Sample Translation The Almighty by Jørgen Jæger Prologue Looking fearsome came with the job, but it was actually just a mask he slipped on. Even so, violence was his signature and had been ingrained in him since childhood. The life he’d been born into had shaped him into what he was: an asset for those who knew how to exploit such things. Like now. He stared at his victim, who was in the process of collapsing before his very eyes. His overwhelming feeling was one of disbelief, because the man had come at him and the knife had slipped into his body with such unexpected ease. That definitely hadn’t been the plan! He spat out an oath: the sight of the bundle lying motionless before him left no room for doubt. Despite his reputation in certain circles as a feared thug, he had his limits. He had her to thank for that, the light of his life – the only light. Now, like it or not, he’d moved up a division in the criminal league. He’d killed a man. Chapter 1 Monday the first of June dawned with cloudbursts and an icy southwest gale. But the people of Fjellberghavn never let bad weather get in the way of a celebration. The townspeople had other things on their mind because at midday their popular mayor, Janne Wold, was due to take the podium down by the town square and write Fjellberghavn into the Norwegian history books. Well, that’s what the headlines in the Fjellberg Post had been saying for the past few days at any rate; and the paper’s editor, Wenche Sunde, had done her best to build up expectations by throwing out a series of possibilities she knew would spark her readers’ curiosity. Because what on earth could the mayor have on her mind that would assure little Fjellberghavn’s place in history? Speculation abounded in the comment sections of the newspaper’s website. It looked set to be an extraordinary popular celebration, just the way the mayor liked it.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
Janne Wold was in her mid-forties, a slender, vigorous woman. She was the leader of the Coastal People’s Party, a local phenomenon that was difficult to place in the political landscape because it appealed to neither right nor left wing. But Janne Wold was visible in her job, taking the lead on every issue with an energy that might have exhausted most people. Rumour was she had ADHD, but nobody could confirm it, although everyone agreed there had to be something about her. No normal human being could have activity levels as high as hers and still manage to do such a great job of looking after a semi-invalid husband and a huge house. That was how Janne won people’s respect and – eventually – most people’s hearts. She was their Janne. And then she’d been re-elected with 65 per cent of the votes when she and her party stood for a new term, too. Hardly anyone voted for the party, though; they voted for her. A big open-air stage had been set up in the town square – nice and high, for good visibility. If the event took place inside, in the meeting hall, only a few people would be able to get in, and Janne wanted everybody to have the chance to come and listen. By eleven o’clock, people had already arrived in front of the stage, and after that the town square gradually filled up, so that half an hour later it was getting pretty cramped: the town square wasn’t all that big. It was still raining and blustery. Soon Janne Wold would be standing on stage, gazing out over a packed crowd clad in brightly coloured raingear and sou’westers. A few people tried to put up umbrellas, which were immediately turned inside out by the wind. Must be summer tourists, thought the people standing near them; ignorant folk who knew nothing about the climate out here at the edge of the open sea. Then the town hall clock struck twelve. Janne Wold came marching on stage, accompanied by the twelve, resonant chimes of the bells – a dramatic intro in its own right and hardly chosen at random. She was dressed the same as the people she served, in raingear and sou’wester, and gave the impression of being overjoyed to be able to share her sensational secret with everybody at last.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
She wasn’t alone. Three other people followed her and stood beside her: the audience recognised the deputy mayor, Tor Siem, on one side, and the manager of the newly established Destination Fjellberghavn, Magne Dalseid, on the other. In the background stood the police chief herself, Marte Mellingen, in full uniform, as if to pompously underscore the formal nature of the occasion. When the chimes had died away, Janne Wold stepped towards the microphone. She tapped it with her index finger and cleared her throat before beginning: “Dear friends! It’s fantastic that so many of you have braved this awful weather to be here today! Welcome to all of you! Today we’re going to make history, folks!” She introduced the other people on the stage and started to talk. Not about the sensational news but everything around it, the way all politicians did before getting to the point. But of course she couldn’t just blurt out the conclusion without giving people the intellectual packaging first: that would fall flat, they all understood that. So as people waited for the words that would release them from their suspense, whatever they might be, they were treated to a detailed history of Fjellberghavn, which placed particular emphasis on the exciting development of recent years – the growing influx of newcomers and the rising population. It looked as if this review was going to take some time. Not everybody in Fjellberghavn was at the ceremony. Although some companies and public offices had closed their doors a couple of hours earlier and given their employees time off, it was business as usual at Fjell police station – which was just as it should be. The police station was down by the harbour, a few blocks away from the town hall; near enough that you could hear the town hall bells, cause of much contention, which brought pleasure to some but pain to those who lived near enough for the chimes to disturb their sleep at night, especially in the hours towards midnight. But the bells were there to stay. They had been there from time immemorial and were imprinted on the townspeople’s souls, a bit like the rowdy marching bands of Bergen, incomprehensible to all but natives of that city.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
