He inserts the coin into the slot, hears it rattle down and activate the mechanism before rolling out into the tray again.
Hes used the same coin all these years.
He taps the buttons for C7 with his shaking hand. The machine whirrs as the record is placed on the turntable.
Nils rolls away as the fast drum intro to Stargazer starts to play. He is thrown back in time to when he saw Rainbow live at the Concert Hall in Stockholm in the late 1970s.
The band were over an hour late starting, but when Dio walked on and started to sing Kill the King, the audience moved as one towards the stage.
Nils goes over to the big windows. Every afternoon he lowers the shades on the west-facing windows to protect his paintings from the strong light.
Through the nylon gauze the window looks even darker and greyer.
To Ali, this whole place must look like a tragic manifestation of the absence of children and grandchildren.
Nils knows that the house is ridiculously showy, that the park is overblown, and that no one ever uses the pool.
His company produces advanced electronics for radar and electronic guidance systems. Hes had good government contacts and has been able to export dual-use products for almost twenty years now.
His arms suddenly shiver.
Over the loud music he thinks he can hear a small child chanting a nursery rhyme.
He turns the wheelchair and makes his way out into the hall.
The voice is coming from the abandoned upper floor. He rolls over to the staircase that he hasnt climbed in many years, and sees that the door to the bedroom at the top is standing ajar.
The music from the jukebox stops. Theres a clicking sound as the single is slotted back into place among the others, and then silence descends.
Nils started to be afraid of the dark six months ago, after having a nightmare about his wife. She came back from the dead, but could only stand upright because she was impaled on a rough wooden post that ran between her legs, right through her body and neck, and out through her head.
She was angry that he hadnt done anything to help her, that he hadnt called for an ambulance.
The bloody pole reached all the way to the floor, and Eva was forced to walk with a strange, bow-legged gait as she came after him.
Nils puts his hands on his lap. Theyre twitching and shaking, darting about in exaggerated gestures.
When they are still again he tightens the strap around his waist that prevents him from sliding out of the chair.
He rolls into the living room and looks around. Everything looks the way it always does. The chandelier, the Persian rugs, the marble table and the empire-style sofa and armchairs that Eva brought from her childhood home.
The phone is no longer on the table.
Sometimes Evas presence in the house is so real that he thinks her older sister has a spare key and is creeping around like in some Scooby-Doo cartoon in order to scare him.
He sets off towards the kitchen again, then thinks he sees something out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turns his head and imagines he sees a face in the antique mirror, before realising that its just a blemish in the glass.
Lizzy? he calls out weakly.
One of the kitchen drawers clatters, and then he hears footsteps on the floor. He stops, his heart pounding, turns the chair and imagines the blood running down the pole between Evas legs.
He presses on silently, rolling towards the big double doors, the wheels making a faint sticky sound on the hardwood floor.
Now Eva is walking bowlegged through the kitchen. The pole is scraping across the slate floor, leaving a trail of blood before catching on the threshold to the dining room.
The stupid nursery rhyme starts up again.
The radio in the kitchen must be switched on.
The footrest of the wheelchair hits the back door with a gentle clunk.
He looks towards the closed door to the dining room.
His hands are shaking, and the stiffness in his neck makes it hard for him to lean forward and press the button controlling the shades.
With a whirr, the grey nylon fabric glides up like a theatre curtain, and the garden gradually brightens.
The garden furniture is set out. There are pine needles gathering in the folds of the cushions. The lights around the pool arent switched on, but mist is rising gently from the water.
As soon as the shade has risen enough, hell be able to open the door and go outside.
Hes decided to wait outside for Ali, ask him to look through the house. Hell admit that hes scared of the dark, that he leaves the lights on all night, and maybe pay him extra to stay longer.
He turns the key in the lock with shaking hands. The lock clicks and he tugs the handle and nudges the door open.
He reverses, looks over towards the dining room and sees the door slowly open.
He rolls into the patio door as hard as he can. It swings open and he catches a glimpse of a figure approaching him from behind.
Nils hears heavy footsteps as he rolls out onto the deck and feels the cool air on his face.
Ali, is that you? he calls in a frightened voice as he rolls forward. Ali!
The garden is quiet. The tool-shed is locked. The morning mist is drifting above the ground.
