Firewall

  "What did Martinsson say?"

  "He was going to get some food."

  "Not that. Afterwards."

  "He said he had to stop at a cashpoint."

  "How about that?" Wallander asked. "Something right in front of our eyes. Is it our coffee machine?"

  "I don't think I follow," Höglund said.

  "It's something we do without thinking twice."

  "Buying some food?"

  "Sticking a card into a cash machine. Getting cash and a printed receipt."

  Wallander turned to Alfredsson. "Was there anything in Modin's notes about a cash machine?"

  Alfredsson bit his lip. He looked up at Wallander. "You know, I actually think there was."

  "What was it?"

  "I can't remember exactly. It didn't strike either me or Martinsson as important."

  Wallander slammed his fist into the table. "Where are his notes?"

  "Martinsson took them."

  Wallander was already on his feet and on his way out of the door. Alfredsson followed him to Martinsson's office. Modin's crumpled notes lay on the desk beside Martinsson's phone. Alfredsson started leafing through them while Wallander waited impatiently.

  "Here it is," Alfredsson said and handed him a piece of paper.

  Wallander put on his glasses and looked it over. The paper was covered with drawings of hens and cats. At the bottom, among some complicated and, to him, indecipherable calculations, there was a sentence that Modin had underlined so many times that he had torn the paper. Workable trigger. Could it be a cash machine?

  "Is that the kind of thing you were looking for?" Alfredsson asked.

  But he didn't get an answer. Wallander was already on his way back to the conference room. He was convinced. What better place? People were using cash dispensers every day, at all times of the day. Somewhere, at some point in time, on the given day, someone would make a transaction and thereby trigger an event that Wallander did not yet understand but had come to fear. He had no way of knowing that this hadn't in fact already taken place.

  "How many cashpoints are there in Ystad?" he asked the others after explaining his new idea. No-one knew.

  "We can find out from the phone book," Höglund said.

  "If not, you'll have to dig out someone senior from a bank and find out."

  Nyberg raised his hand. "How can we be so sure that you are right?"

  "You can't," Wallander said. "But it beats sitting here twiddling our thumbs."

  "What can we do about it anyway?"

  "Even supposing I'm right," Wallander said, "we don't know which cash machine is the trigger. There may be more than one involved. We don't know when or how something is going to happen. But what we can make sure of is that nothing happens."

  "You're thinking of having all cashpoint transactions suspended?"

  "For now, yes."

  "Do you realise what that means?"

  "That people will have even more reason to dislike the police. That we'll get abused for a long time. Yes, of course I do."

  "You can't do this without the prosecutor's blessing. And after consultation with the bank directors."

  Wallander got up and sat in the chair across from Nyberg. "Right now I don't give a shit about any of that. Not even if it becomes the last thing I do as a police officer in Ystad. Or as a police officer, full stop."

  Höglund had been going through the phone book. "There are four cash machines in Ystad," she said. "Three in the town centre and one in the shopping precinct. Where we found Falk."

  Wallander thought about it.

  "Martinsson must have gone to one of the machines closer to Österleden. Call him. You and Alfredsson will have to guard the other two. I'm going up to the one by the department store." He turned to Nyberg. "I'm going to ask you to call Chief Holgersson. Wake her up. Tell her exactly what's going on. Then she'll have to take it from there."

  Nyberg shook his head. "She'll put a stop to the whole thing."

  "Call her," Wallander said. "But if you like you could wait until 6 a.m."

  Nyberg looked at him and smiled.

  "One more thing. We can't forget about Robert and this tall, thin suntanned man. We don't know what language he speaks. But we have to assume that he or someone else associated with him is keeping an eye on the cash machine in question. If you have the slightest suspicion about anyone who approaches one of these machines, call the others immediately."

  "I have been on many stake-outs in my day," Alfredsson said. "I don't think I've ever staked out a cash machine before."

  "Some time has to be the first. Do you have a gun?" Alfredsson shook his head. "Get him one," Wallander said to Höglund. "And now let's get going."

  It was 5.09 a.m. when Wallander left the station. He drove up to the shopping precinct with mixed feelings. In all likelihood he was wrong about this, but they had gone as far as they could go in the conference room. Wallander parked outside the Inland Revenue building. He zipped up his jacket and looked around. There was no-one to be seen. Dawn was still some time off. Then he walked over to the cash machine. There was no reason to remain concealed. The radio he had brought with him made a noise. Höglund was broadcasting that they were all in place. Alfredsson had run into problems. Some young drunks had insisted they be allowed to make a withdrawal. He had called for a patrol car to help him out.

