The Sandman

166

Joona breaks the surface of the water, emerging through the icy slush and trying to stay calm and get some air into his lungs.

It’s incredibly cold.

The sub-zero temperature is making his head pound, but he’s conscious.

His time as a paratrooper saved him – he managed to ignore the impulse to gasp and breathe in.

With numb arms and heavy clothes, he swims through the black water. It’s not far to the quayside, but his body temperature is dropping alarmingly quickly. Lumps of ice are tumbling over all round him. He’s already lost all feeling in his feet, but he carries on kicking with his legs.

The waves roll and lap over his head.

He coughs, feeling his strength draining away. His vision is starting to fade, but he forces himself on, takes more strokes, and finally reaches the edge of the quay. With trembling hands he tries to grab onto the blocks, onto the narrow gaps between them. Panting, he moves sideways until he reaches a metal ladder.

The water splashes beneath him as he starts to climb. His hands freeze to the metal. He’s on the point of fainting, but wills himself to keep going, step after heavy step.

He rolls onto the quay with a groan, gets to his feet and starts walking towards the lorry.

His hand is shaking as he checks that he hasn’t lost his pistol.

His wet face stings as snow blows into it. His lips are numb and his legs are trembling badly.

He runs into the narrow passageway between the stacks of dark containers to reach the lorry before it leaves the harbour. His feet are so numb he can’t help stumbling and he hits his shoulder but carries on regardless, leaning against one of the containers as he clambers over a bank of snow.

He emerges into the glare of the headlights of the lorry carrying the red Hamburg Süd container.

The driver is behind the vehicle, checking that the brake lights are working, when he sees Joona approaching.

‘Have you been in the water?’ he asks, taking a step back. ‘Bloody hell, you’ll freeze to death if you don’t get indoors.’

‘Open the red container,’ Joona slurs. ‘I’m a police officer, I need to—’

‘That’s down to Customs, I can’t just open it—’

‘National Criminal Investigation Department,’ Joona interrupts in a weak voice.

He’s having trouble keeping his eyes focused, and is aware how incoherent he sounds when he tries to explain what powers the National Crime unit has.

‘I don’t even have the keys,’ the driver says, looking at him kindly. ‘Just a pair of bolt-cutters, and—’

‘Hurry up,’ Joona says, then coughs tiredly.

The driver runs round the lorry, climbs up and leans into the cab, peering behind the passenger seat. An umbrella tumbles out onto the ground as he pulls out a set of long-handled bolt-cutters.

Joona bangs on the container, shouting Disa’s name.

The driver runs back, and his cheeks turn red as he presses the handles together.

The lock breaks with a crunch.

The door of the container swings open on creaking hinges. It’s packed full of boxes on wooden pallets, strapped into place, right up to the roof.

Without saying a word to the lorry driver, Joona takes the bolt-cutters and walks on. He’s so frozen he’s shaking, and his hands hurt terribly.

‘You need to get to hospital,’ the man calls after him.