'No, thank you,' Muhammed hissed. 'Take that away this minute. You're insane. Do you think you can take the German on alone?'
Roger shrugged and put the pistol back in his waistband.
'Fred is at home shaking. He said he'll never sober up again.'
'This man is a pro, Roger.'
Roger sniffed. 'And me? I've robbed a few banks, I have. And do you know what the most important thing is, Muhammed? The element of surprise. It means everything.' Roger drained his cup of coffee. 'And I doubt he's much of a fucking pro if he goes around telling every Tom, Dick and Harry which room he's in.'
Muhammed rolled his eyes and crossed himself.
'Allah can see you, Muhammed,' Roger muttered drily and got up.
Roger saw the blonde woman as soon as he entered the reception area. She was sitting with a group of men watching a football match on the TV above the counter. That was right, it was flaflu tonight, the traditional local derby between Flamengo and Fluminese in Rio. That was why Fredo's had been so full.
He quickly walked past them, hoping he hadn't been seen. Ran up the carpeted stairs and continued along the corridor. He knew all too well which room it was. When Petra's husband was due to be out of town on business, Roger reserved room 69.
Roger placed his ear against the door, but heard nothing. He peered through the keyhole, but it was dark inside. Either the German had gone out or he was asleep. Roger swallowed. His heart was pounding, but the broken half of the upper he had taken kept him calm. He checked the pistol was loaded and the catch was off before gently pressing down the handle. The door was open! Roger slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He stood in the dark holding his breath. Neither sight nor sound of anyone. No movements, no breathing. Just the gentle revolutions of the ceiling fan. Fortunately Roger knew the room intimately. He pointed the pistol where he knew the heart-shaped bed to be, as his eyes became used to the dark. A narrow strip of moonlight cast a pale sheen on the bed where the duvet had been thrown aside. Empty. He thought quickly. Could the German have gone out and forgotten to lock up? If so, Roger could just settle down and wait until the German returned to be a target in the doorway. It all seemed too good to be true, like a bank which had forgotten to activate the time lock. It just doesn't happen. The ceiling fan.
Enlightenment came that very second.
Roger jumped when he heard the sudden sound of flushing water from the bathroom. The guy had been sitting on the toilet! Roger grabbed the pistol with both hands and with outstretched arms pointed it at where he knew the bathroom door was. Five seconds passed. Eight. Roger couldn't hold his breath any longer. What the fuck was the guy waiting for? He had flushed. Twelve seconds. Perhaps he had heard something. Perhaps he was trying to escape. Roger remembered there was a little window in one wall. Shit! This was his chance; he couldn't let the guy get away. Roger crept past the wardrobe containing the dressing gown which looked so good on Petra, stood in front of the bathroom door and rested his hand on the handle. Took a deep breath. He was about to press when he felt a tiny draught. Not from a fan or an open window. It was something else.
'Freeze,' said a voice directly behind him. And after raising his head and looking in the mirror on the bathroom door, Roger did just that. He froze so much his teeth were chattering. The door of the wardrobe had come open and inside, between the white dressing gowns, he could make out a powerfully built figure. But this wasn't what caused the sudden bout of freezing. The psychological effect of discovering someone has a much bigger weapon trained on you than the one you are holding is not diminished by having some understanding of weaponry. On the contrary. You know how much more efficiently large-bore bullets destroy a human body. Roger's Taurus PT92C was a peashooter compared with the large, black monster he glimpsed in the moonlight behind him. A squeaking noise made Roger look up. What seemed to be a fishing line glistened. It went from the crack over the bathroom door to the wardrobe.
'Guten Abend,' Roger whispered.
Six years later, when Roger happened to be waved over to a bar in Pattaya, only to discover Fred behind all the whiskers, he was at first so surprised that he stood there without reacting until Fred pulled over a chair.
Fred ordered drinks and told him he no longer worked in the North Sea. Disability allowance. Roger sat down hesitantly and explained, without going into detail, that for the last six years he had been running a courier business from Chang Rai. After a couple of drinks Fred cleared his throat and asked what had actually taken place the evening Roger suddenly upped sticks from d'Ajuda.
Roger peered into his glass, took a deep breath and said he hadn't had a choice. The German, who incidentally wasn't German, had tricked him and been on the point of dispatching him into the beyond there and then. However, at the last moment Roger had struck a deal with him. Roger would have thirty minutes to clear out of d'Ajuda, if he told him where Lev Grette lived.
'What kind of gun did you say the guy had?' Fred asked.
'Too dark to see. It wasn't a well-known make, anyway. I can promise you, though, it would have blown my head all the way down to Fredo's.' Roger threw a quick glance in the direction of the door.
'I've found a pad here,' Fred said. 'Have you got somewhere to stay?'
Roger looked at Fred as if he hadn't given the idea a moment's thought. He rubbed his stubble for a long time before replying.
'Actually, I haven't.'
27
Edvard Grieg
Lev's house was at the end of a cul-de-sac.It was like most in the vicinity, a simple structure, the difference being that this house did actually have glass in the windows. One solitary streetlamp cast a yellow cone of light over an impressive variety of fauna fighting for living space as gluttonous bats dived in and out of the dark.
'Doesn't look like anyone is at home,' Beate whispered.
'Perhaps he's saving electricity,' Harry said.
They stopped in front of a low, rusty iron gate.
'How do we do this then?' Beate asked. 'Go up and knock on the door?'
'No. You switch on your mobile and wait here. When you can see I'm under the window, ring this number.' He gave her a page torn out of a notebook.
'Why?'
'If I hear a mobile phone ringing inside the house, we can assume Lev is at home.'
'Right. And how were you thinking of arresting him? With that?' She pointed to the black bulky object Harry held in his right hand.
'Why not?' Harry said. 'It worked on Roger Person.'
'He was in a dark room and only saw it in a fairground mirror, Harry.'
'Well, since we aren't allowed to carry weapons in Brazil, we have to use what we have.'
'Like fishing line tied to the loo and a toy?'
'This is not just any toy, Beate. This is a Namco G-Con 45.' He patted the super-lifesize plastic pistol.
'At least take off the Playstation sticker,' Beate said, shaking her head.
Harry undid his shoes and ran stooped across the dry, cracked ground which once had been laid as a lawn. He arrived, sat with his back to the wall under the window and signalled with his hand to Beate. He couldn't see her, but knew she could see him against the white wall. He gazed up at the sky where the universe was on display. Seconds later, the faint but distinct ringtone of a mobile phone sounded in the house. 'In the Hall of the Mountain King'. Peer Gynt. The man had a sense of humour.
Harry focused on one of the stars and tried to empty his head of all other thoughts than what he had to do. He couldn't. Once Aune had asked why we wonder if there is life out there, when we know there are more suns in our galaxy alone than grains of sand on the average beach? We ought to be asking ourselves if there was a chance
