Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (105 page)

They’re speeding through the sharp curve to Strandvägen, right over the safety island between the trees. Stewe hits the gas as he pulls out of the turn and his tyres spin. They’re racing through early rush-hour traffic, leaving the sounds of squealing brakes and the thud of minor collisions behind. They come up to the left by Berwald Concert Hall, over the grass-covered safety island and onto Dag Hammarskjölds väg.

Stewe pulls out his pistol and puts it down beside him. He reasons that he’ll reach the other car at Djurgårdsbrunnsvägen. At that point he’ll try to head him off, and then it will be time to take the man out. They’re passing the American embassy, hidden behind a high grey fence, at about 130 kilometres an hour. The Volvo, its tyres smoking now, jerks from the road and turns to the left just past the Norwegian embassy. It goes up over the pavement and between the trees. Stewe reacts a touch too late and is forced to swing wide, right in front of a bus, over the pavement, up onto the lawn, and through some low bushes. His tyres whack on the curbstones of the Italian Cultural Institute. He crosses the pavement and slides to the left on Gärdesgatan, where he immediately spots the Volvo.

It’s stopped in the centre of the Skarpögatan crossway.

Stewe believes he sees a glimpse of the driver through the back window. He grabs up his pistol from the seat and releases the safety. He drives slowly up to the Volvo. Blue lights flash from all the police cars streaming from Valhallavägen beyond the Sveriges Television Building. The Volvo driver bails quickly from his vehicle and then he is only a black-clad figure running down the road between the two stately embassies of Germany and Japan. Stewe is almost out of his car when the Volvo explodes into a fireball. The shock wave hits his face and the blast deafens him. He hears the world as if cotton wool were stuffed into his ears, but he drives on into the unbelievable quiet, up onto the pavement, even directly across the smoking hulk, but he can no longer see the suspect. There is no other place to go. He speeds up, crashes through a high fence, stops as the street dead ends, leaves the car, and runs back with his pistol ready.

The man is gone. The world is still unbelievably silent, except for an odd high-pitched whistle as if a strong wind were blowing. Stewe scans the street quickly up and down. The embassy buildings sit behind grey steel wire. There was nowhere the man could go except into one of these buildings by using a code or even climbing over one of the high fences.

People are emerging from their buildings to see what caused the explosion. Stewe looks around, takes a few steps, then quickly turns around again. This time, he spots the suspect immediately, on the grounds of the German embassy. He walks casually, matter-of-factly, to the main entrance. The door swings open and the man steps inside. Stewe Billgren lowers his arm and tries to calm down from a feeling of total frustration. He tries to control his breathing. The German embassy sits on a piece of land that is diplomatically considered part of Germany itself. He cannot enter without an express invitation. Swedish jurisdiction stops at the gate.

A uniformed officer is stationed ten metres in front of the barrier on Sturegatan by Humlegårdsgatan when Joona Linna drives up. The policeman tries to direct him away, but Joona ignores him and parks at the edge of the road. He shows his ID, bends underneath the plastic tape barrier, and then starts to jog towards the Saluhall.

He’d received the call only eighteen minutes ago, but the gunfight is over and the ambulances have begun to arrive.

The leader of the operation, Jenny Göransson, is receiving a detailed report regarding the police pursuit of the suspect, which has concluded in the part of town called Diplomat City. It appears that the suspect has entered the German embassy. Saga Bauer is talking to a colleague outside the Saluhall. The officer is wrapped in a blanket. Saga catches Joona’s eye and waves him over. He walks towards the women and nods a greeting.

“I was sure I’d get here before you,” Joona says.

“Too slow, Joona, you’re too slow.”

“Yes, I am.” He grins as he replies.

The policewoman in the blanket looks at Joona and says hello.

“This is Mira Carlsson from Span,” Saga says. “She was one of the first into the Saluhall and she thinks she hit our man.”

“But you didn’t see his face,” Joona states.

“No, I didn’t,” Mira confirms.

Joona looks at the entrance to the Saluhall and then turns to Saga.

“They assured me that all the buildings nearby were secure,” he mutters bitterly.

