Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle (106 page)

“What makes you say that?” asks Saga.

“That’s what makes it so important …” Penelope muses and the colour fades again from her face.

“It’s the deal with Kenya,” she says with trembling lips. “That’s what the photo is all about, isn’t it? It’s the Kenya contract, and Palmcrona’s just agreed to it. The selling of ammunition to Kenya—I always knew there was something wrong there.”

“Keep going,” Joona says.

“Kenya has ongoing business with Great Britain. Delivery of ammunition will go to Kenya all right, but it’ll end up in Sudan and Darfur!”

“Yes,” Saga says. “That’s what we believe is happening, too.”

“But it’s forbidden! This is terrible … it’s treason, it’s against international law … Beyond that, it’s a crime against humanity …”

Penelope thinks a moment, her face in her hands.

“So that’s why all this has happened,” she says quietly. “Not because Björn attempted blackmail.”

“That was the catalyst. It alerted these people to the fact that this photograph existed.”

“I had assumed the picture might have been an embarrassment,” Penelope says. “Embarrassing, yes, but not much more than that.”

“When Palmcrona called them about the blackmail attempt, they went on alert,” Saga explains. “Until then, they knew nothing about any photograph. Now they were worried. They did not know how much or how little it revealed. All they knew was that it was not good. We’re not sure exactly what they reasoned … perhaps that either you or Björn was the photographer.”

“But—”

“They couldn’t know how much you both could prove. But they wanted to take no chances.”

“I understand,” Penelope says. “And that’s still the same situation now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Penelope nods.

“They think I might be the only witness to the deal,” she says.

“They’ve invested a great deal of money,” Saga says.

“They can’t get away with this,” Penelope says softly.

“What did you say?”

Penelope looks directly into Saga’s eyes and says clearly, “They can’t pump ammunition into Darfur, they just can’t do it! I’ve seen what happens. I’ve been there twice—”

“They don’t really care. It’s only about the money,” Saga says.

“It’s not! It’s about … it’s about … so much more,” Penelope says and turns her face to the wall. “It’s about …”

She falls silent remembering the crunch as a clay figure is broken underneath the hoof of a goat. A small woman made of sun-baked clay crumbled into dust. A tiny child laughing and crying out, “That was Nufi’s ugly mother! All the Fur are going to die! They’re all going to die!” All the other children smiling and taking up the chant.

“What are you trying to say?” Saga asks.

Penelope looks at her, looks into her eyes, but does not answer. Her mind has gone back to Darfur.

After a long, hot car ride, she’d arrived at the refugee camp in Kubbum, southwest of Nyala in Janub Darfur, West Sudan. She’d barely arrived before she and Jane and Grey had to get down to work trying to save the lives of people caught up in the Janjaweed raids.

During the night, Penelope had woken when she heard three teenage boys shouting in Arabic that they were going to kill slaves. They belonged to the militia. They walked down the middle of the street and one of them had a gun. Penelope had peeked out the window. They were bragging about how they’d walked up to an old man selling sweet potatoes and shot him in the head point-blank.

The boys kept walking down the street shouting and then had pointed at the house where Penelope and Jane were staying. Penelope held her breath. She heard their stomping feet on the veranda and their excited voices.

Suddenly, they kicked in the door of the barracks and started down the hallway. Penelope dived under the bed to hide. Completely still, she had recited the Lord’s Prayer silently. Furniture was knocked over and stomped on. Then she heard the boys walk back out into the street. One of them laughed and yelled that slaves were going to die. Penelope crept back to the window again. The boys had Jane by the hair, pulling her, until they threw her down into the middle of the street. The door to the other barracks across the street was flung open and Grey came out swinging a machete. The thin boy went to meet him, although Grey was about two feet taller than the boy and much more muscular.

“What do you want here?” Grey demanded.

His serious face was slick with sweat.

The thin boy said nothing but simply raised the pistol and shot Grey in the stomach. The bang echoed between the buildings. Grey stumbled and fell down backwards. He tried to get back up, but then kept still with his hand pressed to his stomach.

