Gieger

by Gustaf Skördeman

  ‘From what?’

  ‘From this. From Geiger.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let your dad be Geiger.’

  ‘What do you know about Geiger? How can you know?’

  ‘I’ve always known. My assignment was to keep my eye on you. The Stasi never realised that Ober was lying about his novice, but we knew. We let it go on for as long as you delivered.’

  ‘“We?” Are you KGB?’

  Lotta grappled with what this might mean for her outlook on the world, but deep down she knew it was true.

  ‘Not any longer. Now I’m just a grandma. And I want you to be a mum and nothing else. Leave this place. Now. Before it’s too late.’

  ‘Do you know why I’m here?’

  ‘Yes. I know who you’re meeting. And I know why. But if you do this, then there’s no way back.’

  ‘That’s the point. Help me. If you’re committed. You must surely believe in the same things as I do.’

  ‘I’ve always had my own convictions.’

  ‘We’ve got a chance now to set it all right. To correct history.’

  When Agneta didn’t reply, Lotta continued.

  ‘Look at the state of the world. The schisms, the injustice. Money governs everything. Evil men have become dictators in Hungary, Turkey, Poland and the USA. We can stop it. We can create a new world. We can tear down the old ruins and vanquish the predators, and make room for something amazing in its place.’

  *

  Sara got out of the taxi a few houses away from the Bromans’, crept into the nearest property and cut across the neighbours’ gardens. It wasn’t long before the white villa was looming before her. It was a light summer’s evening, so she didn’t have much in the way of cover from darkness – she hoped that no one would happen to be looking out just as she passed.

  Sara entered the Bromans’ property to the rear of the house and swept her gaze across the facade and garden.

  Empty.

  Slowly, she crept up to the house. When she got close to the front, she saw Lotta together with an old woman with buzz cut grey hair.

  She continued to observe them, and after a minute or so she realised it was Agneta she was looking at. Short hair, no makeup and completely different body language.

  But that was her.

  It took a while to sink in.

  Agneta in the flesh.

  Together with Lotta.

  Two of the idols of her childhood, uncovered as spies for foreign powers.

  Sara waited, unsure what she should do, but she realised she couldn’t let them disappear. She had to keep them here, somehow. She stepped out of the darkness and approached the two women.

  ‘Agneta,’ was the first thing she said.

  She didn’t know what reaction she’d been expecting, but when the two women turned towards her they didn’t look at all surprised. Agneta’s face was completely blank and Lotta seemed to be mostly annoyed.

  ‘Little Sara,’ said Agneta. ‘You can’t be here.’

  Sara was glad she was alive. She realised that now. Agneta had been a mother figure of sorts to her. Yet at the same time she believed what Breuer and Kozlov had said about her. So it was hard to know how to act.

  Instead she turned to Lotta.

  ‘I know. I know everything.’

  For the first time in her life, she truly had the upper hand over her old childhood friend.

  Lotta looked at Sara without saying anything.

  ‘You’re Geiger,’ she continued. ‘All the rapes of those young girls in the guest room, all the films for blackmail purposes. You exploited the girls that Stellan got hold of so that you had a hold on people. You organised it all. And Joachim trained you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lotta, without looking in the slightest bit surprised. ‘He began and I took over.’

  ‘Sara, leave,’ said Agneta. ‘You don’t know anything about this.’

  ‘Stay-Put,’ said Sara, looking her in the eye. ‘The Soviet equivalent. It’s still active. But I don’t know whether you’re trying to stop it or deliver it. You’re an illegal.’

  ‘No, not any longer. Not since the fall of the Wall. Now I’m just a grandma.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sara, I’m here to put an end to this. To bury my daughter’s secret. Her children shouldn’t have their lives destroyed by the choices of others, like Lotta and I have.’

  Sara tried to make out whether Agneta meant what she was saying. Had she surrendered her old convictions? But if so, why had she executed four people?

