Macbeth

by Jo Nesbo

Macbeth opened his eyes. But he was still in his office, Seyton was still on the sofa, Olafson still on the chair and the radio was on.

  Macbeth got up and turned it off.

  ‘Well?’ said Seyton.

  ‘Shh,’ Macbeth said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shut up for a second!’ He held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and first finger. He was tired, so tired it was difficult to think as clearly as he needed to. Because he did need to. The next decisions he made were going to be momentous, the next few hours would decide the struggle for the town.

  ‘My name,’ Olafson said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They said my name on the radio.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I don’t think anyone in my family has ever had their name mentioned on the radio.’

  Macbeth listened to the silence. The traffic, where was the regular booming drone of the traffic? It was as though the town was holding its breath. He got up. ‘Come on.’

  They took the lift down to the basement.

  Passed the SWAT flag with the red dragon.

  Seyton unlocked the ammo room and switched on the light.

  The boy was sitting between the machine-gun stands, gagged and tied to the safe. The brown irises of his eyes were just a thin ring around the pupils, which were large and black with fear.

  ‘We’re taking him to the Inverness,’ Macbeth said.

  ‘The Inverness?’

  ‘We’re not safe here any longer, none of us. But from the Inverness we can bring Tourtell to his knees.’

  ‘Who’s we ?’

  ‘The last of the faithful. Those who will be rewarded when the victory is won.’

  ‘You, me and Olafson? Are we going to bring the town to its knees?’

  ‘Trust me.’ Macbeth stroked Kasi’s head as if he were a loyal dog. ‘Hecate needs us and is protecting us.’

  ‘Against the whole of the town?’ Olafson said.

  ‘Hecate’s helpers constitute an army, Olafson. They’re as invisible as he is, but they’re there – they’ve already saved me twice. And we have the Gatling sisters and the Kenneth Laws on our side. When Tourtell gives in and declares a state of emergency the town is mine. Well? Loyalty, fraternity?’

  Olafson closed his eyes. ‘Baptised in fire,’ he whispered. The ‘s’ lisped around the concrete walls.

  Seyton scowled at them. But then, slowly, a smile spread across his narrow lips. ‘United in blood.’

  40

  DUFF WAS SITTING ON THE sofa in Tourtell’s living room. The four of them looked nervously at the mayor as he stood with the telephone to his ear. It was two minutes to midnight. Pressure had built up and up and thunder had started to rumble. The town would soon be punished for the hot day. The mayor alternated between ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ on the phone. Then he cradled the receiver. Smacked his lips as though what he had heard had to be chewed and swallowed.

  ‘Well?’ said Malcolm impatiently.

  ‘Good and bad news. The good news is that Supreme Court Judge Archibald says that, based on what we have, he’s fairly sure they should be able to issue a federal warrant for Macbeth’s arrest, and that accordingly they can send federal police here.’

  ‘And the bad news?’ Malcolm asked.

  ‘It’s a politically delicate matter and will take time,’ Tourtell said. ‘No one wants to arrest a chief commissioner if it turns out the case won’t hold water. In concrete terms all we have is a radio interview with Lennox, who himself has confessed to being an accessory to murder. Archibald says quite a bit more persuasion is needed for him to succeed, but the best-case scenario is that they’ll get a ruling tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘But it’ll be decided then,’ Caithness said. ‘So we just have to hold out tonight and a few hours tomorrow.’

  ‘Looks like it,’ Malcolm said. ‘Shame the circumstances don’t allow for a celebration.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Tourtell said, turning to the maid, who had just come into the room. ‘During the war, the more the victories cost us, the harder we celebrated. Champagne, Agnes!’

  ‘Yes, sir, but there’s someone on the other line.’

  Tourtell brightened up. ‘Kasi?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s Mr Macbeth.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Put the call through here,’ Tourtell said.

