated he was on channel five. It didn’t take long before Reiper’s voice came on again.

‘Beta one to alpha one.’

Barely a second later, Kirsten’s voice sounded through the earpiece.

‘Alpha one here, over.’

‘We’re in the shelter of an island at the following coordinates.’

Reiper rattled off a long sequence of digits. George stood up and ran over to Josh’s bedside table. Josh did Sudoku before going to sleep; there should be a pen next to his bed.

‘I repeat,’ Reiper said and stated the coordinates once again.

George repeated the numbers aloud to himself until he finally found a promotional pen from Merchant & Taylor. He raised his eyebrows. Where the hell had Josh gotten a hold of that? He couldn’t recall having any with him. Whatever. Fully focused, he managed to scribble the long combination of numbers on a page of Josh’s half-finished Sudoku.

‘I repeat,’ Kirsten said and read out the digits again.

George checked them against his row and noted with satisfaction that he had gotten them all right.

‘Roger that,’ Reiper said. ‘The target is installed at the following coordinates.’

A new series of numbers followed and was confirmed. George also copied them at the bottom of the Sudoku page.

‘We’ll wait until dark and then we launch an operation to identify the target. Once we have full identification, we’ll continue with the original plan.’

‘Roger that, over.’

‘Everything under control on your end? Over.’

‘Everything according to plan, over.’

‘Good, over and out.’

‘Over and out.’

George sat down on the bed again. He looked at the numbers he’d written down. So now he knew where Reiper was. He knew where the target, Klara, with 70 per cent probability, was. So what? As soon as darkness fell Reiper’s people would identify her. And then kill her. And probably also her friend who had evidently been with her on the boat in Arkösund. And here he sat, locked in a drafty bedroom, most likely awaiting his own execution.

This time he didn’t bury his face in his hands as hopelessness streamed over him. Instead he put the radio and headset back into the charger in the closet where he found them. Then he went up to the locked door that led out to the landing. He took a deep breath. It was time to take control of the situation.

‘Kirsten!’ he shouted as loud as he could while pounding on the door. ‘Kirsten! I need to go to the bathroom! Come on! Open up!’

It took a minute before George heard the stairs creak, and he stopped pounding on the door. He turned and looked out the window at the gray lawn, the gray, sprawling apple trees. Behind them he sensed the waves beating against the smooth rocks. It was getting dark already. He glanced at his Breitling watch. It was almost three o’clock. With his heart pounding in his chest he shouted again.

‘Kirsten, what the hell, I really need to pee!’

‘Calm down.’ Kirsten’s voice came from the floor below.

A few seconds more, then the sound of a key in the lock.

‘I want you to go and sit on your bed before I unlock this,’ Kirsten said through the thin wood. ‘So, step away from the door.’

George groaned.

‘Come on! What the hell do you think I’m going to do? Attack you?’

A mixture of disappointment and relief washed over him as he moved away from the door to his bed. His first idea had been to pounce on her as soon as she opened the door. Surprise her, wrestle her down to the floor, and take the gun away from her before she knew what was happening. It wasn’t a particularly well thought out plan, and he wouldn’t have had a chance. She was probably both stronger and smarter than he was. In addition, she most certainly fought dirty. It was just as well that the possibility had been precluded right away.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m sitting on the bed.’

The key turned in the lock, and Kirsten stood in the doorway. She looked focused, her cheekbones were even more prominent than usual, her mouth set in a thin line.

‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ she said. ‘And put these on.’

She threw a pair of matte black handcuffs next to him on the unmade bed. She didn’t move from the doorway.

‘Seriously!’ George said. ‘Handcuffs? Are you serious? Isn’t it enough that you’ve imprisoned me? Don’t you even remember that this started out with you as my client?’

‘Stop fucking around,’ interrupted Kirsten. ‘Just put those on. And be grateful that I’m breaking protocol. Because the rules state you should have a hood and earmuffs on when you’re out of the area of confinement. So you can consider this a favor.’

‘Rules?’ muttered George. ‘What fucking rules? When did this turn into Guantánamo?’

Kirsten didn’t answer, just gestured to George to hurry up. He put on the handcuffs with a sigh. They closed silently and alarmingly tight around his wrists.

‘After you,’ Kirsten said. ‘You know where the toilet is. I’m a few steps behind you. I’m sorry, George. I really don’t think you’re going to do something stupid, but we have rules for how we do things around here.’

George nodded mutely and took a tentative step down the stairs. His head was spinning. Maybe this was his only chance. Why had he been so impulsive? Why didn’t he have a plan? Why was he such a fucking idiot?

There was a guest bathroom in the hall at the foot of the stairs. That’s where Kirsten was leading him. Maybe he could convince her to let him sit in the living room for a while? To avoid the boredom of the bedroom? Once there, he could think about what to do. He took each step carefully, slowly, trying to win time. The staircase spiraled downward.

It was when he finally saw down to the entrance that his opportunity appeared, his only tiny, tiny chance. He suddenly felt giddy from both possibility and fear. On the windowsill at the foot of the stairs, there was a black iPhone charging. From her position three steps behind George, Kirsten hadn’t seen it yet.