Bjorn reached for his thermos. "And it's going to get much worse," he thought to himself as he poured hot coffee into the cap of the thermos. "Starting this week, they are going to send thousands of people up here, including many violent and dangerous ones."
The people would not come in one go. They would come in batches, as it were, one batch at a time as the various asylum centers around Norway were closing down. However, the first batch would include the thugs from Lier, the guys that had just burned down their own asylum center. How on earth would they be able to keep these people from going completely bananas once they were let loose in the village?
Bjorn knew the answer to his own question. The fact that so many were armed down there would keep the whole thing in a sort of balance. If anyone tried to set fire to something, they would be shot on the spot. He had no doubt about that. But what about his own safety? Now that he was required to wear his uniform whenever visiting the colony, he would stick out like a sore thumb. If anyone felt like it, he or she could easily just kill him. It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened. After all, assassinations of police officers patrolling cities like New York, London and Paris, was starting to become almost commonplace.
Bjorn felt suddenly claustrophobic in the glass cage, and an urge for a cigarette rose in him. "Time to get some sun and stretch my legs," Bjorn thought, emptying the coffee in the thermos cap that doubled as a mug. He put the cap on the ledge by the window, next to the thermos, and stepped out on the sunny side of the office.
He felt immediately refreshed. Then, as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes, he thought himself rather good in having postponed his first cigarette of the day by as much as an hour. And he had not had any dizzy spells either. Not that he was having those spells all the time, but the fact that he had not felt the least bit dizzy all morning was at the very least a confirmation that the medicine had not made thing worse.
A long narrow barge entered the bay area through the strait while Bjorn was taking his first few puffs of his cigarette. It passed the coastguard vessel. Then it turned and headed for the port, passing the ferry heading in the other direction. And by the time Bjorn had finished his cigarette, the barge had disappeared behind the hill preventing him from seeing the port itself. "It is getting crowded out there," Bjorn thought to himself, before tossing the butt of his cigarette onto the ground. It hissed as it rolled into a little stream of melt water trickling past the glass cage.
Showing posts with label guns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guns. Show all posts
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Monday, February 2, 2015
173
Still feeling uncomfortable about the things said during breakfast, Bjorn appeared at the glass cage with his PC and charger tucked under his arm, a thermos with black coffee in one hand, and an ham sandwich in the other. He excused himself for being late to John, briefly mentioning the new instructions and Frank's insistence on everybody following the new rules.
"He'll go through all the details with you and Geir later today, I'm sure," Bjorn continued, dropping off his things on the ledge by the window.
John handed the automatic pistol that was hanging across his abdomen over to Bjorn. "Okay, put this on, will you," he replied, eager as always to get out of the cage and back to the barracks. And as soon as Bjorn had tossed the belt of the gun over his shoulder, John was out of the office and heading quickly back to his other colleagues.
The gun felt clunky and uncomfortable, but he quickly go used to it. Sitting down, the gun rested across his lap where it did not get in the way of his movements. Bjorn plugged the power supply of his PC into a free socket by the door, and put the laptop itself on the narrow shelf-like desk in front of him. He turned it on, and knowing that it would take a few seconds before he could use it, he looked out at the view in front of him.
The sun was shining, and the view was as stunning as always. The great landscape, so indifferent and peaceful, was soothing to watch. "There are no rules or regulations out there," Bjorn thought to himself. "Nothing complicated to keep in mind. Just the natural order of things, intuitively known by all beings." Bjorn heaved a great sigh, and was about to return his attention to his PC when he spotted a small gray ship over by the narrow strait to Kirkenes.
Bjorn picked up the binoculars to take a closer look. "It must be the coastguard," he thought to himself. And he was right. The coastguard had already taken up its position by the straight to make sure no one could enter or leave the colony by boat without proper documentation. The ship, with its small artillery gun at its bow, looked uncomfortably menacing, and Bjorn was again struck by a sense that things were getting out of control. The sight of the ship should have given him a feeling of control and order. However, much to Bjorn's own surprise, he was feeling quite the opposite. Watching the gunboat float almost motionless at the mouth of the narrows, he could not help thinking of it as a predator laying in wait for its pray.
Bjorn put the binoculars down, and was about to return his attention once more to his PC when a car, coming down from Neiden, pulled up next to the glass cage. He recognized the driver immediately as the man who had offered him a pack of cigarettes the other day.