  Macbeth leaned back in the chair with the phone to his ear. Staring up at the ceiling, at the inverted gold spire on the chandelier hanging over him and the empty gaming room. He was alone. He could hear Seyton and Olafson still in the process of assembling the Gatlings on the mezzanine, but he was alone just the same. Lady wasn’t here. They had got to work as soon as they arrived back from HQ. It had taken them half an hour to get all the gamblers and diners out. They had tried to do it in a relaxed way. But games had to be finished, chips had to be cashed and some customers insisted on drinking up even though they weren’t asked to pay. The last customers had protested that it was a Saturday night and literally had to be pushed out. Lady would of course have managed it in a more elegant way. But Jack, whom Macbeth had sent up to the suite to get her, had returned unaccompanied. That was fine, she needed her sleep, and this was going to be a long fight. They had removed the bars from the windows and sited the machine guns at each end of the mezzanine.

  ‘Tourtell here.’ The voice struggled to sound neutral.

  ‘Good evening, Mayor. All well?’

  ‘I’m alive.’

  ‘Good, good. I’m glad we saved you from the assassination attempt. I suspect Hecate was behind it. Sorry your driver had to pay for it with his life. And that Lennox has lost his senses from the injury he brought on himself.’

  Tourtell gave a dry laugh. ‘You’re finished, Macbeth. Do you realise?’

  ‘These are indeed wild times, don’t you think, Tourtell? Explosions on rooftops, shooting in the streets, assassination attempts on the chief commissioner and mayor. I rang because I think you should declare a state of emergency at once.’

  ‘That won’t happen, Macbeth. What will happen is that a federal arrest warrant is being issued in your name.’

  ‘You’ve called in the cavalry from Capitol? I thought you would. But the warrant won’t be issued before I have control of this town, and then it’s too late. I will have immunity. Chief Commissioner Kenneth had more foresight than many give him credit for.’

  ‘You’re going to rule the town like the dictators before you?’

  ‘In this storm it’s probably best to have a stronger hand on the till than yours, Tourtell.’

  ‘You’re mad, Macbeth. Why on earth would I declare a state of emergency and hand power to you?’

  ‘Because I have your illegitimate son and will cut his head off if you don’t do what I say.’

  Macbeth heard a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘So don’t go to sleep, Tourtell. I’ll give you a few hours to write and sign the declaration of a state of emergency. And it will come into effect before the sun rises tomorrow. If I haven’t heard it broadcast on radio before the first ray of sun hits my eyes, Kasi will die.’

  Pause. Macbeth had a feeling Tourtell wasn’t alone. According to Seyton, Duff, Malcolm and Caithness were three of the four who had prevented them from completing the job at St Jordi’s Hospital.

  ‘And how do you think you will get away with killing my son, Macbeth?’

  The tone was tough but couldn’t quite conceal his helplessness. And Macbeth noticed he hadn’t been prepared for such utter despair. But he shook it off. The mayor’s shaking voice confirmed what he had hoped for: Tourtell was willing to do anything at all for the boy.

  ‘Immunity. State of emergency. That’ll do the trick, Mayor.’

  ‘I don’t mean escaping a court of law. I was thinking of your conscience. You’ve become a monster, Macbeth.’

&nb
sp; ‘We never become what we aren’t already, Tourtell. You too, you’ll always be willing to sell your favours and soul to the highest bidder.’

  ‘Can’t you hear the thunder outside your house, Macbeth? How can you, in this situation, in this town, still believe there will be sunshine at daybreak?’

  ‘Because I’ve given orders that there will be. But if you’re not a believer, let the sunrise times in this year’s almanac be your guide. Until then . . .’

  Macbeth rang off. Light played on the crystal above him. Which had to mean it was moving. Perhaps it was rising heat, perhaps it was the strange tremors in the ground or perhaps it was the light outside changing. But there was of course a fourth possibility. That it was he himself who was moving. Who saw things from a different angle. He took the silver dagger from inside his jacket. It was perhaps not the most effective weapon against tanks and thick skin, but Lady was right: silver worked against ghosts. He hadn’t seen Banquo, Meredith, Duncan or the young Norse Rider on his knees for a couple of days. He held the dagger up to the light.

