Joona’s thick hair is still wet as he opens the door to Lecture Hall 11 where Nathan Pollock is lecturing a special training group on handling hostage situations and rescue operations. Projected on the wall behind Pollock is the anatomy of a human body, and seven weapons are lined up on a table. They range from a small silver SIG Sauer P238 to a matte-black automatic carbine from Heckler & Koch equipped with a 40 millimetre grenade thrower. Pollock is demonstrating an attack technique on a young police officer. He holds a knife close to his body, then suddenly rushes the officer and marks his throat. He turns back to the group.
“The problem with a cut like this is that the enemy can still scream. He can still move, and since only one artery is cut, it’ll take some time for him to bleed to death,” Pollock tells them.
He walks up to the young officer again and puts his arm around the officer’s face so that his elbow covers the officer’s mouth.
“If I do this instead, I can cover the scream, control his head, and slice open both arteries with one cut.”
Pollock lets the young officer go just as Joona Linna enters the room. The young officer wipes his mouth and returns to his seat. With a big grin, Pollock tries to wave Joona over, but Joona shakes his head.
“I just need a word with you,” Joona says quietly.
A few of the police officers swivel their heads as Pollock walks over to Joona and shakes hands. The shoulders of Joona’s jacket are dark from the water dripping from his hair.
“Tommy Kofoed took shoe prints from the Palmcrona scene,” Joona says. “I must know—did he find anything else unusual?”
“I didn’t realise there was a rush on it,” Nathan says. He also keeps his voice low. “Of course we photographed all the impressions on the foil, but we haven’t had time to analyse the results. I absolutely have no overview yet—”
“But you saw something,” Joona states.
“It seems that maybe … when I entered the photos into the computer … there could have been a pattern … it’s too early—”
“Just tell me what you think—I have to run.”
“It looked like two different sets of shoe prints in two circles around the body,” Nathan tells him.
“I’m going to see The Needle. Why don’t you come with me?” Joona asks.
“Right now?”
“I have to be there in twenty minutes.”
“Damn, I can’t.” Nathan gestures to the class. “I’ll keep my phone on in case you have to get back about something.”
“Thanks,” Joona says, and turns towards the door.
“Hey … could you just say hi to this gang for a second?” Nathan asks.
The entire class has already turned to look at them. Joona waves.
Nathan raises his voice. “May I introduce Joona Linna? He’s the one I was telling you about. I’m trying to talk him into giving you some insight into hand-to-hand combat.”
The room is silent and everyone is staring at Joona.
“Most of you know more about hand-to-hand combat than I do,” Joona says with a small smile. “But one thing I do know is when you’re in a fight for your life, no rules apply. It’s not a game—it’s a real fight.”
“Listen up,” Nathan says, his voice hard.
“In a real fight, you’ll only win if you keep thinking. Be flexible. Take advantage of anything and everything that comes your way,” Joona continues calmly. “Maybe you’re in a car or on a balcony. Maybe in a room filled with tear gas. Maybe there’s broken glass covering the floor. There could be weapons all around. Is it a short fight? Or will you have to conserve your strength? Don’t waste time with fancy jump kicks or be cool with round kicks.”
A few laugh.
“And accept the idea of pain. When you’re in close combat without a weapon, you may have to take a real pounding to win as quickly as you can.” Joona finishes. “That’s about it … I really don’t know much more than that about this stuff.”
He bows his head faintly and turns to leave the lecture hall. Two of the officers clap. The door closes and the room falls silent. Nathan Pollock is smiling to himself as he comes back to the table.
“I originally meant to save this for another class,” he says as he taps on the computer. “This film is a classic—it’s the hostage drama from Nordea Bank headquarters on Hamngatan nine years ago. There are two robbers. Joona Linna has already got the hostages out. He’s also already taken down one of the robbers, the one who had an Uzi. There’d been a violent firefight. The other robber is hiding and still has a knife. They had spray-painted all of the security cameras, but missed one. Anyway, I’ll play it in slow motion because the whole thing happens in just a few seconds.”
Pollock clicks again, and the film starts in slow motion. It’s a grainy video shot from directly overhead and showing the interior of the bank. At the bottom right of the image, a counter ticks off the seconds. Joona moves smoothly sideways with his arms out, holding his pistol high. It almost looks like he’s underwater, his movements are so slow. The robber is hiding behind the open door to the safe. He holds a knife. Suddenly he rushes out with long, fluid strides. Joona points his service pistol towards the robber, directly at his chest. The robber doesn’t hesitate. Joona is forced to pull the trigger. “The pistol clicks but a faulty bullet is lodged in the barrel,” narrates Pollock.
The grainy film flickers. Joona retreats as the man with the knife leaps at him. The whole thing is spooky and silent. Joona ejects the magazine and reaches for a new one. There is no time. Swiftly he reverses the useless gun until the barrel becomes an extension of his forearm.
“I don’t get it,” says a female officer.
“He’s transforming the pistol into a tonfa,” Pollock explains.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a kind of stick or baton. American police use something similar. Obviously, your reach is lengthened and if you must strike, the impact is intensified.”
The man with the knife has reached Joona. Almost in slow motion, he strikes at Joona’s abdomen, the blade glittering in a half arc. His other arm is up and turns with his body. Joona does not look at the knife at all. He moves straight into the robber and instantly strikes him in the throat, right under the Adam’s apple, with the shaft of his gun.
As if in a dream, the knife falls slowly, swirling to the ground. The man goes to his knees, clutching his throat, and then falls forward.