  "Keep the car circulating between us," Wallander said. "It will only get worse in an hour or so when people get on the move."

  "Martinsson withdrew some cash," she said. "And nothing happened."

  "We don't know that," Wallander said. "Whatever happens, we're not going to see it."

  The radio fell silent. Wallander looked at a shopping trolley knocked over in the car park. Apart from a pick-up truck the car park was empty. It was 5.27 a.m. On the main road a large truck rattled past on its way to Malmö. Wallander started thinking about Elvira, but decided that he didn't have the energy. He would have to come back to it, to puzzle out how he could have let himself be taken in like that. How he could have been such a fool. Wallander turned his back to the wind and stamped his feet. He heard a car approaching. It was a saloon painted with the sign of an Ystad electrical firm. The man who jumped out was tall and thin. Wallander flinched and took hold of his gun, but then he relaxed. He recognised the man as an electrician who had done some work for his father in Löderup. The man greeted him.

  "Is it out of order?" he said.

  "We're not letting anyone make withdrawals for the time being."

  "I'll have to go across town then."

  "Unfortunately it won't work there either."

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's only a temporary malfunction."

  "And they called in the police for that?"

  Wallander didn't answer. The man got back into his car and drove away. Wallander knew that he would not be able to keep people at bay indefinitely with the explanation of a malfunction, and he was already dreading the moment when word got out to the wider public. How had he supposed it would work? Holgersson would put a stop to it the second she found out. Their reasoning was mere speculation. He would not have a leg to stand on and Martinsson would have more grist for his mill.

  Then he caught sight of a man crossing the car park. He was a young man. He had come out from behind the pick-up truck, and he came walking towards Wallander. It took him several seconds to realise who it was. Modin. Wallander was frozen to the spot. He held his breath. He did not understand. Modin stopped, turning his back to Wallander, who knew instinctively what was going to happen. He threw himself to one side and turned. The man behind him had come from the direction of the supermarket. He was tall and suntanned and he was carrying a gun. He was 10 metres away and there was nowhere for Wallander to run. Wallander closed his eyes. The feeling from the field returned. The bitter end. Here but no longer. He waited for the shot that didn't come. He opened his eyes. The man had the gun pointed at his chest, but he was looking at his watch. The time, Wallander thought.
It's time. I was right. I still don't know what is going to happen, but I was right.

  The man made signs to Wallander to come closer and to put his arms up. He pulled out Wallander's gun and threw it into a rubbish bin next to the cash machine. Then he held out a credit card with his left hand and recited some numbers in heavily accented Swedish: "One, five, five, one."

  He dropped the card onto the pavement and pointed his gun at it. Wallander picked it up. The man took a few steps to one side and looked again at his watch. Then he pointed to the cash machine. His movements were more brittle now. For the first time the man looked nervous. Wallander walked to the machine. When he turned slightly he could see Modin still where he had stopped. Right now Wallander didn't care what would happen when he put the card in and entered the numbers. Modin was alive. That was all that was important. But how could he continue to protect him? Wallander was searching for a way out. If he tried to attack the man behind him he would be shot at once. Probably Modin would not have time to escape. Wallander fed the card into the machine, and as he did so a shot rang out. The bullet hit the ground behind him and ricocheted. The tall man turned away. Wallander saw Martinsson on the other side of the street, some 25 metres away. He flung himself at the rubbish bin and pulled out his gun. The man aimed and fired at Martinsson but missed. Wallander raised his gun, sighted and squeezed the trigger. He hit the man in the chest and he collapsed.

  "What's happening?" Martinsson shouted.

  "It's safe to come over," Wallander shouted back.

  The man on the pavement was dead.

  "What made you come here?" Wallander said.

  "If your theory was correct, then it had to be here," Martinsson said. "It makes sense that Falk would have chosen the cash machine closest to his house and the one he always passed on his evening walks. I asked Nyberg to watch the cashpoint where I was."

  Martinsson pointed at the dead man. "Who is he?"

  "I don't know. But I think his name starts with a C."

  "Is it all finished now?"

  "I believe so, but I don't know what it is that's finished."

