His fingers closed around the little plastic stick, but at that moment the man in the cap burst out into a long, noisy harangue in a strange language. Another lighter voice replied almost at once, and when HP carefully peered out he saw the man in the cap leaving the room in the company of a middle-aged woman who had been using a computer a short distance from his.
He waited a few more seconds, then straightened up and breathed out.
False alarm.
God, he was twitchy!
His heart was still pounding in his chest, his hands were trembling and he had to take several deep breaths to slow his pulse down. High time to ditch the paranoia and get on with business.
The scanning program must have finished by now, and he was eager to see what the media reaction to his arrest had been.
Most of the papers were still running diet tips on their fly-sheets, but the online edition of Expressen ought to feature him somewhere.
Last night the Security Police arrested a 32-year-old man on suspicion of planning terrorist attacks.
A source in the Security Police says the arrest has almost certainly prevented acts of terrorism on Swedish soil.
Yep, that was how you sold more papers. The fact that they let him go after a few hours probably wouldnt be published until next week, by which time no-one would care.
The medias memory has always been short, Henrik. People can only deal with one story at a time …
Shit, sometimes he actually missed Philip and the ArgosEye life. Even though they had Anna Argos killed and almost managed to pin the murder on him, not to mention everything they did to him once his cover was blown, sometimes he couldnt help imagining what might have happened if he hadnt been found out.
Who would he have been by now?
Rilkes boyfriend?
Philips right-hand man?
Or, even better: his successor … The Game Masters faithful partner, maybe even a future Mark Black. None of that sounded bad at all …
On the screen in front of him a little green window had appeared. The scan program must have got stuck when he nudged the USB stick. Damn, two more minutes wasted!
Annoyed, he moved the cursor to close the window and restart the scan. But just as the little arrow reached the cross in the top right corner of the window, letters began to appear. One by one, until they formed a sentence that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
W
a
n
t
t
o
p
l
a
y
a
G
a
m
e
H
e
n
r
i
k
P
e
t
t
e
r
s
s
o
n
?
He yanked the USB stick from the computer and threw himself under the desk. On the way he hit his head, got caught in the chair and almost fell flat on the floor. At the last moment he caught hold of the desk, pulled himself to his knees and tried to turn his head away. Too late. His gaze was drawn inexorably to the screen, like an insect with a death wish drawn to a UV light.
Run! a terrified little voice was screaming in his ear.
Get the fuck out of here, moron!
But his body wouldnt obey.
Instead he remained on his knees in front of the computer, with his mouth half open and eyes big as ping pong balls, while his brain absorbed everything that was happening on the screen.
A new window opened and a series of images began to roll over it. Cut-and-paste headlines from various news sites:
The Palace reports a record level of interest from foreign media ahead of the royal wedding …
Huge server hall installed in old military base north of Uppsala. Rigorous security …
Another serious incident of hacking has been reported, this time by various companies in the defence industry. As on previous occasions, the police say that no information appears to have been stolen …
The Southern Link Road was closed for the second time in a week because of a computer failure which caused the failure of barriers and ventilation systems …
Several leading news websites are once again closing their comment sections …
He recognized the lot, he had looked them all up himself, cutting and pasting them onto the USB stick.
They were followed by more cuttings, things he didnt recognize:
For a third week in a row there have been reports of disruption to computer and mobile networks. The operators affected worst are 3 and Telia, but other networks have also suffered …
Three kilos of plutonium from Cold War projects in Sweden were recently handed over to the USA. The Foreign Minister has given assurances that it would not be used for military purposes.
The EU is forcing Sweden to implement the Data Retention Directive!
