Katarina Hatlem sniffs, puts a finger under each eye and lets the skin absorb some of the moisture, but to no avail. When she finally starts talking, her voice no longer trembles.
And Trine thought she knew how bad getting hurt could be. Dull pain punctured by tiny pulsating pricks, words driving splinters of pain into her heart and forcing all the air out of her lungs. She thought she knew how bad getting hurt could get.
She was wrong.
Chapter 76
As soon as Bjarne has finished the call, he rings a new number. It takes only a moment before the call is answered. He quickly explains where he is and what has happened.
‘This is a hostage situation,’ he repeats to emphasise the gravity of the situation. As he ends the call, he looks up at the house.
‘Do you have any experience with hostage situations?’ he asks.
The local police officers exchange glances.
‘I mean, apart from what they taught you at the police academy?’
‘No,’ one of them says.
‘Would it be okay with you if I take charge until the armed response unit arrives?’
‘Yes,’ they reply in unison.
‘Okay,’ Bjarne begins. ‘We need to set up an inner cordon so that the hostage taker can’t escape if he decides to leave the house. Next we set up an outer cordon that will stop outsiders entering the area. We’re lucky, only one road leads in here and it starts around the bend over there.’ Bjarne points to a grey house with tall walls. ‘There’s a footpath over there. One of you, you for example,’ he says, pointing to the man on his left, ‘go over there and stop everyone from getting through. And I mean everyone.’
The police officer nods.
‘I noticed another footpath on my way here, over by the post boxes. You go over there,’ Bjarne says, pointing to the other officer. ‘You should still be able to see inside the house, but act discreetly. We mustn’t do anything to provoke the hostage taker. Take off your jacket, there’s always a chance he won’t realise you’re a police officer. See if you can get an idea of how many people are inside. We also have to assess whether we need to evacuate any of the neighbours, certainly anyone we see outdoors. We have to get them out of here.’
The officers nod.
‘I’ll stay here in front of the house. We’ll do what we can, and wait for backup.’
The officers nod again.
‘Okay,’ Bjarne says and waves them off. The officers quickly take up their positions. Bjarne watches the house closely, sees the curtain twitch again. A head pops up and then disappears.
Bjarne has been present at two previous hostage situations. The first took place in an asylum centre. A staff member at reception called the police himself to say that he was being held against his will by a resident threatening him with a knife and a can of petrol. An ambulance and armed police officers attended immediately, and initially there were fears that the resident might burn down the whole centre. But everything was over in thirty minutes. The resident was arrested without drama.
The second time was a woman in a house out in Lørenskog and the call they got was similar to this one, that a man inside had a weapon and that he wasn’t afraid to use it. The hostage taker even stepped out on the veranda and fired a shot in the air to prove his claim. The police arrived in full force, took up positions around the house, and the hostage negotiator made contact. Again, it didn’t take long before the hostage was released. The man was arrested inside the house after a short raid.
What both hostage situations had in common was that Bjarne felt strangely disappointed afterwards. There was no action, no adrenaline rush. No messages on the police radio about an arm, a shoulder or a head in the middle of quivering crosshairs. But though Bjarne felt a little cheated then, he realises now with all of his being that he hopes this hostage situation will have the same outcome. That it will play out just as quickly, end just as undramatically and with as few injuries as possible.
Bjarne jumps when his mobile rings. He looks at the display. The call is from Emilie Blomvik’s phone. Bjarne stands frozen for several long seconds. Reluctantly, he presses the green button.
‘Hello?’
‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ says the heavy, dark voice.
‘Yes, Remi. I heard everything you said.’
‘So why are you still there? I told you I had a gun. Do you need a demonstration?’
Bjarne closes his eyes and thinks hard.
‘No, Remi, I don’t.’
‘Then I suggest that you get out of here now.’
Bjarne rubs his forehead, his hand gets wet from sweat and he realises he has no source of advice, he is on his own. Police academy training means nothing; he can’t access the calm, the sensible advice, the gentle voice that tells the hostage taker that the negotiator is now in charge.
‘Let me help you,’ he says and immediately hears a snort down the other end.
‘The only thing I want you to do is keep your mouth shut and listen to me. I know that you’re going to call for backup now; negotiators and armed officers will turn up and everyone will want to help me, isn’t that right, everybody’s going to be ever so patient and understanding. Well, you can forget about it. I don’t want to talk to some bloody hostage negotiator.’
There is silence again. The sweat is dripping from Bjarne’s forehead.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘So who do you want to talk to?’
The police officer’s voice echoes in Remi’s head. He looks at the TV screen where the news channel is on. A red dot is flashing as if a tsunami warning is being broadcast.
Next to the dot it says that Justice Secretary Trine Juul-Osmundsen has called a press conference later today and that she is expected to resign. But the experts Remi can hear, the reporters in the television studio, think that no one should expect her to apologise for what she has done.
So she is another one of those.
‘I want to talk to the woman on the TV,’ Remi says. ‘The Minister for Justice. I want to talk to Trine Juul-Osmundsen.’
Chapter 77
Though Henning has been told to stay in the car, he can see that something is brewing. He has already called 123news to alert them when Bjarne comes over and wrenches open the door.
‘You can’t stay here,’ he says, his voice laden with police gravity while he summons him outside with his index finger.
‘Okay,’ Henning says, getting out. ‘So where can I be?’
‘Anywhere,’ Bjarne says. ‘Just not here.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Much too much,’ Bjarne replies, but offers no further explanation.
Henning retreats discreetly while he watches Bjarne and the two other officers. Their faces are grim, their footsteps purposeful. If you put two and two together, you usually get four. Their presence must indicate that Remi is inside Emilie Blomvik’s house. And that he has no plans to come quietly.
Henning finds a spot further away where he still has a view of the house. He takes out his mobile and rings 123news again.
The armed response unit is in place thirty minutes later. A tall, dark-haired man called Simen Krogh is in charge of the operation. He has long sideburns, a strong jaw and a thick bull’s neck.
‘Right, people, listen up,’ Krogh says, summoning the officers closer to him. He allocates some of them to a detention group tasked with catching Remi if he comes out or tries to escape. Krogh tells them that he has requested a trained hostage negotiator who will be with them in fifteen minutes.
‘We have one objective right now,’ Krogh says earnestly. ‘And that is to get the hostage taker to come out with the hostages alive. And remember, we have all the time in the world. We can drag out events to try to wear him down. Unless there’s an emergency and the hostages’ lives are in danger, then we don’t take action. We don’t storm the house unless we absolutely have to. But we’ll still prepare as if that was exactly what we were going to do.’