‘No, boss,’ he replied, without making much effort to hide his irritation.
Why on earth was it so hard to get certain types of men to accept a woman as their boss? Either they tried to get the better of you and take control, like Bengt here, or worse, made insinuations and comments about your sex-life, or lack of one.
Offering you their services, whether or not they happened to be married … And if you were stupid enough to complain to your own boss you were soon out in the cold. She’d seen plenty of examples of that.
She never dated colleagues, on principle. Mixing your work and private life soon got way too complicated. Put simply: don’t shit on your own doorstep.
The fact was that she never actually dated anyone. Maybe dating itself was too complicated?
She shrugged to shake off the unwelcome thought. Right now her job was her priority.
Everything else could wait.
No sooner had they gone round the corner of the government offices than she realized something was wrong. A minute ago, when she had checked out their route in advance, there had been three people leaning over the railing by the waters of Norrström. Two of them holding fishing rods, and the third dressed in fishing gear too, even if she couldn’t see a fishing rod. None of them had seemed to pose any great threat.
But when Rebecca and her charge, along with the minister’s constantly chattering assistant, approached the place where the three men were standing, she noticed a change in their body language. She automatically slid her right hand inside her jacket, putting her thumb on the barrel of her pistol, and her fingers on the telescopic baton and police radio attached to her belt. She just had time to put a warning hand on her charge’s right shoulder when it happened.
Two of the men spun round and took a couple of quick steps towards them. One of them unfolded some sort of poster that he held in front of him, while the second raised his hand to throw something.
‘Sweden protects killers! Sweden protects killers!’ the men screamed as they rushed towards the minister.
Rebecca reacted instantly. She pressed the alarm button on her radio and in one sweeping gesture she pulled the baton out of her belt, extended it to its full length, and brought it down through the middle of the intrusive poster. She felt the baton hit something hard and saw the attackers take a step back, momentarily off balance.
‘Back to the car,’ she roared at the Minister for Integration, as she pulled the woman behind her back. With the baton raised over her shoulder she backed away quickly towards the car, her hand still gripping the minister’s upper arm.
‘Victor five, we’re under attack, repeat, we’re under attack, get the car ready!’ she yelled into the little microphone in her collar: it had started transmitting automatically when she pressed the alarm.
It would be at least three minutes until reinforcements arrived, probably nearer five, she calculated rapidly. She could only hope that Bengt hadn’t dozed off behind the wheel so they could make a quick getaway.
Before they got back to the corner of the building again their attackers made a new attempt to reach Rebecca and her charge. Something came flying through the air and she hit out at it automatically with her baton.
‘Rock, bottle, hand grenade?’ she managed to think before tepid liquid rained down on her face and upper body. ‘Dear God, please don’t let it be petrol!’
Finally, they were round the corner again and she looked quickly behind her for Bengt, hoping he remembered enough of his minimal training to have the car doors open for them.
But the turning circle where the car had been parked was empty.
‘Fuck!’ she hissed, but was drowned out by the assistant’s screams.
‘Blood!’ he screamed, almost in falsetto. ‘Christ, I’m bleeding!’
Rebecca twisted her head again but suddenly she was having trouble seeing. A red fog was descending over her eyes and she rubbed the hand holding the baton across her face to clear her eyes.
No car, no Bengt, and their attackers right behind them. What to do?
‘Make a decision, Normén, make a decision now!’ her brain shrieked at her.
Backwards known and secure, forwards unknown and dangerous. But what to do if your escape route had suddenly been cut off? They didn’t teach you that on the bodyguard course. Improvisation had never been her strong point. She was close to panic.
‘Over here!’ a voice shouted.
The guard had opened the door wide and had taken up a position halfway between it and her. He’d drawn his baton and was staring at the corner where their attackers ought to have appeared by now.
With a couple of quick strides Rebecca half-pulled and half-shoved the Minister for Integration through the door that they had left just a few minutes before. She could still hear the assistant’s hysterical sobbing behind her, but paid him no attention, concentrating on getting her charge to safety.
It wasn’t until several minutes later, after reinforcements had arrived and the situation had calmed down, that she realized that the whole of her upper body was covered in blood.
Dear HP
This is a trial game worth 100 points.
Try it out, and if you like the experience,
decide if you want to continue playing.
This is your task: At the next station a man in a light coat will get on the train.
The man will be carrying a red umbrella.
For 100 points, you must take the umbrella
before the train reaches Stockholm Central.
If you succeed I will unlock the phone and it will be yours to use as long as you participate in the Game. Do you understand?
Yes
No
This was actually fucking cool, HP grinned to himself as he clicked on Yes. Real Mission Impossible stuff – all that was missing was the dry voice and the telephone going up in smoke.
This message will self-destruct in ten seconds …
He still hadn’t managed to work out which one of the other passengers was working for Manga, but it didn’t really matter. He thought he had a pretty good idea of what it was all about now. Either he was expected to chicken out and would have to put up with weeks of crap about what a coward he was, or else – and this was more likely, now he came to think about it – there’d be some trick with the umbrella. It would be glued down, or would spray water, or give him an electric shock when he tried to grab it, and one or other of the passengers would film it so he could enjoy his humiliation on YouTube for months to come. It really was a beautiful set up, and now it was too late to back out.
Excellent!
When you get the signal to start playing, fix the phone to your clothes with the camera facing out, so we can see how you get on with your task.
Do you understand?
Yep, he understood. Fix the phone to his front, camera outwards.
YouTube, here I come!
HP grinned again. God, Manga was an ingenious bastard. This set a whole new standard. As he clicked on Yes once more, he realized to his surprise that his hangover was almost gone.