Up in Birgitta’s office Jimmy was showing off his gadget. It looked like the result of a fusion between a diver’s face mask, a little tube telescope, and a gas mask. His whole face radiated enchantment as he demonstrated all the features.
“You can see them as clear as day! When people look in your direction you can’t believe they can’t see you!”
“What in the world is that?” Birgitta wondered.
“A night-vision telescope, actually an electronic light amplifier. It can amplify the existing light up to ten thousand times.”
It was high time they got going, so Irene interrupted, “I’m putting on dry socks and my jogging pants under my jeans. Do you want to borrow my sweater?”
At first he looked dubious, but after glancing out the window at the rain being flung against the panes by the fierce wind, he nodded.
Birgitta turned energetic and practical. It was actually her plan they were following. “It’s quarter past three now. We have to allow at least half an hour for you to drive out to Billdal in weather like this. How far do you have to walk through the woods?” she asked.
Irene measured on the map before she answered. “About five or six hundred meters. It’s dark, the terrain is unfamiliar, and the weather is bad. Add on another fifteen minutes.”
“You won’t be in place until four at the earliest. When and how do we contact each other?”
Irene thought for a moment. “I’ll take my cell phone but turn it off. I wouldn’t want it to start ringing at an unlucky moment. Let’s say this: I’ll call you at five o’clock on the dot. If you don’t hear anything within half an hour after that, send backup.”
Jimmy gave her an astonished look and said, “Don’t you think the two of us can take care of one guy?”
“Sure, Bobo we can take care of, but his cousin and his playmates might be on the way. Keep in mind that we’re just doing recon. If Bobo is alone we’ll take him. But if there are other people there, we’ll withdraw discreetly and wait for the cavalry. Shorty’s friends are always heavily armed. These guys feel naked without something heavier than an Uzi.”
For anyone who’s ever been in Narcotics, this wasn’t news. Jimmy looked thoughtful. Finally he nodded at Irene and said, “Should we take Sigge along?”
Birgitta was only listening with half an ear, but reacted to the name. She asked, “There’s nobody in the group named Sigge. Do you mean Tommy?”
“No. SIG Sauer, nicknamed Sigge. Our service weapons!”
They laughed, which relieved the tension a bit. Was their hunting instinct coming to life? Jimmy’s visible enthusiasm at going out on a manhunt was infectious. Imagine if it turned out to be an anticlimax. He would be incredibly disappointed. Irene nodded. “Sure, we’ll take our Sigges.”
They stopped by the weapons case, got out their pistols, and loaded them with nine-millimeter ammunition. The SIG Sauer is a powerful weapon, far superior to the old peashooter-the Walther 7.65-that Irene had once used in training. But Jimmy had never had to retrain. The Sigge was his weapon, the one he was trained to use. A bit nonchalant, he loaded the pistol and stuffed it in his holster. Irene wasn’t used to the holster since she seldom went armed. But she and everyone else had to use one when they went out with a Sigge. The weapon is heavy and can’t be stuck in a jacket pocket, no more than a Walther can. From a purely practical standpoint, it’s impossible to keep a gun in your pocket. There’s no room in a pants pocket, and it’s too heavy for a jacket pocket. An investigator who goes around in a jacket with one pocket hanging down to his knees might as well put a rotating blue light on top of his head. The holster is essential. The advantages of the SIG Sauer compared to the Walther are a larger caliber and a more powerful effect. The drawbacks are its weight and the sluggishness of the spring when cocking the weapon. It requires a good deal of strength to handle this pistol, a heavy weapon for the heavy boys. Simply put, the Sigge is macho. Irene preferred the Walther. Even though, according to Tommy, you had to aim the barrel down when you fired it so that the bullet would roll out.
THEY BUMPED along the country roads toward Sandsjöbacka. The wind took hold of the car and shook it angrily. The rain poured down. It was impossible to see where they were. They had to orient themselves by the road signs they passed. Irene drove and Jimmy read the map in the flickering light of his flashlight. He folded up the map and said, “We should park somewhere around here.”
She almost missed the small forest road, had to brake sharply and back up. She parked the car precariously close to a big ditch in which water was gushing wildly. But there was probably no danger, because they wouldn’t be staying long; they’d be back before the ditch overflowed. Irene took the map and checked their route one last time.
“We have to follow this gravel road to the end. Then we’ll pass some small houses, I think summer cabins. Then we go into the trees and follow the edge of the woods about four hundred meters.”
Jimmy nodded, and again she sensed his exuberance.
They started walking, the beams of their flashlights pointing down. There were no streetlights here. In order to see where the road went and to avoid stepping into hollows and pits, they had to use their flashlights. They could only hope that the howling storm and dense forest would hide them.
At the end of the road were two small summer cabins. There was a light on in one of them, but they couldn’t see anyone inside or hear anything. To the left Irene discovered a big pile of lumber. She cautiously shone her flashlight around it and for a fraction of a second had a hard time comprehending what she saw. The beam fell on a big black motorcycle, half concealed behind the stack of boards. A Harley-Davidson chopper. On the back was a big Tour-Pak, on which a sign said in English: THIS BIKE BELONGS TO A HELL’S ANGEL–IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE IT, JUST TRY TO MESS WITH MY BIKE! This hog could be left unlocked even in the most notorious slums. It would be completely safe. Most people have some instinct for self-preservation.
Like lightning Irene turned off her flashlight, and Jimmy did the same a fraction of a second later. They stood motionless and listened to the darkness. There was no sound from the houses. Carefully they crept past and moved as quietly as they could into the woods. For the first time they were thankful for the furious storm roaring in the treetops. It became an ally when they stepped awkwardly on fallen twigs or tripped over treacherous roots and slippery rocks. Finally they could no longer see the light from the cabin and dared to stop and turn on their flashlights.
Jimmy looked pale and grim. The rain had plastered his short hair flat to his head. Irene was grateful that she had put on Katarina’s baseball cap before they left the car. He sounded excited when he whispered, “Holy shit, what does this mean? A Hell’s Angels’ nest! Out here in the woods!”
He was obviously shaken. She was too, but tried not to show it.
“I guess they rent one of the cabins during the winter,” she said, feigning nonchalance.
She turned around and continued stumbling onward. But she had a hard time concentrating on what lay before them. What they had just left behind felt like an unpleasant threat. Even if it could hardly have anything to do with Shorty and Bobo’s cottage, Hell’s Angels could never be ignored. Finally she forced herself to focus her attention on what lay ahead. A faint light winked among the trees. Jimmy took her arm and silently mapped out a route at an angle along the edge of the woods. They were completely agreed. A high cairn of stones rose at the side of the clearing and would give them perfect cover, while also allowing them to get up a bit higher and have a better view.