Liza Marklund - The Bomber

Work in the newsroom was performed with maximum concentration and in great silence. The noise level had been reduced considerably some years ago when the newspaper was computerized, but never before had it been this quiet. They were all sitting around the desk where the paper was produced during the night. Jansson was continuously on the phone, as usual, only quieter and mumbling more than ever. Anders Schyman had installed himself in the chair where the lead writer would sit during the day. He did very little, mostly just sat staring into thin air or talking quietly on the phone. Berit and Janet Ullberg usually worked at their desks in the far corner of the newsroom, but now they sat writing by the night reporters' desk so they could follow what was going on. Patrik Nilsson was also there; Ingvar Johansson had called him in the afternoon. The reporter had been on his flight to Jönköping, and of course he had answered the call.

"It's forbidden to have your cellphone on during the flight," Ingvar Johansson told him.

"I know that!" Patrik screamed with obvious delight. "I just wanted to check if it's true that the plane will crash if you have it on."

"So is it?" Ingvar Johansson asked sarcastically.

"Not yet, but if it does, you'll have a major scoop for tomorrow! 'Kvällspressen Reporter in Plane Crash Drama- Read His Last Words.' "

He shrieked with laughter and Ingvar Johansson rolled his eyes.

"I think we'll hold that, we already have one reporter at the center of a bomb drama. When can you get back?" Johansson filled him in.

Patrik hadn't even stepped off the plane but returned with it to Stockholm. He'd arrived at the newspaper at five in the afternoon. Now he was writing copy for the story of the police hunt for the Bomber. Anders Schyman was secretly watching him. He marveled at the young man's speed and commitment; there was something quite improbable about him. His only flaw was his undisguised delight in accidents, murder, and various other tragedies. But with a bit of experience that would no doubt tone itself down. With time, he would become a very good tabloid journalist.

Schyman stood up to get some more coffee. He felt slightly sick with all the coffee he'd drunk already, but he needed to remain awake. He turned his back on the people in the newsroom and slowly walked toward the row of windows on the other side of the Sunday supplement desk. He stood watching the apartment block next to the newspaper offices. The lights were still on in several windows, even though it was past midnight. People were up watching the thriller on TV3, drinking glogg. Others were wrapping the last of their Christmas gifts. On several balconies, there were Christmas trees, the lights glimmering in the windows.

Schyman had talked to the police several times during the night. He'd become the link between the newsroom and the Krim people. When Annika hadn't showed up at the daycare center by 5 P.M., they began dealing with it as a missing person case. After talking to Thomas, the police command regarded it as out of the question that Annika had disappeared of her own free will. Her disappearance had during the evening been classified as abduction.

Earlier, the police had banned them from calling Annika's cellphone. Schyman had asked why but got no reply. He had, however, passed on the order to the others, and as far as he knew, no one had tried to phone her since.

The staff were shaken and upset. Berit and Janet Ullberg had been crying. It's strange, Anders Schyman thought; we write about these things every day, using people's suffering to spice things up. Yet we're wholly unprepared when hit by it ourselves. He walked off to get another mug of coffee.

Annika was wakened by a cold wind rushing through the passage. She immediately knew what that meant. The iron door under the arena had been opened. The Bomber was returning. Fear made her curl up in a little ball on the mattress; she lay still, breathing raggedly as the strip lights flickered on.

Her instincts were whispering: Be calm, listen to the woman, find out what she wants, do as she tells you, try to win her confidence.

The sound of clattering heels approached; Annika sat up.

"Look at that, you're awake. Good," Beata said and walked over to the folding table. She began unpacking various food items from a 7-Eleven plastic bag. She lined them up around the flashlight battery and the timer. Annika could make out some cans of Coke, Evian water, some sandwiches, and a chocolate bar.

"Do you like Fazer Blue? It's my favorite," Beata said.

"Mine, too, actually," Annika said, trying to keep her voice steady. She didn't like chocolate and had never tried Fazer Blue.

Beata folded up the plastic bag and put it in her coat pocket.

"We have some work to do," she said, sitting down on one of the stools.

Annika tried to smile. "Oh, what are we doing?"

Beata looked at her for a couple of seconds. "We're finally going to get the truth out."

Annika tried to follow the woman's reasoning but failed. Fear was making her mouth dry and parched. "What truth?"

Beata walked around the table and picked something up. When she straightened up, Annika saw that she was holding a noose, the one she'd put around her neck earlier. She felt her pulse quicken but forced herself to look at Beata with a steady gaze.

"Don't worry," the Bomber said, smiling. She approached the mattress with the long rope in her hands. Annika felt her breathing speed up; she couldn't control her feelings of panic.

"Relax, I'm just going to put this back around your neck," Beata said, laughing lightly. "You're so jumpy!"

Annika forced a smile. The noose was around her neck, the rope hanging like a tie on her chest. Beata held onto the end of the rope.

"That's it. Now I'm going to walk around you… I told you to relax!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Annika saw the woman disappear behind her back, still with the rope in her hand.

"I'm going to release your hands, but don't try anything. If you do, I'll tighten the rope for good."

Annika breathed and racked her brains. She realized there was nothing she could do. Her feet were chained to the wall, she had the noose around her neck, and the explosives on her back. It took Beata close to five minutes to untie the rope around Annika's hands.

"Phew, that was tight," she panted when she'd finished. Annika's fingers immediately started tingling as the blood started flowing again. Carefully, she moved her hands back and forth, wincing at the look of them. The skin on her wrists was chafed and raw, either from the rope, the wall, or the floor. Two of the knuckles on her left hand were bleeding.

"Get up," Beata ordered.

Using the wall to support herself, Annika did as she was told.

"Kick the mattress to the side," Beata said, and Annika obeyed. The dried-up vomit disappeared under the foam rubber. While doing this, Annika spotted her bag. It lay some twenty feet away, toward the training arena exit.

Still with the rope in her hand, the Bomber walked backwards to the table. She put the battery and the timer on the floor, keeping her eyes on Annika. Then she gripped the table and pulled it closer. The scraping sound of the table legs against the floor echoed in the passage. When the table was right in front of Annika, Beata backed away again and picked up a stool.

"Sit down."

Annika pulled the stool closer and gingerly sat down. Her stomach turned when she saw the food on the table.

"Have something to eat," Beata said.

Annika started pulling off the plastic seal on the water bottle. "Do you want some?" she asked Beata.

"I'll have a Coke later; you drink," Beata said, and Annika drank. She had a small ham and cheese baguette and forced herself to chew properly. Having eaten half, she couldn't continue, she couldn't get any more down.