As Janne Wold was rounding off her speech over on the town square, a huge dumper truck came driving across the harbour towards the police station, and set course for the garage in the basement. Without slowing, the vehicle slammed into the garage door, which collapsed with a crash and fell inwards onto the garage floor before the over-sized vehicle jammed itself into the doorway with a screech. The engine was switched off, then a figure jumped out of the driver’s cab and walked off calmly. Immediately afterwards, a passenger car drove up onto the pavement in front of the public entrance and parked so close to the door that it was impossible to open it. Then a figure climbed out of that car, too, locked it and left. Maybe it was the same person, maybe it wasn’t. But from then on, not only were all the police station’s emergency vehicles trapped inside the building; so were all of the staff. Over on the town square, Janne Wold was building up to the climax of her speech. The introductory formalities were out of the way and all the general chitchat was done with. She was getting to the point and many of those in the crowd were shielding their mobiles from the rain to be sure of capturing the great moment on video. “Dear friends!” Her voice quivered with repressed tension. “Today we will be making Norwegian history. As of twelve o’clock, Fjellberghavn’s status has changed…” she left the words hanging in the air a while, “… from village… to town!” She fell silent and looked out over the crowd to see if there would be any reaction, but the people stood there, quiet as mice, listening. “What that means, my dear friends,” she clarified, “is that from today, Fjellberghavn has the status of a town. My friends, we no longer live in a little rural backwater, we live in a town! And not just any old town either, you know, because listen to this…”
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
She gave a dramatic pause, as if to ensure that she had their full attention. “Because listen to this,” she repeated urgently. “We all know that from time immemorial Florø has had the status of being Norway’s westernmost town. Well, my friends, not any more! Florø’s position on the map places it 5.02 degrees of longitude east of Greenwich – and where do you think Fjellberghavn lies on the map?” She looked out expectantly across the crowd. “Well,” she went on. “Hold onto your hats, my friends. We lie 4.95 degrees east – or 4.923667 degrees to be precise. And, with all the attention that entails, all the tourism opportunities and ensuing advantages, this means that Fjellberghavn has today knocked Florø off its throne and entered the history books as Norway’s westernmost town!” She fell silent again. Then she spread her arms wide and added, with her trademark enthusiasm: “Isn’t it fantastic?” A sigh ran through the gathering as the news sank in. Then the clock struck half past twelve and the town hall bell framed Janne’s dramatic performance with a powerful dong. At the same time, a cry rang out from somewhere in the crowd, followed by a sharp bang, then another – and yet another. All the people on the stage vanished from sight and at once a great pushing and shoving began as the screaming audience tried to get away. From the middle of the crowd a piercing voice cried out: “Allahu akbar!” Chapter 2 At 12.32, the operations centre in Borg, half an hour down the road from Fjellberghavn, received the first desperate telephone calls on the emergency number, 112. After that, the lines exploded into a chaos of disjointed, panicky messages. At 12.35, a call went out over police radio frequencies summoning all available units to the town square in Fjellberghavn, warning them to be on high alert and armed. The disaster alarm was triggered and the ambulance services at the hospital were placed on standby. At the same time the operations manager tried in vain to ring Marte Mellingen and the three other people on the stage. The operations centre had oversight of where every single patrol car in the police district was at any given time, and they knew that Fjellberghavn’s patrol
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
cars weren’t out on duty right then. But what they didn’t realise was that the cars had just been trapped inside the station; nor did they know it would be impossible for a unit leader in a command car to get out and lead the team. Not right then. The second-in-command at Fjell police station, Superintendent Cecilie Hopen, was sitting enjoying a simple lunch and a calm chat with her colleague, Sergeant Morten Gundersen, when the dumper truck crashed into the garage entrance in the basement. The collision was so powerful that it could be heard by most people in the police station, Cecilie and Morten included. They both froze and stared at each other wonderingly. “What on earth was that?” exclaimed Cecilie. “A car crash?” he hazarded. “No, to be honest – I haven’t a clue.” “Let’s find out.” Cecilie grabbed her mobile and rang Eva Lien in reception. “Did