Iversen looked at Jon and Katherina for a moment and then turned to face Kortmann.
'I'm not doing this for myself, for them or for the Society,' he said firmly. 'I'm doing it for Luca.'
He turned and headed for the driveway, taking deliberate strides. Jon and Katherina followed.
'Are you okay?' asked Jon as they drove away from the suburb of Hellerup.
Iversen sat in silence in the back seat, staring out of the side window. He gave his head a brief shake and then smiled at Jon.
'I'm fine,' he said. 'Just disappointed, that's all.' Again he turned his gaze towards the houses slipping past. 'We need to get hold of the others,' he said. 'Preferably before Kortmann does. We have to know how many are with us.'
Jon nodded. They had no idea how big the Shadow Organization might be, but it was guaranteed that three people were too few to do anything about it. 'Kortmann gave me a list of all transmitters,' he said. 'We can start at the top.'
'Excellent,' said Iversen. 'I was afraid I wouldn't be able to remember all the names.' He caught Jon's eye in the rear-view mirror. 'But I think it would be best if I was the one who contacted them.'
'Okay,' said Jon.
'How many do you think we can count on?' asked Katherina.
'I have no idea,' replied Iversen. 'Each person is going to make up his own mind. We can't expect everyone to believe this sort of story, but that's probably not the only factor that will come into play. Some people are already unhappy with Kortmann, but there are no doubt others that are going to give us problems.' He sighed. 'Pau is one of them, I'm afraid.'
'Him I can live without,' muttered Katherina.
'What about the receivers?' asked Jon. 'Can we count on them?'
'I'm sure we can,' replied Katherina. 'Of course there are going to be a few sceptics, but I think they'll support us. I'll get Clara to call a meeting as soon as possible.'
'Is there anything I can do?' asked Jon.
'You can keep training,' Katherina suggested, and smiled.
It felt as if several years had passed since Jon had met Iversen at the Assistens Cemetery. At that time he'd had a career and was in a blessed state of ignorance. He'd also harboured a burdensome anger against the father whom he believed had abandoned him. The anger was now gone, Jon realized, or at least it had changed character. What remained was bitterness at being kept in the dark, but the anger itself was now directed at other targets: the reasons for his parents' deaths.
Luca had been buried next to Arman, but it had been a very long time since Jon had visited his paternal grandfather's grave, so it took some time to find the right place. The two gravestones stood next to the outer cemetery wall, and around them stood a solid-looking wrought-iron fence about half a metre high. Many of the other graves along the wall were covered with ivy, but the Campelli plot had recently been cleaned and the dark granite stones rose proudly from the white gravel as if it were a Japanese garden. A single withered bouquet lay in front of Luca's headstone.
The inscription on the headstone had been etched with gilded letters, soberly listing Luca's name, birth date and date of death. The 'L' of his first name and the 'C' of his surname were shaped like little pictograms with curving lines, like the initial capitals in old books.
The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and it was cold. Luckily the wall offered protection to the surrounding trees and bushes from the wind, but it was still very cold – most likely the reason why there was no one else to be seen in the cemetery.
Jon stood there for a while, looking at the grave in silence. He wasn't entirely sure why he had chosen this place for his training. His flat felt too confined, and now that he was supposed to read on his own, he felt a little calmer about being in a place where there were no electrical fixtures. Maybe it was to prove something to Luca. He didn't really know, but now that he was here, it felt right.
He sat down on a rock in the sun and reached into his coat for the book he'd taken from the stack Iversen had given him. It wasThe Divine Comedy, supposedly one of Luca's favourite books, and even though it was a small travelling copy, there was no doubt that it had been lovingly bound. The leather was a deep burgundy and the title had been stamped in black type.
Jon opened the book at random and began to read. It was a strange feeling to be reading aloud among the graves, but he had a sense of security sitting there among the trees and bushes and heavy stones. Here he was not afraid of being overheard or observed. He was alone and could focus on his reading.
Gradually he worked out how far he could go, but it took a while for him to find his way into the verse form, which made it difficult to inject any emotions. After three or four pages he finally found the rhythm and level of concentration that gave the paper its glassy appearance, and the shadows behind it began to appear like figures in a morning fog. He focused on them until they became as sharp as silhouettes cut from paper.
Iversen and Katherina were most likely gathering supporters at this very moment – and apparently Jon's help wasn't needed. He'd felt that he was in the way. In that sense it was nice to get away for a while, partly so as not to ruin anything for them, and partly just to spend some time alone. Yet it was frustrating not to be able to do anything.
After a few more pages, he began urging his powers to go further, shattering the glass surface on which the images had moved. He had the same feeling of power he'd noticed during his activation. The reading proceeded on its own; he could concentrate on adding colour to the story. Slowly he began to embellish the character descriptions and the dreary settings in which the people found themselves. There was no resistance, but the whole time he held himself back a bit. Like a film editor, he tried to create slow, smooth segues between the scenes instead of abrupt shifts.
He had no idea how long he'd been reading, but when he put the book aside, he was sitting in shadow. His throat was dry and his fingers, which had been holding the book, were cold and almost numb. He held them up to his lips and blew warm air on them. Everything around him was in shadow, and it was difficult to make out any details, but when his eyes fell on Luca's grave, he froze and held his breath.
The bars of the fence around the plot, which had previously been straight and vertical, were now bent, stretched out, and coiled, forming patterns that looked like eddies and waves. Anyone who hadn't seen the grave before would most likely not have noticed anything unusual, other than the artistry it must have taken to bend the metal bars in such a mesmerizing way.
Jon glanced around, almost expecting to see a team of blacksmiths standing there and having a good laugh at his expense, but the only things moving were the treetops, swaying in the wind.
When he stood up, he noticed an overwhelming sense of fatigue, but he felt well enough to go over to the fence and study it close up. There was nothing visible on the metal itself. It seemed as if it had always looked that way, corroded by wind and weather.
Cautiously he leaned down and touched the iron bars with his fingertips.
The metal was ice-cold.
25
Even though there were more than thirty people present at the Centre for Dyslexia Studies, it was still so quiet that Katherina was convinced everyone could hear her heart pounding. She had just finished explaining about their discoveries regarding the Remer material and about Kortmann's definitive dismissal. Now she was awaiting the opinion of the receivers. There weren't many friends of Kortmann present, but her credibility depended on whether or not they bought the theory about the Shadow Organization. It was rare for her to talk for such a long stretch without interruption, and along the way she'd been forced to drink some water several times to get rid of the dry feeling in her mouth.
Clara, who as usual had managed so efficiently to gather the receivers for a meeting, now cleared her throat and was the first to speak.