This day’s asking a lot of you. You aren’t as young as you once were, and you should be sitting in your house on the Wannsee, enjoying the evening and forgetting the rest of the world out there. You weren’t supposed to drive from Berlin to Hamburg and back, then climb the Teufelsberg hill and be irritated by a wasp. You weren’t supposed to watch breathlessly as Ragnar bowed his head and cried. You’re glad Leo and David weren’t there.

No one should see Ragnar like that.

You came back from Hamburg half an hour ago, and now the three of you are standing on the Teufelsberg. Darian is holding the urn, Ragnar is looking down on Berlin as if he’s never seen the city before. The Funkturm is a thin line against the sky. Oskar is dead.

“Let’s put it behind us,” says Ragnar.

Darian hands his father the urn. Over the next few minutes you watch the ash trickling from Ragnar’s hand and being carried away. Then he closes the urn again, hands it to Darian, and crouches down to wipe his dirty hand in the grass.

“Darian, you go on ahead.”

The boy looks at you in surprise before he turns away. You wait until he’s out of sight, then you go and stand next to Ragnar and put your arm around his shoulder. He stiffens, he goes immediately into a defensive posture and holds his breath. Rigid. You feel him carefully breathing in again, his tension eases and he leans against you. You look out over Berlin. Our city, you think, and imagine it was Munich or Hamburg. No, it has to be Berlin. A soul of its own, a pulse of its own.

Ragnar Desche has become what he is because he listened to you. You were his teacher, he still looks up to you and respects you. A lot of people think you’re his right hand, but you’re his arm and shoulder at the same time. Your family is a family of men. Women were never important, they’re what comes with it, what gets in the way and is unavoidable. Like a sunrise or a good day after a series of bad days. You’ve always had difficulties with women, but we’re not going to roll out your life right now, we haven’t time. We’re going to go with you for the next few hours until you bid this story farewell. Like a tired handshake after a long evening or the quiver of an axe when it gets stuck in the wood. But before all this happens you have to talk to Ragnar and his son, otherwise we can’t let you go.

“Ragnar, we should leave this be, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve had enough time to think it through. We can’t go chasing after them.”

“Of course we can. Are you doubting me?”

“I didn’t say that. I just think time’s on our side. They can’t disappear forever. Think about it. How does this look? Why aren’t we keeping a clear head and waiting to see whether—”

“I’m not waiting, Tanner. My head is so clear you can’t imagine. That slut killed my brother. That’s why we’re staying here. It’s a private matter, and it has to be brought to its conclusion. How can you hesitate when a daughter kills her father?”

Ragnar knows there’s only one answer to that. You take your arm off his shoulders and try to find the right words.

“What’s really your problem?” he asks.

“We’re the problem. The fact that we’re getting involved. Let other people do the work. We have rules, and one of the rules is that we never get personally involved. Never. You’ve got Johannes Melben in Oslo, he could—”

“Forget the rules,” Ragnar cuts in. “When I say private, I mean private. Bruno and Oswald failed. We drove to Hamburg and failed. Tanner, we’re not a kindergarten here. Either we take charge of the problem ourselves or we chicken out. Do I look like the kind of guy who chickens out? What have you taught me? What did you hammer into me all those years?”

“That you should never lose sight of your goal.”

“I see my goal. I want to get there. How can you question my plans for even a second?”

“I’m sorry.”

“So you should be.”

You don’t look at each other. One breath, a second one. You have to ask.

“What did she do to Oskar?”

“She suffocated him with a cushion. They argued, and she suffocated him with a goddamn cushion. He was so high that he probably didn’t even notice.”

You feel a cold vise around your rib cage.

“She suffocated him? I don’t get it. What did she do that for?”

“That’s the very question I’m going to ask her when we’ve found her.”

It’s the pace that counts. Slowness is for losers. Somebody who says he’s got time has no time, he’s lying to you. Who stays on the move controls the world. But how does it feel when your own teachings turn on you? You feel like you’ve betrayed yourself. Like all the verve, like all the risk taking that was keeping you afloat has gone up in a puff of smoke. Or you could say you’ve got older.

Older and wiser and weaker.

You give yourself another two years. After that you’d like to marvel at the flight of migrating birds. You want to get so slow that the nights never end.

But that is then and this is now.

Now you’re standing at a private airport outside Potsdam. You’ve just dropped your car off and got out when David calls. Even though you know what Taja has done, you hope right up to the last second that you don’t have to fly to Norway. Your hope dissolves into nothing when you hear David saying, “There was a sports bag in the safe-deposit box, but there were only books in it.” You look at Ragnar. You could keep it to yourself. The situation is bad enough. He can find out later, you think, and wonder when that later is going to be. Don’t make a mistake now. Hand him the phone. Just do it.

“Ragnar?”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically.

“The merchandise isn’t in the safe-deposit box.”

He takes the phone, holds it to his ear, listens for a moment and just asks one question, “What color was the bag?”

After he’s hung up, he hands you back the phone.

“Do you think Neil Exner’s pulled a fast one on us?”

Ragnar shakes his head.

“We’ve been far too naïve about this whole thing. Those girls just used Exner to buy themselves time. Do you still think we shouldn’t go chasing after them?”

You give him the only acceptable answer.

“I’m completely behind you, you know that.”

Ragnar smiles and suddenly punches your shoulder, he says he didn’t expect anything else. He doesn’t say you’ve dodged his question.

Tomas Zenna has put one of his private jets at your disposal. He’s one of your most important customers. Weapon exports, drug imports. One phone call was enough. The pilot greets you with a handshake. Thirty-five minutes later you end up at a tiny airport near Amli. The airport is right on Route 41, which will bring you in an almost straight line down to the south.

