Part 19 (2/2)

Yes, I think so There, Ive saved you.

Malene hurries along to Camillas screen. Oh, no! I look awful!

Iben has to laugh, because its true. Malenes face is an enormous bloated mask. Her greasy-looking skin is spotted with white blotches.

You must be standing too close! Wait.

Iben runs outside. Now save me too!

Back at Camillas computer, they burst out laughing. I look just like you!

I suppose if you stood farther away Except then its hard to see who it is.

What kind of surveillance camera is this? It makes everyone look the same.

Malene wants Iben to take another picture of her and runs out again. She shouts from the landing: Imagine the Wanted Persons descriptions! Two females, both looking like blobby white frogs, wanted for Malene must be having a good day or she wouldnt be able to run around like this. They cant stop laughing.

Bjarne joins in the merriment. He turns toward the library door. h.e.l.lo in there! Anne-Lise, wont you come and have your picture taken too?

Anne-Lise says that she is busy.

Malene looks quickly at Iben before calling out. Oh, Anne-Lise! Why not do something for the fun of it? Just this once!

It seems that Anne-Lise doesnt hear her, though the door is open, of course.

But the break ends. Phones ring. There are e-mails to be sent.

Bjarne is still there at lunchtime and helps divert the tension. He chews happily on a ham and beetroot salad sandwich from his voluminous lunch box and laughs a lot, enjoying the attention the women pay him. Meanwhile, Iben wonders about Anne-Lises behavior. She has been odd since day one, but this is different. Isnt she being strange in a new way?

Anne-Lise eats a fish paste sandwich. The way she looks down all the time, you see more of her eyebrows than of her eyes. Knowing the kind of thing shes capable of is enough to make you nervous about being alone with her in the office.

Bjarne is talking about his girlfriend, a landscape architect, and how hard it is for her to get commissions. He tells them about some of her recent job applications.

Iben looks at Anne-Lises mouth, tightly shut when she chews, and her cheeks, bulging as the lump of food is s.h.i.+fted about behind her closed lips. How little sets her apart from other withdrawn people, Iben thinks. If I didnt know what I know about her, would I see what kind of person she is?

That evening Iben cycles home from work in the pouring rain through the dark streets lit only by reflections of car headlights on the wet pavement. Luckily shes dressed for the weather. Inside the downstairs hallway she pulls off her waterproof clothes. Underneath them she is damp with sweat.

Walking upstairs to her apartment, Iben is glad to know that the knife is there, taped to her leg. Before unlocking her door, she always bends to touch it through her trousers. Images play in her head about how quickly she could draw it. Its not very rational. Knife or no knife, she would be no match for an experienced fighter. Besides, thats neither here nor there now that its clear Anne-Lise sent the e-mails.

Once more she steps over the pile of junk mail on the doormat; once more she walks around her apartment to make sure n.o.body is hiding; once more she sticks a square block of frozen cod into the microwave oven. And once more she checks her e-mail nothing new except spam and glances at the answering machine, which doesnt blink.

She sits down to eat at the small round dining table, a piece she inherited from her grandmother. Her living room is furnished with casually acquired bits and pieces and looks rather bare. Sometime soon, she tells herself, I must follow Malenes example buy a sofa at least, just in case I have a guest. But he wouldnt think it looked homey or pretty, like Malenes. Maybe a patterned throw, in hot colors, would help. Then the room wouldnt be so plain all white walls, bookshelves, and dark wood. She has thought about this kind of thing so often, but now she feels ready to go ahead and do something about it.

She props her book up and reads while she eats her piece of cod with some red peppers and crisp-bread. The book is Raul Hilbergs The Destruction of the European Jews, which she bought secondhand on the Internet.

After supper, she washes her hair. Then, her damp hair wrapped in a towel and a cup of tea at hand, she settles down to phone Grith, just to gossip. n.o.body answers.