you hear that racket?” “Yes.” “Do you know what it was?” “No, but it made the building shake – at least down here in reception. I’ll send somebody down post-haste to investigate now.” “Investigate?” Cecilie was taken aback, because Eva had video screens on her desk showing images from two surveillance cameras, one over each entrance. “Can’t you see anything on the screens?” “No, the cameras are out of order. They were already down when I came into work this morning. The supplier’s promised to check them over the course of the day.” “Okay, Eva. Keep me posted.” Cecilie stood up and glanced at her wristwatch. “Let’s take a note of the time,” she said to her colleague. “The crash came at 12.27.” She started clearing up her canteen table. “Let’s go downstairs, I don’t like this business.” As they stood putting their leftovers in the bin besides the canteen counter, the shots were fired over by the town hall. The two of them froze again.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
“Did you hear that?” Cecilie put down her tray with its dirty cups and plates. “What on earth is going on here?” Sergeant Morten Gundersen gave a start. “It sounded like…” “Gunfire!” They stared at each other in puzzlement because the odds of hearing shooting in the middle of Fjellberghavn weren’t especially high. “Or perhaps it was an exhaust backfiring,” added Cecilie. “No, it wasn’t that,” Morten was quick to reply; everybody knew he was a car nerd and well versed in that sort of thing. “It came from over there at any rate.” Cecilie nodded towards the window, then got up and walked over to it. “First one… then several shots… I just can’t believe it; it must have been something else. Perhaps Janne’s celebrating her great news – whatever it is – with fireworks out there. That’d be just like her.” “True.” Morten chuckled, walking over to stand beside her. From the window they had a direct view of part of the town square, where some of the crowd was visible behind the neighbouring building. “Look at the crowd. That’s some party she’s started.” He hesitated. “But… the people are milling about a lot.” She followed his gaze. “You’re right, they’re running… in panic… So perhaps they really were shots!” She glanced at her wristwatch again. “Fired 20 seconds after 12.30.” Morten took a notebook out of his pocket and began to make notes. She grabbed her mobile. “Marte’s out there,” she said as she searched for her boss’s number and pressed ring. “Morten, stay here and observe! Note down any movements and activity. Take pictures and videos on your mobile if you can, zoom in on cars and people, and take a note of the timing of any movements.” She hung up, cursing. “No answer,” she groaned. “Why in hell isn’t she answering?” She was interrupted by the ringing of her mobile. She answered and realised in a flash that it was Eva Lien. “Hi, Eva. What’s going on?” “The alarm’s been sounded!” Eva’s usually light, bright voice sounded tense as she explained what was happening in clipped sentences. “The operations centre is asking you to organise the callout and take charge as unit leader,” she concluded.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
“OK, Eva. I need all operative personnel to pick up their weapons and gather in the conference room for a briefing – now! Call them in over the tannoy. I’m on my way. Have you found out what that crash was?” “No, not yet.” “OK.” Cecilie hung up and ran towards the lift, but it was stuck on the first floor so she took the stairs instead – two or three steps at a time. In the background she heard Eva’s voice ringing out dramatically over the tannoy. In seconds she was down on the third floor and had reached the department. Her pulse thundered as it dawned on her that something horrible was happening – and that, as the most senior manager on site, she was responsible for ensuring that the situation was properly dealt with. If her judgement was flawed, lives could be lost. Being a detective, she was wearing civilian clothing and that wouldn’t do if she was going on a callout. She popped into her office and changed from civilian clothes to uniform in record time, grabbed her police radio handset and ran off, all the while attempting to analyse the situation. What did they know? Well, that shots had been fired and that the four people on the stage had vanished out of sight. In other words some of them might have been shot – perhaps all four, perhaps none of them. Marte had been there – her boss and close friend. The thought was hard to bear. Had other people been shot? Or injured? Any of the public? They had no information about that. Did they have any description of the alleged criminal? Nobody had said anything about it. The fact was, it was total confusion. But people said somebody had called out Allahu akbar. That could point towards a terror attack. Was it a bomb they’d heard? Hardly. Bombs didn’t sound like that. But if it really was a suicide bomber who’d shouted out, an explosion could come at any moment. Or the terror could manifest itself in some other way. If so, how? With knives… machetes… corrosive liquids…
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
