The Bomber

by Liza Marklund

  ‘The doctors examined me, but I told them I felt fine and walked home through the city to Yttersta Tvärgränd. I realized it was time to leave my beautiful house for good. That night was the last I spent in my home. It was a short and dignified farewell. I knew even then that I would never go back. My wandering must end elsewhere.

  ‘Early on Tuesday morning I went back to work to collect the last of my belongings. When I arrived at Sätra Hall I was met with the immediate and unfair condemnation of the building. I was struck by a great and crushing sorrow, and I took refuge in a room where the building couldn’t see me. It was in vain, of course, because then you turned up.’

  Annika felt that she couldn’t write any more. She put her hands on her lap and lowered her head.

  ‘What is it?’ Beata said.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ Annika said. ‘Can I get up and stretch my legs? They’ve gone numb.’

  Beata looked at her in silence for several seconds.

  ‘Okay, but don’t try anything.’

  Annika stood up carefully, putting a hand against the wall to stop herself falling. She stretched and bent her legs as well as she could with the rattling chain round her ankles. Unnoticed, she glanced down and saw that Beata had used two small padlocks to fasten the chain. If she could only get hold of the keys she would be able to free herself.

  ‘Don’t think you can get away,’ Beata said.

  Annika looked up in surprise.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘We haven’t finished our work yet.’

  She moved the folding chair a bit further from the table to give her legs more space.

  ‘There’s not much more left now,’ Beata said.

  She studied Annika, and Annika realized that she really didn’t know what to think.

  ‘Would you like to read it?’ Annika said, turning the computer so the screen was facing Beata.

  The woman didn’t reply.

  ‘It would be good if you read it through, so you can see if I’ve understood everything correctly, and it would give you a chance to see if I’ve got the right tone. I haven’t written it down exactly as you’ve said – I’ve tried to make your story a bit more literary,’ Annika said.

  Beata looked carefully at Annika for several seconds, then went over to the table and pulled it closer to her.

  ‘Do you mind if I take a little rest?’ Annika wondered, and Beata nodded.

  Annika lay down and turned her back on the Bomber. She needed to think through her next move.

  Two years ago a sixty-year-old man disappeared out on the ice in the Stockholm archipelago. It had been early spring, sunny and warm, and the man had gone for a walk and got lost. For three days the coastguard and police had searched for him. Annika had been in the helicopter that eventually found him.

  Suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do.

  71

  Thomas got out of bed. He couldn’t sleep any longer. He went into the bathroom and relieved himself, then went over to the window and looked out at the Royal Palace again.

  There was almost no traffic. The illuminated façade of the Palace and the other buildings, the glimmer of the street lamps, the depth of the black mirror of the water – the view really was quite beautiful.

  Even so, he felt he couldn’t stand it another second. It felt like he’d lost Annika in this room. It was here that he realized she might be gone for good.

  He rubbed his dry, red eyes and let out a deep sigh. He had made up his mind. He was going to leave the hotel as soon as the children woke up, and go out to his parents in Vaxholm. They could celebrate Christmas out there instead. He had to see what daily life without Annika might look like, he had to prepare himself, otherwise he was lost. He tried to imagine how he would react if he was told that she was dead.

  He couldn’t. There was nothing but an endless black hole. He would have to go on living, for the sake of the children, for Annika’s sake. They would have pictures of Mummy everywhere; they would talk about her all the time, and celebrate her birthday …

  He turned away from the window and started to cry again.

  ‘Why are you sad, Daddy?’

  Kalle was standing in the bedroom door. Thomas quickly pulled himself together.

  ‘I’m sad that Mummy isn’t here. I miss her, that’s all.’

  ‘Grown-ups get sad too sometimes,’ Kalle said.

  Thomas went over to the boy and took him in his arms.

  ‘Yes, we cry too when things feel bad. But do you know what, you ought to get a bit more sleep. Do you know what day it is today?’

  ‘Christmas Eve!’ the boy cried.

  ‘Shh, you’ll wake Ellen! Yes, it’s Christmas Eve, and Father Christmas will be coming tonight. You want to be awake then, don’t you? So back to bed with you for a little bit longer.’

  ‘I have to do a wee first,’ Kalle said, struggling free of Thomas’s arms.

  When the boy came back from the bathroom he asked, ‘Why isn’t Mummy here?’

  ‘She’s coming later,’ Thomas said, without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘Donald Duck’s on television later; Mummy likes Donald Duck on Christmas Eve. Will she be home in time for the start?’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ Thomas said, kissing his son on the head. ‘Now, back to bed!’

  As he tucked the boy in under the Grand Hotel’s luxurious feather duvet, he caught sight of the clock radio on the bedside table. The red digital numbers were colouring the corner of the pillowcase pink. It was 05.49.

  ‘This is good,’ Beata said. ‘Just the way I wanted it to be.’

  Annika had fallen into a light slumber, but sat up as soon as the Bomber started to talk.

  ‘I’m really glad you like it,’ she said. ‘I’ve done my best.’

  ‘Yes, you really have. People who know how to do their job properly are great,’ Beata said with a smile.

  Annika smiled back, and they sat there smiling at each other until Annika decided to put her plan into action.

