The Bomber

by Liza Marklund

  ‘Our night-editor could recognize her number in his sleep. They were still listening to the crackling on the line when I left the office,’ he said, licking his lips.

  ‘Ah, that explains it,’ the operator said, and typed another command. The information on the screen vanished and it went blank.

  ‘Now we just have to wait,’ he said, turning to face Schyman and the policeman again.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Schyman said, aware that he was sounding upset.

  ‘If the call is still connected, we won’t have received any information yet. Details are stored internally in the phone for thirty minutes,’ he said, standing up. ‘After half an hour the phone creates a record of the call that it sends to us here. Among that information is the A-number and the B-number, the base station and the cell.’

  Anders Schyman stared at the flashing screens, getting more and more confused. Exhaustion was making his head thump. He felt he was in the middle of a surreal nightmare.

  ‘So what does that mean?’ he said.

  ‘According to what you told us, Annika Bengtzon made a call to the Evening Post newsroom just after six. If the call hasn’t been cut off, the first information regarding that call will reach us here just after six thirty, which is any minute now.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Schyman said. ‘How can you know where she is from her mobile?’

  ‘It’s like this,’ the operations manager said in a friendly tone of voice. ‘Mobile phones act like radio transmitters and receivers. Signals are sent out from a number of base stations, mobile phone masts, all around the country. Every base station has a number of cells which receive signals from different places and from different directions. Any mobile that’s switched on reestablishes contact with the exchange every four hours. We conducted our first search for Annika Bengtzon’s phone number yesterday evening.’

  ‘You did?’ Schyman said in surprise. ‘Can you do that at any time, whenever you like, just like that?’

  ‘Of course not,’ the operator said calmly. ‘In order to conduct that sort of search we need authorization from a public prosecutor. And searches can only be carried out at all if the suspected crime carries a punishment of more than two years in prison.’

  He walked over and clicked on another screen. Then he went over to a printer, waiting for a document to appear.

  ‘Well, the last call made from Annika’s phone, apart from the one that’s still connected, was made at nine minutes past one yesterday afternoon,’ he said, studying the printout. ‘It was made to a nursery at 38B Scheelegatan on Kungsholmen.’

  He lowered the printout.

  ‘The signal from Annika’s mobile was transmitted via a station in Nacka.’

  The plain-clothed officer spoke up.

  ‘We had confirmation of that call from the manager of the nursery. Annika didn’t sound strange, or under pressure. She was just relieved to hear that the nursery was open until five o’clock. Which means she was still free shortly after thirteen hundred hours, and she was somewhere east of Danvikstull, at the far end of Södermalm.’

  The operations manager went on reading from the printout.

  ‘The next signal from the phone came at 17.09. As I said, any mobile that’s switched on re-establishes contact with the central exchange every four hours.’

  Anders Schyman could hardly summon the effort to listen to the operations manager. He sat down on a spare chair and rubbed his forehead.

  ‘There’s an internal clock in every mobile that starts counting down every time it’s switched on,’ the man went on. ‘The countdown stops after four hours, and a signal is sent off to inform the system where the phone is currently located. Because these signals have continued throughout the night, Annika must have had her phone switched on. As far as we can make out, she doesn’t appear to have moved very far during the night.’

  Schyman felt himself stiffen.

  ‘You know where she is?’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘We know that her mobile phone is somewhere in the central Stockholm district,’ the operations manager said. ‘We can only identify the area fairly broadly; and in this case that means the central parts of the city within the old toll gates, plus the closest suburbs.’

  ‘So she might not be far away at all?’

  ‘Yes, her mobile hasn’t moved outside that district all night.’

  ‘Is that why we weren’t allowed to call her?’

  The policeman stepped forward.

  ‘Yes, among other reasons. If there’s someone with her and they heard the phone ringing, they might well have switched it off, in which case we wouldn’t know if she had been moved.’

  ‘Assuming she’s in the same place as her mobile,’ Schyman said.

  ‘Surely those fifteen minutes must be up by now?’ the policeman said.

  ‘Not quite,’ the operations manager said.

  They turned their attention to the screen and waited. Anders Schyman needed to go to the toilet, and left the vast room for a few minutes. As he emptied his bladder he noticed that his legs were shaking.

  Nothing had happened by the time he came back.

  ‘Nacka …’ Schyman said absentmindedly. ‘What the hell was she doing out there?’

  ‘Here it comes,’ the operations manager said. ‘Ha, there we go! The A-number is Annika Bengtzon’s mobile phone, and the B-number is the Evening Post newsroom.’

  ‘Can you tell where she is?’ the policeman said expectantly.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a code here, hang on a moment.’

  The operations manager typed on his keyboard. Schyman felt himself go completely cold.

  ‘Five hundred and twenty-seven D,’ the man said.

  ‘What’s that?’ the policeman said. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘We don’t usually have more than three cells in every base station, A, B, and C. But there are more here. That’s extremely unusual. D cells are usually specials.’

  ‘So where is it?’ the policeman urged.

