Six months had passed since he had been given the task out at that creepy pet cemetery. Six months of decent peace and quiet, and halfway through the period of thinking time he had been promised.
Today it was the turn of the library at Medborgarplatsen. Tucked away in a corner where he could see everyone coming and going without them seeing him.
He plugged the little USB stick into one of the computers card slots and waited for the files to load. Then he started the security program at the top of the list.
Scanning – please wait, a little dialogue box said, as a timer began to rotate. It usually took about a minute to check for spyware or any signs of surveillance. He never stayed for longer than fifteen minutes, but after the developments of recent days it was probably time to cut that down even more.
He bounced one foot impatiently as he bit on a ragged fingernail. He still had six months, one hundred and eighty days to chisel out a plan, a way out, an exit strategy that could get him out of the infernal trap he had got caught up in.
Wrong – which they had got caught up in … Because no matter how he looked at it, he couldnt get away from the conclusion that Becca was getting more and more drawn in by an old but very familiar need of her own. A distinctly uncomfortable feeling had crept up on him at the meeting in the forest when she had brought him together with the Game Master.
Uncle Tage, she had called him. Saying he was one of Dads old comrades from the Reserve Unit. She told him that they had all – her, him and Dad – visited the old man in his summer cottage when they were little.
Obviously he had tried to explain the truth to her, but without any success.
She had never really bought the whole story about the Game, despite his several attempts to explain. But she seemed to accept whatever this Uncle Tage character told her without the slightest reservation.
Hell, her voice sounded almost tender when she talked about him, pretty much like when she talked about Dad. Time really had faded her memories as far as the old man was concerned. In a few more years she probably wouldnt even remember all the times the old sod had beaten him.
All the times the old bastard had lied to doctors and social workers, and persuaded her and Mum to back up his fabricated stories.
No, no matter how he tried, he couldnt keep a lid on the hatred that welled up inside him whenever Dads name was mentioned. And the same applied to Uncle Tage.
Hatred and – lets face it – jealousy …
Only a year or so before he would never have admitted that was what he felt, and had always felt, towards both Dad and Dag. As if they were stealing his Becca from him, and turning her into someone else entirely.
Someone he hardly recognized. A stranger.
Jealousy and hatred, then – a fine old combo, and only exacerbated by his already low credibility level, which effectively crushed any chance he had of convincing her of Tage Sammers true identity.
But he could hardly blame her. The fact was his whole story sounded so fucking unbelievable he occasionally had trouble believing it himself. Fortunately he had clung on to a few bits of memorabilia that he kept hidden in a safe place.
First and foremost there was the phone he had taken two years before from Kent Number 58 Hasselqvist, out on the E4 motorway. With the exception of the numbers on the back, it was exactly the same as the phone he had found on the commuter train, the one which had dragged him into this whole crazy business.
Then there was the passcard, the little white rabbit that had fallen out of a book in the NK department store, which had helped him to stop the clock on his normal life and granted him access to his very own Wonderland.
The third object in his collection was the hard-drive containing all the files from ArgosEye, the company that made sure the Game could stay buried in the deepest depths of the internet.
The trojan that Manga had put together, and which he had gone to great lengths to introduce into the companys computer network, had done its work. A wealth of information had been dragged out into the light: the fake trolls, the blogs that delivered pre-packaged opinions on demand, the Stasi database of people who held opposing views, and a load of other dodgy stuff that Philip Argos and his gang had going on for their wealthy clients.
But even though he suspected – correction: knew – that ArgosEye was protecting the Game, helping it to stay hidden whilst simultaneously keeping a record of anyone who tried to find out about it or broke Rule Number One, the leaked files still hadnt provided a single piece of firm evidence that his theory was actually correct. Maybe they had secured any information of that sort behind a second firewall, unless Mangas spyware had simply been looking in the wrong places?
The Game hadnt floated up to the surface the way he had hoped. It was still lurking down in the depths: the things he had kept proved nothing to anyone who couldnt see the whole picture. Not even the latest addition to his collection had any real value as evidence: an ordinary printed sheet of A4 that anyone could have put together. Your final task, HP, Tage Sammer, a.k.a. the Game Master, had said out there among the pet gravestones where they had drunk coffee together from a flask.
After all HP had done to cause trouble for the Game, the plans he had ruined and the money he had stolen, the old bastard had still seemed perfectly calm. No hard feelings, more or less …
But on the other hand, the task they had presented to him was no ordinary one.
Christ, what a fucking choice …
If he carried out the task, he was basically finished. Fucked for life, in every sense of the phrase. If he didnt do it, then his life wasnt the only one at stake …
FUCK!
46 of 78 files checked, no unauthorized objects found, the program informed him.
He looked at the time. More than a minute had passed, only nine left until he had to get out.
Come on, come on, come on … Bastard slow library computer!
Scanning …
70 of 78 files checked, no unauthorized objects found
He leaned forward over the keyboard, moved the mouse to the internet icon and got ready to spring into action. No search engines, oh no, just straight to the right addresses, then erase all bookmarks and cookies from the computer before he logged out. Leaving as few footprints as possible …
An unexpected noise over by the door made him start. He raised his head and glanced cautiously over the top of the screen.
A short man in a leather jacket, dark glasses and a baseball cap pulled down over his forehead had come into the computer room.
The man stopped in the doorway as he gazed slowly around the terminals, and something about the way he looked immediately made all of HPs alarm bells start to ring like mad.
Shit!
She tapped in the number and pressed the green icon.
Connecting … the screen declared, but after staring at it for at least thirty seconds she realized that it clearly wasnt connecting. Annoyed, she clicked to end the call and repeated the procedure. The very latest smart-phone and it was hardly capable of making a call …
Police Headquarters, reception, a voice suddenly said over the phone, without any ringing tone first.
She hesitated for a second or two, then said:
Permit section, please.
One moment.
You have reached the permit section, current waiting time is estimated to be … six … minutes …
She sighed and looked at her watch. For a moment she considered abandoning the call and phoning Runeberg instead to see if he could get any information about what was happening …
Stigsson had forbidden her to contact Henke. Not that that was actually much of a problem. Now that she came to think about it, she had been chasing Henke for weeks now, months, in fact. But even though she knew he was home, he had never opened the door when she visited, or picked up her calls when she phoned.
A couple of dutiful text messages, that was pretty much it, and she was under no illusions that it would be any easier to get hold of him now.
The safe deposit box had unsettled her.
Evidently Henke had secrets that were so valuable he had felt obliged to hide them away in a high-security vault. Stigssons crew had already emptied his flat, and all it would take was for someone going through everything they had confiscated to find a copy of the safe deposit agreement with the bank, or a letter like the one she had received. A request for a search warrant, then the drill would come out and all Henkes secrets would be dragged into the open.
Whatever was inside that deposit box, it was hardly likely to make things any better for him.
Permit section, Persson … The voice made Rebecca start.
Yes, hello, er, my name is Rebecca Normén … She glanced at the papers in front of her and tried to gather her thoughts.
Im phoning about an application for a weapons licence for a security company. I was just wondering how far youd got …
Cop!
HP ducked down behind the screen instinctively. The bloke reeked of plod so badly it almost made his nostrils sting.
He bent down to pull the USB stick from the computer. Like fuck was he going to let them have all the info hed gathered over the past few months. The Security Police were bound to come up with some way of turning it all against him, locking him away on an indeterminate sentence …