  Wallander felt that he should be thanking Martinsson, but he said nothing. Instead he walked over to Modin. Time enough to talk to Martinsson later.

  Modin's eyes were filled with tears.

  "He told me to walk towards you. He said that otherwise he would kill my mother and father."

  "We'll deal with all that in due course," Wallander said. "How are you feeling?"

  "He told me to say I had to stay and finish my work in Malmö. Then he shot her. And we left. I was shut in the boot and could hardly breathe. But we were right."

  "Yes," Wallander said. "We were right."

  "Did you find my notes?"

  "Yes."

  "I didn't start taking it seriously soon enough. A cash machine. A place where people come to take out their money."

  "You should have said something," Wallander said. "But maybe I should have thought of it myself. We knew it had something to do with money, after all. It should have been an obvious hiding place for something like that."

  "A cash machine as the launching pad for a virus bomb," Modin said. "It has a certain finesse, don't you think?"

  Wallander looked at the boy beside him. How much longer could he handle the strain? He was struck by the sense of having stood like this sometime before, with a boy at his side, and he realised that he was thinking of Stefan Fredman. The boy who was now dead and buried.

  "What was it that happened?" Wallander said. "Do you think you can tell me?"

  Modin nodded. "He was there when she let me in. He threatened me. They locked me in the bathroom. Then I heard him start screaming at her. I could understand him since he was speaking English. At least the parts I could hear."

  "What did he say?"

  "That she hadn't done her job. That she had shown weakness."

  "Did you hear anything else?"

  "Only the shots. When he came to unlock the door I thought he was going to kill me too. He had the gun in his hand. But he said I was his hostage and that I had to do what he told me. Otherwise he would kill my parents." Modin's voice had begun to wobble.

  "No hurry for the rest," Wallander said. "That's enough. That's plenty, in fact."

  "He said they were going to knock out the global financial system. It was going to start here, at this cash machine."

  "I know," Wallander said. "But now you need to sleep. You have to go home to your parents now."

  They heard sirens close by. Now Wallander could see a dark blue VW Golf parked behind the pick-up. Impossible to see from where he had been standing.

  Wallander felt how exhausted he was. And how relieved.

  Martinsson came over. "We need to talk," he said.

  "I know," Wallander said. "But not now."

  It was 5.51 a.m. on Monday, October 20. Wallander wondered vaguely what the rest of the winter was going to be like.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  On Tuesday, November 11, all the charges against Wallander in the Eva Persson assault case were dismissed. Höglund was the one who gave him the news. She had also played a key role in the direction the investigation had taken, but he only found that out later.

  A few days before, Höglund had paid a visit to Eva Persson and her mother. No-one knew what had been said during that visit; there had been no record of the conversation, no third party present, although these had been ordered by the court. Höglund did tell Wallander that she applied a "mild form of emotional blackmail". What that had entailed, she never told him, but Wallander was in time able to put together a reasonably clear picture. He assumed that she had told Persson to turn her thoughts to the future. She was cleared of the murder of Lundberg, but bringing false charges against a policeman could have unpleasant consequences.

  The following day Persson and her mother had withdrawn the charges against Wallander. They acknowledged that his version of the events had been correct and that Persson had tried to hit her mother. Wallander could still have been held accountable for his actions in the situation, but the whole matter was swiftly dropped, much to everyone's relief. Höglund had also seen to it that a number of journalists were advised of the charges being dropped, but that item of news never made it into the papers.

  This Tuesday was an unusually cold autumn day in Skâne, with gusting northerly winds that were occasionally close to storm strength. Wallander had woken early after an unsettled night. He could not recall his dreams in detail, but they involved being hunted and almost choked to death by shadowy figures and by objects bearing down on him.

  When he arrived at the station around 8 a.m., he only stayed for a short while. He had decided finally to get to the bottom of a question that had been troubling him for a long time. After casting his eye over a few forms and after making sure that the photo album Marianne Falk had lent to the police had been returned to her, he left the station and drove to the Hökbergs' house. He had spoken to Erik Hökberg the day before and arranged the meeting. Sonja's brother Emil was at school and her mother was on one of her frequent visits to her sister in Höör. Erik looked pale, and perhaps he had lost weight. According to a rumour that had reached Wallander, Sonja Hökberg's funeral had been an intensely emotional affair. Wallander stepped into the house and assured Erik that his business would not take long.