Three Seconds

area,where women could swim on Mondays and men on Fridays. It was warm, even though night was at hand, so he took off his jacket and walked along the asphalt, with his eyes on the luminous water that reflected the headlamps of the occasional car that crept down past the flats looking for a place to park.
    A rather hard park bench for ten minutes, a slow beer at Gamla Uret where the bartender, who Hoffmann knew from late nights in another life, had a very loud laugh, a couple of articles in a forgotten evening paper, oily fingers from the bowl of peanuts at the far end of the bar.
    He had frittered away the hour.
    He started to walk towards Högalidsgatan 38 and Heleneborgsgatan 9, and a flat on the second floor with an uneven parquet floor.
    __________
    Erik Wilson was sitting on a plastic-covered sofa when the man who now could only be Paula opened the front door and crossed the water-damaged hall floor.
     
    ‘It’s not too late. To pull out. You know that.’
    He looked at him with something that resembled warmth, which he shouldn’t do but that was the way it was. An infiltrator should be an instrument, something that he and the police authorities could use for as long as it was productive or simply abandon if things got too risky.
    ‘You’re never going to be particularly well paid. You’ll never get any official thanks.’
    With Piet though, or Paula, it was different. He had become something more. A friend.
    ‘You’ve got Zofia. And the boys. I’ve no idea what that feels like, but … I think about it sometimes, long for it. And if I had … there’s no bloody way that I’d risk it for someone who wouldn’t even say thanks.’
    Wilson was very aware that right here, right now, he was doing something that he shouldn’t. Giving a unique infiltrator an argument for backing out when the authorities needed him most.
    ‘This time you’re taking a risk that is far bigger than before. I said it yesterday in the tunnel on the way over from Rosenbad.
Piet, look at me when I’m talking
. I’ll say it again.
Look at me!
The moment you’ve completed our mission, you’ll be on Wojtek’s hit list. Are you sure you understand what that means, really means?’
    Nine years as an infiltrator. Piet Hoffmann looked at the plastic-coveredfurniture and chose a green, or possibly brown, armchair. No. He wasn’t sure any more that he did understand what it entailed or why they were in fact sitting here facing each other in a secret meeting place while his wife and children slept in a silent house. Sometimes it’s just like that. Sometimes something starts and then carries on and days become months and years without you being able to reflect on it. But he remembered clearly why he said yes, and what they had said about a sentence that could instead be served with regular leave and then when he was released, a life where his criminal activity could be simplified, as long as he worked for the police they would turn a blind eye to his own criminal record, hide it away and make sure that the criminal operations unit and public prosecutor didn’t bother him. It had all seemed so bloody simple. He hadn’t even considered the lies, the danger of being exposed as a grass, the lack of appreciation and protection. He didn’t have a family then. He existed only for himself, and then barely.
    ‘I’m going to finish this.’
    ‘No one will blame you if you pull out.’
    He’d started, and then continued. He’d learnt to live for the kicks, for the adrenaline that forced his heart to explode in his chest, for the pride of knowing that he was better at this than anyone else, he who had never been best at anything.
    ‘I’m not going to pull out.’
    He was addicted. He didn’t know what life was like without the adrenaline, the pride.
    ‘Well, we’ve talked about it openly then.’
    He was one of those people who had never managed to finish anything.
    He was going to do it this time.
    ‘I really appreciate you asking, Erik. I realise that it’s not really your job.
But, yes, we have talked openly about this
.’
    Erik Wilson had asked the question. And got the answer he wanted to have.
    ‘In case anything should happen.’
    He changed his position on the uncomfortable plastic-covered sofa.
    ‘If you’re about to be exposed, you can’t escape very far in a prison, but you can demand to be put in isolation.’
    Wilson looked at Paula, Piet.
    ‘You might be given a death sentence. But you’re not going to die.