Before the Frost (43 page)

He looked out at the sea. People were walking on the beach. One of them had a dog, one was carrying a small child on his shoulders.
I am doing this for your sakes,
he thought.
It is for you that I have gathered the martyrs, for your freedom, to fill the emptiness you may not even realize you carry within yourselves.

The walkers on the beach vanished beyond his sight. He looked at the water. The waves were almost imperceptible. A faint wind blew from the southeast. He went out into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Langaas and Anna wouldn't arrive for another thirty minutes. He returned to the verandah and watched a ship slowly making its way west on the horizon.

True Christian martyrs were so rare now that people hardly even thought they existed. Some priests had died for the sake of
their fellow men in concentration camps during World War II, and there had been other holy men and women. But in general, the act of martyrdom had slipped from Christian culture. Now it was the Muslims who called on the faithful to make the ultimate sacrifice. He had studied their preparations on video, how they documented their intentions to die the death of a martyr. In short, he had learned his craft at the hands of those he hated most, his biggest enemy, the people he had no intention of making room for in the New Kingdom. Ironically, the dramatic events that were about to take place would in all probability be attributed to the work of Muslims. A welcome benefit of this would be to provoke greater hatred of that faith, but it was unfortunate that it would take the world a while to fully understand that the Christian martyrs had returned. This would be no mere isolated phenomenon, no Maranatha, but a wave of true evangelical power that would continue until the New Kingdom of the Lord was fully realized on Earth.

He studied his hands. Sometimes when he contemplated what lay before him they would start to shake. But now they were steady.
For a short while they will see me as a madman,
he thought.
But when the martyrs march forth in row upon row, people will understand that I am the apostle they have been waiting for. I could not have managed this without the help of Jim Jones. He taught me how to overcome my fear of death, of urging others to die for the greater good. He taught me that freedom and redemption only come through bloodshed, through death; that there is no other way and that someone must lead the herd.

Someone must lead the way. Jesus had done so, but God had forsaken him because he had not gone far enough.
Jesus had a weakness,
he thought.
He did not have the strength I possess. We will complete what he lacked the strength to do.

Westin scanned the horizon again. The ship he had been watching was gone, and the soft breeze had died down. Soon they would be here. For the rest of the day and night, he would concentrate on her. It had been a big step for her to lie about her relationship to Vigsten, the man in Copenhagen who was Langaas's unwitting host. Anna had never taken a piano lesson in her life, but she had managed to convince the policeman she talked to. Westin again felt irritation at the fact that he had underestimated the time needed to
work on her. But it was too late. Everything could not go according to his plan, and the important thing was that the larger events not be altered.

 

The front door opened. He strained to hear them. During the past long and difficult years, he had trained all of his senses. It was as if he had sharpened the blades of his hearing, sight, and smell. Sometimes he thought of them like finely crafted knives hanging from his belt. He listened to their footsteps. Langaas's feet were heavy, Anna's lighter. She was moving at her own speed, which indicated that he had not had to use force.

They walked out onto the verandah. Westin stood up and embraced Anna. She was anxious, but not so much so that he was unable to comfort her. He asked her to sit while he followed Langaas to the door. They spoke in low tones. The report Langaas gave him was reassuring. The equipment was stored safely, the others were waiting in two separate houses. No one showed any signs of anything except impatience.

“They're hungry now,” Langaas said.

“The hour is approaching. Two days and two hours until we come out of hiding and make the first strike.”

“She was completely calm when I picked her up. I felt her pulse and it was normal.”

His rage appeared as if from nowhere.

“Only I have the right to feel a person's pulse! Not you, never you.”

Langaas turned pale.

“I shouldn't have done it.”

“No. But there is something you can do for me to make up for it.”

“What is it?”

“Anna's friend. The one who has been too curious, too interested. I am going to talk to Anna now. If it turns out that this friend suspects anything, she should disappear.”

Langaas nodded.

Westin signaled for him to leave, then quietly returned to the verandah. Anna was sitting in a chair against the wall.
She always keeps her back to the wall,
he thought. He kept watching her. She
appeared relaxed, but somewhere inside he had doubts. Suddenly she turned her head in his direction. He drew back behind the door. Had she seen him? It worried him that she was able to unnerve him in this way.
There is one sacrifice I do not want to make,
he thought.
A sacrifice I fear. But I must be prepared even for this. Not even my daughter can expect to go free. No one can expect to do that, except me.

He walked out to join her. When he sat down, the unexpected suddenly happened. It was the fault of the sea captain, and he cursed him silently. The walls were simply not thick enough. A scream came up through the floor. Anna froze. The scream modulated into something like the roar of a desperate animal chewing its way through the cement.

Zeba's voice, Zeba's scream. Anna stared at him, the man who was her father and so much more. She bit her lower lip so hard it started to bleed.

 

It would be a long and difficult night. He wasn't sure if Anna had abandoned him or if Zeba's scream had only thrown her off track for a moment.

45

Linda stared at Anna's door, thinking she should kick it open. But why—what was it she thought she would find in there? Not Zeba, who was the only one she cared about right now. Standing outside the door, she broke into a cold sweat as she felt she understood the gist of what was happening, without being able to translate her insight into words. She shoved her hands into her pockets. She had returned all of Anna's keys, except the ones to the car.
But what good will they do me,
she thought.
Where would I go? Is her car even there?
She walked down to the parking lot and saw that it was. Linda tried to think clearly, but fear blocked her thoughts. First she had been worried about Anna. Now it was Zeba who had disappeared. Then she grasped something that had been confusing her. It was about Anna. At first she had been afraid that something had happened to her, but now she was afraid of what she could do.

