“Both I and Superintendent Stigsson are extremely grateful for your cooperation. We are both deeply impressed by the strength of character and loyalty that you’ve shown.”
She smiled uncertainly, partly because she was having trouble with this whole charade, and partly because she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react to the unexpected praise.
“T-thanks,” she managed to say.
The third man in the group held out his hand.
“Erik af Cederskjöld, press spokesman for the Palace. Good to meet you. Colonel Pellas speaks very highly of you.” He smiled.
His handshake felt damp, and his smile only reached halfway to his eyes. She had no difficulty seeing through his fake politeness.
“Nice to meet you,” she muttered. “I’m afraid I have to go, we’re on our way now.”
“Of course,” Sammer/Pellas said. “I just wanted to wish you good luck, Miss Normén . . .”
She met his gaze, and just as the other two men turned away, he gave her a quick wink.
♦ ♦ ♦
He was in a labyrinth, he realized that pretty much straightaway. The pink walls around him didn’t quite reach all the way to the ceiling, and seemed to start and stop without any discernible logic.
He had no idea how he’d ended up there, nor how he was supposed to know who was chasing him. The passageway behind and in front of him was empty, and there wasn’t a sound to be heard anywhere. Yet he still knew they were out there, that they were making their way toward him on all sides through the maze.
The straps of the backpack were cutting into his shoulders and the pain was so bad it was making him screw up his eyes, but he
kept going. Somewhere inside this labyrinth was the solution to everything, he was convinced of that.
If only he could get there first, everything would be all right.
When he turned a corner she was just sitting there. A little girl with a red headband, and he knew at once who she was. She had her hands over her face but looked up as he came closer.
“Is this the Luttern labyrinth?” she said, and her voice was just as he remembered it.
“Of course it is,” he heard himself reply. “You can come with me, if you like?”
He held out his hand but she didn’t take it.
“I daren’t,” she said. “He says you’re dangerous . . .”
“Who? The Carer?”
“No, I don’t know him.”
The next moment he heard steps approaching. Sounds from all directions. Polished black shoes on tarmac. And he knew who they belonged to. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Come on,” he said to the girl. “You have to come with me . . .”
She shook her head.
“If I go with you, we’ll both die.”
“But you have to. The Carer . . .” All of a sudden his voice sounded whiny, like a small child’s.
She stood up, and suddenly it was as if they had both changed and swapped roles. She leaned over him, stroked his hair, and kissed his cheek.
“Forget the Carer. People only come to the Luttern labyrinth for one reason, little Henke,” she whispered. “They come here to die . . .”
♦ ♦ ♦
He was sitting two cars away, and as soon as he caught sight of her his face burst into a smile.
“Well done, Nora, I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks.”
She sat down in the empty seat beside him and handed over the backpack. He put it down on the floor without showing the slightest inclination to open it.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Sure,” she muttered.
“What about him?”
No answer.
“We had no choice, you know that, Nora . . .”
“Yes, I know . . . How’s Jeff?”
“Don’t worry about him, he’s perfectly safe where he is. So, how long have we got?”
“Half an hour, maybe a bit longer. I put half a Rohypnol in his Coke, and together with his lack of sleep . . .” She shrugged.
“Good, plenty of time. It’s up there.”
He gestured toward the luggage rack above them.
“What about her, his sister?” Nora said.
“She’s exactly where she needs to be . . .”
He looked at her for a few moments.
“You like him, don’t you?” he finally said. “HP, I mean . . .”
Nora didn’t answer.
Instead she stood up, got the object down from the rack, and put it over her shoulder.
“He thinks you were manipulated,” she said curtly. “That you meant well, but were deceived also. He’d rather believe that than the alternative, Mange . . .”
31 | POINT OF NO RETURN |
THEY WERE IN
position outside the cathedral.
Six of them around the carriage. Runeberg in front on the right, with her in the same position on the left.
Two troops of Horse Guards in ceremonial uniform were grouped around the obelisk in front of the Palace. The horses were stamping anxiously at the cobblestone, the sound of their hooves echoing between the buildings.
For what must’ve been the tenth time, she ran through her equipment. Baton, radio, pistol. All of it fastened to her belt under her jacket.
The wire from the radio ran up her back and turned into a curly little telephone cable above her collar before reaching the earpiece in her left ear.
In the other ear she had the speaker connected to the cell phone in her inside pocket.
She tried jogging a few steps down the slope in front of the Palace.
No problem, everything was where it should be.
She glanced at the time.
Forty minutes left.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Wake up, HP!” She shook him gently on the shoulder.
He opened his eyes reluctantly, and it took him a few seconds to realize where he was.
“We’re almost there,” she said.
“Okay.” He sat up, rubbed his eyes, then looked down at the floor for the backpack.
It was gone!
Panic-stricken, he leaned down so quickly that he banged his head on the seat in front. Then he realized it had just slid under his seat slightly.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Nora said.
“Oh?” He sat up again, rubbing his head.
“The same words, over and over again.”
“What words?”
“ ‘The Luttern labyrinth.’ What does that mean?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You tell me. I’ve been trying to work it out for weeks now. Luttern is a region in northern Germany, in Westphalia, to be more precise. That’s all I’ve managed to find out.”
“Okay, well, that explains the street name . . .”
“What?”
“Westphalia was Swedish once, that’s why they named a street after it.”
“Hang on, what are you talking about? There’s no Lutternsgatan in Stockholm . . .”
“No, not anymore there isn’t. They got rid of it when they built Kungsgatan. They did away with another road at the same time, Hötorgsgränd . . .”
She was interrupted by an announcement over the loudspeaker.
