The Sandman (45 page)

He emerges onto quay number five and looks round. His heart is beating fast in his chest. A dock worker in a helmet is speaking into a walkie-talkie. Snow is falling through the glare of the floodlight, swirling out over the black water.

A vast crane on rails is loading a container ship bound for Rotterdam.

Joona catches sight of the red container bearing the words Hamburg Süd and starts running.

Hundreds of containers, all different colours, bearing different shipping companies’ names, have already been loaded beyond these latest ones.

Two dock workers are walking quickly along the quayside in their bulky outfits and bright yellow tunics. One of them is pointing up at the lofty bridge of the ship.

Joona peers through the heavy snowfall, jumps over a concrete plinth and reaches the edge of the quay. Sludgy ice is floating in the black water, rattling against the hull. The smell of the sea is mixed with the diesel fumes from four caterpillar trucks.

Joona clambers on board and hurries along the railing, shoving a box of shackles out of the way and finding a shovel.

‘You there!’ a man behind him calls.

Joona rushes straight through a damp cardboard box, running along the edge, and sees that there’s a sledgehammer next to the railing, among the wrenches, lifting hooks and a rusty chain. He drops the shovel, grabs the sledgehammer instead and runs over to the red container. It’s big enough for four cars. He hits it with his hand, and the metal echoes back dully.

‘Disa,’ he shouts, as he hurries round it.

A heavy container lock is fastened to the double-doors. He swings the sledgehammer across the deck, then twists it back and round with incredible force. There’s a crash as the lock shatters. He drops the sledgehammer and opens the doors.

Disa isn’t there.

All he can see in the gloom are two BMW sports cars.

Joona doesn’t know what to do. He looks back towards the quayside, at the vast stacks of containers.

One of the terminal’s tractors is moving loose goods with its lights flashing.

Far in the distance Loudden’s oil tank is barely visible through the heavy snowfall.

Joona wipes his mouth and starts to walk back.

One mobile crane is lifting a number of containers onto a goods train, and at the end of the quay, more than three hundred metres away, an articulated lorry covered in filthy tarpaulin is driving on board a roll-on, roll-off ferry to St Petersburg.

On the ramp behind the lorry is another one, pulling a red ISO-container behind it.

On the side of the container are the words Hamburg Süd.

Joona tries to work out the quickest way to get there.

‘You’re not allowed up here,’ a man shouts behind him.

Joona turns and sees a thickset dock worker in a helmet, bright-yellow tunic and heavy gloves.

‘National Crime Police,’ Joona explains quickly. ‘I’m looking for—’

‘I don’t care who you are,’ the man interrupts, ‘you can’t just climb on board a—’

‘Call your boss and tell him that—’

‘You’re going to wait right here and explain everything to the security guards who are—’

‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Joona says, turning away.

The dock worker grabs hold of him by the shoulder. Out of reflex Joona swings round, wraps his own arm over the man’s and twists his elbow up.

It all happens very fast.

The dock worker is forced to lean back because of the pain in his shoulder, and Joona kicks his feet out from under him at the same moment, and he starts to fall.

Instead of breaking the dock worker’s arm, Joona lets go and allows him to collapse onto the deck.

The large crane rumbles and everything suddenly goes dark when the glare of the floodlights is obscured by the cargo dangling from the crane, directly above him.

Joona picks up the sledgehammer and starts to walk away quickly, but a younger dock-worker in high-visibility clothing is standing in his way, holding a large wrench in his hand.

‘Be very careful,’ Joona says ominously.

‘You need to wait until the security guards get here,’ the dock worker tells him. There’s a worried look in his eyes.

Joona shoves him in the chest with one hand to force his way past. The dock worker takes a step back, then strikes out with the wrench. Joona blocks the blow with his arm, but it still hits him on the shoulder. He groans with pain and lets go of the sledgehammer. It falls to the deck with a clang. Joona grabs the back of the man’s helmet and pulls it down, then hits him hard over the ear, making him sink to his knees and howl with pain.

