Firewall

by Henning Mankell

  "It's 11 a.m.," he said, as they had gathered around the desk. "That means we have 13 hours left until it is officially October 20. Time is of the essence, in other words."

  "Nyberg called," Martinsson said, interrupting him.

  "What did he have to say for himself?"

  "Not much. The weapon was a Makarov, 9mm. He thought it would turn out to be the weapon used in the flat on Apelbergsgatan."

  "Did the man have any identification?"

  "He had three different passports. Korean, Thai and – strangely enough – Romanian."

  "Not one from Angola?"

  "No."

  "I'm going to talk to Nyberg," Wallander said, but first he resumed his general remarks. Modin sat impatiently in front of the computer.

  "We have only 13 hours left until October 20," he repeated. "And right now we have three main points of interest. Everything else can wait."

  Wallander looked around. Martinsson's face was devoid of expression. The swelling at his lower lip had a hint of blue.

  "The first question is if October 20 is the real date," Wallander said. "If it is, what will happen? The third question that follows from this is: if something is about to happen, how can we go about preventing it? Nothing else matters except these three things."

  "There haven't been any responses from abroad," Alfredsson said.

  Wallander suddenly remembered the paper he should have signed and authorised before it was sent out to police organisations across the world.

  Martinsson must have read his mind. "I signed it. To save time."

  Wallander nodded. "And no-one has written back or sent other inquiries?"

  "Nothing yet. But it hasn't been long, and it is still a Sunday."

  "That means that we're on our own for now." Wallander looked at Modin. "Robert told me on the way over that he had some new ideas. Hopefully, they will lead us to new information."

  "I'm convinced it's October 20," Modin said.

  "Your job is to convince the rest of us."

  "I need an hour," Modin said.

  "We have 13," Wallander said. "And let us all assume for now that we have no more than that."

  Wallander walked away. Best to leave them alone. He drove to the station.

  What is it that I've overlooked? he asked himself. Is there a clue in all of this that could bring everything together in a single stroke? The thoughts in his head tumbled around without connecting. Then he thought back to when he had seen Elvira in Malmö. She had seemed different today. He couldn't say exactly what it was, but he knew it was something and it worried him. The last thing he wanted was for her to start finding fault with him at this stage. Perhaps taking Robert to her had been a mistake. Perhaps he had involved her too abruptly into the harsh realities of his life.

  He tried to shake off these thoughts. When he got to the station he looked for Hansson. He was in his office researching companies from a list that Martinsson had compiled. Wallander asked him how it was going and Hansson shook his head despondently.

  "Nothing hangs together," he said. "The only common denominator seems to be that they are financial institutions. Most of them, but there's also a telecommunications company and a satellite company."

  Wallander frowned. "What was the last one?"

  "A satellite company in Atlanta, Telsat Communications. As far as I can tell, they rent broadcasting space on a number of communications satellites."

  "Which fits with the telecommunications company."

  "I suppose you can even get it to fit with the financial companies from the standpoint that they're also involved in the electronic transfer of large sums of money."

  Wallander thought of something. "Can you see if any of the company's satellites cover Angola?"

  Hansson typed something into the computer. Wallander noticed that he had to wait longer than he usually did with Martinsson.

  "Their satellite coverage covers the globe," he said finally. "Even to the poles."

  Wallander nodded. "It may mean something," he said. "Call Martinsson and tell him."

  Hansson took the opportunity to ask something else.

  "What was all that about last night?"

  "Martinsson is full of shit," Wallander said. "But we won't go into that right now."

  Chief Holgersson organised a press conference for 2 p.m. She had tried to reach Wallander beforehand, but he instructed Höglund to say he was out of the office. He stood at his window for a long time and stared at the water tower. The clouds were gone. It was a cold and clear October day.

  At 3 p.m. he couldn't stand it any longer and drove to Runnerströms Torg, walking in on an intense debate about how best to interpret a new combination of numbers. Modin tried to involve Wallander, but he shook his head.

  At 5 p.m. he went out and bought himself a hamburger. When he came back to the station he called Elvira, but there was no answer, not even an answerphone. He was immediately jealous, but too tired and distracted to dwell on it.

