Jo Nesbo - The Son

The man was blond and stocky. The pair looked down at the pistol he was pointing at them.

‘Nice to see you again,’ said the older man in the checked jacket and pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead.

‘Come in,’ the blond man said.

They entered and two men in black suits immediately started patting them down while the blond man leaned casually against the cloakroom counter, but without ever lowering his pistol.

A pistol was taken from the older man’s shoulder holster and handed to the blond man.

‘This one’s clean,’ said the other man in the black suit, nodding towards the young man. ‘But he has some bandage thing round his waist.’

The blond man stared at the young man. ‘So you’re, like, the Buddha with the Sword, yeah? The Angel from Hell, eh?’ The young man said nothing. The blond man spat on the floor in front of his shiny, black Vass shoes. ‘Good nickname — looks like someone stitched a fucking crucifix on your forehead.’

‘And on yours.’

The blond man frowned. ‘What the fuck do you mean, Buddha?’

‘Can’t you feel it?’

The blond man took a step forward and raised himself up on his toes so that their noses almost touched.

‘Now now,’ the older man said.

‘Shut up, grandad,’ the blond man said, pulling aside the young man’s jacket and shirt. His fingers slowly probed the bandage around his waist.

‘Here?’ he asked when his hand had reached the young man’s side.

Two beads of sweat appeared on the young man’s forehead above his sunglasses. The blond man prodded the bandage. The young man opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The blond man snarled. ‘Yep, here it is.’ He dug his fingers in, squeezed the flesh and pulled.

A hoarse rattling came from the young man.

‘Bo, he’s waiting,’ one of the others reminded him.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ the blond man said softly without taking his eyes off the young man who was gasping for air. The blond man pressed harder. A single tear rolled down the pale cheek under the young man’s sunglasses.

‘Greetings from Sylvester and Evgeni,’ the blond man whispered. Then he released his grip and turned to the others.

‘Take their briefcases and bring them in.’

The new arrivals handed over their briefcases and entered the dining room.

The older man instinctively slowed down.

The silhouette of a man, a big man, was outlined against the green light from the aquarium where colourful fish darted back and forth and a crystal sparkled on a large white stone with long grasses that waved in the current from the bubbles. Lobsters with wired claws lay on the bottom.

‘Like I promised you. .’ the older man whispered. ‘Here he is.’

‘But where’s the mole?’ the young man said.

‘Trust me, he’ll be here.’

‘Chief Inspector Simon Kefas,’ the big man thundered. ‘And Sonny Lofthus. I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Sit down.’

The young man moved more stiffly than the older as they stepped forward and took their seats opposite the big man.

Another man slipped in silently through the swing door to the kitchen. Broad-shouldered and with a bull neck like the other three. ‘They came alone,’ he said and positioned himself with the rest of the welcoming committee so that they formed a semicircle behind the two newcomers.

‘Too bright for you in here, is it?’ said the big man, addressing the young man who was still wearing his sunglasses.

‘I can see everything I want to see, thank you,’ the young man replied in a deadpan voice.

‘Good answer — I wish I had your young, fresh eyes.’ The big man pointed to his own eyes. ‘Did you know that the eyes’ sensitivity to light is reduced by thirty per cent before you’ve even turned fifty? Viewed like that life is a journey towards the darkness, not the light, yes? No pun intended as far as your wife is concerned, Chief Inspector Kefas. That’s why we have to learn to navigate life without being able to see as soon as we can. We must acquire the mole’s ability to use our other senses to see what obstacles and threats lie ahead of us, yes?’

He flung his arms out. It was like watching a JCB with two buckets.

‘Or you could, of course, buy yourself a mole to see for you. The problem with moles is that they tend to stay underground, so they’re easy to lose. That’s how I lost mine. No idea what happened to him. And I understand that you’ve been looking for him as well, yes?’

The young man shrugged.

‘Let me guess. Kefas talked you into coming here by promising you the mole, yes?’

The older man cleared his throat. ‘Sonny is here of his own volition because he wants to make peace. He thinks he has avenged his father. And that the parties should now go their separate ways. In order to show that he’s serious, he’s prepared to give back the money and the drugs he took. In return, the hunt for him will be called off. Could we have the briefcases, please?’

The big man nodded to the blond man who put the two briefcases on the table. The older man reached for one of the briefcases, but the blond man pushed his hand away.

‘As you wish,’ said the older man, holding up his palms. ‘I just wanted to show you that Mr Lofthus has brought you a third of the drugs and a third of the money for now. You’ll get the rest when he has your promise of a truce and gets to walk out of here alive.’

Kari switched off the ignition in the car. Looked up at the neon sign of the former shipyard where red letters spelled out A-k-e-r B-r-y-g-g-e. People were flowing out from the ferry which had just arrived.

‘Is it really safe for the Commissioner to meet with criminals without backup?’

‘Like a friend of mine used to say,’ Pontius Parr replied, checking his pistol before he put it back in the shoulder holster, ‘ no risk, no reward. ’

‘That sounds like Simon,’ Kari said and looked at the clock at the top of the town hall tower. 7.10.

‘Correct,’ Parr said. ‘And do you know something, Adel? I have a feeling today will earn us many plaudits. I want you to accompany me to the press conference afterwards. The Commissioner and the young female officer.’ He smacked his lips as if he was tasting something. ‘Yes, I think that will go down well.’ He opened the passenger door and got out.

Kari almost had to run along the promenade to keep up with him.

‘Well?’ the older man said. ‘Do we have a deal? You get back what was taken from you and Lofthus gets safe passage so he can leave the country.’

‘And you get a small commission for brokering the deal, yes?’ The big man smiled.

‘Exactly.’

‘Mm.’ The big man looked at Simon as if searching for something he couldn’t find. ‘Bo, open the briefcases.’

Bo stepped forward and tried to open the first one. ‘It’s locked, boss.’

‘1,’ the young man said in a soft, almost whispering voice, ‘9-9-9.’

Bo rotated the metal cylinders. Flipped up the lid. Swivelled the briefcase around to his boss.

‘There we are,’ the big man said, holding up one of the white bags. ‘A third. And where is the rest?’

‘In a secret location,’ the older man said.

‘Of course it is. And the code to the briefcase with the money?’

‘The same,’ the young man said.

‘1999. The year your father passed away, yes?’

The young man said nothing.

‘OK?’ said the older man, forcing a smile and clapping his hands. ‘Can we go now?’

‘I thought we would eat together,’ the big man said. ‘You like lobster, don’t you?’

No reactions.

He sighed. ‘Frankly, I don’t like lobster, either. But do you know something? I still eat it. Why? Because it’s expected of a man in my position.’ The suit jacket pulled back from his mighty chest as he threw his arms out. ‘Lobster, caviar, champagne. Ferraris with missing spare parts, ex-models demanding divorce settlements. The loneliness on the yacht, the heat of the Seychelles. We do a lot of things we don’t really want to, yes? But it’s necessary to keep up the motivation. Not mine, but the motivation of the people who work for me. They need to see these symbols of success — of what I have achieved, of what they can achieve, if they do their job, yes?’