The headlines vanished and were replaced by a series of short text messages:
Message received 03/04 09.55:
New job, heres my new number. Call me! /Becca
Message received 12/04 14.55:
Why dont you ever answer your phone? /Becca
Message received 02/05 16.39:
Tried to visit you again. The TV was on. Why didnt you open the door? /Becca
Message sent 06/05 22.02:
Hi Mangalito, are you back? /HP
Message received 14/05 21.13:
Where are you, Henke? Are you okay? Please, call me! /Becca
Message sent 15/05 03.11:
Manga, call me need to talk pronto! /HP
Message received 23/05 18.36:
Henke, please get in touch!!! /Becca
Just as he realized he was reading his own text traffic, the messages disappeared from the screen and were replaced by moving images.
A familiar figure snatching an umbrella from a bag.
CUT
A cortege of horses and carriages riding through Stockholm.
CUT
A dark-clad figure on a moped.
CUT
An unmarked police car rolling over in slow motion.
CUT
An isolated cottage in flames.
CUT
Desert ravens circling above sand dunes.
Then, finally:
The silhouette of an elderly man against a snowy forest glade full of flickering lanterns.
The screen suddenly went dark. But still HP couldnt tear his eyes away. He was still kneeling motionless in front of the computer, holding his breath and waiting. When the message finally appeared he almost pissed himself:
Time to decide, Henrik!
This is your final task.
Do you want to play a Game?
Yes
or
No?
5
Ghosts from the past
Obviously she ought to try to get hold of him. He was her brother, after all. Tell Stigsson where he could stick his damn rulebook …
But shed actually already tried. It felt like shed been chasing him all spring, calling, texting, even going round to the flat and knocking on the door a few times. He was still there, she was sure of that. The flat had smelled lived in, not musty the way it had during the months hed been away.
A couple of times she had seen the flickering light of the television from out in the street, but he still hadnt opened the door.
And at some point last winter he must have changed the locks, because her spare keys no longer worked. He was angry with her. And she knew why …
He didnt like the fact that she was in touch with Tage Sammer. He knew perfectly well why she liked the old man, and for exactly the same reason Henke was obliged to hate him, without even giving him a chance.
Uncle Tage reminded them both of Dad …
But even if Henke was an obstinate fool, she still had to try to help him.
Do her best to save him from himself.
She looked up the number in her contacts, hesitated a couple of seconds, then pressed call.
It was a stupid idea. But she had no choice …
He answered after the first ring:
Personal protection unit, Runeberg!
Hi Ludvig, its Rebecca. Sorry to call so early but I took a chance that you might be at work …
Normén, hi! Quite right, theres no time to rest up here at the moment. As you know, weve got our hands full. Are you calling to say youve changed your mind? Keen to get back to the mother ship?
Runebergs voice sounded the same as usual, which made what she wanted to say somewhat easier.
Not quite. Im still thinking about it, she lied. I wanted to ask you for a favour, Ludvig … Its a rather sensitive matter.
Mmm.
She thought she could hear his office chair creak as he rearranged his great bulk.
Its about my brother …
Call my mobile in ten minutes. The tone of his voice suddenly sounded very different.
W-what … ?
But he had already hung up.
For the third time in five minutes he nudged the blinds apart and peered down at the dimly lit street. Everything looked okay, but he was still certain he was being watched. One hundred percent utterly and absolutely certain …
Every movement, every website hed visited, all his text messages. They had been watching everything, in spite of all his precautions. They were playing with him, trying to fuck with his head.
And doing a pretty good job of it …
He let go of the blinds, walked round the sofa, once, then again. Then he sat down, drumming his fingers on one knee before noticing a fingernail he hadnt yet managed to ruin completely. The plan, in so far as he had actually had one, hadnt envisaged this scenario.
Not by a long shot!
And hed been trying to convince himself that they had forgotten about him …
Epic fucking fail!
He had to get out of the flat, at once, before he started climbing the walls. It was just past seven in the morning, and ordinarily it would be several hours before he tumbled out of bed. But his experience in the library seemed to have opened all the floodgates in his head. His mind was still full of fragmentary images. As if he had dreamed an entire film with a beginning, a middle and an ending, but could now only remember a few scenes. Memento sequences that he couldnt piece together no matter how hard his aching brain tried.