  ‘Jack!’

  No answer. Louder: ‘Jack!’

  Still no answer.

  ‘Jack! Jack!’ He yelled in such a wild, uncontrolled way that he imagined he could feel the inside of his throat tearing.

  A door opened at the end of the room. ‘You called, sir?’ Jack’s voice echoed.

  ‘Still no sign of life from Lady?’

  ‘No, sir. Perhaps you should wake her?’

  Macbeth ran a finger across the tip of the dagger. How long had he been clean now? And how much had he longed for sleep, the deep, dark, dreamless kind? He could go up there, lie down beside her and say that now we’re going, you and I, we’re going to a place where this, the Inverness and the town, doesn’t exist, where nothing else but you and I exist. She wanted to, wanted to as much as he did. They had lost their way, but there had to be a way back, back to where they had come from. Yes, of course there was; he just couldn’t see it right now. He had to talk to her, get her to show him where it was, as she always did. So what was stopping him? What strange premonition was stopping him from going up there, holding him back, making him prefer to sit in this cold empty room rather than lie in the warm arms of his beloved?

  He turned and looked at the boy. Seyton had chained Tourtell’s son to the shiny pole in the middle of the room, with a leg manacle around the boy’s long, slim neck. Like a dog. And like a dog he lay motionless on the floor looking at Macbeth with his imploring brown eyes. The way they had stared unflinchingly at him ever since they arrived.

  Macbeth stirred from the chair with an exclamation of annoyance.

  ‘Let’s go and see her then,’ he said.

  His own and Jack’s soundless footsteps on the thick carpets gave Macbeth the sense they were floating like ghosts up the stairs and along the corridor. It took Macbeth ages to find the right key on Jack’s ring. He examined every single one of them as though they held a code, the answer to a question he didn’t yet know.

  Then he opened the door and went in. The lamp in the room was switched off, but moonlight shone through gaps in the curtains. He stood listening. The thunder had stopped. It was so still, as though everything was holding its breath.

  Her skin was so pale, so bloodless. Her hair spread across the pillow like a red fan and her eyelids seemed to be transparent.

  He went over to her and placed his hand on her brow. There was still some warmth in her. Next to her, on the quilt, lay a piece of paper. He picked it up. She had written only a few lines.

  Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow. The days crawl in the mud, and in the end all they have accomplished is to kill the sun again and bring all men closer to death.

  Macbeth turned to Jack, who had remained in the doorway.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Wh . . .what, sir?’

  Macbeth pulled a chair to the bed and sat down. Not to be close to her; she wasn’t there any more. He just wanted to sit.

  He heard Jack’s cry of shock behind him and knew he had seen it, the syringe still hanging from her forearm.

  ‘Is she . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, she’s d-d-dead.’

  ‘How long . . . ?’

  ‘A l-l-long time.’

  ‘But I was talking to—’

  ‘She started d-d-dying the night she found the baby in the shoebox, Jack. She simulated life for a while, but it was only the convulsions of death. She saw her child, saw that she would have to travel into death to see her again. That was when we lost Lady, when she fell for that consoling notion that we meet our loved ones on the other side.’

  Jack took a step closer. ‘But you don’t believe it?’

  ‘Not when the sun is shining from a clear sky. But we live in a town without sun, where we take all the consolation we can get. So, by and large, I believe.’

  Macbeth examined himself, amazed that he felt neither sorrow nor despair. Perhaps because he had long known that this is how it would end. He had known it and closed his eyes. And all he felt was emptiness. He was sitting in a waiting room in the middle of the night, he was the only passenger, and his train had been announced but it hadn’t arrived. Announced but it hadn’t arrived. And what does the passenger do then? He waits. He doesn’t go anywhere, he reconciles himself to what is happening and waits for what is to come.

  Macbeth picked up the piece of paper again.

  The days crawl in the mud, and in the end all they have accomplished is to kill the sun again and bring all men closer to death.

  41

  THE LIFT TOOK DUFF, MALCOLM and the caretaker down to the basement at police HQ.

