During the years that followed Berg devoted hundreds of hours to ransacking his consciousness. Honestly, sincerely, and ruthlessly he tried to recall down to the smallest detail what he’d done, said, and thought during the days in question that would change his life as well. He obviously remembered the short meeting with Waltin, as well as the reason that Waltin had dropped by his office. In order to deliver a bundle of papers that, it was true, were classified at the highest level of secrecy, but in any case had nothing to do with what happened later. That was all, and there wasn’t anything more.
When Hedberg showed up in the apartment at Gärdet he was late. It was going on seven-thirty and Waltin had waited for half an hour and more or less given up on the idea he’d been thinking about. Whatever it was, thought Waltin in his usual superficial way, but just at that moment Hedberg put the key in the lock.
“Unfortunately I have to cancel our little meeting,” said Waltin, “but we were through with each other for the most part anyway.”
“That’s okay with me,” said Hedberg, shrugging his shoulders. Perhaps I should stop by Café Opera and see if there’s anything worth screwing, he thought. It’s actually been a while.
“I heard a funny thing at the office an hour ago,” said Waltin. Just in passing like that, he thought, so we’ll have to see if there’s anyone who’ll rise to the bait.
“Yes?”
“Our mutual acquaintance seems to have phoned and canceled his bodyguards. He’s supposed to be going to a movie with his wife. In the middle of town on a Friday evening after payday when there are thirteen drunks to the dozen,” said Waltin, smiling.
“The Swedes are a patient people,” declared Hedberg. “I’m sure he’s figured that out. Kept in the dark and put up with just about anything.”
“Unfortunately that’s how it is,” sighed Waltin.
“Does he still live there?” said Hedberg suddenly.
“Yes,” said Waltin as he looked at the expensive watch that he’d stolen while dear Mother was still alive and he himself was far too young to be able to use it. “Yes, he still lives there.
“From one thing to another,” said Waltin as he stood up. “Because I’m forced to close down, I bought some goodies and put them in the fridge. If there should be anything left over, just leave it so I can take care of it tomorrow after you’ve gone. I was thinking about stopping by anyway.”
“It’ll work out,” said Hedberg.
…
As soon as Waltin had left, Hedberg went out to the kitchen and took out the plastic bag with mixed delicacies that Waltin had placed in the fridge. The revolver was under a foil container from the Östermalm market with prepared veal burgers, cream gravy, small green peas, and mashed potatoes.
Who the hell does he take me for? thought Hedberg crossly as he weighed it in his hand. Buffalo Bill?
Then he looked at his watch and it was almost eight, so perhaps there wasn’t so much to think about, but since he’d planned to go into town anyway he might just as well take a look past Old Town where the traitor lived.
CHAPTER XX
For a great and noble cause
Stockholm, February 28-March 1
Taking a taxi to Old Town was out of the question. Regardless of the fact that he was short on time, it would have to be the subway. Running to catch the train was out of the question too, so he’d missed the first, and when he finally arrived at Old Town it was eight-thirty and he’d already decided to give up the whole project and take a swing into town and do something else instead. He could always toss the antiquity that Waltin had slipped him into Strömmen, for it was hardly something he wanted to carry around with him, much less leave at the coat check if he went to a bar.
It’ll have to be a brisk walk, thought Hedberg, and when he strode out of the subway the first thing he saw was them, walking straight toward him from the alley. Almost a hundred yards, and they hadn’t seen him, in any event, so he turned on his heels and went back up onto the platform. A rather risk-free long shot, for if they were going to the movies it was probably at Hötorget or Rådmansgatan, and if it should turn out that he was wrong then he would have to live with that too.
The alley would have been perfect, he thought, but now it was the way it was and then there were other conditions that applied: keeping his distance and hoping for luck. So he jumped onto the train that had just come in, even though he knew they wouldn’t make it. He rode past the central station, but at Hötorget he got off and positioned himself on the platform, pretending to read the newspaper while he was waiting. He had a fool’s good luck, for when the next train pulled in there were enough passengers where they were sitting that he would be able to melt into the crowd.
Being in the same car was naturally out of the question. Instead he took a chance again, got into another one, and was among the first to get off at Rådmansgatan. Because he’d devoted hundreds of hours to shadowing people he wasn’t the type to follow them if he had the choice. He went out onto the street ahead of them, and as soon as he was certain that they were going to the Grand Cinema he went into the lobby and placed himself in the ticket line for a film that plenty of people would see but not them. Wrong film for people like them, and as soon as he was sure which film they would see instead he left. He already knew when their movie would end, for he’d got that from the poster in the lobby, so he didn’t even need to slink past a well-stocked newsstand to check it in a newspaper. And he obviously never even considered asking the cashier.
He didn’t consider hanging around outside the cinema for two hours, either. That it was bitterly cold was uninteresting, for his job was to keep his distance and minimize risk, and the price of that was that he had to take a chance. So again he took a chance. Took the chance that they would watch the movie to the end, for people like that usually did; took the chance that they would then head home; and took the chance that they would take the subway, for they usually did that too.
If he really was going to shoot someone, he didn’t intend to do it on an empty stomach. He hadn’t eaten a thing all day. So he slipped into a Chinese restaurant on Drottninggatan, with just enough people, just drunk enough and occupied with themselves, and no coat check where he needed to hang his jacket. Then he ate and read the newspaper in peace and quiet. Paid cash, gave a respectable tip, and left the place with enough time, not too early and not too late. And exactly like the first time, when he saw them it was at a distance of a little less than a hundred yards, and they were walking at a brisk pace straight toward him.
Unfortunately they were walking on the wrong side of the street. On the west side of the street along Adolf Fredrik’s cemetery and in the direction of Kungsgatan, a lot of people were moving in both directions and there was no question of getting anything accomplished there. He had just decided to hurry down into the subway, ride ahead of them to Old Town, and wait for them in the alley where he’d seen them the first time, when he had a fool’s luck again. For suddenly they crossed Sveavägen and walked up to a shop window, and on that side of the street there was hardly a soul. It’s almost enough to give you religion, thought Hedberg, crossing and positioning himself on the same side of the street at the corner of Tunnelgatan.
This is too good to be true, he thought. A dark little cross street with construction trailers and narrow passageways and a number of escape routes to choose from, right close by. If it had been his to choose, this was exactly where he would have arranged to encounter them. For what he intended to do there was no place better, and for them there was no place worse. So he waited for them while he pretended to look in the shop window, and when they were passing him he just walked up behind them, pulled the revolver from the right pocket of his jacket, cocking the trigger with the same motion, placed his left hand on the traitor’s shoulder, and fired a loud and almost point-blank shot right down the edge of his collar.