Jo Nesbo - The Redbreast

The Chief Constable looked at him in some confusion. 'Your police man?' Brandhaug hastened to say. 'Hole, isn't that what he's called?'

She nodded to Moller, who had to clear his throat twice before he got going.

'Fine, under the circumstances. He's shaken of course. But… OK.' He shrugged to show that there wasn't a lot more to say.

Brandhaug raised a recently plucked eyebrow.

'Not so shaken that there might be the risk of a leak, I trust?'

'Erm,' Moller said. He saw the Chief Constable quickly turn towards him with a sidelong glance. I don't believe so. He's aware of the delicate nature of the matter. And of course he has been sworn to secrecy about what happened.'

'The same is true for the other police officers involved at the scene,' Anne Storksen added with alacrity.

'Let's hope this is under control then,' Brandhaug said. 'I'll just give you a brief update on the situation. I have just had a long conversation with the American ambassador and I believe I may say that we have agreed on the most important points in this tragic matter.'

He looked at each of them in turn. They gazed at him in an atmosphere of tense expectation. Waited for what he, Bernt Brandhaug, could tell them. The despondency he had felt a few seconds before seemed to have been erased.

'The ambassador was able to tell me that the Secret Service agent whom your man',-he motioned towards Moller and the Chief Constable-'shot at the toll barrier is in a stable condition and he is off the danger list. His dorsal vertebrae are damaged and there is internal haemorrhaging, but the bulletproof vest saved him. I regret that we were unable to discover this information earlier, but for understandable reasons we have attempted to keep all communication about this affair to a minimum. Only the most essential details have been exchanged between a small number of involved parties.'

'Where is he?' Moller asked.

'Strictly speaking, you don't need to know that, Inspector Moller.'

He looked at Moller, whose face had assumed a strange expression. There was an oppressive silence in the room for a second. It was always a little embarrassing when someone had to be reminded that they were not allowed to know more than they needed for their job. Brandhaug smiled and spread his hands in regret as if to say: I can well understand you asking, but that's the way it is. Moller nodded and looked down at the table.

'OK,' Brandhaug said. 'I can tell you this much-after the operation he was flown to a military hospital in Germany.'

'Right.' Moller scratched the back of his neck. 'Erm…' Brandhaug waited.

'I assume it's fine to let Hole know this? That the SS agent is recovering, I mean. It will make the situation… um… easier for him.'

Brandhaug looked at Moller. He had difficulty working out the head of Crime Squad.

'That's fine.'

'What was it that you and the ambassador agreed on?' It was Rakel. 'I'm coming to that,' Brandhaug said gently. Actually it was his next point, but he disliked being interrupted in this way. 'First of all, I would like to commend Moller and the Oslo police on their quick appraisal at the scene. If the reports are correct, it took a mere twelve minutes for the agent to receive professional medical attention.'

'Hole and his colleague, Ellen Gjelten, drove him to Aker Hospital,' Anne Storksen said.

'Admirably quick reactions,' Brandhaug said. 'And that is a view which is shared by the American ambassador.'

Moller and the Chief Constable exchanged glances.

'Furthermore, the ambassador has spoken to the Secret Service and there is no question of instituting proceedings from the American side. Naturally'

'Naturally,' Meirik chimed in.

'We also agreed that the error resided in the main with the Americans. The agent in the toll booth should never have been there. That is, it was permitted, but the Norwegian liaison officer at the scene should have been notified. The Norwegian policeman who was at the post at which the agent came into the zone, and who should have-sorry, could have-informed the liaison officer, reacted only to the ID the agent showed him. The standing orders were that Secret Service agents had access to all secure areas, and the policeman therefore saw no reason to report it further. In retrospect, we may say that he ought to have done.'

He looked at Anne Storksen, who gave no indication that she would protest.

'The good news is that at this juncture it does not appear that anything has come out. I have not, however, called this meeting to discuss what we should do as a best-case scenario, which is precious little more than sit tight. I presume we do not need to consider such a thing. It would be absurdly naive to believe that this shooting incident will not leak out sooner or later.'

Bernt Brandhaug cupped his palms up and down as if to bundle the sentences into suitable sound bites.

'In addition to the twenty-odd people from POT, the FO and the co-ordination group who know about this matter, there were approximately fifteen police witnesses at the toll barrier. I do not wish to say a bad word about any of them. I am sure they will, on the whole, observe the customary pledges of secrecy. Nevertheless, they are ordinary police officers without any experience of the degree of secrecy which is necessary in these circumstances. There are, furthermore, employees at the Rikshospital, the airline, the toll company Fjellinje AS and the Plaza Hotel, who all, to a greater or lesser degree, have reason to be suspicious about what happened. There is no guarantee either that the motorcade was not being followed through binoculars from one of the surrounding buildings. One word from anyone who had anything to do with this and…' He blew out his cheeks to represent an explosion.

It went quiet around the table until Moller cleared his throat.

And why is it so… um… dangerous if it comes out?'

Brandhaug nodded to demonstrate that this was not the most stupid question he had heard, which immediately gave Moller the intended sense that this was exactly what it was.

'The United States of America is more than just an ally,' Brandhaug began with an imperceptible smile. He said it with the same intonation that you use to explain to a non-Norwegian that Norway has a king and that the capital is Oslo.

'In 1920 Norway was one of Europe's poorest countries and probably still would be, had it not been for America's help. Forget politicians' rhetoric. Emigration; Marshall Aid, Elvis and the financing of the oil adventure have turned Norway into probably one of the most pro-American countries in the world. Those of us sitting here have worked for years to attain the positions we have in our careers today. But should it come to the ears of our politicians that anyone in this room is responsible for endangering the life of the President…'

Brandhaug left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air as he cast his eyes around the table.

'Fortunately for us,' he said, 'the Americans would rather concede a glitch with one of their Secret Service agents than concede a fundamental lack of co-operation with one of their closest allies.'

'That means', said Rakel without glancing up from the pad in front of her,'… that we do not need a Norwegian scapegoat.' Then she raised her eyes and looked directly at Bernt Brandhaug. 'Quite the contrary. We need a Norwegian hero, don't we?'

Brandhaug rested his gaze on her with a mixture of surprise and interest. Surprise because she had known so quickly where he was heading, and interest because he had realised she was definitely someone to be reckoned with.

'That's correct. The day it leaks out that a Norwegian policeman has shot a Secret Service agent, we have to have our version of events straight,' he said. 'And our version must be that nothing untoward happened on our side. Our liaison officer at the scene acted according to instructions and the blame lies solely with the Secret Service agent. This is a version both we and the Americans can live with. The challenge is getting the media to buy it. And that is why -'