Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“Do you know who the fourth person is? The woman in the picture?”

Penelope shakes her head.

“It’s Agathe al-Haji,” Saga says.

“Really?” Penelope grimaces.

“Yes.”

“Why is she…”

Penelope falls silent and her dark eyes stare at Saga.

“Do you know when the picture was taken?” Saga asks.

“No, but of course the arrest order against al-Bashir was issued in March 2009, and…” Penelope stops abruptly and her face flushes scarlet.

“What is it?” asks Saga.

“The picture was taken after that,” Penelope states, her voice shaking. “Right? The picture was taken after the arrest warrant.”

“What makes you say that?” asks Saga.

“That’s what makes it so important…” Penelope muses and the color fades again from her face.

“It’s the deal with Kenya,” she says with trembling lips. “That’s what the photo is all about, isn’t it? It’s the Kenya contract, and Palmcrona’s just agreed to it. The selling of ammunition to Kenya-I always knew there was something wrong there.”

“Keep going,” Joona says.

“Kenya has ongoing business with Great Britain. Delivery of ammunition will go to Kenya all right, but it’ll end up in Sudan and Darfur!”

“Yes,” Saga says. “That’s what we believe is happening, too.”

“But it’s forbidden! This is terrible… it’s treason, it’s against international law… Beyond that, it’s a crime against humanity…”

Penelope thinks a moment, her face in her hands.

“So that’s why all this has happened,” she says quietly. “Not because Bjorn attempted blackmail.”

“That was the catalyst. It alerted these people to the fact that this photograph existed.”

“I had assumed the picture might have been an embarrassment,” Penelope says. “Embarrassing, yes, but not much more than that.”

“When Palmcrona called them about the blackmail attempt, they went on alert,” Saga explains. “Until then, they knew nothing about any photograph. Now they were worried. They did not know how much or how little it revealed. All they knew was that it was not good. We’re not sure exactly what they reasoned… perhaps that either you or Bjorn was the photographer.”

“But-”

“They couldn’t know how much you both could prove. But they wanted to take no chances.”

“I understand,” Penelope says. “And that’s still the same situation now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Penelope nods.

“They think I might be the only witness to the deal,” she says.

“They’ve invested a great deal of money,” Saga says.

“They can’t get away with this,” Penelope says softly.

“What did you say?”

Penelope looks directly into Saga’s eyes and says clearly, “They can’t pump ammunition into Darfur, they just can’t do it! I’ve seen what happens. I’ve been there twice-”

“They don’t really care. It’s only about the money,” Saga says.

“It’s not! It’s about… it’s about… so much more,” Penelope says and turns her face to the wall. “It’s about…”

She falls silent remembering the crunch as a clay figure is broken underneath the hoof of a goat. A small woman made of sun-baked clay crumbled into dust. A tiny child laughing and crying out, “That was Nufi’s ugly mother! All the Fur are going to die! They’re all going to die!” All the other children smiling and taking up the chant.

“What are you trying to say?” Saga asks.

Penelope looks at her, looks into her eyes, but does not answer. Her mind has gone back to Darfur.

After a long, hot car ride, she’d arrived at the refugee camp in Kubbum, southwest of Nyala in Janub Darfur, West Sudan. She’d barely arrived before she and Jane and Grey had to get down to work trying to save the lives of people caught up in the Janjaweed raids.

During the night, Penelope had awakened when she heard three teenage boys shouting in Arabic that they were going to kill slaves. They belonged to the militia. They walked down the middle of the street and one of them had a gun. Penelope had peeked out the window. They were bragging about how they’d walked up to an old man selling sweet potatoes and shot him in the head point-blank.

The boys kept walking down the street shouting and then had pointed at the house where Penelope and Jane were staying. Penelope held her breath. She heard their stomping feet on the veranda and their excited voices.

Suddenly, they kicked in the door of the barracks and started down the hallway. Penelope dived under the bed to hide. Completely still, she had recited the Lord’s Prayer silently. Furniture was knocked over and stomped on. Then she heard the boys walk back out into the street. One of them laughed and yelled that slaves were going to die. Penelope crept back to the window again. The boys had Jane by the hair, pulling her, until they threw her down into the middle of the street. The door to the other barracks across the street was flung open and Grey came out swinging a machete. The thin boy went to meet him, although Grey was about two feet taller than the boy and much more muscular.

“What do you want here?” Grey demanded.

His serious face was slick with sweat.

The thin boy said nothing but simply raised the pistol and shot Grey in the stomach. The bang echoed between the buildings. Grey stumbled and fell down backward. He tried to get back up, but then kept still with his hand pressed to his stomach.

“One dead Fur!” yelled one of the other boys gleefully. He still had Jane by the hair.

The second boy forced Jane’s legs apart. She struggled but still talked to them in a calm, hard voice. Grey yelled something at the boys. The thin boy went back over, yelled something at Grey, pressed the gun to his temple and fired. It clicked and he tried six more times. The pistol was empty. The group of boys suddenly began to look doubtful. Other doors in other barracks opened and African women started to pour out. The teenagers let go of Jane and began to scuttle away. Penelope saw five women chasing them. Penelope grabbed her blanket from the bed, unlocked the door, and rushed out into the street. She ran over to Jane to wrap the blanket around her and help her up.

“Go back inside, all of you!” Jane yelled. “They might be back with more ammunition! You shouldn’t be outside if they come back!”

All that night and the next morning, Jane stood working at the operating table. Not until ten in the morning was she able to go to her bed convinced Grey’s life was saved. That evening, she worked her usual schedule and by the next day, the routine in the hospital tent had returned to normal. The small boys helped her, but they were more guarded and sometimes they pretended not to hear her when they thought she was too demanding.

“No,” Penelope whispers.

“What did you say?” asks Saga.

Penelope thinks that these people must not be allowed to export ammunition to Sudan.

“They can’t get away with it,” she says, and then is quiet.

“You were safer in the underground room,” Saga says.

“Safe? No one can keep me safe,” Penelope replies.

“We know where he is. He’s inside the German embassy and we’ve surrounded the building-”

“But you haven’t gotten him yet,” Penelope says louder.

“He’s probably been wounded. Shot in the arm. We’re going to go in and-”

“I want to go with you,” says Penelope.

“What?”

“Because I have seen his face,” she replies.

Both Saga and Joona start and Penelope looks directly at Joona.

“You were right,” she says. “I have seen his face.”

“We don’t have much time. Perhaps you can just give us a sketch of the suspect,” Saga says anxiously.