The Rabbit Hunter

41

Janus changes frequency on his radio and informs all units that Parisa is on her way.

‘Joona, you’ve come up with a lot of warnings, and I just want to say that if things go wrong...’ Janus says, looking at him intently. ‘If we have to break in, make your way upstairs. There’s a trapdoor in the wardrobe that leads up into the crawl space and out onto the roof.’

The screen shows Parisa approaching the house carrying bags of groceries. She’s wearing a thin black coat, a pink hijab and black leather boots with a slight heel.

She removes some junk-mail from the letterbox, puts her bags down and unlocks the front door.

‘We need to get you wired,’ Janus says. ‘Go into the bedroom on the right and Siv will be with you as soon as I can find her.’

Joona goes back out onto the landing and into the bedroom. A young woman in a black polo-shirt is sitting on the chair by the window facing the street. When she hears him come in she stands up.

‘My name’s Jennifer,’ she says, shaking his hand.

‘I don’t want to disturb you, but...’

‘You’re not disturbing me,’ the woman says quickly, and brushes a lock of hair from her face.

‘I just need help with a microphone.’

Jennifer’s hair is tied up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing black cargo trousers and heavy boots. Her helmet, goggles and bulletproof vest are on the floor beside the chair.

Joona sees that she’s got a sniper rifle, a PSG 90, mounted on a sturdy tripod. She can switch the barrel from one side of the window to the other in one swift movement.

Three extra magazines are lined up on a small table beside a box of ammunition — 7.62mm — and a green bottle of Pellegrino.

A ballistics chart has fallen from the box onto the floor. Joona doesn’t think it matters; she won’t be needing it anyway. The rifle has an exit velocity of almost 1,300 metres per second, and the distance here is no more than 60 metres.

Joona takes off his jacket and puts it on the bed, loosens his holster and then starts to unbutton his shirt.

‘Parisa’s up in the bedroom now,’ Jennifer says. ‘Do you want to see?’

He goes over and looks through the sniper-sight, increases the magnification to eight, and sees Parisa taking off her hijab. Her hair is gathered in a thick, black plait that hangs down her back. In the crosshairs he can see her face clearly: the pores of her nose, the birthmark above one eyebrow, and a thick line down one cheek where she’s smudged her eyeliner.

When she goes into the bathroom Joona notes that the door to a large cupboard with gold and brown medallion wallpaper is open.

That must be where the ladder to the crawl space is.

He straightens up and looks at the house. In the gap between the curtains he can see Parisa’s shadow moving behind the textured glass in the bathroom window.

The sound engineer from the surveillance group comes in. Siv is a middle-aged woman with dark-blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. She stops, her white blouse straining over her chest as she breathes.

She stares at Joona with a look of concentration on her face. He’s standing bare-chested in the middle of the room. All that exercise in prison has given him plenty of muscle. His torso bears the scars from where he’s been both shot and stabbed in the past.

She walks slowly around him, feeling below his right shoulder- blade and lifting his arm slightly. Jennifer watches them and can’t help smiling.

‘I think I’ll position the microphone just below your left pectoral muscle,’ Siv says eventually, and opens a plastic case with a padded black base.

‘OK.’

Siv fixes the microphone in place and tries to smooth the tape.

‘Sorry, my hands are cold,’ she says hoarsely.

‘No problem.’

‘I can do it instead,’ Jennifer suggests. ‘I’ve got warm hands.’

Siv pretends not to hear her. She adds another strip of tape, then checks that the transmitter works. They hear their voices through the receiver, but the proximity to the microphone creates a powerful echo.

‘Can I get dressed?’ Joona asks.

Siv doesn’t answer, and Jennifer stifles a giggle. Joona thanks her for her help, pulls on his shirt, fastens the holster and then puts his jacket back on.

‘This microphone is practically undetectable,’ Siv says. ‘And the range is more than enough for the house, but won’t reach much further, just so you know.’

They’re testing the reception once again when Janus comes in holding up his laptop. Joona watches the camera follow Parisa as she goes downstairs in her bra and a pair of soft tracksuit bottoms. She walks into the kitchen and starts eating crisps from a silver bag.

Joona checks his pistol, borrows Siv’s tape and straps up the bottom of the butt, the way he always does. He releases the magazine, quickly tests the mechanism, trigger and pin, then puts the safety catch back on, reinserts the magazine and feeds a bullet into the chamber.

‘I’ll get going,’ he says tersely.

As he goes downstairs he sees Gustav standing in the darkened hallway with his hands over his face, his semiautomatic rifle hanging by his hip.

‘How are you doing?’ Joona asks.

Gustav startles slightly. He lowers his hands and looks embarrassed. His usually happy face is tense and shiny with sweat.

‘I’ve just got this really weird feeling,’ he says in a low voice. ‘There’s something bothering me. Maybe the whole house has been booby-trapped.’

‘Just be careful,’ Joona says again.

Security Agent Ingrid Holm, who showed him the way through the woods before, is waiting outside to lead him back to his car without being seen from the street.