Ю Несбё - Macbeth

The shelves inside were laden with iron boxes and firearms. In the middle of the floor there was a safe. Malcolm took one of the machine guns from a shelf.

‘Someone’s taken the Gatling guns and their ammo,’ Ricardo said. ‘So this is all we have. Plus an armoured car. I can have it brought down to the central station straight away. There aren’t enough guns for everyone, but the firemen don’t have any weapon training anyway. My men and I can strike tonight, though.’

‘We’d far prefer Macbeth to surrender voluntarily,’ Malcolm said. ‘The numbers tell us he probably has two men with him: Seyton and Olafson. When he sees how many we’ve mobilised outside I hope he will release Kasi and capitulate.’

‘Negotiations.’ Ricardo nodded. ‘Modern tactics in hostage situations.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Modern and useless, as far as Macbeth is concerned. I’ve had him as a boss, sir. He has the two best marksmen in the country and two Gatling guns on his side. While we have very little time.’

‘What can you do against two Gatling guns?’ Malcolm asked, taking down a bazooka.

Duff stiffened. He had seen what was behind the bazooka.

‘It’s not very accurate over a long distance,’ Ricardo said. ‘But I’d be happy to draw up a plan of how we can take the Inverness if Macbeth won’t surrender.’

‘Good,’ Malcolm said, looking at what Duff had found. ‘Jesus, where’s that from?’

‘The ruins after the raid on the Norse Riders,’ Ricardo said. ‘It’s a weapon, even if it’s only a sabre.’

‘It’s not just any sabre,’ Duff said, gripping the handle tightly. He swung it and felt the weight of the steel. ‘It’s Sweno’s sabre.’

‘You’re not thinking of taking it, are you? It can’t do any harm.’

‘Wrong.’ Duff ran his forefinger over the blade. ‘It can slice open women’s stomachs and children’s faces.’

Malcolm turned to Ricardo. ‘Can you have the weapons transported to the central station an hour before sunrise?’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Thank you. Let’s see if the rest of us can catch a couple of hours’ shut-eye?’

‘Sir?’

Macbeth lifted his head from Lady’s cold chest and looked up. It was Jack. He had returned and was standing in the doorway.

‘There’s someone down in reception who’d like to talk to you.’

‘Have you let s-s-someone in?’

‘He’s alone and he kept knocking. I had to let him in. And now he doesn’t want to go away.’

‘Who is it?’

‘A young man by the name of Sivart.’

‘Sivart?’

‘He says you saved his life down by the quay during the raid on the Norse Riders.’

‘Oh, the hostage. Wh-wh-what does he want?’

‘To volunteer. He says he’s been contacted by Malcolm, and Malcolm is getting people together to launch an attack on the Inverness.’

‘Then,’ Macbeth said, resting his head back on Lady’s chest and closing his eyes, ‘t-t-tell him to go.’

‘He won’t, sir.’

Macbeth sighed heavily, got to his feet and held out a hand. ‘Lend me the gun I gave you, Jack.’

They went down to reception, where the young man was nervously waiting. From the stairs Macbeth pointed the gun at him. ‘Out!’

‘Chief Commissioner...’ the man stammered.

‘Out! You’ve been sent by Malcolm to kill me. Now out!’

‘No, no, I...’

‘Now! I’ll count to three! One...’

The man stumbled backwards, grabbed the door handle, but it was locked.

‘Two!’

Jack rushed forward with the key and helped the man to open the door.

‘Three!’

The door slammed behind the man and they heard running footsteps fade in the distance.

‘Do you really think he—’

‘No,’ Macbeth said, handing back the gun to Jack. ‘But a young man like him here would have just got in the way.’

‘There aren’t many of you, and he’s the same age as Olafson, sir.’

‘Have you done what I asked you to do, Jack?’

‘I’m still doing it, sir.’

‘Tell me when you’ve finished. I’m in the gaming room.’

Macbeth opened the double doors to the casino. The night grew old and grey behind the tall windows to the east.

The sun was hidden behind the mountain, but it had sent a red harbinger of its arrival. Inspector Lennox thought he had never seen a finer daybreak in the town. Or perhaps he had, but had never noticed it. Or perhaps it was the morphine more than the sun that coloured everything. The streets were adorned with smashed beer bottles, stinking piles of spew and cigarette ends after a lively Saturday night, but no one was about, only a little man in a black maritime uniform and white hat, who hurried past them. Everyone else, as the town’s fate was decided, lay at home in bed with the blankets pulled over their heads. And despite this he had never seen his town looking more beautiful.

Lennox gazed down at the tartan blanket Priscilla had spread over his knees. They were approaching the modest eastern entrance to the central station. He noticed the wheelchair was moving more slowly. She was hesitant; he guessed she had hardly ever been to the station before.

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, Priscilla. They only want to sell dope. Or buy it.’ He saw from her shadow as they passed under a street light that she had straightened up. Their speed increased.

As arranged, she had picked him up while it was still dark outside, before the corridors were full of nurses and doctors who would have stopped them. And she had brought various things from the office which he had requested. He didn’t even need to persuade her or explain anything to her; she had immediately done what he had said, even if officially he was no longer her boss.

‘That’s fine,’ she had said. ‘You’ll always be my boss. And Macbeth won’t continue as chief commissioner, will he?’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s off his trolley, isn’t he.’

They passed cigarette-smoking pushers and junkies dozing on blankets who woke up and automatically reached out a begging hand.

But Priscilla didn’t stop until they were in front of the stairs by the toilets.

It was here they used to collect him. All he had to do was stand there and they came. Lennox had never worked out where they took him because they not only put goggles on him but also gave him earplugs so that he couldn’t speculate from the background noises.

It was a part of the agreement. When he needed a real trip, one that couldn’t happen at home or at the office in the evening without the risk of being caught, they took him into the kitchen, the place where they made brew. And there he was given the purest drug that could be produced, injected by specialists. He was placed in a reclining chair, a bit like they did in the old days in opium dens, and after sleeping off his high in safe surroundings he could go into town and move around for a while like a new and better man.

In a way which he would never be able to do again.

He had felt how helpless he was when Priscilla freed him from all the wires and tubes and manoeuvred him across into the wheelchair. How useless he had become. How little he could be expected to do.

‘Go,’ he said now.

‘What? Are we going?’

‘ You are.’

‘And just leave you here, you mean?’

‘It’ll be fine. I’ll ring you. Go now.’

She didn’t move.

‘It’s an order, Priscilla—’ he smiled ‘—from the man who will always be your boss.’

She sighed. Gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Then she left.

Less than ten minutes passed before Strega was standing in front of him with her arms crossed. ‘Wow!’ was all she said.