Death In Oslo

XIII

Helen Lardahl Bentley was more confused after she had read the secured pages than she had been before. There was so much that didn’t make sense. The BSC Unit had obviously been pushed to one side. That might, of course, be because they had realised what Warren was up to. The heads of the FBI might think that it was wise not to confront him with it, yet at the same time they wanted to marginalise his potential to manipulate the investigation. But she still couldn’t work out why the profile that Warren and his men had developed was being so discredited by the rest of the system. The document seemed to be incredibly thorough. It correlated with everything they had initially feared when the first vague suggestions about the Trojan Horse had reached the FBI only six weeks ago.

The profile frightened her more than anything else she found.

But there was something that wasn’t right.

On the one hand, it seemed that everyone agreed that an attack on the US was imminent. On the other hand, none of the powerful organisations under the Homeland Security umbrella had found anything that would indicate links to existing or known organisations. It was as if they were clutching at straws. Jeffrey Hunter’s money could be traced to the cousin of the Saudi Arabian oil minister and to a consultancy firm he owned in Iran, but that was that. She couldn’t see that anyone had got any further, and she turned hot and cold when it started to dawn on her just how hard the American government, led by her own vice president, had hit out at the two Arab countries. Without decoding equipment, she couldn’t get in to the pages where the actual correspondence was saved, but she had started to comprehend the scale of the catastrophe towards which her country was headed.

She was sitting in an office at the far end of the flat.

When the doorbell rang, she only just heard it. It rang again. She listened. It rang a third time. Quietly she got up and picked up the gun that Hanne had found and loaded for her. She left the gun locked, put it inside her waistband, and pulled her sweater down over it.

Something was terribly wrong.