  ‘Do you know what day it is today?’ she said, still smiling.

  ‘Christmas Eve, of course,’ Beata said with a laugh. ‘Of course I know that!’

  ‘Of course, but the days leading up to Christmas go so quickly. I almost never manage to get all my Christmas shopping done. But, do you know, I’ve got something for you, Beata.’

  The woman was immediately suspicious.

  ‘You couldn’t have bought me a Christmas present, you don’t even know me.’

  Annika continued smiling so hard that the muscles in her cheeks ached.

  ‘I know you now. I bought the present for a friend, for someone who deserved it. But you need it more.’

  Beata didn’t believe her.

  ‘Why would you give me a Christmas present? I’m the Bomber.’

  ‘The present isn’t for the Bomber,’ Annika said in a steady voice. ‘It’s for Beata, a girl who’s had a really rough time of it. You could do with a nice Christmas present after all you’ve been through.’

  The words hit their mark, Annika could see that.

  The woman’s eyes started darting about, and she was fiddling with the fuse wire.

  ‘When did you buy it?’ she asked uncertainly.

  ‘The other day. It’s very nice.’

  ‘Where is it, then?’

  ‘In my bag. It’s right at the bottom, under my tampons.’

  Beata started, just as Annika had suspected. Beata had a poor relationship with her female bodily functions.

  ‘It’s beautifully wrapped,’ Annika said. ‘If you get the bag I can give you your Christmas present.’

  Beata wouldn’t fall for that, Annika saw that at once.

  ‘Don’t try any tricks,’ Beata threatened, and got up.

  Annika sighed gently.

  ‘I’m not the one who goes around with dynamite in their bag. There’s nothing in there apart from my notepad, a few pens, a packet of tampons and a present for you. Get it yourself!’

  Annika
held her breath; she was taking a chance here. Beata hesitated for a moment.

  ‘I don’t want to look through your bag,’ she said.

  Annika took a deep breath.

  ‘That’s a shame. The present would have suited you.’

  That made up Beata’s mind. She put the battery and fuse wire down on the floor and picked up the rope instead.

  ‘If you try anything, I’ll pull on this.’

  Annika held her hands in the air, face up, and smiled. Beata backed away down the tunnel to where the bag had landed more than sixteen hours before. She took the straps of the bag in one hand, keeping hold of the rope in the other. She walked slowly towards Annika.

  ‘I’ll be standing here the whole time,’ she said, dropping the bag in Annika’s lap.

  Annika’s heart was beating so hard it was echoing in her head. Her whole body was shaking. This was her only chance. She smiled up at Beata and hoped that her racing pulse wasn’t visible in her temples. Then she lowered her gaze to Beata’s legs. Beata was still holding the straps of the bag in one hand.

  Carefully she put a hand in the bag and found the little parcel at once, the box containing the garnet brooch she had bought for Anne Snapphane.

  She quickly stirred the things at the bottom of the bag around.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Beata asked, grabbing the bag.

  ‘Sorry,’ Annika said, hardly able to hear her voice over the thudding of her heart. ‘I can’t find it. Let me try again.’

  Beata hesitated for several seconds. Annika’s heart seemed to stop. She couldn’t beg, because that would ruin any chance she had. She had to play on Beata’s curiosity.

  ‘I don’t want to tell you what it is in advance, because that would spoil the surprise. But I think you’re going to like it,’ Annika said.

  The woman held out the bag again and Annika took a deep breath. She thrust her arm in firmly, felt the present, and right next to it was her mobile phone. Dear God, she prayed, let the hands-free earpiece be attached!

  Her top lip was starting to sweat. The phone was upside down, which was good; otherwise the glow of the screen would be visible. Her fingers played over the buttons, found the big oval one and pressed it, quickly and lightly. Then she moved her finger down two centimetres, found the number one, pressed, then moved it back to the big button for a third click.

  ‘Ah, here it is!’ Annika said, moving her hand to the gift next to the phone.

  Her arm was shaking when she pulled it out, but Beata didn’t notice. The Bomber was merely looking at the gold paper and the blue ribbon gleaming in the harsh light. There was no sound from the bag, so the cable must have been attached. Beata backed away, putting the bag down next to the box of dynamite. Annika felt close to hyperventilating, and forced herself to breathe quietly through her open mouth. She had pressed ‘menu 1 menu’: phone book, news desk, call.

  ‘Can I open it now?’ Beata said eagerly.

  Annika couldn’t answer. She just nodded.

  72

  Jansson had sent the last page to the printers. He was often very tired the first night of a new shift, but he felt completely wiped out tonight. He usually ate breakfast down in the canteen, a cheese roll with red pepper, and a large cup of tea, but he didn’t feel like it today. He had just stood up and started to take off his jacket when the phone rang. Jansson groaned out loud, and almost didn’t bother to check the caller-display before picking up. It was probably the printers, sometimes they had trouble transferring colour files digitally, meaning that they were missing the yellow layer. He leaned over and recognized the number at once. Every hair on his body stood up at once.

  ‘It’s Annika!’ he yelled. ‘Annika’s calling my extension!’

