it for years. It’s filled with piles of broken chairs, a sofa without cushions, and some broken desk chairs.
Inside, the farther one goes in the ship, the more empty and deserted it seems. Axel’s footsteps echo across the hallway’s scratched marble floor.
They walk through double doors with the words SALA DE PRANZO elegantly carved into the dark wood above. The dining room is enormous. Only open sea can be seen outside the panoramic windows and a wide, red- carpeted staircase leads to the upper level. Stunning crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The room has been designed to impress, but on the dining-room table there’s nothing but a copier, a fax machine, two computers, and a massive collection of folders with filed paperwork.
A short man sits at a small table in the massive room. His hair is flecked with gray and a wide bald spot shines on his crown. Axel recognizes Raphael Guidi at once. Guidi is dressed casually in light blue gym shorts with a matching jacket. The number 7 is stitched to his breast pocket with a larger image on the back. He wears white tennis shoes without socks. “Welcome,” he says in English.
A cell phone rings in his pocket, and Guidi picks it up, glances at the number, but doesn’t answer. Almost immediately afterward, another phone call comes in, and Guidi says a few words in Italian. Then he looks at Axel Riessen. He gestures proudly to the panoramic windows and the rolling ocean waves.
“I am here against my will,” Axel begins.
“I’m sorry, but there was no other way. We’ve run out of time-”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want your loyalty,” Raphael replies shortly.
The two bodyguards grin down at the floor and then immediately wipe the expression from their faces. Raphael takes a long gulp of what looks like yellow vitamin water and burps loudly.
“Loyalty. The only thing that matters,” he says softly as he looks sternly at Axel. “I know you believe I have nothing you might want in payment, but-”
“That’s true,” Axel answers sharply.
“Still, I believe we can make a deal… I believe I have something you want desperately,” Raphael continues. He smiles, but there is no pleasure in the grimace. “For your loyalty I will offer something that you really, truly want. In fact, what you want more than anything else in the world.”
Axel shakes his head in disbelief. “I couldn’t even say what that might be.”
“Oh, no,” Raphael says smoothly. “What you want more than anything else in the world seems so simple… a good night’s sleep-”
“How did you know that?” Axel gasps, then stops short as he sees Raphael’s cool, calculating look.
“So then you already know that I’ve tried every possible way,” Axel says slowly.
Raphael gestures indifferently. “You will be provided with a new liver.”
“I’ve been on the donor’s list for years,” Axel says with an involuntary smile. “I call the doctors every time they have a meeting, but my liver damage was self-inflicted and my tissue type is so unusual, no donors can be found.”
“I have located a liver for you, Axel Riessen,” Raphael says in his sharp voice.
There’s silence in the room and Axel feels his face and ears flush.
“And in return?” Axel says, swallowing hard. “You want me to sign the export authorization for Kenya.”
“More than that,” Raphael says. “I want us to sign a Paganini contract.”
“What is that?”
“There’s no hurry, there will be time to consider. It’s a major decision. But before you decide, I want you to go thoroughly through the information I’ve accumulated about this particular organ donor.”
Axel’s thoughts zip through his mind at blazing speed. Axel eagerly tells himself that he can sign the export authorization and then, once he’s gotten his liver, turn on Guidi and testify against him. He’d be protected by the authorities, he knows, and perhaps he would have to change his identity and all that. But he would be able to sleep again.
“Why don’t we have something to eat?” Raphael asks. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe…”
“But before we eat, please phone your secretary at ISP and let her know that you are here.”
100
Saga has her phone against her ear as she stops for a moment next to the recycle bin in the hallway. She sees without noticing it the leaflike remains of a butterfly on the floor, mimicking life in the breeze from the ventilation system.
“Don’t you have anything else to do up there in Stockholm?” asks an officer with a Gotland dialect when she finally connects with Sodertalje.
“About Pontus Salman,” she says irritably.
“Well, he’s gone now.” The policeman sounds contented.
“What the hell are you saying?” she yells.
“Well, I talked to Gunilla Sommer, our psychologist, who brought him into the psychiatric ward.”
“And?”
“She interviewed him and decided, without reservation, that he was no longer a candidate for suicide. She felt he should be free to go, so she released him. Hospital beds cost money, you know.”
“Send out a description and bring him in at once!” Saga demands immediately.
“For what? A halfhearted suicide attempt?”
“Just make sure you find him!” Saga snarls and hangs up.
She jogs toward the elevators when Goran Stone steps in front of her and blocks her with outspread arms.
“So you want to get Pontus Salman to talk to you-right?” he teases.
“Right,” she says, and tries to push past, but he doesn’t let her go.
“Just shake your ass a little,” he says. “Or toss your hair so that you’re-”
“Move!” Saga commands. She’s so angry, her forehead begins to flush.
“Okay, sorry, I just wanted to help.” Goran Stone laughs nastily. “But for your information, we’ve just sent four cars to Salman’s house on Lidingo.”
“What’s happened?” Saga asks quickly.
“The neighbors called the police.” Goran smiles. “They’d heard a little bang-bang and some screaming.”
Saga pushes Stone roughly away and begins to run.
“Thank you so much, Goran!” Goran calls after her. “You’re the best, Goran!”
As Saga drives to Lidingo, she tries to keep her mind blank. But she can’t forget the sounds on the recording of the broken man who, weeping, described what had been done to his daughter.
Saga tells herself that she’s going to exercise hard tonight and then go to bed early.
People have come out of their houses and filled the street around Roskullsvagen, so she has to park one hundred meters away from Salman’s house. Curious onlookers and reporters crowd outside the blue-and-white police tape trying to get a look inside the house. Saga excuses herself in a tight voice as she pushes her way through. The blue lights of the emergency vehicles flash across the green trees. Saga sees her colleague Magdalena Ronander leaning against the dark brown brick wall and vomiting. Pontus Salman’s white BMW is parked in front of his garage. Its roof window is missing. Small, bloody glass cubes are scattered over the ground and sparkle on the chassis. Through the blood-smeared side window, a man’s body can be seen slumped sideways.
She recognizes it as Pontus Salman’s.
Magdalena lifts a pale face to look at Saga tiredly. She wipes her mouth with a tissue. Then she blocks Saga from going to the door.
“No, no,” she says hoarsely. “You don’t want to go in there. Absolutely not.”
Saga stops and glances toward the large house. She turns to Magdalena to ask something but stops again.
