“What about the ones who just register?”
“We’ll divide them into three categories. Most of them will be organized into local chapters and will join the activities there. Category two we will ask to help us. For example, we now have two lawyers who are preparing a comparison of sentences for pedophilia in Denmark and other countries. Their work will appear on the home page tomorrow and the report will be sent to all of our members. The problem is that soon we won’t be able to take on more people. And then we have the third and final category: the ones who have a … how should I put it?… a fiery temperament, and there are quite a few of them, but we will handle them discreetly. And internally. Not all of my co-workers know that I am registering them. Understand?”
Stig ?ge Thorsen nodded, although it seemed complicated to him. He said searchingly, “So we are directing the war, if one can put it that way. Is that how it is?”
“We absolutely have an enormous base but to claim that we alone determine the image in the media would be a real exaggeration. There have also been backlashes. Not everything is rose-colored. Take a look at this.”
Erik M?rk took a badge out of his pocket. It was oblong with black lettering on a yellow background. It read, “5, 6 … 7, 10, 20!”
“A couple of gymnasium students thought of it. That is, first five pedophiles have been killed, then six—and later on seven, ten, and twenty. But it’s too extreme and pushes too many segments away. They’re also writing the slogan as graffiti and people don’t like that. Unfortunately we haven’t quite managed to stop it. There’s someone printing T-shirts with … well, take a guess…”
“Per Clausen.”
“Exactly. Have you seen them?”
“Yes, after you published the article about my arrest on the Net, people make pilgrimages here. They bring all kinds of flammable material that they throw into the minivan pit, almost like a ritual. Often gasoline but other things too. Last night it was magnesium and it lit up like shooting stars. I went over there for a look this morning and there were a dozen people and one of them was wearing one of those Per Clausen tops. Without his windbreaker on, so you could really see it. The police have all kinds of problems with this fire. At first they just put up police tape around it but that was quickly torn down, so they put up one of those mobile fences and it took them all afternoon, but last night someone removed that too, so they may have to stand guard if they want to prevent sabotage.”
They had reached the end of the field where a stone wall and a thicket of stunted nut trees and sloan bushes stood between them and a meadow leading down to the water. Both bored their way through this obstacle. Below this the autumn forest spread out in all its colorful splendor in front of a lake, that lay still and rain gray.
M?rk stopped on top of the wall and took in the scene. “It must be quite a pleasure to live here.” He jumped down, enchanted, and took steps into the sank meadow.
The country man managed to stop him. It was impassable bogland. “Better than prison, of course. But you shouldn’t go that way unless you want to risk me getting the tractor to pull you out of the mud.”
Stig ?ge Thorsen led them along an animal path that ran next to the stone wall. M?rk asked, “Well, how did your interrogation go? It’s your turn to tell.”
“I was under arrest for almost one day but not much happened the first few hours. From time to time they questioned me, always by someone different, but they did not manage to take me down.”
“And how would they? Starting a bonfire on your own property?”
“No, that must be the conclusion they came to as well. On the other hand … there was no doubt that they would have liked to keep me there. And I was there for almost the full twenty-four hours they were allowed before they had to involve a judge. At the very end there was a policeman by the name of Arne Pedersen from Copenhagen. He was very nice while at the same somehow more dangerous than the others. His biggest interest was in what I had done with the money. The money I claimed that I was given by the stranger.”
“What did you say to that?”
“That I had donated them to Sanlaap, and that part is actually true in a way. He didn’t drill deeper into the issue but as you know I’ve been called in for another round of talks in Copenhagen tomorrow.”
“Yes, and I will make sure there are reporters. It won’t be difficult but you should maintain your silence, although you should feel free to mention your interview with me on Thursday.”
“Go to WeHateThem.dk on Thursday evening if you want to know more.” Stig ?ge Thorsen grinned. M?rk did not. The advertisement was deadly serious.