Three Seconds

rolled slowly through the gate and past the guard who saluted. Three more weeks. Cooperation between the Swedish and European police and American police organisations was essential for the further development of their CHIS work, and this was where they had the strongest tradition and knowledge, and as Paula was out of contact while he worked behind the walls of Aspsås, it was the perfect time to finish the course he had started in advanced infiltration.
    The heat was incredible.
    He still hadn’t got used to it – normally it was easier, less invasive. At least, that’s what he remembered from previous visits.
    Maybe it was the climate that had changed. Maybe it was him who had got older.
    He liked driving along the wide, straight roads in this great country that was built around traffic. He accelerated when he reached the I-95, sixty kilometres to Jacksonville and the other side of the state boundary, half an hour on a day like today.
    He had been woken by the phone call.
    It was still dawn, sharp sunlight and the birds with their piercing song had come alive outside his window.
    Sven Sundkvist had been sitting in a bar eating breakfast at Newark International Airport.
    He had explained that he would continue his journey in a few hours.
    He said that he was on his way south because he needed immediate assistance with an investigation.
    Erik Wilson had asked what it was about – they seldom talked to each other when they met in the corridors of the police headquarters in Kungsholmen, why should they do so here, seven thousand kilometres away? Sundkvist hadn’t answered, and instead had repeatedly asked when and where until Wilson had suggested the only lunch restaurant that he knew, somewhere where you could sit without being seen, without being heard.
    __________
    It was a pleasant place on the corner of San Marco Boulevard and Philips Street, quiet in spite of every table being taken and dark in spite of the sun blasting on the roofs, walls and windows. Sven Sundkvist looked around. Men dressed in suits and ties who glanced at each other on the sly as they gave their best arguments accompanied by grilled fish; negotiations that involved European wine and mobile phones on the white tablecloth. Waiters who were invisible, but were by the table the moment a plate was empty or a napkin fell to the floor. The smell of food blended with candles and the scent of red and yellow roses.
     
    He had been travelling for seventeen hours. Ewert had phoned just as Anita had turned off the light and snuggled up to him, her soft shoulder and breasts against his back, the first deep breaths on his neck as thoughts slowly evaporated and could not be caught no matter how hard he tried. Anita had avoided saying anything when he packed his bag and avoided looking at him when he tried to catch her eye. He understood her. Ewert Grens had for so long been part of their bedroom, someone who lived in his own time bubble and therefore didn’t realise that others had their own too. Sven didn’t have the strength to talk to him about it, to put down limits, but understood that Anita had to do just that sometimes in order to cope.
    The taxi from the airport was one of the ones without air conditioning and the heat had been as unexpected as it was forceful. He had travelled in clothes made for the Swedish spring and landed in a place near Florida’s beaches with full summer heat. He walked towardsthe entrance of the restaurant and drank some mineral water that tasted of chemical additives. They had had offices on the same corridor for ten years and had worked together on several investigations, but all the same, he didn’t know him. Erik Wilson was not someone you went out and had a beer with or maybe it was Sven you didn’t do that with, or maybe they were just too different. Sven, who loved his life in a terraced house with Anita and Jonas, Wilson who scorned it. Now they were going to meet, tolerate each other, one asking for information and one with no intention of giving it.
    __________
    He was tall, considerably taller than Sven, and even taller when he stood on his toes to scan all the guests in the restaurant. He seemed satisfied and sat down at the table at the back of the exclusive premises.
     
    ‘I’m a bit late.’
    ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
    The waiter appeared from nowhere, a glass of mineral water for each of them, two slices of lemon.
    I’ve got one minute.
    When he realises why I’m here, one minute more to