Good luck!
The screen went dark.
Okay, better follow the rules for a bit longer, he thought, and attached the phone to his belt, with the camera facing out, as per the instructions.
As the train pulled slowly into Sollentuna station he could feel his heart start to beat faster.
The man with the light coat got on at the far end of the carriage and it took a few moments before HP saw him. An ordinary-looking Swede, about forty, one metre eighty or so, same as him. Dark-framed glasses, hair combed back, a summer suit and coat, he noted as the train set off from the platform. That had to be hot.
The man’s lower half was hidden, so HP couldn’t see if he really was carrying an umbrella. There was only one way to find out.
He stood up and started moving slowly through the carriage towards the man. For some reason he was sweating, his t-shirt was sticking to his chest and his palms itched, but this time it was more than just the hangover.
As he passed the teenage girls one of them suddenly burst out laughing and the sound made him jump. Pull yourself together, this is only a game, an elaborate prank, nothing to get excited about. Stealing a crummy umbrella was hardly that much of a challenge for him. He’d nicked considerably better things than that.
Now he could see that the man was carrying a black and white paper bag, one of those designer ones with a rope handle and a big logo to show the world that he could afford to shop in the smartest shops. A cylindrical object stuck up from one side of the bag. The umbrella!
HP felt his pulse start to race. He had to admit that this was all pretty exciting. Stealing something while the whole thing was being filmed …
Okay, so the man in the coat was in on the whole thing, but even so. There was something appealing about the unfolding situation that he couldn’t quite explain. But he really didn’t want to make a fool of himself.
‘Next stop Karlberg. Karlberg, next stop,’ the speaker in the roof announced, and he felt the train start to slow down. He took a few more cautious steps towards the man, who hadn’t so much as glanced up at him.
Then the train jolted several times and stopped at the platform. The doors opened, letting in a smell of warm tarmac and hot brakes. HP took another step forward. Here we go!
‘Pigs’ blood,’ Superintendent Runeberg said from behind his desk, leaning back in his chair.
Although several hours had passed since the events outside Rosenbad, and even though the office was air-conditioned, Rebecca was still sweating. Her hair was wet from the shower, and in the absence of anything better she had put on her gym kit, the only clean clothes she had in her locker.
‘They threw pigs’ blood at you and Lessmark,’ her boss went on. He was a thickset man in his mid-forties, with a steely gaze, spiky blond hair and a suntan that went all the way down to his scalp.
A perfect example of a bodyguard. Good-looking too, if you like the over-pumped type, she thought.
But those days were far behind her now.
Strangely, considering what had happened, she felt pretty good, with the possible exception of a bit of adrenalin-fuelled trembling that she was doing her best to hide. She had done her job and her charge was okay, that was the main thing. She could think through the details later.
‘According to Forensics, one of the men threw a balloon filled with pigs’ blood at the Minister for Integration, but you burst it with your baton and most of the contents ended up on you. The minister escaped with a few drops on her jacket and a serious bruise on her arm from where you were holding her.’
He paused, but before she could work out if she was expected to say something he went on:
‘One of the evening papers seems to have pictures already, which would explain why the third man wasn’t involved in the actual attack. Presumably he was busy taking pictures. The free market and the free press in beautiful harmony. The Minister sends her thanks and best wishes, by the way. I doubt the same could be said of the perpetrators,’ Runeberg said.
Rebecca gave a short nod in response.
‘According to eye-witnesses, the men escaped on foot, running across Gustav Adolfs torg and in through the back entrance to the Gallery shopping mall. Our uniformed colleagues in the regular force stopped the underground, but before they managed to get hold of someone in charge and the order was actually given, at least four different underground trains left Stockholm Central, and one from Kungsträdgården nearby, so if they were stupid enough not to just melt into the crowds around Sergels torg there were plenty of opportunities for them to get away on the tube.’
Runeberg shrugged in resignation.
‘One advantage of doing this sort of thing in broad daylight in the middle of the city is that it’s a lot easier than most people think to get away,’ he concluded.
‘While you were cleaning yourself up I had a quick chat with your driver, Mr Göransson. He claims that you told him to go ahead of you to the Foreign Ministry and wait there, which was why you had no escape route,’ Runeberg went on in a businesslike voice. Rebecca jerked in her chair.
Not only had Bengt disobeyed her orders and put her and her charge in danger, now the fat little bastard was lying to save his own skin. Trying to blame her for everything, what a fucking nerve! If he’d done his job and the car had been where it should have been, she would have been fine, she could have managed perfectly well without backup.
She opened her mouth to protest but her boss raised a hand to stop her.
‘Take it easy, Normén. You don’t have to say anything, I know the bastard’s lying. In the ten months that you’ve been with us, no-one’s been more by-the-book than you. You don’t do anything without considering it from every angle, and your colleagues have nothing but praise for your efforts. The other day one of them said you were one hundred and ten per cent professional, and I wouldn’t disagree with that assessment. You’re a pretty good bodyguard, Normén. For a rookie, anyway …’ he grinned. ‘Besides, Göransson is a hopeless liar. He was sweating like a pig and was almost in tears at the end of our little talk. So, since approximately an hour ago, his services have been at the disposal of the job market. I don’t give a shit what the union says. I threw him out of the back door myself,’ Runeberg concluded with a smile, nodding happily at Rebecca to confirm that he had done precisely what he said.
‘Little boys,’ she sighed inwardly before realizing that he had actually praised her work, so she opted to lower her eyes respectfully to underline her status as grateful subordinate. As usual in this sort of system, you had to make the best of things and not make a fuss.
The fact that the guard on the door had had to help still annoyed her, but Runeberg had just called her a good bodyguard, which wasn’t bad for a rookie with less than a year’s experience.
Not bad at all!
HP counted to ten in his head and glanced at the platform one last time before stepping up to the man in the coat. The man looked up at him in surprise from the newspaper he had just pulled out of his pocket.
‘Tell Manga he’s still a carpet-licking bastard!’ HP shouted into the man’s ear, as he snatched the umbrella from the paper bag and, just as the doors were beginning to close, he leapt out onto the platform. He landed so hard that he almost lost his balance and had to take a couple of lurching steps to stop himself falling flat on his face.
Fuck me! he thought as he sprinted towards the steps at the far end of the platform. It wasn’t quite the stylish exit he had planned, but what the hell. He had the umbrella, the task was accomplished and none of the nightmare scenarios he’d been imagining had come true. The umbrella had been no problem, no explosions, no cascade of water, and no grinning TV presenters telling him he’d just been caught on You’ve Been Framed, Candid Camera or some similarly classy programme.
Apart from the stumble as he left