The underbrush grew thicker as they advanced a couple hundred feet further. The ground was littered with fallen leaves and small branches, which crackled beneath their feet.
“You know people were already living here six thousand years ago?” said Salmela.
“How you know that?”
“Read it in prison in some history book on Helsinki. Poor saps probably lived in mud holes and loafed around in the dirt daydreaming all day.”
“Uh-huh,” said Suhonen. “How ’bout we cut the shit. Like now.”
Salmela stopped and squatted down. “Well, this is it. Come on over here, but get down low.”
Suhonen did as he was told and clambered up into a shallow depression along the ridge of a small hillock.
“Look over there. The house, and especially
the car.”
Through the trees, Suhonen could make out a dingy, ramshackle two-story house and a dark Mazda sedan in the yard. The car was nearly a hundred yards away, and without binoculars, Suhonen couldn’t make out the license plate.
“Korpi’s place. Not sure if he’s there, but he was last night. Saw him through the window.”
“You sure?” said Suhonen with a stern expression.
Salmela nodded. “Positive. Korpi took the house as payment for a twenty-thousand-euro dope haul that a low-level pusher lost somehow. Who knows if it’s true, but apparently this dealer got the house when his mom died. Her estate has never been closed, so the house couldn’t be foreclosed.”
“And you heard this yesterday?”
“Yeah. I happen to know one of the dealer’s buddies. Anyway, I was pissed off about Tomi last night so I started asking around about Korpi. Came here last night thinking I’d put a bullet through the fucker’s brain, but then it started to seem like a dumb move. Maybe I got cold feet…I dunno. I ain’t afraid to use a gun, but I didn’t want to study any more history in the joint. And that’s exactly where you would’ve put me. So I figured I’d let the cops handle the payback.”
Suhonen was silent, his gaze fixed on the house. What he wouldn’t do for a pair of binoculars. He took his phone out of his pocket.
“Later,” said Salmela, and he set off back toward the van, flipping up his collar as he went.
CHAPTER 7
MONDAY, 2:00 P.M.
PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS
The mood in the SWAT team conference room was tense.
“It’s a tough location. Dead-end street and all,” said SWAT team commander Turunen as he examined a computerized map projected onto the wall. Three roads came together to form a sort of stylized K with the target residence at the terminal point on the lower leg.
Turunen was wearing the SWAT team’s trademark black coveralls. Helmets and weapons lined the walls of the conference room, which resembled a sort of classroom. In addition to Turunen, Takamäki, and Joutsamo, ten other black-garbed SWAT officers were sitting at the table. Kulta was leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest.
“So where exactly is Suhonen?” Turunen asked.
“Not completely sure, but I’d guess somewhere around here,” said Takamäki, pointing to a spot about halfway down the lower leg of the K.
“It’s pretty wooded there but he has a visual on the house. Hasn’t seen any movement.”
Half an hour earlier Takamäki had been interviewed by Römpötti, but he had stuck to the basics and managed not to mention the upcoming raid.
“Can Suhonen scout out the terrain for us?” wondered Turunen.
“I can ask him.”
Joutsamo cut in. “Why don’t you just use
the net?”
“That’s where the map’s from,” said Turunen.
Joutsamo strolled over to the laptop and pulled up Google Earth on the browser. After loading for a moment, an image of the earth appeared. She rotated the image to the Eastern Hemisphere and closed in first on Finland, then Helsinki. In less than twenty seconds they were viewing an aerial photo of the house where Korpi was believed to be. “There’s terrain for you,” said Joutsamo. “You can zoom in and out right here.”
Joutsamo showed them how detailed the image could get. Once the viewing altitude dipped below a hundred and fifty feet and only the target residence remained in the image, the contours of the image began to pixelate. “If this is a free service, just think how detailed the military satellite photos must be.”
“Hmm,” said Turunen. “You’re always full of surprises. Let’s go with it.” Turunen began to plan the raid based on the aerial photo. On screen he could see a field on the north side of the house, while the other three quadrants were forested. A gravel path that wasn’t marked on the map appeared to cut through the woods on the eastern end.
* * *
Suhonen lay on the damp leaves, half-sheltered by a tree trunk, examining the house. The rain had soaked through his leather jacket and clothes. Initially he’d been squatting, but his knees had started to hurt. Salmela’s words about ancient Finns lying in the dirt had started to sink in-the bastard had known full well what Suhonen would end up doing. Suhonen suppressed the urge to curse his friend. Without Salmela’s help, they’d have no idea where Korpi was.
Suhonen hadn’t seen any movement in the house. The Mazda was still parked in the driveway.
He heard some rustling behind him and whirled around. Turunen was advancing in a crouch, while Joutsamo and Kulta were lagging back. Suhonen motioned for Turunen to get down on all fours. He didn’t intend to be the only one to get wet, even if all the SWAT officers had waterproof gear.
Turunen covered the final thirty feet scrambling along the ground. “What’s the status?”
“The wood house there. No sign of life.”
“Any dogs?”
“No barking. Not sure otherwise.”
Turunen drew a pair of binoculars from a case strapped to his back and quietly surveyed the house. The binoculars were military-grade with a built-in laser rangefinder. “Doesn’t seem to be any security cameras, though nowadays they can be small enough to hide just about anywhere.” He read the license plate on the Mazda. “That match what our witness said?”
“No idea,” Suhonen answered.
Turunen switched on his headset. “Joutsamo. Here’s the plate,” and he read the number. Joutsamo confirmed the match.
“Hold on a sec. Let me call Takamäki for the go-ahead,” said Joutsamo. Conducting a raid without probable cause was not a mistake they wanted to make. Takamäki could give them the green light.
Turunen kept his binoculars trained on the house as he dispensed orders to his men. Almost everyone was already in position.
“Turunen,” Joutsamo’s voice came over the earpiece. “The matching plate is all we needed. It’s
a go.”
“Good. Two minutes till showtime. Everyone in position?”
The other officers checked in over the radio.
“Look!” Suhonen rasped. A faint wisp of smoke rose from the chimney of the house.
“Someone’s inside.”
“Or we got a new pope,” said Suhonen. “Though I’m more interested in what they’re burning.”
* * *
Korpi and Siikala sat round the fireplace, a few fresh newspapers burning under the grate, the flames just beginning to work their way through a pile of birch splits. Beads of sweat glistened on Korpi’s bald head.
Siikala bent down and blew into the stack, keeping his ponytail away from the mounting flames. Smoke wafted into the room.
The fireplace was situated in a small room on the first floor. For the most part, the interior looked just as dated as the building, with its old sofa, television, bookcase and a broken grandfather clock. A rag rug lay on the worn hardwood floor and pale, sun-faded floral curtains hung in front of the windows.
Both Korpi and Siikala had a sheet of paper and pen in hand. No notepads, since the cops could discern what had been written by the indentations on the lower sheets. Korpi had forbidden speaking because of the possibility of microphones. Speech was only allowed in the most random of places where it would be impossible to plant a mike.