The Game Trilogy (90 page)

‘We have information about a bomb …’

‘What? Then you have to postpone the royal wedding …’

‘No, no, that’s out of the question. The Palace is quite clear on that point.’

‘But the risk?’

He took a deep breath and then shrugged his shoulders.

‘The risk is considered to be acceptable under the circumstances.’

‘Acceptable, seriously? A bomb …’

‘The information is as yet unconfirmed. We have too few details to be in a position to suggest anything so drastic as postponing the wedding. Bomb threats are a regular occurrence, and my employers …’

He sighed.

‘There’s a lot at stake, Rebecca, much more than you can imagine. Popular support for the royal family has halved during the past fifteen years, parliament is full of republicans who are simply biding their time, and if the figures continue to decline at the same rate …’

He paused and shrugged once more.

‘Of course, factors of that sort can’t be taken into account when you’re evaluating the level of threat, but you know how that works as well as I do. All large organizations are the same. Somewhere there’s always someone who’s worried about losing his job, and who therefore hesitates to take unpalatable but sometimes necessary decisions.’

He held his hands out.

‘There’s hardly anything that increases support for the royal family like a wedding, my employers taught me that a few years ago. Unfortunately all the articles in the papers, however wrong they might be, have wiped out almost all of the upturn.’

‘What about the christening? That wasn’t long ago.’

He shook his head.

‘A christening is far too low key, it doesn’t give the same warm glow. Nowadays I’m afraid there are only two things that raise support for the royal family – weddings and national crises. In other words, it would take a very great deal indeed for anyone to decide to rein in the festivities, let along postpone them. Anyway, as far as this potential bombing is concerned, we have very few details so far.’

‘So what do you know, can you tell me?’

‘Not really, Rebecca …’ He paused for a few seconds, exchanged a quick glance with Edler in the rear-view mirror, before going on.

‘A few hours ago we received a tipoff about a flat. We got a warrant and searched it, and found certain
indications that a bomb could have been constructed there …’

‘And how is this connected to Henke?’ Sammer took a deep breath.

‘The flat was in Maria Trappgränd, right next door to Henrik’s …’

Her heart began to beat faster, but she did her best to hide her agitation.

‘Hang on, you’re not suggesting that Henke …? Well, you can drop that idea. He can hardly put together a Billy bookcase, let alone a bomb …’

‘I agree with you entirely, my dear Rebecca.’

He gently patted one of her knees.

‘We don’t believe that Henrik constructed the bomb on his own either. But, on the other hand, it can hardly be a coincidence that the workshop was located in the flat next door to his. And we’ve also found a couple of his fingerprints in there …’

Rebecca shook her head reluctantly.

‘As I said before, Henrik is in dangerous company at the moment. Extremely dangerous company. The people he has surrounded himself with are experts at manipulating other people, they’ve done it many times before. And sadly Henrik is, as you know, rather …’

‘Gullible …’

‘Precisely.’

The car stopped at a red light on the roundabout at Lindhagensplan, and they sat in silence for a moment.

They were only a couple of hundred metres from the place where the car she and Kruse were in had crashed after Henke dropped a rock through the windscreen from the motorway bridge above. Admittedly, Henke hadn’t known she was in the car, but that was fairly irrelevant. Someone had manipulated him into doing it, getting him
to completely ignore the inevitable conclusion that other people would be hurt as a consequence of his actions. Could that really happen again?

Under the right circumstances – absolutely.

‘So what do you want me to do, Uncle Tage?’ she said as the car approached the motorway bridge.

His voice sounded sad:

‘A lot of people’s lives are at risk, Rebecca. If we don’t manage to catch Henrik tonight, then we will all have to do whatever we can to stop him. And I do mean whatever, if you understand me?’

He paused briefly.

‘Obviously, you can choose not to accept the assignment. No-one would blame you. I can have a word with Eskil Stigsson …’

They passed under the bridge and she couldn’t help glancing up at the railing above. For a few moments she imagined she could see someone up there. A dark-clad figure in a hood.

‘No!’ she said, a little too loudly, and saw Edler looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘No, thanks, Uncle Tage. That won’t be necessary,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘Just as you say, there’s too much at stake. I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done already …’

‘Don’t mention it. We need the right people in the right positions. People we can rely on. We all agree on that, Stigsson, my employers and I.’

He patted her knee again.