I'm imagining things,
she thought.
What is it I think Anna could do?
She started walking in the direction of Zeba's house, then turned around and hurried back to Anna's car. Normally she would at least write a note, but there was no time for that. She drove to Zeba's house at high speed. The neighbor was out with Zeba's son, but her daughter was home and she gave her the key to Zeba's apartment. Linda let herself in and picked up the strange smell again.
Why is no one testing this?
she thought.

She walked into the middle of the living room, breathing quietly as if hoping to trick the walls into thinking no one was there.
Zeba never locks her door. Someone opens the door and walks right in. Her boy is here but he can't talk. Zeba is drugged and carried away. Her boy starts to cry, and eventually the neighbor comes over to check on him.

Linda looked around, but she could see no trace of what had
happened.
All I see is an empty apartment, and I can't interpret emptiness.
She stubbed her toe on the way out. As she was walking to the car, Yassar came out of his store.

“Did you find her?”

“No. Have you thought of anything else?”

Yassar sighed.

“Nothing. My memory is not so good, but I'm sure she was clinging to his arm.”

Linda felt a need to defend Zeba.

“She wasn't clinging to him, she was drugged.”

Yassar looked worried.

“You may be right,” he said. “But do things like that really happen in a town like Ystad?”

Linda only heard a part of what Yassar had to say. She was already on her way to see Henrietta. She had just started the engine when her cell phone rang. It was from the police station, but not her dad's regular office number. She hesitated, then answered. It was Lindman. She was happy to hear his voice.

“Where are you?”

“In a car.”

“Your father asked me to call. He wants to know where you are. And where is Anna Westin?”

“I haven't found her.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I went over to her place and she wasn't there. Now I'm trying to figure out where she could be. When I've found her I'll bring her back to the station.”

Why don't I tell him the truth?
she wondered.
Is it something I learned because I had two parents who never told me what was going on, who always chose to skirt their way around the truth?

It was as if he saw through her.

“Is everything all right with you?”

“Apart from the fact that I haven't found Anna—yes.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No.”

“That didn't sound completely convincing. Just remember you aren't a police officer yet.”

“How can I forget when you're always bringing it up?”

She finished the conversation, turned the phone off, and threw it onto the passenger seat. She had only turned one corner when she stopped short and switched the phone back on again. Then she drove straight to Henrietta's house. The wind had picked up and the air was chilly when she got out of the car and walked to the house. She looked toward the place where she had been caught in the animal trap. In the distance, on one of the small dirt roads between the fields, a man was burning trash next to his car. The thin spiral of smoke was torn apart by the gusts of wind.

Fall was just around the corner, the first frost not too far off. She walked into the garden and rang the doorbell. The dog started to bark. She drew a deep breath and shook out her body as if she were about to crouch down into the starting blocks. Henrietta opened the door. She smiled. Linda was immediately suspicious; it seemed as if Henrietta had been expecting her. Linda also noted that she had put on makeup, as if she wanted to make a good impression on someone, or to conceal the fact that she was pale.

“This is unexpected,” Henrietta said and stepped aside.

Not true,
Linda thought.

“You're always welcome. Please come in.”

The dog sniffed her, then returned to his basket. Linda heard a sigh. She looked around, but no one was there. Sighs seemed to emanate from the thick stone walls themselves. Henrietta put out a coffee pot and two mugs.

“What's that sound?” Linda asked.

“I'm playing one of my oldest compositions,” Henrietta said. “It's from 1987, a concert for four sighing voices and percussion. Listen!”

Linda heard a single voice sigh, a woman.

“That's Anna. I managed to convince her to participate. She has a melodious sigh, full of sadness and vulnerability. There is always a somewhat hesitant quality to her speaking voice, but never to her sigh.”

Henrietta walked over to the tape recorder and turned it off. They sat down. The dog had started snoring, and it was as if this sound drew Linda back to reality.

“Do you know where Anna is?”

Henrietta looked down at her nails, then at Linda, who sensed a
moment of doubt in her eyes.
She knows, and she's prepared to deny it.

“My mistake, then. Each time I think you're here to see me, what you're really after is to find out where my daughter is.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No.”

“When did you last talk to her?”

“She called yesterday.”

“From where?”

“From her apartment.”

“She doesn't have a cell phone?”

“No, she doesn't, as you must know. She resists joining the ranks of those who are always available.”

“So she was home last night?'

“Are you interrogating me, Linda?”

“I want to know where Anna is, what she's up to.”

“I don't know where she is—what about in Lund? She's in medical school, you know.”

No she isn't,
Linda thought. Maybe Henrietta didn't know that Anna had taken a break from her studies.
That will be my trump card. But not now—later.

She chose another route.

“Do you know Zeba?”

“Little Zeba? Yes, of course.”

“She's disappeared, just like Anna.”

Not a twitch or a quiver betrayed that Henrietta knew anything. Linda felt as if she had been floored by a punch she never saw coming. That had happened during her time at the police academy. She had been in a boxing ring and suddenly found herself facedown on the floor without knowing how she got there.

“And maybe she'll reappear, just like Anna did.”

Linda more sensed than saw her opportunity and she rushed in with her fists held high.

“Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why didn't you say you knew where she was?”