It had been a long, shitty day for Tom Waaler. The shit had started when he was woken up and told that Harry had taken Sivertsen and cleared off. And it continued when it proved to be much harder to find Harry than he had anticipated. Tom had explained to the others in the association that they would have to use the boy. They had refused; it was too risky, they said. In his heart of hearts he had always known that he would have to take the last few steps on his own. It was always like that. No one would stop him and no one would help him. Loyalty was a question of how much something was worth; charity began at home. And the shit just kept coming. He couldn’t feel his arm any longer. The only thing he felt was the warm stream down his chest telling him that something with a lot of blood in had been punctured.
He turned towards Harry again, just in time to see his face grow in size, and the next moment his head was filled with a crunching sound as Harry’s spring-loaded skull hit him over the bridge of his nose. Harry took a swing at him with his right arm, but Waaler managed to move out of the way. Harry went after him, but was pulled back by Sven Sivertsen’s left arm. Tom inhaled greedily through his mouth as he felt the pain unleash the blind, life-giving rage into his veins. He regained his balance. In all senses. He estimated the distance, went into a crouch position, kicked out and whirled round on one foot with the other held high. It was a perfect O’ou tek and hit Harry in the temple. He fell sideways and dragged Sven Sivertsen down with him.
Tom turned and looked for the gun. It was on the landing below them. He held onto the railing and was down there in two bounds. His right arm still wouldn’t obey him. He swore, picked up the gun with his left hand and sprinted back.
Harry and Sven had disappeared.
He turned, just in time to see the lift door close. He clenched the gun between his teeth, grabbed hold of the door handle with his left hand and yanked. It felt as if his arm was coming out of its socket. Locked. Tom put his face against the round window in the door. They had pulled the grille shut and he could hear the excited voices inside.
An absolutely shit day. But now it was going to come to an end. Now it would be perfect. Tom raised his gun.
Out of breath, Harry leaned against the back wall and waited for the lift to move. He had just managed to close the grille and press the BASEMENT button when the door began to shake and they heard Waaler swearing on the other side.
‘The bloody lift won’t start!’ wheezed Sven. He had sunk down to his knees beside Harry.
The lift gave a jerk, like a massive hiccup, but it didn’t move.
‘If the bloody lift is that slow, he can just run down the stairs and then say “welcome back” when we get there!’
‘Hell,’ Harry muttered. ‘The door between the entrance and the basement is locked.’
Harry saw a shadow flit across the round window.
‘Look out!’ he screamed, pushing Oleg over towards the grille.
The sound was like a cork being drawn out of a wine bottle as the bullet bored its way into the pseudo-rosewood panel above Harry’s head. He pulled Sven over towards Oleg.
At that moment the lift jerked again and, with a lot of creaking noises, started to move.
‘Fuck,’ Sven whispered.
‘Harry…’ Oleg began.
There was a crash. Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of a clenched fist between the latticework of the grille and above Oleg’s head before he instinctively closed his eyes as the glass fragments showered over him.
‘Harry!’
Oleg’s scream went right through Harry. Through his ears, his nose, his mouth, his throat, he drowned in it. Harry opened his eyes again and looked straight into Oleg’s wide-open eyes; his gaping mouth distorted with pain and panic; his long, black hair caught by a large white hand. Oleg was being lifted off the floor.
‘Harry!’
Harry went blind. He thrust open his eyes, but couldn’t see anything. Only a white sheet of panic. But he could hear. Hear Sis screaming.
‘Harry!’
He could hear Ellen screaming. Rakel screaming. Everyone was screaming his name.
‘Harry!’
He stared into the white void as it slowly transformed itself into black. Had he passed out? The screams subsided, like fading echoes. He floated away. They were right. He was never there when it mattered. He made sure he was elsewhere. Packed his case. Opened a bottle. Locked the door. Became scared. Went blind. They were always right. And if they weren’t, they would be.
‘Daddy!’
A foot struck him in the chest. He could see again. Oleg was dangling in front of him, his legs kicking out; his head held tight in Waaler’s hand. But the lift had stopped. He instantly saw why. The grille had been knocked out of position. Harry looked at Sven, who was sitting on the floor beside him, his eyes fixed into a frozen stare.
‘Harry!’ Waaler’s voice from outside. ‘Bring the lift up or I’ll shoot the boy.’
Harry stood up and then ducked again immediately. He had seen what he needed to see. The door to the fourth floor was half a metre higher than the lift.
‘If you shoot from there, Tangen will have the murder on film,’ Harry said.
He heard Waaler’s deep laugh.
‘Tell me, Harry. If this cavalry of yours really exists, shouldn’t it have ridden in before now?’
‘Daddy…’ Oleg moaned.
Harry closed his eyes.
‘Listen, Tom. The lift won’t move as long as the grille isn’t properly shut. Your arm is between the bars, so you had better let Oleg go so that we can get it into position.’
Waaler laughed again.
‘Do you think I’m stupid, Harry? The grille only needs to move a few centimetres. You can manage that without me letting go of the boy.’
Harry looked at Sven, but only received an unfocused, faraway look in return.
‘OK,’ Harry said. ‘But I’ve got cuffs on, so I’ll need Sven’s help. And at this moment it looks as if he’s freaked out.’
‘Sven!’ Waaler shouted. ‘Can you hear?’
Sven barely raised his head.
‘Do you remember Lodin, Sven? Your predecessor in Prague?’
The echo rumbled down to the entrance. Sven swallowed.
‘Head fell in a lathe, Sven. Fancy trying that?’
Sven staggered to his feet. Harry grabbed his collar and pulled him up close.
‘Do you know what you’ve got to do, Sven?’ he shouted into wan, trance-like features as he put his hand into his back pocket and brought out a key.
‘Make sure the grille stays in position. Do you hear? Hold the grille tight when we start.’
Harry pointed to one of the worn, round, black buttons on the panel.
Sven gazed intently at Harry as he put the key in the lock for the handcuffs and twisted. Then he nodded.
‘OK,’ Harry shouted. ‘We’re ready. We’re putting the grille in position.’
Sven stood with his back to the grille. He took hold with both hands and pushed to the right. Waaler groaned as the latticework pulled his arm the same way. There was a gentle click as the contact points on the floor and the grille met.
‘There!’ Harry shouted.
They waited. Harry took a step across the lift and stared up. In a small crack between the round window and Waaler’s shoulder two eyes glared down at him. One, Waaler’s enraged, wide-open eye; the other, the black, unseeing eye of the gun.
‘Come back up,’ Waaler said.
‘If you spare the boy,’ Harry said.
‘It’s a deal.’
Harry nodded slowly. Then he pressed the button.
‘I knew you would do the right thing in the end, Harry.’
‘One usually does,’ Harry said.