Misterioso

right. Do you know anybody calling themselves Igor and Igor?”

Kalju Laikmaa just stared at him and shook his head.

Norlander closed the door and then he heard Laikmaa pick up the phone.

He went out to his rental car, tossed the parking ticket onto the ground without a second thought, and drove off.

He drove three-quarters of the way around police headquarters and then parked near one of the walls that couldn’t be seen from Laikmaa’s window. It was near the prison entrance; he had carefully taken note of its location.

He sat there for three hours, fully alert. Dusk arrived. He was hungry. He sat there for another hour, feeling drowsier.

Then Arvo Hellat came out the door, tossing back his long hair with a feminine gesture. Norlander hunched down behind the wheel. Hellat went over to an old green Volvo Amazon, a vintage model that Norlander hadn’t seen in God knew how many years. He drove off.

First he stopped at a Greek restaurant in Old Town. He made a phone call, ate a good-size portion of moussaka, and drank a beer. That took almost an hour. Norlander sat outside in his car, freezing and starving. Twilight swept away the last remnants of Tallinn light. The lights came on in Old Town, perched on its hill.

Hellat came out and drove off in his absurd Amazon-hardly a suitable car for someone holding a top position within the mafia. He drove out of Tallinn, heading southwest in the direction of Keila. In that small town he went inside the restaurant at the train station, made another phone call, and had another beer. Norlander watched him the whole time through the window. Then Hellat returned to his car, got back on the highway, and drove toward Tallinn. It was eleven o’clock by the time he re-entered the Estonian capital with Norlander’s rented Skoda in tow. He drove into Old Town again, choosing the sections that were more dimly lit, and stopped outside a decrepit building that looked abandoned and ready for demolition. Not another car was anywhere in sight, not a person on the sleazy streets.

Mafia territory, Norlander thought as Hellat slipped inside the ramshackle building. The big Swede slid his gun back into the shoulder holster, took the little pistol out of his waistband at the small of his back, flicked off the safety, put it back, and checked to make sure that the big hunting knife was still easily accessible, attached to his shin.

Blood was pumping wildly through his veins.

This was Viggo Norlander’s Moment, with a capital M.

Viggo the Viking.

He entered the building with his service revolver raised, the safety off. He heard Arvo Hellat climbing the rotting stairs a couple of floors above. Then Hellat took five steps and went through a door. After that, silence.

Norlander crept soundlessly up the stairs in the murky light. The steps didn’t creak even once.

Two flights up he found three doors: one right next to the staircase, one at the far end of the corridor, and one five steps away. He crept over to the last. It was closed, but he could see that it opened inward.

He took a deep breath, hyperventilated a couple of times, then kicked open the door with all his strength and rushed in, gun raised.

Eight men were standing in the light along the walls, aiming machine guns at him.

“Please drop your weapon,” said an Estonian-Swedish voice from the dark section of the room.

A desk was standing there. Two men were seated behind it. It was impossible to see their faces. But perched on the edge of the desk was Arvo Hellat, smirking. Norlander had him in his sights.

“Drop your weapon or die,” said the voice again. It wasn’t Hellat speaking. Hellat merely smiled. “One second,” said the voice.

Norlander dropped his gun.

He had never felt so disarmed.

Shaking his head, Hellat came over and removed the rest of his arsenal. Then he went back to the desk and sat down, dangling his legs like a child.

“It took some time to assemble a decent force,” the voice went on. Now Norlander could tell that it was coming from one of the men seated behind the desk. “And to find suitable premises. We sent Arvo on a little trip to Keila while we made the necessary arrangements. So what do you think you’re doing? Is this some sort of private vendetta?”

Norlander didn’t move. He was ice cold inside.

“I really must ask you to tell us what you’re up to,” the voice insisted courteously, stepping into the light and becoming a body. A large body, a large face adorned with a mustache and a good-natured smile.

“Juri Maarja?” Norlander managed to say.

Juri Maarja came over to him, pressed lightly on Norlander’s stomach, ran his hand over his bald spot, and then gave him a searching look.

“Interesting,” he said. “An interesting person for a vendetta.”

Maarja said something in Russian and received a muttered reply from another man sitting in the dark behind the desk.

“Tell us everything you know and everything you think you know,” said Maarja, still very polite. Norlander recognized the chill in the voice. He couldn’t even bring himself to hate the similarity. “I insist,” Maarja went on.

Viggo Norlander closed his eyes. His last chance to be the hero would be to remain silent in the face of this courteous monster.

But the hero option was no longer on Norlander’s list. It had been crossed off, never to return.

“Right now Swedish businessmen are being murdered one after the other in Stockholm,” he said hoarsely. “They’re being executed with your ammunition and with the method that you use to kill traitors. Viktor X!” he shouted at the shadow behind the desk. Nothing moved.

Juri Maarja looked genuinely surprised and blurted out a few Russian syllables. He received a few more in return from the desk.

“It’s possible that you’ve just saved your life, Detective Inspector Viggo Norlander.” He read the name aloud from Norlander’s police ID, which he’d plucked from his pocket. “We need to inform Stockholm of our innocence in some way. But of course we can’t simply let you go without some form of punishment. That would go against our policy. Now listen closely, and memorize these words. We’re going to write a note and pin it on you. We’d never do anything so incredibly stupid as to kill Swedish businessmen in Sweden. Is that understood? We have nothing to do with this matter. To the extent that we might have a presence in Stockholm, it’s extremely important for us to stay as low profile as possible.”

Maarja went over to the desk to accept a piece of paper and a pen from the man in the shadows. He shoved Hellat off the desk and proceeded to write for an uncomfortably long time. Then he said, “Now it’s time for us to make our departure. In case the good Laikmaa has seen fit to send a man after you. Although of course he knows better than to get involved. And it takes time to assemble Commando K.”

Then he said something in Estonian, and the men holding the guns flung Norlander to the floor. He stared up at the ceiling as they bound his arms and legs. He couldn’t move.

Then came the first pain. It was almost liberating. He screamed. For all sorts of reasons.

The second pain was annulled by the next two.

He became an illuminated bundle of nerve impulses. He saw himself light up with a final light.

Damn it, he thought in surprise. What a sleazy way to die. Then he felt himself disappear.

18

The sunny spring morning did not reach its fingers into Supreme Central Command. Only the hands of the A- Unit reached that far, and for the moment they seemed to be tied.

Somebody farted.

No one claimed responsibility.