where one could get lost all too easily. He started down the stairs, wondering how far below street level the archives actually were. At last he got very close to the place where the guard would be on duty, glanced at his watch and saw that Mikelis's phone call was due in only a couple of minutes. He stood motionless, listening. The silence unnerved him. Had he taken a wrong turning despite everything? ***The shrill sound of the telephone ringing suddenly pierced the silence, and Wallander could start breathing again. He heard footsteps in the adjacent corridor, and when they died away he moved forward, came to the archive door and opened it with the two keys Mikelis had given him.
Wallander had been told where the light switches were, and groped his way along the wall until he came to them. Mikelis had assured him that the door fitted tighdy and there would be no light seeping through the cracks to alert the guard.
The room was like a huge underground hangar. He had never imagined the archives would be as big as this. Just for a moment he paused, overwhelmed by the endless rows of cupboards and shelves crammed with files. The Evil Room, he thought. What was the major thinking when he came in here and planted the bomb he hoped would explode sooner or later?
He glanced at his watch and was annoyed at having allowed himself to waste time thinking such thoughts. He was also uncomfortably aware that he couldn't wait much longer before emptying his bowels. There must be a lavatory somewhere in the archive, he thought desperately. But the question is, will I be able to find it?
He started walking in the direction Mikelis had indicated. He had warned Wallander how easy it was to get lost among the shelves and cupboards, which all looked the same. He cursed the fact that so much of his attention was being distracted by his rumbling stomach, and he was frightened by what would happen if he didn't find a lavatory soon.
He stopped and looked round. It was clear that he was off course – but had he gone too far or had he turned off somewhere where he shouldn't, according to Mikelis's map? He retraced his steps. It struck him he was now completely disorientated, and he panicked. He looked at his watch and saw he had 42 minutes left, but he ought to have found the right section of the archive by now. He cursed to himself. Was Mikelis's map wrong? Why couldn't he find it? He decided he would have to start all over again and ran back between the rows of shelves to the entrance. In his haste he managed to kick over a metal waste-paper bin which bounced into a filing cabinet with a loud crash. The guard, he thought. This noise must have been audible from outside. He stood stock still, listening, but there was no rattling of keys in the locks. It was then that he was forced to accept he couldn't control his bowels a moment longer. He pulled down his trousers, crouched over the waste-paper bin and relieved himself. Feeling furious and disgusted at the same time, he reached for a file on the nearest shelf, ripped out some sheets of paper that were presumably the record of some interrogation or other, and wiped himself. Then he began all over again, knowing that this time he really had to find the correct spot or it would be too late. He made a silent plea to Rydberg, asking him to guide him, then started counting the racks and bays, and this time was sure he had got it right. It had taken far too long, though, and now he had only 30 minutes in which to find the testimony. He doubted whether that would be long enough. He started searching. Mikelis hadn't been able to tell him in detail how the various files were arranged, and Wallander was forced to feel his way forward. He could see immediately that the archive did not follow alphabetical order. There were sections and sub-sections, and perhaps even sub-sub- sections. These are all the disloyal citizens, he thought. Here are all the people who have been kept under observation and terrorised, all the people who have been reported or marked out as candidates for the title 'enemy of the state'. There are so many of them, I'll never be able to find Baiba's file.
He tried to identify the nerve centre of the archive, to pinpoint the logical position for a file that had been inserted as a joker in the pack. Time went by, and still he was none the wiser. Frantically, he went back and started again, pulling out files that seemed to be different in colour, trying hard all the time not to loose his cool.
There were only 10 minutes to go, and still he hadn't found Baiba's file. He hadn't found anything at all, come to that. He felt increasingly desperate at the thought of having come this far, but now being forced to admit defeat. There was no longer time for a systematic search. All he could do now was to make one last sweep along the shelves and hope that his instinct would lead him to the right place. But he was well aware that there wasn't a single archive in the world that was arranged according to intuition and instinct, and he was convinced he had failed. The major had been a wise man, much too clever for Kurt Wallander of the Ystad police.
