well.
But dressing badly, Harry thought, looking down at his limp, faded jogging bottoms, which he had to keep hitching up because of the mobile phone hanging on the waistband. And his tired Adidas trainers were neither new enough to be modern or old enough to be trendy again. The Joy Division T-shirt which had once held some kind of street cred just sent out the signal that he hadn't been following what was happening on the music scene for a number of years. But Harry didn't feel completely-completely-in the cold until his phone began to bleep and he noticed that seventeen reproachful pairs of eyes, including the stand-up comic's, were directed at him. He unhooked the tiny black devil's machine from his waistband.
'Hole.'
That don't impress me much again. 'It's Juul. Am I disturbing?’
‘No, it's just music'
'You're wheezing like a walrus. Ring me back when it's more convenient.'
'It's convenient now. I'm at the gym.'
Alright. I have good news. I've read your report from Johannesburg. Why didn't you say he'd been to Sennheim?'
'Uriah? Is that important? I wasn't even sure I had the name right. I looked for it on a map of Germany but I couldn't find any Sennheim.'
'The answer to your question is yes, it is important. If you've been in any doubt as to whether he fought at the front, you can be reassured now. It's one hundred per cent certain. Sennheim is a little place and the only Norwegians I've heard of who have been there went during the war. To the training camp before leaving for the Eastern Front. The reason you didn't find Sennheim on a map of Germany is because it isn't in Germany, but in French Alsace.’
‘Yes, but…'
'Alsace has alternated between being French and German throughout its history, that's why they speak German there. The fact that our man has been to Sennheim reduces the number of potential candidates drastically. You see, only men from the Nordland and Norge regiments received their training there. And even better -1 can give you the name of a person who was in Sennheim and would almost certainly be willing to help.'
'Really?'
A soldier from the Nordland regiment who fought at the front. He joined us in the Resistance as a volunteer in 1944.’
‘Wow.'
'He grew up on a remote farm with his parents and elder brothers, who were all fanatical NS people, and was forced to sign up for service at the front. He himself was never a convinced Nazi, and in 1943 he deserted near Leningrad. He was briefly in Russian captivity and fought alongside the Russians before managing to get back to Norway via Sweden.'
'Did you trust a soldier from the Eastern Front?'
Juul laughed. 'Absolutely.'
'Why are you laughing?'
'It's a long story'
'I've got plenty of time.'
'We ordered him to eliminate a member of his family'
Harry stopped pedalling. Juul cleared his throat.
'When we found him in Nordmarka, just north of Ullevalseter, at first we didn't believe his story. We thought he was an infiltrator and we were of a mind to shoot him. We had connections in the Oslo police archives, which meant that we could check his story, and it turned out in fact that he had been reported missing at the front. He was presumed to have deserted. His family background checked out and he had papers showing he was who he said he was. All of this could have been fabricated by the Germans, of course, so we decided to put him to the test.'
Pause.
'And?'
'We hid him in a hut, away from both us and the Germans. Someone suggested that we should order him to eliminate one of his brothers in the Nasjonal Samling. The main idea was to see how he would react. He didn't say a word when we gave him the orders, but the next day he was gone when we went down to his hut. We were sure he had backed out, but two days later he reappeared. He said he had been to the family farm in Gudbrandsdalen. A few days later we received reports from our people up there. One brother had been found in the cowshed, the other in the barn. The parents on the sitting-room floor.
'My God,' Harry said. 'The man must have been out of his mind.'
'Probably. We all were. It was war. Besides, we never talked about it, not then and not since. You shouldn't either…'
'Of course not. Where does he live?'
'Here in Oslo. Holmenkollen, I think.'
'And his name is?'
'Fauke. Sindre Fauke.'
'Great. I'll contact him. Thank you, herr Juul.'
On the TV screen, there was a very close close-up of Poppe sending a tearful greeting home. Harry secured the mobile phone in the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, hitched them up and strode off to the weights room.
Shania Twain remained unimpressed.
39
Gentlemen's Outfitter, Hegdehaugsveien.
2 March 2000.
'Wool quality, super 110,' the shop assistant said, holding the suit jacket for the old man. 'The best. Light and hard-wearing.'
'It will only be worn once,' the old man said with a smile.
'Oh,' she said, slightly nonplussed. 'Well, we have some cheaper -'
He studied himself in the mirror. 'This one is fine.'
'Classic cut,' the shop assistant assured him. 'The most classic cut we have.'
She looked aghast at the old man, who was bent double. 'Are you ill? Shall I…?'
'No, it was a little twinge. It'll go.' The old man straightened up. 'How soon can you have the trousers taken up?'
'By Wednesday next week. If there's no hurry. Do you need them for a special occasion?'
'I do, but Wednesday is fine.'
He paid her in 100-kroner notes.
As he counted them out, she said, 'Well, I can tell you that you will have a suit for the rest of your life.'
His laughter was reverberating in her ears long after he had gone.
40
Holmenkollen. 3 March 2000.
In Hollmenkollveien in Besserud, Harry found the house number he was looking for in the dark, on a large black timbered house beneath some very tall fir trees. A gravel drive led to the house, and Harry drove right up to a level area where he swung round. The idea was to park on the slope, but as he changed down into first gear, the car gave an almighty cough and breathed its last. Harry cursed and turned the ignition key, but the starter motor