“One dead Fur!” yelled one of the other boys gleefully. He still had Jane by the hair.

The second boy forced Jane’s legs apart. She struggled but still talked to them in a calm, hard voice. Grey yelled something at the boys. The thin boy went back over, yelled something at Grey, pressed the gun to his temple and fired. It clicked and he tried six more times. The pistol was empty. The group of boys suddenly began to look doubtful. Other doors in other barracks opened and African women started to pour out. The teenagers let go of Jane and began to scuttle away. Penelope saw five women chasing them. Penelope grabbed her blanket from the bed, unlocked the door, and rushed out into the street. She ran over to Jane to wrap the blanket around her and help her up.

“Go back inside, all of you!” Jane yelled. “They might be back with more ammunition! You shouldn’t be outside if they come back!”

All that night and the next morning, Jane stood working at the operating table. Not until ten in the morning was she able to go to her bed convinced Grey’s life was saved. That evening, she worked her usual schedule and by the next day, the routine in the hospital tent had returned to normal. The small boys helped her, but they were more guarded and sometimes they pretended not to hear her when they thought she was too demanding.

“No,” Penelope whispers.

“What did you say?” asks Saga.

Penelope thinks that these people must not be allowed to export ammunition to Sudan.

“They can’t get away with it,” she says, and then is quiet.

“You were safer in the underground room,” Saga says.

“Safe? No one can keep me safe,” Penelope replies.

“We know where he is. He’s inside the German embassy and we’ve surrounded the building—”

“But you haven’t got him yet,” Penelope says louder.

“He’s probably been wounded. Shot in the arm. We’re going to go in and—”

“I want to go with you,” says Penelope.

“What?”

“Because I
have
seen his face,” she replies.

Both Saga and Joona start and Penelope looks directly at Joona.

“You were right,” she says. “I have seen his face.”

“We don’t have much time. Perhaps you can just give us a sketch of the suspect,” Saga says anxiously.

“That won’t be enough,” Joona says. “We can’t go into an embassy with just a sketch.”

“But with a live witness who can point him out?” Penelope says, and she stands up to look Joona in the eye.

Penelope stands between Saga Bauer and Joona Linna behind an armoured police bus parked on Skarpögatan beside the Japanese embassy. They’re barely fifty metres away from the German embassy. She feels the weight of the protective vest dragging on her shoulders and the tight fit around her chest.

They have to wait five minutes. Then three people will be admitted into the German embassy in an attempt to identify and arrest a suspect.

Silently, Penelope accepts the extra pistol Joona slides into the holster on her back. He adjusts the angle so that, if needed, it can be drawn out quickly.

“She doesn’t want that,” Saga protests quietly.

“It’s okay,” says Penelope.

“We don’t know what will happen,” Joona says. “I hope that everything will go smoothly, but if it doesn’t, this little backup might make a difference.”

Swedish police, Säpo’s officers, SWAT teams, and ambulances are everywhere.

Joona Linna looks over what remains of the burned-out Volvo. Only the charred chassis is still in one piece. Parts of the car are strewn all over the street crossing. Erixson has already found a detonator and traces of explosives. “It’s probably hexogen,” Erixson says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose.

“A bomb,” Joona says as he looks at his watch.

A German shepherd is nosing around the legs of a policeman and then lies down on the pavement and pants with its tongue hanging out.

A SWAT team escorts Saga, Penelope, and Joona to the gate, where four expressionless German military officers wait.

“Try not to worry,” Saga says softly to Penelope. “All you have to do is identify the suspect and you’ll be brought out again immediately. The embassy security guards won’t arrest him until you are out of the building.”

A strong-looking, well-built policeman with a freckled nose opens the gate and lets them onto the embassy property. He gives them a friendly greeting and introduces himself as Karl Mann, head of security.

They follow him up to the main entrance.

The morning air is still cool.

“I hope you’ve been well briefed. This man is an extremely dangerous killer,” Joona says.

“We understand. We’ve been informed,” Karl Mann replies. “However, I have seen nobody except employees of the embassy and other German citizens here all morning.”