  ‘I know it’s a weekend, but are you sure there isn’t anyone else here?’ Duff said to the caretaker, whom Malcolm had spoken to at length on the phone from Tourtell’s house.

  ‘On the contrary,’ the caretaker answered. ‘They’re waiting for you.’

  Duff was unable to react before the lift arrived and the doors opened in front of him. Three people were there, all armed and dressed in the black SWAT uniform. Duff held his breath.

  ‘Thank you,’ Malcolm said. ‘For coming at such short notice.’

  ‘For the town,’ said one of them.

  ‘For Angus,’ said the second.

  ‘For the chief commissioner,’ said the third, an erect, dark-skinned man. ‘In our book his name is now Malcolm.’

  ‘Thank you, Ricardo,’ Malcolm said, exiting the lift.

  The stiff-backed officer led the way. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else, sir?’

  ‘I’ve been on the phone all evening. It shouldn’t be easy to persuade people to risk their lives and jobs to fight against a conspiracy they only have my word for. Especially when I add that we cannot expect any immediate help from Capitol. However, I have around thirty officers from the police, ten to fifteen from Civil Defence and maybe ten from the Fire Service.’

  ‘The case may not sound very convincing, but you are, Malcolm.’

  ‘Thank you, Ricardo, but I think Macbeth’s actions speak for themselves.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about your words, sir. Your courage speaks louder.’

  ‘I had everything taken from me and didn’t have much to lose, Ricardo. Nevertheless I had to come back and fetch my daughter, who has been taken to safety now. It’s you who show courage. You’re not controlled by a father’s heart, you’re acting freely, governed by your own sense of justice. Which proves that in this town there are people who want what is good.’

  They passed the dragon flag.

  ‘And where’s the mayor?’ Ricardo asked.

  ‘He’s got other things on his mind at the moment.’

  Ricardo stopped in front of a massive iron door, like the entrance to an air-raid shelter. It was open. ‘Here.’

  The shelves inside were laden with iron boxes and firea
rms. In the middle of the floor there was a safe. Malcolm took one of the machine guns from a shelf.

  ‘Someone’s taken the Gatling guns and their ammo,’ Ricardo said. ‘So this is all we have. Plus an armoured car. I can have it brought down to the central station straight away. There aren’t enough guns for everyone, but the firemen don’t have any weapon training anyway. My men and I can strike tonight, though.’

  ‘We’d far prefer Macbeth to surrender voluntarily,’ Malcolm said. ‘The numbers tell us he probably has two men with him: Seyton and Olafson. When he sees how many we’ve mobilised outside I hope he will release Kasi and capitulate.’

  ‘Negotiations.’ Ricardo nodded. ‘Modern tactics in hostage situations.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Modern and useless, as far as Macbeth is concerned. I’ve had him as a boss, sir. He has the two best marksmen in the country and two Gatling guns on his side. While we have very little time.’

  ‘What can you do against two Gatling guns?’ Malcolm asked, taking down a bazooka.

  Duff stiffened. He had seen what was behind the bazooka.

  ‘It’s not very accurate over a long distance,’ Ricardo said. ‘But I’d be happy to draw up a plan of how we can take the Inverness if Macbeth won’t surrender.’

  ‘Good,’ Malcolm said, looking at what Duff had found. ‘Jesus, where’s that from?’

  ‘The ruins after the raid on the Norse Riders,’ Ricardo said. ‘It’s a weapon, even if it’s only a sabre.’

  ‘It’s not just any sabre,’ Duff said, gripping the handle tightly. He swung it and felt the weight of the steel. ‘It’s Sweno’s sabre.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of taking it, are you? It can’t do any harm.’

  ‘Wrong.’ Duff ran his forefinger over the blade. ‘It can slice open women’s stomachs and children’s faces.’

  Malcolm turned to Ricardo. ‘Can you have the weapons transported to the central station an hour before sunrise?’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘Thank you. Let’s see if the rest of us can catch a couple of hours’ shut-eye?’

  ‘Sir?’