The Rabbit Hunter Read online

  The men reach the ground and quickly free themselves from the cable, then run for cover. The helicopter rises again and turns to move slowly away.

  A gun goes off nearby and the echo rebounds from the island opposite the marina.

  The rifle shot came from behind Joona, and he has time to think that the Security Police must have brought in more snipers before he sees the helicopter losing height and realises what’s happened.

  There’s another human-trafficker in the boatyard: one who turned out the lights in the house, fired a hunting rifle at the helicopter, and managed to hit the pilot.

  Joona sees the main rotor hit the mast crane. There’s a loud bang, followed by a shower of sparks. The helicopter is knocked sideways like a moth that’s burned itself on a lamp.

  The helicopter careens towards the ground and slams into the row of covered motorboats. The sound of the stuttering engine and the plastic being torn to ribbons cuts through the air.

  There are three more bangs, and half of one of the rotor-blades just misses Anders’s head.

  The blade slams into the tin wall of the workshop and shatters.

  A yellow fireball fills the sky for a few seconds. The heat of the explosion ignites the grass and the edge of the forest, as well as the cabins of the surrounding boats.

  49

  Gustav is leading the first unit, and has taken cover with his two fire-and-manoeuvre teams behind the concrete foundations of a fuelling station. He hears a hacking sound and sees the helicopter losing height. Adam yells something and stands up.

  ‘Lie down!’ Gustav shouts.

  Adam manages to take half a step towards the water before he gets knocked off his feet by the pressure wave from the explosion.

  He falls backwards and his helmet hits the ground hard.

  The heat sets fire to the surrounding trees.

  Pieces of metal rain down on the boatyard, but at first Gustav can’t hear anything but a rushing sound, like wind passing through leaves.

  And when he calls out to the others to stay down, his voice only seems to exist inside his own head.

  The panel of the fuelling station is burning.

  He looks at the flames, hears a faint crackle, then suddenly his hearing comes back, and with it the chaos. Adam is screaming desperately next to him.

  ‘Markus! Markus!’

  Adam has lost his brother. His voice cracks as he stands up again. Before Gustav has time to react, Adam fires his semiautomatic. He empties the entire magazine into the rows of luxury motor cruisers, then just lets go of the weapon and lets it dangle from its strap.

  ‘Get down, they’ve got a sniper,’ Gustav calls.

  Adam tears off his protective goggles and stares at the fire. Boats are burning and toppling over, and smaller explosions are still going off. Jamal leaves his cover, drags Adam to the ground and holds him there.

  With his hands shaking, Gustav radios Janus.

  Glass splinters and pieces of wood are flying through the air.

  They’ve lost the helicopter and its four-man crew.

  Gustav can still see the sparks in the darkness from the rotor-blade hitting the crane.

  Like the crackling blow of an immense magic wand.

  He fights back the tears as he recites the names of the colleagues he believes are dead.

  ‘Groups three and four are on their way, but you need to go in immediately and capture or neutralise the terrorists,’ Janus says.

  ‘And Joona?’ Gustav asks. ‘What’s happened to Joona Linna?’

  ‘We haven’t heard from him since he arrived at the scene,’ Janus replies. ‘We have to assume he’s dead.’

  ‘We have no way of knowing if they’re holding hostages or—’

  ‘Civilian losses are acceptable,’ Janus interrupts. ‘Backup’s on its way, but you need to do everything in your power to stop the terrorists immediately. That’s an order.’

  Gustav ends the transmission and tries to calm his breathing as he looks at the men around him. Jamal is biting his bottom lip, August’s mouth is hanging open, and Sonny’s eyes are blank.

  Adam is on his knees, crying as he inserts a fresh magazine into his rifle. His older brother Markus was the mechanic in charge of the rope, the guy who made sure they got to the ground safely just before the helicopter crashed.

  ‘OK, listen,’ Gustav says, clicking the butt of his semiautomatic into position: ‘Our orders are to capture or neutralise all the terrorists.’

  ‘When are we getting backup?’ Jamal asks.

