Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“And perhaps he went on through and back out on the other side.”

“Well, we have our people surrounding it now and a helicopter in the air. We just need permission to enter the building.”

Joona takes a quick look at the Saluhall. “That can take a while.” He takes out his cell phone and says, almost to himself, “I’m going to have a chat with Klara Olofsdotter.”

Klara Olofsdotter, the main prosecutor for the International Prosecutor’s Office, picks up the phone on the second ring.

“I know it’s you, Joona,” she says without a greeting. “And I know what’s going on.”

“Then you also know we must get inside that embassy.”

“That’s not so easy. This is always a damned sensitive area, excuse my language. I’ve talked with the ambassador’s secretary by phone,” Klara Olofsdotter explains. “She insists that everything is absolutely normal at the embassy.”

“We know the suspect is inside,” Joona says.

“How could he have gotten in?”

“He might be a German citizen demanding his right for help from the embassy. They’ve just opened. He could also be a Swedish part-time employee or he has the pass code or… some kind of diplomatic status. Maybe he has immunity or he’s being protected by someone. We just don’t know. He might even be a close relative to the defense attache or the ambassador, Joachim Rucker, himself.”

“But you don’t even know what he looks like,” she says. “How could we identify him even if they let us inside?”

“I’ll get a witness,” Joona says.

There’s a moment of silence. Joona can hear Klara Olofsdotter breathing on the other end of the line.

“All right. Then I’ll find a way to get you in,” she says at last.

Joona Linna and Saga Bauer are in Penelope’s protected apartment. No lamps are lit. The morning sun shines through the broken window. Penelope Fernandez sits on the floor with her back against the innermost wall and she’s pointing at the window.

“Yes, that’s where the bullet came through,” Saga corroborates.

“The lamp saved my life,” Penelope says as she lowers her hand.

They’re looking at the remains of the window lamp, its hanging cord and its broken plastic socket.

“I turned it off to see out a little better. Something was going on down on the square,” Penelope says. “The lamp started to sway then and he thought it was me, right? He thought it was me moving and the heat was from my body.”

Joona turns to Saga. “Did he have an electro-optic scope?”

Saga nods and says, “According to Jenny Goransson, he did.”

“What’s that?” Penelope asks.

“It seeks heat-you’re right, the lamp saved your life,” Joona answers.

“Good God in heaven,” Penelope whispers.

Joona looks at her calmly and his gray eyes glitter.

“Penelope,” he says slowly. “Actually, you have seen his face, right? Not this time, but before. You said you didn’t, but… now I want you to nod if you believe you can describe him.”

Penelope wipes her cheeks quickly and looks up at the tall detective. She shakes her head.

“Any description at all?” Saga asks gently.

Penelope listens to the detective inspector’s voice and his mild Finnish accent and wonders how he can be so sure that she’s seen the man’s face. She had seen him, but she’s not sure she can describe him. Everything had happened so quickly. She had only a glimpse of him. Rain was on his face. It was just seconds after he’d killed Bjorn and Ossian.

She wishes she could erase every memory.

But the man’s tired, almost concerned face is lit up again and again by the white flashes of lightning.

Saga Bauer walks over to Joona, who is near the window, reading a long text message he’s just received.

“Klara Olofsdotter has been speaking with the chief justice who has, in turn, spoken with the German ambassador,” Joona says. “Three people will be allowed into the embassy for one hour. This hour will begin in forty-five minutes.”

“We’d better hurry over there right now,” Saga says.

“No reason to hurry,” Joona says as he leisurely looks out over the square.

Journalists swarm around the barricades protecting the Saluhall.

“Did you tell the prosecutor that we have to go in armed?” asks Saga.

“We have to coordinate everything with the German security force,” Joona replies.

“Who’s going in?”

Joona turns to her. “Maybe… who tracked him down?”

“Stewe Billgren,” she says.

“Yes, Stewe Billgren,” Joona says. “Can he identify him?”

“Stewe didn’t see his face. No one has seen his face,” Saga replies. She turns back to go and sit down again next to Penelope.

They sit together quietly for a long while, leaning back against the wall. Saga calms her breath and speaks slowly as she asks the first question.

“What does he want from you? That guy who’s after you-do you know why all this is happening?”

“No,” Penelope says slowly.

“He’s after the photograph you taped to your door,” Joona says, though his back is to Penelope.

Penelope lowers her head and nods.

“Do you know why he wants that photograph?” Saga asks.

“No,” Penelope answers, and begins to cry quietly.

Saga waits another moment and then says, “Bjorn tried to blackmail Palmcrona-”

“I didn’t know anything about that.” Penelope interrupts her. “I didn’t agree to any of that.”

“We’ve realized that,” Joona says.

Saga takes Penelope’s hand gently in hers.

“Did you take that photo?” she asks.

“Me? No, not me… the picture came to the Swedish Peace… you know, I’m the chairwoman and…”

Penelope falls silent.

“Did it come in the mail?” asks Joona.

“Yes.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know,” she says quickly.

“Was there a letter with it?” Joona asks.

“No, not that I know of.”

“Just an envelope with a photograph.”

She nods.

“Do you still have the envelope?”

“No.”

“How was it addressed?”

“Just my name and the Swedish Peace… well, not the post office box, just my name.”

“So it was addressed to Penelope Fernandez care of the Swedish Peace and Reconciliation Society,” Saga says.

“And then you opened the envelope and took out the photograph,” Joona says. “What did you think at that moment? What did the photograph mean to you?”

“Mean to me?”

“What did you see when you looked at it? Did you recognize the people involved?”

“Yes… three of them, but…”

She falls silent.

“Tell us what went through your mind when you first looked at the photo.”

“Someone had seen me on TV,” she says, and she collects her thoughts for a second before she continues. “I thought that this picture is just so typical. Palmcrona is supposed to be neutral, but here he is, he goes to the opera and sits and drinks champagne with the head of Silencia Defense and a weapons dealer who sells arms throughout Africa and the Middle East. It’s totally scandalous.”

“What did you plan to do with this picture?”

“Nothing,” she answers. “There’s nothing I could do. It’s just a photograph, but at the same time, I remember I thought, at least now I know where he stands.”

“I see.”

“It reminded me of the idiots at the Immigration Office. They’d just deported a helpless family seeking asylum. Yes, they celebrated with champagne and patted themselves on the back for booting out people who sought refuge in Sweden, a family with a sick child…”

Penelope falls silent again.