Three Seconds

standing there. It was Ewert Grens who would shortly make a decision based on the doctored information that was accessible in the databases and records, an image that was developed by his own colleagues and that for any police officer would provide powerful grounds to shoot.
    Shoot
.
    ‘Here … he’s standing precisely here, as the assigned goldcommander. He’s the one who is leading the whole operation, who is responsible for it, who will make the decision on
how
to resolve it.’
    Göransson’s hand was shaking. He pressed it hard against the paper of the map, but it continued to shake – it didn’t normally do that, shake.
    ‘He is fifteen hundred and three metres from the window where Hoffmann has been sighted regularly, but the snipers, the police marksmen, don’t have the right training and equipment. So he’s asking for a military marksman. A more powerful weapon, heavier ammunition, someone trained to shoot at extreme distances.’
    Shoot to kill
.
    ‘There’s always a solution. Always a reasonable solution if you really want to find it. And clearly it is in all our interests to find it, to help to resolve this.’
    The state secretary’s voice was calm, clear.
    ‘It is our responsibility to save the hostages’ lives.’
    Ewert Grens had asked for a suitably trained and equipped marksman.
    With the information that was now common knowledge in the prison corridors, Hoffmann would not give up his hostages.
    If Grens got his military marksman, he would also use him
.
    ‘What are you actually saying?’
    Göransson straightened his back. He looked at the slight woman sitting in front of him.
    They wouldn’t have their finger on the trigger.
    It would be the gold commander who ordered the sniper to fire. It would be the marksman who fired.
    They wouldn’t make the decision.
    They were giving others the opportunity to make the decision.
    ‘But … Jesus Christ—’
    Göransson’s finger was still on the map when he suddenly pulled the paper towards him and scrunched it into a ball with both hands.
    ‘—what the hell are we doing?’
    He got up abruptly, his face stiff and flushed.
    ‘We’re making Ewert Grens into a murderer!’
    ‘Calm down, please.’
    ‘We’re legitimising murder!’
    He threw the ball of paper so that it hit the window and fell with a thud onto the state secretary’s desk.
    ‘If we give the gold commander the solution that he’s asking for … if he then makes a decision based on the information he has about Hoffmann … Ewert Grens could be forced to order a shot to be fired at a person who has actually never committed a violent crime, but who is believed to be violent, merciless and capable!’
    The state secretary leant forward and picked up the paper ball, held it in her lap, for a long time looked at the face that was about to explode.
    ‘If that is the case, if the gold commander has the military marksman and then later decides to shoot … then it will be to save the hostages’ lives.’
    Her voice was controlled, and was quiet enough to be heard but not loud enough for those listening not to hold their breath.
    ‘Hoffmann is the only one who has killed anyone. And it is only Hoffmann who is threatening to do so again.’
    __________
    The square yard at Aspsås prison was covered in coarse, dry gravel that was dusty, no people, no noise; all the prisoners had been locked in their cells for the past few hours, behind doors that would not be opened until the hostage siege was over. Grens was walking with Edvardson beside him, two members of the national task force in front of him and Hermansson a couple of steps behind. She had been waiting for him just inside the prison gate and had briefly told him about her meeting with the prison doctor who had heard nothing about an epidemic and had never asked for anyone to be barrier nursed in all his time at Aspsås. As they approached the outside door to Block B, Grens stopped and waited for her.
     
    ‘It’s all a bloody lie, all of it, all this is connected. I want you to carry on, Hermansson, find the prison governor and get an answer out of him.’
    She nodded and turned around and he watched her rather slim back and shoulders through the light cloud of dust. They hadn’t spoken much together recently, not at all in the past year – he hadn’t really spoken to anyone. Once he had been to the grave he would seek her out again. He who was never going to talk to a policewoman again had learnt to appreciate