Part 15 (1/2)

'We consider it good,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'We're working according to a definite but flexible plan.'

'Excellent'

He really seemed quite sensible, thought Gunvald Larsson, but then the Minister of Justice had the reputation of being a sliming exception among the career politicians who were busily steering Sweden down the long and evidently unavoidable slope.

The day continued with numerous conversations, most of which were largely meaningless. Clerical staff ran in and out in a constant stream.

At about ten in the evening, Gunvald Larsson was handed a file, whose contents caused him to sit still for almost half an hour, his head propped in his hands.

Both Skacke and Martin Beck were still there, but about to go home, and Gunvald Larsson did not want to spoil their evening, so at first he thought he would say nothing about what was in the file until the next day. Then he changed his mind and without comment handed it to Martin Beck, who equally impa.s.sively placed it in his briefcase.

Martin Beck did not reach the house in Tulegatan until twenty past eleven that night He opened the street door with his own key, then went up two flights and rang the bell, using their agreed signal.

Rhea had keys to his apartment, but he did not have any to hers. Martin Beck couldn't see that he needed any, as he'd have no reason to be there if she wasn't home. And when she was home, the door was usually unlocked.

Thirty seconds or so later she came running to open the door in her bare feet. She was looking unusually lovely, wearing nothing but a soft, fluffy blue-grey jersey that came halfway down her thighs.

'd.a.m.n,' she said. 'You didn't give me enough time. I've made something that has to be in the oven for half an hour.'

When he was inside, she said, 'G.o.d, you look tired. Shall we take a sauna? It'll relax you.'

The year before, Rhea had had a sauna built in the bas.e.m.e.nt for her tenants. When she wanted to use it privately, she simply stuck a note on the bas.e.m.e.nt door.

Martin Beck changed into an old bathrobe he kept in the bedroom wardrobe, while she went on ahead and got the sauna going. It was a good sauna - dry and very hot.

Most people sat silently and enjoyed the heat, but Rhea was not that kind of person.

'How're things going with your peculiar job?' she asked.

'Fairly well, I think, but...'

'But what?'

'It's hard to know for certain. I've never done anything like it before.'

'Imagine inviting that s...o...b..,' said Rhea. 'What is it, a week now? Until he comes?'

'Not even that. Next Thursday.' 'Will it be on the radio or TV?' 'Both.'

'I'll go down to Kopmangatan and watch.' 'Aren't you going to demonstrate?'

'Maybe,' she said moodily. 'I ought to. Maybe I'm getting a bit old for demonstrating. It was different a few years ago.'

'Have you ever heard of something called ULAG?'

'I've read something about it in the papers. What they stand for seems vague. Do you think they might do something here?'

'There's the possibility.' 'They sound dangerous.' 'Very.'

'Have you had enough now?'

The thermometer showed almost a hundred degrees Celsius. She threw a few scoops of water on to the stones and an almost unbearable yet oddly pleasant heat sank from the ceiling.

They went and showered, then towelled each other down.

When they got back up to the flat, a very promising aroma was coming from the kitchen.

'It smells done,' she said. 'Can you manage setting the table?'

That was about all he could manage - except eating, of course.

The food was very good and he ate more than he had for a long time. Then he sat in silence for a while, his wine gla.s.s in his hand.

She looked at him. 'You look absolutely done in. Go to bed.'

Martin Beck really was done in. The day of uninterrupted telephoning and conferring had exhausted him. But for some reason he did not want to go to bed at once. He felt too comfortable in this kitchen, with its plaits of garlic bulbs and bunches of wormwood, thyme and rowanberries. After a while he said, 'Rhea?'

'Yes?'

'Do you think it was wrong of me to take on this job?'

She thought for a long time before answering, then said, 'That would require quite an involved a.n.a.lysis. But I more than understand that friend of yours who resigned.'

'Kollberg.'

'He's a nice man. I like his wife, too. And I think he did the right thing. He saw that the police as an organization devoted itself to terrorizing mainly two categories of people, socialists and those who can't make it in our cla.s.s society. He acted according to his conscience and convictions.'

'I think he was wrong. If all good policemen got out, because they take on other people's guilt, then only the stupid ones, the dregs, would be left. We've talked about this before, anyway.'

'You and I have talked about practically everything before. Have you ever thought about that?1 He nodded.

'But you asked a concrete question, and now I'll answer it Yes, darling, I think you were wrong. What would have happened if you'd refused?'

'I'd have been given a direct order.'

'And if you'd refused a direct order?'

Martin Beck shrugged his shoulders. He was very tired, but the conversation interested him. 'I might possibly have been suspended. But to be honest, that's unlikely. Someone else would simply have been given the job.'

'Who?'

'Stig Malm, probably, my so-called chief and immediate superior.'

'And he'd have made a worse job of it than you? Yes, most likely, but I think you should have refused all the same. That's what I feel, I mean. Feelings are difficult to a.n.a.lyse. I suppose what I feel is this: Our government, which maintains it represents the people, invites a notorious reactionary to come on a visit - a man who might even have been President of the United States a few years ago. Had he been, we would probably have had a global war by now. And on top of all that, he is to be received as an honoured guest. Our ministers, with the Prime Minister in the lead, will sit politely chatting with him about the recession and the price of oil and a.s.sure him that good old neutral Sweden is still the same bulwark against communism it has always been. He'll be invited to a d.a.m.ned great banquet and be allowed to meet the so-called opposition, which has the same capitalist interests as the government only slightly more honestly expressed. Then he'll have lunch with our half-witted puppet king. And all the time he has to be protected so d.a.m.n carefully that presumably he won't be allowed to see a single demonstrator or even hear that there is any opposition, if Sapo or the CIA don't tell him. The only thing he'll notice is that the head of the Communist Party isn't at the banquet'

'You're wrong there. All demonstrators are to be allowed within sight'