Three Seconds

happened at Västmannagatan 79. I guarantee that we will do our best to help you complete your operation in prison. And … that we will look after you when the work is done. I know that you will then have a death threat and be branded throughout the criminal world. We will give you a new life, a new identity, and money to start over again abroad.’
    She gave him a vague smile. At least, that’s what it looked like when the bright light caught her face.
    ‘I guarantee you this in my capacity as a state secretary of the Ministry of Justice.’
    Wojtek or the Government Offices. It didn’t really matter. Same choice of words, same promises. Two sides of the law with the same exit route.
    It was good. But not good enough.
    Trust no one but yourself.
    ‘I still want to know how.’
    ‘We’ve already done this three times before.’
    A glance over at the national police commissioner. He nodded to her.
    ‘Officially, you will be pardoned. On humanitarian grounds. That doesn’t need to be explained in any more detail. Medical or humanitarian grounds are sufficient for a decision that the Ministry of Justice will then stamp as confidential.’
    Piet Hoffmann stood in front of her in silence for a few seconds.
    He was pleased. He was close enough.
    She had said what he wanted to hear and clearly enough for it to be heard again.
    __________
    They walked side by side down the underground corridor that linked the Government Offices with the parliament building and stopped by a lift that took them to Gamla Stan and Mynttorget 2. They should have been in a hurry, there wasn’t much time left, but it was as if they were both trying to understand where they were actually going.
     
    ‘You’re an outlaw now.’
    Erik Wilson stopped.
    ‘From now on, you’re dangerous to both sides. Wojtek, who will kill you the instant you’re exposed as an infiltrator. And for the people who were round the table with us just now too. You now know things that no one in that room will admit. They’ll sacrifice you the moment you’re a threat, they’ll burn you in the same way that the authorities have burnt other informers when it’s a matter of protecting power. You’re Wojtek’s main man. You’re our main man. But if anything happens, Piet, you’re on your own.’
    Piet Hoffmann knew what fear felt like and he would fight it off, as he always did, but he needed just a little more time, he wanted to stay in the dark under the streets of Stockholm; if he did that they wouldn’t get into the lift and then into the parked car that was waiting in the courtyard and he wouldn’t need to fight any more.
    ‘Piet?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘You have to be in control, at all times. If everything goes wrong … the authorities won’t look after you, they’ll burn you.’
    __________
    He started to walk.
     
    He had exactly thirty-eight hours left.

PART TWO
     

The black minibus stopped in a dark concrete corner of the multi-storey car park.
     
    Second floor, section A.
    ‘Thirty-eight hours.’
    ‘See you.’
    ‘Outlawed. Don’t you forget it.’
    Piet Hoffmann put his hand on Erik Wilson’s shoulder and then got out of the back seat and breathed in the air that tasted of carbon dioxide. The narrow stairs led down to Regeringsgatan and the capital that was always in a rush.
    Tulips. Church. SwissMiniGun. Ten kilos. Library. Wind meter. Letters. Transmitters. Nitroglycerine. Safety deposit box. CD. Poetry. Grave.
    Thirty-seven hours and fifty-five minutes left.
    He started to walk along the pavement, passing close to people who looked at him without seeing him, strangers who lacked smiles. He longed for a particular house in a quiet street a few kilometres south of the city, the only place where he wasn’t hounded and nothing demanded that he survive. He should call her again. Tulips and nitroglycerine and wind meter, he knew that he was capable and that he could do it in time, but Zofia, he still had no idea what to do about her. If danger and risk were involved, it was enough to be in control, then he could steer the outcome, but with Zofia he was never in control at all, he wasn’t able to influence her reactions and feelings, no matter how he tried, he had no way of approaching her on his own terms.
    He loved her so much.
    Now he was doing the same as everyone else, hurrying along the city streets without a smile on his face: Mäster Samuelsgatan, Klara Norra Kyrkogata, Olof Palmes gata, and into a flower shop called Rose Garden