Ю Несбё - Macbeth

The signature tune.

Macbeth opened his eyes. But he was still in his office, Seyton was still on the sofa, Olafson still on the chair and the radio was on.

Macbeth got up and turned it off.

‘Well?’ said Seyton.

‘Shh,’ Macbeth said.

‘What?’

‘Shut up for a second!’ He held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and first finger. He was tired, so tired it was difficult to think as clearly as he needed to. Because he did need to. The next decisions he made were going to be momentous, the next few hours would decide the struggle for the town.

‘My name,’ Olafson said.

‘What?’

‘They said my name on the radio.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I don’t think anyone in my family has ever had their name mentioned on the radio.’

Macbeth listened to the silence. The traffic, where was the regular booming drone of the traffic? It was as though the town was holding its breath. He got up. ‘Come on.’

They took the lift down to the basement.

Passed the SWAT flag with the red dragon.

Seyton unlocked the ammo room and switched on the light.

The boy was sitting between the machine-gun stands, gagged and tied to the safe. The brown irises of his eyes were just a thin ring around the pupils, which were large and black with fear.

‘We’re taking him to the Inverness,’ Macbeth said.

‘The Inverness?’

‘We’re not safe here any longer, none of us. But from the Inverness we can bring Tourtell to his knees.’

‘Who’s we ?’

‘The last of the faithful. Those who will be rewarded when the victory is won.’

‘You, me and Olafson? Are we going to bring the town to its knees?’

‘Trust me.’ Macbeth stroked Kasi’s head as if he were a loyal dog. ‘Hecate needs us and is protecting us.’

‘Against the whole of the town?’ Olafson said.

‘Hecate’s helpers constitute an army, Olafson. They’re as invisible as he is, but they’re there — they’ve already saved me twice. And we have the Gatling sisters and the Kenneth Laws on our side. When Tourtell gives in and declares a state of emergency the town is mine. Well? Loyalty, fraternity?’

Olafson closed his eyes. ‘Baptised in fire,’ he whispered. The ‘s’ lisped around the concrete walls.

Seyton scowled at them. But then, slowly, a smile spread across his narrow lips. ‘United in blood.’

Duff was sitting on the sofa in Tourtell’s living room. The four of them looked nervously at the mayor as he stood with the telephone to his ear. It was two minutes to midnight. Pressure had built up and up and thunder had started to rumble. The town would soon be punished for the hot day. The mayor alternated between ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ on the phone. Then he cradled the receiver. Smacked his lips as though what he had heard had to be chewed and swallowed.

‘Well?’ said Malcolm impatiently.

‘Good and bad news. The good news is that Supreme Court Judge Archibald says that, based on what we have, he’s fairly sure they should be able to issue a federal warrant for Macbeth’s arrest, and that accordingly they can send federal police here.’

‘And the bad news?’ Malcolm asked.

‘It’s a politically delicate matter and will take time,’ Tourtell said. ‘No one wants to arrest a chief commissioner if it turns out the case won’t hold water. In concrete terms all we have is a radio interview with Lennox, who himself has confessed to being an accessory to murder. Archibald says quite a bit more persuasion is needed for him to succeed, but the best-case scenario is that they’ll get a ruling tomorrow afternoon.’

‘But it’ll be decided then,’ Caithness said. ‘So we just have to hold out tonight and a few hours tomorrow.’

‘Looks like it,’ Malcolm said. ‘Shame the circumstances don’t allow for a celebration.’

‘On the contrary,’ Tourtell said, turning to the maid, who had just come into the room. ‘During the war, the more the victories cost us, the harder we celebrated. Champagne, Agnes!’

‘Yes, sir, but there’s someone on the other line.’

Tourtell brightened up. ‘Kasi?’

‘I’m afraid it’s Mr Macbeth.’

They looked at each other.

‘Put the call through here,’ Tourtell said.

Macbeth leaned back in the chair with the phone to his ear. Staring up at the ceiling, at the inverted gold spire on the chandelier hanging over him and the empty gaming room. He was alone. He could hear Seyton and Olafson still in the process of assembling the Gatlings on the mezzanine, but he was alone just the same. Lady wasn’t here. They had got to work as soon as they arrived back from HQ. It had taken them half an hour to get all the gamblers and diners out. They had tried to do it in a relaxed way. But games had to be finished, chips had to be cashed and some customers insisted on drinking up even though they weren’t asked to pay. The last customers had protested that it was a Saturday night and literally had to be pushed out. Lady would of course have managed it in a more elegant way. But Jack, whom Macbeth had sent up to the suite to get her, had returned unaccompanied. That was fine, she needed her sleep, and this was going to be a long fight. They had removed the bars from the windows and sited the machine guns at each end of the mezzanine.

‘Tourtell here.’ The voice struggled to sound neutral.

‘Good evening, Mayor. All well?’

‘I’m alive.’

‘Good, good. I’m glad we saved you from the assassination attempt. I suspect Hecate was behind it. Sorry your driver had to pay for it with his life. And that Lennox has lost his senses from the injury he brought on himself.’

Tourtell gave a dry laugh. ‘You’re finished, Macbeth. Do you realise?’

‘These are indeed wild times, don’t you think, Tourtell? Explosions on rooftops, shooting in the streets, assassination attempts on the chief commissioner and mayor. I rang because I think you should declare a state of emergency at once.’

‘That won’t happen, Macbeth. What will happen is that a federal arrest warrant is being issued in your name.’

‘You’ve called in the cavalry from Capitol? I thought you would. But the warrant won’t be issued before I have control of this town, and then it’s too late. I will have immunity. Chief Commissioner Kenneth had more foresight than many give him credit for.’

‘You’re going to rule the town like the dictators before you?’

‘In this storm it’s probably best to have a stronger hand on the till than yours, Tourtell.’

‘You’re mad, Macbeth. Why on earth would I declare a state of emergency and hand power to you?’

‘Because I have your illegitimate son and will cut his head off if you don’t do what I say.’

Macbeth heard a sharp intake of breath.

‘So don’t go to sleep, Tourtell. I’ll give you a few hours to write and sign the declaration of a state of emergency. And it will come into effect before the sun rises tomorrow. If I haven’t heard it broadcast on radio before the first ray of sun hits my eyes, Kasi will die.’

Pause. Macbeth had a feeling Tourtell wasn’t alone. According to Seyton, Duff, Malcolm and Caithness were three of the four who had prevented them from completing the job at St Jordi’s Hospital.

‘And how do you think you will get away with killing my son, Macbeth?’

The tone was tough but couldn’t quite conceal his helplessness. And Macbeth noticed he hadn’t been prepared for such utter despair. But he shook it off. The mayor’s shaking voice confirmed what he had hoped for: Tourtell was willing to do anything at all for the boy.

‘Immunity. State of emergency. That’ll do the trick, Mayor.’

‘I don’t mean escaping a court of law. I was thinking of your conscience. You’ve become a monster, Macbeth.’