‘When we get there, the two of you will stay in the car until I say otherwise. No pictures of Luna, dead or alive. OK?’

Jon Bergman shrugs and grins.

‘But you have to let us film something,’ the cameraman pipes up, ‘otherwise what’s the point of us being here?’

‘I guess you can film police cars and flashing blue lights. Exciting, no?’ Karen replies wryly.

‘But we have a deal,’ Jon Bergman protests.

‘Sure, but you’re my responsibility now and you’ll do as I say, or I’m placing you both under arrest.’

‘You can’t just fucking—’

‘Calm down, Jon. You’ll have your pictures. Which I assume news organisations from every part of the world will pay DTV handsomely for. And you will have the full story before your colleagues in this country even roll out of bed today.’

‘And a one-on-one with you,’ Jon Bergman says. ‘No bloody press secretary and not Viggo Haugen again. Can’t bear to talk to that pathetic media whore one more time.’

Karen hears Karl stifle a chortle.

‘Maybe Jounas Smeed can do it,’ she says. ‘He’s fully up to date on all the details.’

‘You will do it. It’s part of the deal.’

‘I’ll have to check on that,’ she says.

Just as she says it, the light thud of the ferry docking on the other side of the sound puts an end to the discussion.

Chapter 60

60

The sun won’t be up for another hour. It’s still dark and the roads are deserted when three police cars and an ambulance speed off southward, lights flashing.

The road from Sande to Graase is wide and looks like a white carpet rolled out through the flat landscape. They’ve turned their sirens off; only the flashing blue light cuts through the stillness, creating a dreamlike illusion of a film playing on mute.

Karen rests her head against the cool window. Soon, the adrenaline will kick in again, but right now, it’s an effort to keep her eyes open. She looks out across heaths and fields and notes that there’s very little to obscure her view in the flat landscape. There are no forests here, just the occasional stand of deciduous trees and pines and low shrubs. Grazing cattle and groups of white sheep everywhere, moving slowly, their heads down.