‘You’re so like your father, Rebecca, have I already said that? Conscientious, loyal, reliable, no matter what the circumstances. Those qualities are getting harder and harder to find in today’s egocentric society …’

She couldn’t help blushing.

In the gloom of the back of the car, if she squinted slightly Uncle Tage looked very like Dad. His posture, his slightly archaic way of speaking, even the way he smelled was almost the same.

Cigars, aftershave, and something else.

Something that brought a rather sad lump to her throat.

He was pinned down on the floor, with Jeff lying motionless on top of him. The van was bouncing and lurching along on the gravel track, the strut holding one of the seats digging into his leg all the way. Weirdly, he couldn’t hear any sounds around him above the high-pitched whistling tinnitus noise that seemed to be rebounding round his head. He pressed his hands against the floor and tried to pry himself free.

Suddenly he felt Jeff move, and a moment later the heavy body rolled off him.

At the same time his hearing returned.

‘What the fuck happened?’ he yelped.

‘The barn!’ Nora shouted.

‘W-what?’ He tried to get up off the floor.

‘The barn exploded,’ she yelled, trying to wedge herself against one of the side windows.

‘The roof fell in, then there was an explosion … The sky was full of smoke and there was no sign of the helicopter. Don’t know what happened!’

‘The explosives …’ Jeff coughed. ‘The explosives and detonators were in the Polo, next to the welding tubes. The boot was open. And there was chemical fertilizer in those white sacks in the corner …’

HP struggled up into the seat next to Jeff. The big man’s eyes were closed and HP could clearly see his muscular chest rise and fall under his soaking wet t-shirt.

The van flew over a bump and HP found himself on the floor again.

There was a thud, then the van veered sharply to the left, and suddenly the sound of the road changed.

‘Nice driving, Kent!’ Nora yelled towards the front seats, and Kent muttered something in reply.

‘We’re out on the main road,’ she said, helping HP up.

‘How’s your …?’ He nodded to her blood-streaked face.

She put her hand to her head, then stared at the blood on it.

‘Shit!’ she said. ‘I hadn’t noticed, must be the adrenalin. I’ve got the first-aid box in the front …’

She clambered past him and slipped into the front passenger seat.

He leaned forward to ask if she needed help, but a hand pulled him back.

Jeff had his eyes open.

‘Thanks,’ he said quietly.

‘No worries,’ HP mumbled.

Jeff nodded, then shut his eyes again.

‘There’s a petrol station up ahead, can you pull in there?’ Nora said to Hasselqvist.

HP leaned over to look out of the side-window. A large plume of smoke was clearly visible above the forest, but there was no sign of the helicopter.

‘There’s a car-wash shed round the back, pull in there. We can lie low till it gets dark,’ Nora went on.

Hasselqvist drove through the forecourt of the petrol station and around the back of the shop to the car-wash shed, a corrugated metal box with a row of vacuum cleaners and buckets along one wall. A lone pensioner was washing the windscreen of his old Saab, but otherwise it was empty. Hasselqvist stopped the van and they sat in silence for a few moments.

Nora was using the mirror behind the sun-visor to inspect the wound to her head.

‘Ow, shit …’ she muttered as she used a pair of tweezers to pull a razor-sharp splinter the size of a one-krona coin from the wound.

‘Can you press here, please, HP?’

‘Sure.’

He leaned over her head.

‘Right, take this compress and hold it down, as hard as you can.’

He did as she said, trying to get his hands to stop shaking from the adrenalin rush.

‘We’re fucked,’ Hasselqvist suddenly blurted out. ‘They know where we are, what van we’re driving. We’ve got no chance …’

No-one said anything.

‘Because surely no-one thinks it was a coincidence that that fucking helicopter showed up?’ Hasselqvist’s voice was steadier now. ‘If we set off now, we can be back in the city by midnight. We can come up with a new plan, find another way to …’

‘There is no other way, Kent!’ Nora snapped. ‘And you know that perfectly bloody well! If we give up now, we might as well not bother. And that means the Game will win. Is that what you want?’

Hasselqvist didn’t answer.

‘We haven’t got any stuff, Nora, all our equipment just went up in smoke,’ Jeff muttered. ‘Without it we don’t stand a chance of getting into the Fortress …’

Total silence descended inside the van.

‘Actually, we do,’ HP said after a while, but they all seemed too upset to hear what he said.

‘You asked me to put together a backup plan, remember?’

He looked at Nora, and finally got a reaction.