Bjorn opened the window. "Your passport please," he said, pretending not to know the man.
"Ah! But you know me. We're friends, remember?" the man said with a broad smile.
"Sure. But I still need your passport. And you have to stop taking so much stuff with you out of the colony."
"Really? Why?"
"New rules. Effective from tomorrow. Lundby will be treated like an airport. You can't take with you as much as you please. And you'll have to be down there for at least 24 hours to get your quota."
"No exceptions?"
"No exceptions."
The man handed over his passport, and for a moment Bjorn did not know what to do with it. He had not logged into the web site yet, so he had nowhere to register the passport number. However, he soon found a pencil and a scrap of paper to note it down for later. He would punch the number into the database as soon as he was logged in.
"We'll be registering everybody going in and coming out of the colony," Bjorn explained. "So there's no way around this, now."
"Not even between friends?" the man asked cheekily.
"Like I said. No exceptions."
"But today is still all right?"
"Yep. Today is your last day of freedom," Bjorn said, handing the passport back to the man.
"My last day of freedom, aye?" The man said with a cheeky smile.
Bjorn had no idea why he had used the word freedom as he did. It was silly of him. And having nothing more to say, he closed his window and opened the barrier for the driver without saying anything, ignoring the man as he sent Bjorn a friendly wave of his hand before heading into the colony.
The car drove swiftly down the curvy road, and soon disappeared behind the hill to the right, leaving Bjorn once more to himself. He returned his focus to his PC, pulled up his favorite browser, and proceeded to punch in the web address given to him by Frank.
The web site was hosted by the department of justice, and once he was logged into it, Bjorn had no trouble finding the right place to type in the passport number he had scratched down. And the response was pretty much immediate. A copy of the man's passport was presented on his screen, complete with a little comment in a yellow banner at the top of the page. "Warning:" it read. "3 past convictions. Smuggling (2 counts), Possession of narcotics (1 count)."
Bjorn thought for a second that he had made a mistake in letting the man into the colony, but once he clicked on the warning, he found to his relief that he had done nothing wrong. A pop up explained that yellow warnings were simply helpful remarks. Then, clicking on a link for further help, Bjorn learned that the web site operated with three different banners. Green banners were all clear signs. Yellow banners were warning signs, and red banners were immediate action signs. Typical action on a red banner would be either denial of entry or arrest.
Bjorn clicked on the phrase denial of entry, curious to learn more, and found himself immediately presented with a searchable database. It was the blacklist that Frank had mentioned. He had several fields he could use to search. And he could even browse if he so wished. One field was fixed, though. He could not change his own location from being Lundby. The database was in other words set up to give different results depending on location, and the only location Bjorn was allowed to browse was Lundby.
Bjorn did not immediately know of anyone he would like to check. But then, remembering the nervous looking woman and her daughter that he had let in the other day, Bjorn chose to try out the database by typing in the woman's name. He typed in Cecilie's full name, hit return, and was immediately presented with a copy of her passport. It had a red banner. "Warning:" it read. "Immediate arrest on charges of: Kidnapping (1 count), Assault (1 count), Harassment (5 counts)."
"He'll go through all the details with you and Geir later today, I'm sure," Bjorn continued, dropping off his things on the ledge by the window.
John handed the automatic pistol that was hanging across his abdomen over to Bjorn. "Okay, put this on, will you," he replied, eager as always to get out of the cage and back to the barracks. And as soon as Bjorn had tossed the belt of the gun over his shoulder, John was out of the office and heading quickly back to his other colleagues.
The gun felt clunky and uncomfortable, but he quickly go used to it. Sitting down, the gun rested across his lap where it did not get in the way of his movements. Bjorn plugged the power supply of his PC into a free socket by the door, and put the laptop itself on the narrow shelf-like desk in front of him. He turned it on, and knowing that it would take a few seconds before he could use it, he looked out at the view in front of him.
The sun was shining, and the view was as stunning as always. The great landscape, so indifferent and peaceful, was soothing to watch. "There are no rules or regulations out there," Bjorn thought to himself. "Nothing complicated to keep in mind. Just the natural order of things, intuitively known by all beings." Bjorn heaved a great sigh, and was about to return his attention to his PC when he spotted a small gray ship over by the narrow strait to Kirkenes.
