The Redbreast(25)

think I’ve gone mad, Edvard? What would I want

with Daniel’s body?’

Edvard took the last two drags of the cigarette,

dropped the end in the snow and trod it in with his

boot. He always did that, he didn’t know why, but

he couldn’t stand the sight of smoking cigarette

ends. The snow gave with a groan as he twisted his

heel.

‘No, I don’t think you dragged Daniel here,’

Edvard said. ‘Because I don’t think it’s Daniel.’

Dale and Gudbrand recoiled.

‘Of course it’s Daniel,’ Gudbrand said.

‘Or someone with the same build,’ Edvard said.

‘And the same unit insignia on the uniform.’

‘The sacking . . .’

‘So you can see a difference in the sacking, can

you?’ Edvard jeered, but it was Gudbrand he was

watching.

‘It’s Daniel,’ Gudbrand said with a swallow. ‘I

recognise the boots.’

‘So you think we should just call the corpse-

bearers and ask them to take him away again, do

you?’ Edvard asked. ‘Without taking a closer look.

That was what you were counting on, wasn’t it?’

‘Go to hell, Edvard!’

‘I’m not so sure it’s my turn this time, Gudbrand.

Take off the sacking, Dale.’

Dale gaped at the other two, who were glowering

at each other like two rampant bulls.

‘Do you hear me?’ Edvard shouted. ‘Cut away the

sacking!’

‘I’d prefer not to —’

‘It’s an order. This minute!’

Dale continued to hesitate. He looked from one to

the other and at the rigid corpse on the ammunition

chests. Then he shrugged his shoulders, unbuttoned

his jacket and put his hand inside.

‘Wait!’ Edvard shouted. ‘Ask if you can borrow

Gudbrand’s bayonet.’ Now Dale really was at sea.

He looked quizzically at Gudbrand, who was

shaking his head.

‘What do you mean?’ Edvard asked, still face to

face with Gudbrand. ‘Your standing orders are that

you must always carry a bayonet, and you don’t

have one on you?’

Gudbrand didn’t answer.

‘You, the ultimate killing machine with a bayonet,

Gudbrand. You haven’t simply lost it, have you?’

Gudbrand still didn’t answer. ‘In that case, yes,

you’ll have to use your own, Dale.’

Gudbrand felt an irrepressible urge to tear the

large staring eye out of the section leader’s head.

Rottenführer, that’s what he was! Or rather a ‘Rat-

führer’. A rat with a rat’s eyes and a rat’s brain.

Didn’t he understand anything?

They heard a ripping noise behind them as the

bayonet cut through the sacking, then a gasp from

Dale. Both men whirled round. There, in the red

light of the dawning day, a white face with a

hideous grin stared up at them with a third black

gaping eye in the forehead. It was Daniel alright,

no question about it.

14

Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 4

November 1999.

BERNT BRANDHAUG LOOKED AT HIS WATCH AND

FROWNED. Eighty-two seconds, seven more than

usual. Then he strode over the threshold to the

meeting room, sang out his hearty ‘Good morning’

and smiled his famous white smile to the four faces

turned towards him.

Kurt Meirik, POT, sat on one side of the table

with Rakel (complete with unbecoming hairslide,

power suit and severe expression). It struck him

that the suit seemed a little too expensive for a

secretary. He still held to his intuition that she was

divorced, but perhaps she had married well. Or

did she have wealthy parents? The fact that she

was here again, at a meeting that Brandhaug had

signalled should take place in total privacy,

suggested she was higher up in POT than he had at

first assumed. He determined to find out more

about her.

Anne Størksen sat on the other side of the table

with the tall, thin Crime Squad boss, what was his

name? First of all it took him more than eighty

seconds to get to the meeting room, and now he

couldn’t remember a name – was he getting old?

He hadn’t even thought this through to the end

when the previous night’s events came back into

his mind. He had invited Lise, the young Foreign

Office probationer, out to what he called a little

working lunch. Afterwards he offered her a drink

at the Continental Hotel where, under the auspices

of the Foreign Office, he had a permanent room at

his disposal for meetings which required a little

more discretion. Lise had not been difficult to ask

out, she was an ambitious girl. But it had gone

badly. A one-off, a drink too many perhaps, but

surely he wasn’t getting too old. Brandhaug shoved