Warren Scifford was obviously having problems. His poker face, which normally made it possible for him to lie without blinking, had disintegrated into a dejected, tired expression. His mouth seemed narrower and Adam could see the muscles in his face tensing.
‘I’m actually quite impressed by the way you consistently manage to underestimate us,’ Adam said in a low voice. ‘Don’t you think that we considered that problem a long time ago? Don’t you realise that we have long feared that it might be an inside job? Don’t you understand that you, by playing Mr Secret, have poured petrol on the flames?’
‘The President’s clothes are recorded on a computer,’ Warren said.
‘Which anyone has access to?’
‘No. But her secretary has an overview. And she has a very good relationship with Jeffrey Hunter. They are… were good friends. They had talked about the… national day that you celebrate here at an information lunch in early May. We have of course questioned the secretary and she can’t for the life of her remember who brought up the topic. But anyway, they talked about the fact that the President had bought lots of new clothes for her first overseas visit. Including a jacket that she was going to wear on the Norwegian national day in exactly the same shade of red as the Norwegian flag. Someone had told her that you are quite… sensitive about things like that.’
A fleeting smile crossed his face, but no one responded.
‘And you are a hundred per cent certain that no one else from your people is involved? That Jeffrey Hunter was operating alone?’
‘As certain as it’s possible to be,’ Warren Scifford said. ‘But with all due respect, I have to say that I don’t like the direction this meeting has taken at all. I’m not here to be lectured by you. I’m here to give you the information you need to find President Bentley. And to hear how far you’ve got with the investigation.’
There was a hint of irony in his voice as he straightened his back. Terje Bastesen cleared his throat and put down the coffee cup that seemed to be a permanent fixture in his hand. He was about to say something when Adam pipped him to the post.
‘Don’t even go there,’ he said.
His voice was friendly, but his eyes narrowed enough to make Warren blink.
‘You know everything from our side,’ Adam said. ‘We give you the information as soon as we can get hold of you. Which has proved to be difficult at times, by the way. We have two thousand people…’ he stopped, as if he had only just grasped the huge number, ‘working on this case, from the police organisations alone. In addition, there are the people from the ministries, the directorates and, to a certain extent, the mili-’
‘We have a total of sixty-two thousand Americans,’ Warren interrupted without raising his voice, ‘who at this moment are trying to establish who kidnapped the President. In addition-’
‘This is not a competition!’
Everyone looked at Peter Salhus. He had stood up. Adam and Warren exchanged looks like two boys who had been caught quarrelling in the playground by the headmaster.
‘There can be absolutely no doubt that this is a top-priority investigation in both countries,’ Salhus said. His voice was even deeper than normal. ‘And I’m quite sure that the Americans are looking at the possibilities of a bigger conspiracy and context. The CIA, FBI and NSA have adopted quite a new… let’s say attitude to exchanging information and intelligence over the past twenty-four hours. It is counterproductive to say the least, but doesn’t prevent us from seeing the direction in which you’re working. We also have our sources, which I’m sure you know about. And it is, of course, only a matter of time before journalists in the US get wind of the methods you are using.’
Warren didn’t blink.
‘And that will be your problem,’ Salhus said and shrugged. ‘My interpretation of the data we’ve received, which I’ve compared with the information that cannot be kept out of the public domain…’
He bent down and pulled a document from a file lying on the floor by the chair he had just got up from.
‘Very limited air traffic,’ he read. ‘Complete stop of air traffic from certain countries, most of them Muslim. Extensive reductions in staff in public offices. Schools have been closed until further notice.’ He waved the paper around before putting it back in the file. ‘And I could go on. The sum of it all is obvious. You expect further attacks. Attacks with far greater consequences than stealing the American president.’
Warren Scifford opened his mouth and raised his hand.
‘Spare us your protests,’ the Norwegian director of intelligence said. His bass voice trembled with suppressed anger. ‘I will only repeat what Stubo here just said. Do not underestimate us.’
His great index finger was only centimetres from the American’s nose.
‘What you have to remember, what you have to remember…’
Warren wrinkled his brow and pulled his head back. Salhus just came closer. His finger was shaking.
‘… is that it is us, the Norwegian police, who have a chance of solving this case. The actual case. It is us, and us alone, who are able to map out the actual event, how the American president was taken from her hotel room in Oslo… how on earth that could even happen in the first place. D’you understand?’
Warren sat completely still.
‘So you can carry on trying to place the event in a bigger context, without any interference from us. Do you understand?’
The man gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Salhus took a deep breath, lowered his hand and continued. ‘What I find incredible is that not only are you refusing to help us, but you are in fact sabotaging our investigation by not giving us information like, for example, the fact that a Secret Service agent has mysteriously disappeared.’
He was standing right in front of the American.
‘If an old lady out for a walk in the forest had not wandered off the track into the ditch, and then collapsed unconscious a few metres away, we would have had no idea that…’
Peter Salhus coughed and paused, as if he really had to stop himself flying into a rage.
‘I have, together with the Chief of Police, Mr Bastesen here, the Minister of Justice and the Foreign Minister, sent a formal complaint to your government,’ he continued, without sitting down. ‘And it was copied to the Secret Service and the FBI.’
‘I’m afraid that my government, the FBI and the Secret Service have more serious things to worry about at the moment than a complaint,’ Warren said, without any expression. ‘But please… be my guest! I can’t stop you from corresponding with others if you have the time for that sort of thing.’
He got up suddenly and grabbed the military-green sports jacket that was hanging over the arm of the chair.
‘I’m basically done here,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve got what I came for. And you’ve got something out of it too. A satisfactory meeting, in other words.’
The three other men in the room were so astonished by this sudden closure that they couldn’t think of anything to say. Warren Scifford had to put his hand on Salhus’ arm to move him out of the way.
‘And by the way,’ the American said, turning around once he had crossed the room; the others still could think of nothing sensible to say. ‘You’re wrong about who’s going to solve this case. The actual case, as you called it. As if a kidnapping can be detached from the motives, planning, consequences and context.’
He was smiling broadly with his mouth, but his eyes were anything but friendly.
‘The party that finds the President,’ he added, ‘is the one that will be able to solve the case. The whole case. And I unfortunately doubt that it will be you. That worries…’ he stared straight at Salhus, ‘my government, the FBI and the Secret Service. But good luck, to be sure. And good night.’