He kicked the safety rail away, then took a step back and pressed against the wall of the building.
The next moment the first of his pursuers reached his level, and he pushed off as hard as he could, taking a single stride and then leaping out into thin air …
Well, good people, thats the ceremony over, Ludvigs voice said over the radio in her ear. Ten minutes for the bride to freshen up, then itll be time. Well be moving the carriage to the outer courtyard any minute now …
He was standing ten metres away, in a cluster of uniformed colleagues with plenty of gold on their shoulders. She tried to catch his gaze, but without success. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest and her mouth felt dry.
A moment later her phone rang.
She pressed the button on the handsfree earpiece.
Yes, she said abruptly.
I just wanted to check how youre getting on …
No problems.
Good …
How about you? she said.
Fairly well. One slight difficulty, but nothing to worry about …
What sort of difficulty? she asked.
But he had already hung up.
He scraped over the railing by the smallest of margins and landed on the pavement.
The momentum of his landing carried him on into the road, and he only just managed to avoid being hit by a bus which missed him by a matter of centimetres, horn blaring.
He staggered back to the pavement and looked at his pursuers on the scaffolding. None of them seemed particularly eager to repeat his jump, and he couldnt help waving to them. Then he saw the square-framed man step forward.
You there, dont fucking move! the man roared.
HP responded by sticking his middle finger up at him.
Shoot him! the man ordered the closest muppet in a suit.
No way, the man replied. Hes unarmed …
Which side are you on, man? Hes a fucking terrorist, shoot him. Thats an order!
The suits seemed to flinch.
Youre not our boss … one of them muttered. And this is Sweden …
The square-framed man swore loudly, then cast a quick glance at HP, shoved the suits aside and braced himself against the wall.
Shit! The crazy bastards really going to jump …
HP spun round, crossed the carriageway and began to run.
When he was halfway down the slope he realized that he really should have chosen a different route.
The slope was taking him straight down onto the Söderleden motorway, and, to make things just that little bit worse, the traffic was heading towards him.
Cars came racing at him, many of them sounding their horns madly, as he cursed his stupid decision. But it was too late to turn back. Instead he kept as close to the edge of the bridge as he could.
He peered over the railing, down at the swirling water.
There was no way he was going to jump into the Strömmen, swimming really wasnt his strong point and hed probably end up as a swollen corpse caught in the sluice gates over by the Parliament building. Not to mention the unhappy combination of water and hard-drive …
Much better to keep running.
He was halfway across the motorway bridge before he dared to look back. The square-framed man was fifteen, twenty metres behind him.
His face was bright red and his short, muscular legs were pumping against the tarmac. But even though he was wearing a suit and loafers, unlike HP, who was far better dressed for running, the man still seemed to be gaining on him.
The rucksack, of course.
That was what was slowing him down, and if you threw in the exertions of the past few weeks, then it really wasnt all that surprising that he didnt have much strength left in his legs.
Strömsborg was his only hope.
But before he had even got close to the little island he realized it was hopeless. Even if the distance wasnt that great, the railing of the bridge made it impossible to take a run-up. And there was no way he could let the hard-drive get wet.
So he carried on running.
The square-framed man was still shrinking the distance between them.
The closest island was now Riddarholmen, but to reach it hed have to cross both carriageways, then the railway line, and find a way of getting up a steep rock face. But he didnt have any other option. He let a couple more cars go past, then ran straight out into the roadway. A Passat almost clipped him, but at the last moment the driver swerved and swept past him with just half a metre to spare. He swung over the concrete barrier separating the carriageways and landed on the southbound side. His lungs were burning in his chest and his throat seemed to have shrunk to the size of a drinking-straw.
He carried on running along the road, this time in the same direction as the traffic.
The big brick palace on Riddarholmen was casting long shadows over the road.
Now Ive got you, you bastard! the square-framed man roared behind him.
Okay, lets get to work!
