Henning Mankell - The Pyramid

The question is simply what is behind all this. And why were the women murdered all of a sudden? Something has been set in motion but then all at once it collapses.

At six o'clock he tried once more to get in touch with the others. The only one he managed to reach was Martinsson. They decided to hold a meeting at eight o'clock the next morning. Wallander put his feet up on his desk and went through the double homicide in his mind one more time. But since he didn't feel that he was getting anywhere he decided he might as well continue his thinking at home. And anyway, he needed to clean out his car before he got rid of it tomorrow.

He had just put his coat on when Martinsson walked in.

'I think it's best that you sit down,' Martinsson said.

'I'm fine standing up,' Wallander said grumpily. 'What is it?'

Martinsson appeared conflicted. He was holding a telex message in his hand.

'This just came in from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Stockholm,' he said.

He handed the piece of paper to Wallander, who read the message without understanding anything. Then he sat down at his desk and read it again, word for word.

Now he understood what was written there, but he refused to believe that it was true.

'It says here that my father had been arrested by the Cairo police, and that he would be brought before a judge if he did not immediately pay a fine of approximately ten thousand kronor. He had been accused of "unlawful entry and forbidden ascent".'

'What the hell does "forbidden ascent" mean?'

'I called the foreign ministry,' Martinsson said. 'I also thought it seemed strange. Apparently he was trying to climb the Cheops pyramid. Even though it's against the law.'

Wallander stared helplessly at Martinsson.

'I think you're going to have to fly there and bring him home,' Martinsson said. 'There are limits to what the Swedish authorities can do.'

Wallander shook his head.

He refused to believe it.

It was six o'clock. The fifteenth of December, 1989.

At ten past one the following day, Wallander sank down into an SAS seat on a DC-9 aircraft called 'Agne'. He sat in 19C, an aisle seat, and he had a vague understanding that the plane, after stops in Frankfurt and Rome, would take him to Cairo. The arrival time was set at 10.15. Wallander still did not know if there was a time difference between Sweden and Egypt. In fact, he knew very little in general about what had jerked him out of his life in Ystad, from the investigation of a plane crash and a brutal double homicide, to an aircraft in Kastrup preparing for take-off, headed for North Africa.

The evening before, when the contents of the telex from the foreign ministry had actually sunk in, he had completely lost it. He left the station without a word, and even though Martinsson accompanied him as far as the car park and declared himself willing to help, Wallander had not so much as answered him.

When he got home to Mariagatan, he had two large tumblerfuls of whisky. Then he reread the crumpled telex several more times in the hopes that there was an encoded message in it explaining that it was all an invention, a joke, one that perhaps even his own father had played on him. But he had realised that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Stockholm meant business. There was no way out for him other than to accept this as a fact: his demented father had started climbing a pyramid, with the result that he had been apprehended and was now being held in police custody in Cairo.

Shortly after eight o'clock, Wallander called Malmö. As luck would have it, Linda answered. He told her what had happened and asked for her advice. What should he do? Her answer had been very firm. He had no option but to travel to Egypt the following day and see to it that her grandfather was released. Wallander had many objections, but she dismissed them one after another. Finally he realised that she was right. She also promised him to find out what available connections there were to Cairo tomorrow.

Wallander slowly calmed himself. Tomorrow he was supposed to go to the bank to pick up a car loan for twenty thousand kronor. No one would ask him what he was going to use the money for. He had enough money to buy a ticket and he could change the rest of the cash to British pounds or dollars in order to pay his father's fine. At ten o'clock Linda called and said that there was a flight the following day at ten past one. He also decided to ask Anette Bengtsson for help. Earlier that day, when he had promised to avail himself of the travel agency's services, he had not dreamed it would be so soon.

He tried to pack at around midnight, realising he knew nothing about Cairo. His father had gone there with an ancient pith helmet on his head. But he was unhinged beyond a doubt and could not be taken seriously. Finally, Wallander tossed some shirts and underwear into a bag and decided that would be enough. He was not going to stay away any longer than absolutely necessary.

Then he had a couple more glasses of whisky, set his alarm clock to wake him at six and tried to sleep. A restless slumber carried him towards the dawn at an interminable crawl.

When the bank opened the following day he was the first customer to step through the doors. It took him twenty minutes to sign the loan documents, get his money and exchange half of it for British pounds. He hoped that no one would ask why half of the payment for the car was to be paid in pounds. From the bank he went straight to the travel agency. Anette Bengtsson couldn't believe her eyes when he walked in through the door. But she was immediately willing to help him book the ticket. The return had to remain open for now. He was astonished to hear the price. But he simply pulled out his thousand-kronor notes, took his tickets and left the agency.

Then he took a taxi to Malmö.

He had taken a taxi to Ystad from Malmö before in a state of inebriation. But never in the opposite direction, and never sober. He would never be able to afford a new car now. Perhaps he should consider getting a moped or a bike.

Linda met him by the ferry terminal. They only had a few minutes together. But she convinced him he was doing the right thing. And she asked if he had remembered his passport.

'You'll need a visa,' she said. 'But you can buy that at the airport in Cairo.'

Now he was sitting in 19C and felt how the aeroplane gathered speed and tilted up towards the clouds and the invisible air corridors, headed south. He still felt as if he were standing in his office at the station, with Martinsson in the doorway, the telex in his hand, looking miserable.

Frankfurt airport became a memory of an endless series of corridors and stairs. He took his aisle seat again and, when they came to Rome in order to make the last connection, he took off his coat, as it had suddenly become very warm. The plane thudded down at the airport outside Cairo, delayed by half an hour. In order to lessen his worry, his fear of flying and his nervousness about what awaited him, Wallander had had far too much to drink during the flight. He was not drunk when he stepped out into the stifling Egyptian darkness, but he was not sober either. Most of the money was in a cloth bag squeezed in under his shirt. A tired passport controller directed him to a bank where he could buy a tourist visa. He ended up with a large number of dirty notes in his hand and was suddenly through both passport control and customs. Many taxi drivers then crowded round, prepared to drive him to any place in the world. But Wallander had the presence of mind to look around for a van heading to Mena House, which he imagined to be quite large. His plan went this far: to stay at the same hotel as his father. In a small bus, sandwiched between some loud American women, he then went through the city towards the hotel. He felt the warm night air on his face, discovered suddenly that they were crossing a river that might be the Nile, and then they were there.