He turned his head and looked reflectively at Jensen.
‘And that’s how, for many people, doctors have become universally prevailing symbols of supremacy. Just as the government and the authorities have to an increasing extent become abstract, distant, incomprehensible powers, mercifully allowing their tablets of stone to descend on people like manna from heaven. Tablets inscribed with laws and edicts announcing that things are self-evident or meaningless, and ultimately stripping the individual of all spiritual and intellectual autonomy and making him doubt his own reason. There, that’s your answer, I think. To why so few people offered resistance.’
They were standing beside each other in a room on the second floor of the terminal building. Out on the airfield there was significant activity. The last of the vehicles that had been used to block the runways were just being towed away. Several helicopters and small planes were being prepared for take-off.
There were groups of figures in green boiler suits standing about on the tarmac. Just below the window were two young women and a man. They were armed and had belts of cartridges
slung over their shoulders. Jensen noted they were smoking and chatting. But there was no exuberance in their manner, and their faces were mournful and grave.
‘So of course that eventually led to a lot of doctors, in fact most of the junior doctors and medical students, becoming socialists. Partly as a matter of conscience and social awareness, but naturally to a large extent because they were systematically pushed aside and excluded from more lucrative positions.’
The police doctor wiped the condensation from the window. Outside it was grey and misty, with snow in the air. It would soon be getting dark.
‘The reactionary, more established part of the medical profession, who were in the overwhelming majority, viewed us with great disapproval and naturally didn’t neglect to report their worrying observations to the government, which passed them on to the political police.’
‘The security services.’
‘Well, whatever you want to call them. Hence the wave of arrests just as you were leaving.’
‘I know how you got away. But the others?’
‘They were taken to the detox unit, where they were reasonably treated to start with. They weren’t subjected to interrogation and there didn’t seem to be any form of investigation in progress. The guards gradually got more brutal, and after that bloody Saturday, the second of November, they began executing the prisoners. Evidently on their own initiative, not on orders. Then my colleagues rioted en masse and staged a break-out. More than half of them got away while the place was in uproar. They headed straight out of the city and away from the surrounding area.’
It was starting to sleet again. The man with the red hair squinted towards the forest edge beyond the airfield.
‘I’m assuming the national detoxification centre won’t have a particularly good reputation among the public after this.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘I expect we’ll have to blow the wretched place up and raze it to the ground with bulldozers. Then they can spread quicklime over the whole thing.’
‘Doctors aren’t exactly going to be popular either,’ said Jensen.
The other man laughed, rather bitterly.
‘Scarcely,’ he said. ‘Not after this reign of terror. Just think of the country’s elite white coats, men and women, tearing around in howling ambulances. Like veritable werewolves, or vampires in fact. Bloodsuckers in the most literal sense of the word. It really was a week of unparalleled horror they inflicted on this city.’
‘How many did they kill?’
‘A fair number. But not as many as one might be tempted to think. They were only able to carry out their swoops on a relatively small number of residential districts. And even in those, they didn’t catch everybody.’
‘Why didn’t you intervene sooner?’
‘Our resources aren’t that extensive. Even though we’d made various preparations over the years, it still took time to organise and assemble the scattered groups. What’s more, we were psychologically unprepared. Who the hell would have thought the entire police force and military would self-destruct within a week?’
The electric lights flickered into life for a second and then went out again. A few moments later, they came back on.
‘There we are,’ said the police doctor. ‘Things are starting to sort themselves out.’
He peered out at the inhospitable weather.
‘Ah, here comes our guest.’
A delta-winged military plane had appeared above the trees. It landed on the far side of the airfield. The brake chute opened.
‘Your last big interrogation, Jensen,’ said the man with the red hair. ‘Do you want me to stay to give evidence?’
‘If you like,’ said Inspector Jensen.
The minister was escorted by a slim, dark-haired woman toting a sub-machine gun and wearing a red star just above the breast of her boiler suit. She looked about twenty-five. When she opened the door, the minister said:
‘What are those flags on the roof?’
‘Are you colour blind?’ the girl responded.
She shoved him over the threshold.
‘I’ll be standing outside,’ she said, and slammed the door shut.
The minister looked around him in confusion, but seemed pretty much as before, arrogant and supercilious.
He was still a young-looking forty-year-old with a slight squint in his blue eyes and an effeminate touch around his mouth. He was discreetly dressed in a grey worsted suit. Many people had found his appearance pleasing, but he hadn’t made it on to the election posters, where the senior minister’s greater weight and more earnest, everyday look had been considered a better symbol of security and prosperity.
The minister had used the social democrats’ party apparatus as a springboard and risen rapidly in the Accord administration.
‘I was kidnapped on foreign soi—’
He caught sight of Inspector Jensen and broke off abruptly.
‘Jensen? Was it you who had me abducted like this? If so …’
‘No,’ said Jensen. ‘It wasn’t me. Please sit down.’
The minister sat down. He still looked perplexed, but perhaps also a little relieved. He apparently took Jensen’s presence as an indication that nothing particularly serious had happened after all. Finding himself with an individual used to taking orders, who he could presumably boss about, seemed to boost his self-confidence.
Jensen had been standing behind the little desk when the man came into the room. Now he, too, sat down. Took out his notepad and pen. Regarded the visitor impassively.
The minister threw a look of irritation at the red-haired police doctor, who was standing over by the window, silent and still.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked.
‘My police doctor. From the Sixteenth District.’
‘Ah, I see. Has the epidemic been contained?’
‘Yes, it’s over.’
‘No further risk of infection?’
‘No.’
The minister gave a sigh of relief.
‘Thank goodness,’ he said.
Then he recalled the assault he had recently suffered, and a menacing glint came into his china blue eyes.
