Anne Holt - 1222

He closed his eyes. His smile changed, as if he were looking back and into himself.

I really didn’t understand Magnus Streng.

‘We would sit there for quarter of an hour,’ he said, still smiling and without opening his eyes. ‘Never more, never less. Then he would close the book and put me to bed. And that is the difference between you and me.’

He was right, actually. Nobody showed me books with pictures of animals before bedtime, despite the fact that my father was a professor of zoology. Nor could I recall any flannel pyjamas. However, I had no idea what point Magnus Streng was trying to make. Other than to highlight the fact that he had a kind daddy. I agreed; the difference between us was immense.

‘My father didn’t say much,’ he said. ‘But it wasn’t really necessary for him to say anything. The message was clear enough: we are all needed. We are necessary here on earth. Small and large, fat and thin, ugly and beautiful. I was good enough. I am good enough.’

‘You don’t know me,’ I said sharply.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’ve read about you, but I suppose I don’t know you. That’s true.’

‘Do you know what the Public Information Office is?’

His smile died away. He seemed confused. Disappointed, perhaps, but only for a moment. Then he leaned back in the chair again.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘There’s a Public Information Office for meat. For fruit and vegetables too, I imagine. And as far as I know there’s a Public Information Office for eggs and poultry. And no doubt one for fish. And for… Why in the world…’

‘Could Cato Hammer ever have been involved in something like that? Some project? An – an advertising job? Something like that?’

‘Cato Hammer? No, no, no. You mean the Public Information Service! The Public Information Service Foundation. That’s something completely different.’

I tried to think back to the last conversation I had had with Roar Hanson before Adrian turned up. Magnus could be right. Perhaps he had said Public Information Service. Not Office. Not that the difference meant anything to me.

‘Cato Hammer worked there for many years,’ said Magnus contentedly. ‘He was a man of many talents, you know. He had a degree in economics as well as being a priest. Such educational combinations are no longer so uncommon. I have a brother who is a qualified engineer as well as a doctor, and you have no idea what an advantage that is in today’s -’

‘What do they do?’ I interrupted him.

‘Who?’

‘The Public Information Service Foundation!’

‘They administer funds. Billions of kroner. Literally, I think. At any rate, it’s not a question of doing a great deal.’

‘Who owns… Who do they administer this money for?’

‘For the church, of course. For the Norwegian church. Some of the problems involved in separating state and church are linked to property. Wealth. The church is rich. The church is a real Croesus. As it has acquired most of its fortune as a state church, allocating all of this causes a serious schism. Possessions. Funds. Property. Houses and church buildings. Does all this belong to the state, to you and me in other words? Or does it belong to the church, so that the faithful can take it with them in exchange for the privileges they have, which are protected by law if we dismantle the entire edifice of state belief?’

It had never occurred to me that the church was rich. On the contrary, I remembered all the fuss surrounding the renovation of the cathedral in Oslo before the wedding of the Crown Prince. If we were to believe the newspapers, the building was on the point of falling down thanks to many years of neglect and a lack of money.

‘He was financial director there,’ said Magnus, his bushy monobrow knitted into a frown. ‘Or was he an accountant? No, I don’t remember. It wasn’t until he moved to the church at Ris as priest that he became seriously… visible to the masses, so to speak.’

He whinnied like a horse.

‘Do you know if Roar Hanson ever worked there?’

‘No-o…’

He drew the word out slightly, scratching behind his ear with his index finger.

‘To be honest, I’d never heard of Roar Hanson until today. An anonymous sort of chap, Hanson. Unfortunately he had none of his colleague’s charm and warmth.’

There was another knock on the door.

‘Who is it?’ I said crossly; I had told Geir I wanted to be left alone, and he had promised to keep the others away.

‘Sorry,’ said Berit, hesitating before she came into the room and closed the door behind her. ‘But something’s happened. Something that

She tugged at her ponytail.

‘Don’t tell me anybody else has been killed,’ I mumbled.

‘No, it’s -’

‘And don’t tell me anybody else has decided to set off on their own.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘In fact, you could say the opposite is true.’

‘The opposite,’ pondered Magnus, making a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘You mean somebody’s trying to get in?’

Then he laughed, loudly and uproariously, quite a different sound from the laughter I had heard before. Magnus Streng had a repertoire of laughter that an impressionist would envy him.

‘Yes.’

I looked from Berit to Magnus and back again.

‘What?’

She was fighting back the tears. Swallowing and breathing rapidly with her mouth open. Then she rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes, forced a smile and said:

‘Somebody is digging their way down to the main entrance. From outside. They want to get in.’

Then she snivelled and added:

‘At least, that’s the way it seems.’

Berit, Geir and Johan had persuaded the guests to move down into Blåstuen and Jøkulsalen. Every single hotel room had been checked to make sure that everyone, with the exception of the staff, Geir, the Red Cross personnel and I were located in the lower part of the wing. Magnus Streng had taken his role as chief of security very seriously, and had immediately chosen Mikkel as his deputy. The young gang leader muttered a sullen ‘OK’ as he tried to hide his surprise and something that resembled pride on his sulky countenance for a change. None of the guests was told the truth about why people had to be moved. Geir came up with the explanation that the gap where the carriage had been needed some reinforcement. There were also problems with the structure of the staircase itself since the fall, he lied, and everybody needed to stay away until this had been investigated. Magnus was enjoying his role. I could already hear his exhortations: people must keep calm, there was no need to worry.

This was a big fat lie, and everybody knew it.

Since the accident there had been every reason to worry.

Oddly enough, people had accepted their temporary internment. Even Kari Thue had allowed herself to be sent down to Blåstuen without making a fuss.

Of course it was difficult to know what she was thinking, and she immediately made sure she was as far away from the two Muslims as possible. Over the course of just two days she had managed to acquire her own little court. They followed her into the far corner by the window looking out over the veranda to the south, where she settled down on a yellow sofa with multicoloured stripes, looking for all the world as if she were surrounded by friends. I sat by the stairs leading down to St Paal’s Bar, and watched. Everything was going worryingly smoothly.

‘It won’t be long before they’re done,’ whispered Berit, with one hand on my shoulder. ‘It sounds as if they’re getting close to the door.’

I followed her towards the main entrance. Whoever was shovelling snow out there was doing a thorough job. After Johan had decided that it was pointless, dangerous and unnecessary to keep the entrance open, the small windows in the outside door had gradually darkened as a wall of snow built up outside. Now it was getting light again. Since the entrance was protected by a solid porch with benches on each side, it was necessary to dig down on the outside in order to get in under the roof and reach the door.