Death in Oslo Read Online Free PDF Page A

to celebrate peace and freedom. Brass bands trudged through the town to a half-hearted march. Offkey trumpet notes ensured that anyone who might still against all odds be asleep could now just as well get up and have the first coffee of the day. In the city’s parks, confused junkies emerged from under their blankets and plastic bags, unable to grasp what was happening. The weather was the same as normal, with clouds breaking up to the south, but no sign that the temperature would rise. On the contrary, there was every reason to expect a shower or two, judging by the grey skies to the north. Most of the trees were still half naked, though the birch trees were now sporting buds and pollen-saturated catkins. All over the country, parentsforced woollen underwear on their children, who had already started to pester them for ice cream and hot dogs, long before breakfast. Flags fluttered and flag ropes rattled on a brisk breeze.
    The kingdom of Norway was ready to celebrate.
    A policewoman stood shivering outside a hotel in the centre of Oslo. She had been standing there all night. As discreetly as possible, she looked at her watch at steadily shorter intervals. Someone would be coming to replace her soon so she could knock off. She had managed to snatch the occasional conversation with a colleague who was posted about fifty or sixty metres away, but apart from that, the night had been interminable. For a while she had tried to pass the time by guessing who was a bodyguard. But then, at around two in the morning, the steady stream of people coming and going had stopped. As far as she could see, there was no security on the roofs. No dark, easily identifiable cars with secret agents had cruised by since the American president had been dropped off and escorted into the hotel around midnight. They were, of course, still there. She knew that, even if she was only a constable who had been sent to decorate the outside of the hotel in a newly cleaned uniform – and to get cystitis.
    A cortège of cars was approaching the main entrance of the hotel. The street was normally open to all traffic, but now it was closed, with loose metal barriers creating a temporary square outside the modest entrance.
    The constable opened up two of the barriers, as she had been instructed to do in advance. Then she retreated to the pavement. She edged her way towards the entrance. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of the President up close, on her way to the national-day breakfast. That would be a welcome reward for a hellish night. Not that she was usually bothered about that sort of thing, but the woman was the most powerful person in the world, after all.
    No one stopped her.
    Just as the first car pulled up, a man came sprinting out of the hotel door. He had a bare head and was not wearing an overcoat. He had a walkie-talkie in a holster over his shoulder, and the constable could see the top of the butt of a gun just inside his open jacket. His face was remarkably devoid of expression.
    A man in a dark suit got out of the passenger seat of the first car. He was small and compact. Before he was fully out of the car, the man with the walkie-talkie, who had come to meet him, grabbed hold of his arm. They stood like this for a few seconds, the larger man with his hand on the smaller man’s arm, as they had a whispered conversation.
    The small Norwegian did not have the same poker face as the American. His mouth fell open for a few seconds, before he pulled himself together and straightened up. The policewoman took a couple of tentative steps closer to the car. She still couldn’t make out what they were saying.
    Four other men had come out of the hotel. One of them was having a muted conversation on a mobile phone while he stared blankly at a ghastly polished steel sculpture of a man standing waiting for a taxi. The three other agents were gesturing to someone the policewoman couldn’t see, and then, as if on command, they all looked in her