We will shortly be arriving at Stockholm Central Station. The platform will be on the left-hand side of the train, facing the direction of travel.
We at Swedish Railways would like to welcome you to Stockholm, and once again, we apologize for the late arrival of this train . . .
Nora stood up from her seat.
“Time to go . . .”
He stretched, then squeezed out of the window seat.
“So where was it, then, Lutternsgatan?”
“Where Malmskillnadsgatan crosses Kungsgatan, I think.
“I did a unit on the architecture of Stockholm at university, in case you’re wondering . . .” she added. “The only reason I remember Lutternsgatan is that we were given half the day off to go and take pictures of the sign . . .”
The train was slowing down jerkily, making the car sway.
“The sign?” He pulled the backpack on.
“There’s a sign under the Malmskillnad Bridge . . .” She helped him with the straps. “ ‘To commemorate the breaching of the Brunkeberg Ridge and the successful union of separate districts of the city,’ something like that. It was part of the test . . .”
The train slowed down a bit more.
She carefully fastened the metal catch across his chest and pulled up the hood of his jacket. The other people in the car were starting to make their way to the exits, but Nora took his hand and forced her way through to one of the doors. The train pulled slowly into the platform.
They saw the men at once. Two of them in dark suits and sunglasses, standing at one end of the platform. Then another
two in the middle of the platform. Their earpieces were clearly visible. Nora squeezed his hand.
“Ready?” He nodded.
She turned toward him and started fiddling with the thick flap of material above the catch of the backpack, adjusting the Velcro several times before she was satisfied. It felt bulky against his chest, as if it had grown while he was asleep.
“There, now you’ll be able to run without it rubbing.”
The train made a few last jolts.
“If we get separated, don’t wait for me,” she said. “The mission comes first, so whatever happens you have to get to that Internet café, okay?”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Just as the door began to bleep, she leaned forward, put her hand behind his back, and kissed him.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Thirty minutes to go, are you ready?”
She nodded to Runeberg as he marched toward her over the cobblestone, but he didn’t respond.
“Over here, everyone.”
The other four bodyguards joined them.
“We’ve just received new information. The two remaining suspects from the chase up in the forest outside Uppsala may have managed to get back to Stockholm.”
“Are we canceling the cortege?” one of the other bodyguards asked.
Runeberg shook his head. “Apparently the threat isn’t serious enough . . .”
He gave Rebecca a quick look.
“Someone really wants this cortege to go ahead. At almost any cost, it would seem . . .”
♦ ♦ ♦
She let a few eager passengers out first before pulling him onto the platform.
The train on the other side of the platform must have just arrived as well, because the platform was soon full of people heading in all directions.
They zigzagged their way forward, trying to keep their heads down.
The exit was getting closer.
A loud cry behind them made him look back.
Two men in suits were heading straight for them.
“Come on!”
Nora dragged him after her, forging ahead faster and faster.
Off to the left in front of them two more men were trying to elbow their way through the crowd of passengers. Nora broke into a run, pushing a couple of people straight at the two men. One of the passengers fell over right in front of the suits. But Nora didn’t stop. She pulled his hand harder, sped up, and found a gap along the edge of the platform.
The exit was getting nearer.
Then he caught sight of the man from the Fortress. His square frame was unmistakable. The security chief, the man he’d almost run over . . .
The man wasn’t moving, he was just standing there waiting by the exit. Staring straight at them. His knees were slightly bent and he had his hands out in front of him, like an American footballer.
HP pulled Nora’s hand, then looked back over his shoulder. Their pursuers were just a few meters behind them.
No chance of turning back, that escape route was completely cut off . . .
Ten meters left to the man, and HP thought he could just make out a hint of a smile. A creepy, snakelike smile that made HP shudder.
But Nora carried on straight ahead without seeming to realize the danger.
The man steeled himself, thrusting his shoulders out . . . At the last moment Nora let go of his hand. Her long legs pumped like pistons on the platform as she built up speed.
Then she jumped . . .
And crashed straight into the man. Their bodies collided with a muffled thud.
He heard Nora yell something, saw her hands rise and fall as she attacked the man as hard as she could, and HP was overwhelmed by an instinctive urge to help her.
Then he realized that she wasn’t shouting at the man.
She was yelling at him.
“Keep going, keep going, keep . . .”
One of the man’s massive hands grabbed Nora by the neck, lifted her from the ground, and cut off her cry. HP looked straight ahead and aimed for the exit. But it was impossible not to look back. Nora was struggling wildly, trying to loosen the man’s grasp around her neck as the big square seemed to be putting all his strength into it.
HP looked forward again to avoid running into the doorpost. When he emerged into the hall he looked back one last time and just managed to see the massive man toss Nora’s limp body aside as if it were a rag doll.
The feeling took him by surprise. It came out of nowhere, and it took him just a fraction of a second to identify it. Hate.
White-hot, burning hate!
His pursuers were still close behind him. HP raced
through the main concourse, aiming for the main exit. But just as he was about to swing left through the glass doors leading to Centralplan he caught sight of a police car outside and carried on straight ahead instead. Someone shouted something behind him, but he ignored it.
Shit, obviously he should have run down into the underground network instead of heading straight for the nearest exit like some fucking rat . . .
The south end of the main concourse was rapidly approaching and all the exits were behind him. There was nothing but restaurants at this end, no decent escape route anywhere.
A quick look back.
Two idiots in suits ten meters behind him, then another group led by the square-framed man.
The door to the restaurant was getting closer but he made no effort to slow down.
Instead he stormed past the reception area and carried on toward the back of the room.
A swing door opened to his left and a waiter came out carrying two plates. HP raced past him with the narrowest of margins and shot through the swing door into the kitchen.