Red Wolf: A Novel (45 page)

‘It wasn’t my idea,’ he went on, ‘but suddenly it was legitimate to eliminate dictators and false authorities, and there are lots of those around the world, they’re everywhere.’

He looked at her and smiled.

‘As a journalist, Annika,’ he said, ‘you’ll be familiar with the old adage, “dig where you stand”. There are stories everywhere, why cross the river to fetch water? The same thing applies to false authorities, why look further than you have to?’

‘And Benny Ekland was one of them?’

Hans Blomberg took a few steps back and sat down on the bed again, waving with the pistol to indicate that she should sit at the desk. She obeyed, moving through air as thick as cement, and dropped her polar jacket beside the chair.

‘You haven’t quite understood,’ the archivist said. ‘Hans Blomberg is just my alias. I’m really the Black Panther; I’ve never been anything else.’

He nodded to emphasize his words, as Annika searched feverishly for a loose thread, something that could make him unravel.

‘That isn’t strictly true,’ she said. ‘You’ve tried to
fit in as Hans Blomberg as well, haven’t you? All those articles about the county council that were always published at the bottom of page twenty-two, was that it?’

A flash of anger crossed his face.

‘A way of maintaining my façade until the Dragon came back. He promised, and his return was the signal.’

Then he smiled again.

‘Benny made sure I ended up in the archive. Not that I’m bitter, because of course I won in the end.’

Annika forced back a feeling of nausea.

‘But why the boy?’

Hans Blomberg shook his head sorrowfully. ‘It was a shame that he had to go, but war claims many civilian casualties.’

‘Because he recognized you? You used to see the family socially, didn’t you?’

Hans Blomberg didn’t reply, merely smiled gently.

‘Kurt Sandström?’ Annika said, fear pounding in her stomach, putting pressure on her bladder.

‘False authority,’ he said. ‘A traitor.’

‘How did you know him?’

‘From Nyland,’ Hans Blomberg said. ‘The big lad on the next farm, he was one year older than me. We were at Uppsala together, and joined the movement at the same time. But Kurt’s faith was weak, and he drifted over to the side of capitalism and exploitation, to the farmers’ movement. I gave him a chance to change his mind, but he chose his own fate.’

She was holding on to the desk.

‘And Margit Axelsson?’

Hans Blomberg sighed, adjusting the hair across his scalp.

‘Little Margit,’ he said. ‘Ever-lovely, trying to make
the world a better place. She always meant well. A shame she was so loud and obstinate.’

‘And that’s why you strangled her?’

‘She betrayed us.’

Annika shifted on the chair and felt that she would have to pee soon.

‘So tell me,’ she said, ‘why did you blow up the plane?’

The man gave a small shrug.

‘It was really just a test,’ he said. ‘Of the Dog’s loyalty.’

‘And she did as she was told?’

He chuckled at the memory.

‘She was so angry about the Wolf leaving that she would have done anything. The Dog was so disappointed, but you know what girls are like. Popular little Karina was only interested in fucking whoever all the others wanted.’

‘But,’ Annika said, ‘why were they getting married, if that was the case?’

The archivist laughed out loud. ‘You really fell for that,’ he said. ‘The marriage announcement. I made it up there and then, wanted to give you something to chew on. And, my word, you did chew, didn’t you?’

He calmed down and nodded thoughtfully, and Annika stood up.

‘I have to go to the toilet,’ she said.

Blomberg was on his feet with the same speed she had seen when he attacked the Minister of Culture in the compressor shed.

‘Not a chance.’

‘Then I’ll wet myself.’

The man stepped back, but hit the bed.

‘Go on, then, but no tricks. Leave the door open.’

She did as he said, went into the bathroom, pulled
down her trousers and underwear, and relieved herself.

She looked at herself in the mirror, and in her eyes she could see what she had to do.

If she stayed in the room she would die. She had to get out, even if that meant taking Hans Blomberg with her.

‘Who’s the Tiger?’ she asked as she walked back into the room, concealing her intentions behind dull eyes.

Something needy and lustful had lit up in the archivist’s eyes. He was staring at her crotch.

