Eighteen Below

by Stefan Ahnhem

  “Well, look at that! If it isn’t the lovebird,” Henrik Maar said with a grin. “How were those pizzas?”

  “Lay off, Henke,” said Alexandra. And to Theodor, “Don’t pay him any attention.”

  “I’m not. But we have to go now,” he said, without so much as a glance in Henrik’s direction.

  “We have to go,” Henrik imitated. “Where? Can’t we come?”

  Beavis and Butthead cackled as if on cue.

  Alexandra was looking increasingly torn. “I don’t know? Is that okay?” She looked at Theodor with eyes so pleading and unsure that he almost lost his appetite. “They promise to be nice.”

  “We’re always nice.”

  She searched his eyes for an answer, and he tried to figure out what she actually wanted. Whether her question was a result of peer pressure or whether she truly didn’t want to be alone with him. “No, this is just for me and you,” Theodor said at last, casting himself into the unknown as he took her hand. “Come on.” To his great relief, he felt her give in and stand up.

  “Wait, just hold on here.” Henrik got to his feet and grabbed her other arm. “You’re not going to ditch your buddies, are you?”

  “What? No, but —”

  “You mean like how you ditched me at the pizza place?” Theodor cut in.

  “Exactly,” Henrik said with his gross grin. “With one slight difference: you and I aren’t buddies.”

  “That’s why I’m taking her with me and leaving you here. Someone has to get the check, after all.” Theodor turned to go, but he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Excuse me, but there’s something you don’t seem to understand.”

  Theodor spun to face Henrik.

  “No one turns his back on me and goes unpunished,” said Henrik, his eyes level with Theodor’s.

  It only took one punch to flatten him. Theodor didn’t even have to add a kick or follow him down to keep him on the floor.

  Then he left the cheery scene behind and rushed off.

  And best of all…

  Alexandra hadn’t let go of his hand.

  50

  Elvin’s suicide hit the team like a bombshell. The shock paralyzed them, effectively putting a stop to their final preparations before the impending meeting at Handelsbanken. There had been so many misunderstandings that Tuvesson was forced to call an emergency meeting and order everyone to put aside their thoughts of Elvin, no matter how difficult, and focus on the task at hand.

  But Fabian was convinced that the others, like him, were still trying to understand how they could have missed the fact that one of their closest colleagues was so upset he’d felt suicide was the only way out. Fabian didn’t know what it was like for the others, but for him, Elvin’s suicide seemed as surreal as the first images of American Airlines Flight 11 flying into the North Tower.

  Only when he stepped into the elegant lobby at Stortorget, drew the cool air into his lungs, and waited for the little plastic machine to spit out number 667, did he realize that it was just a few minutes before five o’clock.

  Aside from Fabian and Lilja, who was looking busy behind the counter, there were only four other people in the bank. There was an employee helping an older, well-dressed gentleman with a deposit at window three, and there was a woman in running clothes moving a three-wheeled stroller back and forth. And then there was “Chris Dawn.” Deep down, Fabian had not expected him to show up.

  But there he was, in the flesh, just a few metres away in his bracelets and skull rings, waiting to be shown in and sporting an impressively calm demeanour.

  He was so close that Fabian could have apprehended him without a problem. This whole operation, which involved almost twenty people, could be over before it even started — if it weren’t for the fact that they still lacked hard evidence and had to wait until he had signed one of the documents.

  Fabian walked over to one of the benches, where he sat down and exchanged a quick glance with Cliff, who was in the process of washing the interior windows. There was only one minute left, and a grave mood had descended over the scene. This always seemed to happen in a bank, for some reason. Fabian hadn’t thought about it before, but most people lowered their voices when they walked through the door — some actually started whispering.

  This time, though, there was an extra-thick layer of solemnity in the air. Was it just him, or could the perpetrator feel it too? And why had he cancelled his first appointment and pushed the meeting back to today? Had it been an extra security measure, or was there something else behind it?

  The suspect was the picture of serenity; he just stood there bobbing his head gently as if listening to music. But there was no music to be heard, and Fabian couldn’t see any headphones. Maybe he just had a song stuck in his head. Or was it a purposeful tic, to better play the role of Chris Dawn?

  If so, he wasn’t just frighteningly well-prepared, it also suggested he might be aware of the police in and around the bank. Had they missed something? An escape route they’d failed to secure? Or was he just so into his role that he hadn’t noticed them?

  The banker arrived with a smile stiff with nervousness under his sweat-beaded forehead. “Hi, I’m Mattias Ryborn. You must be Chris Dawn.” He approached the perpetrator and held out his hand.

  “So they say.”

  They shook hands, and Fabian could only pray that the banker’s hands weren’t as drenched with sweat as his forehead.

  “They’re on their way to the meeting room now,” Fabian said into his headset, watching the two men vanish behind the counter.

  There was a sound as if someone had given the wrong answer in Jeopardy!, and the red diodes above counter three blinked 666. The older man headed for the door and the jogger with the stroller approached the counter.

