The Father: Made in Sweden Part I (36 page)

A train station in a capital city is its own nation, has its own language; it’s a place that both separates and brings people together. His job was to blend in, to look as if he was on his way either to or from Stockholm. A traveller in a black knitted cap and a winter coat, just like every other winter coat.

But there was no one like him. A shadow with only one purpose.

Find and open a storage locker. Deposit one bag. Lock it. Leave.

The short-stay car park under the bridge, opposite the Sheraton Hotel, was the only place close to Central Station that Leo knew for sure was outside the range of its roof-mounted cameras. He’d seen Jasper disappear through the main entrance a couple of minutes ago, melting into a sea of bobbing heads. He sat in the driver’s seat of the company car with the engine idling. When Jasper came out again, they’d pick up Felix and Vincent at the abandoned petrol station, then continue south to Ösmo.

His mobile rang. It shouldn’t have. Only six people had the number to this unregistered phone. Jasper who was inside the station, and knew very well that he shouldn’t call. Felix and Vincent who were waiting for him, and knew they shouldn’t call. Anneli at their home in Tumba, who also knew she shouldn’t call; Mamma who was always asleep at this time of day since she worked nights.

‘Don’t hang up this time.’

And … Pappa.

‘I
need
to talk to you.’

‘I told you I didn’t have time. I don’t have time now either.’

Leo heard him breathing through his nose, as if the air itself were blocking important words.

‘The envelope. I don’t want to fight about the fucking money, but I started thinking …’

Heavy traffic on Vasa Street. A flock of pigeons on the roof of Central Station. A group of Japanese tourists with cameras and name tags outside the Sheraton. But no Jasper yet.

‘If you can give me that much money, even though you don’t think I’m owed it, that must mean you have even
more
money. Where did it come from? I work in construction too, and way off the fucking books, but I’m not paid that much. If you have that much money, Leo … then you got it some other way.’

‘You don’t know shit about my work.’

‘No. I don’t know.’

‘And I’ve had enough of this. I’m not talking to you about it.’

‘You have a company you run with your brothers … my
other
sons, Leo! That means your brothers are involved. You’re responsible for them. If you’re doing something illegal – it’s your responsibility, Leo!’

That fucking breathing again, close to the phone, as if the old man was looking around to make sure no one was listening.

‘If you have a problem, Leo …’

‘Responsible?’

‘If you have a problem, Leo … you know you can always talk to me, I’ve helped you before.’

‘I don’t have a problem.’

‘You know, I’ve been alive twenty-seven years longer than you, Leo.’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘So I have a little more experience, Leo. I see things you don’t see.’

‘You?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You—
Pappa
?’

Inhalation through the nose – his father was waiting.

‘I take responsibility,’ said Leo. ‘They depend on me. That’s how it works – if you take responsibility, people trust you. Twenty-seven years? What the hell is that? Time! But if you don’t do anything with it, that’s
all it is … time. Stop worrying about Vincent and Felix. They’re doing just fine with the
snitch
.’

He searched the crowd outside Central Station’s main entrance.

‘And I will never fucking ask for your help.’

The storage locker had to be in the middle of the arrivals hall and at chest height, so the police would immediately have to evacuate the entire station, and so their bomb robot would have easy access. The woman to Jasper’s right closed the locker door, turned her key, and a coin fell into the metal tray. She was already on her way, but Jasper averted his face just in case as he opened number 326. Her heels clacked along the marble floor, and she was far away by the time he gently pushed the bag inside. He looked at all the people around him, none of them looking at him. Not even the people in uniform with their knapsacks over their shoulders, passing just a few metres behind him, their dark green berets shining. He was suddenly unable to close the door, his arm went numb and his heart started beating so damn hard. Three golden prongs that gleamed at him in a row – one for Courage, one for Power, one for Strength. Commandos. Five men with buzz-cuts on their way to a northbound train.

They’re walking past me. Their shaved heads, their eyes, all so fucking self-assured. They don’t see me. But I see them.

I was one of you
.

The bag was in, but the zip wasn’t completely closed, it was stuck with a small gap at the far end. Jasper grabbed the chain and was about to tug it back when he saw the red wire loop shining inside those nylon walls, the safety ring.

