Ю Несбё - Macbeth

He thought about that for a while...

Then he closed his eyes and began to count down from ten.

‘This is not like a ladder against a house. It’s going to sway more the higher we go,’ said the man in the harbour pilot’s uniform to Fleance and the two other volunteers. ‘But make only one movement at a time, one hand, then one foot. Nothing to be afraid of.’

The pilot yawned loudly and smiled quickly before grasping the ladder and starting to climb.

Fleance watched the little man, wishing he was equally unafraid. Thrift Street was empty apart from the fire engine with its fifteen-metre ladder pointing up the windowless wall.

Fleance followed the pilot, and strangely enough the fear diminished with every step. The worst was over, after all. He had spoken. And they had listened. Nodded and said they understood. Then they had got into the fire engine and driven east from the station in a great arc through the Sunday-still streets, arriving at the rear of the Inverness unseen.

Fleance looked up and saw the harbour pilot signalling from the roof that the way was clear.

They had gone through the drawings of the Inverness so thoroughly last night that Fleance knew exactly where everything was. The flat roof led to a door, and inside it there was a narrow ladder down to a boiler room with a door leading to the top corridor in the hotel. There they would split up, two men would take the northern staircase, two the southern. Both led down to the mezzanine. In a few minutes they would start shooting from the station and keep the machine-gunners’ attention focused on Workers’ Square, drowning out any sounds made by Fleance and the three others, who would sneak up from behind and eliminate the machine-gunners. The three volunteers had synchronised their watches with Fleance’s without a word of protest that they were being led by a police cadet. The cadet seemed to know the odd thing about such actions. What was it his dad had said? And if you’ve got better judgement you should lead, it’s your damned duty to the community.

Fleance heard them open fire from the station.

‘Follow me.’

They approached the roof door, pulled. Locked. As expected. He nodded to one of the policemen, a guy from the Traffic Unit, who rammed a crowbar into the crack between the door and its frame and pushed hard. The lock broke at the first attempt.

It was dark inside, but Fleance felt the heat coming from the boiler room beneath. The other policeman, a white-haired guy from the Fraud Unit, wanted to go first, but Fleance held him back. ‘Follow me,’ he whispered and stepped in over the high metal threshold. In vain he tried to distinguish shapes in the darkness and had to lower his machine gun as he groped for the railing of the ladder. The metal ladder sang as he took his first tentative step and then found the next rung. He froze, dazzled by a light. A torch had been switched on below him and shone at his face.

‘Bang,’ said a voice from behind the torch. ‘You’re dead.’

Fleance knew he was standing in the line of fire of the three behind him. And he knew he wouldn’t have time to fire his machine gun. Because he knew whose the voice was.

‘How did you know...?’

‘I wondered to myself, Why oh why would you move a fire engine when there’s no fire alarm to be heard? ’ The voice in the darkness became a low chuckle. ‘Still wearing my shoes, I see.’ Uncle Mac sounded drunk. ‘Listen, Fleance, you can save lives today. Your own and those of the other three mutineers with you. Back out now and get behind the barricade. You’ll have a better chance of getting me from there.’

Fleance ran his tongue around his mouth searching for moisture. ‘You killed Dad.’

‘Maybe,’ the voice slurred. ‘Or perhaps it was the circumstances. Or perhaps it was Banquo’s ambitions for his family. But probably — ’ in the pause came the sound of a deep sigh ‘— it was me. Go now, Fleance.’

Fluttering through Fleance’s brain were all those pretend-fights he’d had with Uncle Mac at home on the sitting-room floor, when he had let Fleance get the upper hand, only to whisk him round at the last minute and pin him flat on the floor. This wasn’t due to his uncle’s strength, but his speed and precision. But how drunk was Uncle Mac now? And how much better coordinated was Fleance? Perhaps he had a chance after all? If he was quick, perhaps he could get a shot in. Save Kasi. Save the town. Avenge—

‘Don’t do it, Fleance.’

But it was too late. Fleance had already grabbed his machine gun, and the sound of a brief volley hammered against the eardrums of all five men in the cramped boiler room.

‘Agh!’ Fleance yelled.

Then he fell from the ladder.

He didn’t feel himself hit the floor, felt nothing until he opened his eyes again. And then he saw nothing, although there was a hand against his cheek and a voice close to his ear.

‘I told you not to.’

‘Wh... where are they?’

‘They left as instructed. Sleep now, Fleance.’

‘But...’ He knew he had been shot. A leak. He coughed, and his mouth filled.

‘Sleep. Say hello to your dad when you arrive and tell him I’m right behind you.’

Fleance opened his mouth, but all that came out was blood. He felt Macbeth’s fingers on his eyelids, gentle, careful. Closing them. Fleance sucked in air as if for a dive. As he had done when he fell from the bridge into the river, into the black water, to his grave.

‘No,’ Duff said when he saw the fire engine driving towards them. ‘No!’

He and Malcolm ran to meet the vehicle, and when it stopped they tore open the doors on each side. The driver, two police officers and the harbour pilot tumbled out.

‘Macbeth was waiting for us,’ groaned the pilot, still breathless. ‘He shot Fleance.’

‘No, no, no!’ Duff leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut.

Someone laid a hand on his neck. A familiar hand. Caithness’s.

Two men in black SWAT uniforms ran over and halted in front of Malcolm. ‘Hansen and Edmunton, sir. We heard about this and came as soon as we could. And there are more coming.’

‘Thank you, guys, but we’re finished.’ Malcolm pointed. They couldn’t see the sun yet, but the silhouette of the upside-down cross at the top of the mountain had already caught its first rays. ‘Now it’s up to Tourtell.’

‘Let’s exchange hostages,’ Duff said. ‘Let Macbeth have who he wants, Malcolm. Us two. In exchange for Kasi.’

‘Don’t you think I’ve considered that?’ Malcolm said. ‘Macbeth will never exchange a mayor’s son for small change like you and me. If Tourtell declares a state of emergency Kasi will be spared. You and I will be executed whatever. And who will lead the fight against Macbeth then?’

‘Caithness,’ Duff said, ‘and all those people in this town you say you have such belief in. Are you afraid or...?’

‘Malcolm’s right,’ Caithness said. ‘You’re worth more to this town alive.’

‘Damn!’ Duff tore himself away and went towards the fire engine.

‘Where are you going?’ Caithness shouted.

‘The plinth.’

‘What?’

‘We have to smash the plinth. Hey, Chief!’

The man who had driven the fire engine stood up. ‘Erm, I’m not—’

‘Have you got any fire axes or sledgehammers in the vehicle?’

‘Of course.’

‘Look!’ Seyton shouted. ‘The sun’s shining on the top of the Obelisk. The boy has to die!’

‘We all have to die,’ Macbeth said softly and put one chip under the heart symbol on the red part of the felt, the other on black. Leaned to the left and took the ball from the roulette wheel.

‘What actually happened up on the roof?’ Seyton shouted.