Christian Jungersen - The Exception

They laugh a little uncertainly. Rasmus looks more alive than Iben has ever seen him.

‘There. I’m logged on as the administrator for your entire network. It’s set up in a rather outdated way, but it means we can read what’s in any of the office computers.’

‘What? Can Paul and Bjarne read everything on our computers?’

‘The lot! There’s no hiding place.’ He doesn’t bother to look up at Iben and Malene. ‘First, I’ll search for any file containing that email address “revenge_is_near”.’

Paul and Camilla’s computers are switched off and can’t be searched. Rasmus could turn them on, but there’s no point. Several of Iben and Malene’s files turn up, because they have been emailing people all over the world to ask about the possible identity of the sender. Anne-Lise, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have written a single email containing the phrase ‘revenge_is_near’. Strange. Hasn’t she told anybody what happened?

Rasmus starts looking for other revealing phrases.

‘Of course, what we’re specifically looking for is a trail to any private webmail address she might have on the net rather than in this computer. That is, apart from Outlook, has she been using Explorer to check email accounts held elsewhere? Like an anonymiser site?’

He makes several searches, but finds nothing. His next move is to go through her computer folders, searching for any interesting files.

‘Weird … Most people keep personal stuff somewhere on their hard disk.’ Rasmus stares at the screen, completely transfixed. Suddenly he calls out: ‘Hey! Look at this!’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a program that wipes all traces of your Internet activity. She must have downloaded it from the net. That’s why we can’t find anything. It means that she knows what she’s doing. Did you know that she was good at that kind of thing?’

‘No.’

‘No idea.’

‘With this, she’d be able to create her own addresses on the net, and cover her tracks afterwards — that kind of thing?’ Malene asks.

‘That’s exactly what I’m thinking.’

While Rasmus searches Anne-Lise’s files, Iben and Malene go to the library to look through her papers.

The corridor is windowless too, so they could put the light on, but they don’t need to. Their bodies have memorised the precise layout of the office. Iben remembers a dream she had in which the tight passages between the shelving in the Centre merged with images from a film about the sinking of a German submarine. She had watched the film on television a few months earlier. The action mainly took place inside the torpedoed and fatally damaged submarine. In her dream its crew was locked into the narrow aisles between the office bookshelves. Lamps blinking ‘Red Alert’ warned them of the Centre’s slow, silent descent towards the bottom of the sea.

While they wait for Rasmus, Iben and Malene decide to play a game walking through the dark faster and faster to discover just how well they instinctively know where any obstacles are. Iben starts running and Malene runs after her.

They race through the Winter Garden. Their bodies compute distances and directions precisely. No need to use their head, or their eyes. Malene must be thrilled to be able to move so freely without pain.

Iben catches her breath.

‘You know, it’s great to be here and say and do whatever one likes. Just for once.’ Malene speaks loudly enough for Rasmus to hear.

‘Isn’t it? Look, I can say, for instance, “Paul, you simply have to relocate Anne-Lise to a fish-filleting factory in Svalbard, because she’s ruining everything here.”’

‘And I can say, “Paul, it’s time you woke up. If you don’t lock her into a phone box with a year’s supply of fish-paste sandwiches …”’

‘And a clock. She’ll need a clock.’

‘“ … then the Centre is going to become such a dump that Frederik will get Kjærum’s job at Human Rights, and not you!”’

‘Got that, Paul?’

‘You have no idea, have you? Always off to your bloody meetings, or whatever.’

They spend some time at Anne-Lise’s desk, searching her papers for evidence, before returning to see what Rasmus has found. He is busy tracing preserved fragments of Anne-Lise’s emails, the pieces her clean-up program couldn’t delete.

‘We should’ve brought a few beers.’

‘No problem. There’s a bottle of whisky in Paul’s cupboard.’

‘Do you think it’s really safe to have some?’

‘Sure. He’ll never notice. Camilla had some the other day.’

The whisky is an exclusive brand of single malt, but over time Paul has been given so many similar bottles that he doesn’t mind leaving one in the office. Iben goes to fetch it and three glasses.

‘Look, I’ve brought some water as well. I’ve read that water “opens up” a good whisky. Just a little, to release the aroma.’

‘Isn’t it a shame to dilute it?’

‘But it’s not diluting it — that really would be a shame. Only a drop or two. I’ll put it in my glass and you can keep your drink neat. Then we’ll swap to see if we can taste the difference.’

When they’ve all tested the whisky several times, mixed with different amounts of water, Iben and Malene return to Anne-Lise’s desk. This time they put on the overhead lights. No need to be neurotic. It makes their search much quicker and easier and, anyway, who’d be standing down in the street staring at the top-floor windows?

One of Anne-Lise’s desk drawers is locked. They try to shift the lock with a ruler, but it breaks. Iben puts the bits in the back pocket of her jeans. So what if Anne-Lise doesn’t find it tomorrow? All anyone can say is that it’s lost.

They try inserting a paperknife instead. Neither of them knows a thing about locks, but this time it works. It’s a cheap desk and the locks are mainly just for show, but it’s fun all the same. They must have an unexpected talent for robbery.

It’s as if the normal rules no longer apply. Everything in the office is familiar and at the same time strange and new.

‘Now we can close that fucking door at last!’ Malene almost shouts.

She slams it shut and they both laugh.

Rasmus comes in and seems surprised at the lights and noise.

‘Doesn’t matter. Nobody will come here at this hour!’ Iben is very loud now.

‘Any way, we’re allowed. We work here.’

‘We work all sorts of hours!’

‘See? We’re just keen!’

Rasmus speaks quietly. ‘Listen, I’ve found something.’

They turn the light off and he explains as they walk along. ‘I’ve loaded a program that searches the whole network for fragments of deleted files.’

Back in the server room he shows them a few lines from a file that was probably on Anne-Lise’s hard disk. In two lines of apparently random characters the word ‘Malene’ turns up and, a little later on, a sentence: ‘I no longer know myself. I have never experienced hating anyone the way I hate her … I might do anything to her … she makes me feel sick through and through.’

They stand in silence, staring at the screen.

Malene suddenly needs to sit down. ‘You see … So what’s new?’

Iben feels a little groggy owing to lack of sleep. She leans forward over Malene’s shoulder. ‘I don’t think it will be enough for Paul. Surely he won’t admit this as evidence?’

‘No, he won’t. He knows perfectly well that she can’t stand me. His only reaction so far has been to hand my responsibilities over to her. Like I said: nothing we don’t know already.’

Rasmus goes off to have a pee. While he’s away, they read Anne-Lise’s latest incoming emails. Only two are marked as unread. The first one is a request.