  At 6.30 p.m. Ebba turned up unexpectedly. She had brought some food for Modin. Wallander asked Hansson to drive her to Runnerströms Torg. Afterwards he realised that he hadn't thanked her enough.

  At 7 p.m. he called the team at Runnerströms Torg and Martinsson answered. Their conversation was brief. They were not yet able to answer a single one of Wallander's questions. He put down the phone and went to find Hansson who was sitting in front of the computer with bloodshot eyes. Wallander asked if there had been any response from overseas. Hansson had only one word in reply: nothing.

  At that moment Wallander was overcome by rage. He grabbed one of the chairs in Hansson's office and threw it against the wall. Then he left the room.

  At 8 p.m. he was back in Hansson's office.

  "Let's go to Runnerströms Torg," he said. "We can't go on like this. We have to get some idea of where we stand."

  They stopped at Höglund's office on the way. She was half asleep at her desk. They drove in silence. When they reached the flat they saw Modin sitting on the floor against the wall, Martinsson on his folding chair and Alfredsson lying flat on the floor. Wallander wondered if he had ever led a more exhausted and dispirited team. He knew that the physical tiredness was due more to their lack of progress than to the events of the night before. If only they had come a few steps closer to the truth, if only they could break down the wall, they could each summon sufficient energy to see it through. But for now the dominant mood was one of hopelessness.

  Wallander sat in front of the computer. The others gathered round him, except Martinsson who positioned himself in the background.

  "Let's have a résumé of where we are," he said. "What is the situation right now?"

  "There are several indications that the date in question is October 20," Alfredsson said. "But we have no indications of a precise time for the event, so we cannot know if it will begin on the stroke of midnight or at any point after that. Quite possibly, the intended event is a form of computer virus that targets all of these financial institutions we have identified. Since they are mostly large and powerful financial institutions we imagine the event has something to do with money, but whether we are talking about a form of electronic bank robbery or not we don't know."

  "What would be the worst thing that could happen?" Wallander said.

  "The collapse of the world financial markets."

  "But is that even possible?"

  "We've been through this point before. If there were a significant enough disruption of the markets or a severe fluctuation in the dollar, for example, it might incite a panic in the public which would be hard to control."

  "That's what is going to happen," Modin said.

  Everyone stared at him. He was sitting with his legs crossed next to Wallander.

  "Why do you say that? Do you know it for a fact?"

  "No, not for a fact. But I think this is going to be so big we can't even imagine it. We're not going to be able to deduce what is going to happen before it's too late."

 
"How does the whole thing start? Isn't there a starting point, some kind of button that needs to be pressed?"

  "I imagine it will be started by some action so ordinary we would have trouble recognising it as a threat."

  "The hypothetical coffee machine," Hansson said.

  "The only thing we can do right now is keep going," Wallander said. "We don't have a choice."

  "I left some diskettes in Malmö," Modin said. "I need them to keep working."

  "I'll send out a car to get them for you."

  "I'll go too," Modin said. "I need to get out. And I know of a store in Malmö that stays open late and has the kind of food I like."

  Wallander nodded and got up. Hansson called for a patrol car that would take Modin to Malmö. Wallander called Elvira. The line was busy. He tried again. Now she answered. He told her what had happened, that Modin needed to come and pick up the diskettes he had left behind. She said it was no problem. Her voice sounded normal now.

  "Can I expect to see you as well?" she said.

  "Unfortunately, I don't have the time right now."

  "I won't ask you why."

  "Thank you. It would take too long to explain."

  Alfredsson and Martinsson were leaning over Falk's computer again. Wallander, Hansson and Höglund returned to the station. When Wallander reached his office the phone rang. It was the reception desk, telling him he had a visitor.

  "Who is it and what is it about?" Wallander asked. "I'm extremely busy."

  "It's someone who says she's your neighbour. A Mrs Hartman."

  Wallander worried that something had happened in his flat. A few years ago there had been a bad leak. Mrs Hartman was a widow who lived in the flat beneath his. That time, too, she had called him at the station.

  "I'll come straight away," Wallander said.

  When he reached the waiting area, Mrs Hartman was able to assuage his fears. There was no leak, just a letter for him that had been put through her letter box.

