Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

lift,’ Falkeid barked. ‘Two and Three, you take it. Four, Five and Six, you take the main stairs. Seven and Eight the fire escape. Hole, you and I’ll cover the area outside if he exits via a window.’
    ‘I haven’t got a gun,’ Harry said.
    ‘Here,’ Falkeid said, passing him a Glock 17.
    Harry held it, felt the solid weight, the balance.
    He had never understood gun freaks, just as he had never understood car freaks or people who built houses to fit around their sound system. But he had never felt any real objection to holding a gun. Until last year. Harry thought back to the last time he had held a gun. To the Odessa in the cupboard. He dismissed the thought.
    ‘We’re here,’ Falkeid said. They parked in a quiet street by the gate to a luxurious-looking, four-storey brick building, identical to all the other houses in the area. Harry knew that some of them were old money, some of the new ones wanted to look old, while others were embassies, ambassadors’ residences, advertising bureaus, record companies and smaller shipping lines. A discreet brass sign on the gatepost confirmed that they had come to the right address.
    Falkeid held up his watch. ‘Radio communication,’ he said.
    The officers said their numbers – the same as the one painted in white on their helmets – in turn. Pulled down their balaclavas. Tightened the belts on their MP5 machine guns.
    ‘On the count of one we’ll go in. Five, four . . .’
    Harry wasn’t sure if it was his own adrenalin or adrenalin from the other men, but there was a distinct smell and taste, bitter, salty, like caps fired from a toy gun.
    The doors opened and Harry saw a wall of black backs running through the gate and then the ten metres to the entrance, where they were swallowed up.
    Harry stepped out after them, adjusting his bulletproof vest. The skin beneath was already soaked with sweat. Falkeid jumped down from the passenger seat after removing the keys from the ignition. Harry vaguely remembered an episode when the targets of a swoop had made their getaway in a police car with the keys left in. Harry passed the Glock to Falkeid.
    ‘Haven’t got an up-to-date certificate.’
    ‘Hereby issued on a provisional basis by me,’ Falkeid said. ‘Emergency. Police regulations paragraph such-and-such. Maybe.’
    Harry loaded the gun and strode up the gravel as a young man with a crooked turkey neck came running out. His Adam’s apple was going up and down as if he’d just eaten. Harry observed that the name on the lapel of his black jacket tallied with the name of the receptionist he had spoken to on the phone.
    The receptionist hadn’t been able to say for certain if the guest was in his room or anywhere else in the hotel, but he had offered to check. Which Harry had ordered him in the strictest terms not to do. He was to continue with his normal duties and act as if nothing had happened, then neither he nor anyone else would be hurt. The sight of seven men dressed in black and armed to the teeth had probably made it difficult to act as if nothing had happened.
    ‘I gave them the master key,’ the receptionist said in a pronounced East European accent. ‘They told me to get out and—’
    ‘Stand behind our vehicle,’ Falkeid whispered, jerking his thumb behind him. Harry left them, walking with gun in hand around the building to the back, where a shadowy garden of apple trees extended down to the fence of the neighbouring property. An elderly man was sitting on the terrace, reading the Daily Telegraph . He lowered his newspaper and peered over his glasses. Harry pointed to the yellow letters spelling POLITI on his bulletproof vest, put a finger to his lips, acknowledged a brief nod and concentrated on the third-floor windows. The receptionist had told them where the alleged Belarusian’s room was. It was at the end of the corridor and the window looked out onto the back.
    Harry adjusted the earpiece and waited.
    After a few seconds it came. The dull, confined explosion of a shock grenade followed by the tinkle of glass.
    Harry knew that the air pressure itself wouldn’t have much more effect than deafening those in the room. But the explosion combined with the blinding flash and the men’s assault would paralyse even well-trained targets for the first three seconds. And those three seconds were all the Delta troops needed.
    Harry waited. Then a subdued voice came through his earpiece. Just what he expected.
    ‘Room 406 taken. No one