The Other Son (10 page)

“She's a nurse,” Roland said.

“So she's got nothing to give us?”

“No, not as the person she's pretending to be, anyway.”

“But?”

“You mentioned her son,” Roland said.

A thought flashed into Ralph's head.

“Do they know that we know?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Do they know that we know? That we know more about them than they know about us? That we've got hold of Hector's son, that we know what their group looks like, we know their business is treading water.”

“No, I don't think they know all that.”

“But they'll know later this evening?”

“Yes, Ralph, later this evening they'll know.”

“So, should we go ahead?”

“Yes, we should,” Roland whispered.

“Are you sure Koen can do it?” Ralph asked.

“He ought to be able to.”

“How stupid is he?”

“Relatively.”

“But?”

“He's got some sort of warped father complex. Wants our favor, wants approval, affirmation.”

“Let him have it then. Call him, explain, help him,” Ralph said.

“Hmm. Shall we bring Carlos in?” Roland asked.

Ralph thought for a moment, then nodded.

Roland got up from his armchair again, walked across the floor, and opened the door to the next room. Ralph heard Roland say a few short words. Then he went back to his chair. Behind him came Carlos Fuentes. The Spaniard, the traitor who had previously worked for Hector. Large, bald, unbuttoned white shirt, loose linen trousers, barefoot. He sat down on the sofa opposite Ralph, where Sophie had just been sitting. One arm along the back of the sofa. There was something smug about him, as if he felt this all revolved around him.

“What do you think?” Roland asked.

Carlos shrugged his shoulders.

“Did she come here of her own accord?” Roland pressed.

Carlos Fuentes had lost weight. Not so much from his body as his face. It hung loose, and there were large shadows cast under his eyes.

“I don't think so,” Carlos replied.

“Why don't you think so?” Roland asked.

Carlos threw his hands up in exasperation. “She was just a nurse. Hector was in love with her. And she was there at my restaurant in Stockholm when everything kicked off.”

He cleared his throat and went on: “So no, she didn't come here of her own accord, then.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I've never seen Hector in love, except with her. They're close, he trusted her; he must have sent her, no question.”

“Why?” Roland asked.

“You could see for yourself. Was she threatening? No, she was cautious, quiet….”

“Why?” Roland asked again, calmly.

“Because they want time. She said so straight out.”

“Will they give us anything?”

Carlos had one hand inside his shirt, stroking his chest.

“No,” he said.

“Because?”

“Because I've told you time and time again…”

He was uncouth and blunt, the Spaniard.

“That Hector won't give up?” Roland asked.

Carlos nodded, repeating the words quietly. “That Hector won't give up.”

“But what if he's dead? Perhaps Aron's in charge? Or someone else,” Roland said.

“Does it matter?” Carlos said.

Ralph Hanke didn't feel like sitting and listening any longer. He stood up and left the sitting room. Roland did the same, neither of them deigning to look at Carlos Fuentes.

Roland stopped on the way out and said, “You'll be moved now, Carlos. This house is no longer safe. Get ready, you'll be picked up within ten minutes.”

Their steps faded away toward the hall and front door.

“I don't like the food anyway,” the Spaniard called.

But as usual, the men weren't listening to him. The front door closed with a loud slam, then the house fell silent.

If it had been up to Carlos, he would have held the nurse, forced her to say where Hector was, with every available means. Because one thing was certain: if Hector was alive, he would kill Carlos Fuentes the moment he caught a whiff of his scent.

Koen de Graaf took a taxi from the airport to the center of Stockholm, to a multistory parking garage on Regeringsgatan. On the fourth floor was a nondescript silver-gray Mazda.

The key was under the mat in the rear footwell. He got in the driver's seat and read the message on his phone. Three lines from Roland Gentz:

The shop on Västmannagatan.

Sophie Arlanda.

Ernst.

Koen typed Västmannagatan
into his phone and the GPS searched for satellites.

He leaned over toward the glove compartment. It contained a white envelope. He opened it and took out a piece of silver foil and a small bag of heroin.

