Firewall

by Henning Mankell

  Wallander threw down the receiver. At last, he thought. We have finally broken through.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Wallander did not think to look around as he got out of his car. If he had, he might have caught a glimpse of the shadow retreating into the darkness further up Runnerströms Torg. He would then have known that someone was watching the flat. The undercover cars posted on Apelbergsgatan and Runnerströms Torg had not been a deterrent.

  He locked his car and hurried into the building, eager to see for himself the strange things that Martinsson said were happening on Falk's computer. Wallander was surprised to see that Martinsson had brought in the kind of folding chair that people used on camping trips. There were two new computers in the room. Modin and Martinsson were mumbling and pointing at the screen in front of them. Wallander could almost feel the intense concentration emanating from them. He greeted them without getting much of a reply.

  The screen really did look different now. The chaotic swarms were gone, replaced by more orderly, fixed arrangements of numbers. Modin had removed his headphones. His hands wandered back and forth between the three keyboards like a virtuoso playing different instruments at the same time. Wallander waited. Martinsson had a pad in his hands and from time to time Modin dictated something. Modin was obviously running the show. Ten minutes had passed before it was as if they suddenly became aware of Wallander's presence. Modin stopped typing.

  "What's happening?" Wallander said. "And why are there now three computers?"

  "If you can't get over the mountain, you have to go around it," Modin said. His face was shiny with sweat, but he looked happy.

  "It's best if Robert explains," Martinsson said.

  "I never did manage to find out what the password was," Modin said. "But I brought in my own computers and connected them to Falk's. That way I could get in through the back door."

  Wallander knew computers had windows, but he had never heard about there being doors.

  "How does that work?"

  "It's hard to describe without getting technical. Moreover, it's kind of a trade secret. I'd rather not get into it."

  "OK, let it go. What have you found?"

  Martinsson took over. "Falk was connected to the Internet, of course, and in a file with the bizarre name 'Jacob's Marsh' we found a long row of phone numbers, apparently in a particular order. At least that was what we thought. No more codes. There were two columns, one consisting of names, and then a long number. Now we're trying to work out what these are."

  "In point of fact, there are both phone numbers and codes in there," Modin said. "And there are long number combinations that serve as code names for institutions in various parts of the world. There are codes for the USA, some in Asia, some in Europe, even one each in Brazil and Nigeria."

  "What sort of institutions are we talking about?"

  "That's what we're trying to find out," Martinsson said. "But there's one that Robert recognised right away. That was why we called you."

  "What was it?"

  "The Pentagon," Modin said. Wallander couldn't make up his mind whether it was a note of triumph or of fear in Modin's voice.

  "What does that tell you?"

  "We don't know yet," Martinsson said. "But there is a hell of a lot of classified, some of it perhaps illegally obtained, information stored in this computer. It might mean that Falk had hacked his way into these institutions."

  "I can't help feeling that someone who thinks the same way I think has been working on this computer," Modin said suddenly.

  "Let me get this clear," Wallander said. "Falk was breaking into other people's computer networks, is that it?"

  "That seems to be the case."

  "And what could he have been using all this classified information for?" he asked.

  "It's too early to say," Martinsson said. "First we have to identify more of these sources, then we may get a clearer picture. But it will take time. Every stage is complicated, because Falk arranged it very deliberately so that no-one from outside would be able to see what he was doing."

  He got up from his folding chair. "I have to go home for a while," he said. "It's Terese's birthday. But I'll be back soon." He handed Wallander the pad.

  "Give her my congratulations. How old is she?"

  "Sixteen."

  Wallander remembered her as a little girl. He had been to her fifth birthday party. She was two years older than Persson.

  Martinsson paused at the door. "I forgot to tell you that I talked to Larsen," he said.

  It took Wallander a few seconds to place the name.

  "He had the cabin next door to Landahl," Martinsson said. "The walls were thin, so he heard him, but he never saw him. Larsen says he was tired and slept most of the way from Poland."

  "What did he hear?"

  "Voices, but nothing to suggest any trouble or a fight. He couldn't be sure how many people were there."