‘Kenneth Uusitalo,’ he said. ‘Departmental manager at Swedish Steel. A really great guy, active in the Manufacturers’ Association, negotiates slave-contracts with the Third World. Unfortunately he’s been away for a while.’

He licked his lips.

Annika went over to the desk again, and leaned over it.

‘But really,’ she said, ‘you’re not much better yourself. You’re only after Göran’s money.’

He flew up like a shot, raced across the room and pressed the pistol to her forehead.

‘For being sarcastic,’ he said, taking the safety catch off, and she felt fear loosen her bladder and let out the few drops that were in there.

‘Good luck with the treasure hunt,’ she croaked, her mouth completely dry.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then pulled the gun away from her head, pointing it at the ceiling.

‘What do you know?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, ‘but I saw Göran Nilsson put a duffel bag in a transformer box next to the railway. Could that be it?’

She gulped audibly, the man raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘so it’s suddenly time to tell the truth, is it?’

‘Can I sit down?’

He moved so that he had her in his line of fire as her knees gratefully lowered her onto the chair.

‘Where exactly is this box?’

She struggled for air for several seconds.

‘Not far from the viaduct,’ she said. ‘There’s a little clump of pine trees right next to it.’

‘How come you saw that?’

‘I was hiding, watching Karina, and I saw Göran put the bag in there.’

The archivist went up to her, put his hand round her neck, breathing right in her face and staring into her eyes.

‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I do believe you’re telling the truth. Put your coat on.’

Hans Blomberg backed towards the door.

‘I’ll have the pistol in my pocket the whole time. If you try anything you won’t be the only one. You’ll be taking the girl in reception with you to hell. Understood?’

Annika nodded, pulling on her jacket. They stepped out of the room; the corridor was tilting and swaying. In the lift the archivist stood so close to her she could feel his chest against her breasts.

‘How did you know where I’d be staying?’ she asked, looking up at his face.

‘Your charming boss told me. I think his name was Jansson?’

The lift stopped with a jerk.

‘I shall be walking right behind you,’ the archivist said. ‘If you’re a good girl then the little lady in reception will get a chance to grow up.’

He moved even closer to her, his hands sliding into her coat pockets and down towards her crotch.

She kicked the door to open it.

He quickly withdrew his hands from her pockets, and in one hand he was holding her mobile phone.

‘Nice and quiet, now,’ he whispered.

They stepped into the lobby. Linda the receptionist came out from the kitchen, talking on the phone, and smiled warmly at them.

Ring the police
, Annika tried to tell her telepathically, staring at her with fire in her eyes.
Ring the police! Ring the police!

But the young woman waved to them and went back into the room behind reception with her phone.

‘And out we go,’ Hans Blomberg whispered.

The cold tore at her skin, and she felt the pistol at her back again.

‘To the right,’ the archivist said. She turned and walked unsteadily along the pavement, they passed her hire-car with Ragnwald’s millions in the boot. Hans Blomberg pulled her by the arm and steered her towards an old Passat that was parked outside a bookshop.

‘It isn’t locked,’ he said. ‘Jump in.’

Annika did as he said. The car-seat was ice-cold, the man walked round the car and got in the driver’s seat.

‘Where did you steal this one?’ Annika asked.

‘Porsön,’ Hans Blomberg said, hot-wiring the ignition.

They rolled off towards the water and turned off to follow the railway track. For the third time that day Annika drove through the industrial estate on Lövskatan.

‘How did you get into my room?’ she asked, staring into the rear-view mirror. Behind them, a long way back, she caught sight of a distant but growing point of light.

The archivist laughed slightly. ‘A little hobby of mine,’ he said. ‘I can break into anything. Anything else you’d like to know?’

She thought, shut her eyes and swallowed. ‘Why did you change the way you killed them each time?’

He shrugged, braked at the opening of the narrow track with the no vehicles sign, craned his neck and peered through the windscreen.

‘I wanted to try things out,’ he said. ‘At our training camp in Melderstein in the summer of sixty-nine the Dragon appointed me his supreme commander. I was the one who would lead the armed struggle. All summer we practised different forms of attack, different ways to take a life. Over the years I kept up my interest and my education. How far do we drive?’

