Thomas Enger - Pierced

Thorleif swears to himself. It’s Saturday night. The last train is bound to have left long ago. He looks up towards Einar’s cabin.

Then he starts to run.

Orjan Mjones stares at the girl behind the counter.

‘I’m not sure,’ she says, nervously, and glances furtively over his shoulder. Mjones turns around; on a low table he sees a solitary laptop whose screen is facing them. There is a black denim jacket on the sofa. He gives her a look before he walks over to the laptop, bends down and reads the newspaper article displayed on the screen.

The story is about Thorleif Brenden.

He is here, Mjones thinks, and glances at the jacket. The stupid prat is in Ustaoset, and he was here a minute ago. Mjones walks back towards the girl.

‘Y-yes, I have seen him,’ she stutters as she points to the lobby area. ‘His name is Einar and he has just gone to the lavatory.’

Einar, Mjones thinks, and glances around. The corridor is empty. He turns to her again and looks briefly at her anxious eyes before he thanks her and marches briskly past the dark brown piano. Inside the lavatory all he finds are two urinals, two sinks and a cubicle. The door is closed, but Mjones pushes it open.

No one there.

He goes back out into the lobby, checks the restaurant and sees a solitary couple engrossed in conversation at a table. But no Brenden. He must have seen me, Mjones thinks. Otherwise why wouldn’t he be in the lavatory? And he left his jacket behind. Mjones returns to the corridor where he discovers the gallery. Brenden must have gone that way, he thinks. It is the only way out from there.

Mjones opens the door and enters. It’s as if he can see Brenden’s footprints on the dark-grey slate floor. He continues across the bright room, looks around, stops and listens. No footsteps anywhere. Mjones follows the exit sign through the gallery. Soon he is outside. He scans the landscape. No Brenden in sight, only more buildings and cabins that block his view. At that moment his mobile rings.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, it’s me again,’ Flurim Ahmetaj says. ‘Why are you whispering?’

‘Because I’m hot on his heels. Number One is in Ustaoset.’

‘That makes perfect sense. One of Number One’s Facebook friends is called Einar Flotaker. His family owns a cabin in Ustaoset.

Einar, Mjones thinks, and at that moment he hears the sound of pieces falling into place.

‘Right,’ he whispers. ‘Email me everything you’ve got.’

‘Okay.’

Mjones thinks about the girl behind the hotel reception. She has seen his face, and she knows who Brenden is. And if Brenden turns up dead in Ustaoset in the next few days she might put two and two together.

He turns to the door he has just come out of and looks through it. Then he shakes his head. One thing at a time, he says to himself. First things first.

Once he is back inside the cabin, Thorleif realises that he hasn’t drawn breath for a long time. With a gasp he hunches his shoulders and inhales deeply, planting his hands on his thighs as he does so in order not to fall. He stands like for a few moments before he slumps down on the floor and leans against a kitchen cupboard. He looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.

He sits there in deep despair, panting, before he stands up on wobbly legs and creeps over to the window. Carefully, he twitches the curtain and looks outside. The evening is matte and dark. There is not much left of the moon in the night sky, only a torn nail that offers little light. There is no one on the road below.

It was possibly a mistake to return to the cabin, Thorleif thinks, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else to hide. As he surveys the landscape and can clearly see both the roads and the cabins, he concludes that it was actually quite a smart move. He can easily see anyone approaching. All he has to do is stay where he is and keep a lookout. Stay awake and wait. But what does he do if the man should turn up?

Thorleif looks around. He can’t remember if he saw any weapons in the tool shed. There must be an axe, he thinks. Next to the tap he sees a set of kitchen knives. He takes the biggest one, the one that looks the sharpest, and feels the edge. Yes, it’s nice and sharp, he decides. He knows that he must get the first strike right. No mistakes. He has covered several crime stories where the victim tried to use a knife against a burglar or boyfriend only to fall victim to their own weapon.

Thorleif puts down the knife on the table and looks outside again. In just a couple of minutes the sky has grown darker. But he sees no one. He hears no one. He blinks and runs a hand over his sweaty face. His T-shirt sticks to his body. Take it easy now, Thorleif, he says to himself. Stay alert.

You have been in worse situations than this.

*

A dark Mercedes saloon stops in front of the red information board cut in the shape of a cabin, complete with ridged roof and windows. Orjan Mjones, who had been leaning against the left wall of the Mix kiosk while he listened out for the sound of the engine, steps forwards and goes over to Jeton Pocoli and Durim Redzepi as they emerge from the car.

‘What’s happening?’ Pocoli asks.

‘He’s up there,’ Mjones says and nods in the direction of Hallingskarvet as he takes out his mobile and opens an email from Flurim Ahmetaj. The email contains a JPEG file with a map of all the cabins in Ustaoset. One of the numbered cabins has been circled in red.

Pocoli and Redzepi move closer.

‘Here is the road,’ Mjones says, pointing. ‘It bends to the right a little further up.’ He turns towards the petrol station and gestures to the right, to the back of the brown building. ‘And you can see the cabin up there.’ He points towards the red cabin. ‘There are tons of cabins here, but I bet my life that’s where he is.’

‘But won’t he see us if we take the road?’ Pocoli asks.

‘Yes, and that’s precisely why we won’t do that. We’ll split up. Before the hill begins there is a road called Nystolvegen to the right. You’ll take that and follow it for a while.’

‘But won’t he still be able to see us from the cabin?’

‘Yes, possibly. But he doesn’t know who you are. He has only met me.’

Pocoli nods. ‘So we take the long way round and approach the cabin from the rear?’

‘Yes. Spread out so you cover as much of the back as possible. Don’t get closer to the cabin than fifty metres. And take as much time as you like. There is a greater chance that he will be less vigilant if you’re the only two people he sees on the road.

‘And what will you be doing?’

‘I’ll stay here until you’re in position. Once you are, I’ll start to walk up the hill. If he sees me, he might try to run away, away from me.’

‘And then he will run right into us.’

‘Exactly.’

Pocoli nods again. ‘It sounds like a good plan.’

Orjan Mjones waits for fifteen minutes until Jeton and Durim have reached Nystolvegen before he walks back to the hotel. He enters the lobby and nods to the girl at reception.

‘Hi,’ he says and pretends to be out of breath. ‘I didn’t find him.’

‘Oh,’ she stutters, nervously. ‘What a… shame.’

‘You don’t happen to know where he lives, do you?’

‘No, it… I’ve no idea. He never mentioned it. He never really said very much about anything.’

Mjones nods, turns around, and sees that the laptop is no longer on the table.

‘It was my laptop,’ she says by way of explanation. ‘I let him borrow it. He didn’t have a mobile or a laptop with him.’

Mjones nods. ‘Did he say why he wanted to borrow it?’

‘No, all he said was that he… he had to check something.’