The insistent noise of the mobile phone filled the room like a mosquito. Holger lay in a foetal position on the sofa, and it took a while for the ringtone to slowly break its way through the protective armour of sleep. Reluctantly, Holger reached out for the mobile phone.
‘Hello. Yes, speaking. Who am I talking to? Lars Danielson? I thought it was one of those damn journalists chasing me 24-7. What do you want?’ Holger demanded as he desperately tried to wet his dry palate.
Drowsily he checked his Panerai watch. 23:12. Jeez, what a time to call, he thought as his brain slowly kicked into gear.
‘Meet up to discuss the situation; what the fuck is that of concern to FE? OK, OK, I actually don’t really care anymore.’
Holger sat up straight and scratched his hair.
‘Yeah, just drop by; I’m not going anywhere,’ Holger sighed and hung up.
Like an old man, he rose from the sofa and turned the TV off. The silence was deafening. For once, the maddening dogs next door were silent; they usually barked at all times. The silence had a soothing effect, and slowly his body started to come to life. Holger 247glanced around the living room, took the empty whiskey bottle and placed the half-empty glass in the kitchen sink. The darkness outside Niels Andersens Vej was menacing, and his reflection in the kitchen window showed with brutal honesty how hard-hit he really was. Mechanically, Holger let his hand massage the stubble on his cheeks and headed for the bathroom. A cold shower could massage a bit of energy back into his body, although it would do nothing to conceal how haggard he was mentally.