As Selsey left the room, Grantham asked himself what had led to this declaration of war. Both men knew that Grantham could not afford to have his relationship with Samuel Carver exposed to close scrutiny. Selsey was now threatening precisely such an exposure. Under normal circumstances, that would simply be part of the normal office warfare by which an ambitious, unscrupulous deputy might seek to undermine his boss. But Selsey had never wanted Grantham’s job, and even if he did, he would never get it – he was too old, too long mired in middle-management.
There had to be another reason for this sudden hostility. And the more Jack Grantham thought about it, the more he wanted to know just what that reason might be.
Selsey went for a walk along the Thames, as much to gather his nerves as to find some privacy, before he made the call.
‘I think we’re getting somewhere,’ he said. ‘I spoke to… to Carver’s friend. I told him I felt obliged to take the evidence of the two hits to a higher authority. I’m pretty confident that either he’ll have to cut Carver loose, or he’ll be facing a formal review of our links with Carver. He won’t want that.’
‘A review?’ his contact said, his voice rising. ‘That’s the best you can do? I don’t think you’ve grasped the urgency of this situation. I’m about to make my move on Carver. And when I do, I want him to know that he’s all alone, that no one’s coming to rescue him. Forget friends in high places. I don’t want him to have a single friend anywhere. Not one.’
31
Larsson met them at Oslo airport. He took one look at Maddy and flashed Carver a quick thumbs-up just to signal his approval.
Like any man, Carver felt no obligation to reply to this compliment with any courtesy of his own. ‘Bloody hell, mate, what happened to your hair?’ he exclaimed, looking at the short, neatly styled cut that had replaced his friend’s wild dreadlocks.
Larsson looked down at them like an amiable giraffe, a rueful smile on his face. ‘It was Kari. She said they made me look like an ageing hippy. Apparently, I’m much more handsome now.’
He did not sound entirely convinced.
‘Well, I think you look just cute,’ said Maddy with a hint of a smile, teasing him a little. ‘And you did what you were told, too, which has to be a good thing.’
‘Thor, meet Maddy,’ said Carver. ‘She’s a big believer in the chain of command.’
‘Damn straight,’ she agreed.
‘It’s all my fault, of course,’ said Carver. ‘If I hadn’t got this man’s frozen, half-dead body off an Arctic mountainside and into Narvik hospital, he’d never have met the beautiful nurse who stole his heart… and his balls, apparently.’
Larsson laughed, but there was something forced about his good humour, as though he wasn’t in the mood for banter. It occurred to Carver that it probably wasn’t a brilliant idea, winding a man up about his wife-to-be two days before their wedding, even if he was your mate.
‘So how is Kari, anyway?’ he said, switching to polite conversation. ‘She joining us for dinner?’
Larsson shook his head. ‘No, she’s got her family down from Narvik. They need looking after and there are all the last-minute things to do for the reception. But you’ll see her tomorrow, at the rehearsal.’
‘Can’t wait,’ said Maddy.
Carver looked up at the signs pointing the way to taxis, car-hire, trains and car parks. ‘Where are you parked?’ he asked Larsson.
‘I’m not. We’re taking the train. This is a country where the public transport actually works. I’ll get you both day-cards for the buses, trams and metro. Costs almost nothing and you can use them as much as you like.’
It took less than five minutes to walk through the arrivals hall, get tickets and settle into their seats. A minute after that they were moving. The whole process had been so swift and painless that Carver almost failed to notice the man standing by the airport information desk in the baseball cap and dark glasses. There was something about that face, the hollow cheeks and slightly petulant, sulky mouth that nagged at Carver’s memory, though the answer stayed just out of reach. But there was no doubt the man’s head turned and followed them as they walked by.
Well, of course it did, Carver told himself. Maddy had that effect on most men. Get a grip.
On the train he tried not to think about it, concentrating on the instant guide to Oslo Larsson was giving them. He had a tourist’s map of the city, taken from a rack at the station. ‘OK, here’s the station,’ he said, pointing to a mass of converging railway lines on the right-hand side of the map. And here’ – Larsson’s finger pointed to the middle of the map – ‘is the royal palace. You see the street that runs almost directly between them? That’s Karl Johans Gate. It’s the main street in the city, all the fanciest stores are there. That’s where we have all the big parades and everything. We’re going to have dinner at the King Haakon Hotel, which is about halfway along. It’s a little old-fashioned, but you should definitely see it.’
‘And they’ll let you in now you don’t look like a hippy,’ grinned Carver.
This time Larsson smiled back. ‘Well, that’s the real reason I had it done, of course…’
He went back to his map, running his finger straight down from the royal palace to the shore of the fjord on which Oslo lay. ‘Anyway, round here it’s all been redeveloped in the past few years and it looks good, very modern, futuristic almost. The area on the waterfront is called Aker Brygge. It’s like a boardwalk. There are trendy bars and restaurants, fancy modern apartments, lots of yachts moored alongside – it’s where all the cool people go.’
‘Which is why you’re not taking us, right?’ said Carver.
‘No!’ Larsson laughed, his normal good humour now totally restored. ‘I thought we’d go down there for some drinks after dinner.’
‘Sounds nice,’ said Maddy.
‘It is,’ Larsson agreed. ‘And the other place you should definitely see while you’re in town is the opera house, which is here, by the station. It’s very new and it’s definitely the craziest-looking place in Oslo. You can even stand on the roof.’
‘And that’s as crazy as this place gets?’ Carver asked. ‘An opera house?’
Larsson grinned. ‘What can I say? Oslo is a great city. It’s clean, it’s peaceful and there’s fantastic countryside just a few minutes away on the train. But I have to admit, it’s not exactly exciting.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Carver. ‘I’ve had all the excitement I can stand.’
32
Jana Kreutzmann was the last passenger to board the flight from Berlin, dashing through the terminal towards the departure gate, calling out to the ground staff, imploring them not to close the flight, gasping her thanks and apologies as she stood by their desk and presented her boarding pass. She was always late, always rushing, always trying to fit twenty-five hours of passionate commitment into every twenty-four-hour day.
Ten years ago, a boyfriend had taken her to see the E55 highway that ran from Dresden in the old East Germany through to Prague in the Czech Republic. One stretch of the highway close to the town of Teblice, just over the Czech side of the border, had become infamous for the hundreds of East European prostitutes who touted for trade. They clustered in the neon-lit doorways and outdoor drinking areas of countless sleazy roadside bars. They fought for customers, grabbing and embracing the men who got out of passing cars and trucks. The men would grab them back, pawing and prodding the prostitutes like shoppers sampling fruit in a marketplace.
Prices started at thirty euros for half an hour of sex, and rose to 250 for an entire night’s pleasure, either at a girl’s tawdry room, with thick grime on the window-frames and no sheets on the bed, or at one of the neighbourhood hotels that catered for prostitutes and their Johns. All the while, the girls’ pimps would lurk in the background, forcing their stables to work harder, making sure that none of the men tried to get away without