Where, he thought. Where? What if this archive were a pack of cards? Where would the odd card be? At the side or in the middle?
He chose the middle, ran his hand over a row of files that all had brown covers, and suddenly noticed one that was blue. He pulled out the brown files from either side of the blue one – one was labelled Leonard Blooms, the other Baiba Kalns. Just for a moment, he couldn't think straight – and then it dawned on him that Baiba Liepa must have been called Kalns before she got married, and he took down the blue file, which he saw had no name at all, and no code number. He had no time to examine it, his time had run out already. He raced back to the entrance, put the light out and unlocked the door. There was no sign of the guard, but according to Mikelis's timetable he was due back any moment. Wallander hurried down the corridor, but then heard the echoing footsteps of the guard returning. He couldn't continue in that direction, and it was clear to Wallander he would have to ignore the map and try to find his way to the exit as best he could. He stood motionless as the guard went past along a parallel corridor. When the footsteps had died away, he decided the first thing he should do was to make his way up from the basement. He found a staircase and remembered how many flights he had walked down on his way there. When he came up to ground level, he had no idea where he was.
He walked along the first empty corridor he came to.
The man who surprised him had been having a smoke. He must have heard Wallander's footsteps approaching, put out his cigarette with his boot, and wondered who on earth was on duty so late at night. When Wallander turned the corner, the man was only a few metres away. He seemed to be in his 40s, his tunic was unbuttoned, and the moment he saw Wallander with the blue file in his hand, he must have realised immediately that this man had no business to be in the building. He drew his pistol and shouted something in Latvian. Wallander didn't understand a word, but raised his hands over his head. The man had continued to shout as he approached, the pistol pointing at Wallander's chest. It occurred to Wallander that the police officer wanted him to kneel down, so he did so, his hands still raised in a pathetic gesture. There was no possibility of escape, he had been captured, and before long one of the colonels would appear and take possession of the blue file containing the major's testimony.
The man pointing his pistol at him was still shouting questions. Wallander was growing more and more terrified, realising he was going to be shot here in the corridor, and could think of nothing better than to reply in English.
'It is a mistake,' he said in a shrill voice. 'It is a mistake. I am a police officer, too.'
But it wasn't a mistake, of course. The officer ordered him to stand up with his hands over his head, then told him to start moving. He kept jabbing Wallander in the back with the barrel of his pistol.
It was when they came to a lift that the opportunity presented itself. Wallander had given up hope, convinced he was well and truly caught. There was no point in resisting. The man wouldn't hesitate to shoot him. However, while they were waiting for the lift his captor turned away slightly to light a cigarette, and in a split second Wallander realised that this was his only opportunity of getting away. He threw down the blue file at the man's feet, and simultaneously hit him in the back of the neck as hard as he could. He felt his knuckles crunching, and the pain was agonising, but his captor fell headlong to the floor, the pistol sliding away over the stone flags. Wallander didn't know if the man was dead or just unconscious, but his hand was stiff with pain. He picked up the file, stuffed the pistol into his pocket, and decided the stupidest thing for him to do would be to use the lift. He tried to work out where he was by looking out of a window facing the courtyard, and after a few seconds realised he must be on the opposite side from the colonels' corridor. The man on the floor started groaning, and Wallander knew he wouldn't be able to knock him out a second time. He hurried down the corridor to the left leading away from the lift, and hoped he would come to an exit.
He was lucky. The corridor led to one of the canteens, and he managed to open a carelessly bolted door in the kitchen that was obviously a goods entrance. He came out into the street. His hand was hurting badly and had started to swell.
The first rendezvous that he had agreed with Baiba was at 12.30 p.m. Wallander stood in the shadows by the old church in Esplanade Park that had been turned into a planetarium. All around him were tall, bare, motionless lime trees. There was no sign of her. The pain in his hand was now almost unbearable. When it reached 1.15 p.m., he was forced to accept that something must have happened. She wasn't going to come. He was extremely
