there and then. As a reviewer, Marius’s brief was to reflect ‘new urban values by dealing with popular culture with an irony that was warm, well informed and inclusive’. Such was Runar’s formulation of Marius’s assignment, and for it Marius would be richly rewarded, not in cash, but in free tickets to concerts, films, new bars and access to a milieu where he could make interesting contacts with a view to his future. This was his chance and he needed to be properly prepared. Of course, he had a good general background in pop, but he had borrowed CDs from Runar’s collection to do some further swotting up on the history of popular music. In recent days it had been American rock in the ’80s: R.E.M., Green On Red, Dream Syndicate, Pixies. Right now Violent Femmes was on the CD player. It sounded dated, but energetic.
The girl below got up from her towel. It was probably a little cool. Marius followed her with his eyes towards the neighbouring block. On her way she passed someone walking with a bike. From his clothing he looked like a courier. Marius closed his eyes. He was going to write.
Otto Tangen rubbed his eyes with nicotine-stained fingers. A sense of unease had spread through the bus, though it may have seemed to the outside world like calm. No-one stirred and no-one uttered a word. It was 5.20 and there had not been so much as a movement on one of the screens, just tiny fragments of time spurting by in white digits in the corner. Another drop of sweat rolled down between Otto’s buttocks. Sitting like this you began to have paranoid thoughts, you imagined that someone had been tampering with the equipment and that you were sitting watching a recording from the previous day or something of that kind.
He was drumming his fingers on the table beside the console. That bastard Waaler had banned smoking in the bus.
Otto leaned to the right and squeezed out a silent fart while looking at the guy with the blond shaven skull. He had been sitting in a chair without saying a word ever since he arrived. Looked like a retired bouncer.
‘Doesn’t seem our man’s turning up for work today,’ Otto said. ‘Perhaps he thought it was too hot. Perhaps he postponed it till tomorrow and went for a beer in Aker Brygge instead. They said in the weather report that -’
‘Shut up, Tangen.’
Waaler spoke in a low voice, but it was loud enough.
Otto gave a deep sigh and flexed his shoulders.
The clock in the corner of the screen said 5.21.
‘Has anyone seen the guy in 303 leave?’
It was Waaler’s voice. Otto discovered that Waaler was looking at him.
‘I was asleep this morning,’ he said.
‘I want room 303 checked. Falkeid?’
The head of Special Forces cleared his throat.
‘I don’t consider the risk -’
‘Now, Falkeid.’
The fans cooling the electronics buzzed as Falkeid and Waaler exchanged looks.
Falkeid cleared his throat again.
‘Alpha to Charlie Two. Come in. Over.’
Atmospheric noise.
‘Charlie Two.’
‘Clear 303 right away.’
‘Received. Clearing 303.’
Otto studied the screen. Nothing. Imagine if…
There they were.
Three men. Black uniforms, black balaclavas, black machine guns, black boots. It all happened quickly, but it seemed strangely undramatic. It was the sound. There was no sound.
They didn’t use the smart little explosives to open the door, but an old-fashioned crowbar. Otto was disappointed. Must be the cutbacks.
The soundless men on the screen positioned themselves as if they were starting a race, one with the bar hooked under the lock, the other two one metre behind with their weapons raised. Suddenly they went into action. It was one coordinated movement, a crisp dance routine. The door flew open. The two men standing at the ready stormed in and the third man literally dived after them. Otto was already looking forward to showing the recording to Nils. The door glided back half-way where it stopped. Great shame they hadn’t had the time to put cameras in the rooms.
Eight seconds.
Falkeid’s radio crackled.
‘303 cleared. One girl and one boy, both unarmed.’
‘And alive?’
‘Extremely… er, alive.’
‘Have you searched the boy?’
‘He’s naked, Alpha.’
‘Get him out,’ Waaler said. ‘Fuck!’
Otto stared at the doorway. They’ve been doing it. Naked. They’ve been doing it all night and all day. He stared at the doorway, transfixed.
‘Get him dressed and take him back to your position, Charlie Two.’
Falkeid put the walkie-talkie down, looked at the others and gently shook his head.
Waaler banged the flat of his hand down hard against the arm of the chair.
‘The bus is free tomorrow, too,’ Otto said, casting a fleeting glance at the inspector.
He would have to tread warily now.
‘I don’t charge any more for Sundays, but I have to know when -’
‘Hey, look at that.’
Otto automatically turned round. The bouncer had finally opened his trap. He was pointing to the middle screen.
‘In the hall. He went in through the front door and straight into the lift.’
It went quiet in the bus for two seconds. Then there was the sound of Falkeid’s voice on the walkie- talkie.
‘Alpha to all units. Possible target has gone into the lift. Stand by.’
‘No, thank you,’ Beate smiled.
‘Yes, well, that’s probably enough cookies,’ the old lady sighed, putting the biscuit tin back on the table. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes. It’s nice to have visits from Sven now that I’m on my own.’
‘Yes, it must be lonely living in such a big house.’
‘I chat quite a bit with Ina, but she went to her gentleman friend’s holiday cabin today. I asked her to say hello to him, but they’re so strange about things like that nowadays. It’s as if they want to try out everything and at the same time they don’t think anything will last. That’s probably why they’re so secretive.’
Beate stole a look at her watch. Harry said they would ring as soon as it was all over.
‘You’re thinking about something else now, aren’t you?’
Beate nodded slowly.
‘That’s quite alright,’ Olaug said. ‘Let’s hope they catch him.’
‘You’ve got a good son.’
‘Yes, it’s true. And if he had visited me as often as he has just recently, I wouldn’t complain.’
‘Oh? How often’s that?’ Beate asked. It should be over by now. Why hadn’t Harry rung? Hadn’t he shown up after all?
‘Once a week for the last four weeks. Well, even more frequently actually. He’s been here every five days. Short stays. I really think he’s got someone down there in Prague waiting for him. And, as I said, I think he’s got some news for me this evening.’
‘Mm.’
‘Last time, he brought me a piece of jewellery. Do you want to see it?’
Beate looked at the old lady. And suddenly she felt how tired she was, tired of the job, of the Courier Killer, of Tom Waaler and Harry Hole, of Olaug Sivertsen and, most of all, of herself, the noble, dutiful Beate Lonn who
