Cold Trail (31 page)

“W
ell, we can’t pull our men out of there until things get really acute,” Takamäki reflected. “Helmets on, everyone.”

“A
nd anti-radiation blankets,” Helmikoski added. “Protects you from the sleet, too.”

“L
ooks like we’ll have to cut off the expressway and expand the evacuation zone around those nearby homes as well, but let’s call in some expert from the Army or the Safety and Chemicals Agency,” Takamäki said. He didn’t have a precise understanding of the damage a thirty-pound dynamite charge would cause if it detonated inside the house, but he remembered the car bomb that had exploded a few years back in downtown Helsinki. Eight pounds of dynamite had obliterated the car and caused relatively
heavy damage to nearby buildings. “Helmikoski, look into these safety zone issues and cut off the expressway.”

“Okay
, we’ll set up detours at the Lemissaari and Katajaharju exits.”

Turunen jumped in.
“That Lemissaari exit might be too close. It might be better to cut off the expressway back in town and route traffic across the old bridge and along Lauttasaari Road. We’ve also called in TeBo. Their bomb squad will be here as soon as they get their equipment together.” TeBo was an abbreviation for the national Terrorist Bomb unit.

“I
f this goes on till morning, we’re going to have huge traffic jams,” Helmikoski said.

“N
ot our problem,” Takamäki replied. “Turunen, what’s the situation in the immediate vicinity of the house?”

“I
have eight men stationed around the house. No one will get out without being noticed, but we don’t have the men for a raid. We can bring in another group in a few hours, and
then we’ll have the men to go in, too. Since the guy’s a former army explosives expert, that dynamite is ready to blow. Suhonen didn’t see a firearm, but the risk of course lies in the detonator. If it’s the kind that detonates when the finger is lifted off it, we’ve got one hell of a situation on our hands. Usually those switches have some sort of safety, because no one has the concentration to press a button for hours and hours, but the detonator’s still easy to activate, of course. If the standoff continues and he falls asleep, that obviously means the safety is on, but how are we going to know for sure when he’s sleeping in there?”

“D
o we have a listening device in the house?”

“N
ot yet,” Turunen said. “We’re bringing them in as we speak, and once they get here we’ll plant a few on windows. We’ll be able to hear what’s being said inside, and if we hear any snoring, then that’s when we should strike. We’re also bringing a mobile base station, so we can listen in on all cell-phone communication in the area. We’re getting the blueprints for the house, too.”

“Okay
,” Takamäki said. “If we had to go inside now, what would be our chance of success?”

Turunen’s expression was grave. “Elimination of the target would be inevitable, and because we don’t know what kind of detonator it is, my best guess is the hostage would have a 50 percent chance of survival. Since we’re dealing with a bomb, the survival probability is that same 50 percent for the policemen entering the building.”

“S
o it’s not a suitable alternative at the moment, but have a plan ready to go just in case we need it, and have the men entering wearing bomb suits, just in case.”

“R
ight,” Turunen said. “They’re not comfortable for hours on end, so if things heat up,
let me know.”

“S
ure.”

Joutsamo felt like mentioning Fredberg’s criminal-coddling interviews. You’d think he’d know how to handle this
Repo himself: all he’d have to do is promise him money and a place to live. What did he need the police for?

“S
o our plan is to let things cool off,” Takamäki clarified. “Let’s allow Repo to settle down, and I’ll contact him by phone. Time is on our side.”

“S
hould we cut off electricity to the house?” Turunen asked.

Takamäki shook his head.
“No. We might need some media assistance here,” he said, glancing at Joutsamo. “Give Römpötti a call.”

Turunen gave Takamäki a perplexed look.
“The reporter?”

“Y
up. Let’s see if we can defuse
his bitterness that way. Helmikoski, when the press starts arriving, set up a lemonade stand over on the far side of the expressway where the reporters can get their information. I’ll try to drop by at some point. The photographers will grouse for a chance to get closer. Let’s promise them a tour at some point, because I don’t want them to start fooling around on that old ski jump,” Takamäki said, gesturing at the hill rising behind him.

“J
ust so you know, it was torn down thirty-four years ago, back in 1973,” Helmikoski noted.

“W
hat?” Takamäki asked.

“T
he ski jump,” Helmikoski said in a snarky tone. “But guess what the record was?”

Takamäki, Joutsamo, and Suhonen shot looks of disbelief at the on-duty lieutenant.

“Um, tell us,” Takamäki said.

“
96 feet, 9 inches,” Helmikoski said, proud of his knowledge.

Takamäki looked out the van window
toward the hill. “Really?”

Helmikoski nodded.

“In Herttoniemi we did 160-footers.”

“W
asn’t the Olympics,” Turunen noted. “I’ll get us keys to the locker room at the soccer field. We’ll make it our break room. We probably won’t even have to wait too long to get a coffeemaker in there.”

* * *

Repo cautiously glanced out into the front yard through the kitchen curtains. The streetlamp on Marina Road was off. He could see the cars down at the soccer field, but couldn’t make out anything closer up. Repo knew that the police were out there, though.

The house was
dark, because Repo didn’t want to give the police any unnecessary advantage. Light shone from the aquarium in the living room, as he hadn’t been able to figure out how to turn off the timer. On the other hand, it was good that the house wasn’t totally dark. The police had night-vision equipment. He didn’t.