  "It must be the post," she complained. "It probably came on Friday, but I've been away and only came back today. I thought it might be important, that's all."

  "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble, coming down here," Wallander said. "I rarely get post that is so important it can't wait."

  After Mrs Hartman had left, Wallander went back to his room and opened the letter. There was no return address on the envelope. To his surprise, it was a notice from the dating agency, thanking him for his subscription and saying that they would forward responses as they arrived.

  Wallander crumpled the letter and threw it into the waste-paper basket. The next couple of seconds his mind was a total blank. He frowned, retrieved the letter, smoothed it out and read it again. Then he looked for the envelope, still without knowing exactly why. He stared at the postmark for a long time. The letter had been posted on Thursday.

  His mind was still empty.

  Thursday. It was the dating agency telling him that his information was now entered in their records. But by then he had already received a reply from Elvira Lindfeldt. Her letter had arrived in an envelope that had been brought directly to his door. A letter with no postmark.

  His thoughts were swirling in his head.

  He turned and looked at his computer. Was he going crazy? He forced himself to think logically. As he kept staring at his computer a picture was starting to emerge. A plausible sequence of events. It was horrifying.

  He ran out into the corridor and into Hansson's office.

  "Call the patrol car!" he shouted.

  Hansson jerked back and stared at him. "Which patrol car?"

  "The one that took Modin to Malmö."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it."

  Hansson grabbed the phone. He got through to them in less than two minutes.

  "They're on their way back," he said, putting the phone down.

  Wallander breathed a sigh of relief.

  "But they left Modin at the house."

  Wallander felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. "Why did they do that?"

  "Apparently he told them that he was going to keep working from there."

  Wallander didn't move. His heart was beating very hard. He had trouble believing that it was true, but he himself had suggested the risk of someone breaking into their computers. These break-ins weren't necessarily limited to the investigation material. Someone could just as easily access other files – such as a letter that someone sent to a dating agency.

  "Bring your gun with you," he said. "We're leaving."

  "Where to?"

  "Malmö." Wallander checked his own gun and ammunition. It had been cleaned and tested for him only this morning.

  Wallander tried to explain the situation along the way, but Hansson seemed to have trouble understanding the story. Wallander kept asking him to try Elvira's number, but there was no answer. Wallander put the police siren on the roof and drove faster. He prayed silently to all the gods he could think of to spare Modin's life. But already he feared the worst.

  They drew up outside the house shortly after 10 p.m. There were no lights. The house was dark. They got out. Wallander asked Hansson to wait in the shadows by the gate. Then he turned off his safety catch and walked up the path. When he reached the front door he stopped and listened. Then he rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang again. Then he felt the doorknob. It was unlocked. He gestured for Hansson to join him.

  "We should send for reinforcements," Hansson said in a whisper.

  "There's no time."

  Wallander slowly opened the door. He listened. He didn't know what was waiting for them in the dark. He remembered that the light switch was on the wall to the left of the door and, after fumbling for a while, he found it. Before he switched on the light he took a step to one side and crouched down.

  The hall was empty.

  Some light fell into the living room. He could see Elvira on the sofa. She was looking at him. Wallander took a deep breath. She didn't move. He knew she was dead. He called out to Hansson. Step by careful step they went into the living room. She had been shot in the neck. The pale yellow sofa was stained with her blood.

  Then they searched the house, but didn't find anything. Modin was gone. Wallander knew that could only mean one thing. Someone had been waiting for him in the house. The man in the field had not been working alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  He had no idea what kept him going that night. He supposed it was half rage and half self-reproach. But the overriding emotion was his fear for what might have happened to Modin. His first terrified thought when he realised that Elvira was dead was that Modin had also been killed. But they had searched the house and established that it was empty, and Wallander realised that Modin might still be alive. Everything up to this point in the case seemed to have been about concealment and secrets and that must be the reason for Modin's abduction. Wallander did not have to remind himself of Hökberg's and Landahl's fate. But this was not the same situation. Then the police had not known what was going to happen. Now that they knew more, they had a better starting point, even though they did not yet know what had happened to Modin.