Bjorn picked up the binoculars to take a closer look. "It must be the coastguard," he thought to himself. And he was right. The coastguard had already taken up its position by the straight to make sure no one could enter or leave the colony by boat without proper documentation. The ship, with its small artillery gun at its bow, looked uncomfortably menacing, and Bjorn was again struck by a sense that things were getting out of control. The sight of the ship should have given him a feeling of control and order. However, much to Bjorn's own surprise, he was feeling quite the opposite. Watching the gunboat float almost motionless at the mouth of the narrows, he could not help thinking of it as a predator laying in wait for its pray.
Bjorn put the binoculars down, and was about to return his attention once more to his PC when a car, coming down from Neiden, pulled up next to the glass cage. He recognized the driver immediately as the man who had offered him a pack of cigarettes the other day.
Bjorn opened the window. "Your passport please," he said, pretending not to know the man.
"Ah! But you know me. We're friends, remember?" the man said with a broad smile.
"Sure. But I still need your passport. And you have to stop taking so much stuff with you out of the colony."
"Really? Why?"
"New rules. Effective from tomorrow. Lundby will be treated like an airport. You can't take with you as much as you please. And you'll have to be down there for at least 24 hours to get your quota."
"No exceptions?"
"No exceptions."
The man handed over his passport, and for a moment Bjorn did not know what to do with it. He had not logged into the web site yet, so he had nowhere to register the passport number. However, he soon found a pencil and a scrap of paper to note it down for later. He would punch the number into the database as soon as he was logged in.
"We'll be registering everybody going in and coming out of the colony," Bjorn explained. "So there's no way around this, now."
"Not even between friends?" the man asked cheekily.
"Like I said. No exceptions."
"But today is still all right?"
"Yep. Today is your last day of freedom," Bjorn said, handing the passport back to the man.
"My last day of freedom, aye?" The man said with a cheeky smile.
Bjorn had no idea why he had used the word freedom as he did. It was silly of him. And having nothing more to say, he closed his window and opened the barrier for the driver without saying anything, ignoring the man as he sent Bjorn a friendly wave of his hand before heading into the colony.
The car drove swiftly down the curvy road, and soon disappeared behind the hill to the right, leaving Bjorn once more to himself. He returned his focus to his PC, pulled up his favorite browser, and proceeded to punch in the web address given to him by Frank.
The web site was hosted by the department of justice, and once he was logged into it, Bjorn had no trouble finding the right place to type in the passport number he had scratched down. And the response was pretty much immediate. A copy of the man's passport was presented on his screen, complete with a little comment in a yellow banner at the top of the page. "Warning:" it read. "3 past convictions. Smuggling (2 counts), Possession of narcotics (1 count)."
Bjorn thought for a second that he had made a mistake in letting the man into the colony, but once he clicked on the warning, he found to his relief that he had done nothing wrong. A pop up explained that yellow warnings were simply helpful remarks. Then, clicking on a link for further help, Bjorn learned that the web site operated with three different banners. Green banners were all clear signs. Yellow banners were warning signs, and red banners were immediate action signs. Typical action on a red banner would be either denial of entry or arrest.
Bjorn clicked on the phrase denial of entry, curious to learn more, and found himself immediately presented with a searchable database. It was the blacklist that Frank had mentioned. He had several fields he could use to search. And he could even browse if he so wished. One field was fixed, though. He could not change his own location from being Lundby. The database was in other words set up to give different results depending on location, and the only location Bjorn was allowed to browse was Lundby.
Bjorn did not immediately know of anyone he would like to check. But then, remembering the nervous looking woman and her daughter that he had let in the other day, Bjorn chose to try out the database by typing in the woman's name. He typed in Cecilie's full name, hit return, and was immediately presented with a copy of her passport. It had a red banner. "Warning:" it read. "Immediate arrest on charges of: Kidnapping (1 count), Assault (1 count), Harassment (5 counts)."
Friday, January 30, 2015
172
There was a moment of awkward silence in the kitchen as the implication of Thomas' confession was sinking in. He had said what everybody must have sensed for a while. But the mention of it had nevertheless come as a shock. And Bjorn, admitting that he too had no idea why he had been selected above all the other applicants for the job he was holding, did not help the situation. There was something not quite right about the checkpoint, and everybody knew it.
