‘This is my day off,’ Sonny says. ‘But there was no way I wanted to miss this.’
Adam is walking around, making the floor creak. He takes swigs from a small can of Red Bull as he adjusts his vest and clothing.
‘Do you want me to call your brother and let him know you have your own wings today?’ August asks from where he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.
‘His big brother’s the flight engineer on one of our choppers,’ Jamal says.
Sonny looks in the fridge, finds a jar of jam and sniffs at a carton of vanilla yogurt.
‘I don’t like your chances of finding terrorists in there,’ August says, then yawns.
‘But if I do, I’ll kill them,’ Sonny mutters, eating some smoked ham out of a plastic pack.
‘Is Gustav upstairs?’ Joona asks.
‘Yes, he’s going through the last details with Janus,’ Jamal replies.
One of the men from the Rapid Response Unit is sitting on the bottom step, staring into space. As Joona approaches he jumps up and gets out of the way, his movements jerky with nerves.
Joona goes up the creaking wooden staircase and finds himself in a spacious open landing leading to two bedrooms. Here too the windows have been covered. Everyone is already in position. All conversation is subdued and terse.
Janus is looking at the original plans for the building across the way, discussing something with Gustav.
‘Back in black,’ Janus says, shaking Joona’s hand.
‘What are your thoughts about the operation?’ Gustav asks.
‘Everything will probably go smoothly,’ Joona says. ‘But if things heat up, I must warn you that the killer is far more dangerous than we initially thought.’
‘We’ve got the situation under control,’ Janus says, with a note of impatience in his voice.
‘As you know, I spoke to the witness after our meeting … and in my considered opinion, our killer has received military training that’s at least as good as the training for the US Navy Seals.’
‘OK, that’s useful,’ Gustav says in a serious voice.
‘For God’s sake, we’ve got six snipers in position, including me,’ Janus says. ‘We’ve got twenty-six men from the Rapid Response Unit armed with automatic machineguns, stun grenades and M46s.’
‘I just want you to be prepared for the fact that this guy will be able to see through your tactics without even thinking,’ Joona says. ‘He’ll exploit the things you pride yourself on: he knows how you sweep rooms, how you hold your guns.’
‘This is supposed to scare you,’ Janus says, patting Gustav on the shoulder.
Beads of sweat are trickling down his freckled brow from his hair.
‘We haven’t prepared for that,’ Gustav says, wiping his mouth.
‘If you suffer any losses, you need to abandon standard procedure,’ Joona says, wishing that the young man was nowhere near this operation.
‘I’ll go down and discuss alternative tactics with my team,’ Gustav says, blushing slightly. ‘I can’t have you telling Aunt Anja I made a fool of myself, can I?’
‘Just be careful,’ Joona says.
‘We’re all prepared to die in the memory of our esteemed Foreign Minister,’ Janus whispers, then grins.
Gustav disappears downstairs with his helmet in his hand.
Joona goes into the bedroom facing the trees and looks at the computer screen that shows what’s going on in the street outside. The branches of some bare trees are moving in the wind in front of Parisa’s home.
10 Gnestav?gen is a yellow terraced house from the 1950s. There’s a pile of dry leaves next to the cracked steps, and an old broom leaning against the wall.
Parisa is expected home in twenty-five minutes.
Janus comes in with the plans from the City Council’s housing department.‘We haven’t spotted any sign of activity in the house since Parisa left this morning,’ he says, laying the plans on the table. ‘But there are a couple of blind spots.’
‘The hallway and bathroom,’ Joona says, pointing at the paper.
‘And upstairs someone could be lying in the bath or on the floor. But the biggest unmonitored spaces are the boiler and utility rooms.’
‘The house was built in the fifties, so there could be a pretty big bomb-shelter down there, and—’
‘Hang on,’ Janus interrupts, and answers a call on his radio. He listens, then turns back towards Joona. ‘Parisa’s earlier than we expected. She’s on her way now, she’ll be home in less than five minutes.’
41
Janus changes frequency on his radio and informs all units that Parisa is on her way.
‘Joona, you’ve come up with a lot of warnings, and I just want to say that if things go wrong …’ Janus says, looking at him intently. ‘If we have to break in, make your way upstairs. There’s a trapdoor in the wardrobe that leads up into the crawl space and out onto the roof.’
The screen shows Parisa approaching the house carrying bags of groceries. She’s wearing a thin black coat, a pink hijab and black leather boots with a slight heel.
She removes some junk-mail from the letterbox, puts her bags down and unlocks the front door.
‘We need to get you wired,’ Janus says. ‘Go into the bedroom on the right and Siv will be with you as soon as I can find her.’
Joona goes back out onto the landing and into the bedroom. A young woman in a black polo-shirt is sitting on the chair by the window facing the street. When she hears him come in she stands up.
‘My name’s Jennifer,’ she says, shaking his hand.
‘I don’t want to disturb you, but …’
‘You’re not disturbing me,’ the woman says quickly, and brushes a lock of hair from her face.
‘I just need help with a microphone.’
Jennifer’s hair is tied up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing black cargo trousers and heavy boots. Her helmet, goggles and bulletproof vest are on the floor beside the chair.
Joona sees that she’s got a sniper rifle, a PSG 90, mounted on a sturdy tripod. She can switch the barrel from one side of the window to the other in one swift movement.
Three extra magazines are lined up on a small table beside a box of ammunition – 7.62mm – and a green bottle of Pellegrino.
A ballistics chart has fallen from the box onto the floor. Joona doesn’t think it matters; she won’t be needing it anyway. The rifle has an exit velocity of almost 1,300 metres per second, and the distance here is no more than 60 metres.
Joona takes off his jacket and puts it on the bed, loosens his holster and then starts to unbutton his shirt.
‘Parisa’s up in the bedroom now,’ Jennifer says. ‘Do you want to see?’
He goes over and looks through the sniper-sight, increases the magnification to eight, and sees Parisa taking off her hijab. Her hair is gathered in a thick, black plait that hangs down her back. In the crosshairs he can see her face clearly: the pores of her nose, the birthmark above one eyebrow, and a thick line down one cheek where she’s smudged her eyeliner.
When she goes into the bathroom Joona notes that the door to a large cupboard with gold and brown medallion wallpaper is open.
That must be where the ladder to the crawl space is.
He straightens up and looks at the house. In the gap between the curtains he can see Parisa’s shadow moving behind the textured glass in the bathroom window.
The sound engineer from the surveillance group comes in. Siv is a middle-aged woman with dark-blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. She stops, her white blouse straining over her chest as she breathes.
She stares at Joona with a look of concentration on her face. He’s standing bare-chested in the middle of the room. All that exercise in prison has given him plenty of muscle. His torso bears the scars from where he’s been both shot and stabbed in the past.
She walks slowly around him, feeling below his right shoulder-blade and lifting his arm slightly. Jennifer watches them and can’t help smiling.
‘I think I’ll position the microphone just below your left pectoral muscle,’ Siv says eventually, and opens a plastic case with a padded black base.
‘OK.’
Siv fixes the microphone in place and tries to smooth the tape.
‘Sorry, my hands are cold,’ she says hoarsely.