  ‘They’re on their way, but we’re going in right now,’ Gustav replies. ‘Adam, you stay here.’

  Adam runs his hand over his face, looks at him and shakes his head.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I still think it would be best if you stay here.’

  ‘You need me,’ Adam insists.

  ‘Then you’re number four, and I’m last,’ Gustav says, feeling another flash of the bad feeling he had earlier. ‘Jamal, you take point.’

  ‘OK,’ Jamal replies.

  ‘Don’t take any risks. Think three-sixty degrees. You can do this. Now let’s go!’

  Jamal points, gets up into a crouch, and runs over towards the boats through the burning grass. He waves at them to follow him, then starts to make his way through the narrow gap between two rows of luxury yachts.

  They move forward like a single unit, trying to secure every angle as they go. The marina is hard to get an overview of, and there hadn’t been time to study a map of the terrain. The flames from the helicopter and burning boats rise up behind them. The fires give them extra light, but they also give the illusion that everything is in motion. The flames reflect off pieces of metal, and large shadows quiver and dart across the hulls of the boats.

  Somewhere up ahead of them is a sniper, but it’s practically impossible to know how visible they are to the shooter. They could be standing out clearly against the fire, or they could be merging into the darkness of the boats and surrounding ground.

  Gustav forces himself not to think about the officers who have just died. He needs to be focused.

  The group moves at a crouch through the narrow passage. They cover all the angles and secure each line of fire instinctively.

  Gustav looks back and quickly scans the area behind them. The ground is dry under the boats, and rubbish has blown in and caught on the cables and supports.

  The smell of smoke is getting stronger.

  The tall flames reflect off the men’s helmets.

  Suddenly Jamal signals to them to stop, then squats and puts his left hand on his lower right arm: a signal that indicates the presence of hostiles.

  Jamal is no longer certain, but he thought he saw a face out of the corner of his eye.

  His heart is beating so hard that his chest hurts.

  He gets down on one knee and looks under the hull. Maybe he just saw the fire reflected off a white rudder.

  Jamal keeps his finger on the trigger, and moves forward cautiously. He tries to peer around the front of the keel.

  Through the clutter he can see the wall of a hangar-like tin building, and a yellow forklift.

  Someone is moving very close to them, under the next boat.

  A black cat slinks away as Jamal’s finger quivers on the trigger.

  Glowing embers are raining down between the rows of boats.

  Gustav maintains his position as last man, and watches Jamal move on, straight ahead. He wishes he could call out to him to secure the area to their right instead.

  Jamal looks left. A sheet of blue plastic moves in the wind, and drops of water fall to the ground.

  Suddenly a pair of eyes flashes over by the building. Jamal spins his weapon around in an instant and looks at the face through the sights.

  Someone groans behind him: Adam, tripping over a protruding beam. The barrel of his gun strikes one of the posts with a metallic clang.

  Jamal doesn’t know how his finger di
dn’t succumb to the instinct to squeeze the trigger. Adrenalin turns his blood cold when he realises how close he came to killing the old woman with her knitting.

  He puts one hand against a white hull and breathes out.

  Gustav turns to check the area behind them. The fire is still spreading, and sheets of burning plastic are drifting across the water. The wind carries the flames, which sets more boats on fire.

  Jamal waves them on, and Gustav looks forward, past his men and up towards the parking area. To the left a wrecked car stands among the weeds. Thistles and grass are sticking out from the open bonnet.

  Adam is whispering to himself as he pulls out his magazine, looks at it, then clicks it back into place again.

  A man in a black tracksuit rushes out from his hiding place behind the wrecked car.

  Sonny reacts instantly and fires six shots.

  The man’s torso is shattered. Blood explodes into the air, and his left arm is torn off. It’s held on only by the tracksuit sleeve, which wraps around his neck like a scarf as he twists and falls.

  At the same time Jamal sinks to the ground. He lies down on his side, as if he needs to rest.

  Gustav can’t see what’s going on. Crouching, Sonny runs up to him, then the end of a barrel in front of them flares up.