‘I know how we can get in, but it means you’ll have to do as I say …’

Far in the distance they could hear sirens getting closer. It sounded like several of them.

‘We have to go,’ Hasselqvist whimpered.

‘Hang on,’ HP said. ‘The cops always switch their sirens off when they get close to their target …

‘So they don’t scare the bad guys away …’ he added when no-one seemed to get what he meant.

‘So as long as the sirens are still on, they haven’t got to where they’re going. Get it?’

The sirens were close now, at least three of them, maybe more.

Nora glanced at HP.

Hasselqvist moved his hand to the ignition key.

HP put his hand on his shoulder.

‘Just relax, Kent. It’s the fire brigade, I swear,’ he said quietly.

The sirens were so close that the sound echoed round the little tin shed, making the old boy look up from his insect-smeared windscreen. Then they slowly diminished in strength. Thirty seconds later they vanished altogether.

‘You can get moving now, Kent,’ HP said, patting Hasselqvist on the shoulder. ‘Head north …’

He leaned back in his seat and tried to gather his thoughts.

‘By the way, there’s something we’ve forgotten …’ he said as they pulled out onto the main road.

‘Did anyone see how Manga got out?’

The new van smelled of car-freshner. Jasmine. Or possibly just new car smell …

It had taken him ten minutes or so to steal it from a multi-storey carpark, which meant he was losing his touch. As an extra precaution he had nicked a couple of licence plates from another car, in case the van’s owner was quick to report it stolen.

They had spent about an hour in a run-down industrial estate, getting changed and sorting out the new van. White overalls and full-face protective masks that he pulled out of the sports bag, along with a couple of large stickers for the van. Two identical rucksacks made of rigid plastic, fastened in four different places across the chest, making them look like something from a science fiction movie. One for him and one for Jeff. And everything courtesy of the Fenster’s little emporium.

The forest track they were now parked in lay almost opposite the road leading to the Fortress. The lamps surrounding the steel gate were just visible a few hundred metres away through the dark forest.

Everything was ready.

Time to get moving …

‘Okay, let’s get going. Keep your fingers crossed that it’s going to work.’

Three nods in response, two confident, from Nora and her brother, and one more hesitant from Hasselqvist.

‘And you’ve got everything ready? Name-badges in place?’

More nods.

‘How’s your head, Nora?’

‘Okay, the skin adhesive seems to be working.’

‘Good!’

HP took a deep breath.

‘Okay, off we go then …’

Hasselqvist seemed to hesitate for a moment, then started the engine and put the van into gear.

‘Shame about Manga,’ Nora said once they’d started to move.

‘Yeah,’ HP muttered.

‘Are you sure there’s no way he could have got out?’ Hasselqvist said.

‘No chance. When everything went up he was still shut in behind us …’ Nora said.

HP swallowed to clear the lump in his throat.

‘Besides, we must have called his mobile at least twenty times, and he hasn’t answered.’

They turned onto the newly surfaced tarmac road and drove up towards the gate, a massive thing fixed to solid concrete pillars on either side. As if that wasn’t enough, there was a saw-toothed metal bar set into the tarmac, stretching right across the roadway. On top of the pillars were double rows of floodlights, and, just below them, aluminium camera boxes. Trying to force the gates with anything less than a tank would be utterly futile.

There was a large yellow warning sign on the end of
the concrete bunker that was evidently the gatehouse. The sign was partially obscured by black plastic, but the wind had shredded it enough for the text to be clearly visible.

STOP
High Security Area
No admittance without permission
No photography, recording or surveillance without permission

Hasselqvist stopped the van at the clearly marked line, just a couple of metres from the saw-toothed metal bar.

HP opened the door, jumped out and went over to the glass hatch in the gatehouse.

A sour-faced woman in uniform glared at him through what looked like a double layer of bulletproof glass. He carefully adjusted his fake glasses, then gave her his friendliest smile.

‘Yes, how can I help you?’

Her voice was surprisingly melodic, almost disconcertingly so. Hell, she ought to be on the radio, not sitting out here in the middle of nowhere.

‘Er … E-Erik, Erik Andersson …’ he began.

Fuck
, the smooth radio voice had almost made him forget his assumed name.

‘From Andersson Sanitation,’ he added quickly. ‘Apparently you’ve got trouble with a couple of blocked filters. They said it was urgent …’

‘Are they expecting you?’

