She held out her hand nonchalantly.
He didn't take it. 'What are you going to do now?'
Annika looked at the deputy editor with slight contempt. 'And what's that to you?'
He answered calmly, 'I'm interested.'
'I'm going to the Caucasus. Actually, I'm leaving tomorrow.'
Schyman blinked. 'I don't think that's a good idea. There's a civil war down there.'
'Oh, don't worry about me. I'll be with the guerrillas, so I'm cool. See, the government has no weapons. The international community has seen to it that the slaughter is one-sided. Well, good luck getting this newspaper back on its feet. You've got a hell of a job ahead of you. The bosses here don't know what the fuck they're doing.'
She put her hand on the door handle, paused. 'You've got to get rid of that couch. It really stinks.'
She left the door wide open behind her, Anders Schyman watching her weave her way through the newsroom. As she walked toward her desk, her movements jerky and angry, she didn't stop to speak to a single person.
Anne Snapphane wasn't at her desk.
Just as well, Annika thought. I have to get out of here without breaking down. I'm not going to give them that.
She threw her things together, a few boxes of pens, a pair of scissors, and a stapler thrown in. That was the least this shitty rag could give her.
She left the newsroom without looking round. In the elevator down, she suddenly felt a heavy pressure across her chest. She had difficulty breathing as she stared at her face, bluish pale as usual, in the wall mirror.
Damned lighting, she thought, and it's summer. I wonder what you look like in this elevator in the winter.
I'll never find out was her next thought. This is the last time I'll ever use it.
The cage stopped with the familiar jerk. She pushed the door open, heavy as lead, and walked toward the fog outside. Tore Brand must have gone on holiday; a woman she didn't recognize was behind the reception desk. The entrance doors slid closed behind her and that was the end of that.
She stood for a while on the forecourt of the newspaper building, drawing the damp air into her lungs. It was raw and unpleasant.
She recalled her words to Schyman.
Where the hell did the idea about the Caucasus come from? she wondered. But maybe going abroad wasn't such a bad idea, to just grab a last-minute trip anywhere.
A figure emerged from the veils of fog in the street. Carl Wennergren was carrying two heavy bags full of bottles. Of course he was going to celebrate!
'Congratulations,' Annika said tartly when he walked past her.
He stopped and put the bags down. 'Yeah, I feel great.' He flashed a wide smile. 'Six months, that's the longest contract they give you. Any longer and they would have to employ the person permanently.'
'It must feel good, to get in here like that, by your own efforts- and with your own money.'
The man smiled hesitantly. 'What do you mean?'
'Daddy's little rich boy. Did you have the money to hand, or did you have to sell some stock?'
His smile immediately faded and he looked away with a sneer on his face. 'So they chucked you out?' he said nonchalantly.
Her answer was shrill. 'I'd rather eat cat food than buy my job from terrorists.'
His contemptuous gaze swept across her body. 'Well,
He picked up his bags and turned around to go inside the newspaper offices. Annika saw that they were filled with Moet & Chandon bottles.
'And not only did you buy a scoop and a contract, you also gave up your own sources. That's quite a triple.'
He stopped dead and looked around. 'That's bullshit.' She could see a hint of anxiety stirring around his eyes.
She moved closer to him. 'How the hell could the police know the Ninja Barbies would hit that place at that time? How the hell did they know to evacuate that particular block? And how could they know exactly where to hide?'
'I don't know.' Carl licked his lips.
She took another step toward him and hissed straight in his face, 'You sold out your own sources. You cooperated with the police to get pictures of the arrest, didn't you?'
He raised his eyebrows, leaned his head back, and gave her a contemptuous look. 'And…?'
She lost her head and started yelling. 'You are such a fucking asshole! Fuck you!'
He turned around and stumbled toward the entrance. 'You crazy bitch!' he yelled over his shoulder.
He disappeared through the glass doors and Annika felt the tears welling up in her eyes. Screw them! He gets to go in with the champagne while they throw me out on the street.
'Hey, Bengtzon, do you want a lift?'
She spun around and saw Jansson sitting in a clapped-out old Volvo at the exit to the street.
'What are you doing here?' she called to him.
'The recruitment meeting.' He switched off the engine. She walked over toward the car and the night editor stepped out.
'You look tired,' she said.
'Yeah, I was on last night. But I really wanted to go to this meeting. To do my bit of lobbying for you.'
She gave him a skeptical look. 'Why?'
He lit up a cigarette. 'I think you're the best cover we had this summer. I thought the six-month contract should go to you. So did Schyman.'
Annika raised her eyebrows. 'Really. So why didn't it?'
'The editor in chief said no. He's a real idiot. He's shit-scared of criticism. And you had the union against you.'
'Yeah, I know.'
They stood there for a while in silence, Jansson smoking his cigarette.
'Are you leaving right away?'
Annika nodded. 'No point in prolonging the agony.'
'Maybe you could come back.'
She laughed quietly. 'I wouldn't bet my last dollar on it.'
The night editor shrugged. 'So, can I drop you anywhere?'
She looked into the man's dog-tired face and shook her head. 'Thanks, I'll walk. Enjoy the fantastic weather.'
They both looked around into the fog and laughed.
Her clothes stank of stale tobacco. She pulled them off and left them in a heap on the floor in the hallway. She put on her dressing gown and sat down on the couch.
Patricia had gone out somewhere. Just as well. She reached for the telephone directories.
'You can't leave the Union of Journalists just like that,' an administrator at the union central office told her reproachfully.
'I can't? So how do I do it?'
'First you have to write to your local branch and withdraw your name from the union, and then you have to write to us here at the central office. Then, after six months, you have to confirm your withdrawal, both locally and centrally.'
'You must be kidding.'
'The waiting period is counted from the first day of the following month. So you can't leave the union until the
