Game: A Thriller (33 page)

Or was it, really?

Two or three weeks, maybe. She didn’t have time to work it out after the hellos and before the waitress came back with their order. Pasta salad and mineral water for her, a prawn sandwich and low-alcohol beer for him. A couple of bites to ease the worst of their hunger, then bang, straight to the subject.

He was keen, almost driven.

Presumably just wanted it out of the way too.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Rebecca.”

“Mmh, yes, you said . . .”

She could guess where this was going.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” he said, squirming on his chair.

She said nothing and waited for him to go on.

“Not that I’ve lied or anything . . .” he added quickly, to preempt her. “But we’ve never really talked about relationships or anything.”

She nodded in agreement, as much to him as herself.

Here we go . . .

“It’s just,” he began, squirming as if the seat was chafing. “It’s just that I’ve got . . . or rather . . . I had . . .”

“You’ve already got a girlfriend!” she interrupted, to put an end to it.

“Yes!” He looked relieved for a couple of seconds, then his expression changed. “I mean, no!”

Suddenly she was confused.

“I’m not following now, Micke, have you got a girlfriend or haven’t you? It can’t be that hard?”

He took a deep breath and seemed to compose himself.

“To be strictly accurate, I had a girlfriend until Monday.
We’d been seeing each other since I moved up here, but we never lived together, at least not permanently.”

He looked beseechingly at Rebecca as if he were waiting for a signal to go on.

“So . . . what’s this got to do with me? We never promised each other anything, did we?”

She was making an effort to keep her voice neutral. What did he mean . . .
“had a girlfriend until Monday”
? What was he trying to say?

“No, that’s just it!” he said with relief. “We’ve never talked about anything like that, and that’s why I haven’t said anything, but . . . Oh, I don’t know!”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Her and me, we’d sort of grown apart, but neither of us did anything about it. I really should have ended it a long time ago, before you and I met, but it never seemed to happen.”

He sighed again.

“What I’m really trying to say . . .” he began, mimicking her unspoken question, “is that on Monday I finally said it, and finished it. It wasn’t too bad, it turned out she was already seeing other people, and we actually managed to split up as friends.”

For some reason her pulse was racing by now, and she really didn’t like that. Unless she did actually like it?

He cleared his throat and started again.

“What I’m trying to say, not very well, is that I’m single, properly, I mean, and I was wondering if we could maybe see each other a bit more . . . normally, if you get what I mean?”

He smiled, and all of a sudden she couldn’t help doing the same.

♦  ♦  ♦

HP needed somewhere to crash. Somewhere to get his head down and work on his plans. The car wasn’t an option; to think clearly you needed to sleep, eat, and shit like a proper human being.

A shabby hotel in Solna would have to do. Cash in advance, free Wi-Fi, no surveillance cameras, and—even more important—no questions.

Mange had encountered problems. Evidently the plans of the building weren’t publically accessible, although there were ways around that, of course. It would just take a bit longer. There was always someone with access to things like that. If the council didn’t want to help, then you could try the builders, the electricians, the plumbers, or someone else. Somewhere in public-access Sweden you could always find what you were looking for sooner or later, as long as you dug deep enough. And Mange knew people who were fucking brilliant at digging.

Almost like he had his own little Ant farm out there in cyberspace.

So, until his BFF came up with something, he just had to lie low and polish his plan.

To start with, he had to decide exactly what he was going to do once he was inside.

♦  ♦  ♦

The meeting hadn’t been anything like she had been expecting. But what the hell, this was much better. For a little while she was actually almost . . . happy.

They had sat there grinning at each other. Clichéd nonsense, the sort of thing she usually hated. Without answering his question directly she had managed to do so just by smiling.

So what exactly did it mean?

That they were in a relationship, a proper relationship?

She thought so, but wasn’t entirely sure. It felt simultaneously nice, and troubling.

And, on the subject of things that were troubling . . .

When the bill arrived he had to empty his jacket pockets before he found his wallet.

For a few confused but rather entertaining moments he thought he had lost it, then of course it turned up in the last pocket he checked.

That was when she saw the cell phone: silver, shiny, no buttons, and she remembered that she’d seen it once before, on his desk a few weeks ago. And suddenly she realized something else—that it reminded her of another phone she’d encountered recently, one which was now in the police Lost Property office.

Their design was very similar, possibly even identical. But just as she was about to put her hand out and turn it over to see if there was a number on it, he picked it up and put it back in his pocket. She couldn’t work out if he’d done it before she could inspect it, or just as part of putting everything back to normal.

