Ю Несбё - Macbeth

‘Jesus, there are people’s lives at risk here.’

‘One life. That doesn’t qualify for federal intervention unless our chief commissioner requests it.’

‘Bloody politics! And where’s Tourtell now?’ Duff stared to the east. At the edge of the mountain the pale blue sky was getting redder and redder.

‘He went to the radio studio,’ Caithness said.

‘He’s going to declare a state of emergency,’ Malcolm said. ‘We have to attack Macbeth now while we can still act under the mayor’s orders. As soon as a state of emergency’s declared we’ll be lawless revolutionaries and none of these people will be with us.’ He nodded towards the crowd.

‘Macbeth has barricaded himself in,’ Caithness said. ‘People’s lives will be lost.’

‘Yes.’ Malcolm put the megaphone to his mouth. ‘My good men and women! Take up your positions!’

The crowd ran to the barricade at the foot of the steps. Rested their weapons on car roofs, took cover behind the SWAT armoured car and the fire engine and aimed at the Inverness.

Malcolm pointed the megaphone in the same direction. ‘Macbeth! This is Deputy Chief Commissioner Malcolm speaking. You know, and we know, you’re in a hopeless situation. All you can achieve is to defer the inevitable. So release the hostage and give yourself up. I’ll give you one, I repeat, one minute.’

‘What did he say?’ Seyton shouted.

‘He’s giving me a minute,’ Macbeth said. ‘Can you see him?’

‘Yes, he’s standing at the top of the steps.’

‘Olafson, take your rifle and shut Malcolm up.’

‘Do you mean—’

‘Yes, I mean exactly that.’

‘All hail Macbeth!’ Seyton laughed.

‘Listen,’ Macbeth said.

Duff alternated between looking at the mountain, his watch and the men around him. His elbows and shoulders twitched with nerves. They were shifting position because of his knees and calves, which had started to shake. Apart from the six SWAT volunteers and some of the other policemen, the crowd was made up of people with ordinary jobs in accounting offices and fire stations, who had never fired a shot in anger. Or been shot at. And yet they had come here. They were willing, despite their inadequacy, to sacrifice everything. He counted down the final three seconds.

Nothing happened.

Duff exchanged glances with Malcolm and shrugged.

Malcolm sighed and lifted the megaphone to his mouth.

Duff hardly heard the bang.

Malcolm staggered back, and the megaphone fell to the ground with a clang.

Duff and Fleance reacted at once, throwing themselves over Malcolm and covering him as he fell to the ground. Duff felt for blood and a pulse.

‘I’m fine,’ Malcolm groaned. ‘I’m fine. Up you get. He hit the megaphone. That was all.’

‘When you said shut him up, I thought you meant permanently,’ Seyton shouted. ‘Now they’ll think we’re weak, sir.’

‘Wrong,’ Macbeth said. ‘Now they know we mean business, but we’re sane. If we’d killed Malcolm we’d have given them an excuse to attack us with the fury of righteousness. Now they’ll still hesitate.’

‘I think they’re going to attack anyway,’ Olafson said. ‘Look, there’s our armoured car. It’s coming towards us.’

‘Well, that’s different. A chief commissioner is allowed to defend himself. Seyton?’

‘Yes?’

‘Let the Gatling girls speak.’

Duff peeped from behind Bertha and followed the lumpen armoured car — known as a Sonderwagen — as it made its way across the square towards the Inverness. Thick, heavy diesel smoke drifted up from the vehicle’s exhaust. German engineering, steel plates and bulletproof glass. Ricardo’s plan followed usual tactics. The six SWAT volunteers would drive up to the entrance in the Sonderwagen , dismount to fire tear-gas canisters through the windows, then break down the doors and storm the building wearing gas masks. The critical point was when they emerged from the armoured car to fire the tear gas. This would take only seconds, but in those seconds they needed covering fire from the others.

Malcolm’s walkie-talkie crackled, and they heard Ricardo’s voice.

‘Covering fire in three... two... one...’

‘Fire!’ Malcolm roared.

It sounded like a drum roll as the weapons fired from the barricade. From an all-too-small drum, Duff thought. And the sound was drowned by a rising howl from the other side.

‘Holy Jesus,’ Caithness whispered.

At first it resembled a shower of rain whipping up dust from the cobbles in front of the Sonderwagen . Then with a cackle it hit the vehicle’s grille, its armour, the windscreen and the roof. The vehicle seemed to sag at the knees and sink.

‘The tyres,’ Fleance said.

The vehicle kept moving, but more slowly, as though it were driving into a hurricane.

‘It’s fine. It’s an armoured car,’ Malcolm said.

The vehicle advanced more and more slowly. And stopped. The side mirrors and bumper fell off.

‘It was an armoured car,’ Duff said.

‘Ricardo?’ Malcolm called on the walkie-talkie. ‘Ricardo? Withdraw!’

No answer.

Now the vehicle seemed to be dancing.

Then the barrage stopped. Silence fell over the square, broken only by a seagull’s lament as it flew over. Smoke, like red vapour, rose from the armoured car.

‘Ricardo! Come in, Ricardo!’

Still no answer. Duff stared at the vehicle, at the wreck. There were no signs of life. And now he knew how it had been. That afternoon in Fife.

‘Ricardo!’

‘They’re dead,’ Duff said. ‘They’re all dead.’

Malcolm sent him a sidelong glance.

Duff ran a hand over his face. ‘What’s the next move?’

‘I don’t know, Duff. That was the move.’

‘The fire engine,’ Fleance said.

The others looked at the young man.

He shrank beneath their collective gaze and for a moment seemed to stagger under the weight of it. But he straightened up and said with a slight quiver of his vocal cords, ‘We have to use the fire engine.’

‘It’s no good,’ Malcolm objected.

‘No, but if we drive it round to the back, to Thrift Street.’ Fleance paused to swallow before continuing. ‘You saw they hit the armoured car with both machine guns, and that must mean they’re not covering their rear.’

‘Because they know we can’t get in there,’ Duff said. ‘There are no doors and no windows, there’s only brick, which you’d need a pneumatic drill or heavy artillery to go through.’

‘Not through,’ Fleance said. His voice was firmer now.

‘Round?’ Duff queried.

Fleance pointed a finger to the sky.

‘Of course!’ Caithness said. ‘The fire engine.’

‘Spit it out. What’s so obvious?’ growled Malcolm, snatching a glance at the mountain.

‘The ladder,’ Duff said. ‘The roof.’

‘They’re moving the fire engine,’ Seyton shouted.

‘Why?’ Macbeth yawned. The boy was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and eyes closed. Calm and silent, he seemed to have reconciled himself to his fate and was just waiting for the end. Like Macbeth.

‘I don’t know.’

‘What about you, Olafson?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘All right,’ Macbeth shouted. He had taken out the silver dagger and whittled a match to a point. He poked it between his front teeth. Left the dagger on the felt. Picked up two chips and began to flip them between the fingers of each hand. He had learned how to do this at the circus. It was an exercise to balance the difference between the motor functions of his left and right hands. He sucked the matchstick, flipped the chips and examined what he was feeling. Nothing. He tried to work out what he was thinking. He wasn’t thinking about Banquo and he wasn’t thinking about Lady. He was just thinking that he didn’t feel anything. And he thought one more thing: Why? Why...?