Pontus Salman’s tired face shows nothing at all. Joona wonders to himself if Salman takes pills to keep calm and self-confident. There’s something remarkably lifeless in his eyes-a lack of expression and contact-as if something inside has slid away, leaving him with no connection to anything at all.
“You must think this is important,” Salman says, crossing one leg over the other.
“Indeed we do,” Saga says.
“May I see this unusual photograph?” Pontus Salman asks in his easy but impersonal manner.
“Besides Palmcrona, we’ve identified the weapons dealer, Raphael Guidi,” Joona says. “We’ve also identified Agathe al-Haji, who is the military adviser for President al-Bashir… but no one recognizes this fourth person.”
Joona takes out the folder, and then hands over the photograph in its protective plastic cover. Saga points to the blurred person. Joona watches her concentrate on Salman to register every nuance, every nervous signal in his body if he lies.
Salman moistens his lips and, even though his cheeks turn pale before he smiles, he taps the photograph and says, “But that’s me!”
“It’s you?”
“Yes,” he says with a laugh, revealing small, childlike front teeth.
“But-”
“We had a meeting in Frankfurt,” he continues with a pleased smile. “We were listening to a wonderful… well, I don’t remember what they were playing… maybe Beethoven…”
Joona tries to understand this unexpected confession. He clears his throat.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Of course,” Salman says.
“Well, that solves that puzzle,” Saga says warmly with no hint of their miscalculation.
“Maybe I should get a job at Sapo,” Salman jokes.
“If I may ask, what was this meeting about?” asks Joona.
“I can talk about it now.” Salman laughs and looks directly at Joona. “This photo was taken in the spring of 2008. We were discussing a shipment of ammunition to Sudan. Agathe al-Haji was negotiating on behalf of the government. The area needed to stabilize after the peace agreement in 2005. The negotiations were fairly far along, but all our work went up in smoke in the spring of 2009, of course. We were shaken, yes, you understand… and since then, we’ve had no contact with Sudan.”
Joona looks at Saga since he has no idea what happened in the spring of 2009. Saga is wearing a neutral expression, so he decides to ask another question.
“How many meetings did you have?”
“Just the one,” he answers. “And even I can see how it appears odd that the director of ISP is accepting a glass of champagne.”
“You think?” Saga asks.
“There was nothing to celebrate. But perhaps he was just thirsty,” Salman says with a smile.
50
Penelope and Bjorn have no idea how long they’ve remained hidden within this deep crevice on the face of a cliff. They simply couldn’t run any farther. Their bodies were beyond exhausted and they’d taken turns sleeping and keeping watch.
In the beginning, it seemed as if their pursuer had anticipated every move they’d made, but now the sense of his immediate presence was gone. For some time, he’d been noticeably quiet. That clammy feeling on their backs, the chilling sensation of someone running right behind them, had disappeared the moment they made the unpredictable choice of heading for the center of the forest and away from humankind and the mainland.
Penelope is uncertain if her mother’s answering machine caught any of her words. But soon someone will find Bjorn’s boat, she thinks. After that, the police will start looking for us. All they need to do is stay hidden long enough from their pursuer.
Although the rounded rock surface above is covered in moss, the crevice in the cliff is bare stone and in many spots clear water is dripping. It had been hot when they first found this spot, and they had lapped the water and decided to stay for the rest of the day. Toward evening, as the sun sank behind the shadow of the trees, they’d fallen asleep.
Dreams and dozing memories are mixed in Penelope’s mind. She hears Viola play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on her tiny violin with stickers on the fingerboard to show where the fingers should go. She watches Viola put on pink eye shadow and pinch her cheeks in front of the mirror.
Penelope gasps when she wakes up.
Bjorn is sitting wide awake with his arms around his knees and trembling.
This is the dawn after the third night and they can’t bear it any longer. They are hungry and weak. They leave their hiding place and begin to walk.
It’s almost morning when Penelope and Bjorn come to the water’s edge. The sun’s red rays form glowing streaks along the long veils of clouds. The water is still in the morning calm. Two mute swans glide beside each other on the surface, paddling quietly away.
Bjorn extends his hand to lead Penelope to the water. His legs wobble with fatigue. He slips, then steadies himself on a rock as he gets back up. Penelope looks stiffly straight ahead with an empty gaze as she takes off her shoes, ties the laces together, and hangs them around her neck.
“Come on,” Bjorn whispers. “We’re just going swimming. Don’t think about it. Just keep swimming.”
Penelope wants to ask him to wait. She’s not sure she can do this, but he’s already wading into the water. She shivers and looks out toward the island opposite them and farther out in the archipelago.
She wades in and feels the cold water around her calves and then her thighs. The bottom under her feet is rocky and slippery but soon disappears deeper underwater. She has no time to hesitate but glides into swimming as she follows Bjorn.
Her arms ache and her clothes drag on her as she starts to swim to the far shore. Bjorn is already way ahead.
It’s a major effort. Every stroke feels unendurable as every muscle cries out for rest.
The island of Kymmendo is a sandy beach on the other side. Penelope kicks with exhausted legs, fighting to stay afloat. The first rays of sun over the treetops are blinding. They hurt her eyes and she stops swimming. She’s not cramping up but her arms can do no more; they’re giving up. In just a few seconds, her wet clothes start to drag her below the surface before her arms obey her commands again. When she breaks the surface and gasps for air, she’s terrified. Adrenaline pumps through her body and she sucks in more air, but she has lost her direction. She sees only ocean. Desperately she treads water and swirls around just keeping herself from wild screams. Finally she spots Bjorn’s bobbing head, barely above the surface of the water, about fifty meters ahead. Penelope starts to swim again, but she’s not sure she’ll ever make it to the other island.
The shoes around her neck hinder her strokes and she tries to get rid of them, but the laces tangle in her crucifix. Then the thin chain of her crucifix snaps and everything sinks to the bottom of the sea.
She swims onward, feeling her heart pound in her chest. It takes a moment or so to realize she can see Bjorn staggering up onto land. He’s looking back for her when he should be finding cover. For all they know, their pursuer could be on the north shore of Orno Island, searching for them through his binoculars.
Penelope slows down more and more. She feels the weight and the slowness in her legs as the lactic acid spreads through them. She can barely swim at all. Bjorn looks fearful. He wades back into the water toward her. She is almost ready to give up, but takes one stroke after another. At last she feels the ground beneath her feet. Bjorn is in the water beside her and he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close and then up onto the pebble- filled sandy beach.
“Hide,” Penelope whispers hoarsely.
He helps her past the beach and in among the spruce trees, until they can no longer see the ocean. They fall
