He seemed to consider this for a moment.
Ill see what I can do, Rebecca …
His shopping list was almost complete.
Just as he had hoped, the Fenster was still running his little business, and all hed had to do was disguise himself as best he could and walk a couple of blocks, and he was back among old friends.
He laid everything out on the floor in front of him.
White overalls – check.
Hard plastic rucksacks – check.
Protective masks – check.
Taser – oh yes!!
Sweet!
He ran his fingers over the weapon, which looked like a big remote control with two metal prongs at the end. Pressing the button gently was enough to send a little blue arc dancing between the prongs.
BZZZZT!
Fifty thousand fucking volts, right up the Moomin Valley!
And it fucking hurt, he knew that from experience from the time Philip Argoss little helpers had fried him. But this time he was the one in charge …
BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZT!
He couldnt help trying it out over and over again.
The smell of electricity spread through the flat.
Best plug it in to recharge …
He pulled out a large sports bag and carefully began to pack all his equipment away inside it.
There was only one thing missing, albeit a very important one. After that, his backup plan would be complete. All he could do was hope that the Fensters suppliers would come up with the goods.
The security check surprised her.
No handbags or briefcases, and all your other belongings packed into a transparent plastic bag before you were let in.
As she waited in the queue she took the opportunity to look for cameras. She managed to locate three of them before it was her turn. Dark little spheres up in the ceiling or stuck to the thick stone walls. Exactly the same sort as the ones she had seen in Police Headquarters and down in the bank vault.
ID, the woman on the door said.
What?
I need to scan your ID, the woman said. Its the Royal Librarys new security policy. You probably heard about the thefts …
Rebecca muttered something and fished out her driving licence. The woman placed it on a flat glass screen set into the counter. There was a flash of light, then a bleep.
There you go!
Rebecca put the licence away.
By the way, she said as the woman was about to turn to the next visitor, what do you do with the information?
Sorry?
The data, the information from my driving licence. What happens to it?
Youll find a copy of our data policy over there.
The woman pointed to a notice board and turned away.
All data relating to visitors is stored for security purposes for thirty days before it is purged of all personal details.
The anonymized data is used to help plan our visitor strategy.
The Royal Library does not share information with any third parties.
She couldnt help glancing up at one of the little round cameras in the ceiling. For a moment she thought she could see movement behind the dark glass. She shivered.
Pull yourself together, Normén!
She shook off the sense of unease and carried on into the reading room.
It took her about ten minutes to find the books she wanted. A couple of dry as dust official parliamentary reports, and a thick history book. On her way back to her desk she stopped at the coffee machine.
The nuclear weapons programme, theres a lot of people interested in that right now! Probably because of that business with the plutonium …
The voice made her jump.
An elderly man in a white shirt, tie, and knitted tank-top was standing behind her. Evidently he had been looking at the books under her arm.
Im sorry, I didnt mean to startle you …
Dont worry, she mumbled as she got herself a cup.
Thore Sjögren, the man said. But Ill refrain from shaking hands. He held up his hands, both of them clad in white cotton gloves.
It looks like youve already found what you were looking for, but just say if you need any help.
The man seemed rather too old to work there, but maybe he was a regular. A lonely old bloke keen for a bit of social contact. Well, she didnt have time for that sort of distraction.
Of course, thanks very much, Thore. She allowed herself a polite smile, then set off towards her desk.
It was an exciting time, he said as he put a coin in the machine. Until we got shut down, I mean …
She put her cup of coffee down and turned round. He took his time at the machine, tentatively adjusting his cup in an attempt to keep his white gloves clean.
Did you work on the nuclear weapons programme?
He nodded, then blew gently on his coffee.
Would you mind telling me about it?
Of course not. He looked round. I even have a few photographs, if youre interested.
He held up his passcard to a reader, then held the door open for her. So he did work there after all.
We want that lift over there.
He used his passcard in the lift and pressed one of the buttons.
Were heading for minus three, he said. There are five floors in total. Five library buildings stacked on top of each other, plus the one above ground. Everything printed in Sweden since 1661 is kept here. As soon as anything comes off the printing press – newspapers, journals, books, even audiobooks these days – a copy must be sent here, according to law. Its fantastic, dont you think? Millions of little time bubbles, all with their own stories from the past. But of course Swedes love their time bubbles, have you ever thought about that? In the midst of all this change, all this modern technology that were so keen to adopt, we still want certain things to remain the way they have always been.
Rebecca shook her head. The word bubble had caught her attention, but she realized that Thore Sjögrens bubbles were quite different to the ones Uncle Tage often mentioned.
Donald Duck on Christmas Eve, national heats for the Eurovision Song Contest, communal singing at Skansen. Not to mention the royal family. Just look at the fuss everyone is making about the princesss wedding … Of course it all requires a huge amount of storage space, the fifth floor is all of forty metres down into the bedrock … Thore Sjögren went on.
Rebecca was only half listening. All this was doubtless very interesting, but right now she had other things on her mind. Why couldnt he just get to the point?
The little man didnt seem to have noticed her lack of interest, and carried on about how much shelf space there was, how many pages. Without even pausing long enough to drink his coffee.
Finally the lift stopped and they emerged into a long, well lit corridor. The dark globe of the camera in the ceiling was unmissable …
My little cubbyhole is at the far end, Thore said, gesturing with his free hand towards the other end of the corridor.
He set off, and she followed a metre or so behind him.
A strange little character, slightly shorter than her. Thin grey hair arranged in a neat side parting. Reading glasses on a cord round his neck. Tank-top, white shirt and tie, even though it must be thirty degrees outside, and then those white cotton gloves.
His clothes accentuated the impression that he was a cosy little old uncle. But it only took her a few seconds to notice that his neatly ironed shirt collar was worn and frayed, and that his well polished shoes could have done with new heels a while back. The sense of creeping but inevitable decay suddenly made her feel rather depressed. Shed seen this before, at close quarters.
Dad. Everything seemed to begin and end with Dad.
Thore Sjögren pointed to a double door just ahead of them on the right.
And in there is the apartment … he whispered.
What?
He stopped and turned round.
The apartment. Nelly Sachss apartment, exactly as it was when she died. Down to the very last detail. The ultimate time capsule or bubble. Fascinating, dont you think?
He pointed towards the double doors again.
Just the way it was when she died.
Rebecca nodded, not entirely sure what she should say. But this time he seemed to pick up on her cool response.
For a moment it looked almost as if the little man was blushing.
But the story of Nelly Sachs actually has some connection to the subject that interests you.
He stopped at a small door, pulled out a key and unlocked it.
Please, do go in, Nelly … No, no, of course I mean Rebecca … he quickly corrected himself.
She stepped inside. The room was little more than ten square metres in size, and the slightly claustrophobic atmosphere made her think almost immediately of the interview rooms in Police Headquarters. Most of the space was taken up by a desk covered with papers, some bulging bookshelves along one side, and two office chairs.
The little man closed the door behind her. The thick concrete walls seemed to absorb the sound, making it sound muffled.
Well, as I was saying, Thore went on. Nelly Sachs became a Swedish citizen in 1952, the same year that we started to build the first nuclear reactor in the bedrock below the Royal Institute of Technology. Please, sit down …
He gestured to one of the chairs.
In 1966, the year she got the Nobel Prize, Sweden signed the non-proliferation treaty where we promised to stop work on developing an atomic bomb of our own, and by the time she died in 1970, the shut down was well underway. Two years later almost everything had been dismantled and closed down …
But not quite everything … Rebecca added quickly.
He gave her a long look, and took a first sip of his coffee.
No, youre right. Part of the project continued. It was called defence research …