Frank scratched his neck nervously. Then he broke the silence. Completely ignoring Thomas' remark, and pretending not to have heard Bjorn's response, Frank started to lay out the new rules for the checkpoint, as prescribed by their superiors in Oslo.
Lundby was from now on going to be classified as a tax free zone, a giant airport as it were, which meant that the checkpoints would from now on act as the customs offices at international airports. And this in turn meant that everyone entering the colony would have to show their passport. Furthermore, to combat crime and smuggling, every passport must be scanned both on entering and on leaving the colony. That way, there would be no problem monitoring the traffic, making sure that criminals don't enter or leave the colony. Keeping track of how long each person has been in the colony would also be easy that way, a useful feature considering that the right to a tax free quota only applied to people spending at least twenty four hours in the colony.
However, since the scanner required had yet to arrive, the passport numbers would have to be typed in by hand, and Frank handed Bjorn a piece of paper containing a web address with a user name and password.
"You have your own laptop I take it?" Frank asked as he handed the piece of paper to Bjorn.
"Yes, I do," Bjorn answered.
"And you're fine with using it for now?"
"Sure."
"And that goes for all you others as well," Frank continued, looking at everybody around the table before returning his focus to Bjorn. "If you just leave that note in the glass cage for everybody else to use, we'll all be using our own lap tops until we get the scanner."
Frank paused for a moment to let his instructions sink in. Then he continued by letting everybody know that the new rules would only come into full effect the next day.
"We will only be warning people of the new rules. However, we will start recording passport numbers, and we will have to detain any criminals that may try to enter or escape the colony," Frank continued. "The database will tell us if we are dealing with a criminal, so we don't need to memorize a long list of faces. However, the website contains a searchable blacklist of people wanted by the state, and it may be a good idea to memorize the faces of the most dangerous ones on that list."
Bjorn was for a moment distracted by the mention of a blacklist, and the fact that the rules would start being enforced on Tuesday. Was this the test that Pedro had in store for him, he wondered. And the blacklist, surely it could not be the one used by the people in Lundby. But his attention soon returned to Frank who revealed to everybody's delight that the extra work implied a higher salary for everyone.
"We will all get a raise due to this," Frank said with a smile. "However, we will also have to be less fraternal with the villagers. We are from now on obliged to wear our uniforms and carry our handguns whenever visiting the village. No more civilian clothes for us when going down there, in other words."
"Not even when on official leave?" Ante asked. "Like holidays?"
"Not even when on holiday," Frank added.
"But it's my home village, sort of," Ante protested.
"And people weren't very happy about our uniforms when we were down there yesterday," Bjorn added. "I don't think wearing our uniforms down there is going to make them like us more."
"And who's saying anything about us having to be liked by them?" Frank retorted.
"Well... Why heighten the tension?"
"Heighten tension? Come on! We have to demonstrate that we're in charge. If we don't they will surely feel emboldened, and that's the last thing we want to happen."
And with this Frank terminated his little talk. "You better get going, Bjorn. John must be getting impatient out there," he added.
Frank scratched his neck nervously. Then he broke the silence. Completely ignoring Thomas' remark, and pretending not to have heard Bjorn's response, Frank started to lay out the new rules for the checkpoint, as prescribed by their superiors in Oslo.
Lundby was from now on going to be classified as a tax free zone, a giant airport as it were, which meant that the checkpoints would from now on act as the customs offices at international airports. And this in turn meant that everyone entering the colony would have to show their passport. Furthermore, to combat crime and smuggling, every passport must be scanned both on entering and on leaving the colony. That way, there would be no problem monitoring the traffic, making sure that criminals don't enter or leave the colony. Keeping track of how long each person has been in the colony would also be easy that way, a useful feature considering that the right to a tax free quota only applied to people spending at least twenty four hours in the colony.
However, since the scanner required had yet to arrive, the passport numbers would have to be typed in by hand, and Frank handed Bjorn a piece of paper containing a web address with a user name and password.
"You have your own laptop I take it?" Frank asked as he handed the piece of paper to Bjorn.
"Yes, I do," Bjorn answered.
"And you're fine with using it for now?"
"Sure."
