By the end of the day she would be on thousands of pictures and film clips, whether she liked it or not.
Their speed down the hill had been gentle, but once the whole cortege was on flat ground the riders switched from walking pace to a trot. The horses pulling the carriage followed suit and Rebecca and the five other bodyguards around the carriage broke into a jog to keep up.
She caught sight of the first mask as they crossed Norrbro.
HP threw open the door of the internet café and walked straight up to the counter.
I need a computer with the best connection youve got, for two hours, maybe more … he said to the receptionist, but the bloke scarcely looked away from the television screen hanging above the counter.
Sorry mate, internets down …
What?
Yep. The receptionist turned towards him. Broadband, ADSL, the mobile network, tutti. Everythings been down since sometime last night. Theyre saying its a programming error somewhere, but I reckon its got more to do with the wedding, personally …
With what?
The wedding, mate! He gestured towards the television, which was showing a picture of a carriage and load of horses. Big brother doesnt want any protests, so theyve shut down the net, just like they did in Egypt, yeah?
Right, HP said distractedly.
Something on the screen had caught his attention. One of the goons in suits around the carriage looked vaguely familiar. The camera zoomed in …
HP felt a sudden chill.
Where are they going? he snapped, grabbing the mans washed-out t-shirt.
Back to the Palace, where else? Take it easy, mate …
No, you moron, I mean what route? That looks like Kungsträdgården … Which way are they going after that?
Sergels torg, then past here up Sveavägen, then right into …
Kungsgatan!!
Fucking shit!!!
The second and third masks were in Strömgatan, close to the Opera. Chalk white Guy Fawkes masks with black goatees and curled moustaches, just like the ones outside the Grand Hotel a few days before.
The white-clad figures wearing the masks didnt move, just stood completely still, which only made things even creepier.
Youve seen them, havent you, Ludvig? she said into the microphone on her wrist.
Yep, he replied curtly. Keep your eyes open, good people, here comes Kungsträdgårdsgatan … he went on.
The cortege swung left.
HP dashed out of the café, raced round the corner and tore off towards Hötorget. In the distance he thought he could hear people cheering.
Four more masks at various points along Kungsträdgårdsgatan, five along Hamngatan, but no sign of any trouble.
Maybe that wasnt so strange. As well as all the various soldiers and volunteers lining the route, she had seen at least twenty uniformed officers, and more in plain clothes. But the masks were growing in number.
One more for each street they passed. That couldnt be coincidence. Something was clearly going on.
They turned right at Sergels torg, skirting round the glass obelisk, and the cheers were so loud she could hardly hear her radio when it crackled into life.
Hötorget was full of people, and he had to elbow his way through. The closer he got to Sveavägen, the thicker the crowd got, and he realized he needed an alternative plan. The underground, of course!
He turned round and ran back down Sergelgatan, then veered between two of the skyscrapers, trying not to look up.
He leaped over the barriers, took the steps in three strides and raced along the platform to the northern end of the station. As he ran he pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket.
All bodyguards. A person matching the description of one of the suspects has just been seen at Hötorget.
The voice on the radio was Stigssons, she was almost certain of that.
Her mouth felt bone dry and she swallowed several times in an attempt to moisten it. To no avail.
Is everything okay, Normén, over?
Fine, Ludvig …
Good, everyone, stay alert. These masks are worrying me …
Sveavägen now, seven masks.
One more than Sergels torg. The front part of the cortege began to swing down into Kungsgatan.
Her mobile started to ring, but she ignored it.
No answer, fuck!
He emerged from the north exit of the station, pushing his way out through the crowd onto the pavement.
The street was lined with people in uniform, but they seemed largely there for decoration.
The Malmskillnad Bridge was just fifty metres away to the right.
He pulled his hood up over his head, got his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. Then he started to force his way through towards the bridge.
In the distance he could hear the sound of horses hooves.
She saw the biggest group of masks just as the carriage started to turn. They were standing in a row this time. She could see eight of them, then even more.
A lot more …
I dont like this … Runeberg muttered on the radio.
Her phone was still ringing in her right ear.