He tries to turn the wheelchair, but one of the tyres is caught in the crack between two slabs. Nils can hardly breathe. He tries to stop himself from shaking by pressing his hands into his armpits.
Someone is approaching him from the house and he looks back over his shoulder.
A masked man, carrying a black bag in his hand. Hes walking straight towards him, disguised as an executioner.
Nils tugs at the wheels to pull himself free.
Hes about to shout for Ali again when cold liquid drenches his head, running through his hair, down his neck, over his face and chest.
It takes just a couple of seconds for him to realise that its petrol.
What he thought was a black bag is actually the lawnmowers petrol tank.
Please, wait, Ive got lots of money... I promise, I can transfer all of it, he gasps, coughing from the fumes.
The masked man walks around and tips the last of the petrol over Nilss chest, then drops the empty container on the ground in front of the wheelchair.
God, please... Ill do anything...
The man takes out a box of matches and says some incomprehensible words. Nils is hysterical, and he cant make sense of what the man is saying.
Dont do it, dont do it, dont do it...
He tries to loosen the strap over his thighs, but its tangled and is now too tight to take off. His hands jerk as he tugs at it. The man calmly lights a match and tosses it onto his lap.
Theres a rush of air, and a sucking sound, like a parachute opening.
His pyjamas and hair burst into flames.
And through the blue glare he sees the masked man back away from the heat.
The childish nursery rhyme rolls through his head as the storm rages around him. He cant get any air into his lungs. Its as if hes drowning, and then he feels absolute, all-encompassing pain.
He could never have imagined anything so excruciating.
He leans forwards in the foetal position and hears a metallic crackling sound, as if from a great distance, as the wheelchair starts to buckle in the heat.
Nils has time to think that it sounds like the jukebox is searching for a new disc before he loses consciousness.
28
The inmate from Hall is on his way towards D-block, where the atmosphere is tense.
Through the reinforced glass, the guards can see that for once Joona is eating breakfast at the same table as the leader of the Brotherhood, Reiner Kronlid. The two of them talk for a while, then Joona stands up, takes his coffee and sandwich, and goes to sit at another table.
What the hells he playing at? one of the guards asks.
Maybe hes heard something about the new guy.
Unless its about being granted leave?
His application was approved yesterday, the third guard nods. First time for him.
Joona looks over at the three guards who are watching him through the glass, then turns towards Sumo and asks the same question he just asked Reiner.
What can I do for you tomorrow? he asks.
Sumo has already served eight years for a double murder, and now knows that he killed people over a misunderstanding. His face is a picture of grief these days. He always looks like hes been crying but is trying to hold it together.
Buy a red rose... the best one you can find. Give it to Outi and tell her shes my rose, and... And say sorry for ruining her life.
Do you want her to come out here? Joona asks, looking him in the eye.
Sumo shakes his head, and his gaze slides towards the window. He stares at the grey fence topped with barbed wire, and the monotonous, dirty yellow wall beyond it.
Joona turns to the next man at the table, Luka Bogdani, a short man whose face is locked in a permanent state of derision.
How about you?
Luka leans forward and whispers:
I want you to check if my brothers started to get rid of my money.
What do you want me to ask?
No, fuck it, no questions. Just look at the money, count it. There should be exactly six hundred thousand.
I cant do that, Joona replies. I want to get out of here, and that moneys from a robbery, and if I
Fucking cop, Luka hisses, and sends his coffee cup flying.
Joona walks on around the tables in the dining room. He asks them all what he can do for them when hes outside. He memorises greetings and errands as he waits for Salim Ratjen to arrive.
Joona told the Prime Minister that he needs thirty-six hours leave, starting on Monday, in order to infiltrate Ratjens organisation.
That wont leave you long in here to find out what he knows, the Prime Minister had warned.
Joona didnt tell him that the limited amount of time was an advantage.
Before leaving the visitors room, Joona had asked how far he was allowed to go in extreme circumstances. The corners of the Prime Ministers mouth had twitched slightly when he replied:
If you can stop the terrorists, you can do pretty much whatever you need to.
Reiner Kronlid gets up from his table, wipes his mouth nervously, then stares at the hallway and airlock. He stands there stiffly, his neck tense, before licking his lips and sitting back down again. The others at the Brotherhoods table lean forward as he talks.
Joona sees the light in the hallway behind the reinforced glass dim as a grey shadow appears.