“May we have a list?” Saga asks immediately.

“All I will tell you is that we’ve been reviewing the tapes from our security cameras,” Karl Mann tells them. “We think your officer was mistaken. Perhaps this fugitive got in over the fence, but instead of entering the building, he probably ran around it and kept on going.”

“A possibility,” Joona says calmly.

“How many people are here in the embassy right now?” asks Saga.

“It’s open for business and there are four appointments scheduled.”

“Four people?”

“Yes.”

“And how many employees are here?”

“Eleven.”

“And how many security guards?”

“Five, at present,” he says.

“No other people?”

“No.”

“No carpenters, no painters, or—”

“No.”

“So twenty people in all,” Saga says.

“Do you wish to look around on your own?” asks Karl Mann quietly.

“We would prefer to have someone with us,” Saga replies.

“How many?” asks Karl Mann.

“As many as possible and as heavily armed as possible,” Joona answers.

“So you really believe he is that dangerous.” Karl Mann smiles. “I can put two men at your disposal along with myself.”

“We don’t know what to expect, but—”

“You said he’d been shot in the arm,” Karl Mann points out. “I must say I’m not exactly afraid.”

“And it’s possible he never actually got inside. Or maybe he’s already left,” Joona says quietly. “But if he
is
here, we might lose some people.”

Silently, Joona, Penelope, and Saga, accompanied by the three policemen carrying automatic rifles and shock grenades, begin to walk through the corridors on the main floor. Renovations had been carried out throughout the building during the last few years while embassy business had been moved to Artillerigatan. However, in spite of the fact that the last few touches were being completed, embassy personnel had been moved back. It still smelled like paint and newly sawed wood. Some of the floors were still covered with protective paper.

“We would like to see your visitors first,” Joona says. “Not the regular employees.”

“I expected that,” Karl Mann says.

Penelope feels strangely calm as she walks between Saga Bauer and Joona Linna. Somehow she does not believe she will meet her pursuer here. The place seems too normal and peaceful.

Then she notices Joona’s caution, how his movements beside her change.

An alarm starts beeping. Everyone stands still. Karl Mann lifts his radio and speaks shortly in German.

“A door alarm is going off,” he explains to them in Swedish. “The door is actually locked but the alarm is so sensitive it acts as if the door has been opened for a few seconds.”

They keep walking together along the hallway and Penelope Fernandez is aware of the extra weight of the gun against her back.

“Here is the office of Martin Schenkel, our business attaché,” Karl Mann gestures. “He has a visitor, Roland Lindkvist.”

“We’d like to meet them,” Joona says.

“Martin has requested no one disturb him until after lunch.”

Joona says nothing.

Saga clasps Penelope’s upper arm and they stop while the others continue on towards the closed door.

“Wait a moment, please,” Karl Mann says to Joona as he knocks.

He receives a muffled answer, waits a moment, and then is given permission to enter. He does so, and closes the door behind him.

Joona looks at a room with a door covered by grey industrial plastic. A pile of gypsum board is stacked there. The plastic billows a little like a sail, just as sounds drift out from behind the closed door to the business attaché’s office. There are voices and a loud thud. Penelope’s thoughts fly back in time to the news reports about when this very embassy building had been occupied by Kommando Holger Meins in the spring of 1975. She remembers the demand that Andreas Baader, Ulrike Meinhof, Gudrun Ensslin, and thirty-five other prisoners from the Red Army Faction be released from their West German prison. It was in these very corridors that they ran and screamed at one another, pulling Ambassador Dietrich Stoecker by the hair and pushing Heinz Hillegaart’s bloody body down the stairs. She didn’t remember what they’d said or what the negotiations had been, but afterwards, the German chancellor Helmut Schmidt had told Swedish prime minister Olof Palme not to negotiate with the terrorists and then two of the hostages were shot. Karl-Heinz Dellwo had screamed that he would shoot one person every hour until his demands were met.

Now Penelope watches Joona Linna step up to the door. The other two men are standing totally still. Joona pulls out his gun, undoes the safety, and then knocks at the door.