Liza Marklund - The Bomber

The brown padded envelope hadn't attracted any particular attention. Stockholm Klara is Sweden's largest sorting office, situated on Klarabergsviadukten in central Stockholm. The terminal building is eight floors high and occupies a whole block between the City Bus Terminal, City Hall, and the Central Station. One and a half million letters and parcels pass through there every day.

Having arrived at one of the terminal's four loading platforms, the envelope had ended up at the Special Delivery Section on the fourth floor. The staff working with various kinds of valuable items have received special security training. Since Kvällspressen has its own postcode, the receipt was sent out to the paper's ordinary postbox. This postbox is emptied several times a day and its contents delivered at the newsroom in Marieberg. At the terminal, the paper has several letters giving power of attorney, enabling the various porters to collect registered letters and parcels on behalf of other employees. Whatever registered and insured items there are, they would usually be picked up once a day, early in the afternoon.

On Thursday morning, there had been a number of registered letters in the morning delivery, since it was the time of year for Christmas gifts. The receipt for the letter addressed to Annika Bengtzon therefore ended up in a pile of other receipts in the porters' folder.

The explosion had occurred when Tore Brand was standing in the sorting office reception, waiting to pick up these special deliveries. One of the employees at the Special Delivery Section had slipped and dropped the letter. The envelope didn't fall more than half a meter, back into the same crate where it had been lying overnight, but it was enough for the device to go off. Four people were hurt, three seriously. The person who had been standing the closest, the man who dropped the envelope, was in a critical condition.

Anders Schyman bit his nail. There was a knock on his door, and one of the detectives entered without waiting for a reply.

"We can't get hold of Thomas Samuelsson either," the detective said. "We've been to his office. He wasn't there. They thought he might have gone somewhere for the day, some meeting with a local politician. We've tried his cellphone, but there's no reply."

"Have you found Annika or the car?" Schyman asked.

The detective shook his head.

The editor turned around and stared out at the embassy roof. Dear God, don't let her be dead.

Suddenly her sight returned. The light came on with a clicking sound, the lamps flickering to life. Annika was dazzled and for a moment couldn't see anything. She heard the clatter of heels in the passage and rolled up into a ball, shutting her eyes tight. The steps came closer, stopping right next to her ear.

"Are you awake?" a voice above her said.

Annika opened her eyes and blinked. She saw the floor and the tip of a pair of leather boots.

"Good. We've got work to do."

Someone pulled at her so she ended up with her back against the concrete wall and her legs pulled up, bent at the knees and jutting out to the side. It was very uncomfortable.

Beata Ekesjö leaned over her and smelled the air.

"Did you shit yourself? That's disgusting!"

Annika didn't respond. She just stared into the opposite wall and whimpered.

"Let's get you sorted out," Beata said, grabbing Annika by the armpits. Pushing and lifting, she forced Annika to sit tilted forward with her head by her knees.

"It worked all right the last time," Beata said. "It's good when you get used to doing something, don't you think?"

Annika didn't hear what the woman was saying. She was lost in a deep pit of fear, which killed off any brain activity. She didn't even notice the stench from her own shit. She cried quietly while Beata was busying herself with something next to her, humming some old popular song. Annika tried to sing but was unable to.

"Don't try to talk yet," Beata said. "The rope squashed your vocal cords a bit. Here we go!"

Beata stood up next to Annika. She was holding a roll of masking tape in one hand and what looked like a pack of red candles in the other.

"This is Minex. Twenty paper-wrapped cartridges, 22 x 200mm, at 100 grams each. Two kilos. That's enough, I noticed with Stefan. He broke in two."

Annika understood what the woman was saying. She realized what was about to happen and leaned over to throw up. She vomited so hard her whole body was shaking and bile was coming up.

"What a mess you're making!" Beata exclaimed disapprovingly. "I should have you clean up after yourself."

Annika panted and felt the bile dripping from her mouth. I'm dying, she thought. I can't believe this is happening. Why had she followed this woman down here? It's never like this in the films.

"What the hell did you expect?" Annika croaked.

"See, your voice is returning," Beata said cheerfully. "That's good, because I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Fuck you, you maniac," Annika said. "I'm not talking to you."

Beata didn't reply but leaned over and pushed something onto Annika's back, just underneath the ribs. Annika reflected, breathed in, smelled damp and explosives.

"Dynamite?" she asked.

"Yep. I'm fastening it to your back with masking tape."

Beata wound the tape around Annika's body and embraced her a couple of times. Annika felt this might be a chance for her to escape, but she didn't know how to. Her hands were still tied behind her back and the feet were fixed to a metal frame in the wall.

"There, that's it," Beata said and got to her feet. "The explosives are quite safe, but the detonator can be a bit unstable, so we'll have to be careful. Do you see this wire here? This is what I use to detonate the charge. I'm pulling it to over here, and do you see this? It's a battery from an ordinary flashlight. It's enough to set off the detonator. Amazing, isn't it?"

Annika watched the thin, yellow and green wire winding toward the small folding table. She realized that she didn't know the first thing about explosives; she couldn't say whether Beata was bluffing or telling the truth. At the murder of Christina, she had used a whole car battery. Why, if a flashlight battery was enough?

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," Beata said. "If you'd only stayed in the office yesterday afternoon we could have avoided all this. It would have been better for everyone concerned. Completion should take place in its proper place, and in your case that means the newsroom at Kvällspressen. Instead the bomb went off at the sorting office, and I'm not very happy about that at all."

Annika stared at the woman- she really was insane.

"What do you mean? Has there been another explosion?"

let out a sigh.

"Well, I didn't bring you here for fun. We'll just have to do it this way instead. I'm going to leave you now for a while. If I were you, I'd try to get some rest. But don't lie on your back, and don't try to pull the chain from the wall. Sudden movements could trigger the charge."

"Why?" Annika asked.

Beata looked at her with complete indifference for a few seconds. "See you in a couple of hours," she said and started walking toward the training facility on her clattering heels. Annika heard her steps disappear beyond the bend and then the light was gone again.

Annika carefully turned around, away from the vomit, and infinitely slowly lay down on her left side. She lay with her back toward the wall and stared into the darkness, hardly daring to breathe. Another explosion- had anyone died? Was the bomb meant for her? How the hell was she going to get out of this alive?

Lots of people were working on the stadium, Beata had said. That should be at the other end of the passage. If she screamed loud enough they might hear her.