Part 24 (1/2)

The clod squad, thought Martin Beck. Of course they didn't see her.

'Is that all you've had to eat for almost twenty-four hours?' he asked. 'Are you sure you don't want anything to eat now?'

'No, thanks. I'm not hungry. I don't need much food. Most people in this country eat way too much. I've got sesame salt and dates in my bag if I need anything,'

'Okay, then, but tell me if there's anything else you want.'

'Thank you,' said Rebecka politely.

'I don't suppose you've slept much, either, over the last twenty-four hours.'

'No, not much. I slept for a while in the church last night. Not for long, an hour at the most It was pretty cold.'

'We don't need to talk much today,' said Martin Beck. 'We can go on tomorrow when you've had a rest If you like, I'll get you something to make you sleep later.' 'I never take pills,' said Rebecka.

'The time must have gone slowly during all those hours inside the church. What did you do while you were waiting?'

'I was thinking. About Jim mostly. It's hard to grasp that he's dead. But in some way, I already knew that he would never endure being in prison. He couldn't stand being shut in.'

'Jim was sentenced according to the laws of his country -'

'He was condemned here,' interrupted Rebecka, leaning forward in her chair. 'When they tricked him into going home and a.s.sured him he wouldn't be punished, then he was already condemned. Don't say anything else, because I just won't believe you.'

Martin Beck didn't say anything. Rebecka sank back into her chair and pushed away a strand of hair that had fallen over her cheek. He waited for her to go on, not wis.h.i.+ng to break her train of thought by asking questions or making knowing remarks. After a while, she began again, more slowly.

'I said before I'd decided to shoot the Prime Minister when I heard that Jim was dead. That's true, but I think I'd really thought about it before. I'm not quite sure now.'

'But you said you'd never thought about how you owned a revolver until yesterday.'

Rebecka frowned. 'That's true. I didn't think about that until yesterday.'

'If you thought about shooting him before, then you'd probably have remembered the revolver before, too.'

She nodded. 'Yes, maybe,' she said. 'I don't know. All I know is now that Jim's dead, nothing matters any more. I don't care what happens to me. The only thing that matters to me is Camilla. I love her, but I have no means of giving her anything but love. It's terrible to live in a world where people just tell lies to each other. How can someone who's a scoundrel and traitor be allowed to make decisions for a whole country? Because that's what he was.

A rotten traitor. Not that I think that whoever takes his place will be any better - I'm not that stupid. But I'd like to show them, all of them who sit there governing and deciding, that they can't go on cheating people for ever. I think lots of people know perfectly well they're being cheated and betrayed, but most people are too scared or too comfortable to say anything. It doesn't help to protest or complain, either, because the people in power don't pay any attention. They don't care about anything except their own importance, they don't care about ordinary people. That's why I shot him. So that maybe they'll get scared and understand that people aren't so feeble as they think. They don't care if people need help and they don't care if people complain and make a fuss when they don't get help, but they do care about their own lives. I -'

The telephone rang, interrupting her, and Martin Beck regretted not having given orders that they should not be disturbed. It was probably extremely unusual for Rebecka to be so loquacious; when he had seen her before, she had been shy and quiet.

He picked up the receiver. The operator notified him that they were still looking for Braxen, so far without result Martin Beck replaced the receiver, and at that moment there was a knock on the door and Hedobald Braxen came into the room.

'Good day,' he said briefly to Martin Beck and went straight over to Rebecka. 'There you are then, Roberta. I heard on the radio that the Prime Minister had been shot, and by the description of the so-called perpetrator, I realized who it was and rushed right over.'

'h.e.l.lo,' said Rebecka.

'We've been looking for you,' said Martin Beck.

'I've been with a client,' said Crasher. 'A highly interesting man, incidentally. Immensely knowledgeable in a whole range of fascinating subjects. His father was a famous expert on Flemish weaving. That was where I heard the news on the radio.'

Braxen was wearing a long greenish-yellowish speckled overcoat stretched tightly across his imposing stomach. He struggled out of it and flung it on a chair. As he put his briefcase on the desk, he caught sight of the revolver. 'Mmm,' he said. 'Not bad. Hitting someone with that isn't easy. I remember once, just before the war, I think, a similar weapon was mixed up in a case against twin brothers. If you've finished here, may I talk to Rebecka for a while?' Crasher rummaged in his briefcase and extracted an old bra.s.s cigar case, opened it and took out the chewed stump of a cigar.

