Good snake.
Nice and eeeasy …
His fingers reached the drawer and closed around the handle. The snake still seemed to be concentrating on his foot.
Carefully he pulled the drawer out a few centimetres.
Then a few more …
It took him several seconds before he realized what he was staring at. Hed been hoping for some sort of tool.
But this was better.
MUCH better!
He put his hand inside the drawer, closed his fingers slowly around the handle and felt the mesh pattern against his palm. He had to make a serious effort not to snatch his hand back.
Nice and eeeasy …
The snake was still rattling, but didnt seem to have made up its mind yet. He glanced at it from the corner of his eye, and saw it move its head a bit closer. His right foot was only fifteen, twenty centimetres away from its mouth. Its tongue was flicking in and out, faster now.
HP twisted his hand carefully and then pulled it back towards him. The rattling was getting louder, and the snake had drawn its head back. Getting ready …
He shifted his weight to his left leg, and turned his body slightly. Five more seconds, just five fucking seconds, that was all he needed …
Suddenly the snakes head shot forward.
HP yanked his foot back, yanked his hand out of the drawer and squeezed. The bang was so loud it jarred his ears and he shut his eyes instinctively, turned his head away and screamed out loud in terror. But in spite of all that he carried on pulling the trigger of the revolver.
Once.
Twice.
Splinters and dust flew up from the floor, and an angry ricochet buzzed off somewhere to his right. Then a dry, dull sound of wood breaking, and suddenly the whole work-table collapsed. A cloud of dust and gunpowder smoke hit him in the face and he took a couple of steps back as he tried to swallow to clear the whistling sound from his ears.
His heart was speeding on adrenalin, his diaphragm pumping his lungs so hard that his ribs creaked.
Fucking hell …
Warily he peered at where the snake had been. The collapsed table was covering most of the floor, but there were signs of blood and sticky black snake entrails among the wreckage. Part of the tail had broken off and lay on its own in the middle of the floor. It was still twitching spasmodically, but the sound was no longer threatening. It sounded more like broken maracas.
YES!
Eat shit and die, snake bastard!!
EAT SHIT AND FUCKING DIE!!!
It looked like hed scored a direct hit with the revolver, and then the collapsing table had taken care of the rest. But had Sir Hiss managed to bite him?
The next moment the pain broke through the adrenalin rush in his brain and he looked down in horror.
Two tiny red marks were clearly visible on his right sock, right in the hollow between his foot and shinbone.
The Cyprus book had been waiting in an anonymous parcel on the doormat when she got home. She had already glanced through it, but wasnt really much the wiser. The arms smuggling story was dealt with summarily, as a minor and regrettable incident in an otherwise successful mission. The details were relatively thin. Just as Uncle Tage had said, it looked like a couple of Swedish officers hadnt been prepared to sit by and passively watch while superior forces from one side crushed the surrounded and badly equipped group on the other.
The whole thing looked like an impulsive act rather that a political statement, and in all likelihood the few weapons they tried to smuggle wouldnt actually have made any difference at all, apart from salving the Swedes consciences. But the consequences of the impulsive act had been dramatic. The two officers were both dismissed immediately, and were sent home on the first plane while the rest of the battalion was hastily redeployed to southern Cyprus, away from the danger zone. She couldnt find any information about the names of the officers, but then she hadnt really expected to.
But she had found out one thing, something rather worrying.
A small photograph of a young officer with a rather hawkish appearance and a jacket decorated with little square badges of honour. Lieutenant Colonel André Pellas, according to the caption. But she was certain the picture was of Uncle Tage.
Hed never make it to hospital in time.
Södermalm Hospital wasnt far away, but the distance wasnt his biggest problem. He had no phone, no way of sounding the alarm.
The bangs had been loud, but the door to the snake room was thick, and he himself was the closest neighbour … it was quite possible that no-one had heard him.
All his instincts were screaming at him to go home. Run back to his flat and shut the door behind him. But if he did that, hed never come out alive again.