It’s sultry and humid; summer here has a different smell. It’s your first time in Norway. Ragnar went to Oskar’s wedding on his own, because he needed some time alone. You’re aware that everything would’ve been different if you’d gone together.

A rental car waits by the runway with its engine running. There’s a bag in the trunk. Zenna has prepared everything. You’re carrying guns, you don’t know what to expect, who the girls are working with or whether they’re working on their own. Leo hesitates for a moment, and then he’s the only one to put on a bulletproof jacket.

“Better safe than sorry,” he says.

You get into the car.

Darian had Fabrizio explain the GPS program, and during the flight he checked where the girls were staying on his notebook. It’s just after nine. The girls got off the ferry an hour ago, but they’re still in Kristiansand. You’re just sixty miles apart.

The timetable stands. Your return flight is booked for one in the morning. Ragnar doesn’t plan to go back to Berlin without Taja. He doesn’t say what his plans for the other girls are.

Ragnar and Darian sit in the back, Leo drives. If Ragnar is right and the girls really want to go to Ulvtannen, then they have to go past you. You’re on course. And it is about time to bring this story to an end so that we never have to talk about it again.

Let’s put our cards on the table. Uncertainty has been gnawing away at you since you talked to each other in the office. Fact is, you don’t believe Ragnar, or rather you don’t want to believe him, because you’ve known Taja since she was a child and she isn’t capable of killing anyone, especially her father. But why should Ragnar lie to me? Your doubts trouble you. You can see what’s happening here. A man and his wounded pride. Your job is to be there and save what needs to be saved. One dead girl is one too many. And, damn it, you want to know what Ragnar’s hiding from you. You miss his rationality. Even though you’ve spoken out in favor, the trip to Hamburg was a step too far, and now there’s this. A goalkeeper is allowed to leave his goal, but he should know how far out he can go. Be prepared. You have an important job to do in this story, and you’ve got to do it or else everything’s going to get out of control. And you really don’t want to have that on your conscience.

Darian tells you that the Range Rover has left Kristiansand now and is on the 41, but that it stopped again ten miles later. You know the reason for the stop when you drive past Søre Herefoss and the rain comes crashing down on you. It feels as if you’re moving through a wall of water from one moment to the next. Leo turns the fog lights on and leans forward slightly to get a better view. The street is an explosion of light reflections, and the rain hammers on the roof with blunt fingernails as if to drown out not only every word, but your thoughts as well. Leo keeps his foot down. You’re very glad you’re not at the wheel. Wet tarmac makes you nervous.

Thirty-nine minutes later.

“How does it look?”

You turn around. Ragnar doesn’t mean the road or the weather, he’s leaned over to Darian, they’re both studying the display of the notebook. Their faces are palely lit.

“They’re not moving from the spot.”

“How far still to go?”

Darian looks up.

“They must be right in front of us.”

You look forward, the tarmac steams with its stored heat, you can’t see ten yards in front of you, and as you stare into the darkness and try to make something out, a shimmering cloud of light materializes and grows bigger and bigger.

“Gas station,” says Leo.

“Another two hundred yards,” says Darian.

A car comes toward you, the high beams full on and dazzling, so that for several seconds Leo is driving blind. The car whooshes past you.

“What an asshole!”

Leo curses at length and pulls in at the gas station, which looks a lot like a carnival. People are dancing in the rain, someone has set up a grill under an awning and is turning sausages. Four gaily painted VW buses stand in a row, their side doors are open in spite of the rain. You can hear the music from inside. Teens cross the access road in front of you, holding a plastic sheet over their heads and looking like a walking tent. There are also tired faces staring out of the parked cars as if the rain was holding them prisoner. A dog barks at a puddle, then a flash of lightning splits the sky, thunder crashes and for a few seconds the rain is silent, then its rattle drowns every other sound again.

Leo drives at a walking pace. The restaurant and the gas station drift past like the languid longing of a hippie who’s dreaming of the sixties. The smokers under the awning retreat simultaneously when a gust of wind blows the rain in their direction. Everything here looks like a movie set that’ll soon be pulled down. The flickering neon light above the entrance to the restaurant makes you particularly nervous. You are tense, your left thumb is twitching. You tell yourself it’s the weather and keep a lookout for the Range Rover. The parking lot behind the restaurant is overflowing too. Leo notices that they’re already close to the exit.

“We’ve driven past them,” says Darian.

Leo brakes, looks in the rearview mirror, and turns. No one shouts at Darian, it’s not his fault. The GPS program works on a delay. They must be somewhere. Darian’s arm darts forward.

“There they are!”

You also spot the car well hidden in the shadow of a trailer opposite the restaurant, it’s no wonder you all failed to see it. Leo swings out and brakes right in front of the Range Rover. No more chance of escape. It’s over.

Nothing is happening in the car in front of you. The tinted windows are dull and dead. You expect the doors to fly open and the girls to come pouring out. That’s what you wish would happen.

What are they waiting for?

“I don’t see anything,” says Leo and turns off the engine.

Apart from the rain and swish of the windshield wipers the only sound is your breathing and the whir of the notebook, then there’s a soft click and the whir falls silent because Darian has shut it.

“Stay in the car,” says Ragnar.

You don’t think of leaving him alone, and get out too.

“For an old man you’re amazingly quick,” says Ragnar.

“Who are you calling an old man?”

The rain spits in your faces, both of you are pumped with adrenaline.

“I’ll sort this one out,” says Ragnar, pulling his weapon.

You look over at the restaurant. No one pays you any attention. Ragnar walks up to the Range Rover and stops by the driver’s door. He taps on the window and waits. You’re ready for anything. You think. You really think you are.