Liza Marklund - The Bomber

"And the code?"

Beata sighed. "I'm good with computers," she said. "The codes for the arena are changed every month, and the changes are recorded in a special computer file that you have to have a password to enter. They never changed the password."

She smiled a lopsided smile. Annika started writing again. She had to think of other questions to ask.

"What are you writing?"

Annika looked up. "I'm explaining the importance of making this story as big as the death of Christina Furhage," she said cheerfully.

"You're lying!" Beata cried, and Annika jumped.

"What do you mean?"

"They couldn't make as many pages as when Christina died." Beata suddenly looked wild. "You know it was you who started calling me 'The Bomber'? Can you imagine how much I hate that name? Can you?! You were the worst of all of them. You always wrote that bullshit on the front page. I hate you!"

Beata's eyes were on fire, and Annika realized that she had nothing to say.

"You came in the room where I had been overcome by sorrow," Beata said, slowly approaching Annika. "You saw me in my misery and yet you didn't help me. You listened to the others but not to me. It's been like that my whole life. No one has heard me call out. No one but my houses. But that's finished now. I'll get you all!"

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

"No!" Annika cried out.

Her cry made Beata stop momentarily in her tracks. Then she grabbed the rope and pulled it as tight as she could, but Annika had been prepared. She got both her hands in between the rope and her neck. The Bomber tugged again and Annika fell off her stool. She managed to twist her body so that she fell on her side and not on the charge.

"You're going to die now, you bitch!" Beata screamed, and in the same instant Annika noticed there was something wrong with the echo. Next she felt a cold draught on the floor.

"Help!" she cried out as loud as she could.

"Stop screaming!" Beata roared and pulled again at the rope. She pulled Annika further out onto the floor, grazing her face on the concrete.

"I'm here, around the corner!" Annika cried, and right then Beata must have caught sight of them. She dropped the rope, turned around, and searched along the wall with her eyes. Annika knew what she was looking for. As if in slow motion, she saw Beata start for the battery and the fuse. The shot was fired a fraction of a second later. It ripped open a crater high up on Beata's back, pushing her violently forward. Another shot rang out. Annika instinctively turned her back to the wall, away from the gunfire.

"No!" she screamed. "Don't shoot, for Christ's sake! You might hit the charge!"

As the echo of the last shot died down, she saw smoke and dust in the air. Beata lay still a few yards away from her. The silence was complete. All she could hear was a high-frequency ringing in her ears from the shots. Suddenly, she felt that someone was standing next to her. She looked up at a pale, plain-clothes policeman stooped over her with his weapon drawn.

"You!" she said with surprise.

The man looked at her anxiously and loosened the noose around her neck. "Yes, me," he said. "How are you? Are you okay?"

It was her secret source, her "deep throat." She smiled wanly and felt him pull the rope over her head. To her surprise, she burst into a flood of tears.

The policeman picked up his radio and called out his number. "We need two ambulances," he said, looking up and down the passageway.

"I'm okay," Annika whispered.

"Hurry, we've got a gunshot injury," he called out on the radio.

"I've got an explosive charge on my back."

The man lowered his radio.

"What did you say?"

"There's an explosive charge on my back here. Have a look."

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

"Oh, my God, don't move," he said.

"It's all right," Annika said, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "It's been there all night without going off."

"Evacuate the tunnel!" he shouted back toward the door. "Hold the ambulance people! We've got a charge here!"

The man leaned over her, and Annika closed her eyes. She could hear there were more people nearby, steps and voices.

"Take it easy, Annika, we'll sort it out," the policeman said.

Beata groaned where she lay on the floor.

"Make sure she doesn't get hold of the fuse," Annika said in a low voice.

The man got to his feet and followed the fuse with his eyes. Then he took a few steps, grabbed the yellow and green wire, and pulled it to him.

"There we are," he said to Annika. "Let's see what you've got here."

"It's Minex," Annika said. "Small, like peppermint rock."

"Yes," the policeman replied. "What else do you know?"

"It's approximately four pounds, and the firing switch could be unstable."

"Shit! I'm not very good with these things," he said.

Annika heard sirens far away. "Are they coming here?"

"Right again. Lucky you're still alive."

"It wasn't easy," Annika said, sniffling.

"Keep very still now…"

He studied the charge with great concentration for a few seconds. Then he grabbed the fuse, at the top of the charge, and pulled it out. Nothing happened.

"Thank God," he mumbled. "It was as easy as I thought."

"What?" Annika asked.

"This is an everyday charge, the kind you use at building sites. It wasn't booby-trapped. All you have to do to disarm it is to pull the metal piece away from the cartridge."

"You're joking," Annika said in disbelief. "I could have pulled it out myself, when she wasn't here?"

"More or less."

"So why the hell have I been sitting here all night?" she said, furious with herself.

"Annika, Annika, there was a noose around your neck as well. That could have killed you just as effectively. And were your hands free? You've got some nasty bruises, by the way. And if she had as much as let the fuse touch the battery it would have been the end, both for her and you."

"There's a timer as well."

"Hang on, let me get this off your back. What the hell has she fastened it with?"

"Masking tape."

"Okay. There's no wiring inside the tape? Good, I'll just rip it off… There, it's gone now."

Annika felt the weight lift from her back. She leaned back against the wall and pulled the tape from her stomach.

"You couldn't have gotten far anyway, the policeman said, pointing at the chains. "Do you know where the keys are?"

Annika shook her head and pointed at Beata. "She must have them on her somewhere."

The policeman picked up his radio and called out that the others could come in; the charge was disarmed.

"There's more dynamite over there," Annika said, pointing.

"Good, we'll take care of it.

He picked up the taped-up cartridges and put them among the others and then went up to Beata. The woman lay on her stomach, completely still, with blood running out of a hole in her shoulder. The policeman felt her pulse and lifted her eyelids.

"Will she live?" Annika asked.

"Who gives a damn?" he answered.

Annika heard herself say: "I do."

Two paramedics appeared in the tunnel, wheeling a stretcher between them. The policeman helped them lift Beata onto it. On his instruction, one of the paramedics went through her pockets and found two padlock keys.

"I'll do it," Annika said, and the policeman handed them over to her.

The paramedics checked Beata's vital signs while Annika unlocked the chains. She stood up on shaky legs and watched the men pushing Beata toward the exit of the tunnel. The woman's eyelids fluttered and she caught sight of Annika. It seemed as if she tried to say something, but her voice didn't carry.

Annika followed the stretcher with her eyes while it disappeared around the corner. Policemen and civilians were standing in the passageway. Speech was filling the air, voices rising and falling. She blocked her ears: She was near collapse.