“What’s happening, Lundin?” Loklinth asked. “I’m getting cryptic messages on the line.”
“Everything’s fine. General Synnerman writes that everything’s going according to plan.”
“Fine? Are you completely out of your mind? It says here that we’ve lost one helicopter crew and eight men. And it says that Modin is still alive. They are out on Black Island, defending themselves. That’s not according to plan; that’s a fucking screw-up!”
Loklinth was pacing his office anxiously, staring at the well-polished floor. Not a speck of dust, stone, or wood was left from the break-in. He stopped, as if invisible footprints had blocked his way.
He felt like an animal trapped in a cage. He didn’t like Lundin’s inquisitive look. That idiot no doubt thinks I’ve grown old. He’s just waiting for me to make a fool of myself. Fucking moron. Once we dealt with Modin, Lundin must go. I can’t stand him any longer.
“We must attack Black Island, Lundin,” Loklinth said, raising his chin. “Inform the Skandia Bar. Attack immediately. Before sunrise. With all we have. It’s our last chance. If they get away, we’ll hang, Lundin. Both you and me; we´ll hang high! Do you understand?”
Lundin hurried out, his tail between his legs.
Out on Riddargatan, a group of youths were wandering past. They were chanting rather than singing: We’ve passed our exams.
Finals already? Loklinth wondered and to distract himself from his heavy duties he began to hum O Flower Time is Here with a shaky voice as he went off to the bathroom to take a dump.