‘To the viaduct,’ Annika said, glancing in the mirror again, the light was closer now. ‘Margit Axelsson received a warning after the Dragon disappeared. Did you get one as well?’

The archivist laughed again, louder this time.

‘But dear girl,’ he said, ‘I was the one who sent them. They all got one.’

‘Whose fingers were they?’

‘A little boy who had been killed in a car accident,’ Hans Blomberg said. ‘I broke into the mortuary and cut them off. There’s no need to worry, he didn’t miss them.’

She looked out of the window until she could talk again.

‘But why start killing them now?’ she said, looking at him. ‘Why did you wait so long?’

He glanced back at her and smiled.

‘You’re not listening,’ he said. ‘The revolution is here. It was going to start when the Dragon returned. He promised that before he left, and now he’s back.’

‘Göran Nilsson is dead.’

Hans Blomberg shrugged. ‘Ah well,’ he said with a sigh. ‘All false authorities die sooner or later.’

He pulled up, put the car in neutral and put on the handbrake, leaving the stolen car running. He turned to look at Annika, suddenly serious and thoughtful.

‘The Dragon promised that he would come back, and I knew it was true. I waited all those years. Of course I’ve had moments of doubt, but I’m the winner in the end.’

‘Do you really believe that?’ Annika said.

He slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand.

‘So now we go out and find the box,’ he said, reaching over her to open the passenger door, his hand pausing on her stomach.

She heaved herself out, taking a quick glance backward.

Not yet time.

She turned towards the box and pointed. ‘There.’

‘Open it.’

She walked slowly forward, lead weights round her feet.

It won’t work
, she thought.
I can’t do it
.

She listened behind her, thought she could hear the dull rumble.
Not yet, but soon
. She took hold of the handle, tried to twist, pulled, used both hands, pulled even harder, braced her feet on the ground, and groaned loudly.

‘I can’t get it open,’ she said, letting go.

The light was close now, the whistling sound was very clear, merging with the distant rumble of the steelworks.
Soon, soon, soon
.

Hans Blomberg walked over, annoyed. ‘Get out of the way.’

Holding the pistol in his right hand, he grabbed the handle with his left, gathered his strength, then pulled. The door flew open, the man’s eyes opening wide as he leaned over and stared into the darkness, and Annika shrugged off her heavy jacket and ran.

She threw herself down onto the track, slipping on the sleepers, running though her legs felt like lead, unable to hear amidst the panic.

A bullet flew past her left ear, then another, and then she was bathed in the full glare of the diesel locomotive’s headlight. The driver pulled the whistle but it was too late, she was already across. She collapsed on the other side and the train thundered past her with its endless cargo of ore-truck after ore-truck after ore-truck, forming a wall of iron one kilometre long between her and Hans Blomberg.

And she got to her feet and ran and ran and ran towards the noise, towards the glowing red eyes at the top of blast-furnace number two. She scrambled up a steep slope and over a mountain of coal, knives tearing at her lungs; in the distance the sign, West Checkpoint.

Thomas put the evening papers down on the desk before he took off his coat and hung it up on a hanger. He glanced at the desk over his shoulder as he hung the hanger on the back of the door. Annika’s solemn face stared up at him from the front page of the
Evening Post
, the new photo she had taken after the business with the Bomber, with her looking older and sadder.

Evening Post Reporter CRACKED TERRORIST GANG
, the headline screamed, and his pulse started to race as he sat down and ran a finger over her face.

His wife, the mother of his children, was unique, and not only in his eyes.

He opened the paper. Articles about how Annika’s investigations had cracked the Norrbotten terrorist cell took up half the paper. Across the first news-spread inside, pages six and seven, there was a night picture, taken from a plane, of the Gulf of Bothnia, with someone running within an illuminated circle of light, and the caption:
Terrorist hunt at sea tonight – serial killer tracked by helicopters with thermal cameras
.

A long article described how a single man from Luleå had murdered at least four people in just the last few weeks. Journalist Annika Bengtzon had sounded the alarm at the West Checkpoint of Swedish Steel, the
police had sealed off the Lövskatan district, forcing the man out onto the ice. Fortunately police helicopters were already fitted with thermal-imaging cameras, because they had been searching for a missing three-year-old the year before. He glanced through the article, then moved on.