“They assumed these were too far away—”

“They assumed wrong,” Joona says.

“Yes,” Saga agrees, and gestures at the building. “He was behind the fence of this entrance and he was able to fire a shot through Penelope’s window.”

“So I heard. She was lucky,” Joona says softly.

Barriers were up in the area around Östermalms Saluhall and small numbered signs marked the first findings: a shoe print and an empty cartridge from a full metal jacket American-made precision bullet.

Farther inside the open doors, Joona can see some tomatoes scattered across the floor along with a battered-looking magazine from a Swedish AK-5.

“Stewe Billgren, our colleague from Span,” Saga continues, “followed the suspect to Diplomat City and reports that he walked into the German embassy through the front door.”

“Any possibility he could be mistaken?”

“Maybe … we’re in contact with the embassy and … wait”—she quotes from her notebook—“they say that they have not ‘registered any unusual activity within the embassy grounds.’?”

“Have you talked to Billgren yourself?”

“Yes.” Saga looks at Joona seriously. “His hearing was damaged when the suspect blew up the stolen car. He can hardly hear a thing. However, he’s absolutely certain what he saw. He clearly saw the suspect enter the German embassy.”

“And perhaps he went on through and back out on the other side.”

“Well, we have our people surrounding it now and a helicopter in the air. We just need permission to enter the building.”

Joona takes a quick look at the Saluhall. “That can take a while.” He takes out his mobile phone and says, almost to himself, “I’m going to have a chat with Klara Olofsdotter.”

Klara Olofsdotter, the main prosecutor for the International Prosecutor’s Office, picks up the phone on the second ring.

“I know it’s you, Joona,” she says without a greeting. “And I know what’s going on.”

“Then you also know we must get inside that embassy.”

“That’s not so easy. This is always a damned sensitive area, excuse my language. I’ve talked with the ambassador’s secretary by phone,” Klara Olofsdotter explains. “She insists that everything is absolutely normal at the embassy.”

“We know the suspect is inside,” Joona says.

“How could he have got in?”

“He might be a German citizen demanding his right for help from the embassy. They’ve just opened. He could also be a Swedish part-time employee or he has the pass code or … some kind of diplomatic status. Maybe he has immunity or he’s being protected by someone. We just don’t know. He might even be a close relative of the defence attaché or the ambassador, Joachim Rücker, himself.”

“But you don’t even know what he looks like,” she says. “How could we identify him even if they let us inside?”

“I’ll get a witness,” Joona says.

There’s a moment of silence. Joona can hear Klara Olofsdotter breathing on the other end of the line.

“All right. Then I’ll find a way to get you in,” she says at last.

Joona Linna and Saga Bauer are in Penelope’s protected apartment. No lamps are lit. The morning sun shines through the broken window. Penelope Fernandez sits on the floor with her back against the innermost wall and she’s pointing at the window.

“Yes, that’s where the bullet came through,” Saga corroborates.

“The lamp saved my life,” Penelope says as she lowers her hand.

They’re looking at the remains of the window lamp, its hanging cord and its broken plastic socket.

“I turned it off to see out a little better. Something was going on down on the square,” Penelope says. “The lamp started to sway then and he thought it was me, right? He thought it was me moving and the heat was from my body.”

Joona turns to Saga. “Did he have an electro-optic scope?”

Saga nods and says, “According to Jenny Göransson, he did.”

“What’s that?” Penelope asks.

“It seeks heat—you’re right, the lamp saved your life,” Joona answers.

“Good God in heaven,” Penelope whispers.

Joona looks at her calmly and his grey eyes glitter.

“Penelope,” he says slowly. “Actually, you have seen his face, right? Not this time, but before. You said you didn’t, but … now I want you to nod if you believe you can describe him.”

Penelope wipes her cheeks quickly and looks up at the tall detective. She shakes her head.

“Any description at all?” Saga asks gently.

Penelope listens to the detective inspector’s voice and his mild Finnish accent and wonders how he can be so sure that she’s seen the man’s face. She
had
seen him, but she’s not sure she can describe him. Everything had happened so quickly. She had only a glimpse of him. Rain was on his face. It was just seconds after he’d killed Björn and Ossian.