  ‘Just a moment,’ the operations manager said, quickly getting up and going over to another terminal.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Schyman said.

  ‘We’ve got a thousand codes for stations covering the whole of Sweden, so I’m afraid it’s impossible to remember where they all are,’ he said apologetically. ‘Here it is: base station five hundred and twenty-seven. South Hammarby Harbour.’

  Anders Schyman felt his head start to spin, and his neck prickled. Bloody hell, that was where the Olympic site was.

  The operations manager checked some more details.

  ‘Cell D is in the tunnel between the Victoria Stadium and training ground A.’

  The last traces of colour drained from the policeman’s face.

  ‘What bloody tunnel?’ he said.

  The operations manager gave them a serious look.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, only that there is evidently a tunnel between the main stadium and one of the training facilities in the vicinity.’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’

  ‘The call was connected via a cell inside the tunnel itself. Cells often cover a large area, but the reception in tunnels is obviously severely restricted. We have another cell that only covers the road tunnel under Södermalm, for instance.’

  ‘So she’s in a tunnel under the Olympic site?’ the policeman said.

  ‘Well, her phone is certainly there, I can tell you that much,’ the operations manager said.

  The policeman was already halfway across the room.

  ‘Thanks,’ Anders Schyman said, shaking the operations manager’s hand quickly with both of his.

  Then he rushed out after the policeman.

  73

  Annika had dozed off, and suddenly felt Beata doing something on her back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Annika asked.

  ‘Carry on sleeping. I’m just checking that the charge is okay. It’s almost time.’

  Annika felt as if someone had just po
ured a bucket of ice-cold water over her. Every nerve contracted into a hard lump somewhere near her stomach. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, her whole body started to shake uncontrollably.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter with you?’ Beata said. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to start carrying on like Christina? You know I don’t like it when it gets messy.’

  Annika was taking quick, shallow breaths through her mouth – take it easy, come on, talk to her, buy some time.

  ‘I’m just … I’m just wondering … what are you going to do with my article?’ she finally managed to say.

  ‘It’s going to be published in the Evening Post, with as much fanfare as Christina’s death,’ Beata said happily. ‘It’s a good article.’

  Annika gathered her thoughts.

  ‘I can’t see that working,’ she said.

  Beata stopped what she was doing.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How are they going to get the text? There’s no internet connection here.’

  ‘I’ll send the whole laptop to the paper.’

  ‘My editor doesn’t know I wrote it. It doesn’t say so anywhere. It’s written in the first person. Right now, it just looks like a long submission from a reader. The paper doesn’t publish submissions that long.’

  Beata was insistent.

  ‘They’ll publish this one.’

  ‘Why? My editor-in-chief doesn’t know you. He might not understand how important it is that this text gets published. And who’s going to tell him if I’m … not here?’

  That’s given her something to think about, Annika thought, as the woman went and sat back down on her chair.

  ‘You’re right,’ Beata said. ‘You’ll have to write an introduction to the article, explaining exactly why they ought to publish it, and how.’

  Annika groaned inwardly. Maybe it had been wrong to play along with the woman. What if it had just made everything worse? She brushed the thought aside. Christina had struggled, and she had got her face and joints smashed in. If she was going to die anyway, it was better to sit at a keyboard than be tortured.

  She got up, her whole body aching. The ground was swaying and she realized that she wasn’t judging distances very well.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Bring the laptop over and let’s get this finished.’

  Beata pushed the table towards Annika.

  ‘Write that you’re the author and that they have to print the article.’

  Annika typed. She knew that she had to buy more time. If she had got it right, then the police ought to be fairly close by now. She didn’t know how closely the mobile phone would be able to give her location, but the man out on the ice two years ago had been found at once. Everyone had already given up hope for him. His relatives were already grieving when he suddenly called his son from his mobile.

  The old man had been completely exhausted, and very confused. He had no idea where he was. He couldn’t describe any landmarks; he just said that everything was white.

  Even so, the man had been rescued in less than an hour. With the phone company’s help, the police had identified an area with a radius of 600 metres, and they found the man within that circle. The phone company had been able to locate him using just the signal from his mobile.

  ‘By the way,’ Annika said, ‘how did you get into the stadium?’

  ‘That was easy,’ Beata said condescendingly. ‘I had the codes and my card.’

  ‘But why? It’s years since you worked on the main stadium.’

  Beata stood up.

  ‘I’ve already told you,’ she said, sounding agitated, ‘I worked in the pool of project managers, travelling round to every shitty little sports hall that had anything to do with the Olympics. We had access to the office where all the cards and codes were kept. We had to sign them out and hand them back afterwards, but I managed to keep hold of quite a few. I wanted to be able to revisit buildings that spoke kindly to me. The Victoria Stadium and I had always got on well, so I made sure I always had a card for here.’

  ‘What about the code, though?’

  Beata sighed.

  ‘I’m good with computers,’ she said. ‘The stadium’s alarm codes are changed every month, and the changes are tracked in a special computer file that you can only open if you have the password. The really stupid thing is that they never change the password.’