Iben doesnt have Gunnars number in her address book, but she knows it by heart after having heard it only once. She has never used it and doesnt ring him tonight either. Instead she calls her mother and talks with her, while the television rumbles on in the background. Her mother says that she ran into some old friends recently and they thought it was great to see Iben interviewed on television about her captivity. They send their regards. Ibens mother says that they asked her to tell Iben theyre pleased it all ended so well.

chapter 22.

When Iben goes out again later that evening, it is still raining. Its late half past ten already. She dislikes being outside when it is too dark to see who is walking toward you or crossing the road in your direction. Inwardly she curses the plan she and Malene have made, which keeps her away from her cozy bed and Hilbergs book.

Malene and Rasmus pick her up in a taxi. It takes them to the DCIG building. As Iben peers up at the office windows from under her umbrella, water trickles down the back of her neck.

No lights on.

They need to spend at least one hour in the office without being disturbed, and her greatest fear is that Paul might come by.

Once inside, Ibens heart beats faster. This isnt a real break-in, she tells herself. If we had to face a guard, or the DCIG board, we could talk our way out of it.

Malenes breathing tells Iben that she too feels anxious. She echoes Ibens thoughts. Its not a real break-in. Why shouldnt we be in our own workplace?

They listen for sounds. Nothing. After taking the ancient elevator to the top floor, they listen again. Somewhere below them, a person leaves an office. They almost stop breathing. The person calls the elevator, its door bangs, and they hear its customary whine as it descends. Is it a guard perhaps? Or somebody working late? A cleaner? What would Paul do if a security guard phoned him in the middle of the night? Ever since the confrontation about Anne-Lises mental health, their relations.h.i.+p with him has been somewhat strained. Paul would have to inform Ole and Frederik and the rest of the board.

What is the worst-case scenario? It has to be that Anne-Lise didnt write these e-mails and that somewhere in the darkness Mirko Zigic is waiting for them.

When the person downstairs has left, Malene enters the security code its 110795, the date the ma.s.sacre at Srebenica began.

In the Winter Garden many small points of red or green light glow on computers, phones, and other equipment. Hardly any light from the city penetrates the curtain of rain, but after they have stood about in the dark room for a while, the piles of paper take on a faint glow, like rectangular moons.

They avoid switching on any lamps. Iben and Malene, who know this place well enough to find their way around it blindfolded, walk toward the library. Malene leads, and Rasmus and Iben follow.

The darkness is more opaque in the library, but Iben and Malene have both brought their bicycle lamps. Rasmus sits down on Anne-Lises chair and the women stand on either side of him. He uses the keyboard with lightning-quick familiarity.

Yep, its pa.s.sword protected. I cant get around it, but thats okay. Just checking. Lets go find the server.

They make their way to the small, windowless storage room where the server is kept, close the door, and then turn on the lights.

I need the administrators pa.s.sword. Lets look for it. Rasmus has good instincts about where people will write things down that they shouldnt write down. He checks underneath the blotting pad and the keyboard and behind the monitor. While hes at it, he looks over the folders on the shelf. The others help, but in the end they give up.

Looks like Ill have to switch off the server.

Without waiting for an answer and without closing Windows, Rasmus switches it off at the wall. Iben leans against an unpainted chipboard shelf full of office materials. Safe behind a closed door and with the light on, she takes several deep breaths, almost like sighs.

Rasmus puts a disk into the drive and switches the terminal on again. After a while, he exclaims: Just what I hoped! Its programmed to look for a start-up disk in the drive before it begins running its own program from the hard drive. That way, if theres a problem, the administrator can start it up from a disk. Ive put in my own start-up program, which will direct the computer to read my copy of Windows. Ive got the CD here.

His little black bag holds innumerable homemade CDs. He loads one of them into the computer. It responds and a stream of numbers and letters flows across the screen.

Good. That worked. Rasmus, like all true enthusiasts, is beginning to forget his surroundings. His whole being focuses happily on the computer. There! Its running my program. Ill get the administrators pa.s.sword in no time.

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