Simonsen interrupted, “Keep to the point. I have a highly developed sense of smell.”
Pedersen was bewildered. “The point, sure. I didn’t get that last part.”
“I understood it very well,” the Countess commented. “You frighten me, Simon.”
There was a pause. No one knew who should speak next, so everyone was silent. After a while, Pedersen wrapped it up: “Some say it is the nation’s constitution that’s the problem. The freedom of association applies to everyone, as we know, and the responsibilities of banks and travel agents are under discussion. Those are business interests and, well… thus somewhat tricky.”
The Countess took over. “I can’t say I don’t agree, but I would definitely have wished that the organizers had found a more orthodox way of breaking into the public stream of information.”
Neither of the men answered. It was clear that she was speaking mainly because Simonsen had asked for silence. Shortly thereafter she was more direct.
“Oh, I don’t care for this. Are you armed, Simon?”
“No.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Support for Simonsen came from an unexpected source-an unfamiliar voice interjected itself. It came through clearly and needed no further explanation.
“Please, this is a reading room, not a fish seller’s market.”
The Countess stopped speaking and Simon patiently continued his vigil. After a while he recognized each silhouette and all the trees in his line of vision and knew what would come into his binoculars before it appeared. The relentless repetition, where he scrutinized the same hundred meters of tree line again and again, destroyed his sense of time, and Pedersen’s sporadic reports about his position struck Simon as unreal. Only the hunt carried meaning-the narrow cone of his field of vision, which panned systematically across the terrain, back and forth, again and again, without deviation. A battle of stamina and concentration in which he never doubted his superiority or allowed the least bit of uncertainty to shake his confidence that the Climber was hiding somewhere in the faded damp foliage.
Suddenly a flock of blackbirds took flight over a collection of treetops, the outline of which resembled a fist. They circled over the forest for a while before they landed again. They looked like rooks. He could not see what had startled them but it had to have been something so he kept his gaze trained on that place for a long time, without discovering anything. Finally he gave up and again resumed his scanning in the old familiar pattern.
And then disaster struck.
The Countess was the first to comment and this time in a full voice, without giving any consideration to the library rules.
“Oh no, this isn’t true!”
Simonsen turned his binoculars to the main street and his exclamation was of a different order. In front of the bakery was a patrol car and three uniformed officers were on their way inside. Shortly thereafter, a cacophony of voices streamed through the cell phone like a ridiculous radio play.
“You can blame the neighbor, the bank, the merchant, it’s all the same because debtor’s prison has been abolished, but don’t blame the government and if you do, at least communicate with them. You can’t ignore their requests however wrong it’s gone and you should know that, Bolette.”
“I want all of you out,” the Countess shouted. “Now!”
No one took any notice of her. A woman’s voice came through: “So listen to this. I don’t have a television. The same day that Anders died it blew out and that was four years ago. Four years and they keep asking me to pay the license however many times I write or call. It’s simply impossible to register as having no television. They don’t believe me, those crazy Copenhagen apes. Just imagine if I demanded money for bread that my clients did not recieve.”
“You are interfering with an incredibly important mission and you have to leave. Your pickup will have to wait until tomorrow.”
The bakery woman continued: “And then you turn up here, three officers strong. Don’t the police have anything better to do?”
A couple of customers supported her but a young voice countered, “She could have been brought to the hearing on Monday when I was here alone.”
The Countess tried again with the full strength of her lungs: “Out with you. I am from the Homicide Division.”
“The Homicide Division? Because she’s been lax about paying her license? That’s just too much.”
“I haven’t been lax. I don’t own a television, I don’t have a television. I don’t want a television. Don’t you get it?”
“Can I buy four focaccia buns before you take her in?”
And then suddenly Pedersen broke in with a message that did not leave much room for interpretation: “Anni Staal has received an SMS. It says dumb pigs.”
Simonsen turned off his cell phone and turned one last time to the forest edge. For more than three hours he had been staring at the place with no results before he packed up and left. But his optimism had suffered a blow, he no longer thought about luck, and then he got some just the same-the first time he panned the area with his binoculars a rope dropped down into his line of vision from one of the trees that the birds had circled a while ago. Immediately thereafter, a boot followed.
Simonsen had a reputation for handling himself rationally in situations that required quick decisions, and what he now did was in large part without error. First he thought for about ten seconds without moving from the spot, then he took a map out of his bag and again studied the area behind the castle and out toward the water and the nursery. It was clear that it would have been senseless to sprint up to the castle gardens, partly because it would have taken him too long and partly because his chances of catching the man when he finally made it were minimal. The Climber was faster than he was and was on his home turf. The odds would be more in Simonsen’s favor if he drove up behind the park and tried to find him on one of the nursery roads. He tossed his things into his bag and half ran to his car.
As soon as he was out on the highway and the coast was clear, he increased his speed as much as possible and in only a few minutes he was racing down the long, straight forest road that cut through the Hind tree nursery and divided the area into easterly and westerly parts. About halfway through he turned down a side road, parked his car about ten meters down, and continued on foot. Without hurrying, he walked as quietly as he could toward the next intersection. Soon he would come out to the right at the back of the castle, and a quick calculation in his head told him that if the Climber had not run-which he had no reason to do-there was a good possibility that he was still in the area.
The vegetation along both sides of the road consisted of tall spruce trees and a person wishing to hide himself would have only to take a few steps behind the tree trunks and stand still. The most important thing was therefore to be neither seen nor heard. From time to time he stopped and listened without perceiving anything other than birdsong. At one point he surprised a couple of pheasants, who flew away noisily, flapping. He crouched down next to a tree and waited a little while until peace had returned. Then he went on noiselessly. He reached the intersection after twenty meters. He kept well to the left along the trees and when he turned he therefore spotted the man walking toward him a couple of seconds before the other. At that time he had long since managed to get out his pistol. The distance was exemplary: the other man was too far away to go to attack and too close to avoid a bullet. Their eyes met and each knew who the other was.