Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

It took only a short time to disconnect the building’s alarm system from the inside. Then he was able to slip into the outer entrance, which was protected from the street by a large wrought-iron fence.

He’d been protected from all sides in this deep entrance, like a little hunter’s hut, behind the fence. He has a clear view out but can’t be seen at all if he remains still. If anyone happens to come near the entrance, he can simply back away to disappear into the darkness.

He aims his rifle at the building where Penelope Fernandez is located. He seeks her room using his electro-optic scope. He’s patient, slow, and systematic. He’s been waiting a long time. Soon it will be morning and before light comes, he’ll have to retreat, reactivate the building’s alarm system, and wait for tomorrow night. His instinct tells him that she will be drawn to the window to look out sometime, assuming the bulletproof glass will protect her.

He adjusts the scope and then the headlights of a car pass over him. He turns away for a moment and then returns to his observation of the apartment at Storgatan 1. There is a heat signature behind the dark window. The image is blurry and vague, weakened by the distance and the bulletproof glass. A worse target than he had expected. He tries to get a fix on the center of this blurry outline. A pale rose shadow moves in the speckled violet, thins out, and then appears again.

He is interrupted. Two figures have materialized from somewhere on the square, and they run directly at him, pistols out and close to their bodies.

Penelope wakes up early and sleep is gone. She lies in bed for a while, but then gets up and starts some water for tea. She thinks about the watch the police have on her and wonders how long they can afford to keep it up. Perhaps for only a few days. If police officers hadn’t been killed, they might not even have given her that. It would be too expensive.

She takes the kettle of boiling water from the stove and pours water into the teapot. She drops in two bags of lemon tea, takes the pot with her to the dark living room, and puts the teapot and cup down by the window nook. She turns on the green glass lamp hanging there and looks down into the empty square.

Two people pop up from nowhere and go running over the stone pavement. Then they fall flat and lie still. It looks odd, like a puppet show from up high. She quickly switches off the lamp. It sways from her jerky movement and bangs against the windowpane. She moves to one side and looks out again. A SWAT team is running along Nybrogatan and she sees a sudden pop of light in the entrance to the Saluhall. At the same moment, it sounds as if someone has thrown a wet rag at the window, which thumps as a bullet goes through the glass and into the wall behind her. She throws her body on the floor and crawls away. Glass splinters from the green lamp are all over the floor. She doesn’t notice that she’s cut her palms.

Stewe Billgren had always had a very quiet job at CID. However, right now he’s in the passenger seat next to his boss, Mira Carlsson. They’re in Alpha Car, an unmarked car slowly proceeding up Humlegardsgatan. Stewe Billgren has never found himself in an active position, though he’s wondered many times how he might handle it. This situation was beginning to wear on his mind, especially since the woman he was living with had come out of the bathroom with her pregnancy test and triumphantly shown him the results.

Stewe Billgren’s entire body aches from playing in a soccer game yesterday, and experience has taught him the pain will only get worse over the course of the day.

Shots snap out somewhere. Mira has just enough time to glance out the window and ask, “What the hell was that?”

A voice over the radio yells that two officers are down, shot, and lying in the middle of Ostermalm Square. Group 5 is ordered in from Humlegardsgatan.

“We’ve got him!” Sapo’s chief of operations shouts. “There are only four doors to the Saluhall and-”

“You’re sure?” Jenny Goransson’s voice demands.

“Nybrogatan entrance, one in the corner, and two on Humlegardsgatan.”

“Get more people there!” the chief of Central Control is yelling to someone.

“We’re trying to get a layout of the Saluhall.”

“Move Groups 1 and 2 to the front door,” someone else yells. “Group 2, go in, Group 1, secure the entrance!”

“Go! Go! Go!”

“Group 3 to the side entrance and support Group 4,” Jenny says. Her voice sounds focused. “Group 5 already has orders to go inside. Alpha Car! Come in now!”

Ragnar Brolin, chief of Central Control, calls Alpha Car. Stewe Billgren glances nervously at Mira Carlsson as he picks up the call. Brolin’s voice is tense as he orders them to drive to Majorsgatan and await further orders. He swiftly explains that the area of operation has expanded and that they will probably have to provide fire support to Group 5.

The radio repeats again that the situation is critical and that the suspect is now inside the Saluhall.

“Damn,” Stewe whispers. “I shouldn’t be here… I’m an idiot!”

“Calm down,” Mira says.

“I just found out my girlfriend is pregnant. I just found out last week. I’m going to be a father!”

“Congratulations.”

He can feel himself breathing more quickly. He bites the side of his thumbnail and stares straight ahead. Through the windshield, Mira watches three heavily armed police officers rush from Ostermalm Square down Humlegardsgatan. Two of them click off the safeties from their laser-scoped automatic guns and head inside the building. The third runs to the other side door to force open the wrought iron fence.

Stewe Billgren stops chewing his thumbnail and feels the blood drain from his face as Chief Brolin calls their car again: “Alpha, come in!”

“Answer,” Mira commands Stewe.

“Alpha, Alpha Car!” yells the chief impatiently. “Come in!”

“Alpha Car here,” Stewe answers unwillingly.

“We can’t wait any longer for more people.” Brolin is almost screaming. “We’re going in now. You have to back up Group 5. Clear?”

“Clear,” Stewe replies, and feels his heart pound.

“Check your weapon,” Mira says tersely.

As if in a slow-moving dream, Stewe takes out his service pistol, opens the magazine, and checks his ammunition.

“Why do we-”

“We’re going in there!” Mira says.

Stewe shakes his head and mumbles, “He’s killing police like flies-”

“Now!”

“I’m going to be a father and I… perhaps I should-”

“I’ll go in,” Mira says. “Use the car as a shield. Watch the door. Keep in radio contact at all times and be ready if he comes!”

Mira clicks off the safety on her Glock and climbs out of the car without looking back at Stewe. She runs to the closest door through the broken fence, pokes her head in and back for the briefest of looks. The officer from Group 5 waits in the stairwell for her. Mira takes a deep breath, feeling fear pour through her body, and then steps through the narrow door. It’s dark. There’s a slight smell of garbage from the storage area on the first floor. Her colleague meets her look and motions for her to follow and secure the line to the right. He waits a few seconds and gives her the sign for the countdown: three, two, one. He turns into the Saluhall and runs through the door to crouch behind the counter in front of him. Mira follows and concentrates to catch any movement from the right. Her partner presses against the counter, which holds wheels of cheese the size of car tires. He’s murmuring into his radio. The little pinpoint light from his scope dances on the floor in front of his feet. Mira moves up to his right and peers around. The gray light of morning filters down from the glass ceiling twenty meters above her head. She raises her Glock. The room is full of shining stainless steel surfaces. She sees a large air-dried ox fillet. Something wavers among the reflections. She intuits a narrow figure with shining wings. An angel of death, she thinks in the split second before the dark Saluhall is lit by the muzzle fire of a silenced automatic rifle.