The Redbreast(14)

which, balanced atop a pile of papers, a coffee

machine was coughing up a viscous substance.

‘Thanks boss, but I —’

It was too late and Harry took the steaming cup.

‘I’m especially looking forward to a visit from

the Secret Service, with whom I’m sure we will

have a cordial relationship as we get to know each

other better.’

Møller had never quite learned to handle irony.

That was just one of the things Harry appreciated

about his boss.

Møller drew in his knees until they supported the

bottom of the table. Harry leaned back to get the

crumpled pack of Camels from his trouser pocket

and raised an enquiring eyebrow at Møller, who

quickly took the hint and pushed the brimming

ashtray towards him.

‘I’ll be responsible for security along the roads to

and from Gardemoen. As well as the President,

there will be Barak —’

‘Barak?’

‘Ehud Barak. Prime Minister of Israel.’

‘Jeez, so there’s another fantastic Oslo agreement

on the way, then?’ Møller stared despondently at

the blue column of smoke rising to the ceiling.

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it, Harry.

Or I’ll be even more worried about you than I

already am. It was on all the front pages last

week.’

Harry shrugged.

‘Unreliable paper boy. Inflicting serious gaps in

my general knowledge. A grave handicap to my

social life.’ He took another cautious sip of coffee,

but then gave up and pushed it away. ‘And my love

life.’

‘Really?’ Møller eyed Harry with an expression

suggesting he didn’t know whether to relish or

dread what was coming next.

‘Of course. Who would find a man in his mid-

thirties, who knows all the details about the lives

of the people on The Robinson Expedition but can

hardly name any head of state, or the Israeli

President, sexy?’

‘Prime Minister.’

‘There you are. Now you know what I mean.’

Møller stifled a laugh. He had a tendency to laugh

too easily. And a soft spot for the somewhat

anguished officer with big ears that stuck out from

the close-cropped cranium like two colourful

butterfly wings. Even though Harry had caused

Møller more trouble than was good for him. As a

newly promoted PAS he had learned that the first

commandment for a civil servant with career plans

was to guard your back. When Møller cleared his

throat to put the worrying questions he had made

up his mind to ask, and dreaded asking, he first of

all knitted his eyebrows to show Harry that his

concern was of a professional and not an amicable

nature.

‘I hear you’re still spending your time sitting in

Schrøder’s, Harry.’

‘Less than ever, boss. There’s so much good stuff

on TV.’

‘But you’re still sitting and drinking?’

‘They don’t like you to stand.’

‘Cut it out. Are you drinking again?’

‘Minimally.’

‘How minimally?’

‘They’ll throw me out if I drink any less.’

This time Møller couldn’t hold back his laughter.

‘I need three liaison officers to secure the road,’ he

said. ‘Each will have ten men at their disposal

from various police districts in Akershus, plus a

couple of cadets from the final year at police

college. I thought Tom Waaler . . .’

Waaler. Racist bastard and directly in line for the

soon-to-be-announced inspector’s job. Harry had

heard enough about Waaler’s professional

activities to know that they confirmed all the

prejudices the public might have about the police.

Apart from one: unfortunately Waaler was not

stupid. His successes as a detective were so

impressive that even Harry had to concede he

deserved the inevitable promotion.

‘And Weber . . .’

‘The old sourpuss?’

‘. . . and you, Harry.’

‘Say that again?’

‘You heard me.’

Harry pulled a face.

‘Have you any objections?’ Møller asked.

‘Of course I have.’

‘Why? This is an honourable mission, Harry. A

feather in your cap.’

‘Is it?’ Harry stabbed out his cigarette furiously

in the ashtray. ‘Or is it the next stage in the

rehabilitation process?’

‘What do you mean?’ Bjarne Møller looked

wounded.

‘I know that you defied good advice and had a

run-in with a few people when you took me back

into the fold after Bangkok. And I’m eternally

grateful to you for that. But what is this? Liaison

Officer? Sounds like an attempt to prove to the