Part 25 (1/2)

Moller's security arrangements functioned without a hitch this time, and there was no sign of his 'commando section'.

Gunvald Larsson had found the evening paralysingly boring and had opened his mouth only once. Looking at the colossal b.u.mp under Stoneface's jacket, he had said to Eric Moller, who at that moment just happened to be in the cloakroom, 'How is it that guy is allowed to carry arms abroad?'

'Special permission.'

'Special permission? Given by whom?'

”The person in question is no longer alive,' said Moller, unmoved.

The Sapo chief left, and Gunvald Larsson sank into his own thoughts. His legal knowledge was not overwhelming, and he was wondering to what extent permission from dead people to commit illegal acts could be regarded as valid, and for how long. Unable to find an answer to this question, he took to studying Stoneface and soon found himself feeling sorry for the man. What a d.a.m.ned awful job, he thought. Especially if you had to go around with an unlit cigar stuck in your face.

The Senator's smile was subdued, as was the event as a whole, and the party did not continue into the wee hours.

The next morning there was a great deal of speculation over whether the King would cancel the luncheon or not. In view of the previous day's events and the fact that he had just returned from a state visit to Finland, he would have been quite justified in doing so. But nothing was heard from the Court, so Martin Beck's group went ahead with the complicated plan that had been laid down for this particular event As the Adjutant had said, the King was not afraid. He walked out on to Logrden and personally greeted the Senator, bidding him welcome to the palace. The only indication that there had been some contact between the Court and the US Emba.s.sy was that Stoneface had to remain in the bulletproof car. After the Senator had ascended what the security forces referred to as the 'sensitive steps' unscathed, the car finally parked in the palace courtyard itself. When Martin Beck glanced through the bluish gla.s.s as he walked past, he saw the bodyguard put aside his cigar and take out a can of Budweiser and something that was undeniably a lunchbox.

Apart from this little detail, nothing unforeseen occurred. The luncheon had been the King's private arrangement, and what was said or done on this occasion concerned no one but the partic.i.p.ants. The demonstrators outside the palace had been insignificant in comparison with what had been expected, and at the meeting in Logrden there had been roughly as many shouting 'We want our king' as 'Yankee go home'.

The time factor was an important consideration for the police, especially for Gunvald Larsson, who with the chief of the regular police was in command of the whole long-range-security force. Gunvald Larsson frequently looked at his chronograph, and each time saw with some surprise that they were exactly on schedule. People in high political and official positions generally stuck to agreed times, and neither the monarch nor the Senator broke the timetable. The Senator walked up the north steps to Logrden at exactly the right moment, and the King was there to greet him. They shook hands and walked in through the east entrance of the palace precisely as antic.i.p.ated.

With their entrance into the palace, the most critical moment was past, and Martin Beck and various other people all heaved a sigh of relief.

The meal came to an end on the dot. The Senator stepped into the bulletproof car fifteen seconds behind schedule. There was no sign of Moller, as usual, but he was undoubtedly around somewhere.

The motorcade formed up, and die long trek to Arlanda began. M6ller had barricaded the palace courtyard with his best men - he had a number of good men at his disposal - and this time the whole area was searched in good time and with great thoroughness.

The motorcade made a small diversion to avoid the explosion area, where gas board personnel were far from having completed the repair work, then travelled at greater speed than on the previous day.

As before, Gunvald Larsson drove the fast Porsche fairly unconventionally, pa.s.sing up and down the column. He was very quiet, thinking mostly about Heydt and his companions, who had almost certainly gone underground for some time.

”There are a few good dues,' he said to Martin Beck. ”The car and the description of Heydt.'

Martin Beck nodded.

Much later, Gunvald Larsson said, almost to himself, 'And this time you won't get away. There are two things that have to be done. Find the firm that sold or rented out that green car. And then wait them out. We must put a couple of men on that at once. But who?'

Martin Beck pondered for a long time and finally said, 'Ronn and Skacke. It won't be easy, but Skacke's as stubborn as a mule, and Ronn's good on routine.'

'You didn't think that before.'

'People change over the years. Myself included.'

There were many demonstrations along the route, but far fewer than on the previous day. Most people had had a hard night in tents in bad weather, and it seemed that the unexpected development had caused the majority to lose heart. There were no incidents, just a great many placards which were soon ruined by the foul weather.

Gla.s.ses of champagne were once again being served in the VIP room at the airport. Gunvald Larsson again calmly poured his into the nearest flowerpot as the Senator, his smile now more relieved than subdued, went from person to person shaking hands. When he came to Gunvald Larsson, he put his hand into his trouser pocket and contented himself with a nod and his best and most charming campaign smile. Over his shoulder, Stoneface gazed at Gunvald Larsson with a kind of sorrowful understanding, one of the few occasions on which he had seemed to convey something close to ordinary humanity.

The Senator made a neutral and routine speech of thanks -concise, short and simple, once again mentioning the 'tragic episode' - then he went to the Sapo jeep which was to take him to the plane. It had been standing far out on the field and was very well protected. With him in the vehicle were Martin Beck, Moller, and the same governmental secretary involved in the reception ceremony the day before, now hastily promoted to minister without portfolio; and lastly the man with the stone face and cigar.

'Dirty motherf.u.c.king pig,'yelled a black deserter from the spectators' gallery as the Senator went up the steps to the cabin.

The Senator glanced up at the man and smiled and waved delightedly.

Ten minutes later the plane was in the air.

It climbed steeply, swung around in a long s.h.i.+ning aluminium curve to get on its proper course, and within a minute was out of sight.

In the car on the way back to Stockholm, Gunvald Larsson said, 'Hope the plane with that b.a.s.t.a.r.d in it crashes, but I suppose that's asking too much.'

Martin Beck glanced sideways at Gunvald Larsson. He had never before seen him look so serious. Gunvald Larsson stamped on the accelerator and the speedometer rose to about one hundred and thirty miles an hour. The traffic appeared to be standing still.

Neither of them said anything until the Porsche was parked in the police station yard.

'Now the real job starts,' said Gunvald Larsson.

'Finding Heydt and the green car?'

'And his companions. People like Heydt never work alone.'

'You're probably right,' said Martin Beck.

'A green crate with GOZ on the licence plate,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'Do you think we can rely on her remembering those letters correctly after such a long time?'

'She doesn't usually say things she's not sure of,' said Martin Beck, 'but anyone can get that sort of thing wrong.'

'And she isn't colour-blind or anything like that?'

'No.'

'If the car wasn't stolen, then it was either purchased or rented. Under any circ.u.mstances, it must be traceable.'

'Exactly,' said Martin Beck. 'It'll be a pleasant job for Skacke and Ronn. If they do the footslogging, then Melander can see to the telephone.'

'What shall we do then?'

'Wait,' said Martin Beck. 'Wait and see what happens. Just like those ULAG boys. They know now that something's gone wrong and they'll probably be ultra cautious, lying low somewhere.'

'Yes, that seems likely.'

They were correct, but only seventy-five per cent correct.

This was the situation on the afternoon of Friday the twenty-second of November: Reinhard Heydt was in his apartment in Solna and the two j.a.panese were considering the situation from their apartment in Sodermalm.

The Senator was sleeping soundly in a reclining chair as his private plane thundered on westward over the sea.

Stoneface could stand it no longer. He took out the book of matches advertising Stallmastaregrden and lit his cigar.

Martin Beck and Gunvald Larsson were issuing instructions to their colleagues. Ronn yawned; Melander knocked the ashes out of his pipe and looked ostentatiously at his watch; and Skacke, constantly in search of brownie points, listened attentively.