  ‘My grandchildren won’t have to grow up and read that they’re the children of a spy,’ said Agneta.

  ‘Was that why you shot Stellan? So that everyone would think he was Geiger?’

  ‘Yes. And for all the awful things he’s done. I was forbidden to intervene. And while I couldn’t undo all the awfulness, I could at least avenge the girls with my shot.’

  Sara barely recognised her. The amenable, docile Agneta of her childhood was gone. This was someone else entirely.

  Desirée.

  ‘If the ring hadn’t been activated, then I would never have had to clean everything up. But my hand was forced,’ Agneta added. ‘When the worst happened and the call came, I didn’t hesitate for one second. The only things I care about now are my grandchildren. Everything else is unimportant. And regrettably you’re in my way, little Sara.’

  Without Sara noticing, Agneta had pulled out a pistol that was now aimed at her.

  Instinctively, she shifted her hand to her own holster, but then remembered she wasn’t carrying one. And no gun either, since that was currently evidence in a case of attempted murder against herself.

  Sara looked at Agneta and Lotta.

  ‘Do you really know what you’re doing?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ said Agneta.

  ‘Do you understand what will happen? How many will die?’

  ‘You’ve never seen the big picture,’ said Lotta.

  ‘It’s thirty years since the Wall fell. You have a completely different life. You have children.’

  ‘It’s them I’m thinking of. They shouldn’t have to grow up under the tyranny of commercialism. It’s impossible to save a rotten building. Sometimes you have to knock it down to build something better.’

  ‘I’m your sister.’

  It felt so strange to say the words.

  Sara looked at Agneta.

  ‘You must have known. You must have seen Mum with her growing belly and realised who the father was. Did you say anything? Did you do anything?’

  No answer.

  ‘Mum was sixteen!’

  ‘There were many who had it much worse, back in those days,’ said Agneta.

  ‘You can’t do this. You’re my second mother. You can’t shoot me,’ said Sara, pleading.

  ‘I was able to shoot my husband,’ Agneta said flatly. ‘Some values are more important.’

  Sara looked at Lotta.

  ‘Lotta, we have the same father!’

  ‘Why do you think I’ve always hated you?’ Lotta said with contempt in her voice.

  The words were like a kick to the stomach, and Sara knew instinctively that it was true. She turned to Agneta.

  ‘You can’t let her detonate the bombs!’

  ‘We’ll see. But I’m afraid that, either way, you have to go.’

  Agneta took a step closer and raised her hand so that the muzzle of the pistol was pointing right at Sara’s forehead. It took only a split second for Sara to realise that she was deadly serious. But it felt like a lifetime.

  Images flashed through her head.

  Ebba. Olle. Martin. Her colleagues. Anna. Jane.

  Now she was never going to see them again.

  Would they ever find out what had happened?

  What would happen to her body? Would Agneta leave Sara lying there in front of the house until someone found her, or would the body simply disappear?

  How would Martin r
eact when he realised that Sara had sought out her own executioner, thus depriving his children of their mother? Or what if he never found out what had happened to her?

  As if in slow motion, Sara thought she saw Agneta’s finger begin to squeeze the trigger. Not a shadow of doubt was visible in her gaze. Sara was merely an obstacle in her way. A technicality.

  Was this how it was going to end?

  A couple of quick footsteps was all that she heard. Then Agneta fell to the ground with a cry.

  Strauss leaped to his feet with astonishing speed and grabbed her weapon. He had tackled her to the ground with a rapidity that was surprising, given his body weight. Now he took aim, while Breuer stepped out of the shadows. She was wearing a bulletproof vest, and had a Glock in her hand, and a Heckler & Koch MP5 slung over her shoulder.

  Sara thanked her non-existent God for giving her the foresight to call the Germans. Breuer looked from Agneta to Sara to Lotta.

  ‘The codes,’ was all she said.

  Lotta looked at Breuer blankly, then she turned around and went to the beginning of the garden path. Using a bar propped against an apple tree, she flipped over the first paving stone on the path to the shed.

