The Redeemer(114)

'You ask as though you already know,' she said.

'Robert Karlsen,' Harry said, rubbing his face hard with his palms. 'And he gave you the envelope with the instructions on 12 October.'

She raised one of her elegantly plucked eyebrows.

'We found his plane ticket.' Harry was frozen. The wind was blowing through him as though he were a mere apparition. 'And on his return he unwittingly took the place of the person he had helped to sentence to death. You could kill yourself laughing, couldn't you.'

She did not answer.

'What I don't understand,' Harry said, 'is why your son didn't abort the mission when he saw on the TV or read in the paper that he had in fact killed the person who was to hand over the cash.'

'He is never told who the client is, nor what the victim's crime is,' she said. 'It's best like that.'

'So he can't reveal anything if he's caught?'

'So he doesn't have to think. So he can just do the job and rely on me having made the correct judgement.'

'Moral as well as financial?'

She shrugged. 'In this case, of course, it would have been an advantage if he had known names. The problem is that my son hasn't contacted us since the killing. I don't know why.'

'He doesn't dare,' Harry said.

She closed her eyes, and Harry saw the muscles in her narrow face moving.

'You wanted me to withdraw the operative as my part of the deal,' she said. 'Now you know it isn't possible. However, I have told you the name of the person who gave us the contract. Will you still keep your part of the deal, Harry? Will you save my boy?'

Harry did not answer. The crow took off from the branch and drops of water rained down onto the gravel in front of them.

'Do you think your boy would have stopped if he had known the odds were stacked against him?' Harry asked.

She gave a wry smile. Then shook her head gloomily.

'Why not?'

'Because he is fearless and stubborn. He takes after his father.'

Harry studied the lean woman with the erect posture and concluded he wasn't so sure about the latter. 'Say goodbye to Fred. I'll take a taxi to the airport.'

She examined her hands. 'Do you believe in God, Harry?'

'No.'

'Yet you swore in His sight that you would save my son.'

'Yes,' Harry said, standing up.

She remained seated and looked up at him. 'Are you the kind of man who keeps his promises?'

'Not always.'

'You don't believe in God,' she said. 'Nor in your own word. What's left then?'

He pulled his jacket around him more tightly.

'Tell me what you believe in, Harry.'

'I believe in the next promise,' he said, turning to squint down the broad avenue of weekend Sunday traffic. 'People can keep a promise even though they broke the last one. I believe in new starts. I may not have said this . . .' He waved down a car cruising with a blue sign. 'But that's why I'm in this business.'

In the taxi Harry realised that he had no cash on him. He was told that there were ATMs that took Visa cards at Pleso Airport. Harry sat fingering the twenty-kroner coin the whole way. Thoughts of the spinning coin on the floor of the bar and the first drink on board wrestled for supremacy.


It was daylight outside when Jon awoke to the sound of a car turning into Østgård. He lay contemplating the ceiling. It had been a long, cold night and he had not slept much.

'Who's that?' asked Thea, who had been fast asleep a moment ago. He could hear the anxiety in her voice.

'Probably relief for the policeman,' Jon said. The motor died and two car doors were opened and closed. Two people then. But no voices. Silent police. From the sitting room, where the policeman had set himself up, they heard a knock on the front door. Once. Twice.

'Isn't he going to open up?' Thea whispered.

'Shh,' Jon said. 'Perhaps he's outside. Perhaps he went to the outside loo.'

There was a third knock. Loud.

'I'll go,' Jon said.

'Wait!' she said.

'We have to let them in,' Jon said, scrambling over her and putting on his clothes.

He opened the sitting-room door. In the ashtray on the coffee table there was a smoking cigarette and on the sofa a discarded rug. Another knock. Jon peered out of the window, but couldn't see the car. Strange. He stood in front of the door.

'Who is it?' he shouted, no longer so sure of himself.

'Police,' said a voice from outside.

Jon might have been mistaken, but he thought he detected an unusual accent.

He jumped when there was another knock. He stretched out a trembling hand to the door handle. Then he took a deep breath and wrenched open the door.

It was like being hit by a wall of water as an icy wind swept in and the sharp, blinding light of the low morning sun made him squint at the two silhouettes on the steps.

'Are you the relief ?' Jon asked.

'No,' said a woman's voice he recognised. 'It's over now.'

'It's over?' Jon asked in surprise, shielding his eyes with his hand. 'Ah, it's you, is it?'

'Yes, you can pack. We'll drive you home,' she said.