The Redeemer(142)

He put down the receiver. 'Total Band Aid atmosphere out there. Everything on two legs is ready to roll. I've never seen anything like it.'

'Mm,' Harry said. 'Still no sign of Jon Karlsen?'

'Zilch. All we know is that his girlfriend, Thea, says they agreed to meet this evening at the concert hall. They're supposed to be sitting in the VIP box.'

Harry consulted his watch. 'Then Stankic has an hour and a half to see if he can finish off the job.'

'How do you make that out?'

'I phoned the concert hall. All the tickets were sold out four weeks ago, and they won't let anyone in without a ticket, not even to the foyer. In other words, once Jon is inside he's safe. Ring and check whether Torkildsen is on tap at Telenor. If he is, ask him to trace Karlsen's mobile phone. Oh, and make sure we have enough police outside the concert hall, armed and with a description of Stankic. Then call the Prime Minister's Office and make them aware of the extra security measures.'

'Me?' Skarre said. 'The . . . Prime Minister's Office?'

'Do it,' Harry said. 'You're a big boy now.'

From the office telephone Harry called one of the six numbers he knew off by heart.

The other five were: Sis's, his parents' house in Oppsal, Halvorsen's mobile, Bjarne Møller's old private number and Ellen Gjelten's disconnected number.

'Rakel here.'

'It's me.' He heard an intake of breath.

'I thought so.'

'Why?'

'Because I was thinking about you.' She chuckled. 'That's just the way it is. Don't you think?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'I wondered about meeting Oleg tomorrow,' he said. 'As we discussed.'

'Great!' she said. 'He'll be so pleased. Will you come here and pick him up?' On hearing his hesitation, she added, 'We're alone.'

Harry both wanted and didn't want to ask what she meant by that.

'I'll try to be there around six,' he said.


According to Klaus Torkildsen, Jon Karlsen's mobile phone was located to the east of Oslo, in Haugerud or Høybråten.

'That's not much help,' Harry said.

After pacing the floors for an hour, from office to office, to hear how the others were getting on, Harry put on his jacket and said he was off to the concert hall.

He parked in a restricted area down one of the small streets around Victoria terrasse, walked past the Ministry for Foreign Affairs and down the broad steps to Ruseløkkveien and took a right to the concert hall.

In the large, open square in front of the glass facade people dressed in formal attire were hurrying through the biting sub-zero temperatures. By the entrance stood two broad-shouldered men wearing black coats and earpieces. And there were six further uniformed policemen standing at intervals in front of the building and receiving curious looks from shivering concert-goers unaccustomed to seeing Oslo police with machine guns.

Harry recognised Sivert Falkeid in one of the uniforms and went over to him.

'I didn't know Delta had been drafted in.'

'We haven't been,' Falkeid said. 'I rang the police station and asked if we could be of help. He was your partner, wasn't he?'

Harry nodded, took out a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket and offered one to Falkeid, who shook his head.

'Jon Karlsen hasn't turned up yet?'

'No,' Falkeid said. 'And when the Prime Minister's here we won't be letting anyone else in the VIP box.' At that moment two black cars swung into the square. 'Speak of the devil.'

Harry watched the Prime Minister emerging and being led briskly inside. As the front door opened Harry caught a glimpse of the reception committee. He saw David Eckhoff with a broad smile and Thea Nilsen with not such a big smile, both wearing Salvation Army uniforms.

Harry lit his cigarette.

'Fuck, it's cold,' Falkeid said. 'I've lost feeling in both legs and half my head.'

I envy you, thought Harry.

With the cigarette half smoked the inspector said aloud: 'He's not coming.'

'Looks like that. We'll have to hope he hasn't already found Karlsen.'

'It's Karlsen I'm talking about. He knows the game's up.'

Falkeid glanced at the tall detective whom, at one time, before the rumours of drinking and unruliness came to his ears, he had considered Delta material. 'What sort of game?' he asked.

'Long story. I'm going in. If Jon Karlsen turns up, arrest him.'

'Karlsen?' Falkeid looked perplexed. 'What about Stankic?'

Harry let go of his cigarette, which fell in the snow at his feet with a hiss.

'Yes,' he drawled, as though to himself. 'What about Stankic?'


He sat in the dark fingering the coat he had spread across his lap. Hushed harp music issued forth from the speakers. Small cones of light from the spotlights in the ceiling swept across the audience, the purpose of which he assumed was to create a quiver of anticipation for what was to take place onstage in a short while.

The rows in front of him began to stir as a group of a dozen or so guests appeared. A few people attempted to get to their feet but after some whispering and mumbling they sat down again. In this country it seemed you didn't show respect for politically elected leaders in that particular way. The company was ushered to seats three rows in front of him, which had been unoccupied for the half-hour he had been sitting and waiting.