Chapters (74)
- Cover
- BY ROSLUND & HELLSTRÖM
- EARLIER
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- NOW
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- PART2
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- PART3
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- PART4
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- PART5
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- PART6
- Chapter 41
- PART7
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- PART8
- Chapter 50
- PART9
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- Chapter 60
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
The next taxi ride took him to the all-night gas station in Hammarby Sjöstad. That was where he asked the driver to drop him off. One and a half kilometers left. He walked the last bit, approaching slowly to make sure he wasn’t being followed. As he stood in the darkness, twenty-five meters away from the apartment that hid everything he cared about, he felt that same poisonous cocktail of fear and rage that he’d felt holding the hand grenade his youngest son had played with—and it made his whole body tremble. That’s why he picked up the phone. He had to call. But not Zofia, who he could run to in just seconds and hold tight, which would take away his longing for a moment, but afterward would just make it worse. So it would have to be second best. A call to someone who could see her.
“Boss—so late? Did something happen?”
“I’m leaving in a couple of hours, taking a short trip. And I wanted to make sure things were working with the new family? The mother and her three children.”
Hoffmann took a few steps back to avoid being caught by the cameras, so Andy wouldn’t accidentally detect him on any of his monitors.
“No lights on. They seem to be sleeping.”
“And . . . well, have you . . . has anything else happened? I mean if you’ve been able to see them. How do they seem to be doing that is. The worry you mentioned last time, about the boy—said you could see it on him.”
“He seems calmer. The few times I’ve caught a glimpse of him—the boys stay away from the windows. But the mother? You were going to talk to her? About the phone?”
“Yes?”
“She got another call! I could see it through the window. Boss, how the hell can we assure their safety if they won’t follow instructions, I mean . . .”
“It’s my fault, Andy. Sorry. I forgot—but I promise again to contact her. She’ll understand. She seems to be a wise woman.”
“And you still don’t know why they’re there? What happened?”
“Nothing, only that it has to do with her husband.”
Piet Hoffmann stood there a long time staring at the windows and the wall that separated them.
Soon.
5:01 AM
(2 days, 17 hours, and 1 minute remaining)