Lars Kepler - The Sandman

‘Leave my cargo the fuck alone!’ she yells.

She strikes again, but Joona moves quickly, heading straight at her, grabbing her throat with one hand, stamping his foot down at the back of her knee so that her leg buckles, then throws her to the deck and points his pistol at her.

‘National Criminal Police,’ he says.

She lies on deck, whimpering and looking at him as he picks up the sledgehammer, grasps it with both hands, swings it and shatters the lock. A piece of metal casing lands with a clatter right in front of her face.

Joona opens the doors, but the container is full of large boxes of televisions. He pulls a few out to see further in; Disa isn’t there. He wipes the blood from his face and runs off between the cars, past a black container, and hurries up some steps to the open deck.

He rushes over to the railing, gasping for breath in the cold air. In front of the ship he can see the channel that an icebreaker has cleared through the archipelago to the open sea.

A mosaic of crushed ice is bobbing around a buoy.

The ferry is now twenty metres from the quay, and Joona suddenly has a view of the whole harbour. The sky is black, but the harbour is lit up by floodlights.

Through the heavy snow he sees the large crane loading a waiting goods train. Joona feels a spasm of anguish as he realises that three of the wagons have similar red containers on them.

He carries on towards the stern, takes his phone out and calls the emergency control room. He asks for all traffic from Frihamnen in Stockholm to be stopped. The duty officer knows who Joona is, and puts his call through to the regional police commissioner.

‘All rail traffic from Frihamnen has to be stopped,’ he repeats breathlessly.

‘That’s impossible,’ she replies calmly.

Heavy snow is falling over the vast container terminal.

He clambers up the mooring winch and out onto the railing. He can see a reach-stacker carrying a red container to a waiting lorry.

‘We have to stop all traffic,’ Joona says again.

‘That can’t be done,’ the commissioner says. ‘The best we can do is—’

‘I’ll do it myself,’ Joona says abruptly, and jumps.

Hitting the practically freezing water feels like being struck by icy lightning, like getting an adrenalin injection straight to the heart. His ears are roaring. His body can’t handle the abrupt chill. Joona sinks through the black water, loses consciousness for a few seconds and dreams of a bridal crown of woven birch-root. He can’t feel his hands and feet, but thinks that he has to get up to the surface, kicks out with his legs and finally manages to stop himself sinking any deeper.

Joona breaks the surface of the water, emerging through the icy slush and trying to stay calm and get some air into his lungs.

It’s incredibly cold.

The sub-zero temperature is making his head pound, but he’s conscious.

His time as a paratrooper saved him – he managed to ignore the impulse to gasp and breathe in.

With numb arms and heavy clothes, he swims through the black water. It’s not far to the quayside, but his body temperature is dropping alarmingly quickly. Lumps of ice are tumbling over all round him. He’s already lost all feeling in his feet, but he carries on kicking with his legs.

The waves roll and lap over his head.

He coughs, feeling his strength draining away. His vision is starting to fade, but he forces himself on, takes more strokes, and finally reaches the edge of the quay. With trembling hands he tries to grab onto the blocks, onto the narrow gaps between them. Panting, he moves sideways until he reaches a metal ladder.

The water splashes beneath him as he starts to climb. His hands freeze to the metal. He’s on the point of fainting, but wills himself to keep going, step after heavy step.

He rolls onto the quay with a groan, gets to his feet and starts walking towards the lorry.

His hand is shaking as he checks that he hasn’t lost his pistol.

His wet face stings as snow blows into it. His lips are numb and his legs are trembling badly.

He runs into the narrow passageway between the stacks of dark containers to reach the lorry before it leaves the harbour. His feet are so numb he can’t help stumbling and he hits his shoulder but carries on regardless, leaning against one of the containers as he clambers over a bank of snow.

He emerges into the glare of the headlights of the lorry carrying the red Hamburg Süd container.

The driver is behind the vehicle, checking that the brake lights are working, when he sees Joona approaching.

‘Have you been in the water?’ he asks, taking a step back. ‘Bloody hell, you’ll freeze to death if you don’t get indoors.’

‘Open the red container,’ Joona slurs. ‘I’m a police officer, I need to—’

‘That’s down to Customs, I can’t just open it—’

‘National Criminal Investigation Department,’ Joona interrupts in a weak voice.

He’s having trouble keeping his eyes focused, and is aware how incoherent he sounds when he tries to explain what powers the National Crime unit has.

‘I don’t even have the keys,’ the driver says, looking at him kindly. ‘Just a pair of bolt-cutters, and—’

‘Hurry up,’ Joona says, then coughs tiredly.

The driver runs round the lorry, climbs up and leans into the cab, peering behind the passenger seat. An umbrella tumbles out onto the ground as he pulls out a set of long-handled bolt-cutters.

Joona bangs on the container, shouting Disa’s name.

The driver runs back, and his cheeks turn red as he presses the handles together.

The lock breaks with a crunch.

The door of the container swings open on creaking hinges. It’s packed full of boxes on wooden pallets, strapped into place, right up to the roof.

Without saying a word to the lorry driver, Joona takes the bolt-cutters and walks on. He’s so frozen he’s shaking, and his hands hurt terribly.

‘You need to get to hospital,’ the man calls after him.

Joona walks as quickly as he can towards the railway line. The heavy bolt-cutters keep hitting compacted banks of snow, jarring his shoulder. The goods train by the warehouse has just started to move, its wheels squealing as it rolls forward. Joona tries to run, but his heart is beating so slowly that his chest feels like it’s burning. He scrambles up the snow-covered railway embankment, slips and hits his knee on the gravel, drops the bolt-cutters but gets to his feet and stumbles onto the railway track. He can no longer feel his hands or feet. The shaking is now uncontrollable and he is experiencing a frightening sense of confusion because he’s so severely frozen.

His thoughts are strange, slow and disintegrating. All he knows is that he has to stop the train.

The heavy train has started to build up speed and is approaching with its wheels screeching. Joona stands in the middle of the track, raises his eyes towards the light and holds up his hand to stop it. The train blows its whistle, and he can just make out the driver’s silhouette inside. The track is shaking with vibrations under his feet. Joona draws his pistol, raises it and shoots out the windscreen of the train.

Fragments of glass fly up over the roof and swirl away. The echo of the shot resounds quickly and harshly between the stacked containers.

Paper is flying round the cab of the train, and the driver’s face is completely expressionless. Joona raises the pistol again and takes aim straight at him. There’s a thunderous sound as the train brakes. The rails scrape and the ground shakes. The train slides forward with its brakes squealing, and stops with a hiss just three metres away from him.