Martin Beck got up from the chair behind his desk. 'Here you are,' he said. 'I'll be back in a while.'

As he walked to the door, he heard Crasher say, 'Well, Rebecka, my dear, this isn't so good, but we'll manage. Chin up. I remember a girl of your age in Kristianstad, it was, in the spring of 1946, the same year as.. .'

Martin Beck shut the door behind him with a sigh.

24.

Martin Beck had judged correctly when he told the Commissioner that the chances of another attempt on the Senator's life were minimal. One of ULAG's principles was that they should strike swiftly, and then disappear without a trace. Repeating an unsuccessful operation immediately in order to achieve better results was considered a dangerous violation of this principle.

In the apartment in Kapellgatan, Levallois had already begun to pack up his equipment, reckoning his chances of getting out of the country to be pretty good as long as he moved quickly. As far as he was concerned, he only needed to get himself to Denmark to feel relatively secure. The Frenchman did not think very much about what had happened. He was not that kind of person.

The situation was quite different for Reinhard Heydt, because the police had-his description and would be watching for him.

It was warm in the apartment and he was lying on his back on his bed in a vest and white briers. He had just showered. He had not yet begun to think seriously about how he was going to leave the country. He would probably have to lie low for quite a long time in this room, waiting for the right moment to go.

The two j.a.panese had similar instructions. They were to stay in the apartment in Sodermalm until they could leave it without risk - which meant when the police had given up looking for them and everything was back to normal Like Heydt, they had laid in a store of tinned foods which would keep them alive for over a month. The only difference was that Heydt would not have been able to survive more than a few days on their peculiar food, while his own a.s.sortment was to his liking and should last one person a long time, a whole year if necessary.

At the moment he was thinking about something else. How was it possible that they had failed? Way back when he was still in training camp, he had learned that there would inevitably be reverses and casualties; the most important thing was to be sure that neither unsuccessful actions nor dead agents could be traced to ULAG. Still, Levallois was certain the bomb had detonated, and he was almost never wrong. That the two j.a.panese might have mounted the charge in the wrong place could be considered out of the question.

Heydt was used to making correct calculations and also to solving complex problems. He had not lain on his bed for more than twenty minutes before he realized what must have happened. He got up and went into the operations centre. Levallois had already packed his meagre belongings and was just putting on his overcoat 'Now I know what happened,' said Heydt The Frenchman looked at him enquiringly.

”They fooled us, quite simply. Radio and television were not broadcasting direct; there was a time lag of up to half an hour. When we went into action, the motorcade had already pa.s.sed.'

'Mmm,' said Levallois. 'Sounds plausible.'

'And that explains why the police kept radio silence. The police radio would have revealed the bluff with the radio and television broadcasts.'

The Frenchman smiled. 'Pretty slick, you must admit' 'I did underestimate the police,' said Heydt 'Obviously they're not all fools.'

Levallois looked around the room. 'Well, these things happen,' he said. 'I'm off now.'

'You can take the car,' said Heydt 'I've no use for it now.'.

The Frenchman thought for a moment, the whole country, especially the area around Stockholm, was probably lousy with police barriers by this time. Although the car was not likely to be traced, it would be a risk.

'No,' he said. 'I'll go by train. So long.'

'So long,' said Heydt 'See you sometime.'

'Hope so.'

Levallois had calculated correctly. He arrived unchallenged at Angelholm the next morning, and from there took the bus to Torekov. The fis.h.i.+ng boat was already waiting in the harbour as agreed. He went aboard at once, but they did not sail until darkness had fallen. He was in Copenhagen the next morning and thus fairly secure. He went directly to the railway station, and it was while he was waiting there that he saw the morning's headlines.

After Levallois had gone, Reinhard Heydt remained lying on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head. He half listened to the radio as he pondered his first fundamental failure. Someone had tricked him, despite the fact that their preparations had been carried out perfectly. Who was it who'd been cunning enough to blacken his eye with such skill?