  Wallander sat down gingerly on the folding chair. Modin kept working. Wallander realised the futility of his asking more questions. This new age of electronic development would soon demand a whole new breed of police officer. As always, for the time being, criminals were way ahead.

  Modin hit "enter" and leaned back in his chair. The modem next to the monitor started blinking.

  "What are you doing now?" Wallander said.

  "I'm sending an e-mail to see where it ends up. But I'm sending it from my own computer."

  "But weren't you using the keyboard for Falk's?"

  "I've connected them."

  Modin jumped up and leaned towards the monitor. Then he started typing again. Suddenly everything on the screen went blank. Then the numbers came back. Modin furrowed his brow.

  "What's happening?"

  "I don't know, but I was denied access. I have to cover my tracks. Give me a couple of minutes."

  The typing continued. Wallander was getting impatient.

  "One more time," Modin mumbled.

  Then something happened that made Modin jump up again. He stared for a long time at the screen.

  "The World Bank," he said at last.

  "What do you mean, the World Bank?"

  "That is one of the institutions Falk has access to. If I'm right, the code here is for a branch that deals with global finance inspections."

  "The Pentagon and the World Bank," Wallander said. "We're not talking corner shops."

  "It's time I had a little conference with my friends," Modin said. "I've asked them to be on alert."

  "Where are these friends?" Wallander said.

  "One lives in Rättvik, the other in California."

  Wallander realised that it was high time he got in touch with computer experts at the National Crime Division. He played out bruising scenarios in store. He had no illusions about the risk he was running: he would be fiercely criticised for recruiting Modin, however skilled he had turned out to be.

  While Modin was communicating with his friends, Wallander paced the room. He was thinking about the case, but his thoughts kept reverting to the feeling that his colleagues mistrusted him. Perhaps this extended beyond the incident with Persson; perhaps they thought he was over the hill? Did they think it was time for Martinsson to take charge?

  He was hurt and racked with self-pity. But anger pounded in his veins. He wasn't going to give up without a fight. He had no exotic place in the wings where he could start a new life. He had no stud to sell. All he had to look forward to was a state pension, and a meagre one at that.

  The typing behind him had stopped. Modin got up from his chair and stretched.

  "I'm hungry," he said.

  "What did your friends say?"

  "We're taking an hour's break to think. Then we'll talk again."

  Wallander, too, was hungry. He suggested they go out for a pizza. Modin seemed insulted by the suggestion.

  "I never eat pizza," he said. "It's not healthy."

  "What do you eat?"

  "Bean sprouts."

  "Nothing els
e?"

  "Pickled egg is good."

  Wallander wondered if there was any restaurant nearby, let alone in Ystad, that offered a menu that would appeal to Modin. Modin looked through the plastic bags of food that he had brought with him, but there seemed to be nothing there that caught his fancy.

  "A plain salad will do," he said.

  They left the building. Wallander asked Modin if he wanted them to drive, but he preferred to walk. They went to the only salad bar Wallander knew of in Ystad. Wallander ate heartily, but Modin scrutinised every leaf of lettuce and every vegetable before chewing it. Wallander had never seen a person who ate so slowly. He tried making conversation with Modin, but the latter answered only in monosyllables. After a while Wallander realised he was still obsessed with the figures and patterns in Falk's computer.

  They were back at Runnerströms Torg before 8 p.m. Martinsson was not back. Modin sat at the computer to reconnect with his friends. Wallander imagined that they must look exactly like the young man beside him.

  "No-one has traced me," Modin said after he had performed some operations far too complex for Wallander to follow on the computer.

  "How can you tell?"

  "I just see it."

  Wallander shifted on the folding chair. It really is like being on a stalking expedition, he thought. We're out stalking electronic elk. We know they're there. But we don't know what direction they're going to come from.

  Wallander's mobile rang. Modin flinched.

  "I hate mobile telephones," he said with distaste.

  Wallander went out to the landing. It was Höglund. Wallander told her where he was and what Modin had managed to extract from Falk's computer.

  "The World Bank and the Pentagon," she said. "Two of the world's most powerful institutions."

  "We don't know what it all means yet," Wallander said. "But why did you call?"

