The Redbreast(174)

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