well. He could see the network of veins on the inside of his own eyelids, smell the aroma of the man’s after-shave and hear the slightly whining overtone of glee – like a kind of drivebelt – in the man’s voice.
‘Where is he, Eikeland? Where is Harry Hole?’
Oystein opened his mouth and the man released his grip.
‘I have no idea what it is you -’
Then the arm was back, squeezing.
‘Last try, Eikeland. Where’s your piss-artist pal?’
Oystein felt the pains, the irritating will to live, but he also knew that it would soon be over. He had experienced similar things before. It was just a phase, a stage before the much more pleasurable sense of indifference kicked in. The seconds passed. The brain was beginning to shut down branch lines. First his sight went.
Then the man let go again and the oxygen streamed into his brain. Sight returned. And the pain.
‘We’ll find him anyway,’ the voice said. ‘You can choose whether it’s before or after you’ve left us.’
Oystein felt something cold and hard move across his temples. Then across the bridge of his nose. Oystein had seen his share of Westerns, but he had never seen a. 45calibre revolver close up before.
‘Open up.’
Let alone tasted one.
‘I’m going to count to five. Then I’ll shoot. Nod if there’s something you want to say to me. Preferably before I count to five. One…’
Oystein tried to combat his fear of death. Tried telling himself that mankind is rational and that the man behind him would not gain anything by taking his life.
‘Two…’
Logic is with me, Oystein thought. The barrel had a nauseous smell of metal and blood.
‘Three. And don’t worry about the seat covers, Eikeland. I’ll tidy up and wash everything down thoroughly after me.’
Oystein could feel his body beginning to shake, an uncontrollable reaction he could only view as a spectator, and he was reminded of a rocket he had seen on TV that had shaken in the same way, seconds before it was fired into the cold, empty void of outer space.
‘Four.’
Oystein nodded. Repeatedly and with vigour.
The gun disappeared.
‘It’s in the glove compartment,’ he gasped. ‘He said I should keep it switched on and I wasn’t to touch it if it rang. He took mine.’
‘I’m not interested in the phones,’ the voice said. ‘I want to know where Hole is.’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything. Yes, he did. He said it was best for both of us if I knew nothing.’
‘He was lying,’ the man said.
The words came slowly and calmly, and Oystein could not make out whether the man was angry or enjoying himself.
‘Just best for him, Eikeland. Not for you.’
The cold gun barrel on Oystein’s cheek felt like a glowing iron.
‘Wait! Harry did say something. I remember now. He said that he was going to lie low at his place.’
The words streamed out of Oystein’s mouth; he had the impression that he was pumping them out half formed.
‘We’ve been there, you numbskull,’ the voice said.
‘I don’t mean the place where he lives. His place in Oppsal. The place where he grew up.’
The man laughed and Oystein smarted with pain as the gun barrel was thrust up his nostril.
‘We’ve been tracking your phone for the last few hours, Eikeland. We know which part of town he’s in. And it isn’t in Oppsal. You’re lying: fact. Or to put it another way: five.’
A bleep. Oystein squeezed his eyes shut. The bleeping would not stop. Was he dead already? The bleeps formed a tune. Purple Rain. Prince. It was the digital ringtone of a mobile phone.
‘Yes, what’s up?’ the voice behind him said.
Oystein didn’t dare open his eyes.
‘At Underwater? Five o’clock? OK, get all the guys together immediately. I’m on my way.’
Oystein heard the rustle of clothing behind him. His hour had come. He heard a bird singing outside. A beautiful high trill. He didn’t even know what kind of bird it was. He should have known. Now he would never know. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Oystein tentatively opened his eyes and peered in the mirror.
A flash of white teeth and then the voice with the same undertone of glee: ‘City centre, driver. Step on it.’
38
Monday. The Cloud.
Rakel opened her eyes with a start. Her heart was pounding fiercely. She had slept. She listened to the unrelenting din of children swimming in the open-air Frogner swimming pool. A faintly bitter taste of grass lingered in her mucous linings and the heat lay like a warm duvet on her back. Had she been dreaming? Was that what had woken her?
A sudden gust of wind blew the duvet away and gave her goosepimples.
Odd how dreams sometimes just slide away from you, like slippery soap, she thought as she rolled over. Oleg was gone. She raised herself on her elbows and looked around her.
The next second she was on her feet.
‘Oleg!’
She began to run.
She found him by the diving pool. He was sitting on the edge talking to a boy she thought she had seen before. Could have been a boy in his class.
‘Hi, Mummy.’ He squinted up at her and smiled.
Rakel grabbed his arm, harder than she had intended.
‘I told you not to clear off without saying a word.’
Oleg was taken aback and a little embarrassed. His friend fell back a couple of paces.
She let go. Sighed and stared at the horizon. The sky was blue apart from one single white cloud that seemed to be pointing upwards as if someone had just fired a rocket.
‘It’s nearly five. We’re going home now,’ she said. Her voice was a long way off. ‘Time to eat.’
In the car on the way home Oleg asked if Harry was coming.
Rakel shook her head.
While they were waiting for the lights to change on the Smestad crossing she bent forwards to look up and find the cloud again. It had not moved, but it was a bit higher now and there was a tinge of grey at the bottom.
She remembered to lock the door when they arrived home.
39
Monday. Meetings.
Roger Gjendem stopped at the window of Underwater to stare at the water bubbling in the aquarium. An image flickered past. A seven-year-old boy swimming towards him with hurried, frantic strokes and the panic visible on his face, as if he, Roger, his big brother, was the only person in the world who could save him. Roger had called
