Read Online Bubble: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte - Free Book Online
Authors: Anders de La Motte
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be it.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he muttered.
No
Such
Thing
As
Ghosts
♦ ♦ ♦
“You understand that this contravenes any number of regulations, Normén?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely. Like I said, Ludvig, I really appreciate . . .”
“Well, enough of that. You’ve got half an hour or so,
then I want everything back by the time I’ve finished eating. Sunesson’s in charge of stores today, I’m sure you remember him?”
“Transferred from Norrmalm? Sure. He worked as a duty officer for a while.”
“Good, there won’t be any problems there, then. Just smile and wave . . . The corridors will be full of the lunchtime crowd, so there’ll be plenty of people about. But Sunesson’s mean, healways brings a packed lunch. Probably doesn’t want to miss the lunchtime horse race . . .”
Runeberg leaned forward and carefully pushed a folded copy of Metro toward her.
“This is all you need . . .”
“And you’re quite sure it’s there?”
“Yes, I checked the register of confiscated property after you called.”
“Good!”
For a moment she wasn’t sure what to say. Even though it hadn’t been mentioned explicitly, she was pretty sure she knew why Runeberg was helping her. He was best mates with Tobbe Lundh, and godfather to his son, Jonathan. The same Jonathan who, together with his friend Marcus, had created the Internet phantom MayBey, whom they then used to torment for months, spreading rumors and gossip about her online, and even making her think Henke was in serious danger, until she eventually worked it all out and put a stop to the whole charade.
She really only had herself to blame: she was the one who had embarked on an affair with Tobbe Lundh, even though she knew he was a married man with a family.
Either way, Runeberg seemed to feel partly responsible for what had happened.
She suddenly found herself regretting that she was exploiting his guilty conscience like this. The entire plan was actually pretty idiotic from the start . . . Stigsson’s instructions had been unambiguous:
For the duration of this investigation into terrorism, obviously you can have no contact whatsoever with your brother. I repeat: no contact whatsoever. Is that clear, Normén?
But she had no choice. She had to get into that safe-deposit box before Stigsson’s team got there. She only needed a quick look, then, once she had assured herself that there was nothing in there that could make things even worse for Henke, she could theoretically even tip them off about the box’s existence. Give them a bit of help with the investigation. At least that was what she was trying to tell herself . . .
Runeberg seemed to notice her hesitation.
“Off you go, Normén, the clock’s ticking and my food’s about to arrive . . .”
A waitress was approaching with a heavy tray, and Rebecca stood up before the young woman reached their table. On her way out she picked up the newspaper and put it in her shoulder bag.
“Thanks again, Ludvig, I’m really . . .”
He smiled and shrugged.
“No problem, Normén. Now, off you go.”
“By the way,” he added when she had started to walk off toward the door, “if this all goes to hell, I’ll probably be looking for a new job, so you can expect to hear from me . . .”
A brisk three-minute walk took her to the staff entrance.
She held the card against the reader beside the turnstile, holding it upside down on purpose so no one would see Ludvig’s photograph on the front.
The guard gave her a quick glance, then nodded in recognition.
First obstacle cleared.
She followed the glass walkway between the buildings, holding her head up and trying to look like she was just on her way to a perfectly ordinary day at work. That shouldn’t be too difficult, seeing as she had actually worked there until last winter. In theory she was still employed at the Security Police, so there wasn’t that much difference.
Yet she still
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he muttered.
No
Such
Thing
As
Ghosts
♦ ♦ ♦
“You understand that this contravenes any number of regulations, Normén?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely. Like I said, Ludvig, I really appreciate . . .”
“Well, enough of that. You’ve got half an hour or so,
then I want everything back by the time I’ve finished eating. Sunesson’s in charge of stores today, I’m sure you remember him?”
“Transferred from Norrmalm? Sure. He worked as a duty officer for a while.”
“Good, there won’t be any problems there, then. Just smile and wave . . . The corridors will be full of the lunchtime crowd, so there’ll be plenty of people about. But Sunesson’s mean, healways brings a packed lunch. Probably doesn’t want to miss the lunchtime horse race . . .”
Runeberg leaned forward and carefully pushed a folded copy of Metro toward her.
“This is all you need . . .”
“And you’re quite sure it’s there?”
“Yes, I checked the register of confiscated property after you called.”
“Good!”
For a moment she wasn’t sure what to say. Even though it hadn’t been mentioned explicitly, she was pretty sure she knew why Runeberg was helping her. He was best mates with Tobbe Lundh, and godfather to his son, Jonathan. The same Jonathan who, together with his friend Marcus, had created the Internet phantom MayBey, whom they then used to torment for months, spreading rumors and gossip about her online, and even making her think Henke was in serious danger, until she eventually worked it all out and put a stop to the whole charade.
She really only had herself to blame: she was the one who had embarked on an affair with Tobbe Lundh, even though she knew he was a married man with a family.
Either way, Runeberg seemed to feel partly responsible for what had happened.
She suddenly found herself regretting that she was exploiting his guilty conscience like this. The entire plan was actually pretty idiotic from the start . . . Stigsson’s instructions had been unambiguous:
For the duration of this investigation into terrorism, obviously you can have no contact whatsoever with your brother. I repeat: no contact whatsoever. Is that clear, Normén?
But she had no choice. She had to get into that safe-deposit box before Stigsson’s team got there. She only needed a quick look, then, once she had assured herself that there was nothing in there that could make things even worse for Henke, she could theoretically even tip them off about the box’s existence. Give them a bit of help with the investigation. At least that was what she was trying to tell herself . . .
Runeberg seemed to notice her hesitation.
“Off you go, Normén, the clock’s ticking and my food’s about to arrive . . .”
A waitress was approaching with a heavy tray, and Rebecca stood up before the young woman reached their table. On her way out she picked up the newspaper and put it in her shoulder bag.
“Thanks again, Ludvig, I’m really . . .”
He smiled and shrugged.
“No problem, Normén. Now, off you go.”
“By the way,” he added when she had started to walk off toward the door, “if this all goes to hell, I’ll probably be looking for a new job, so you can expect to hear from me . . .”
A brisk three-minute walk took her to the staff entrance.
She held the card against the reader beside the turnstile, holding it upside down on purpose so no one would see Ludvig’s photograph on the front.
The guard gave her a quick glance, then nodded in recognition.
First obstacle cleared.
She followed the glass walkway between the buildings, holding her head up and trying to look like she was just on her way to a perfectly ordinary day at work. That shouldn’t be too difficult, seeing as she had actually worked there until last winter. In theory she was still employed at the Security Police, so there wasn’t that much difference.
Yet she still
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