She wishes she could erase every memory.

But the man’s tired, almost concerned face is lit up again and again by the white flashes of lightning.

Saga Bauer walks over to Joona, who is near the window, reading a long text message he’s just received.

“Klara Olofsdotter has been speaking with the chief justice who has, in turn, spoken with the German ambassador,” Joona says. “Three people will be allowed into the embassy for one hour. This hour will begin in forty-five minutes.”

“We’d better hurry over there right now,” Saga says.

“No reason to hurry,” Joona says as he leisurely looks out over the square.

Journalists swarm around the barricades protecting the Saluhall.

“Did you tell the prosecutor that we have to go in armed?” asks Saga.

“We have to coordinate everything with the German security force,” Joona replies.

“Who’s going in?”

Joona turns to her. “Maybe … who tracked him down?”

“Stewe Billgren,” she says.

“Yes, Stewe Billgren,” Joona says. “Can he identify him?”

“Stewe didn’t see his face. No one has seen his face,” Saga replies. She turns back to go and sit down again next to Penelope.

They sit together quietly for a long while, leaning back against the wall. Saga calms her breath and speaks slowly as she asks the first question.

“What does he want from you? That guy who’s after you—do you know why all this is happening?”

“No,” Penelope says slowly.

“He’s after the photograph you taped to your door,” Joona says, though his back is to Penelope.

Penelope lowers her head and nods.

“Do you know why he wants that photograph?” Saga asks.

“No,” Penelope answers, and begins to cry quietly.

Saga waits another moment and then says, “Björn tried to blackmail Palmcrona—”

“I didn’t know anything about that.” Penelope interrupts her. “I didn’t agree to any of that.”

“We’ve realised that,” Joona says.

Saga takes Penelope’s hand gently in hers.

“Did you take that photo?” she asks.

“Me? No, not me … the picture came to the Swedish Peace … you know, I’m the chairwoman and …”

Penelope falls silent.

“Did it come in the post?” asks Joona.

“Yes.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know,” she says quickly.

“Was there a letter with it?” Joona asks.

“No, not that I know of.”

“Just an envelope with a photograph.”

She nods.

“Do you still have the envelope?”

“No.”

“How was it addressed?”

“Just my name and the Swedish Peace … well, not the post office box, just my name.”

“So it was addressed to Penelope Fernandez care of the Swedish Peace and Reconciliation Society,” Saga says.

“And then you opened the envelope and took out the photograph,” Joona says. “What did you think at that moment? What did the photograph mean to you?”

“Mean to me?”

“What did you see when you looked at it? Did you recognise the people involved?”

“Yes … three of them, but …”

She falls silent.

“Tell us what went through your mind when you first looked at the photo.”

“Someone had seen me on TV,” she says, and she collects her thoughts for a second before she continues. “I thought that this picture is just so typical. Palmcrona is supposed to be neutral, but here he is, he goes to the opera and sits and drinks champagne with the head of Silencia Defense and a weapons dealer who sells arms throughout Africa and the Middle East. It’s totally scandalous.”

“What did you plan to do with this picture?”

“Nothing,” she answers. “There’s nothing I could do. It’s just a photograph, but at the same time, I remember I thought, at least now I know where he stands.”

“I see.”

“It reminded me of the idiots at the Immigration Office. They’d just deported a helpless family seeking asylum. Yes, they celebrated with champagne and patted themselves on the back for booting out people who sought refuge in Sweden, a family with a sick child …”

Penelope falls silent again.

“Do you know who the fourth person is? The woman in the picture?”

Penelope shakes her head.

“It’s Agathe al-Haji,” Saga says.

“Really?” Penelope grimaces.

“Yes.”

“Why is she …”

Penelope falls silent and her dark eyes stare at Saga.

“Do you know when the picture was taken?” Saga asks.

“No, but of course the arrest order against al-Bashir was issued in March 2009, and …” Penelope stops abruptly and her face flushes scarlet.

“What is it?” asks Saga.

“The picture was taken after that,” Penelope states, her voice shaking. “Right? The picture was taken after the arrest warrant.”