Gudbrand panicked of course, but fortunately
Daniel acted swiftly.
I grabbed the keys from the other two bedrooms,
and one of them fitted the room where Even was
hanging. I put it on the floor inside the door, took
out the original key from the lock and used it to
lock the door from the outside. Then I switched it
with the key that didn’t fit and left that one in the
lock. Finally, I put the original key in the other
bedroom door. It was done in a few seconds.
Then I calmly walked down to the ground floor
and called Harry Hole’s mobile.
And the very next moment he strolled in.
Although I could feel the laughter bubbling up
inside me, I think I managed to put on a look of
surprise, probably because I was a little
surprised. In fact, I had seen one of the
policemen before. That night in the Palace
Gardens. But I don’t think he recognised me.
Perhaps it was Daniel he saw today. And, YES, I
remembered to wipe the fingerprints off the keys.
‘Harry! What are you doing here? Is something
up?’
‘Listen, get through on your walkie-talkie to . . .’
‘Hey?’
Bolteløkka School drum band was marching past.
‘I said to . . .’ Harry shouted.
‘What?’ shouted Halvorsen.
Harry snatched the walkie-talkie out of his hand.
‘Listen carefully, everyone out there. Keep your
eyes peeled for a man, seventy years old, one
metre seventy-five, blue eyes, white hair. He’s
probably armed, repeat armed, and extremely
dangerous. There is reason to suspect an
assassination attempt, so check open windows and
roofs in the area. I repeat . . .’
Harry repeated the message while Halvorsen
stared at him with his mouth hanging open. When
Harry had finished he threw the walkie-talkie back
to him.
‘Now it’s your job to get 17 May cancelled,
Halvorsen.’
‘What did you say?’
‘You’re on duty.I look like someone ...who’s
been on the piss. They won’t listen to me.’
Halvorsen’s stare focused on Harry’s unshaven
chin, the badly buttoned, creased shirt and the
sockless feet in shoes.
‘Who’s they?’
‘Have you still not understood what I’m talking
about yet?’ Harry roared, pointing upwards with a
quivering finger.
103
Oslo. 17 May 2000.
THIS MORNING. A RANGE OF FOUR-HUNDRED METRES. I
HAVE managed that before. The gardens will be
fresh and green, so full of life, so devoid of death.
But I have cleared the way for the bullet. A dead
tree without foliage. The bullet will come from
the sky, like God’s finger it will point out the
offspring of the traitor, and everyone will see
what He does to those who are not pure of heart.
The traitor said he loved his country, but he left
it, he left us to save it from the intruders from the
east and then branded us traitors afterwards.
Halvorsen ran towards the Palace entrance while
Harry remained in the open square, walking round
in circles like a drunk. It would take a few minutes
to clear the royal balcony. Important men would
have to make decisions first which they would
have to answer for. You didn’t cancel 17 May
simply because a policeman from the sticks had
been chatting to a dubious colleague. His gaze
swept the crowd, up and down, without quite
knowing what he was looking for.
It would come from the sky.
He looked up. The green trees. So devoid of
death. They were so tall and the foliage was so
dense that even with good rifle sights it would be
impossible to shoot from neighbouring houses.
Harry closed his eyes. His lips moved. Help me
now, Ellen.
I have cleared the way.
Why had they been so surprised, the two Palace
gardeners, when he was walking by yesterday?
The tree. It didn’t have any leaves. He opened his
eyes again, looked across the treetops and there it
was: the dead brown oak. Harry felt his heart
begin to thump. He turned, almost knocked over a
drum major and ran up towards the Palace. When
he reached the direct line between the balcony and
the tree, he stopped. His eyes followed the line to
the tree. Behind the naked branches towered a
frozen blue giant made of glass. The SAS Hotel. Of
course. So easy. One bullet. No one would notice a
single gunshot on 17 May. Then he strolls calmly
into a busy reception area and out into the crowded
streets where he will vanish. And then? What
happens after that?
Couldn’t think about that now; had to act. Had to
act. But he was so tired. Instead of excitement
Harry felt a sudden urge to get away, to go home,
to lie down and sleep and wake up to a new day in
which all of this was a dream. He was roused by
the sirens from a passing ambulance in