Phantom(139)
The policeman nodded and the old man took out his hand and held up an opened pack.
‘You speak good Norwegian.’
‘Tiny bit better than I speak Swedish. But as a Norwegian you can’t hear the accent when I speak Swedish.’
Harry took one of the black cigarettes. Studied it.
‘The Russian accent, you mean?’
‘Sobranie Black Russian,’ the old man said. ‘The only decent cigarettes to be found in Russia. Produced in Ukraine now. I usually steal them from Andrey. Speaking of Andrey, how is he?’
‘Bad,’ the policeman said, allowing the old man to light his cigarette for him.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Speaking of bad, you should be dead, Harry. I know you were in the tunnel when I opened the sluices.’
‘I was.’
‘The sluices opened at the same time and the water towers were full. You should have been washed into the middle.’
‘I was.’
‘Then I don’t understand. Most suffer from shock and drown in the middle.’
The policeman exhaled the smoke from a corner of his mouth. ‘Like the Resistance fighters who went after the Gestapo boss?’
‘I don’t know if they ever tested his trap in a real retreat.’
‘But you did. With the undercover officer.’
‘He was just like you, Harry. Men who think they have a calling are dangerous. Both to themselves and their environment. You should have drowned like him.’
‘But as you see, I’m still here.’
‘I still don’t understand how that’s possible. Are you claiming that having been battered by the water you still had enough air in your lungs to swim eighty metres in ice-cold water through a narrow tunnel, fully clothed?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ The old man smiled. He seemed genuinely curious.
‘No, I had too little air in my lungs. But I had enough for forty metres.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I was saved.’
‘Saved? By whom?’
‘By the man you said was good, deep down.’ Harry held up the empty whiskey bottle. ‘Jim Beam.’
‘You were saved by whiskey?’
‘A bottle of whiskey.’
‘An empty bottle of whiskey?’
‘On the contrary, a full bottle.’
Harry put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, unscrewed the cap, held the bottle over his head.
‘Full of air.’
The old man gave a look of disbelief. ‘You …?’
‘The biggest problem after emptying my lungs of air in the water was to put my mouth to the bottle, tilt it so the neck was pointing upwards, and I could inhale. It’s like diving for the first time. Your body protests. Because your body has a limited knowledge of physics and thinks it will suck in water and drown. Did you know that the lungs can take four litres of air? Well, a whole bottle of air and a bit of determination were enough to swim another forty metres.’ The policeman put down the bottle, removed his cigarette and looked at it sceptically. ‘The Germans should have made a slightly longer tunnel.’
Harry watched the old man. Saw the furrowed old face split. Heard him laugh. It sounded like the chug-chug of a boat.
‘I knew you were different, Harry. They told me you would come back to Oslo when you heard about Oleg. So I made enquiries. And I know now the rumours did not exaggerate.’
‘Well,’ Harry said, keeping an eye on the priest’s folded hands. Sat on the edge of the bed with both feet on the floor, ready as it were, with so much weight on his toes that he could feel the thin nylon cord beneath his shoe. ‘What about you, Rudolf? Do the rumours exaggerate in your case?’
‘Which ones?’
‘Well, for example, the ones saying you ran a heroin network in Gothenburg and killed a policeman there.’
‘Sounds like it’s me who has to confess and not you, eh?’
‘Thought it would be good to unburden your sins onto Jesus before you die.’
More chug-chug laughter. ‘Good one, Harry! Good one! Yes, we had to eliminate him. He was our burner, and I had a feeling he was not reliable. And I couldn’t go back to prison. There’s a stale dampness that eats away at your soul, the way mould eats walls. Every day takes another chunk. Your human side is consumed, Harry. It’s something I would only wish on my worst enemy.’ He looked at Harry. ‘An enemy I hate above all else.’
‘You know why I came back to Oslo. What was your reason? I thought Sweden was as good a market as Norway.’
‘Same as you, Harry.’
‘Same?’
Rudolf Asayev took a drag of the black cigarette before answering. ‘Forget it. The police were on my heels after the murder. And it’s strange how far away you are from Sweden in Norway, despite the proximity.’