‘I certainly hope so …’ he nodded, throwing in what was supposed to look like an innocent smile, and trying not to glance at the camera fixed to the window just to the left of her.

‘One moment.’

He watched as she turned to her left and began typing on a keyboard.

‘Have you got some ID, Erik?’

He nodded again, removed his fake ID from its plastic holder on the breast pocket of his overalls, and put it in the metal drawer that slid out below the window.

The drawer slid back in with a whirr.

He could hear the faint sound of typing over the speaker.

He looked back quickly over his shoulder.

The van looked fine, almost better than he’d expected it to.

The stickers with the words
Andersson Sanitation
could have been a bit straighter, but what the hell …

They hadn’t had any time to waste on details, and besides, it was hardly noticeable when the sliding door was open.

Jeff was visible in the doorway, with Nora just behind him.

More typing.

Come on, for fuck’s sake, Rainman. Show us your magic!

‘Would you mind looking into the camera, Erik?’

‘Of course.’

He adjusted his glasses and tried to look relaxed. To judge by the reflection in the window, he more or less succeeded …

What if they had one of those face-recognition programs?

Shit, he hadn’t even thought of that until now!

Fake glasses might stop you looking like the guy in the newspapers, but no way would they fool a piece of software …

He glanced over his shoulder again, then looked into the camera. A bead of sweat broke from the back of his neck and trickled down between his shoulder blades. Then
another one. And in just a few moments very similar beads of sweat would begin to appear conspicuously on his forehead …

The guard reappeared.

‘Right, Erik …’

He smiled again, a nervous, loose-bowelled smile. He didn’t need to check his reflection to know that.

‘Here are your cards. The email said five people in total. The lads in Operations will be responsible for letting you in and out, and I don’t want to hear about you blocking any of the doors to keep them open, is that understood?’

‘Absolutely,’ he nodded.

‘Good. Okay, carry on down the slope and follow the signs for the Operations Division. You’ll have to turn right, but you’ll see the sign. Don’t forget to hand your cards back when you leave …’

‘Okay, thanks!’

The drawer opened and he pulled out his ID and the five cards marked
Visitor
before turning and heading back towards the van.

A loud click startled him, but it was only the saw-toothed bar being lowered.

As he got into the van the gate began to swing open.

Hasselqvist put the van into gear and they rolled slowly through the gate and down the hill. The road was cut deep into the rock and soon they could no longer see the edge of the forest.

‘Shit, it actually worked….’ Hasselqvist sounded slightly happier.

‘Yep, Kent, my mate Rain … I mean, Rehyman, is a bastard when it comes to security. It only took him ten minutes to spot the weaknesses in their system. Ordinary, unencrypted email between the Fortress and
the gatehouse. All Rehyman had to do was find out the addresses, then set up a cloned account that looked like it came from the Fortress …’

‘Then, hey presto, it looked like we were expected, yeah, we got that bit when you told us. But we’re not home and dry yet. The hardest bit’s still to come …’

HP opened his mouth to say something cutting, but changed his mind at the last moment. He was still holding Manga’s superfluous visitor’s badge in his hand. He stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly slipped it into one of his breast pockets.

‘There’s the sign.’

Nora pointed to the right.

‘Shit, what a place …’

They reached the end of the cutting and emerged into a large gravel yard. Right in front of them was a two-storey building and something that looked like a garage. Behind and above the buildings, the rock face rose up vertically at least thirty metres.

‘There’s only one way out of here …’ Hasselqvist muttered, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

They parked to the right of the building, next to a loading bay with the correct sign.

One of the garage doors on the building opposite was open slightly, and HP thought he could see something that looked like a dark minibus inside. His heart was beating faster and faster.

Somewhere a dog was barking, and the noise echoed around the little hollow before fading away into the gloom of the summer night.

For fuck’s sake, HP, calm down and stick to the plan …

He took a deep breath and put his hand in his pocket, fingering the handle of the taser.

‘Put your breathing masks round your necks. Everything has to look genuine,’ Nora said. ‘Jeff, are you ready?’

‘Sure, I’m ready,’ her brother mumbled.

‘Okay, let’s get going. This time I do the talking …’

She gave HP a quick nod. Then she opened the door.

‘Okay, as you all know, it’s the big day tomorrow. The happy couple seem to have the weather gods on their side, no rain forecast, which means they’ll be sticking to plan A: open carriage instead of the covered coach we recommended. The Palace PR department, however, want the young couple to be close to the public and not hidden behind glass …’

Runeberg shrugged.

