Annika roused her legs and took a step back, fumbling behind her for the door handle.
Hans Blomberg stood up.
‘Don’t even think about it, my dear,’ he said. ‘My trigger finger is terribly itchy tonight.’
Annika stopped and let her arm drop.
‘I can believe that,’ she said, her voice high and very thin. ‘You haven’t hesitated so far.’
He chuckled. ‘How true,’ he said. ‘Where’s the money?’
She leaned against the wall for support.
‘What?’
‘The money? The Dragon’s bequest?’
Her brain rattled into action, her thoughts rushing in a torrent, the day ran past in images and emotions and conclusions.
‘Why do you think there’s money, and why would I know where it is?’
‘Little Annika the Amateur Detective who creeps around the bushes. If anyone knows, it’s you.’
The man approached her with an ingratiating smile. She stared up at his face.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why did you kill those people?’
He paused, and leaned his head to one side.
‘But this is war,’ he said. ‘You’re a journalist, haven’t you noticed? The war on terror? That must mean armed struggle on both sides, don’t you think?’ He chuckled contentedly.
‘It wasn’t my idea,’ he went on, ‘but suddenly it was legitimate to eliminate dictators and false authorities, and there are lots of those around the world, they’re everywhere.’
He looked at her and smiled.
‘As a journalist, Annika,’ he said, ‘you’ll be familiar with the old adage, “dig where you stand”. There are stories everywhere, why cross the river to fetch water? The same thing applies to false authorities, why look further than you have to?’
‘And Benny Ekland was one of them?’
Hans Blomberg took a few steps back and sat down on the bed again, waving with the pistol to indicate that she should sit at the desk. She obeyed, moving through air as thick as cement, and dropped her polar jacket beside the chair.
‘You haven’t quite understood,’ the archivist said. ‘Hans Blomberg is just my alias. I’m really the Black Panther; I’ve never been anything else.’
He nodded to emphasize his words, as Annika searched feverishly for a loose thread, something that could make him unravel.
‘That isn’t strictly true,’ she said. ‘You’ve tried to fit in as Hans Blomberg as well, haven’t you? All those articles about the county council that were always published at the bottom of page twenty-two, was that it?’
A flash of anger crossed his face.
‘A way of maintaining my facade until the Dragon came back. He promised, and his return was the signal.’
Then he smiled again.
‘Benny made sure I ended up in the archive. Not that I’m bitter, because of course I won in the end.’
Annika forced back a feeling of nausea.
‘But why the boy?’
Hans Blomberg shook his head sorrowfully. ‘It was a shame that he had to go, but war claims many civilian casualties.’
‘Because he recognized you? You used to see the family socially, didn’t you?’
Hans Blomberg didn’t reply, merely smiled gently.
‘Kurt Sandstrom?’ Annika said, fear pounding in her stomach, putting pressure on her bladder.
‘False authority,’ he said. ‘A traitor.’
‘How did you know him?’
‘From Nyland,’ Hans Blomberg said. ‘The big lad on the next farm, he was one year older than me. We were at Uppsala together, and joined the movement at the same time. But Kurt’s faith was weak, and he drifted over to the side of capitalism and exploitation, to the farmers’ movement. I gave him a chance to change his mind, but he chose his own fate.’
She was holding on to the desk.
‘And Margit Axelsson?’
Hans Blomberg sighed, adjusting the hair across his scalp.
‘Little Margit,’ he said. ‘Ever-lovely, trying to make the world a better place. She always meant well. A shame she was so loud and obstinate.’
‘And that’s why you strangled her?’
‘She betrayed us.’
Annika shifted on the chair and felt that she would have to pee soon.
‘So tell me,’ she said, ‘why did you blow up the plane?’
The man gave a small shrug.
‘It was really just a test,’ he said. ‘Of the Dog’s loyalty.’
‘And she did as she was told?’
He chuckled at the memory.
‘She was so angry about the Wolf leaving that she would have done anything. The Dog was so disappointed, but you know what girls are like. Popular little Karina was only interested in fucking whoever all the others wanted.’
‘But,’ Annika said, ‘why were they getting married, if that was the case?’
The archivist laughed out loud. ‘You really fell for that,’ he said. ‘The marriage announcement. I made it up there and then, wanted to give you something to chew on. And, my word, you did chew, didn’t you?’
He calmed down and nodded thoughtfully, and Annika stood up.
‘I have to go to the toilet,’ she said.
Blomberg was on his feet with the same speed she had seen when he attacked the Minister of Culture in the compressor shed.
‘Not a chance.’
‘Then I’ll wet myself.’
The man stepped back, but hit the bed.
‘Go on, then, but no tricks. Leave the door open.’
She did as he said, went into the bathroom, pulled down her trousers and underwear, and relieved herself.
She looked at herself in the mirror, and in her eyes she could see what she had to do.
If she stayed in the room she would die. She had to get out, even if that meant taking Hans Blomberg with her.
‘Who’s the Tiger?’ she asked as she walked back into the room, concealing her intentions behind dull eyes.
Something needy and lustful had lit up in the archivist’s eyes. He was staring at her crotch.
‘Kenneth Uusitalo,’ he said. ‘Departmental manager at Swedish Steel. A really great guy, active in the Manufacturers’ Association, negotiates slave-contracts with the Third World. Unfortunately he’s been away for a while.’
He licked his lips.
Annika went over to the desk again, and leaned over it.
‘But really,’ she said, ‘you’re not much better yourself. You’re only after Goran’s money.’
He flew up like a shot, raced across the room and pressed the pistol to her forehead.
‘For being sarcastic,’ he said, taking the safety catch off, and she felt fear loosen her bladder and let out the few drops that were in there.
‘Good luck with the treasure hunt,’ she croaked, her mouth completely dry.
He stared at her for a few seconds, then pulled the gun away from her head, pointing it at the ceiling.
‘What do you know?’
