Three Seconds

die.
    __________
    He was lying with both elbows positioned on the wooden floor of the balcony and enough room for his legs; his position was comfortable and he could concentrate on the telescopic sight and the window.
     
    It was close.
    Never before on Swedish soil had a marksman taken another life in peace time, not even shot to kill. But the hostage taker had threatened his hostages, refused to communicate, made another threat, he had gradually forced the situation to this choice between one life and another.
    One shot, one hit.
    He was capable, even at this distance he felt confident: one shot, one hit.
    But he would never see the consequences, a person blown to bits. He remembered one morning during training, the remains of live pigs that had been used as target practice – he couldn’t bear to see a person like that.
    He edged fractionally further out on the balcony so that he could see the window even better.
    __________
    She ran through the open prison gates and out into the nearly full parking place, she rang Ewert’s number for the second time and for the second time was cut off, she was nearly at the car and tried Sven and tried Edvardson without getting through, she got into the car, started it and drove over the grass and plants, looking up at the church tower as much as at the road as there was someone lying there, waiting.
     
    __________
    Ewert Grens removed his earpiece, he wanted to get rid of the voices that were there because he had ordered them to be, that were his responsibility now and that had one single task.
     
    To kill.
    ‘Target?’
    ‘Single man. Blue jacket.’
    ‘Distance?’
    ‘Fifteen hundred and three metres.’
    He didn’t have much time left.
    __________
    Hermansson turned out of the prison drive and drove towards the small town of Aspsås on the wrong side of the road.
     
    ‘Wind?’
    ‘Seven metres per second right.’
    She accelerated fast as she turned up the volume on the radio to max.
    ‘Outside temperature?’
    ‘Eighteen degrees.’
    Oscarsson, what he had just said, Ewert … before anything was fired, before … he had to know.
    __________
    I have never shot at a person.
     
    I have never ordered anyone else to shoot at a person.
    Thirty-five years in the police. In one minute … less than one minute.
    ‘Grens, over.’
    Sterner.
    ‘Grens here, over.’
    ‘The hostage … he’s covered … as if there’s some sort of blanket wrapped round him.’
    ‘Right?’
    Ewert Grens waited.
    ‘I think … the blanket … Grens, it looks pretty weird …’
    Grens was shaking.
    It wasn’t the people outside the walls who were going to decide, it was the hostage taker, he was the one who moved the boundaries, challenged them, forced them.
    ‘Continue!’
    ‘… I think he’s preparing for a … an execution.’
    You’ve worked there your whole life.
    You’re the oldest one there. You’re the weakest. You’re the chosen one.
    You are not going to die.
    ‘Fire.’
    __________
    He had been watching the tower and the people up there the whole time. He had been careful to stand in profile, with the hostage close by, the diesel barrel close by, he had listened to their voices which had been crystal clear, it had been easy to understand the order.
     
    ‘Fire.’
    Fifteen hundred and three metres.
    Three seconds.
    He heard the click.
    He hesitated.
    He moved.
    __________
    The shot.
     
    Death.
    They waited.
    ‘Abort. Object out of sight.’
    Hoffmann had stood there, his head cocked, in profile, he had been easy to see and easy to hit. Suddenly he moved. One single step was enough. Ewert Grens was breathing heavily, he hadn’t noticed before. He put a hand to his cheek, it was hot.
    ‘Object in sight again. Ready to fire. Awaiting second order.’
    Hoffmann was back, he was standing there again.
    One more time.
    A new decision.
    He didn’t want to do it, couldn’t face it.
    ‘Fire.’
    __________
    He had heard a click. When the gun was cocked. And he had moved.
     
    This time he stayed where he was. In the middle of the window.
    The first click in his ear and he stayed where he was.
    Next.
    The second click.
    A finger on a trigger.
    Fifteen hundred and three metres. Three seconds.
    He moved.
    __________
    One single moment.
     
    It stretched out. It was empty and it was silent and prolonged.
    Ewert Grens knew everything about moments like this, how they tormented you, ate you up and never, never let go.
    ‘Abort. Object out of sight.’
    He had moved