Cecilie felt herself sweating. Terrorists had attacked large crowds with such weapons before, killing without mercy. And monsters like that made no distinction between young and old, women and children: they killed blindly to create fear and chaos. But here? In little Fjellberghavn? She offered a silent prayer that nothing like this was happening, then called the operations centre in Borg over the police radio frequency, as per stipulated procedure. The speaker on her handset hissed and crackled. “Bravo responding,” the operations manager’s voice betrayed his concern. “Have you been filled in on the situation?” Cecilie confirmed that she had. “Good. We don’t know anything else for now and we’re relying on your observations on the scene once you’re deployed. You’ll get backup from the emergency response unit and all available patrols who’re being deployed now.” “Fox zero-one responding,” Cecilie was focused now. “That’s fine. I’ll take a detective with me in the command vehicle and we’ll deploy four armed patrols, too. We can’t wait for the emergency response unit, it’ll take too long, so we’ll deal with this situation ourselves. Do we have a description of the perpetrator?” “Negative. The situation at the scene is one of panic and chaos. The reports are unclear.” “And we don’t know who may have been shot – and whether anybody has been?” “No.” “Do we know anything about a possible terror attack, other than that shout? We heard a loud noise here and are trying to find out what it was. Have you had any reports about that?” “Negative.” Cecilie broke the connection and went into the conference room, which was already bustling with hectic activity as the team armed themselves and got ready, all of them equally terrified, because none of them had expected anything so serious to happen in the little community far out on the ocean’s edge Which was now a town. But they didn’t know that then, of course.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
The conference room looked like a small cinema, with spindle-backed chairs several rows deep facing a podium with a big screen behind it and several whiteboards on either side. The room was used both for meetings, like now, and for teaching and press conferences. Cecilie stood at the podium, clapped her hands and interrupted the activity. “Listen to me while you’re kitting up!” she shouted loudly. “This is the situation we’re facing…” she briefly explained. “Switch over to frequency 44 on your radios everybody,” she continued.” That way we can coordinate our activity informally without interruption. Identify yourself by surname and provide a running report of all observations and activities so that we all get an overview. I’ll take care of communications with the operations centre in Borg. Any questions so far?” “Marte Mellingen was on that stage, wasn’t she?” asked a worried voice. “She was, along with three other notables including the mayor, Janne Wold. None of them are accounted for and none of them are answering their phones.” Cecilie went over to a PC, searched on the keyboard and a map of Fjellberghavn filled the screen on the wall behind her. “I’ll take Jostein Vågenes with me in the command vehicle and get into position here at Havnegata,” she continued, indicating a place on the screen with an electronic pointer. “The rest of you will position yourself like this… here… here and…” She was interrupted by a shadow entering her field of vision on one side. It was Eva, gesturing for Cecilie to stop. And that’s when they all found out they were trapped. That faced them with a new situation. Cecilie leaned on the podium. She made a conscious effort to radiate calm and confidence but her brain was working in top gear. Once again she would have to make the right choice in a demanding, almost impossible, situation. She felt under pressure – perhaps more than she would have otherwise. It wasn’t long since the chief of the psychiatric clinic at the hospital had reluctantly given her a clean bill of health. Cecilie had done a lot of work on herself, both in therapy and elsewhere, to try and put Bernhard’s fate behind her. Even so she
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
was still weighed down by conflicting feelings: on the one hand, grief over the loss of the man she had loved; on the other, her general mistrust of men. This feeling, ingrained in her since being raped some years earlier, had been reinforced by Bernhard’s shocking activities. The trauma still lingered, perhaps not outwardly or in her everyday life, but in recurring nightmares: after all, it was part of her personality to suppress everything she couldn’t deal with and store it in her subconscious. Even the psychiatrist hadn’t managed to reach that part of her mind. That made it all the more important to do the right thing now. She was certain nobody could tell by looking at her that she was struggling mentally, and that’s the way it should be. So what could they do with this situation? Commandeer a tow truck to clear the vehicles away from the doors? Could they leave through the staff entrance down in the garage? No. It was built into the garage door itself, so it was blocked. But perhaps they could climb out through the windows down on the ground floor? No, that wasn’t possible either. The windows were armoured for security reasons and couldn’t be opened. But perhaps there was a similar alternative. She made a quick decision. “Do any of you have your own cars parked outside?” Hands shot up into the air. “Okay, we’ll commandeer them, then,” she announced. “Jostein and I will go on foot. We’ll all leave the building by the fire escape and out through the backyard. Climb out one by one, providing cover for each other. Remember that we don’t know what’s waiting for us out there. Drive four to a car, go straight to the agreed position as soon as you get out and assess the situation. Be ready to improvise. Go, go, go!” The police officers ran out of the conference room in single file and Cecilie picked up her handset. “Fox zero one to Bravo,” she said, as she followed her colleagues out. “We’re leaving by the fire escape and using passenger cars.” “Bravo responding,” came the voice from the operations centre. “Good solution. Best of luck, Hopen.”
