Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“Oh my God,” Peter whispers.

The voice changes to sound in a hissing prestissimo. It’s playfully beautiful and at the same time filled with difficult fingerings and quick jumps between octaves.

The music already lives in Axel’s mind. All he has to do is let it out. Not every note is perfect, but his fingers instinctively know the way and dance quickly over the fingerboard and the strings.

Vaguely he hears Raphael yelling something from the captain’s bridge and there’s a thud overhead that shakes the crystal chandelier. Axel continues to play-the quivering notes are like sparks of sunlight over the sea.

Steps come thudding down the staircase. When Axel sees Raphael with sweat pouring down his face and a bloody military knife in his hand, he stops playing

abruptly. The gray-haired bodyguard runs behind Raphael with his rifle up and ready. It’s a Belgian Fabrique Nationale SCAR.

Joona Linna is next to Pasi Rannikko and peering through a pair of binoculars. The first mate stands beside them. They all watch the enormous luxury yacht now dead in the water before them. It rocks slightly although the wind has died down. The flag of Italy droops. There’s no movement on the ship, as if all aboard are suspended in Sleeping Beauty’s hundred-year sleep. Whitecaps have disappeared from the surface of the Baltic Sea, and it is so calm the smooth water mirrors the light blue sky.

The cell phone rings in Joona’s pocket. He hands the binoculars to Niko and answers.

“We have a witness!” Saga is screaming on the other end. “The girl saw everything! Axel Riessen has definitely been kidnapped. The prosecutor has already issued a warrant-you can go on board and search for him!”

“Good work!” Joona says.

Pasi Rannikko looks at Joona expectantly as he puts his phone away.

“We have the authority to arrest Raphael Guidi,” Joona says. “He’s accused of kidnapping.”

“I’ll radio FNS Hanko,” Pasi Rannikko says, and rushes up to the communication radio on the bridge.

“They’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Niko says excitedly.

“Request for backup,” Pasi Rannikko says into the microphone. “We have an arrest warrant to board Raphael Guidi’s boat and take him in… Roger, that’s correct… Yes, but hurry! Top speed!”

Joona has the binoculars again and sweeps his gaze along the white stairs from their platform on the deck, past belowdecks, and then back up to the afterdeck with its closed umbrellas. He tries to get a glimpse through a set of overwide windows but they are too black. He follows the railing and then back up the next set of stairs onto the large terrace.

Shimmering hot air filters through vents on the roof of the captain’s bridge. Joona swings his binoculars back to the black windows and stops. He thought he saw movement behind the glass. Something white is hurrying along behind the panes. For a second it looks like a huge wing, bent feathers pressed against the glass.

The next moment, it appears to be cloth or white plastic.

Joona blinks to clear his vision and looks again to find himself staring into a face lifting its own binoculars.

The steel door to the captain’s bridge slams open, and a blond man runs out and jumps down the stairs to race across the foredeck.

These are the first people Joona has seen on the yacht.

The second man is dressed in black. He hurries to the helicopter pad and unfastens the lines around the helicopter’s base. He opens the door to the cockpit.

“They’ve listened in on our radio,” Joona says.

“We’ll change channels,” Pasi Rannikko calls back.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Joona says. “They’re not going to stay. They’re going to try to get away on the helicopter.”

He hands the binoculars to Niko.

“Fifteen minutes to backup,” Pasi Rannikko says tensely.

“Too late,” Joona states swiftly.

“Someone’s already in the helicopter,” Niko calls out.

“Raphael knows we have his arrest warrant and can come aboard,” Joona says.

“So do we board the ship right away?” asks Niko.

“That’s what we’ll have to do,” Joona says, giving him a quick glance.

Niko snaps a magazine into an automatic rifle that is as black as dirty oil. It’s a short-barreled Heckler amp; Koch 416.

Pasi Rannikko takes his own gun from his holster and hands it to Joona.

“Thanks,” Joona says as he quickly checks the ammunition and looks the gun over. It’s an M9A1 semiautomatic. He recognizes it as similar to the M9 used in the Gulf War, but the magazine is slightly different and there’s a fastener for a lamp and a laser scope.

Without speaking again, Pasi Rannikko aims his ship toward the aft bridge of the yacht, which is just above the waterline. As they near it, the yacht seems to rise higher and higher, almost like an apartment building. Pasi puts his engine into reverse to slow, whipping up the wake, and Niko throws fenders over the side. The hulls bang against each other and sparks fly.

Joona climbs aboard even as the boats veer away from each other. Water churns up between them. Niko jumps and Joona catches his hand; his automatic rifle bangs against the railing. They run together toward the stairs, force their way past the debris of scattered wicker chairs and old wine boxes, and race up.

Niko turns for a second to wave at Pasi Rannikko, who is roaring away from the yacht.

Raphael Guidi is on the bridge with his bodyguard, the one with gray hair and glasses. The navigator looks at them both with such fright as he nervously rubs his hand across his stomach over and over.

“What’s going on?” demands Raphael.

“I ordered the helicopter to get ready,” the navigator quavers. “I thought-”

“Where’s that damned police boat?”

“There,” he says pointing aft.

Close under the yacht’s afterdeck, beyond the swimming pool and the winches for the lifeboats, the gray naval boat is bumping close and churning up a wake as it reverses its engines. “The radio call… what did they say exactly?” Raphael demands.

“They said they didn’t have much time. They called for backup. They said they had an arrest warrant.”

“How can they!” Raphael howls and looks around.

Down on the helicopter pad they can see the pitot already in the cockpit. The rotors have just begun to move. And they can hear Paganini’s Caprice no. 24 being played in the dining room beneath them.

“Their backup is coming,” the navigator says, and points to a spot on the radar.

“I see. How much time do we have?” Raphael asks.

“They’re moving at about thirty-three knots, so… ten minutes?”

“No danger,” says the bodyguard, glancing at the helicopter. “We can get you and Peter out of here. Only three minutes until-”

The blond bodyguard runs onto the bridge. He’s shouting, and his face is white.

“Someone’s on board! Someone’s on the ship!” he yells.

“How many?” The gray-haired man is now totally alert.

“I only saw one. He has an automatic rifle. No special equipment.”

“Go stop him.”

“Give me a knife!” demands Raphael.

The guard pulls out a knife with a channeled gray blade. Raphael takes it and whirls on the navigator. His eyes tighten.

“Did you or did you not tell me they would wait for backup?” he screams. “You told me they would wait!”

“That’s what they said-”

“Then what are they doing here? They have nothing on me!” Raphael says. “They have absolutely nothing!”

The navigator steps back as he shakes his head. Raphael barges closer.