Bubble(2)

The sudden change of lane must have taken the driver by surprise. Forced him into making a mistake.

She slowly turned her upper body, pressing her left elbow against the seat and holding herself in place with her legs. The vans licence plate was still hidden by the car between them, but she could see the top halves of the two people in the drivers cab through the tinted windscreen. Long-sleeved, pale-coloured clothing, some sort of overalls, just like yesterday. But last time she hadnt managed to get the camera out quickly enough. She was planning to make up for that mistake today.

The car directly behind them suddenly indicated to change lane and she saw her chance. She turned round in a flash, raised the camera and aimed at the point where the licence plate was about to become visible.

She pressed the button halfway down. The car between them pulled out. There was a short bleep as the automatic focus adjusted the image.

Button down. She fired off a couple of pictures. Perfect!

Then she quickly raised the camera towards the cab of the van. She focused on the driver and pressed the button. The telephoto lens whirred and the fuzzy shape behind the wheel suddenly became much sharper. But just as the automatic focus bleeped, Kjellgren suddenly accelerated hard and the rapid movement threw her off balance.

By the time she got the cab back into view, the van was already a long way behind them.

What the hell are you playing at, Kjellgren? she snapped as she took a series of shots, almost at random, of the diminishing silhouette in the van.

The VIP, Wennergren junior. He pointed ahead at the little sports car which was almost out of sight. He suddenly took off like a scalded troll. Didnt want to risk losing him.

She lowered the camera and sank back into her seat.

Shit!

A quick glance in the mirror, but she already knew what it would tell her. The van was gone.

She clicked through the pictures on the little screen of the camera. The licence plate was clearly visible, but just as she suspected the images of the cab were pretty much useless.

Bloody hell!

Call it police intuition or whatever the hell you liked, but there was something about that van that worried her.

As soon as she got back to the office shed check the licence plate, maybe even make a couple of calls and double check with Surveillance if the Highways Agency didnt come up with anything  …

She suddenly regretted snapping at Kjellgren. His priorities had been totally correct. The VIP was the most important thing, after all, and she would have done exactly the same if she had been the one driving.

Kjellgren was an excellent driver, which was one of the reasons why shed brought him across from the Security Police. He had already made up the distance to the VIPs car and they were in their customary position immediately behind him.

You made exactly the right call, Kjellgren, she said, doing her best to sound neutral.

He merely nodded and for a few minutes they sat in silence as they took it in turns to check their rear-view mirrors.

So when did you say wed be going up to the Fortress? Kjellgren said eventually, in a rather too-friendly voice.

That depends a bit on Blacks schedule. She made an effort to return his smile.

Okay. By the way, did you see that article in Dagens Nyheter? A big piece about the new uses people have found for old military installations. Apart from using underground bunkers as server rooms, theyve also fixed the old communication tunnel to the coast so it brings in water for the cooling system. Seriously advanced stuff.

The security up theres supposed to be quite something as well.

He pulled closer to Wennergrens car and did a quick swerve to scare off a car that was trying to squeeze in between them.

Apparently PayTag want to retain its status as a high security installation, which is pretty understandable. Because then their security staff up there can be armed  …

Kjellgren looked away from the car in front to give her a quick sideways glance.

She could hear the question coming before he had opened his mouth.

By the way, how are things going for us on the weapons front, boss  … ?

The licensing authority is still looking at our application  …

 …  again, she almost added, but her mobile started to vibrate in her jacket pocket. Number withheld. Probably another marketing call, or some former police colleague fishing for a job  …

She moved her thumb towards the red icon to reject the call, but changed her mind at the last moment. Kjellgren kept glancing at her, evidently keen to carry on the conversation about weapons licences. And he wasnt alone in that.

Pretty much all of the new recruits to her bodyguard team had taken the job on the assumption that theyd be able to bear arms in the course of their duties. So if the application got rejected  …

She quickly pressed the green icon on her phone.

Sentry Security, Rebecca Normén, she said, in an exaggeratedly businesslike tone.

