Литагент HarperCollins - MemoRandom

‘The boys say hello. They wanted to come as well, but I told them to wait a bit. Thought you probably needed a chance to recover first. After everything you’ve been through.’ He pulled a face.

Sarac nodded and unconsciously put a hand to his head.

‘I bumped into Bergh. He said you had a few gaps in your memory,’ Molnar said.

Sarac took a deep breath, trying to muster his thoughts, but the headache kept getting in the way.

‘Well …’ he said. He cleared his throat to make his voice sound more steady. ‘It’s not like it is in films. I know who I am, where I live, what my parents’ names were, where I went to school, how to tie my shoelaces, all that sort of thing.’ He waved one hand, trying to find the right words. ‘But everything feels so distant, it’s like I’m not really … present. Like I’m looking on from the sidelines, if you see what I mean?’

Molnar nodded slowly. His clear blue eyes were looking straight at Sarac, as if he were saying something incredibly interesting. Peter was good at making people feel that they were being noticed, appreciated.

‘What about the crash, do you remember anything about that?’ Molnar said in a low voice.

Sarac shook his head and decided to tell the truth. ‘To be honest, I can hardly remember anything about the past couple of years. After 2011, all I’ve got are random fragments floating about in my head.

‘But that’ll pass,’ he added quickly. ‘The doctor’s sure that things will become clearer as soon as the swelling has gone down. It’s just a matter of time.’

This last bit wasn’t entirely true. Dr Vestman was far too cautious to promise anything like that. But no matter. Sarac had made up his mind. He was going to get better, completely better, in both mind and body, and in record time.

His headache was on the move, gradually unfurling its spidery legs.

‘So when precisely do your memories stop? You started in the Intelligence Unit early in 2011. I was the one who recruited you,’ Molnar said.

Sarac nodded. ‘Yes, I remember that, no problem.’

‘Do you remember any specifics about what you were working on?’ Molnar leaned forward slightly.

‘Of course. I recruit and handle informers. Tip-offs, secret sources, people who might be useful to us.’

Sarac put his hand to his forehead. The spider’s legs were all around his head, laying siege to his brain. A faint buzzing sound that he thought at first came from the fluorescent lights in the ceiling started to fill his head, making Molnar’s words indistinct.

‘And you’re very good at it, David. In fact you’re the best handler I’ve ever come across. Myself included. Professional, ambitious, loyal, always reliable. And you know exactly how to read people. It’s actually a bit uncanny. You seem to have a sixth sense for how to find a way in, how to get people to trust you with their deepest—’

Secrets.

Something suddenly flashed into Sarac’s head. A brief glimpse of a parked car. A dark colour, a BMW, or possibly a Mercedes?

‘I left the Intelligence Unit in early 2012 when I was offered the job of being in charge of Special Operations. But you and I carried on working together closely. You did my old job better than I ever did. Your informants were the best, and there’s no question that they gave us the best information.’

Molnar’s words were blurring together. The image in Sarac’s head suddenly got clearer. He’s sitting inside the car, at the wheel, or possibly in the backseat? His perspective keeps switching, seems to change the whole time. A thickset man with a shaved head gets into the front passenger seat. He brings a smell of cigarette smoke with him into the car, and something else as well. The smell of fear.

‘It was after that operation that Bergh and, indirectly, Kollander, basically gave you carte blanche to do as you liked. You really don’t remember any of this? It was all over the papers, Kollander and the district commissioner even appeared on television to bask in the glory.’

Sarac didn’t answer. All he could manage was a little shake of the head.

‘Then you started work on a top-secret project. With one particular informant.’

‘Janus …’ Sarac mumbled.

Molnar didn’t respond, unless Sarac’s headache had affected his hearing. Suddenly everything was completely quiet, a perfect, dry absence of sound, with the exception of his own heartbeat. He tried to conjure up the image of the man in the car. Tried to see his face. But the only thing that appeared was a pattern, a snake in black ink, curling up from beneath a collar. A faint sound, growing louder. The car’s chassis buckling, protesting in torment. Then a sudden collision.

Sarac jerked and woke up. ‘T-the accident,’ he muttered. ‘Tell me …’

Molnar was silent for a few moments. Ran his tongue over his even front teeth.

‘Please, Peter. I need to know.’ Sarac put his hand on Molnar’s arm. Molnar bit his bottom lip and seemed to be thinking.

‘You called me from your cell,’ he began. ‘Your speech was slurred and you weren’t making much sense. You wouldn’t tell me what was going on, just that something bad had happened and that you were in trouble. We dropped everything and set out to meet you. But when we got to the meeting place, all we could see were the taillights of your car.’

Molnar’s voice drifted off again.

‘… impossible to catch up. You were driving like you had the devil himself in the back of the car.’

Sarac was back in the parked car. The ink snake on the man’s neck suddenly came to life, moving in time with the man’s voice. ‘I was thinking of suggesting a deal.’ His hands are rough but his voice surprisingly high. Almost like a child’s.

‘Your secrets in exchange for mine.’ The man grins, trying to sound tough even though he reeks of fear. His leather jacket creaks as he turns his body. ‘Well, what do you say? Have you got a deal?’

Outside it’s started to snow. Heavy snowflakes, falling thickly. Settling on the windows like a dense white blanket until the buildings of Gamla stan are hidden from view. Suddenly Sarac gets the impression that there’s another person in the car. Someone hiding in the darkness of the backseat. He catches a glimpse of a familiar pair of eyes in the rearview mirror, stubble, and a raised hood that shades the face. The devil himself.

A sweet, chemical smell fills the car. The smell is very familiar, it’s easily recognizable. Gun grease.

He catches sight of the pistol, sees it raised to the back of the man’s head, where the snake is still slithering. He holds his breath as …

The bang made Sarac open his eyes. Molnar was leaning over him, his hands just centimetres in front of Sarac’s face.

‘David, can you hear me?’ He clapped his hands in front of Sarac’s nose, forcing him to blink. Sarac opened his mouth and swallowed a mixture of saliva and air. He coughed and gasped for air as his heart raced in panic. A machine was bleeping close by, and there was the sound of running in the corridor.

‘You blacked out.’ Molnar’s voice sounded shaky. ‘Your face went all blue, you scared the shit out of me, David.’ He put his hand on Sarac’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘You’re not thinking of dying on me, are you? Not after all the work we did cutting you out of the wreckage.’ Molnar’s tone was joking, but there was a hint of anxiety there too.

Sarac grabbed hold of his hand. ‘J-Janus,’ he stammered. ‘Everything’s fucked.’ The lights in the ceiling flickered. He gasped for air again. Terror was clutching at his chest, and the spider’s legs had hold of his head. ‘We’ve got to find him, Peter,’ he panted. ‘It’s all my fault …’