"And that goes for all you others as well," Frank continued, looking at everybody around the table before returning his focus to Bjorn. "If you just leave that note in the glass cage for everybody else to use, we'll all be using our own lap tops until we get the scanner."
Frank paused for a moment to let his instructions sink in. Then he continued by letting everybody know that the new rules would only come into full effect the next day.
"We will only be warning people of the new rules. However, we will start recording passport numbers, and we will have to detain any criminals that may try to enter or escape the colony," Frank continued. "The database will tell us if we are dealing with a criminal, so we don't need to memorize a long list of faces. However, the website contains a searchable blacklist of people wanted by the state, and it may be a good idea to memorize the faces of the most dangerous ones on that list."
Bjorn was for a moment distracted by the mention of a blacklist, and the fact that the rules would start being enforced on Tuesday. Was this the test that Pedro had in store for him, he wondered. And the blacklist, surely it could not be the one used by the people in Lundby. But his attention soon returned to Frank who revealed to everybody's delight that the extra work implied a higher salary for everyone.
"We will all get a raise due to this," Frank said with a smile. "However, we will also have to be less fraternal with the villagers. We are from now on obliged to wear our uniforms and carry our handguns whenever visiting the village. No more civilian clothes for us when going down there, in other words."
"Not even when on official leave?" Ante asked. "Like holidays?"
"Not even when on holiday," Frank added.
"But it's my home village, sort of," Ante protested.
"And people weren't very happy about our uniforms when we were down there yesterday," Bjorn added. "I don't think wearing our uniforms down there is going to make them like us more."
"And who's saying anything about us having to be liked by them?" Frank retorted.
"Well... Why heighten the tension?"
"Heighten tension? Come on! We have to demonstrate that we're in charge. If we don't they will surely feel emboldened, and that's the last thing we want to happen."
And with this Frank terminated his little talk. "You better get going, Bjorn. John must be getting impatient out there," he added.
Monday, January 12, 2015
167
"Take this out to Thomas, will you?" Ante said, handing Bjorn a big plate of rice and curry as he approached his colleagues, seated at the table in the kitchen. "And here's a bottle of beer to go with it."
"Beer?" Bjorn asked, looking over at Frank. "You're fine with that?"
Frank nodded. "Sure. One bottle of this stuff won't make any difference."
Bjorn nodded, took the plate in one hand and the bottle in the other, and headed out of the kitchen. He didn't mind being the courier. In fact, being part of this thoughtful little gesture was something he welcomed. It made Thomas happy, and that again made Bjorn happy.
The sunset was breathtaking. The sky practically glowing to the north west, and Bjorn was again struck by the raw beauty of the place. "I'm blessed," he thought to himself as he headed down to the glass cage. "What a strange series of coincidences life is, and what pleasant surprises it has in store from time to time."
Bjorn found Thomas leaning back in his chair, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, oblivious to his immediate surroundings. This had Bjorn worry for a second that Thomas had completely forgotten about his duties. But when Bjorn knocked gently on the door with the beer bottle, he saw to his relief that this was all it took to have Thomas snap out of his daydream.
Thomas opened the door, letting Bjorn into the office. "So you're out sneaking up on people are you?" He asked with a smile. "Are you training your ninja skills?"
"No, no! I'm here with your dinner, as you can see."
"And a very welcoming sight it is, indeed."
"Prawn curry and Asian beer. Not bad aye?"
"Not bad at all."
Bjorn handed the plate and bottle over to Thomas, who put it on the ledge by the window. Then, on leaving the office, Bjorn suggested Thomas be a little careful about falling asleep.
"Hey, I wasn't sleeping," Thomas protested. "I was just relaxing."
"Well, you didn't see me sneaking up on you, did you?"
"No. But I'm looking for cars, not people."
"So if some ninja comes up here from the village, you won't know it before you're dead?"
"Nope, and neither will you. In fact, if anyone decides to attack this place, the one in the glass cage will be dead before he knows it, regardless."
"You think so?" Bjorn asked with a sting of angst hitting him.
"I know it for sure, and so do you," Thomas continued. "Haven't you read the news lately?"
"The news?"
"Just last week, there were two armed cops assassinated in broad daylight in New York. And those loonies in Paris the other day... The cops didn't stand a chance... And neither do we. And everybody knows it. It is rapidly becoming common knowledge that people like us can be assassinated without much risk, regardless of how well we are armed."