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
As the first officer was about to climb out of the window, the operations manager called Cecilie’s mobile. Agitated, she thought What’s up now as she answered the call. “We have a new situation. Call off the manoeuvre!” The operations manager shouted the words. “Under no circumstances must you leave by the fire escape.” “No?...” Cecilie signalled to her team to wait. “We’ve had a bomb threat!” The operations manager couldn’t keep his voice entirely steady. “Apparently the cars blocking the exits are charged with explosives and will blow up if we try to remove them. According to the threat, explosives have been rigged in the emergency exits at the police station, too. Police Commissioner Jorid Steine has just arrived at the centre. She’s given the order for you to stand down and remain at the police station until the emergency response unit and bomb disposal unit have arrived and established control. She asks you to acknowledge receipt of the order!” Cecilie thought swiftly. “Do you view this as a real threat?” “We have to – until the contrary has been confirmed. We can’t compromise the safety of our service personnel.” “But what about the paramedics who are standing by with ambulances?” Cecilie already knew what the answer would be, but wanted to hear it from him. “They’ll have to stand down, too. Health personnel can’t be sent into an unsafe area – that’s procedure, as we all know.” Cecilie said nothing. Borg was 100km away from Fjellberghavn and that meant the emergency response unit was 25 minutes away, even on emergency callout footing. Meantime, Fjellberghavn was under siege by potential terrorists and the hysterical crowd was unprotected at a time when anything could happen. And the four people who’d been on the stage, who could be dying for all they knew, would have to wait at least half an hour for medical help. It was a terrifying, desperate situation. And what about Marte? Had she been killed? If so, what would become of her three children, who had lost their father in a similar fashion some years earlier? And Ole, her beloved partner? What if Marte was lying there fighting for her life and every minute counted?
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017
Cecilie repressed a groan. She couldn’t accept an order like this and still look people in the eyes afterwards – it was morally impossible. Besides, the idea that police officers were supposed to display courage in life-threatening situations was deep-rooted. But the order had come from the police commissioner herself. If Cecilie disobeyed and sent out her people and they were killed, it would be her personal responsibility. Then there’d certainly be no way she could ever look anybody in the eyes again. So she couldn’t defy the order; she was checkmated and would have to obey. “Okay,” she said, as firmly as she could. “I acknowledge the order. Tell your people to step on it!” Then she hung up, explained the situation to her team and asked them to go back to the conference room for a debriefing. Cecilie weighed up whether she should ring Ole and let him know what had happened, since he was Marte’s partner, but decided against it. Proud and energetic as he was, her old boss would embark a one-man operation to try and sort things out – and that might cost him his life because he no longer had access to weapons. She couldn’t expose him to the risk; it was better to leave him in ignorance until they’d got the situation under control. In any case she didn’t know where he was. Perhaps he was on the town square and was already cleaning things up himself. It didn’t bear thinking about. But if she knew him, he was at work. Cecilia went to the conference room and briefed the team about the situation. It was now 12.40. Neither the emergency response unit nor any of the patrol cars from Borg and the neighbouring districts would arrive until 13.05. That meant twenty-five unbearably long minutes lay ahead, because the terrorists, or whoever they were, had hardly isolated them so systematically without a reason. The question wasn’t whether something terrible would happen but what it would be.
Translation: Lucy Moffatt 2017