  The sound of the shot is brief but deafening.

  The bullet goes straight into Sonny’s face and out through the back of his head. Gustav sees the blood spray onto Adam. Sonny’s helmet flies off and the shot is still echoing as he falls backwards.

  Gustav throws himself down and rolls under a huge yacht. The smell of dusty soil and dried grass fills his nostrils. He crawls over to a concrete plinth at the bow and steadies his gun on it.

  Sonny’s body is making a wheezing, almost bubbling sound.

  Gustav scans the area where he thought he saw the gun’s flare through his rifle-sights. He can see grey earth, smaller boats, a skip. Everything looks like it’s made of lead, dusted with soot. He keeps searching and sees the low bushes, a sealed bin-bag, an empty paint-tin.

  Adam is cradling Sonny in his arms. His chest is smeared with blood.

  ‘Dear God in heaven … Sonny,’ he whimpers.

  Gustav is breathing jaggedly as he keeps looking through the rifle-sights. Grass sways in the breeze as sooty embers fall around him. The smoke catches in his throat. Burning boats crash to the ground behind him. Their hulls knock together, and the weights holding down the tarp above him start to sway.

  He sees the barrel of a rifle behind a rusty pallet, and his heart starts to beat hard. A bush jerks in the wind just behind the sniper.

  Gustav wipes the sweat from his eyebrows in order to see better, and adjusts his goggles. He’s usually a very good shot, but right now he can feel his hands shaking.

  He carefully adjusts his sights to the position where he thinks the sniper’s head will appear when he looks up to shoot again.

  ‘They’re all dead,’ Adam says to no one in particular. ‘I think they’re all dead.’

  Gustav’s sights tremble and slip down the tiles. He can’t reply. He needs to stay focused.

  Only he and Adam are visible.

  Gustav knows he won’t get many seconds before the sniper fires.

  One of the weights sways on its rope in front of the sights.

  Gustav sees the sniper’s rifle move slightly to the left, then a head appears for a few seconds before disappearing again. The barrel slides down and stops. Then the head is there again, its eye to the rifle, looking for a new target.

  Very gently, Gustav moves his rifle until the face appears in the crosshairs, then he squeezes the trigger.

  The G36 jerks back against his shoulder. The sniper is gone. Gustav blinks several times, and tries to slow his breathing. The gun is gone. He starts to think he must have missed when he sees something dark dripping off the branches of the bush behind the sniper’s hiding place.

  50

  Joona is standing by the forklift, watching the flames and oil-black smoke twist up furiously towards the sky.

  Parisa is hugging her sister, who is curled up in fear. She is covering her ears and sobbing hopelessly like a child.

  ‘Ask your sister if she can run. We should try to get to the edge of the forest,’ Joona says quickly.

  ‘We have to find Fatima, the woman who was here a moment ago,’ Parisa says. ‘We can’t leave her. She saved my sister, told everyone she was her daughter so she’d be left alone.’

  ‘Where is she? Do you know?’

  ‘She was going to get her things – you see that big boat without any plastic?’ she points.

  ‘It’s too dangerous …’

  Suddenly they hear automatic gunfire, a whole magazine being emptied down by the water. Bullets slam into wood and ricochet off the steel cradles holding the boats.

  Joona tries to see where the Rapid Response Unit is.

  They hear smaller explosions as glass shatters and boats topple.

  He pulls out his phone and calls Janus again, then suddenly sees that Parisa has left her sobbing sister and crept away with the shotgun. She’s running bent over, along the side of the workshop towards the boat she indicated.

  Joona draws his pistol and pulls back the hammer.

  The fire from the burning helicopter is stretching off to one side, and seems to fade into the dark sky.

  Joona sees Parisa slow down when she reaches the end of the workshop. Her shadow ripples across the corrugated metal wall.

  Her sister is sitting in silence, her hands over her ears.

  Parisa glances towards the water, then steadies herself against the wall and gets ready to run across the open patch of gravel to the boat.

  Joona sees her take a step forward and look around the corner, then her whole body trembles, she collapses onto her backside and sits there, a blank expression on her face.