He was fifteen metres away when he saw the pattern under the arch of the bridge. Three-dimensional orange-pink geometric shapes edged with blue curled upwards in a hypnotically regular pattern. Just like on the plan, the pattern looked like a labyrinth.
The Luttern labyrinth!
Hed found it!
The sound of hooves was getting louder, echoing off the buildings and merging with the cheering of the crowds.
A moment later he caught sight of the large, black air-vents at either end of the arch. Five metres above the pavement, at a perfect angle to the roadway.
Two circular grilles, exactly matching the description on the Carers plan, approximately one metre in diameter. Or 1016.1 millimetres, to be precise …
FUCKING BOLLOCKS!!!
The first horses in the escort had almost reached the bridge. He put his mobile away and pushed the people in front of him out of his path, elbowing his way out into the road, and then started running towards the cortege. His rucksack was still bouncing up and down on his back. It felt heavier than ever …
She saw him from a distance.
Dark clothing, scruffy beard, sunglasses and a hood pulled over his head. The light grey straps of a rucksack were clearly visible across his chest. He was running straight towards the carriage, towards her.
Waving his arms and shouting something.
Her hands went straight to her belt. Grabbed the handle of her pistol. Draw – take aim …
BOMB! he yelled. THERES A BOMB OVER THERE!
But she didnt seem to hear him. Instead he saw her and the other bodyguards aim their guns at him. As if he were the real threat.
A moment later he saw the masks. All around them, lining the street, a hundred, more. All still. As if they were waiting for something. And suddenly he realized …
The world went into slow motion as the pieces of the puzzle in his head flew into the air, breaking up the image he had so carefully put together, and forming a new one in its place.
One that was far more horrifying.
The tunnel, the bomb, the explosion in the barn. Strong arms dragging him out of the snake flat, injecting him with serum. Someone standing outside the door of the flat out by the Woodland Cemetery and sending text messages. Warning him about a traitor.
The explosion, Rehyman, running away.
Nora, fastening his rucksack so carefully. Giving him the location, the last piece of the puzzle. The fatal kiss …
He stopped abruptly and raised his hands. Voices were echoing back and forth inside his head, drowning each other out. Some of them clear, some of them muffled.
This is your last task, Henrik!
Red or black?
You are to carry out a deadly attack against the royal wedding …
Wanna play a game, Henrik Pettersson?
Luttern, not Gluten.
The Carer, I dont know him …
Are you absolutely sure?
Not the Carer …
He backed away slowly, pulling at the straps to get the rucksack off. But the lock wouldnt budge.
GET BACK! he yelled as loudly as he could.
People come to the Luttern labyrinth to die! the voice in his head whispered.
Not.
Carer.
But … ?
Bearer!
THERES A BOMB IN THIS RUCKSACK! he yelled.
She took aim at the centre of the death zone, right where the straps of the rucksack crossed his heart.
BOMB! someone yelled over the radio, and for a moment she thought it was Tage Sammers voice shed heard. But the warning was completely superfluous.
She squeezed the trigger.
Breathed in …
Like a punch in the chest – that was pretty much what it felt like. In a weird way the blow seemed to slow everything down even more. All of a sudden he could appreciate the tiniest details around him. The gun aimed at his chest, the drawn out, panic-stricken screams from the surrounding crowd. All around him, bodies crushed together in slow motion. Trying to get as far away from him as possible.
But in spite of the evidence, in spite of the gunpowder stinging his nostrils and the shot still reverberating on his eardrums, his brain refused to accept what was happening. As if it were fending off the impossible, the unthinkable, the incomprehensible …
This simply couldnt be happening.
Not now!
She had shot him …
SHE
HAD
SHOT
HIM!!!
The pistol was still pointing straight at his chest. The look on her face behind the barrel was ice-cold, completely emotionless. As if it belonged to someone else. A stranger.
He tried to raise his hand towards her, opened his mouth to say something. But the only sound that passed his lips was a sort of whimper. Suddenly and without any warning time speeded up and returned to normal. The pain spread like a wave from his ribcage, out through his body, making the tarmac beneath him lurch. His knees gave way and he took a couple of stumbling steps backwards in an attempt to keep his balance.