“A school for children with learning disabilities. I don’t think the possibility is very likely. His retreat would be hampered if—”
Simonsen had been looking at the map for a long time. Now he broke in. “It’s the woods. He feels safe among the trees. He sets up in there and lurks around until the coast is clear. I can feel it. He’s probably already there before it gets light. Remember that he waited half the night by the hot-dog stand in Allerslev.”
Planck shook his head. The Countess gave him an anxious glance and Pedersen said, “I suggest eight to ten plainclothes officers in the village, ideally from PET, and then thirty to forty men in the woods and the nursery. That will create an iron ring that he doesn’t have the chance to escape.”
He went on, turned directly toward Simonsen: “Call in the special forces if you can. Those boys are supertalented and we have enough time to organize it.”
Simonsen shook his head. “How many people want him to get away? Half of the population? Twenty percent? Ten percent? Give me a guess.”
The Countess answered reluctantly, understanding where he was headed, “It is hard to say. Public sentiment is about to swing again, I think, but for the moment we have what is almost a media war. The press coverage is unpredictable and much of the so-called news reporting is manipulative or strongly biased.”
“A speech, Countess. You may want to write it down. Is it ten percent?”
“No, that is too optimistic. Much too optimistic, unfortunately.”
Simonsen turned to Pedersen. “Arne, you’re good at estimating. To assume a low estimate, let us say five percent. What are the chances of selecting seventy people where no one—not a single one—divulges the plans before they are under way?”
It was an irrefutable point and neither Pedersen nor the Countess made any objections when their boss concluded, “Our task force tomorrow consists of the three of us. I’ll take off soon and you, Countess, will turn up at eight A.M. At that time I will have scouted out a place for us both. Arne, you follow Anni Staal, but in a car other than your own.”
No one had any reasonable alternatives to offer Not even Kasper Planck. Pedersen asked, “What if he calls back and changes the location? That’s something I would do.”
“You’ll take the copy phone and we’ll have to improvise, but I know that he will be hiding in that forest until they meet. That’s how he is. The woods are his best friend and his worst enemy.”
This time even Pedersen grew worried.
But Simonsen, in the woodshed, was not worried. Without any sense of urgency, he ate his liverwurst sandwiches and washed them down with a big gulp of water from his water bottle. Coffee and a morning smoke would have to wait, which turned out to be easier than he had feared. A pleasant tingle of anticipation went through his body and made him at once relaxed and restless. He took out his weapon from his service bag. It was years since he had been armed, and he had to spend a little time adjusting the straps of the shoulder holster to accommodate his current size. Immediately thereafter, his cell phone rang.
It was half past eight and Pedersen had arranged a phone meeting. His voice came through clearly: “I’ve pulled over at a rest stop outside Kors?r. There’s nothing of interest from Anni Staal’s telephone, apart from the fact that she hasn’t left yet. I hope they haven’t changed the meeting place to Valby, for example, because in that case we’ll be screwed. I’ve rented an Audi, by the way, a sweet car. I’m going to switch now and am anxious to see if you can hear me.”
The Countess answered. She was whispering, but also came through clearly: “Bookworm here, and I can hear you loud and clear, Audi. I’m reading the paper and have an excellent view of the café but not much else. My only problem is the head librarian, so I’m going to limit my communication to what is absolutely necessary—as long as she is in the reading room.”
It was Simonsen’s turn. He had wedged his cell phone between two of the sacks of firewood close to his head so that he had his hands free. His message was brief: “I hear you, but let’s concentrate.”
Arne Pedersen answered, “Audi here. I have nothing to concentrate on except a half-empty freeway. What are you doing, Simon? Shouldn’t you have a code name as well?” He grinned.
It was the Countess who answered, still whispering, “I think we should call him Nimrod.”
She was not smiling. Nor was Simonsen.
“I’m working, so stop with the nonsense.”