given them and having to obey.
'You'll get my name and personal details. So that you can put me in the right prison, give me the right work and make sure that at lock-up time exactly two days after I've arrived, there will be an extensive spot check of every cell in the prison.'
'What the hell-'
'With dogs. That's important.'
'With dogs? And what happens when we find what you've planted? To the fellow prisoner who you've wasted your drugs on? No chance. I don't buy it. It means putting my staff at risk and as a result, someone being charged for a crime they didn't commit. I just won't buy it.'
The state secretary stepped closer to Larsen, put her hand on the arm of his jacket and looked straight at him while she spoke in a soft voice.
'Pal, just sort it. I appointed you. And that means that you decide what happens in the Prison and Probation Service, You decide what you and I agree that you should decide. And when you leave, could you please shut the door behind you.'
There was a bit of a draft from an open window farther down the corridor.
Perhaps that was why the door slammed so loudly.
'Paula will continue to infiltrate the organization from the inside. We have to make him more dangerous.'
Erik Wilson waited until the noise from the door subsided.
'He will have committed some serious crimes. He'll be given a long sentence. He'll only be able to operate freely from his cell if he gets respect.
And when the other prisoners check his criminal record, and you can be sure that they will, on the first day in fact, they will find all the answers we want them to.'
'How?'
A hint of a frown on the state secretary's blank face.
'How will he get that background?'
'I normally use one of my civilian contacts. Someone who works in the national courts administration, a civil servant who files information directly in the criminal records database. An original document from there… well, it's never been questioned yet by anyone in a prison corridor.'
He had expected more questions. About how often he tampered with the national court administration databases. How many people were walking around with false convictions.
He didn't get any.
They were sitting at a meeting table where elastic solutions were not unusual and the names and titles of key people who adjusted flows or shortened waiting times for court cases were not required.
'In thirty-eight hours, a wanted person will be arrested and questioned.' He looked at Hoffmann.
'He will plead guilty, state that he acted alone, and a couple of weeks later will agree with a city court judgment and a long sentence that is to be served in Aspsas, one of the country's three high-security prisons.'
The room was still irritatingly bright and wiltingly warm.
They all stood up. They were done.
Piet Hoffmann wanted to hammer down the door and run out of the building and not stop until he was holding Zofia's body tight in his arms. But not yet. He wanted it to be formulated as clearly as possible so that there could only be one interpretation.
'Before I leave, I'd like you to summarize exactly what you are guaranteeing me.'
He had expected to be dismissed. But she realized that he needed to hear it.
'I'll deal with it.'
Piet Hoffmann stepped closer and felt the loose lead slapping against the fabric of his trousers. He leaned slightly to the right, so that it would be directly in front of her; it was important that he caught absolutely everything.
'How?'
'I guarantee that you won't be charged for anything that happened at Vastmannagatan 79. I guarantee that we will do our best to help you complete your operation in prison. And… that we will look after you when the work is done. I know that you will then have a death threat and be branded throughout the criminal world. We will give you a new life, a new identity, and money to start over again abroad.'
She gave him a vague smile. At least, that's what it looked like when the bright light caught her face.
'I guarantee you this in my capacity as a state secretary of the Ministry of Justice.'
Wojtek or the Government Offices. It didn't really matter. Same choice of words, same promises. Two sides of the law with the same exit route.
It was good. But not good enough.
'I still want to know how.'
'We've already done this three times before.'
A glance over at the national police commissioner. He nodded to her.
'Officially, you will be pardoned. On humanitarian grounds. That doesn't need to be explained in anymore detail. Medical or humanitarian grounds are sufficient for a decision that the Ministry of Justice will then stamp as confidential.'
Piet Hoffmann stood in front of her in silence for a few seconds. He was pleased. He was close enough.
She had said what he wanted to hear and clearly enough for it to be heard again.
They walked side by side down the underground corridor that linked the government offices with the parliament building and stopped by an elevator that took them to Gamla Stan and Myntrorget 2. They should have been in a hurry, there wasn't much time left, but it was as if they were both trying to understand where they were actually going.
'You're an outlaw now.'
Erik Wilson stopped.
'From now on, you're dangerous to both sides. Wojtek, who will kill you the instant you're exposed as an infiltrator. And for the people who were around the table with us just now too. You now know things that no one in that room will admit. They'll sacrifice you the moment you're a threat, they'll burn you in the same way that the authorities have burned other informers when it's a matter of protecting power. You're Wojtek's main man. You're our main man. But if anything happens, Piet, you're on your own.
Piet Hoffmann knew what fear felt like and he would fight it off, as he always did, but he needed just a little more time, he wanted to stay in the dark under the streets of Stockholm; if he did that they wouldn't get into the elevator and then into the parked car that was waiting in the courtyard and he wouldn't need to fight anymore.
'Piet?'
'Yes?'
'You have to be in control, at all times. If everything goes wrong… the authorities won't look after you, they'll burn you.'
He started to walk.
He had exactly thirty-eight hours left.
PART TWO
The black minivan stopped in a dark concrete corner of the multi-story garage.
Second floor, section A.
'Thirty-eight hours.'
'See you.'