  Suddenly she falls backward and hits her head on the ground. Then she’s dragged away by her feet.

  It looks like some predator has brought her down and dragged her into the undergrowth.

  Holding his pistol close to his chest, Joona runs down the path beside the wall, then stops and raises the weapon as he approaches the corner where she disappeared.

  He listens, feeling the billowing heat from the fire on his face.

  Glowing fragments of burning plastic are drifting through the air.

  He quickly glances around the corner and scans the scene: the concrete ramp, the five-metre-tall doors to the workshop.

  The trunks of the pine trees at the edge of the forest are lit up by the yellow glow of the fire.

  There’s a white trailer parked a little further into the forest, behind a chicken-wire fence.

  Joona runs over to a smaller doorway, pushes the handle, opens it and looks inside the workshop.

  Machinery shimmers dully in the darkness, and further away there’s a dark-blue motorboat with damaged bows.

  Joona darts inside, checks the corners closest to him, then runs at a crouch over to a large lathe.

  The smells of metal, oil and solvents mingle in the air.

  The door clicks shut behind him.

  The fire is still visible through cracks and tiny holes in the metal walls.

  He moves towards the boat, making sure to check dangerous angles.

  A man roars: ‘You’re just an animal. You’re nothing. You’re just a fucking animal!’

  Joona runs towards the voice, crouches down and sees them at the far end of the workshop.

  Parisa is hanging upside down, raised up by her feet with a pulley and tackle. Her thick sweater has fallen around her head. The white strap of her bra stretches across her naked back.

  The bearded man’s mouth is still bleeding. Parisa is trying to hold onto her sweater, and sways as the man yanks it away.

  ‘I’m going to cut your fucking head off!’ he cries, raising the axe.

  Joona starts to run, but the boat is obstructing his line of fire. He can just see them t
hrough the gloom beneath the hull.

  Parisa tries to scream even though her mouth has been taped shut. The man mirrors her movements and steps to one side.

  ‘This is Guantánamo!’ he yells, and swings the axe with full force.

  The heavy blade hits her from behind, in her shoulder, and slices through the muscle. Parisa’s body spins around, spraying blood across the floor. Joona rushes past blue barrels of old oil, rolls under the boat and gets a clear view of them again.

  ‘Get back!’ Joona shouts.

  The man is standing behind Parisa, wiping blood from his beard. One of her trouser legs has slipped up to her knee. She’s now spinning back the other way, breathing through her nose and trying to use her hands to defend herself.

  ‘I’ll shoot if you don’t drop the axe,’ Joona calls out, moving sideways to find a better angle.

  The man takes a few steps back and stares at Parisa, whose struggling is making the chain creak.

  ‘Look at me, not her. Look at me and back away,’ Joona says, moving slowly closer with his finger on the trigger.

  ‘They’re only fucking animals,’ he mutters.

  ‘Put the axe on the floor.’

  The man is about to put the axe down when there’s a loud bang as a shotgun hits the metal roof. Small pellets of lead ricochet off the roof and walls, then lose velocity and fall to the floor of the workshop.

  ‘Completely still, now,’ the old man’s voice says behind Joona.

  Joona holds the pistol and his other hand up above his head. After all his years of training he’s made the same mistake that killed his father. He got carried away by the situation, by the desire to save someone, and left himself open to attack from behind for a few seconds.

  Parisa’s stomach is heaving in time with her terrified breathing. Her white bra is soaked with blood and a dark puddle is spreading out beneath her. The bearded man is breathing hard as he puts the axe down.

  ‘Drop the pistol,’ the old man says.

  ‘Shall I put it on the floor?’

  Joona starts to turn towards him, and sees his shadow on some old tins of paint.

  ‘Toss it away from you,’ the old man replies.

  Joona turns slowly and sees the man standing four metres away. He’s standing next to a diesel engine hanging from a winch. Joona gently lowers the pistol as if he’s given up, but he’s just waiting for the right moment to fire. He’ll aim just below the nose, to knock out his brain stem instantly.