Thomas Enger - Scarred

Trine removes a strand of hair from her forehead, adjusts her jacket and turns around in the full-length mirror. She looks okay, doesn’t she?

Yes , she assures herself. You look fine .

She inhales, stares into her own eyes and then closes them. She knows she is going to hate every second of this press conference. She returns to her desk, picks up the pages she printed out, though she is not sure if she really needs them. She has always been comfortable giving speeches and lectures without notes. Nevertheless it’s good to have something to look at, just in case. Something to do with her hands.

She is about to step outside when Katarina Hatlem rushes in. After she had made a clean breast of everything to Trine, Katarina said without prompting that she would obviously clear her desk immediately and not come back. Now she is waving her arm in the air and holding a mobile in her hand.

‘Trine, wait,’ she calls out.

It is as if the confrontation they had only a couple of hours ago has been wiped from her face. There is a sense of urgency to her movements that Trine has seen many times before. It means that something has happened.

Katarina stops right in front of Trine and puts her hand over the microphone on the mobile.

‘I’ve got a policeman on the line,’ she says. ‘There’s a hostage situation in Jessheim.’

Trine gives her a look of exasperation.

‘I’m just about to give a press conference, Katarina, I can’t—’

‘Two seconds,’ Katarina implores her. ‘Just listen to what he has to say for two seconds.’

Trine looks at her ex-friend for a moment before she takes the mobile and says ‘yes’. A man introduces himself as Arild Gjerstad.

Trine says nothing while she listens to his briefing. Her thoughts are racing. When Gjerstad has finished, she says: ‘Tell the hostage taker I’m on my way. Tell him that he will get to talk to me, but that I want something in return. Such as a hostage.’

Trine hands back the mobile to Katarina without ending the call.

‘I want you to go to the press room,’ Trine says as she walks past her. ‘Tell the reporters that the press conference has been postponed until further notice.’

Trine asks her secretary to inform her driver that she will be downstairs in two minutes. She doesn’t even put on a coat before she goes over to the lift and hits the down button several times. Four minutes later, after having fought her way through a throng of noisy reporters who can’t understand why she is leaving without talking to them, she is on her way to Jessheim in her ministerial car, a perk she thought she had enjoyed for the last time. The driver asks if he should request assistance from the police to get out of the capital as quickly as possible, but Trine doesn’t think that will be necessary. She regrets her decision once they get stuck in the Trafikkmaskinen interchange roundabout, but the traffic eases up as they approach the Vålerenga Tunnel. Then it slows down again near Furuset, and again at the exit to Olavsgård. Trine looks at her watch. The call came in thirty minutes ago. She hopes she won’t be too late.

The drive to Jessheim takes almost fifty minutes, but the location proves easy to find. Crowds of curious neighbours and news-hungry journalists have gathered behind the police cordons. A reporter from TV2 is holding a microphone in her hand while talking to a camera; her face is solemn as if she were about to announce a death. Then her gaze is drawn to the car in which Trine is travelling. It takes only a few seconds before the blonde reporter recognises the ministerial car and realises who has arrived.

Trine tries to find something to focus on while her driver looks for a place to park. She gets out of the car and instantly feels everyone’s eyes on her so she picks a spot above them and concentrates on that, ignores the murmur of voices and makes her way through the crowd and over to police cordons. The TV reporter calls out to her.

‘Minister, what are you doing here?’

Trine doesn’t reply, but identifies herself to the uniformed officer standing guard and is let through immediately.

Her heels make a steady clicking sound against the damp tarmac. Everyone she meets looks at her and follows her with their eyes. She finds the car marked ‘Head of Operations’ and nods to some of the uniformed officers outside.

‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Who is in charge here?’

A tall, dark-haired man turns around.

‘I am. My name is Simen Krogh,’ he says, holding out his hand.

Trine shakes it.

‘Have you had any more contact with the hostage taker?’

‘No,’ Krogh says. ‘He hasn’t called us in the last forty-five minutes, and we haven’t called him. But we’re prepared, we have people ready to go in – should it become necessary. All lines of communications are open. The Police Chief is following the situation and will decide whether or not we take action.’

‘I’ll make that decision,’ she says. ‘I’m still Justice Secretary.’

‘Er, yes, of course. That’s your right. Have you been briefed about the hostage taker?’

‘I know a little, yes,’ she says and nods. She didn’t follow the news much when she was young, but she does remember the snow cave tragedy in Jessheim. She read about it in the local paper. Remi’s brother who died under the snowdrifts. A terrible, tragic accident.

‘Okay, good,’ Krogh says. ‘Before we get started, I’d like you to talk to the hostage negotiator from Lillestrøm. Follow me.’

Krogh leads Trine through a crowd of police officers. Then he stops at a mobile incident truck, gives an order Trine doesn’t catch and a few seconds later a woman in civilian clothing gets out. She is wearing a bullet-proof vest on top of her thin, dark blue raincoat.

‘Hello, my name is Tonje Tellefsen,’ the woman says. ‘I’m the hostage negotiator for Romerike police district.’

‘Trine Juul-Osmundsen.’

They shake hands and quickly smile at each other.

‘I’ll be with you the whole time listening to every word that’s being said. Situations like these are always unique and you can never know in advance what will work. There’s one thing that is important and it might seem obvious, but you mustn’t say or do anything that could make the hostage taker even angrier than he already is. Don’t remind him why he is here. And don’t speak to him in any way he might perceive as threatening. Listen to what he says and make sure your voice sounds as gentle as possible.’

Trine nods.

Tellefsen gives her a warm smile.

‘It’s highly unusual,’ she says. ‘For a hostage taker to demand to talk to a Minister. We’re very pleased that you’ve come. It’s a brave thing to do.’

‘Thank you,’ Trine smiles and gets a warm feeling inside. ‘Which house is it?’

‘The red one over there,’ Tellefsen says and points.

Another mobile incident truck is parked outside. Trine can see that members of the armed response unit in their dark uniforms are strategically positioned around the house.

‘Okay,’ she says and starts walking towards the truck. ‘Let’s get going.’

The agonies of choice. What to do.

Emilie Blomvik sits on the floor a short distance from Mattis. She is shivering even though she feels hot. Remi paces up and down in front of her, sits down, gets up again. Closes his eyes and writhes. It looks as if his head hurts. And now the police are outside.

The question is, should she do something or simply wait for them to sort it out? Can she trust them to handle it?

Yes, she decides at first. They’ve been trained for this. But then Remi started talking about the Justice Secretary. Threatened to use the gun. It made Emilie think she might have to do something as well. She can’t just sit there and wait.