Schyman's home number. His wife answered and Annika tried to sound normal.
'He's at the management Christmas dinner,' Mrs. Schyman said.
Annika called the switchboard and asked them to put her through to the banqueting room. She could hear that she wasn't being coherent anymore, that she barely managed to make herself understood. After a long interval of murmuring and rattling, she heard the voice of Anders Schyman.
'I'm sorry… Forgive me for disturbing you during dinner,' she said quietly.
'I'm sure you have good reason to,' Anders Schyman said shortly.
People were talking and laughing in the background.
'I'm also sorry I didn't make the Six Session tonight, we had a crisis at home…'
She broke out crying, uncontrollably and loud.
'What's happened? Is it something with the children?' he said with alarm.
She collected herself.
'No, no, nothing like that, but I have to ask- at the meeting, did you discuss what Spike has put on tomorrow's front page, that Christina Furhage was a lesbian?'
For several seconds, Annika only heard the background chatter and laughter.
'That what?' Anders Schyman finally said.
She put her hand on her chest and forced herself to breathe calmly.
' 'Her lover tells all,' according to the headline.'
'Jesus Christ! I'm coming in,' the editor-in-chief said and hung up.
She put the phone down, leaned over the desk, and started to cry. The mascara dripped onto her notes, and her whole body was shaking. I can't take it anymore, I can't, I'm dying, she thought. She realized she'd fallen down on the job. Now she'd really fucked it up. The sound of her despair would escape through the door and across the newsroom floor. Everyone would see that she wasn't up to it, it had been a mistake to promote her; she was a washout. This realization didn't help. She just couldn't stop crying. The stress and exhaustion had finally taken over her whole body. She couldn't stop shaking and crying.
After a time, she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a soothing voice somewhere above her.
'Annika, it's all right. Whatever has caused this, we can sort it out. Do you hear me, Annika?'
She held her breath and raised her head; she felt a flashing pain at the light. It was Anders Schyman.
'I'm sorry…' she said, trying to wipe the mascara off with her hands. 'Sorry…'
'Here, take my handkerchief. Sit up straight and wipe your nose while I fetch a glass of water.'
The editor disappeared through the door, and Annika mechanically did as she had been told. Anders Schyman returned with a plastic cup of cold water, closing the door behind him.
'Have some of this, and then tell me what's happened.'
'Did you talk to Spike about the headline?'
'I'll deal with that later. It's not so important. I am worried about you. Why are you so upset?'
She started crying again, this time softly and quietly. The editor waited in silence.
'I guess it's mostly because I'm tired and worn out,' she said when she had collected herself. 'And then Spike said all those things you only hear in your worst nightmares- about me being a useless idiot who wasn't up to the job and stuff like that…'
She leaned back in the chair; she'd said it now. Strangely, it had made her calm down. 'He has absolutely zero confidence in me as a manager, that's obvious. And he's probably not the only one.'
'That's possible,' Anders Schyman said, 'but immaterial. What matters is that I have confidence in you, and I am absolutely convinced that you are the right person for your job.'
She drew a deep breath. 'I want to quit.'
'You can't,' he said.
'I'm resigning,' she said.
'I won't accept your resignation.'
'I want to go right now, tonight.'
'Impossible, I'm afraid. I intend to promote you.'
She stared at her boss.
'Why?' she asked in amazement.
'I wasn't going to tell you yet, but sometimes your hand is forced. I have big plans for you, Annika. I might as well tell you about them now, before you decide to leave the company for good.'
She stared at Anders Schyman in disbelief.
'This paper is facing big changes,' the editor began. 'I don't think any of the employees can imagine just how big. We have to adapt to completely new markets, the IT world and increased competition from the free papers. We have to concentrate on our journalism. We have to have senior editors competent in all these areas. People like that don't grow on trees. We can either sit around hoping for them to appear, or we can see to it that the people we most believe in are adapted to the new conditions in advance.'
Annika listened wide-eyed.
'I'll be working for ten years longer at the most, Annika, maybe only five. There'll have to be people ready to take over after me. I'm not saying it'll be you, but you are one of three people I consider who might. There's a whole pack of things you need to learn before then, and controlling your temper is one of them. But right now you're the best candidate for my job. You're creative and quick-witted. I've never seen the like, actually. You take responsibility and conflict with equal aplomb. You're structured, competent, and full of initiative. I'm not going to let some idiot night editor drive you away, I hope you realize that. You're not the one who's leaving, the idiots are.'
The potential future editor blinked in astonishment.
'So I would appreciate it if you could delay handing in your resignation until the new year,' Schyman went on. 'There are a couple of people in the newsroom who want to harm you, and it's hard to defend yourself against that. Leave it to me. We'll talk again when this Bomber crisis has calmed down a bit. I'd like you to think about what further training might be good for you. We need to make a plan for which different posts you should cover. It's important you learn the trade at all levels of the newsroom. You also need to have a grasp of the technical and administrative side of the company. You have to win acceptance and respect everywhere, that is imperative. And you will, if we do this the right way.
Annika just sat there gaping. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
'You've really thought this through,' she said in amazement.
'This isn't an offer to become editor-in-chief; it's a call for you to get started on your training and get the experience you need to be taken into consideration when the time comes. And I don't want this to go any further, excepting your husband. What do you say?'
Annika shook herself.
'Thank you.'
Anders Schyman smiled. 'Why don't you go on holiday now and come back after New Year's? You must have a mountain of overtime by now.'
'I was going to work tomorrow morning, and I don't want to change that just because Spike was an asshole. I hope to have my picture of Christina Furhage clear by then.'
'Anything we can use?'
She mournfully shook her head.
'I really don't know. We need to talk about it; it's a tragic story.'
'All the more interesting. We'll talk about it later.'
Anders Schyman got up and left the room. Annika was left sitting at her desk, an enormous feeling of peace inside her. That's how easy it was to feel okay again, all it took to erase despair as black as night. Setting the record straight, and it was as if the humiliation in the newsroom had never occurred.
She put her coat on and left through the back door, grabbed a taxi from the stand, and went home.
Thomas was asleep; she washed off the remnants of her mascara, brushed her teeth, and crept into bed next to her husband. It wasn't until there, in the dark, with the ceiling floating somewhere above her in the dark, that she remembered what the police had hinted to her earlier that night:
They knew who the Bomber was, and they were about to move in on him.
