Thomas Enger - Scarred

The second time was a woman in a house out in Lørenskog and the call they got was similar to this one, that a man inside had a weapon and that he wasn’t afraid to use it. The hostage taker even stepped out on the veranda and fired a shot in the air to prove his claim. The police arrived in full force, took up positions around the house, and the hostage negotiator made contact. Again, it didn’t take long before the hostage was released. The man was arrested inside the house after a short raid.

What both hostage situations had in common was that Bjarne felt strangely disappointed afterwards. There was no action, no adrenaline rush. No messages on the police radio about an arm, a shoulder or a head in the middle of quivering crosshairs. But though Bjarne felt a little cheated then, he realises now with all of his being that he hopes this hostage situation will have the same outcome. That it will play out just as quickly, end just as undramatically and with as few injuries as possible.

Bjarne jumps when his mobile rings. He looks at the display. The call is from Emilie Blomvik’s phone. Bjarne stands frozen for several long seconds. Reluctantly, he presses the green button.

‘Hello?’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ says the heavy, dark voice.

‘Yes, Remi. I heard everything you said.’

‘So why are you still there? I told you I had a gun. Do you need a demonstration?’

Bjarne closes his eyes and thinks hard.

‘No, Remi, I don’t.’

‘Then I suggest that you get out of here now.’

Bjarne rubs his forehead, his hand gets wet from sweat and he realises he has no source of advice, he is on his own. Police academy training means nothing; he can’t access the calm, the sensible advice, the gentle voice that tells the hostage taker that the negotiator is now in charge.

‘Let me help you,’ he says and immediately hears a snort down the other end.

‘The only thing I want you to do is keep your mouth shut and listen to me. I know that you’re going to call for backup now; negotiators and armed officers will turn up and everyone will want to help me, isn’t that right, everybody’s going to be ever so patient and understanding. Well, you can forget about it. I don’t want to talk to some bloody hostage negotiator.’

There is silence again. The sweat is dripping from Bjarne’s forehead.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘So who do you want to talk to?’

The police officer’s voice echoes in Remi’s head. He looks at the TV screen where the news channel is on. A red dot is flashing as if a tsunami warning is being broadcast.

Next to the dot it says that Justice Secretary Trine Juul-Osmundsen has called a press conference later today and that she is expected to resign. But the experts Remi can hear, the reporters in the television studio, think that no one should expect her to apologise for what she has done.

So she is another one of those.

‘I want to talk to the woman on the TV,’ Remi says. ‘The Minister for Justice. I want to talk to Trine Juul-Osmundsen.’

Though Henning has been told to stay in the car, he can see that something is brewing. He has already called 123news to alert them when Bjarne comes over and wrenches open the door.

‘You can’t stay here,’ he says, his voice laden with police gravity while he summons him outside with his index finger.

‘Okay,’ Henning says, getting out. ‘So where can I be?’

‘Anywhere,’ Bjarne says. ‘Just not here.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Much too much,’ Bjarne replies, but offers no further explanation.

Henning retreats discreetly while he watches Bjarne and the two other officers. Their faces are grim, their footsteps purposeful. If you put two and two together, you usually get four. Their presence must indicate that Remi is inside Emilie Blomvik’s house. And that he has no plans to come quietly.

Henning finds a spot further away where he still has a view of the house. He takes out his mobile and rings 123news again.

The armed response unit is in place thirty minutes later. A tall, dark-haired man called Simen Krogh is in charge of the operation. He has long sideburns, a strong jaw and a thick bull’s neck.

‘Right, people, listen up,’ Krogh says, summoning the officers closer to him. He allocates some of them to a detention group tasked with catching Remi if he comes out or tries to escape. Krogh tells them that he has requested a trained hostage negotiator who will be with them in fifteen minutes.

‘We have one objective right now,’ Krogh says earnestly. ‘And that is to get the hostage taker to come out with the hostages alive. And remember, we have all the time in the world. We can drag out events to try to wear him down. Unless there’s an emergency and the hostages’ lives are in danger, then we don’t take action. We don’t storm the house unless we absolutely have to. But we’ll still prepare as if that was exactly what we were going to do.’

Krogh turns.

‘That hedge there,’ he says, pointing to one side of the house. ‘It’s dense. It’ll provide cover. There is also a veranda close to the hedge. I want two men up on that veranda, but do it quietly. I don’t want him to hear your footsteps and panic.’

The officers Krogh is pointing at nod.

‘On the other side, to the right of the garage, you can get across the fence and access the back garden. There are no windows on that side, something that will help us get closer. But the house has several windows on its long sides. So stay out of sight. See, but don’t be seen.’

Krogh then goes over to two men who are assembling rifles.

‘If you see the hostage taker aim his gun at the hostage and declare an intention to shoot, then you must await orders from me before you can take him out. No heroics. Understand?’

The marksmen nod.

The rest of the officers take up positions, both outside and inside the white picket fence.

‘Okay,’ Krogh says, walking towards Bjarne. ‘What do you make of the hostage taker’s demand?’

Bjarne shakes his head.

‘Difficult to know. Even the lunatic in there must know that you can’t just pick up the phone and, hey presto, the Justice Secretary comes running.’

‘Well, I think we should alert her,’ Krogh says. ‘So that at least she’s aware of the situation.’

‘I’ve tried getting hold of some of her aides, but it’s chaos at the Ministry right now. As far as I can understand the Minister is about to hold a press conference.’

Krogh nods.

‘The hostage taker wants to talk to her. He has a gun, which he says he’s not afraid to use. I think that a call to a Minister is a small price to pay to save someone’s life.’

Bjarne takes a deep breath.

‘I’ll get my boss to put some pressure on the Justice Secretary’s staff.’

The words from Katarina’s mouth were like a punch to the stomach. Trine had never thought that the sound of a name could cause her so much pain. The years they have spent together. The plans they have made. Their dreams. The foundations underpinning everything they had done – blown away. And she understands it now; she sees how the traps were set for her and how she walked into each one without even thinking about it. Just because he told her to.

It was fiendishly clever. And now it’s too late. He has won.

Or has he?

Trine looks at the clock on the wall, gets up and rolls her shoulders. She goes to the cloakroom and looks at herself in the mirror. Tiny needles of anger prick her at the thought of what she is about to do. In the last half hour alone she has been to the lavatory three times. An hour’s run would be welcome now, she thinks, to drain the stress from her body. She is still suffering the after-effects of the liqueur she drank too much of in the cabin.