Personal Protection Unit, Detective Superintendent Ludvig Runeberg, her old boss said at the other end.

Hi, Ludvig, its been a while. Good to hear from you  …

Im not sure youre going to think that by the time weve finished, Normén  …

Something in his tone of voice made her straighten up unconsciously.
 
 

 

You should probably come up here to Police Headquarters, right away if you can manage that  …

The connection crackled and his voice vanished for a few seconds. But part of her had already worked out what he was going to say. Her stomach contracted into a hard little lump.

No, no, no  …

 …  your younger brother.





2





Opening




His body was slumped motionless across the table. His eyes were shut and it almost looked like he was asleep.

The last time she had seen him his hair had been cropped short, but now it had grown again and was hanging in greasy clumps over his chalk-white face. The fluorescent lighting in the claustrophobic little room made the rings under his eyes look darker than ever against his pale, yellowish skin. As if she were really looking at a wax doll rather than an inert human body through the large glass window.

She had been worried that this would happen. Ever since Henke threw a rock through her windscreen two years ago and almost killed her and Kruse, her colleague, she had been dreading this moment. Well, longer than that, really. Much, much longer  …

He was brought in last night, Runeberg said somewhere behind her right shoulder, but she hardly heard him.

I was only informed an hour or so ago. I called you at once. Not quite going by the rules, but I thought youd want to know straight away. I know I would if it was my brother  …

She tore her eyes away from the glass and turned to look at him.

Thanks, Ludvig, I appreciate it  …  The words caught in her throat.

They stood in silence for a while.

Terrible business, he said eventually.

He put his hand clumsily on her arm.

Suddenly and without warning the door opened and a skinny man in his sixties with thinning hair walked in. He was carrying a file of papers under one arm and, even though it was summer, he was wearing a dark three-piece suit topped off with a perfectly centred tie. The man nodded curtly to Runeberg, then turned to Rebecca.

You must be the sister.

Rebecca Normén, she said, holding out her hand.

But instead of taking her hand, the man pulled out a pair of narrow reading glasses from the pocket of his waistcoat, planted them firmly on the end of his nose and then opened the file.

You said she used to work for the Firm, Runeberg?

She still does, at least officially, Stigsson, her former boss replied in an ingratiating tone that she didnt recognize at all.

Normén is on leave of absence until the end of the year, he explained. Then she has to make up her mind which she prefers, the Security Police or private enterprise  …  Runeberg attempted a smile, but the other mans face didnt move a muscle.

I see  …  Stigsson turned his head and looked at Rebecca over his glasses.

Since youre still employed by the Security Police, Normén, your security clearance holds, as does the oath of confidentiality you signed when you first joined. Whether or not youre his sister, everything you hear in here is confidential, and any attempt to communicate it to anyone else is strictly forbidden, is that understood?

Yes, she nodded.

Of course, she added when he didnt seem happy with her response. So, whats this all about, then?

In the room on the other side of the glass a door suddenly opened and two people, a man and a woman in dark suits, entered. For a few seconds no-one in the room moved. Then Henke opened his eyes.

He raised his head, sat up in the chair. Slowly and elaborately he stretched, as if he had just woken up. He said something that she couldnt hear through the glass, and she was seized momentarily with an urge to burst in and give him a good slap.

Stigssons bone-dry voice changed her mind.

Your brother is suspected of conspiracy, and possibly planning a gross act of terrorism.

Well, Henrik, I repeat: you are suspected of planning and possibly making preparations for a crime intended to seriously destabilize or disrupt the fundamental political, constitutional, economic and social structures of the country, said the lead interviewer, a forty-something woman with short, dark hair, as she fixed her eyes on him.

But HP hardly noticed her. His weary brain was still trying to make sense of everything. At least there was one thing he was reasonably sure of. Unlike two years ago, when he thought he had been arrested but was actually the victim of a huge hoax, this time every single detail was right, from the armed units break-in to his flat down to the scorched taste of the instant coffee in the brown plastic cup on the table next to him. It all seemed genuine. Was genuine, in all likelihood. Which meant  … ?