Koen prepared the drug with a practiced hand, heated the foil from beneath with his lighter, and the heroin quickly began to bubble and boil. He breathed in the fumes, held them inside him, releasing nothing but transparent air when he breathed out again.

Something that hadn't felt good suddenly improved.

He followed the GPS and drove, high on heroin, through Stockholm's morning traffic. This was what his life was like. Regular jobs for Ralph, and always a precisely measured amount of smack to keep his addiction and emotional life under control. That was good, it meant he did his job better.

He parked outside the right address on Västmannagatan and leaned back.

His cell phone rang in his jacket pocket.

“
Get going,
” Roland Gentz said.

“I need the nurse's flight number. Have I got time?” Koen asked.

“
Just get to Arlanda and follow her the minute you see her
.”

Roland gave Koen Sophie's flight details.

“And then bring that old man with me?”

Roland was silent for a moment, then said, “
Yes. I sent you a list, didn't I? Is it too much for you?
”

“No.”

“
Are you sure? You need to concentrate, Koen. Can I rely on you?
”

“Yes!”

He sounded like a teenager.

Roland sighed. “
Listen. This is a chain of events, Koen. Everything has to work just-so. Can you handle it? Give me an honest answer.
”

“Tell me again,” Koen said sluggishly.

“
Once you've finished the job in the shop, that will send everyone running. They'll go to ground, and gather in the same place. That's what we're hoping. You need to find out where, that's the priority. You do that by following Sophie from the airport. Do you get that?
”

“I get it,” Koen muttered.

Roland spelled out the rest: “
Then, when you're finished, you bring that man back here to us. You're very important, Koen. Both Ralph and I are very appreciative of all that you do.
”

A flash of happiness ran through Koen as he ended the call; then he yawned, wiped his face with his hands, and opened the car door. He went around to the trunk. It was empty. On top of the spare tire under the floor was a jack, a wheel brace, and a Mini Uzi with an extended magazine. He tucked the weapon inside his jacket and crossed the street toward the shop.

Koen looked in the window. It was small and fairly unassuming, and contained beautiful things. Strongly colored textiles, spears, shields, ceramics—all sorts of things—old, ethnic, historical.

A little bell rang when he opened the door.

He saw a dark-skinned woman with a lot of thick hair. Proud, attractive. Behind her stood a man, tall, sinuous, smiling. The man was standing on a stool, rearranging things on one of the top shelves.

“Hello,” they said to Koen in tandem, cheerily.

He felt welcome, and realized he was smiling as he opened his jacket and pulled out the Uzi.

The man on the stool threw himself instinctively at the woman, landing on top of her and shielding her with his body.

Koen fired. And everything became very ugly.

Sophie paid the taxi driver in cash and was just getting out of the car when her cell rang. She answered.

“
Daphne and Thierry have been murdered, they were shot in their shop an hour ago….”

Sophie headed for the door, her legs still carrying her even though she had fully understood what Leszek had just told her.

“
Sophie?
”

She managed to tap in the code, open the door with her back, and walk across the narrow carpet leading to the elevator.

“
Sophie?
” Leszek asked again.

She opened the door to the elevator.

“Angela and the boys?” she asked, pressing the button for her floor. The elevator began to rise.

“
They're safe. Where have you been, Sophie?
”

She tried to pull herself together. “Nowhere. What happened?”

“
They were found on the floor. Thierry had his arms around her, he was trying to protect her. There were a lot of shots, that's all I know.
”

An image conjured up by Leszek's words flashed through her mind. She tried to suppress it. Leszek went on talking and she tried to listen in spite of the panic that was assaulting her from all sides. Leszek clarified the situation to her.
Everyone could have been exposed
.

She understood what that meant.
Run!

The world came back. Sophie made a call to Albert as she unlocked the door and the security gate inside, but it went to voicemail. She hurried into the bedroom and opened the closet. From the back she pulled out her pre-packed case. It contained all she needed for a few days, as well as her real passport. The fake one was already in her handbag.

Without looking back she left the apartment, headed down the stairs, and left the building.

Sophie hurried toward Birger Jarlsgatan. Albert's voicemail felt like a hopeless echo as she tried to call him again and again.