Klara takes a step out from behind the car door, and heads to one of three heavily armed police officers blocking traffic. Something’s happening further down the street, and the police officer turns around to see it. The SWAT team is making its move: two of them are heading slowly towards the doors of Lindblad & Wiman, one of them has a machine gun in his arms, and the other seems to be taking out handcuffs from a pocket in his belt.
They open the building’s door with caution. Klara catches a glimpse of Gabriella’s red hair and jacket. Then the police scream something she can’t make out. But now she’s almost to the barricade, staring beyond it, her pulse pounding at her temples.
‘I said: Get back in your car!’
Suddenly there’s an officer in a black helmet right in front of her, his eyes black with adrenaline and authority. She didn’t hear him, barely even saw him; now she stops mid-step.
Gabriella is out on the stairs of the office, and the police are moving towards her. Klara can hear her surprised, incredulous voice, despite the distance.
‘What the hell is this?’ she shouts.
They’re around her now, the police officer with handcuffs and two more. It’s so fast, so surreal, Klara can’t even take in the details, can barely distinguish them. She hears Gabriella shout again and sees the police change their tactics; they no longer appear as individuals, just fast and violent movements. They scream: ‘Get down! Don’t move!’
They grab hold of Gabriella, two of them at least, forcing her down onto her knees and then pushing her entire body onto the sidewalk. Onto her stomach with her face to the street. They sit on top of her, pressing her to the ground.
Klara opens her mouth, takes another step towards the barricade, feels her whole body pulsing, shaking with doubt and adrenaline.
‘I’m not gonna tell you again: go back to your car!’ The officer in front of her is screaming now. He’s in her face, and she stops. She looks at him with her eyes wide, then takes a step back, then another, holding up her hands.
‘What…’ she begins. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’ll arrest you if you don’t get in your car immediately!’ the officer says.
He’s young, Klara notes as she stumbles backwards. Probably no older than twenty-five. Her hands tremble. What does that matter? She can feel the car door against her back, see one police officer sitting on Gabriella and forcing her arms behind her back to handcuff them. She hears Gabriella shout and scream, hears her upset and confused voice.
‘That’s my friend!’ Klara screams at the police officer, forcing her eyes away. ‘What are you doing to her?’
The officer doesn’t say anything, just stares at her with those dark, nervous eyes.
‘She’s a fucking lawyer!’ Klara continues. ‘You can’t just do whatever the fuck you want, do you understand? There are rules and laws and…’
The policeman’s fingers move to the handcuffs hanging from his belt. It’s clear he won’t tolerate much more from her, and she reconsiders, holds up her hands again and backs around the car door.
Behind the barricades, the policemen are lifting Gabriella to her feet and putting her into a waiting black van. It slowly rolls away down Skeppsbron.
Klara sits down in the car, her head pounding, the whole world vibrating around her.
What the hell is going on? She dropped off Gabriella ten minutes ago, and now she’s been arrested at her own office?
Behind the barricades, the police have started to relax and take off their helmets, a police car is slowly rolling away in the same direction as the van, towards Slussen. Another van rolls out from one of the side streets and stops in front of the entrance to the law firm. Two people in white overalls jump out. They wait on the street outside the door, chatting with the police.
The policeman with the black eyes at the barricade takes a step to the side, onto one of the wide sidewalks. He says something into his headset and waves his arm to a car at the back of the queue that’s now formed on Skeppsbron. The black Volvo pulls away from the line of cars and slowly drives up onto the sidewalk, towards the police officer, then stops. One of the tinted windows rolls down halfway and what looks like a driver’s licence is stuck out. Klara can’t see inside the car from this angle, but she can see the police officer return the card and wave the Volvo towards the waiting police.
The car stops behind the newly arrived van and a man in his sixties with messy, grey hair jumps out, dressed in a cardigan, leather jacket and sturdy boots. He goes over to one of the uniformed police officers and grabs him before he can disappear into the building. The two men in white overalls follow him into the foyer.
There’s no doubt who it is.
Anton Bronzelius.
The Säpo officer she and Gabriella have encountered a few times in recent years. Bronzelius, who this summer threatened them when they were planning to reveal that Säpo knew a Russian company was planning to infiltrate European police forces. Säpo even gave the Russians more or less free rein to foment riots in the suburbs of Stockholm.
Klara and Gabriella ignored Bronzelius’s threats and instead went to the media and exposed the entire scandal. Klara was convinced that Bronzelius was bluffing when he said he’d get his revenge.
You don’t want me as an enemy, believe me, he said.
But now it’s obvious Bronzelius has led a SWAT team to arrest Gabriella. Klara’s been naive. Bronzelius meant every word.