Part 44 (1/2)

'I'll go and get help,' Annika said, but a second later the man was holding her wrist in a vice-like grip.

'Where's Karina?' he muttered, his eyes unfocused.

'She's here,' Annika said quietly and wriggled loose in horror, standing up and turning to the minister. 'He wants to talk to you.'

'About what? We've got nothing to say to each other.'

Karina Bjornlund's voice sounded thin and nasal. She took a few cautious steps towards the man and Annika could see that her nostrils were bleeding badly. Her face was bruised and swollen, from her lips right up to her eyes. Annika met her gaze, reading in it all the bewilderment that she herself was feeling, and inside her a small light went on: she wasn't alone, she wasn't alone.

'Keep him company,' Annika said, and the minister went hesitantly over to the terrorist, but as she leaned over him he screamed.

'Not blood,' he panted. 'Take the blood away.'

Something short-circuited in Annika's head. There he was, the ma.s.s-murderer, the professional hitman, the full-time terrorist, and he was whining like a cry-baby. She flew over to him and grabbed him by the coat.

'So you don't like the sight of blood, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d? But killing all those people, that was all right, was it?'

His head fell back and he closed his eyes.

'I'm a soldier,' he said flatly. 'I am nowhere near as guilty as the leaders of the free world.'

She felt tears welling up.

'Why Margit?' she said. 'Why the boy?'

He shook his head.

'Not me,' he whispered.

Annika looked up at Karina Bjornlund, who was standing in the middle of the floor, a look of shock on her face.

'He's lying,' she said. 'Of course it was him.'

'I only strike at the enemy,' Goran Nilsson said flatly. 'Not against friends or the innocent.'

Annika stared at the man's pain-racked face, his apathy, disinterest, and she suddenly knew that he was telling the truth.

It wasn't him who murdered them. There was no reason for him to kill Benny Ekland, Linus Gustafsson, Kurt Sandstrom or Margit Axelsson.

So who had done it?

She was shaking. She stood up on numb legs and walked unsteadily towards the door.

It was shut. Stuck fast, immovable.

She remembered the lock on the outside, and realization hit her like a physical blow. Hans Blomberg had shut them in.

She was locked inside an ice-box with three other people, it was thirty degrees below zero, two of them were wounded and the third was blind drunk.

Hans Blomberg, she thought. Is that remotely possible? Is that remotely possible?

And the next moment the tunnel was over her again, the pipes stretching along the ceiling, she could feel the weight of the dynamite on her back, and somewhere in the distance a woman was crying, snorting and howling with pain and despair and she realized that it was the Minister of Culture, Karina Bjornlund. And she wasn't alone, she wasn't alone.

She let go of the tunnel and grabbed hold of reality. She mustn't fall apart, if she fell apart she would die.

It's so cold, she thought, how long can you survive in this sort of cold? how long can you survive in this sort of cold?

Her breathing slowed down. She was in no immediate danger herself. In her polar outfit she could last the night if need be. The minister had her fur-coat, but the men were worse off. The drunk's eyelids were already drooping, he wouldn't last another hour. The terrorist had better clothes, but was lying directly on the cement floor, which was like a block of ice.

We have to get out of here. Now. How?

Her mobile!

She let out a small noise of triumph as she fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her phone.

No reception.

She held it up in the light of the candle, trying it in every corner of the room. Not a trace of a signal. She tried to make a call anyway. Nothing happened.

Don't panic.

Think.

The minister had a phone. Annika had called her on it just a couple of hours before.

'See if you can get reception,' she said to the minister.

'What?'

'Your phone! You've got a mobile on you; I called you, didn't I?'

'Oh, right.'

The minister carefully searched in her black leather bag, pulled out her mobile and switched it on with pin-codes and a lot of loud puffing, then held it up in the air.

'I haven't got a signal,' she said in surprise.

Annika put her hands over her face, feeling the cold bite at her skin.

It's all right, she thought. I've already called the police. They should be here any minute I've already called the police. They should be here any minute.

And she studied the minister. The woman was bruised and shaken. She looked towards the alcoholic, in the flickering candlelight his lips looked dark blue. He was shaking with cold in his thin jacket.

'Okay,' Annika said, forcing her head to think rationally. 'We are where we are. Is there any sort of blanket here? A tarpaulin, any insulating material?'

'Where did Hans go?' Yngve said.