Runebergs voice over the radio again, and a few seconds later the newlyweds emerged through the western archway.
They didnt look quite as pleased to be married as she had expected. More like nervous, in fact. Maybe that wasnt so strange, given the media frenzy. Live broadcast on television, both in Sweden and a handful of other countries that were fascinated by monarchy.
And now the married couple had to get through the journey in a cortege and a drawn-out formal banquet before the day was over. It probably wouldnt be much of a wedding night …
A man in livery held the door of the carriage open and another helped the bride sort out her dress before she sat down.
The bridegroom was waiting outside the carriage, and gave Rebecca a quick glance, then smiled at her uncertainly. She gave him a quick nod in response.
HP ran into the shadow, and carried on a few more metres along the roadway.
The rock face was out of the question as well now, the man was too close and would be on him before he reached it. His heart was pounding fit to burst, he could taste blood, and the first vomit wasnt far off.
He stopped abruptly and turned round, bent his knees and got ready to fight.
The man slowed down and stopped a couple of metres away, then grinned at HP.
You think you can take me, boy?! he shouted.
HP didnt answer, and was just staring at the traffic rushing towards them behind the mans back.
Cars were streaming past on both sides of them, their drivers frantically sounding their horns, but the man didnt seem remotely bothered. HP took a couple of cautious steps back, and suddenly the sun shone on his neck, only to vanish again after a couple more steps.
A big lorry was approaching in the distance behind the man.
And suddenly something resembling an idea popped up …
Come on, boy, lets do this the easy way … the man yelled over the noise of the horns and the traffic.
HP met the mans gaze, then took a couple more steps back before stopping and holding up his middle finger.
The man crouched, getting ready to pounce. His lips drew back in a carnivorous leer.
Any last words? he growled.
Yippikayee, mothafucker! HP yelled.
Then he threw himself down on the roadway and covered his head with his hands.
The lorry hit the square-framed man from behind with full force. It looked almost like a film.
One moment he was there – the next he was gone.
The lorry carried on, its brakes shrieking, over the top of HP, and rolled another fifty metres or so before the driver finally managed to stop.
The first thing HP saw when he cautiously raised his head was a single, empty loafer.
32
Insignificant bearer
He jumped down from the roof into the underground station, hanging from one of the sturdy beams and dropping onto the platform. The landing was softer than he expected, and the platform was pretty much deserted.
He could hear sirens up on the Söderleden motorway, several of them, but they were soon drowned out by the sound of the approaching train.
He got on and collapsed into the nearest empty seat. The rucksack hit the back of the seat and he fumbled at the catch with shaking fingers for a few seconds before giving up.
The adrenalin kick was massive, his whole body was shaking like mad, and he felt like throwing up. He leaned forward and tried to hold his head as low as possible.
Fucking hell!
Hed never seen anyone die before.
Not like that, anyway.
Actually, maybe he had …
Just like with Dag and the balcony railing, hed planned the whole thing. Finding a patch of light on the bend in the road where a driver would be momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the shadow. Then luring his pursuer into the right spot …
But, just like with Dag, hed felt he hadnt had a choice. Back then it had been to save Rebecca, and this time to save himself.
Wrong …
To save them both.
Now all he needed to do was send the contents of the hard-drive to the papers, and the Game and PayTag would be history. Then he, Becca, Nora and the others would be free.
Nora …
She had sacrificed herself for him, throwing herself at the square-framed man even though she must have realized she didnt stand a chance. Taking a hit for the team. No-one had ever done anything like that for him. When this was all over, hed find a way to thank her.
If she was still alive, of course …
The train thundered into T-Central and he crouched down in his seat instinctively. But just like Gamla Stan, the platform was almost empty.
Ghost town.
Weird …
Where the hell was everyone?
Slottsbacken was full of people, and there were even more waiting when they swung left, passing below the Palace garden. Video recorders, cameras, hundreds of phones.