‘On the other hand, they’re going to be spending the rest of their lives behind glass, so I suppose we shouldn’t begrudge them this last taste of freedom …’

He pressed the remote and changed the picture.

‘We’ll be using runners, exactly like we did with the last royal wedding. Six in total, three on each side of the carriage. Two teams, running half the route each.’

He pointed at the picture showing six bodyguards in suits running on either side of the royal carriage.

‘As you can see, I’m getting more and more handsome as the years go by.’

He placed the laser pointer at the easily recognizable figure at the front on the right. Quiet laughter filled the room. Runeberg must have been talking on his radio, to judge by his peculiar expression in the picture.

‘We’ll have three vehicles following the second troop of Horse Guards. Two as backup in case of an evacuation, and the van for the runners, just like last time. Any questions so far?’

None of the thirty bodyguards in the room said anything.

‘In that case, I’ll hand over to the head of security at
the Palace. I’m sure he has plenty to tell us, and I would advise everyone to listen very carefully.’

Runeberg gestured towards Tage Sammer, who was sitting a short distance away. Rebecca had noticed him when they entered the hall, but her heart still began to beat faster when he stood up and buttoned his jacket.

The man on the other side of the little counter leafed through his papers.

‘Replacing filters,’ he said into his radio. ‘Have you heard anything about that, over?’

The radio crackled.

‘No,’ the voice at the other end said.

‘Have you checked the daily log, over?’

‘Yep, there’s nothing here. No alarms in the system either, over.’

There were a few moments silence.

The man shrugged and smiled at Nora.

‘Sorry, but I can’t let you go down without securing authorization from the boss …’

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Obviously, we can turn round and go home, but it sounded urgent when the bloke called …’

She pretended to look at her watch.

‘And we’re already late. If the system overheats …’

The man grinned again.

HP had taken against him the moment they stepped inside the little office: very fit, with greasy, back-combed hair, a smarmy smile, prominent cheekbones. A bit too good-looking for a place like this …

He took a couple of slow steps forward so he could look at the other side of the little counter.

Dark blue ribbed sweater, matching trousers covered with pockets, polished black boots. On a table behind him
there was a pile of yellow protective helmets, and an assortment of hi-visibility jackets were hanging over a rack full of radios. All the things you might expect to find in an Operations Division.

Yet there was still something not quite right …

The radio crackled again: ‘Okay, look, I can’t get hold of Jacobsson over the phone. He must be busy with all the other stuff. What we do is – you park them up there for the time being, then head down to the ventilation room and check, over.’

‘Can’t one of us go with you?’ Nora said before the man had time to reply. ‘Then at least we can say we checked the filter on site, to keep the boss off my back. You know how it is …’ She smiled at him and tilted her head slightly. To judge by the man’s inane grin, the trick seemed to work.

‘Listen, they’re asking if they can send someone along so they can tick some boxes. Maybe that would make sense, over?’

‘Okay, that’s what we’ll do, over.’

‘Over and out!’

The man put the radio down and winked at Nora.

‘Okay, the two of us can go down …’

‘Nice idea, but I’m afraid only Jonas here has full authorization to carry out this sort of inspection …’ Nora put her hand on Jeff’s arm.

‘I see …’ The man’s disappointment was obvious, but HP hardly noticed. The nagging feeling that something wasn’t right was getting stronger and stronger.

Busy with all the other stuff …

‘Don’t forget me, if it’s a UV filter then it’ll take two of us to check it …’ HP said.

Nora gave him a quick look, and he held her gaze, nodding almost imperceptibly. She appeared to think for a few seconds.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I almost forgot. It takes two to hold the frame.’

‘Surely I could do that …?’ the technician protested.

‘I’m sure you could, but if it slips you could lose a couple of fingers. Remember what happened to Kalle?’ She turned to the others.

‘You mean Three-Fingered Kalle from ABB …?’ Hasselqvist shot back like lightning. ‘Ouch. And the insurance didn’t cover it either …’

The technician’s smile died instantly.

‘Okay, you can come as well,’ he said, pointing at HP. ‘The rest of you wait here, there’s a coffee machine over there …’

He got up, walked round the counter and headed over to a heavy metal door set into one wall. He pulled out a passcard that was attached by a coil to his belt, tapped it against a reader and then held the door open for them.