‘Who was responsible for my abduction?’ he said. ‘How could it happen?’
‘Since the country you’ve come from doesn’t officially exist for us, we don’t have to stick too rigidly to protocol,’ said Jensen.
His face was smooth and impassive.
The man eyed him suspiciously, but refrained from comment. ‘When we last met, almost exactly twenty-four hours ago, I
took on the task of clarifying the situation here and investigating the circumstances that led to it.’
‘Yes. But if the epidemic’s over, there’s nothing to investigate, is there? What’s the meaning of that charade outside?’
Jensen flicked through his notebook, unconcerned.
‘Who’s the girl with the firearm? Presumably it’s not loaded?’
‘Unfortunately the investigation isn’t yet complete,’ said Jensen. ‘I shall have to ask you to answer one question.’
‘Me? Are you going to interrogate me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you gone mad, Jensen? If you’ve uncovered anything, then out with it, man. And after that, get me back to the Ministry as quickly as possible. In fact, give me your report in the car on the way.’
He got briskly to his feet.
‘Is it true that the epidemic has been contained? That there’s no risk of infection?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then stop beating about the bush and get yourself over here.’
‘I think it would be unwise of you to try to leave this room, bearing in mi—’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now get a move on.’
‘Bearing in mind the risk to your security.’
‘The police and army will no doubt see to that. Pass me the phone.’
‘The phone isn’t working. Even if it were, it wouldn’t help you. The police force and the military system have been put out of action, at least temporarily.’
‘Out of action? What the hell are you talking about?’
The minister gave Jensen a withering look.
‘Sending a policeman,’ he said to himself. ‘I always said the man was an idiot.’
He gave a shrug of irritation.
‘What could possibly have put the police and military out of action, as you say? War? Invasion?’
‘The illness,’ said Jensen.
‘Rubbish,’ said the minister. ‘And anyway, the people are loyal. Blockhead.’
The police doctor had left his station by the window. He moved very softly in his rubber boots. With a couple of long strides he was half a metre behind the man in the elegant grey suit. He raised his right arm and struck him hard on the back of the neck with the side of his hand. The minister fell headlong to the floor.
‘That’s how loyal the people are,’ the doctor said. ‘Now get up and keep your mouth shut unless you’re asked to speak.’
Jensen regarded him coolly, with a look of distaste.
‘That,’ he said, ‘was entirely unnecessary. If there’s any repetition I shall end the interrogation.’
The minister sat in the chair opposite Jensen. His eyes shifted uneasily and he dabbed the blood from the corners of his mouth with a rolled, white silk handkerchief. The red-haired police doctor was back in his place by the window.
‘A few brief facts,’ said Jensen. ‘To sketch in the background to the question I want you to answer.’ The minister glanced surreptitiously at the window and nodded.
‘Many thousands of people have died of the illness that struck some sections of the community. In point of fact, it’s not correct to call it an epidemic, because the illness has proved not to be infectious.’
The man on the other side of the desk frowned deeply.
‘The chaotic situation that has prevailed in the country and above all in the capital for a period has arisen in part because a large proportion of the staff in the organisations that preserve the fabric of society have fallen ill and died.’
The minister had finished wiping away the blood, and put his handkerchief away.
‘The centre of power over the past week has been a group of doctors and other healthcare workers, who’ve barricaded themselves into the main hospital and the area round it. It turns out that virtually all these personnel are suffering from the aforementioned illness. While attempting to cure both themselves and others they have become mentally ill, as a result
of brain damage caused in the initial stages of the illness. A week ago, when most normal social functions had become paralysed, this group declared a state of emergency.’
The minister stared at him and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
‘The method the group at the main hospital used to keep themselves alive depended on frequent blood transfusions. Once stocks of blood plasma were exhausted, they began press-ganging blood donors, who were taken to the main hospital at gunpoint and killed there. It’s still not clear exactly how many. When the state of emergency was declared, the whole city centre was shut off, and the few people who lived there were evacuated. Shortly after that, a total curfew was imposed on the whole metropolitan area. The population has been terrorised and living in extreme fear.’
The man on the other side of the desk opened his mouth to say something, but Jensen immediately held up his right hand to stop him.
‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘It was been ascertained that all those who succumbed to this disease fell ill simultaneously, and must all have been exposed to the infection or trigger at practically the same time. This would have been about three months ago, that’s to say at the very end of August or very beginning of September.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ said the minister.
‘In the light of this background information, I want to ask you to answer the following question.’
The minister stared at him as if paralysed.
‘What’s Steel Spring?’
Silence descended on the room. Outside, it was dusk. Jensen could make out low voices and a motorised throb, presumably
a helicopter landing. He looked at his watch and let the second hand tick once round the dial. And again. Then he raised his eyes and fixed them on the man in the grey suit.
‘Whatever’s happened, it’s not my fault. Not our fault. If anything’s happened, it’s a pure accident.’
The man’s voice was hoarse and hesitant.
‘What’s Steel Spring?’ Jensen asked flatly.
‘Can … can I have a drink?’
‘No,’ said the police doctor from his station at the window. ‘The waterworks aren’t back in action yet.’
‘Please answer the question,’ said Jensen.
‘Steel Spring …’
‘Yes.’
‘It was the code name for an operation that was part of the coalition parties’ election campaign.’
‘Who had responsibility for this operation?’
‘The campaign leadership.’
‘Were you personally a member of that campaign leadership?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did this special operation aim to do?’
‘Produce loyalty propaganda, intended to stimulate citizens’ political interest in the run-up to the election.’
‘What form did it take?’
The minister was starting to regain his composure. He looked at Jensen with something approaching his customary chilly arrogance.