  Anders Schyman, Patrik, Berit and Janet Ullberg all turned to face him from the picture desk.

  ‘It’s Annika’s mobile!’ Jansson shouted.

  ‘Well answer, for God’s sake!’ Schyman yelled back, and started running.

  Jansson took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

  ‘Annika!’

  The line crackled and buzzed.

  ‘Hello! Annika!’

  The others were crowding round Jansson.

  ‘Hello! Hello? Are you there?’

  ‘Give it here!’ Schyman said.

  Jansson passed the receiver to the editor-in-chief. Anders Schyman put the phone to one ear and plugged the other with a finger. He could hear crackling and buzzing, and a rising and falling sound that could be voices.

  ‘She’s alive,’ he whispered, giving the phone back to Jansson, then went into his office to call the police.

  ‘Oh, how beautiful! It’s lovely.’

  Beata sounded quite overcome. It gave Annika new strength.

  ‘It’s very old, practically an antique,’ she said. ‘Real garnets, and gold-plated silver. It’s the sort of thing I’d love to have myself. Those are the sort of presents it’s most fun to give, don’t you think?’

  The woman didn’t answer; she was just staring at the brooch.

  ‘I’ve always loved jewellery,’ Annika said. ‘When I was little I saved up my pocket money for several years so I could buy a heart of white gold with a border of diamonds I’d seen in a jeweller’s catalogue, one of those mailshots you get just before Christmas. When I finally saved up enough money I’d grown out of it, and bought a set of slalom skis instead.’

  ‘Thanks ever so much,’ the Bomber said quietly.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Annika said. ‘My grandma had one like that, maybe that’s why it caught my eye.’

  Beata unbuttoned her coat and fastened the brooch to her top.

  ‘This might be just what we need,’ the policeman said. ‘You can hang up now, the call has come through. We can organize the rest with the operator.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Schyman wondered.

  ‘We’ll head out to the phone network’s operations centre in Kista. It ought to be possible to trace where the call is being made from.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ Schyman asked quickly.

  The policeman hesitated for a moment.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  Anders Schyman hurried out into the newsroom again.

  ‘The police are tracing the call, you can hang up now,’ he called as he pulled on his coat.

  ‘Do you think it would do any harm if we carry on listening?’ asked Berit, who was holding the phone to her ear.

  ‘I don’t know. If it’s doing any harm I’ll call. Don’t go home, any of you!’

  He ran down the stairs to the entrance, his legs aching with tiredness. There was no point in trying to drive, he realized, and jogged over to the taxi rank on Rålambsvägen.

  It was still pitch-black, and the road to Kista was completely deserted. They met a couple of other taxis on the way; the driver raised a hand to greet the ones from the same company. They reached Borgarfjordsgatan, and as Anders Schyman was paying for the ride, an unmarked police car pulled up alongside and stopped. Schyman got out and went over to the officer.

  ‘If we’re really lucky, we’ll be able to track her down from this,’ the policeman said.

  His face was pale with exhaustion, and his mouth seemed strangely clenched. All of a sudden Anders Schyman realized who he must be.

  ‘Do you know Annika?’ the editor-in-chief asked.

  The policeman took a deep breath and glanced at the other man.

  ‘Sort of,’ he said.

  Just then a tired guard came to let them into the building, where the phone companies had their centre of operations.

  He led them down several long corridors until they reached an enormous room full of huge television screens. Anders Schyman whistled.

  ‘It looks like some American spy film, doesn’t it?’ said a man who was walking towards them.

  The editor-in-chief nodded and held out his hand.

  ‘There’s something of the nuclear power station control room about it as well,’ he said.

>   ‘I’m operations manager here. If you’d like to follow me,’ the man said, leading them towards the centre of the room.

  Anders Schyman walked slowly behind the operator, staring around the vast room as he went. There were hundreds of computers, and projectors that turned the walls into huge computer screens.

  ‘This is where we control the whole of the network,’ the operations manager said. ‘There are two of us here at night. The search you asked for is a fairly simple procedure; I just had to enter the command on my terminal, and the search started.’

  He led them to his desk. Anders Schyman didn’t understand any of the equipment on it.

  ‘It’ll take up to fifteen minutes or so, even though I limited the search to calls made after five a.m. Ten minutes have passed now, so let’s see if there’s anything so far …’

  He leaned over a computer and typed something.

  ‘No, nothing yet,’ he said.

  ‘Fifteen minutes, isn’t that quite slow?’ Anders Schyman said, realizing that his mouth was dry.

  The operations manager looked at him steadily.

  ‘Fifteen minutes is extremely fast,’ he said. ‘It’s the morning of Christmas Eve and there’s not much traffic right now. That’s why I think the search will be pretty quick.’

  At that moment a series of figures appeared on the man’s screen. He turned his back on Schyman and the policeman and sat down. He clattered and typed at his keyboard for a couple of minutes, then sighed.

  ‘I’m not getting anything,’ he said. ‘Are you sure the call came from her mobile?’

  Anders Schyman’s pulse started to race. It couldn’t go wrong now! He felt himself getting upset; didn’t these men know what was happening? Didn’t they know how important it was?