But the whole thing had left her feeling uneasy.

And then there was the business with the note . . .

You don’t deserve it!!!!

it screamed from inside her locker, and once again she couldn’t really argue with it.

SHE WAS ANGRY.
No,
angry
wasn’t the right word, more like furious. In spite of her attempts to be honest, to take responsibility for what had really happened that evening, the notes kept coming. The same white Post-its with the police force logo, the same familiar handwriting in red ink.

No fewer than four accusing exclamation marks this time, as if the message itself wasn’t already crystal clear. Okay, enough of this crap now!

So what should she do?

The only thing she could think of was to try to get to the bottom of the whole wretched mess again. Try to get it all out, once and for all, with no excuses or evasion.

She’d tried a couple of times, dialing the number but always chickening out at the last minute once the answering machine clicked into action.

But it would have to wait until after work.

They were spending most of their time these days shuttling between Arlanda and the city center. EU bigwigs were coming and going most of the time as the EU presidency rumbled on. Agriculture and fisheries already sorted, the environment ministers were in full flow at the moment, and in a few days’
time the threat level would be going up significantly when the foreign ministers met up.

Vahtola had already flagged up that someone really high up would be coming, presumably from either the US or Russia. Maybe both?

Pulling up outside the Grand Hôtel, quickly out of the car, sweeping over the quayside through sunglasses, then a quick nod to the static team who were waiting at the entrance.

Everything calm, in with the VIPs, then quick march to the next pickup. No time to waste, and not much time to think. Suited her perfectly!

♦  ♦  ♦

Farook says:
Hey bro, u there?

HP heard the ping from his laptop and flew up from the bed.

Badboy.128 says:
Sure, what have you dug up?

Farook says:
A mixed bag you could say. Looks like youre right about the building, theres something funny about it. The council have marked the plans confidential, the builders say they had a breakin and a load of stuff was taken from their archive. The company that did the cabling has gone bankrupt and our mutual friend who installed the computers seems to have gone up in smoke . . .

“You have no idea how right you are, Mange,” HP muttered through gritted teeth.

Badboy.128 says:
But??

Farook says:
So you picked up that theres a “but”
?

Farook says:
Well, with a bit of conjuring we managed to get a plan, dont ask how. :-x And I think I know a bloke who can help you.

Badboy.128 says:
plan
bloke :-s

Badboy.128 says:
Last time you came up with Santa’s little helper I ended up in the middle of a fucking Alfred Hitchcock, so I’m kind of wary . . .

Farook says:
Heres the difference. Rehyman is a brother, know him from mosque. Comes with my personal recommendation, a friend of ours, capisce?

Badboy.128 says:
Okay, I’m listening . . .

Farook says:
Hes an expert in security systems guaranteed one of the best in the country, maybe the world. Seriously good! Does it for a living, earns a fortune. Designs systems for the cops, defense, you name it!!

Badboy.128 says:
Why does it feel like there’s a big fat But on the way???

Farook says:
hes a bit unusual . . . ;-)

Badboy.128 says:
Here we go . . . last time you said that I almost got my skull smashed in by a Cessna. Thanks but no thanks, just mail me the plans if you don’t mind . . .

Farook says:
Its not as bad as it sounds, hes just got lousy social skills. Trouble with interpersonal interaction.

Badboy.128 says:
Plain language, please, Doctor Sandström . . . !

Farook says:
Kind of autistic you could say. Brilliant in his field of expertise but no good at smalltalk. Bit like you, only the opposite

Badboy.128 says:
Funny, Mange |:-)

Farook says:
yes wasnt it, you and Rehyman are like evil twins, a cross between you two would give a loudmouth genius 8-)) !!

Farook says:
IMHO hes the only one who can get you in, because I guess you want in? Ive seen the plans and there isnt a hope
in hell of you doing it yourself, brother, and I say that as your concerned friend. Rehyman is your best shot!

Badboy.128 says:
*sigh*

Badboy.128 says:
okay sent his cell number with the plans . . .

Farook says:
Atta boy!

Badboy.128 says:
Something tells me I’m going to regret this . . . :-/

♦  ♦  ♦

Five days, and still not a peep from Henke. He’d promised to get in touch as soon as he got there. Okay, so he’d said something about not taking the shortest route, but five days without a word? Clearly cause for concern.

Something else that was worrying her the more she thought about it was those cell phones. There was no question that they were pretty damn similar. So what did that mean?

At best, nothing. Maybe you could buy cells like that in the shops, and Micke just happened to have bought one. Or maybe she’d just seen wrong.