He was already feeling seriously unwell, his foot had started to ache and hed found it difficult to make his way out into the living room.
He had to think of something, right away. Even if he staggered out into the stairwell and screamed for help, banging on doors like a maniac, he doubted whether any of his constipated little neighbours would have the nerve to open their doors.
At best theyd call the cops, but by the time the boys in blue finally deigned to appear hed be having a hot date with Rigor Mortis …
And even if, against all expectation, he managed to get to the hospital alive, it was far from certain that theyd have the right serum there. Poisonous Swedish snakes were one thing, but rattlesnake bites probably werent the sort of thing that cropped up particularly often in the Stockholm area.
Basically, whatever he did he was fucked.
He could feel himself on the verge of tears.
Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!
He had to slow his pulse down – right now his heart was nothing but a pump spreading poison round his body. If he couldnt find a way to stop panicking, hed soon be lying like some dribbling vegetable on this shitty floor.
He crouched down, checked over his shoulder to make sure that the door to the snake room was closed, and then took a couple of deep breaths.
His foot was shooting with pain, and the feeling of nausea was getting worse, but at least his heart seemed to be calming down. How much time did he have before he lost consciousness? Five minutes, seven maybe, but hardly much more than that …
He raised his head and looked across the dusty floor.
As hed noticed earlier, the footsteps from the front door led straight across the floor to the snake room, with pretty much just two exceptions. The toilet and the fridge. If the Carer had snakes on the loose in his workroom, but was still the sort of person who made advanced bombs demanding total concentration, wasnt it likely that he had some sort of contingency plan?
A few syringes of serum, just in case … And where would you keep serum, Einstein?
He got up and swayed for a moment. His right leg was definitely stiffer now. At least the fridge was switched on, he could hear it as he got closer.
It wasnt until he put his hand on the handle that he noticed the latch and padlock.
Fucking bollocks!
He didnt even try to pull the door open. Instead he staggered back to get the crowbar he had left against the hall wall.
The poison must already be affecting his muscles, because the crowbar felt unexpectedly heavy and he had to make a serious effort to pick it up from the floor.
His right leg was hardly obeying his orders any more, and he was also finding it difficult to breathe.
He paused for a few seconds, gathering his strength. Then he tried to insert the crowbar between the latch and the fridge door. He failed and almost dropped it. His throat was now starting to feel swollen, his eyelids were burning and it was getting harder and harder to focus.
One deep, rasping breath.
Then another …
This time the crowbar went in, the lock flew off, but the effort still made him lose his balance and collapse on the floor. For a brief moment he contemplated staying there and having a rest – just a little rest.
But then the fridge door slowly swung open and the bright light from the internal lamp snapped him out of his trance. He struggled to his knees, leaning against the door as he tried to get up.
The fridge was empty.
Almost, anyway. In the middle of the top shelf was a neat container holding five pre-prepared syringes.
He struggled to his feet, pulled down one of the glass shelves, then another. He reached for the box of syringes, closing his fingers around its cool surface.
Then everything went dark …
11
Electric sheep
The black plane landed two minutes before it was due, but Rebecca was so immersed in her thoughts that she hardly noticed it.
A Global Express, not bad!
W-what?
Blacks plane, November Six Bravo.
Kjellgren pointed at the runway.
Can fly nonstop from New York to Tokyo. Someone at work said the planes his own, not the companys. A Global Express can carry twenty passengers, but apparently Black prefers to travel alone …
Mmm, she murmured, squinting to see better.
Kjellgren carried on about various types of plane, but she was only half listening. It was odd to see a plane that was painted completely black. Most planes were white or grey, so she guessed the colour was a statement in itself. The plane turned off onto one of the taxiways and slowly approached its gate.
She opened the car door and got out. For some reason she was feeling slightly nervous.
She liked Black right from the start.
It was impossible not to. Unlike pretty much every other VIP she had worked with, he came straight over to shake her hand and introduce himself – as if that were necessary …