Wille presses his hand to his chest again, but the blood seeps through his fingers and down his arm.
Sofia turns unsteadily and looks straight at the man with the gun. Without taking his eyes from Wille, he takes one hand off the pistol and quickly snatches up the two spent shells from the floor.
He runs forward, passing her as if she doesn’t exist. He kicks the poker away with his military boot, grabs Wille by the hair, yanks his head back, and presses the barrel of the pistol against his right eye.
This is an execution, Sofia thinks, and walks towards the living room as if in a dream. She hits her hip against the edge of the counter, and slides her hand along it. As she passes the two men, a shiver runs down her spine and she starts to run but slips in the blood. Her feet slide away from her, and she falls back and hits her head hard on the floor.
Her vision blurs and goes black for a moment, then she opens her eyes again.
She sees that he hasn’t pulled the trigger yet, the barrel is still pressing softly against Wille’s closed eyelid.
The back of Sofia’s head is burning and throbbing.
Her vision is unfocused, everything is spinning. What she had thought were rough leather strips hanging down the man’s cheek now look more like wet feathers or matted hair.
She shuts her eyes as dizziness clutches at her, then hears voices above the loud wail of the alarm.
‘Wait, wait,’ Wille pleads, breathing fast. ‘You think you know what’s going on, but you don’t.’
‘I know that Ratjen opened the door and now …’
‘Who’s Ratjen?’ Wille gasps.
‘And now hell is going to devour you all,’ the masked man concludes.
They stop talking and Sofia opens her eyes again. A peculiar slow motion seems to have taken hold of the house. The masked man looks at his watch, then whispers something to Wille.
He doesn’t answer, but looks like he understands. Blood is welling from his stomach, pouring down to his crotch. It forms a puddle on the floor.
Sofia sees that his glasses are lying beside her on the floor, next to the object she initially thought was a bracelet.
Now she realises that it’s a personal alarm.
A small steel gadget with two buttons, attached to a watch-strap.
The masked man is standing perfectly still, looking at his victim.
Sofia carefully moves her hand sideways towards the alarm, tucks it against her body and presses the buttons several times.
Nothing happens.
The man lets go of Wille’s hair but continues to press the barrel of the pistol to his right eye. He waits a few seconds, then squeezes the trigger.
There’s a loud click as the bolt hits home. Wille’s head is thrown back and blood cascades from his skull. Fragments of bone and grey matter spray across the kitchen floor, all the way to the dining room.
Sofia feels warm drops spatter her lips as she sees the empty cartridge fall and bounce across the floor.
A cloud of grey powder hangs in the air, and the dead body falls like a sack of wet clothes to the floor and lies there motionless.
The masked man bends over to pick up the shell and his watch slips down towards the back of his hand.
He stands with his legs on either side of the dead body, leans forward and presses the barrel of the pistol to the corpse’s other eye. Then he flicks his head to shake what looks like matted hair away from his face before squeezing the trigger again.
6
Her work phone’s ringtone becomes part of a dream about a stream running through dense vegetation. A moment later Saga Bauer is wrenched from sleep and gets out of bed so fast that she drags the covers onto the floor.
She hurries over to the gun-cabinet in her underwear as she dials the number she knows by heart. The glow of the streetlights filters through the slats of the blind, illuminating her sinuous legs and naked back.
She quickly unlocks the heavy steel door and listens to the instructions on the phone as she pulls out a black bag, and tucks a holstered Glock 21, along with five spare magazines, into it.
Saga Bauer works as an operative with the Security Police, specialising in counter-terrorism.
The ringtone that woke her means that a Code Platinum has been declared.
She runs to the hall as she listens to the final instructions, then drops the phone in her bag.
There’s no time to lose.
She pulls her black leather bodysuit over her naked body, feeling the cool fabric against her back and breasts, then pushes her bare feet into her boots and grabs her helmet, heavy bulletproof vest and gloves from the rack.
Without wasting time locking the door she leaves her flat, tugging her zipper up to her chin. She pulls her helmet on, tucking in a few stray strands of blonde hair.
There’s a filthy Triumph motorcycle out on Tavast Street. It has a shoddy muffler, frame sliders that have been repaired a number of times, and a broken transmission. She runs over to it, and lets the lock fall to the tarmac with its heavy chain.
She straddles the motorcycle, kicks the engine into gear and sets off as fast as she can.
Ignoring traffic lights and stop signs, she accelerates to pass a taxi.
The engine vibrates against the inside of her knees and thighs, and the noise in her helmet sounds like a creature bellowing underwater.
Officer Saga Bauer is five foot six, with muscles like a ballet dancer. She was once one of the best boxers in northern Europe, but stopped fighting competitively a couple of years ago.
She’s twenty-nine years old, and still breathtakingly beautiful with her pale skin, slender neck and clear blue eyes.
She doesn’t think about her appearance much, and never notices that people tend to smile and blush in her presence.
A plastic bag swirls into the air in front of the motorcycle and she is dragged from her thoughts.
When she reaches S?der M?larstrand she turns sharply left. The pedal scrapes the road but she manages to hold the line as she passes beneath the Central Bridge and up the access ramp.
This is the first time she’s been involved with a Code Platinum. It’s the alert reserved for the highest threats to national security.
She feels like she’s flying as she passes the spires and narrow alleyways of Gamla stan and Riddarholmen.
Saga has trained for scenarios like this. She is expected to act independently and not be swayed by anything, even the law.
She can see the gloomy brick buildings of Karolinska Hospital ahead, and pulls onto the E4, pushing the three-cylinder, 900cc engine to its limits and hitting two hundred and twenty kilometres an hour. She passes Roslagstull and turns left towards the university.
The cold air helps her stay calm as she thinks through the information she has been given and formulates an initial operational strategy.
Saga gets off the highway and speeds along Vendev?gen towards Djursholm with its lush greenery and sprawling villas. The turquoise glow of swimming pools shimmers between fruit trees and bushes.
She pulls onto a roundabout too quickly, and takes the first exit to the right. Before her brain has time to notice the parked car her muscles instinctively react and the bike swerves sharply. She almost falls, but manages to counteract the momentum using her bodyweight. The rear wheel slides across the road. There’s a muffled thud as she hits a large plastic dustbin before she regains control of the bike and accelerates hard.
Her heart is pumping.
Fortunately, her motorcycle has a low centre of gravity and extremely responsive steering.
That’s probably what saved her.
Saga sees big yachts out on the water as she follows the wide curve of the road through the imposing houses. She’s already leaning hard to her left, but accelerates further as she reaches the shore.
7
Saga slows down as she approaches the address she was given.
She lets the bike fall sideways onto the grass beside the road, drops her helmet and pulls on her bulletproof vest and holster.
Thirteen minutes have passed since her phone woke her up.