difference how many there were, however, because it was total mayhem when he and Joakim shone their torches and yelled through their home-made megaphones. They followed the same principles as wolves hunting reindeer: they picked out the smallest and weakest. But it was the arrest-the cornering of the prey-which fascinated Tom, the punishment which appealed to Joakim, whose creativity in this area had advanced so far that Tom occasionally had to stop him. Not because Tom felt any sympathy for the thieves, but because, unlike Joakim, he could keep a clear head and assess the consequences. Tom often thought it was not chance that brought him and Joakim together as it had. He was now a deputy judge on the Oslo Law Court circuit with a glittering career beckoning.
When Tom applied to join the police force, what had attracted him was the thought of arrests. Tom's father had wanted him to study medicine, or theology as he had done. Tom achieved the best grades in his school, so why a policeman? It was important for your self-esteem to have a decent education, his father had said, and told him about his elder brother who worked in an ironmonger's selling screws and hating everyone because he felt he wasn't as good as they were.
Tom had listened to the admonitions with the wry smile he knew his father loathed. What his father worried about wasn't Tom's self-esteem, it was what the neighbours and relatives thought about his only son becoming a 'mere' policeman. His father had never understood that you could hate people even though you were better than they were. Because you were better.
He checked his watch. Thirteen minutes past six. He pressed one of the bells on the ground floor.
'Hello,' said a woman's voice.
'It's the police,' Waaler said. 'Could you open up for us?'
'How do I know you're the police?'
A Paki, Waaler thought, and asked her to take a peep out of the window at the police cars. The lock buzzed.
'And stay indoors,' he said to the intercom.
Waaler placed one man at the back of the house by the fire escape. After looking at the drawings of the apartment block on the Intranet, he had memorised where Harry's flat was and discovered there was no back staircase to worry about.
Each armed with an MP5 across their shoulders, Waaler and two men crept up the worn, wooden stairs. On the second floor, Waaler stopped and pointed to the door that didn't have-and had hardly ever needed-a nameplate. He eyed the two others. Their chests heaved under their uniforms. And not because of the stairs.
They put on balaclavas. The keywords were speed, efficiency and resolve. The latter actually meant the resolve to be brutal, and if necessary, to kill. That was seldom necessary. On the whole, even hardened criminals were totally paralysed when masked, armed men entered without warning. In short, they used the same tactics as bank robbers.
Waaler steadied himself and nodded to one of the others, who gently touched the door with two knuckles. That was in order to be able to write in the report that they had knocked first. Waaler smashed the glass panel with the barrel of his machine gun, reached a hand through and opened the door in one movement. He yelled as they stormed the apartment. A vowel or the first letter of a word, he wasn't sure. He just knew it was the same thing he used to yell when he and Joakim switched on their torches. That was the best bit.
'Potato dumpling,' Maja said, taking his plate and giving Harry a reproachful look. 'You haven't touched it.'
'Sorry,' Harry said. 'No appetite. Pay my respects to the chef and tell him it wasn't his fault. This time.'
Maja laughed out loud and headed for the kitchen.
'Maja…'
She turned round slowly. There was something in Harry's voice, in his intonation which presaged what was coming.
'Bring me a beer, would you?'
She continued towards the kitchen. It's none of my business, she thought. I just serve customers. Nothing to do with me.
'What's up, Maja?' the cook asked as she emptied the plate into the bin.
'It's not my life,' she said. 'It's his. The fool.'
The telephone in Beate's office gave a reedy squeak and she took the receiver. She heard the sound of voices, laughter and the clink of glasses. Then came the voice.
'Am I disturbing?'
For a second she was uncertain. His voice sounded alien. But it couldn't be anyone else. 'Harry?'
'What are you up to?'
'I…I'm checking the Net for clues. Harry-'
'So you've put the video of the Grensen bank job on the Net?'
'Yes, but you-'
'There are a couple of things I have to tell you, Beate. Arne Albu-'
'Fine, but listen to me now.'
'You sound a bit stressed, Beate.'
'I am!' Her shout crackled over the telephone. Then-calmer: 'They're after you, Harry. I tried to ring and warn you after they had left, but no one was at home.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Tom Waaler. He's got a warrant out on you.'
'Eh? Am I going to be arrested?'
Now Beate knew what was different about Harry's voice. He had been drinking. She gulped. 'Tell me where you are, Harry, and I'll come and get you. Then we can say you gave yourself up. I don't know what this is all about yet, but I'll help you, Harry. I promise. Harry? Don't do anything stupid, OK? Hello?'
She sat listening to voices, laughter and clinking glasses, then footsteps and a woman's hoarse voice: 'This is Maja at Schrшder's.'
'Where…?'
'He's gone.'
35
SOS
Vigdis Albu woke up to Gregor barking outside. the rain was drumming on the roof. She looked at her watch. Half past seven. She must have dropped off. The glass in front of her was empty, the house was empty, everything was empty. That wasn't how she had planned things.
She got up, went over to the patio door and watched Gregor. He was facing the gate with his ears and tail pointing directly upwards. What should she do? Give him away? Have him put to sleep? Not even the children had any strong feelings for this over-active, nervous creature. The plan, yes. She glanced at the half-empty gin bottle on the glass table. It was time to devise a new one.
Gregor's barking rent the air. Woof, woof! Arne had said he found the irritating noise reassuring; it gave you a vague sense that someone was alert. He said dogs could smell enemies because ill-wishers gave off a different scent from friends. She decided she would ring a vet tomorrow; she was sick of paying upkeep for a dog which barked every time she came into the room.
She inched open the patio door and listened. Through the baying of the dog and the rain she could hear the gravel crunching. She just managed to throw a brush through her hair and wipe away a streak of mascara under her