  Fabian wasn’t superstitious; he knew that those were just three numbers in a row and meant as little as row thirteen on an airplane. And as far as he knew, passengers in row thirteen had never been the only ones to die in a plane crash. Yet he couldn’t help thinking the woman hadn’t been out jogging at all, and there was no child in that stroller; it contained something else entirely.

  “Okay, I see them now,” came Tuvesson’s voice, and Fabian pushed his thoughts aside. “Everyone on alert, wait for my signal to go in.”

  As soon as the ink on the first signature was dry, the banker would give Tuvesson the green light and she would order the rest of the team to move. Two cleaners from the task force would go in and overpower the perpetrator so that Lilja and Tuvesson could formally apprehend him. Meanwhile, Fabian and Cliff would guard the entrance while the rest of the team took care of the two staff exits.

  Two more customers came in: a young man and, just after him, a middle-aged woman with a tiny, shivering dog in her purse. Lilja displayed a new queue number so Fabian could approach her window. To help the time pass as they waited for Tuvesson’s go-ahead, he took an extra-long moment to reach for his wallet, find his ID, and hand it across the counter to Lilja.

  “Now, let’s see, said the blind man to the deaf man,” the banker said with an anxious grin as he closed the door to the meeting room behind the perpetrator, who was wearing snakeskin boots, jeans, and a well-worn Led Zeppelin T-shirt under the same burgundy jacket he’d been wearing the day before.

  They sat down on either side of the conference table, where the documents were lined up and ready to sign.

  “First of all, I’d just like to say that we’re incredibly proud and delighted that you’ve chosen to move your accounts to our branch,” the banker went on, taking a pen from his jacket pocket. “I understand that you’re planning to dispose of most of your assets, but naturally we still hope to enjoy a rewarding collaboration in the future.”

  “Of course,” the man said, offering a brief smile.

  “As you can see here, I’ve prepared everything. A temporary liquidation ac
count has been set up to receive the funds until you know where you want to put them.”

  The perpetrator nodded and pushed his hair behind his ears.

  “So all I need from you, to move forward, is your ID.”

  The man took out his wallet, removed his driver’s licence, and placed it on the table.

  “All right, I’ll go make a copy of this. In the meantime, you can start signing. I put an X in all the places where we need your autograph.” He pointed out a couple of the empty lines and took out a pen.

  “Thanks, but I have my own.” The man took a pen from his jacket pocket.

  “Okey dokey.” The banker left the room and headed for the copy room, where Tuvesson was waiting.

  With gloved hands, she took the driver’s licence, dusted it with fingerprint powder, and studied it in the light from the lamp. “Nothing. There’s nothing here.”

  “There’s not? But —”

  “Did you notice how he was holding it?” Tuvesson interrupted. “On the flat surfaces, or just by the edges?”

  “No idea. There was so much else to think about.”

  “Okay. But you did give him the pen, right?”

  “I tried, but…” The banker swallowed. “He had his own.”

  “Shit…” Tuvesson rubbed her temples.

  “Maybe I should get back with that copy before he starts to suspect anything.”

  Tuvesson nodded and held the microphone of her headset closer to her mouth. “I don’t know if you all heard that, but we still don’t have a positive fingerprint.”

  “We’ll have to hope he leaves something behind on the table or the chair,” came Molander’s voice. “The important thing is that he signs.”

  The banker returned to the meeting room with the driver’s licence and the copy, and found right away that not a single document had been signed. “Okay, I’m back. How’s it going here, then?” He handed the ID back. “Is something wrong?”

  With pen in hand, the man looked up and met his gaze, but didn’t say a word.

  51

  It was like a dream, the way they ran hand in hand all the way down past Stortorget and then to the ferry terminal at Knutpunkten. Alexandra had almost let go of him outside Handelsbanken so she could run faster. But he’d held on, feeling like nothing else mattered as long as her hand was in his own. They were about to miss their table reservation on the departing ferry, but so what? As long as they had each other, everything would be fine.

  As if a higher power had rolled out the red carpet along their path, they were the last to board the ferry. And suddenly there they were, on either side of the table for two with its white cloth, candles, and fancy silverware.

  Theodor had never been somewhere so nice, at least not when he was paying. He had 5,765 kronor burning a hole in his pocket, and if everything went as planned they would be sitting there for so long he wouldn’t have a single öre left when they got off.

  “Are you ready to order?” asked the server, whom Theodor hadn’t noticed until he was practically on top of them.

  “We haven’t even looked at the menu. But I think we’ll start with two Long Island iced teas.” Theodor flashed a smile and ran his fingers over his stubble, which made him look older.

  The server looked at him like he saw right through his pathetic attempt and would tap his finger on the non-alcoholic drinks list at any moment, but instead he gave a curt nod and disappeared. Once again, that higher power had intervened to make sure everything went as planned.

  They raised their glasses and looked into each other’s eyes.

  “My, aren’t we splashing out.” Alexandra put down her glass.

  Theodor didn’t know what to say. Was she being sarcastic? It didn’t seem like it, so he decided she was impressed; he nodded. He tasted his drink, then worked up his courage and stuck his hand into his inner jacket pocket, searching for the broken-heart necklace.