Those slanted berets were behind him. Sitting so perfectly on those heads.

And then he felt it. Loathing.

Loathing in the face of men who had no idea that there were other groups that could invite you in, who made plans, carried out attacks, blew things up and fired weapons, just as precisely – and who, moreover, were true friends, brothers. Loathing of those who had no idea why he stood there.

I’m no longer one of you.

Finger through the opening in the zip and through the wire loop.

The safety ring.

If I pull this out. Then move the metal box inside this bag just a hair.

The crewcuts had disappeared into the crowd, becoming just like everyone else, looking just like everyone else on their way somewhere.

I’m so much more than you.

Seven minutes. Jasper should have finished by now.

The mobile phone was still in Leo’s hand. Not a single phone call from
him
in years. And then twice in just a few weeks. The voice pecking against his skull, tugging at his brain, trying to get inside with a key that no longer existed.

I should never have gone there.

I should never have handed over forty-three thousand, shouldn’t have shown him the car or told him about the company.

I should never have opened the door to our lives.

Now. There. Black knitted cap, long firm strides emerging from the main entrance to Central Station – Jasper without the bag. He was smiling – Leo recognised it from every incident that was like the nightstick and the broken wrist.

‘You took your time,’ Leo said as Jasper climbed in.

‘I wanted to be sure that … no one saw me.’

Leo pulled away, and as they drove down Vasa Street towards the bridge, the people outside the station turned into a mass of small grey dots in the rear-view mirror.

‘Leo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thanks. For trusting me.’

Across the bridge, Parliament on their left, then Old Town, and on towards Slussen, into the tunnel underneath Södermalm.

‘Three minutes. OK?’ said Leo.

‘Three minutes.’

‘Felix outside in the car. Just me at Target One. You and Vincent at Target Two.’

The taxi right in front of them slowed suddenly, as if it didn’t know where it was going. Leo, who’d been driving too close, hit the brakes and switched to the outer lane next to Skanstulls Bridge.

‘Nothing is allowed happen to my little brother – do you understand that?
Nothing
.’

JASPER WAITED IN
a telephone box in Gullmars Square, the cold receiver pressed against his ear.

‘This is the police.’

‘You listening?’

‘I’m lis—’

‘At the following location – the arrivals hall of Central Station, locker number 326 – there is a bomb.’

Jasper could hear other officers in the background at the emergency call centre.

‘I repeat. In the arrivals hall at Central Station. In a locker. With the following number …’

His voice was disguised without sounding made up, serious, a somewhat intimidating drawl. A voice he liked. It resembled Leo’s, controlled and clear – screaming wasn’t so frightening. Leo rarely raised his voice, but when he did everyone noticed because you didn’t know what might happen.

‘… three … two … six. 326. The bomb will detonate at fifteen hundred hours. This is
not
negotiable.’

He hung up and left the phone box.

Slightly hunched over, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, he walked across the square towards the building with the 7-Eleven store and the waiting car. The engine was running, and Leo had the police scanner on his lap.

‘The alarm’s gone out several times. Bomb threat at Central Station. They’re already on their way.’

They were careful not to drive south either too fast or too slow. Soon they met the first police car. Then another, and then three more, all of them heading north at high speed, blue lights flashing, in the direction of central Stockholm. They’d sat in silence surrounded by another world of voices. A news bulletin coming from the radio on the dashboard – ‘
Stockholm’s Central Station has just now been cordoned off due to a suspected
bomb threat
’ – and from the police scanner on Jasper’s lap, the warning from the commanding officer –
‘explosives, confirmed’
– while the arriving patrols helped to evacuate and cordon off the area, temporarily closing parts of the Tunnelbana and stopping all regional and national trains.

Everything had gone exactly as planned, but still his father’s fucking voice kept pecking at his head and pulling at his brain.

If you have a problem, Leo, I’ve helped you before.

He increased his speed – unaware of Jasper repeatedly asking him to slow down and of the police scanner, which reported that a bomb squad was about to open the locker.

Only another ten kilometres to the exit. He stayed in the outer lane doing seventy kilometres per hour.

I’m twenty-four, not ten!

A hundred and ten kilometres per hour.