Repo carefully closed the curtain. The arrival of the police officer with long hair had thrown off his plans. Had Saarnikangas squealed on him after all? Originally he was going to leave Fredberg and his wife in the house and set up the dynamite on a timer to go off in an hour. That was no longer possible. Plenty had gone awry: Karppi’s death and now this hostage situation. He needed to come up with a new plan, but thinking gave him a headache.

Fredberg sat in a chair less than ten feet away.
Repo had tied him to it with double zip ties, tightly pulled around both wrists and ankles, and then looped around the chair. There was no way Fredberg could wriggle free.

The
judge sat still in the chair, and a ten-foot wire led from the strapped explosives to Repo’s detonator. The device, which was about the size of a TV remote, lay on the table. Repo had left the safety on.

Fredberg’s gaze followed
Repo incessantly. Repo sat down at the table and picked up the detonator. “Are you afraid of dying?”

“I
don’t know,” the judge said. His forehead itched, but he couldn’t scratch it. “I’ve never thought about it in terms of being afraid, because it’s inevitable, a given fact.”

“D
o you believe in God?”

“Y
es, although I consider myself a Christian by convention rather than conviction.”

Repo
stared Fredberg in the eye. The judge was trying to look somehow dignified, even though his hair was a mess and he was wearing nothing more than pajamas.

“
I lost my faith in God eight years ago.”

“W
hat hap...?” Fredberg started, quickly swallowing the rest of the sentence.

“W
ere you going to ask what happened?”

“I
was, but I already figured out the answer.”

Repo
didn’t immediately respond.

“W
ho was it who said, ‘That which is not just and fair may not be law’?”

“W
hat do you mean?”

“A
nswer!” Repo roared, causing Fredberg to flinch.

“O
laus Petri, of course. In the 1530s. All judges know that.”

“I
read those principles in the prison library. They compared judges to God.”

“Y
es, well.” Fredberg chose his words with care. “I’d say that’s reading a little too much into it.”

Repo
’s eyes remained locked on Fredberg’s. “Because the judge is charged by God to judge rightly, he must strive with all his might to know what justice is,” Repo cited from memory. “The judge acts at God’s command.”

Fredberg didn’t dare to contradict him. “I believe that’s correct.”

“G
od urges us to mercy, and according to Olaus Petri, justice must include mercy as well.”

“I
fully agree with you.”

“S
o why wasn’t any shown in my case?”

Fredberg tried to remember the case, but he couldn’t
recall the details.

“I
f the court acted wrongly, that can be corrected. I can personally look into the case and act as your advocate.”

“Y
ou should have advocated for me eight years ago,” Repo said. “Now it’s my turn to be the judge.”

* * *

Sitting alone in the lead vehicle, Joutsamo dug her cell phone from her pocket. Takamäki, Turunen, and Helmikoski had gone for a round to get a better picture of the situation. The snow had turned to rain, but slush still covered the ground.

The number rang six times before a sleepy voice answered.
“Römpötti.”

“G
ood morning!” Joutsamo said, feigning perkiness.

“A
nna, what the hell?” the reporter growled. “It’s three in the morning.”

“T
hat’s right, We’ve still got an hour to play before the bars close. Come party.”

“G
ive me a break,” Römpötti moaned. “I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep all week. And now I probably won’t be able to fall back asleep.”

Joutsamo was amused by how slowly the human brain worked when it was roused from slumber.
“Come on! Let’s go!”

“N
o!” Römpötti shouted. “No way!”

Joutsamo decided to
end her teasing. The risk was that Römpötti would hang up and turn off her phone. “Listen. It’s about work. Are you sure you’re awake?”

“W
ork? At this hour?”

“Y
up. Cops never sleep.”

“Ne
ither do reporters, at least not this one. Tell me,” Römpötti said, her voice more alert.

“W
e found the escaped convict in Lauttasaari. He’s holed up in a house on Marina Road
.
There’s a pretty big police operation going on here.”

A slapping sound
filled the air. Joutsamo glanced up and saw a red helicopter landing further down the soccer field. The air current from the rotors whipped the water-drops harder into the van’s windshield.

“The air ambulance
just arrived.”

“Holy shit! I’ll call a cameraman and be right over.”

“T
here’s one more thing. He has a hostage.”

“W
ow. That’s not good. You know who it is?”

“Y
es. Fredberg, chief justice of the Supreme Court.”

Römpötti was silent for a second.
“You gotta be kidding me. That’s a huge story.”

“A
nd a serious situation.”

“A
re you going to get him out of there alive?”

“W
e’re doing our best.”

“H
ow close can I get? We’re going to broadcast straight from the scene.”

“T
akamäki said your team can come onto the soccer field. I don’t know exactly what he has in mind.”

Römpötti’s voice was thoughtful
, “Is that so? Are we going to be part of some police operation?”

“H
e’ll probably tell you more himself, but I can always call some other network and see if they want to bring a van up on the field.”

“W
e’re on our way.”

Joutsamo looked at the helicopter, which had cut its engine. The blades of the rotor still spun, drooping lazily. All of the ingredients for a
massive catastrophe were in place.

CHAPTER 20