Lars Kepler - The Sandman

He heard Disa say those words just before their conversation was cut off.

Joona starts to run through the passageway towards the crane holding the container. The snow is deep, he slips on a piece of metal, hits his shoulder against a yellow container, but keeps on going.

He emerges onto quay number five and looks round. His heart is beating fast in his chest. A dock worker in a helmet is speaking into a walkie-talkie. Snow is falling through the glare of the floodlight, swirling out over the black water.

A vast crane on rails is loading a container ship bound for Rotterdam.

Joona catches sight of the red container bearing the words Hamburg Süd and starts running.

Hundreds of containers, all different colours, bearing different shipping companies’ names, have already been loaded beyond these latest ones.

Two dock workers are walking quickly along the quayside in their bulky outfits and bright yellow tunics. One of them is pointing up at the lofty bridge of the ship.

Joona peers through the heavy snowfall, jumps over a concrete plinth and reaches the edge of the quay. Sludgy ice is floating in the black water, rattling against the hull. The smell of the sea is mixed with the diesel fumes from four caterpillar trucks.

Joona clambers on board and hurries along the railing, shoving a box of shackles out of the way and finding a shovel.

‘You there!’ a man behind him calls.

Joona rushes straight through a damp cardboard box, running along the edge, and sees that there’s a sledgehammer next to the railing, among the wrenches, lifting hooks and a rusty chain. He drops the shovel, grabs the sledgehammer instead and runs over to the red container. It’s big enough for four cars. He hits it with his hand, and the metal echoes back dully.

‘Disa,’ he shouts, as he hurries round it.

A heavy container lock is fastened to the double-doors. He swings the sledgehammer across the deck, then twists it back and round with incredible force. There’s a crash as the lock shatters. He drops the sledgehammer and opens the doors.

Disa isn’t there.

All he can see in the gloom are two BMW sports cars.

Joona doesn’t know what to do. He looks back towards the quayside, at the vast stacks of containers.

One of the terminal’s tractors is moving loose goods with its lights flashing.

Far in the distance Loudden’s oil tank is barely visible through the heavy snowfall.

Joona wipes his mouth and starts to walk back.

One mobile crane is lifting a number of containers onto a goods train, and at the end of the quay, more than three hundred metres away, an articulated lorry covered in filthy tarpaulin is driving on board a roll-on, roll-off ferry to St Petersburg.

On the ramp behind the lorry is another one, pulling a red ISO-container behind it.

On the side of the container are the words Hamburg Süd.

Joona tries to work out the quickest way to get there.

‘You’re not allowed up here,’ a man shouts behind him.

Joona turns and sees a thickset dock worker in a helmet, bright-yellow tunic and heavy gloves.

‘National Crime Police,’ Joona explains quickly. ‘I’m looking for—’

‘I don’t care who you are,’ the man interrupts, ‘you can’t just climb on board a—’

‘Call your boss and tell him that—’

‘You’re going to wait right here and explain everything to the security guards who are—’

‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Joona says, turning away.

The dock worker grabs hold of him by the shoulder. Out of reflex Joona swings round, wraps his own arm over the man’s and twists his elbow up.

It all happens very fast.

The dock worker is forced to lean back because of the pain in his shoulder, and Joona kicks his feet out from under him at the same moment, and he starts to fall.

Instead of breaking the dock worker’s arm, Joona lets go and allows him to collapse onto the deck.

The large crane rumbles and everything suddenly goes dark when the glare of the floodlights is obscured by the cargo dangling from the crane, directly above him.

Joona picks up the sledgehammer and starts to walk away quickly, but a younger dock-worker in high-visibility clothing is standing in his way, holding a large wrench in his hand.

‘Be very careful,’ Joona says ominously.

‘You need to wait until the security guards get here,’ the dock worker tells him. There’s a worried look in his eyes.

Joona shoves him in the chest with one hand to force his way past. The dock worker takes a step back, then strikes out with the wrench. Joona blocks the blow with his arm, but it still hits him on the shoulder. He groans with pain and lets go of the sledgehammer. It falls to the deck with a clang. Joona grabs the back of the man’s helmet and pulls it down, then hits him hard over the ear, making him sink to his knees and howl with pain.

Joona runs through the snow along the edge of the quay, with the sledgehammer hanging by his side. He can hear shouting behind him. Large blocks of ice are rolling in the sludgy water. The water rises, hits the quayside and sprays up.

Joona tears up the ramp of the roll-on, roll-off ferry to St Petersburg. He carries on past the rows of warm, steaming private cars, trailers and lorries. Light is coming from lamps along the bulkheads. Behind a grey container towards the stern he can just make out a red one.

A man tries to get out of his car, but Joona shuts the door on him so he can get past. The sledgehammer hits a bolt in one of the ship’s bulkheads. He can feel the vibration moving through his arm and shoulder.

The steel deck under the cars is wet with melted snow. Joona kicks some cones blocking his path out of the way and keeps moving.

He reaches the red container, bangs on the doors and shouts out. The lock is high up. He has to climb up onto the car behind – a black Mercedes – and stand on the bonnet to reach it. The bonnet buckles beneath his feet and the paint cracks. He swings the sledgehammer and smashes the lock with his first blow. The noise echoes off the bulkheads and roof. Joona leaves the sledgehammer on the car bonnet. He opens the container. One of the doors swings open and scrapes the car’s bumper.

‘Disa!’ he calls into the container.

It’s full of white boxes with the name Evonik on their sides. They’re tightly packed, and strapped down on pallets. Joona picks up the sledgehammer again and carries on towards the stern, past the cars and lorries. He can feel that he’s starting to get tired. His arms are trembling from the exertion. Loading of the ferry has finished now and the bow is being lowered into place. There’s a rumble of machinery and the deck shakes as the ferry pulls away. Ice knocks against its hull. He’s almost at the stern when he sees another red container with the words Hamburg Süd on the side.

‘Disa,’ he calls.

He runs round the cab, stops and looks at the blue lock on the container. He wipes water from his face, grabs hold of the sledgehammer, and fails to notice the person approaching from behind.

Joona raises the sledgehammer and is about to strike when he receives a hard blow in the back. It hurts, his lungs roar and he almost blacks out. He drops the sledgehammer and falls forward, hitting his forehead against the container and collapsing on the deck. He rolls to the side and gets to his feet. Blood is running into one eye, and he stumbles and reaches out to a nearby car for support.

In front of him is a fairly tall woman with a baseball bat over her shoulder. She’s breathing quickly and her padded jacket is pulled tight across her chest. She takes a step to the side, blows a lock of blonde hair from her face and takes aim again.