  Something was carved into the bottom of the stone: ‘F473B12’.

  ‘There’s a code under each slab,’ said Lotta.

  Breuer nodded, raised her pistol and shot Strauss in the back of the head. He hit the ground with a thud, like a felled bison.

  The world froze for a second and Sara tried to understand what was happening.

  Breuer had shot Strauss.

  Lotta didn’t look at all surprised.

  There was only one explanation.

  An impossible explanation, but also the only one.

  ‘Abu Rasil,’ was all Sara managed to say.

  Breuer smiled.

  ‘In a world dominated by men, the best disguise is to be a woman. I’ve always said I knew exactly how Abu Rasil thinks.’

  ‘Well, that means my mission is almost over,’ said Agneta, getting up.

  Breuer looked at her. It took a little while for her to recognise Agneta with her new appearance.

  ‘Agneta Broman,’ she said, searching her memory. ‘Desirée?’

  Agneta nodded.

  ‘We’ve met before,’ said Breuer.

  ‘A couple of times,’ said Agneta. ‘And while they may be thirty years old, my instructions are to help you.’

  ‘That’s great, Mum,’ said Lotta. ‘We’re so close now.’

  Breuer turned to Sara.

  ‘And then there’s stubborn Sara. If you hadn’t called, I could have come here without Strauss. His life is on your conscience.’

  Breuer raised her weapon to fire.

  ‘Wait,’ said Agneta, nodding to the neighbouring house, where a light had come on in a window. ‘Don’t shoot now.’

  Breuer lowered her weapon. Sara couldn’t work out whether Agneta was trying to help her, or was genuinely being cautious.

  ‘We need to transmit the codes,’ said Lotta.

  ‘Genau.’

  Breuer glanced at the glowing lamp in the window of the neighbouring house. She kept the automatic aimed at Sara, and used her other hand to fish out her mobile, photograph the first code and send the image.

  She could hardly believe it after all these years.

  The codes were at her feet.

  Her pension.

  Her house in the Caribbean.

  But above all, her revenge on those who’d once crushed her dreams of a better world – the victorious powers who’d spat on her commitment, and degraded her and all her comrades in the struggle.

  Now she was glad that she’d never given up, but had continued on a freelance basis, or whatever you wanted to call it.

  All these years of waiting had paid off.

  She was grateful that there were others like her. Not only Geiger, but also Desirée, even if she hadn’t been counting on any help from that direction.

  She had never been given access to the codes – her handler didn’t want to risk her writing them down or learning them by heart.

  That was why they’d been stored in Sweden, in a well-heeled suburb. An analogue backup in the safest possible setting. With two guard dogs – Geiger and Desirée. And Breuer had had to wait like a lamb for the signal from her handler that they were ready for the handover before she made contact with Geiger. She had to pretend to be tracking Abu Rasil in Stockholm in order to be ready, which once again provided her with the perfect alibi. Abu Rasil’s most dogged opponent, always on his heels but once again conquered by the legendary terrorist.

  Lotta turned the next slab over. ‘HX329K1.’

  Carved in stone. Breuer would never have guessed.

  She took a photograph and sent it.

  Twelve stones, twelve codes, twelve steps to Hell.

  ‘Joachim and I were the only ones who knew,’ said Lotta.

  Proud.

  Breuer’s true identity had shaken Sara, but now she was steady once again.

  She realised she couldn’t just stand here and watch. Watch the beginning of the apocalypse.

  When Breuer bent down to photograph the third slab, she saw her moment. She was thinking about the German’s two weapons as she sprinted off, but all she needed was a chance to get away.

  To call for help – to find something to defend herself with.

  She ran faster than she’d ever done before.

  Away from Breuer and the Bromans.

  Towards the road.

  Despite her body aching after the serious assault. She shut the pain out.

  But Sara hadn’t taken many steps before she heard the sound of a shot hitting a tree a few centimetres from her.

