Three Seconds

there, for him.
    __________
    The blue, flashing light got stronger, clearer and would soon push its way through the woods that separated the country road from the drive up to Aspsås prison. Lennart Oscarsson was standing next to Sergeant Rydén in the parking place by the main gate when two heavy, square, black cars approached. The national task force duty troops had left their headquarters at Sörentorp and Solna twenty-four minutes earlier and dropped off – while the heavy vehicles were still moving – nine identically clad men in black boots, navy blue overalls, balaclavas, protective visors, helmets, fireproof gloves and flak jackets. Rydénrushed forwards and greeted the tall thin man who got out of the passenger seat of the first car. Head of the task force, John Edvardson.
     
    ‘There. The black roof. Top floor.’
    Four windows in the building nearest the outer wall. Edvardson nodded, he was already heading over there and Oscarsson and Rydén had almost to run to keep up. They looked around and saw the eight others following, submachine guns in hand, two of them with long-distance sniper guns.
    They passed central security and the administration block, carried on through an open gate in the next wall which was slightly lower and divided the prison up into different sectors, identical squares with identical three-storey L-shaped buildings.
    ‘G Block and H Block.’
    Lennart Oscarsson kept close to the inner wall where they had an overview but were still protected.
    ‘E Block and F Block.’
    He pointed at the buildings one by one, the home of long-term prisoners.
    ‘C Block and D Block.’
    Sixty-four cells and sixty-four prisoners in each complex.
    ‘Normal prisoners. The special sex offenders’ unit is in a separate part of the prison, as we had a few problems some years ago when several prisoners crossed paths.’
    They carried on sprinting along metre after metre of thick concrete, getting closer to the last L-shaped building. Oscarsson was flagging a bit, but he kept up.
    ‘Blocks A and B. One in each arm. Block B faces the other way. He’s been spotted a few times in the big window, the one that looks out over the fields, towards the church over there, Aspsås church. I’ve had sightings from two separate wardens and they’re absolutely certain.’
    A grey concrete bunker, a Lego brick, an ugly and hard and silent building.
    ‘At the bottom, the isolation unit. Solitary confinement. B1. That’s where he took the hostages. That’s where he escaped from.’
    They stopped for the first time since the armed task force had arrived in their vehicles a couple of minutes earlier.
    ‘One floor up, B2 left and B2 right. Sixteen cells on each side. Normal prisoners, thirty-two of them.’
    Lennart Oscarsson waited for a few seconds, still speaking in short bursts – he hadn’t caught his breath back yet.
    He lowered his voice a bit.
    ‘There, at the top. B3. The workshops. One of the prisoners’ workplaces. You see that window? The one that faces the yard?’
    He stopped talking. The big window, it felt so strange – it was beautiful outside, the sun and the green fields and the blue sky, and inside, behind the glass, death.
    ‘Armed?’
    While he waited for Rydén’s answer, Edvardson ordered six of the national task force men to position themselves at the three entrances to Block B and the two snipers to check out the roofs of the nearby buildings.
    ‘I’ve asked the guards who saw his weapon twice. They’re still confused, in shock, but I’m fairly certain that what they’re describing is a kind of miniature revolver that can take six bullets. I’ve only ever seen one in real life, a SwissMiniGun, made in Switzerland and marketed as the world’s smallest gun.’
    ‘Six bullets?’
    ‘According to the guards he’s fired at least two.’
    John Edvardson looked at the prison governor.
    ‘Oscarsson … how the hell did a prisoner who’s locked up manage to get hold of a deadly weapon in the hole, in one of Sweden’s high-security prisons?’
    Lennart Oscarsson couldn’t bear to answer, not right now. He just shook his head in despair. The national task force chief turned towards Rydén.
    ‘A miniature revolver. I don’t know anything about it. But you reckon it’s powerful enough to kill?’
    ‘He’s already done it once.’
    John Edvardson looked up at the window that faced the beautiful church; the hostage taker had been spotted there, a prisoner serving a long