  Sure, the night had just begun, but he wanted to get this over with. Suddenly the poem he’d put so much work into seemed all wrong, and he decided to get straight to the point.

  He swallowed more of his drink to give himself strength, but although it was really big, he found the glass empty. He would need more for this to work. A lot more. The problem was, the server didn’t notice him, even though he was waving with both arms.

  Theodor hurried to the bar and ordered two more Long Teas, or whatever they were called, and after another few toasts and gulps he finally felt the pressure in his chest ease up; the mood began to feel more relaxed. He even got her to burst out laughing, multiple times, and he had never thought of himself as a funny guy.

  Everything was going his way. At just the right moment, the server got his sight back so Theodor could order another one of those drinks —what were they called? And Alexandra even pressed one leg against his a couple of times.

  It was now or never.

  Without a word, he took out the jewellery box and set it on the table between them.

  “Is that for me?” she asked.

  “Open it and see.”

  She did as he suggested and took out the small silver heart with its two chains. “Wow,” she exclaimed. She looked as happy and surprised as he’d hoped.

  Together they broke the heart in two and each put on the half engraved with the other’s name. It was the best moment of his life, and he wondered if he should recite the poem. But just as he finally managed to find the right pocket, her phone lit up and drew her attention away.

  “Hi, Henrik…” she said. Theodor wanted to tear the phone from her hand, run out on deck, and throw it overboard. But instead he just sat there, struggling to keep his eyes on the candle as everything began to sway around him.

  52

  Fabian was standing at the first teller window, trying to look like he was waiting for Lilja to finish typing commands into her computer. But what they were actually waiting for was a command from Tuvesson. Fabian felt certain that something was amiss.

  “How’s it going?” came Molander’s voice through the earpiece.

  “I don’t know. The door is still closed,” Tuvesson responded in a voice that revealed her own uneasiness about the prolonged wait.

  “He just has to sign a couple of documents. There’s no reason it should take this long,” Molander said. “If nothing happens soon, I suggest we go in.”

  “No one is to do anything until my signal.”

  Silence had a grip on the increasingly claustrophobic meeting room as the perpetrator glanced through the documents, still apparently unperturbed. The banker seemed to be having a more difficult time. If things went on like this, it wouldn’t be long before the first drop of sweat ran down his too-large forehead.

  “I’m sorry, is something wrong?” He loosened his tie. “I only ask because I have to pick up the kids today. You know how it is when you don’t make it to daycare in time.”

  “So you have kids.”

  “Yes, one is three and one is five. One of each. But have you found an error? If you have, we’ll fix it in no time.”

  The perpetrator met the banker’s gaze. “I have kids too; two of them. It’s the best, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely. But what I meant was, little errors can always find their way in, no matter how many times we double-check.”

  “No, we certainly don’t want anything to go wrong. How would that look?” the perpetrator said without looking away. “But I don’t see anything.” He twisted the tip of his pen and began to sign one document after the next. As soon as he was done, he placed the pen back in his pocket and stood up. “Okay then, thanks for all your help.”

  “Not a problem. The pleasure was all mine,” the banker said with a broad smile, taking the perpetrator’s offered hand. “Everything should be ready by early next week. Like I said, it takes a few business days to sell off such considerable assets.” />
  The perpetrator nodded and followed the banker out of the meeting room, only to find the two janitors drawing their weapons out of the cleaning cart. His reaction was immediate. Before anyone could move, he had grabbed the banker as a shield, pressing a handgun to his temple. “I think it’s best we leave together. Don’t you?” he said in a singsong voice, as if he were speaking to a child.

  “Let him go,” shouted Tuvesson, who had appeared with her gun held in both hands. “Let him go, I said!”

  “One more step and Daddy won’t be picking anyone up from daycare,” he said in the same childish voice.

  “The bank is surrounded. Every exit is under guard,” Tuvesson said. “All units: the target is armed and has taken Mattias Ryborn hostage.” She addressed the perpetrator again, “You might as well give up. You have no chance. This is over. Let him go and get down on the ground!” She moved toward him.

  The report from the little handgun wasn’t much louder than a cap gun. But as the bullet entered the thin skin at the temple, passed through the brain, and exited the ear on the opposite side, it left behind catastrophic damage.

  Death was immediate, and by the time the bloody head struck the stone floor, the banker was long gone.

  Shock spread like an electromagnetic pulse, paralyzing everyone but the perpetrator, who ripped the key card from the waistband of the lifeless body at his feet, then grabbed Tuvesson and pressed the warm barrel of the gun to her temple. All in one quick, effective motion.

  “Look at what you’ve done. Who’s going to pick up the kids now?”

  53

  Fareed Cherukuri couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so inspired. Time seemed to evaporate. Not once had he selected Temporarily Unavailable to use the bathroom or take a smoke break. He hadn’t even found time to look up an ugly animal to send to Qiang Wu.

  That was a tradition of theirs. Fareed wondered why they did it, but couldn’t come up with a good explanation. It just happened. One ugly animal per day kept at least part of the despair at bay. Qiang had already sent two — a sunfish and more recently a naked mole rat — and he could feel his colleague’s curious looks burning into the back of his neck.