He pulled a face again as he straightened up. ‘But the lady comes to Norway with a really rather meagre entourage. Sorry . . .’
The apology was slipped in quickly and he lifted an acknowledging hand to the Prime Minister.
‘I mean the President, Madam President. And I’m sure you’re wondering why. Why? Why on earth should thePresident embark on her first foreign visit with such limited protection from her own people?’
His audience did not appear to be pondering the question. Quite the opposite: the conversation up until that moment had focused on the overwhelming number of American agents, who were now knocking on doors, going into offices, confiscating equipment and generally making life difficult for the Norwegian police.
‘Because – it – is – safe – here.’ He said the words with an exaggerated delay. Then he repeated: ‘Because Norway is safe. We thought. Look at us.’ He hit himself gently on the chest. ‘The whole thing is absurd,’ he repeated quietly. His listeners were more attentive now. ‘Nothing more than an intestine on this map, this . . .’
He surveyed the map of the world. The corners were worn. The word
Yugoslavia
was written in bold letters across the Balkans; Peter Salhus shook his head.
‘Good old Norway,’ he said, and stroked his country with his finger, from north to south. ‘For many years now we’ve talked about what a colourful society we are and what a multicultural country we’ve become, and allowed ourselves to be lulled into a sense of security, peace, innocence – that we were somehow different. We’re always saying that the world is pressing in on us from all sides, yet at the same time we get extremely offended if that very same world doesn’t see us in exactly the same way that we have always perceived ourselves to be, as an idyllic place on earth. A peaceful corner of the world, rich and generous and kind to everyone.’
He bit a piece of dry skin on his lip.
‘Right now we’re caught up in a powerful and terrible head-on collision, I want you to realise that. This country is prepared for disasters to the extent that anyone can be prepared. We are prepared for epidemics and other catastrophes. Some people even believe that we are prepared for war . . .’ Hesmiled vaguely at the Minister of Defence, who did not smile back. ‘But what we were not prepared for in any way was this. What’s happening now.’
‘Which is?’ asked the Director of Police, with a sharp edge to her voice.
‘That we have managed to lose the American president.’
The Minister of Justice made an inappropriate noise that sounded like a stifled giggle.
‘And they simply will not accept that,’ Salhus continued, unperturbed. He went back to his chair. ‘It’s true that the Americans have lost one or two presidents through assassinations, but they have never,
not even once
, lost a president on foreign soil. And you can be certain of one thing . . .’ He sat down heavily. ‘Every single one of those Secret Service agents who are now buzzing around making life difficult for our staff will take this personally. Very personally indeed. This happened on their watch, and they don’t want that pinned on them. For them, that would be worse than . . . For them this is . . .’
He hesitated, and the Prime Minister managed to cut in with a question. ‘Who . . . who can we actually compare them with?’
‘No one.’
‘No one? But it’s a police force and—’
‘Yes, but they have a number of other tasks as well. The bodyguards are, if you like, the identity of the service, and have been ever since President McKinley was assassinated in 1901. And that identity has been seriously threatened by what happened last night. Not least because it’s due to a big mistake. One that they themselves made.’
The Minister of Justice’s body was still shaking, but there was no sound. This time no one used the pause to ask questions.
‘They made an error of judgement,’ Peter
The apology was slipped in quickly and he lifted an acknowledging hand to the Prime Minister.
‘I mean the President, Madam President. And I’m sure you’re wondering why. Why? Why on earth should thePresident embark on her first foreign visit with such limited protection from her own people?’
His audience did not appear to be pondering the question. Quite the opposite: the conversation up until that moment had focused on the overwhelming number of American agents, who were now knocking on doors, going into offices, confiscating equipment and generally making life difficult for the Norwegian police.
‘Because – it – is – safe – here.’ He said the words with an exaggerated delay. Then he repeated: ‘Because Norway is safe. We thought. Look at us.’ He hit himself gently on the chest. ‘The whole thing is absurd,’ he repeated quietly. His listeners were more attentive now. ‘Nothing more than an intestine on this map, this . . .’
He surveyed the map of the world. The corners were worn. The word
Yugoslavia
was written in bold letters across the Balkans; Peter Salhus shook his head.
‘Good old Norway,’ he said, and stroked his country with his finger, from north to south. ‘For many years now we’ve talked about what a colourful society we are and what a multicultural country we’ve become, and allowed ourselves to be lulled into a sense of security, peace, innocence – that we were somehow different. We’re always saying that the world is pressing in on us from all sides, yet at the same time we get extremely offended if that very same world doesn’t see us in exactly the same way that we have always perceived ourselves to be, as an idyllic place on earth. A peaceful corner of the world, rich and generous and kind to everyone.’
He bit a piece of dry skin on his lip.
‘Right now we’re caught up in a powerful and terrible head-on collision, I want you to realise that. This country is prepared for disasters to the extent that anyone can be prepared. We are prepared for epidemics and other catastrophes. Some people even believe that we are prepared for war . . .’ Hesmiled vaguely at the Minister of Defence, who did not smile back. ‘But what we were not prepared for in any way was this. What’s happening now.’
‘Which is?’ asked the Director of Police, with a sharp edge to her voice.
‘That we have managed to lose the American president.’
The Minister of Justice made an inappropriate noise that sounded like a stifled giggle.
‘And they simply will not accept that,’ Salhus continued, unperturbed. He went back to his chair. ‘It’s true that the Americans have lost one or two presidents through assassinations, but they have never,
not even once
, lost a president on foreign soil. And you can be certain of one thing . . .’ He sat down heavily. ‘Every single one of those Secret Service agents who are now buzzing around making life difficult for our staff will take this personally. Very personally indeed. This happened on their watch, and they don’t want that pinned on them. For them, that would be worse than . . . For them this is . . .’
He hesitated, and the Prime Minister managed to cut in with a question. ‘Who . . . who can we actually compare them with?’
‘No one.’
‘No one? But it’s a police force and—’
‘Yes, but they have a number of other tasks as well. The bodyguards are, if you like, the identity of the service, and have been ever since President McKinley was assassinated in 1901. And that identity has been seriously threatened by what happened last night. Not least because it’s due to a big mistake. One that they themselves made.’
The Minister of Justice’s body was still shaking, but there was no sound. This time no one used the pause to ask questions.
‘They made an error of judgement,’ Peter
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