Joona runs through the snow along the edge of the quay, with the sledgehammer hanging by his side. He can hear shouting behind him. Large blocks of ice are rolling in the sludgy water. The water rises, hits the quayside and sprays up.

Joona tears up the ramp of the roll-on, roll-off ferry to St Petersburg. He carries on past the rows of warm, steaming private cars, trailers and lorries. Light is coming from lamps along the bulkheads. Behind a grey container towards the stern he can just make out a red one.

A man tries to get out of his car, but Joona shuts the door on him so he can get past. The sledgehammer hits a bolt in one of the ship’s bulkheads. He can feel the vibration moving through his arm and shoulder.

The steel deck under the cars is wet with melted snow. Joona kicks some cones blocking his path out of the way and keeps moving.

He reaches the red container, bangs on the doors and shouts out. The lock is high up. He has to climb up onto the car behind – a black Mercedes – and stand on the bonnet to reach it. The bonnet buckles beneath his feet and the paint cracks. He swings the sledgehammer and smashes the lock with his first blow. The noise echoes off the bulkheads and roof. Joona leaves the sledgehammer on the car bonnet. He opens the container. One of the doors swings open and scrapes the car’s bumper.

‘Disa!’ he calls into the container.

It’s full of white boxes with the name Evonik on their sides. They’re tightly packed, and strapped down on pallets. Joona picks up the sledgehammer again and carries on towards the stern, past the cars and lorries. He can feel that he’s starting to get tired. His arms are trembling from the exertion. Loading of the ferry has finished now and the bow is being lowered into place. There’s a rumble of machinery and the deck shakes as the ferry pulls away. Ice knocks against its hull. He’s almost at the stern when he sees another red container with the words Hamburg Süd on the side.

‘Disa,’ he calls.

He runs round the cab, stops and looks at the blue lock on the container. He wipes water from his face, grabs hold of the sledgehammer, and fails to notice the person approaching from behind.

Joona raises the sledgehammer and is about to strike when he receives a hard blow in the back. It hurts, his lungs roar and he almost blacks out. He drops the sledgehammer and falls forward, hitting his forehead against the container and collapsing on the deck. He rolls to the side and gets to his feet. Blood is running into one eye, and he stumbles and reaches out to a nearby car for support.

In front of him is a fairly tall woman with a baseball bat over her shoulder. She’s breathing quickly and her padded jacket is pulled tight across her chest. She takes a step to the side, blows a lock of blonde hair from her face and takes aim again.

‘Leave my cargo the fuck alone!’ she yells.

She strikes again, but Joona moves quickly, heading straight at her, grabbing her throat with one hand, stamping his foot down at the back of her knee so that her leg buckles, then throws her to the deck and points his pistol at her.

‘National Criminal Police,’ he says.

She lies on deck, whimpering and looking at him as he picks up the sledgehammer, grasps it with both hands, swings it and shatters the lock. A piece of metal casing lands with a clatter right in front of her face.

Joona opens the doors, but the container is full of large boxes of televisions. He pulls a few out to see further in; Disa isn’t there. He wipes the blood from his face and runs off between the cars, past a black container, and hurries up some steps to the open deck.

He rushes over to the railing, gasping for breath in the cold air. In front of the ship he can see the channel that an icebreaker has cleared through the archipelago to the open sea.

A mosaic of crushed ice is bobbing around a buoy.

The ferry is now twenty metres from the quay, and Joona suddenly has a view of the whole harbour. The sky is black, but the harbour is lit up by floodlights.

Through the heavy snow he sees the large crane loading a waiting goods train. Joona feels a spasm of anguish as he realises that three of the wagons have similar red containers on them.

He carries on towards the stern, takes his phone out and calls the emergency control room. He asks for all traffic from Frihamnen in Stockholm to be stopped. The duty officer knows who Joona is, and puts his call through to the regional police commissioner.

‘All rail traffic from Frihamnen has to be stopped,’ he repeats breathlessly.

‘That’s impossible,’ she replies calmly.

Heavy snow is falling over the vast container terminal.

He clambers up the mooring winch and out onto the railing. He can see a reach-stacker carrying a red container to a waiting lorry.

‘We have to stop all traffic,’ Joona says again.

