Jo Nesbo - The Thirst

‘A bit carsick, that’s all,’ Smith smiled weakly. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Old clutch, heater and adrenalin,’ Bjørn said.

‘Listen up,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll be there in two minutes, so I repeat: Smith, you stay in the car. Wyller and I will go in through the front door, Bjørn will watch the back door. You said you know where it is?’

‘Yep,’ Bjørn said. ‘And your man is still online?’

Harry nodded and put his phone to his ear. They pulled up in front of an old brick building. Harry had looked at the plans. It was a former factory which now housed a printing firm, some offices, a recording studio and the hamam, and there was only one other door apart from the front entrance.

‘Everyone loaded, safety off?’ Harry asked, breathing out as he unfastened the tight seat belt. ‘We want him alive. But if that’s not possible …’ He looked up at the glinting windows on either side of the main entrance as he heard Bjørn recite in a low voice: ‘Police, warning shot, then shoot the bastard. Police, warning shot, then—’

‘Let’s go,’ Harry said.

They got out of the car, crossed the pavement and split up by the front entrance.

Harry and Wyller went up the three steps and in through a heavy door. The hallways inside smelt of ammonia and printers’ ink. Two of the doors had shiny gilded signs with ornate writing: small, optimistic law firms that couldn’t afford to rent in the city centre. On the third door was an unassuming sign saying CAGALOGLU HAMAM, so unassuming that it gave the impression they didn’t want customers who didn’t already know where it was.

Harry opened the door and walked in.

He found himself in a passageway with peeling paint on the walls and a simple desk, where a broad-shouldered man with dark stubble and a tracksuit was sitting and reading a magazine. If Harry hadn’t known better, he would have thought he’d walked into a boxing club.

‘Police,’ Wyller said, sticking his ID between the magazine and the man’s face. ‘Sit completely still and don’t warn anyone. This will be over in a couple of minutes.’

Harry carried on down the passageway and saw two doors. One said CHANGING ROOM, the other HAMAM. He went into the baths, and heard Wyller follow close behind him.

There were three small pools laid out in a row. To their right were booths containing massage tables. To the left were two glass doors which Harry assumed led to the sauna and steam room, and a plain wooden door that he remembered from the plans as the door to the changing room. In the nearest pool two men looked up and stared at them. Mehmet was sitting on a bench by the wall, pretending to look at his phone. He hurried over to them and pointed towards the glass door with a misted plastic sign saying HARARET.

‘Is he alone?’ Harry asked quietly as he and Wyller each pulled out their Glocks. He heard frantic splashing from the pool behind him.

‘No one’s entered or left since I called you,’ Mehmet whispered.

Harry went over to the door and tried to look in, but saw nothing but impenetrable whiteness. He gestured to Wyller to cover the door. He took a deep breath and was about to go in when he changed his mind. The sound of shoes. Valentin’s suspicions mustn’t be aroused by the entrance of someone who wasn’t barefoot. Harry pulled his shoes and socks off with his free hand. Then he pulled the door open and went in. The steam swirled around him. Like a bridal veil. Rakel. Harry didn’t know where the thought had come from, and thrust it aside. And managed to catch a glimpse of a solitary figure on the wooden bench in front of him before he closed the door behind him and was enveloped in whiteness again. That and silence. Harry held his breath and listened for the other man’s breathing. Had the man had time to see that the new arrival was fully clothed and holding a pistol? Was he scared? Was he scared the way Aurora had been scared when she saw his cowboy boots outside her toilet cubicle?

Harry raised his pistol and moved towards where he had seen the figure. And he could make out the shape of a seated man against the white. Harry squeezed the trigger until it resisted.

‘Police,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.’ And another thought struck him. That in a situation like this he would usually say or we’ll shoot . It was simple psychology, it gave the impression that there were more of them, and increased the chances of the person surrendering immediately. So why had he said ‘I’? And now that his brain had accepted one question, others appeared: why was he on his own here, rather than the Delta team that specialised in this sort of job? Why had he really stationed Mehmet here in complete secrecy and not told anyone at all until after Mehmet had called?

Harry felt the slight resistance of the trigger against his index finger. So slight.

Two men in a room where no one else could see them.

Who would be able to deny that Valentin, who had already killed several people with just his bare hands and iron teeth, had attacked Harry, forcing Harry to shoot him in self-defence?

‘ Vurma! ’ the figure in front of him said, and raised his arms in the air.

Harry leaned closer.

The skinny man was naked. His eyes were wide with terror. And his chest was covered with grey hair, but was otherwise unblemished.

TUESDAY, LATE AFTERNOON

‘WHAT THE HELL?!’ Katrine bratt yelled, throwing the rubber she’d picked up from her desk. It hit the wall just above Harry Hole’s head where he was sitting slumped in a chair. ‘As if we didn’t have enough problems, you manage to break pretty much every damn rule in the book, plus a couple of the country’s laws for good measure. What were you thinking ?’

Rakel, Harry thought, tipping backwards until his chair hit the wall. I was thinking about Rakel. And Aurora.

‘What?’

‘I was thinking that if there was a shortcut which meant we could bring Valentin Gjertsen in just one day earlier, it might save someone’s life.’

‘Don’t give me that, Harry! You know bloody well that isn’t how it works. If everyone thought and acted—’

‘You’re right, I know that. And I know that Valentin Gjertsen came very close to being caught. He saw Mehmet, recognised him from the bar, realised what was going on and snuck out the back way while Mehmet was in the changing room phoning me. And I know that if it had been Valentin Gjertsen sitting in that steam room when we got there, you’d already have forgiven me and started praising proactive, creative police work. Exactly what you set up the boiler-room team for.’

‘You bastard!’ Katrine snarled, and Harry saw her searching her desk for something else to throw at him. Fortunately she rejected the stapler and the sheaf of judicial correspondence from America relating to Facebook. ‘I did not give you licence to act like cowboys. I haven’t seen a single newspaper that isn’t running the raid at the baths as the lead on their website. Weapons in a peaceful bathhouse, innocent civilians in the firing line, a naked ninety-year-old threatened with a pistol. And no arrest! It’s all just so …’ She raised her hands and looked up at the ceiling, as if she were surrendering judgement to higher powers. ‘… amateurish!’

‘Am I being fired?’

‘Do you want to be fired?’

Harry saw her in front of him. Rakel, sleeping, her thin eyelids twitching, like Morse code from the land of coma. ‘Yes,’ he said. And he saw Aurora, the anxiety and pain in her eyes, the damage in there that could never be healed. ‘And no. Do you want to fire me?’

Katrine groaned, stood up and went over to the window. ‘Yes, I want to fire someone,’ she said with her back to him. ‘But not you.’