Ю Несбё - Macbeth

Malcolm knew he should be frightened. And he was . But not as frightened as he could have been. Often it was trivial situations — like standing on a ladder or being surrounded by angry wasps — that could trigger pathetic panic-like reactions. But now, just like this morning, it was as though the situation didn’t permit that type of fear; on the contrary it sharpened your ability to think fast and rationally, strengthened your resolve and, paradoxically, calmed him down.

‘If that’s the case, how do I know you’re not one of them, Banquo?’

‘If I’d wanted to kill you, you would already be dead, sir.’

Malcolm nodded. Something about Banquo’s tone told him that the physically smaller and much older man would probably have been able to do so with his bare hands if he so wished.

‘So where are we going?’

‘To the container harbour, sir.’

‘Why not home to—’

‘You don’t want your family caught up in this mess, sir. I’ll explain when we’re there. Drive. I’ll slump down in the seat. Best no one sees me and realises you’ve been informed.’

Malcolm drove out, received a nod from the guard, the barrier was lifted and he was back out in the rain.

‘I have a meeting in—’

‘That’ll be taken care of.’

‘And the press conference?’

‘That too. What you should think about now is you. And your daughter.’

‘Julia?’ Malcolm could feel it now. The panic.

‘She’ll be taken care of, sir. Just drive now. We’ll soon be there.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Whatever has to be done.’

Five minutes later they drove through the gates of the container harbour, which in recent years had been left open as all attempts to keep the homeless and thieves out had achieved had been smashed fences and locks. It was Sunday and the quay was deserted.

‘Park behind the shed there,’ Banquo said.

Malcolm did as instructed, parking beside a Volvo saloon.

‘Sign this,’ Banquo said, holding a sheet of paper and a pen between the front seats.

‘What is it?’ Malcolm said.

‘A few lines written on your typewriter,’ Banquo said. ‘Read it aloud.’

‘ The Norse Riders threatened they would kill my daughter —’ Malcolm stopped.

‘Carry on,’ Banquo said.

Malcolm cleared his throat. ‘ —Julia, if I didn’t help them to kill the chief commissioner ,’ he read. ‘ But now they have a hold on me and they’ve told me to perform other services for them, too. I know that for as long as I’m alive the threat to my daughter will always be there. That is why — and because of the shame I feel for what I’ve done — I’ve decided to drown myself .’

‘That is in fact true,’ Banquo said. ‘Only the signature on that letter can save your daughter.’

Malcolm turned to Banquo on the back seat. Stared into the muzzle of the gun he was holding in his gloved hand.

‘There isn’t any attempt on my life. You lied.’

‘Yes and no,’ Banquo said.

‘You tricked me into coming here so that you could kill me and dump me in this canal.’

‘You’ll drown yourself, as it says in the letter.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because the alternative is that I shoot you in the head now, drive to your house and then the suicide letter looks like this.’ Banquo passed him another sheet of paper. ‘Just the ending has been changed.’

‘ For as long as my daughter and I are alive, the threat will always be there. That’s why I’ve chosen to take our lives and spare her the shame of what I’ve done and a life of endless fear .’ Malcolm blinked. He understood the words, they made sense, yet still he had to reread the letter.

‘Sign now, Malcolm.’ Banquo’s voice sounded almost comforting.

Malcolm closed his eyes. It was so quiet in the car that he could hear the creak of the trigger springs in Banquo’s gun. Then he opened his eyes, grabbed the pen and signed his name on the first letter. Metal rattled on the back seat. ‘Here,’ said Banquo. ‘Put them around your waist under your coat.’

Malcolm appraised the tyre chains Banquo held out. A weight.

He took them and wrapped them around his waist while his brain tried to find a way out.

‘Let me see,’ Banquo said, tightening the chains. Then he threaded through a padlock and clicked it shut. Placed the signed letter on the passenger seat and on top a key Malcolm assumed was for the padlock.

‘Come on.’ They got out into the rain. With his gun Banquo prodded Malcolm along the edge of the quay following a narrow canal that cut in from the main docks. Containers stood like walls on both sides of the canal. Even if people were out walking on the quay they wouldn’t see Malcolm and Banquo where they were.

‘Stop,’ Banquo said.

Malcolm stared across the black sea, which lay flat, beaten down and tamed by the lashing rain. Lowered his gaze and looked down into the oil-covered greenish-black water, then turned his back to the sea and fixed his eyes on Banquo.

Banquo raised his gun. ‘Jump, sir.’

‘You don’t look like someone intending to kill, Banquo.’

‘With all due respect, sir, I don’t think you know what such people look like.’

‘True enough. But I’m a fairly good judge of character.’

‘Have been up to now.’

Malcolm stretched his arms out to the side. ‘Push me then.’

Banquo moistened his lips. Changed his grip on the gun.

‘Well, Banquo? Show me the killer in you.’

‘You’re cool for a suit, sir.’

Malcolm lowered his arms. ‘That’s because I know something about loss, Banquo. Just like you. I’ve learned that we can afford to lose most things. But then there are some we cannot, that will stop us existing even more than if we lose our own lives. I know that you lost your wife to the illness which this town has given to its inhabitants.’

‘Oh yes? How do you know that?’

‘Because Duncan told me. And he did so because I lost my first wife to the same illness. And we talked about how we could help to create a town where this wouldn’t happen, where even the town’s most powerful industrial magnates would face trial for breaking the law, where a murder is a murder, whether it’s with a weapon or by gassing the town’s inhabitants until their eyes go yellow and they smell like a corpse.’

‘So you’ve already lost the unloseable.’

‘No. You can lose your wife and your life still has meaning. Because you have a child. A daughter. A son. It’s our children who are unloseable, Banquo. If I save Julia by dying now, that’s the way it has to be, it’s worth it. And there will be others after me and Duncan. You might not believe me, but this world is full of people who want what is good, Banquo.’

‘And who decides what is good? You and the other big bosses?’

‘Ask your heart, Banquo. Your brain will deceive you. Ask your heart.’

Malcolm saw Banquo shift his weight from one foot to the other. Malcolm’s mouth and throat were dry, he was already hoarse. ‘You can hang as many chains on us as you like, Banquo, it won’t make any difference because we’ll float to the surface. What is good rises. I swear I’m going to float to the surface somewhere and reveal your misdeeds.’

‘They aren’t mine, Malcolm.’

‘Hecate. Yours. You’re in the same boat. And we both know which river that boat will cross and where you’ll soon end up.’

Banquo nodded slowly. ‘Hecate,’ he said. ‘Exactly.’

‘What?’

Banquo seemed to be staring at a point on Malcolm’s forehead. ‘You’re right, sir. I work for Hecate.’ Malcolm tried to decipher Banquo’s faint smile. Water was running down his face as though he were crying, Malcolm thought. Was he hesitating? Malcolm knew he would have to continue talking, to make Banquo talk, because every word, every second prolonged his life. Increased the fading tiny chance that Banquo might change his mind or someone might appear.