‘That can’t be done,’ the commissioner says. ‘The best we can do is—’

‘I’ll do it myself,’ Joona says abruptly, and jumps.

Hitting the practically freezing water feels like being struck by icy lightning, like getting an adrenalin injection straight to the heart. His ears are roaring. His body can’t handle the abrupt chill. Joona sinks through the black water, loses consciousness for a few seconds and dreams of a bridal crown of woven birch-root. He can’t feel his hands and feet, but thinks that he has to get up to the surface, kicks out with his legs and finally manages to stop himself sinking any deeper.

Joona breaks the surface of the water, emerging through the icy slush and trying to stay calm and get some air into his lungs.

It’s incredibly cold.

The sub-zero temperature is making his head pound, but he’s conscious.

His time as a paratrooper saved him – he managed to ignore the impulse to gasp and breathe in.

With numb arms and heavy clothes, he swims through the black water. It’s not far to the quayside, but his body temperature is dropping alarmingly quickly. Lumps of ice are tumbling over all round him. He’s already lost all feeling in his feet, but he carries on kicking with his legs.

The waves roll and lap over his head.

He coughs, feeling his strength draining away. His vision is starting to fade, but he forces himself on, takes more strokes, and finally reaches the edge of the quay. With trembling hands he tries to grab onto the blocks, onto the narrow gaps between them. Panting, he moves sideways until he reaches a metal ladder.

The water splashes beneath him as he starts to climb. His hands freeze to the metal. He’s on the point of fainting, but wills himself to keep going, step after heavy step.

He rolls onto the quay with a groan, gets to his feet and starts walking towards the lorry.

His hand is shaking as he checks that he hasn’t lost his pistol.

His wet face stings as snow blows into it. His lips are numb and his legs are trembling badly.

He runs into the narrow passageway between the stacks of dark containers to reach the lorry before it leaves the harbour. His feet are so numb he can’t help stumbling and he hits his shoulder but carries on regardless, leaning against one of the containers as he clambers over a bank of snow.

He emerges into the glare of the headlights of the lorry carrying the red Hamburg Süd container.

The driver is behind the vehicle, checking that the brake lights are working, when he sees Joona approaching.

‘Have you been in the water?’ he asks, taking a step back. ‘Bloody hell, you’ll freeze to death if you don’t get indoors.’

‘Open the red container,’ Joona slurs. ‘I’m a police officer, I need to—’

‘That’s down to Customs, I can’t just open it—’

‘National Criminal Investigation Department,’ Joona interrupts in a weak voice.

He’s having trouble keeping his eyes focused, and is aware how incoherent he sounds when he tries to explain what powers the National Crime unit has.

‘I don’t even have the keys,’ the driver says, looking at him kindly. ‘Just a pair of bolt-cutters, and—’

‘Hurry up,’ Joona says, then coughs tiredly.

The driver runs round the lorry, climbs up and leans into the cab, peering behind the passenger seat. An umbrella tumbles out onto the ground as he pulls out a set of long-handled bolt-cutters.

Joona bangs on the container, shouting Disa’s name.

The driver runs back, and his cheeks turn red as he presses the handles together.

The lock breaks with a crunch.

The door of the container swings open on creaking hinges. It’s packed full of boxes on wooden pallets, strapped into place, right up to the roof.

Without saying a word to the lorry driver, Joona takes the bolt-cutters and walks on. He’s so frozen he’s shaking, and his hands hurt terribly.

‘You need to get to hospital,’ the man calls after him.

Joona walks as quickly as he can towards the railway line. The heavy bolt-cutters keep hitting compacted banks of snow, jarring his shoulder. The goods train by the warehouse has just started to move, its wheels squealing as it rolls forward. Joona tries to run, but his heart is beating so slowly that his chest feels like it’s burning. He scrambles up the snow-covered railway embankment, slips and hits his knee on the gravel, drops the bolt-cutters but gets to his feet and stumbles onto the railway track. He can no longer feel his hands or feet. The shaking is now uncontrollable and he is experiencing a frightening sense of confusion because he’s so severely frozen.