This is still my investigation! she thinks angrily as she climbs out of the van into the suffocating heat of the sidewalk.
The SWAT team will go in here and here. Goran Stone stabs his finger on an architectural drawing of the building. Were here and maybe well have to get in through this theater-
Where the hell did Saga Bauer go? Roland asks.
Maybe she got her period and needed a Tampax! Anders says with a smirk.
30
Joona Linna and Nathan Pollock park on Hornsgatan and quickly scan a bad printout of the picture of Daniel Marklund. Then they get out, make their way through the heavy traffic on the street, and enter the door of a small theater. The Tribunal Theater is an independent theater group-with income-pegged ticket prices. Plays from Oresteia to The Communist Manifesto have been performed within its walls.
Joona and Nathan continue swiftly down the wide staircase and over to the combined bar and box office. A woman with a silver ring in her nose and straight hair dyed black smiles at them. They nod in a friendly way but walk right past her without a word.
You guys looking for someone? she yells as they start walking up a metal staircase.
Yes, Pollock says, but his voice is low.
They enter a messy office crowded with a copier, a desk, and a bulletin board from which newspaper clippings hang down. A thin man with matted hair and an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth sits in front of a computer.
Hi there, Richard, Pollock says.
Who are you? asks the man absentmindedly as he returns his gaze to his screen.
They continue past the actors dressing rooms-past racks of carefully hung costumes and makeup stations. A bouquet of roses droops on one of the tables.
Pollock takes a quick look around and then points. They walk up to a steel door with a stenciled sign: ELECTRICAL ROOM.
Its supposed to be in here, Pollock says.
In the electrical room of a theater?
Pollock doesnt answer but picks the lock as fast as he can. They look inside a cramped space with an electrical meter, a cupboard for props, and stacks of boxes. The ceiling light doesnt work. Joona clambers over paper bags filled with old clothes. There is a new door behind some extension cords hung across the ceiling. Joona pushes it open and finds a hall with bare cement walls. Nathan Pollock follows him. The air is stagnant and it smells like garbage and damp dirt. In the distance, they can hear the faint backbeat of music. On the floor, theres a flyer featuring Che Guevara with a lit fuse at the top of his head.
The Brigades been hiding out here several years now, Pollock says softly.
I should have brought some cake for our little visit, Joona replies.
Promise me youll be careful.
The only thing I worry about is whether Daniel Marklund will be here.
Hell be here. Hes almost always here.
Thanks for your help, Nathan.
Maybe I should go in with you anyway? Pollock asks. Youll have only a few minutes before Sapo storms the place. It could get dangerous.
Joonas gray eyes narrow. Im just dropping in for a little chat.
Nathan starts heading back to the theater and coughs as he closes the steel door behind him. Joona stands alone in the empty hallway for a moment. He draws his pistol and checks that the magazine is full before he slides it back in his holster. He starts to walk toward another steel door at the other end of the hall.
He loses a few precious seconds as he picks the lock.
Someone has scratched The Brigade in tiny letters, not more than two centimeters high, into the blue paint on the door.
Joona presses down the handle and the door slowly opens. Hes met by loud, screeching music; it sounds like an electronically reprocessed version of Jimi Hendrixs Machine Gun. The shrieking guitars have a dreamlike, surging beat. They drown out everything.
Joona closes the door behind him and keeps going, half running, into a space filled with junk. Mounds of books and magazines reach the ceiling. Although its dark in the room, Joona can tell the heaps of books are not just random but have been created as a kind of labyrinth leading to other doors. He quickly makes his way through it to a dimly lit area. The path forks there and he keeps going to the right, but swiftly backtracks. He thinks he saw hasty movement out of the corner of his eye. Hes not sure, though.
Joona walks on, squinting to see something more. A bare bulb sways at the end of its ceiling cord. Over the music, Joona suddenly hears a roar. Someone is screaming behind walls that dampen the sound. Joona stops, walks back, and looks into a thin passage where a stack of magazines have slid down and now are scattered across the floor.
Joonas head is starting to hurt. He thinks he should have had something to eat. He should have taken something with him. A few pieces of dark chocolate would have been enough.
He steps over the magazines and reaches a spiral staircase leading down to the floor below. He can smell sweet smoke in the air. Holding tightly to the rail, he tries to sneak down as quietly as possible, but he cannot silence his shoes on the metal steps. On the lowest rung, he stops before a velvet curtain that has been drawn shut. He puts his hand on his holstered pistol.