  "I decided that I needed to talk to that man Ryss again. He was, after all, the one who led us to Landahl, and I'm becoming more than ever convinced that Persson knew very little about the friend she claims to have worshipped. In any case we know she's lying."

  "What did he say? His name is Kalle, isn't it?"

  "Kalle Ryss. I wanted to ask him why he and Hökberg broke up. He wasn't expecting that question and he plainly didn't want to answer it, but I wouldn't back off. But he said something interesting. He said he broke up with her because she was never interested."

  "Interested in what?"

  "In sex, of course."

  "He told you this?"

  "Yes, and once he started the whole story came pouring out. He fell in love with her the moment he first saw her, but soon after they started going out it was obvious that she had no interest in sex. Eventually he tired of her. But it's the reason for her lack of interest that's important."

  "What was it?"

  "Hökberg had told him that she had been raped a few years ago. She was still traumatised by the experience."

  "Sonja Hökberg was raped?"

  "According to him she was. I checked our files, but I didn't find any case that involved Hökberg."

  "Did it happen in Ystad?"

  "Apparently. So I started putting two and two together."

  Wallander saw where she was heading. "Lundberg's son. Carl-Einar?"

  "It's only a theory, but I think it holds water."

  "What do you think happened?"

  "This is what I was thinking: Carl-Einar Lundberg has been on trial for a nasty rape case. He was acquitted, but there were several pointers to his having been guilty. In which case nothing would prevent him from having committed an earlier rape. But Sonja Hökberg never went to the police."

  "Why not?"

  "There are many reasons why a woman doesn't go to the police in such a case. You should know that."

  "So what's your conclusion?"

  "It's bizarre, I admit, but I think it's possible to see Lundberg's murder as a revenge on his son."

  "That gives us a motive. And it also tells us something about Hökberg that perhaps we did not know before."

  "What is that?"

  "That she was stubborn. And you said her stepfather described her as a strong person."

  "I'm not entirely convinced. How did the girls know that the father would be the one driving the taxi? And how would she have known he was Carl-Einar's father?"

  "Ystad is a small town. We don't know how Hökberg reacted to the rape. She could have been consumed by the idea of vengeance. Rape affects the victims very deeply. Some withdraw and turn inward, but some are possessed by violent dreams of revenge."

  What Höglund had discovered conformed to his own idea that Lundberg's murder was incidental to the central chain of events involving Falk.

  "See how soon you can find out if Persson knew any of this," he said.

  "I will. And we need to find out if Hökberg ever came home with bruises. The rape that Carl-Einar Lundberg was accused of was violent."

  She said she would call if she found anything else. Wallander put his phone in his pocket, but stayed on the unlit landing. A thought was bubbling up from his unconscious. Why did Hökberg escape from the police station? They had not looked closely into that question. They had simply settled for the most obvious answer: that she had seized the chance to run from punishment and to avoid responsibility. After all, she had confessed to the crime. But now Wallander saw another way to look at it. Hökberg may have left because she had something else to hide. The only question was what. Wallander instinctively sensed that he was getting closer to something important. But there was still something missing, a connection he was trying to make.

  Then he thought of what it was. Sonja Hökberg could have left the station in the vain hope of getting away. So far so good. But somewhere out there waiting for her was someone less concerned that she had just confessed to killing Lundberg than that she might tell the police something else while she was there. Something concerning a matter very different from personal revenge.

  This works, Wallander thought. This way Lundberg fits with everything else and there's a reasonable explanation for what follows. Something had to be kept quiet, something Sonja might have told us had she lived. She is killed to keep her quiet. But her killer is done away with in turn. Just as Modin sweeps away any traces of himself in the computer, someone has been trying to clean up.

  What had transpired in Luanda? he thought again. Who is "C"? And to what does the number 20 refer?

  Höglund's idea had cheered him up. He returned to Modin's side with renewed energy.

  Fifteen minutes later Martinsson returned. He described the cake he had just eaten in detail, while Wallander listened impatiently. Then he asked Modin to bring Martinsson up to speed on what they had discovered while he was gone.

  "The World Bank?" Martinsson asked. "What does that have to do with Falk?"

  "That's what we have to find out."