Fuck, I’m pissed, Kaare thought and realised that he couldn’t quite keep up with the conversation around the table. Strenuously, thoughts moved through his head – as if in a thick fog. With no clear direction or orientation. He had glimpses of clear vision, and then it all disappeared again. Over the years, he had learned to listen to the little signs his body gave him. For example, the feeling of having a finger jabbed into his forehead was a clear sign of hypoxia. He vividly remembered when, as a young Jaeger, he’d been in a hypobaric chamber for the first time. It had been part of his training in high-altitude parachuting from up to thirty thousand feet. The altitude that commercial airlines cruise at when flying long distances. It was called High Altitude Low Opening, or simply HALO. When performing a jump at that altitude, one needed oxygen from a portable oxygen supply system, and it was vital to make sure the system was not defective. Therefore shifting from the plane’s oxygen supply to the personal system a few minutes prior to exit was protocol. Through his training with the Department of Aeronautical Medicine at the Copenhagen University Hospital, he had familiarised himself with his body’s response to hypoxia so he would have time to get back on the plane’s oxygen supply if the portable system was faulty. Inability to focus on the surrounding conversation is another sign, he thought as a smile 132spread across his face. He tried once more to join in. It was useless; he simply could not concentrate and decided it was time to call it a night. His announcement was met with a few derisory comments that he barely registered; he was too busy trying to stand up without falling over. He donned his blue fleece jacket and hugged each team member and then headed for the door.
‘See you later!’ he roared over the music and zigzagged shakily from the bar.
Outside on Jomfru Ane Gade, the cool night air made him feel sober for a fleeting second. But he was plastered and had to focus on making his body adhere to his will as he negotiated the crowded street. Kaare hated being this drunk and couldn’t get home fast enough. He elbowed his way forward until he reached the end of Jomfru Ane Gade, where the crowd thinned. He turned left and relaxed his pace for the first time, noticing the ringing in his ears left by the loud music. Unwittingly, he began humming the chorus from ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’.
The song simply refused to leave his head, going round and around in his brain like an overexcited child on a fairground carousel that wouldn’t stop. Maybe that was why he did not notice the person following him. Nor did he notice that the person was picked up by a black Toyota Hi-Ace shortly after they left the crowded street. Regrettably, the many pints had dulled his senses, and he paid no attention to the van following behind him up towards the church.