  She grinned. Annika started to type again. She had to think of more questions.

  ‘What are you writing?’

  Annika looked up.

  ‘I’m explaining how important it is that they give this article as much attention as Christina Furhage’s death,’ she said cheerily.

  ‘You’re lying!’ Beata screamed, making Annika jump.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They couldn’t possibly give this as much coverage as Christina’s death. Do you know, you were the person who started calling me the Bomber? Have you any idea how much I hate being called that? Do you? You were the worst of all of them, and whatever you wrote always got on the front page. I hate you.’

  Beata’s eyes were burning, and Annika realized that she had no answer.

  ‘You came into that room when I was struck down with grief,’ Beata said, walking slowly over towards Annika. ‘You saw me in all my misery and still you didn’t help me. You listened to the others, but not to me. That’s been the story of my life. No one has ever listened when I cried out. No one but my house. But that’s all over now. I’m going to beat the whole lot of you.’

  The woman reached for the rope hanging from Annika’s neck.

  ‘No!’ Annika screamed.

  The scream made Beata lose her composure completely. She clutched at the rope and pulled as hard as she could, but Annika was ready for her. She managed to get both hands between the rope and her neck.

  The Bomber tugged again and Annika fell off the chair. She managed to twist her body so she landed on her side and not on the explosives.

  ‘You’re going to die, you bitch!’ Beata shrieked, and at that moment Annika realized there was something wrong with the echo. A moment later she felt a cold draught across the floor.

  ‘Help!’ she shouted as loud as she could.

  ‘Stop yelling!’ Beata roared, tugging again. Annika was yanked forward, her cheek scraping against the linoleum floor.

  ‘I’m here, round the corner!’ Annika yelled, and at that moment Beata must have caught sight of them.

  She dropped the rope and spun round, her eyes searching the other wall. Annika realized what she was looking for. In slow motion, she saw Beata head towards the battery and the detonator.

  74

  The shot rang out a fraction of a second later, blowing a little crater in Beata’s back and throwing her forward. Another shot, and Annika instinctively turned her back to the wall, away from the shots.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Don’t shoot, for God’s sake! You’ll hit the explosives!’

  The last echo died away, she could see smoke and dust in the air, Beata was lying motionless a couple of metres away. It was completely quiet, and the high-pitched ringing in her ears from the gunshots was all she could hear.

  Suddenly someone was standing next to her, and she looked up and saw a pale, plain-clothed policeman leaning over her, his weapon in his hand.

  ‘You!’ she said in surprise.

  The man stared at her as he loosened the noose around her neck.

  ‘Yes, me,’ he said. ‘So how the hell are you?’

  It was her secret source, her deep throat. She smiled weakly as he pulled the rope over her head.

  To her own great surprise, she burst into floods of tears. The policeman took out his radio and gave his call sign.

  ‘I need two ambulances,’ he said, looking up and down the tunnel.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Annika whispered.

  ‘It’s urgent, we have a gunshot injury,’ he called over the radio.

  ‘But I do have a bomb strapped to my back.’

>   The man let the radio fall to his side.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’ve got a bomb on my back. Can you take a look at it?’

  She turned round and the policeman saw the pack of dynamite on her back.

  ‘Oh fuck, don’t move!’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Annika said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. ‘It’s been there all night and it hasn’t gone off yet.’

  ‘Evacuate the tunnel,’ he yelled back towards the door. ‘Wait by the ambulance! We’ve got an explosive device here!’

  The policeman leaned over her and Annika closed her eyes. She could hear that there were several people nearby from the sound of footsteps and voices.

  ‘Just relax, Annika, we’ll get this sorted,’ the policeman said.

  Beata groaned loudly from where she lay on the floor.

  ‘Make sure she can’t get hold of the detonator,’ Annika said quietly.

  The policeman got up and looked along the fuse wire. Then he took a couple of steps and grabbed hold of the yellow-green wire.

  ‘Got it,’ he said to Annika. ‘Now, what have we got here?’

  ‘It’s Minex,’ Annika said. ‘Small, pinkish red.’

  ‘Yes,’ the policeman said. ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘There’s about two kilos of it, and the detonating mechanism can be a bit unstable.’

  ‘Shit, I’m not much good at this sort of thing,’ the policeman said.

  In the distance Annika could hear sirens wailing.

  ‘Are they on their way here?’

  ‘Yep. Bloody good thing you’re still alive,’ he said.

  ‘It was touch and go,’ Annika said with a snort.

  ‘Right, stay absolutely still now.’

  He looked intently at the explosives for several seconds. Then he took hold of the end of the fuse wire, where it was attached to the dynamite, and pulled it out. Nothing happened.

  ‘Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘That was just as easy as I hoped it would be.’

  ‘What?’ Annika said.

  ‘This is a very basic device, the sort they use on building sites. It wasn’t a bomb. If you just remove the metal plug from the charge, the device is no longer primed.’