  Breuer had probably fired as quickly as she could, and hadn’t had time to aim properly. The next time she would be guaranteed not to miss.

  And it would be quick.

  Her only chance was the garden shed.

  Sara tore open the door and threw herself inside, turning the key in the lock. At exactly the same moment, a second shot was fired. A bullet penetrated the door and went into the rear wall.

  Breuer approached and tried the door.

  Locked.

  And the shed was solid. She didn’t have time to break the door down. She needed to send the codes. When she’d notified them that she was going to meet Geiger, the entire operation had been initiated and now there wasn’t much time. Far too much was at stake for her to take any risks.

  Using her neatly compact but deadly efficient MP5, she fired a cross shape at the shed to leave as little room as possible for Sara to hide in. It didn’t matter whether anyone heard. She had her police badge to flash if anyone turned up.

  She emptied the first magazine, quickly changed to the second and carried on.

  A white angel of death.

  Inside the shed, Sara threw herself to the floor, tipped the old wheelbarrow on its side and curled up behind it.

  The automatic gunfire continued. A few bullets hit the barrow and left huge dents – despite the fact that they had already passed through the thick wooden wall.

  The metal wouldn’t hold for much longer, and Sara scanned the space for protection.

  She was interrupted by a velvet-soft thud. One of the bullets had hit the jerrycan she’d left there previously. It was downright luck that it wasn’t full – if it had been, then it would have exploded.

  The can started to burn, and an infernal odour of petrol and smoke spread throughout the shed’s interior. The outside wall burst into flames with a sound that was almost like a dog barking. And then the side walls. And the back.

  Walls that Sara had drenched in petrol.

  Now she was stuck inside a fire trap that she herself had set.

  The heat was already savage, like opening an oven door and putting your face right to the opening. A searing pain that made you instinctively back away.

  But there was nowhere to back away to.

  The shooting had sto
pped, and Sara ran to the wall where the tools hung. It was on fire, too, but with the help of a rake, she managed to knock an axe from its position on the wall.

  She couldn’t get out through the door. Breuer was waiting for her there.

  Using the axe, she began to hack at the wall where there was the least fire.

  But the planks of wood were solid, and the wall was thick. Stellan had wanted it to be warm even in winter.

  She tried the floor, but faced the same issue. Thick, solid boards that she could only make small indentations in.

  She could no longer breathe. She prayed to God and the Devil and the Buddha and Allah and all of Anna’s spirits for salvation. She crouched, putting her arms over her head to shield herself from the heat. She threw herself around the space in a panic, but it was just as hot wherever she went. The same infernal heat.

  The panic and pain made her scream.

  Death was everywhere around her, and soon it would conquer her. Destroy her. There was nowhere to escape to.

  Her lungs were on fire; the heat was stinging her skin as if she were being flogged. The acrid stench of burned hair was mixed with petrol fumes and smoke.

  There was nothing left to hope for.

  She wouldn’t see Olle finish school. She would never give a speech at Ebba’s wedding. She would never see any grandchildren.

  Sara sank to her knees and looked around one final time.

  Door, roof, floor, walls.

  Window.

  The boarded-up window.

  Sara got up, grabbed the axe and threw herself at the rear wall. She roared with pain as she stepped into the flames and hacked at the sheets of chipboard that had been placed across the back window.

  The boards gave way on the first attempt.

  She tore away the cracked pieces of wood, smashed the glass with the axe and threw herself through the opening, screaming. A desperate, primal cry.

  The beauty bush at the back didn’t do much to cushion her fall. Sara landed heavily on the ground, hitting her shoulder so hard that her arm throbbed. She rolled around in panic, trying to extinguish the fire that had taken hold of her clothing.

  And she sucked the cool air into her lungs.

  The cool, life-giving summer air.

  At the front, Breuer heard Sara’s screaming fall silent as the shed was engulfed in flames. She turned towards Lotta.

  ‘The codes. What’s the next one?’