Thomas patted the automatic pistol resting on his belly to illustrate his point, and Bjorn knew that Thomas was entirely right. The one sitting in the glass cage was essentially a sitting duck. If someone for some reason wanted to attack the checkpoint, the guard on duty would not survive.
"Beer?" Bjorn asked, looking over at Frank. "You're fine with that?"
Frank nodded. "Sure. One bottle of this stuff won't make any difference."
Bjorn nodded, took the plate in one hand and the bottle in the other, and headed out of the kitchen. He didn't mind being the courier. In fact, being part of this thoughtful little gesture was something he welcomed. It made Thomas happy, and that again made Bjorn happy.
The sunset was breathtaking. The sky practically glowing to the north west, and Bjorn was again struck by the raw beauty of the place. "I'm blessed," he thought to himself as he headed down to the glass cage. "What a strange series of coincidences life is, and what pleasant surprises it has in store from time to time."
Bjorn found Thomas leaning back in his chair, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, oblivious to his immediate surroundings. This had Bjorn worry for a second that Thomas had completely forgotten about his duties. But when Bjorn knocked gently on the door with the beer bottle, he saw to his relief that this was all it took to have Thomas snap out of his daydream.
Thomas opened the door, letting Bjorn into the office. "So you're out sneaking up on people are you?" He asked with a smile. "Are you training your ninja skills?"
"No, no! I'm here with your dinner, as you can see."
"And a very welcoming sight it is, indeed."
"Prawn curry and Asian beer. Not bad aye?"
"Not bad at all."
Bjorn handed the plate and bottle over to Thomas, who put it on the ledge by the window. Then, on leaving the office, Bjorn suggested Thomas be a little careful about falling asleep.
"Hey, I wasn't sleeping," Thomas protested. "I was just relaxing."
"Well, you didn't see me sneaking up on you, did you?"
"No. But I'm looking for cars, not people."
"So if some ninja comes up here from the village, you won't know it before you're dead?"
"Nope, and neither will you. In fact, if anyone decides to attack this place, the one in the glass cage will be dead before he knows it, regardless."
"You think so?" Bjorn asked with a sting of angst hitting him.
"I know it for sure, and so do you," Thomas continued. "Haven't you read the news lately?"
"The news?"
"Just last week, there were two armed cops assassinated in broad daylight in New York. And those loonies in Paris the other day... The cops didn't stand a chance... And neither do we. And everybody knows it. It is rapidly becoming common knowledge that people like us can be assassinated without much risk, regardless of how well we are armed."
Thomas patted the automatic pistol resting on his belly to illustrate his point, and Bjorn knew that Thomas was entirely right. The one sitting in the glass cage was essentially a sitting duck. If someone for some reason wanted to attack the checkpoint, the guard on duty would not survive.
Monday, December 15, 2014
159
What exactly was Pedro having in store for him on Tuesday, Bjorn wondered. Now that it was established that Pedro was right about Wednesday, it seemed unlikely that he would be wrong about Bjorn's schedule on Tuesday. There would be some sort of test, and Bjorn would be judged according to his performance, but what exactly the test would entail was unknown.
It did not matter much what it was all about, though, Bjorn concluded, since the test was no doubt set up to test his personality in some way. There was some final test for him to clear before his assignment on Wednesday, and all he had to do on Tuesday was to act naturally, and pretend that he did not know that he was being tested.
But now that Pedro had hinted on the test, it was impossible for Bjorn to completely rid himself of the sense of self consciousness that comes with such knowledge. He felt watched and monitored, even in his own room. And on that note, his attention was drawn to a sun glare coming from a window or similar reflecting surface down in the village.
Suddenly, Bjorn got the creepy feeling that the whole village was watching him, but he lay the absurd thought quickly to rest, focusing instead on where the glare was coming from. He picked up a pair of binoculars and directed them towards the village, but the glare was gone before he found its source. Instead, he found himself studying Gus's gun store, partly hidden behind the little hill where Gus had set up the installation of fences and other defensive hardware.
"He has a clear view of us from that top window," Bjorn thought to himself as he studied the house that had once belonged to Ante's grandparents. "But he'd be an idiot to fire anything at us from that position. It is too far away and too obvious a target for a counter strike."
However, Bjorn could not completely free himself from an uneasy feeling that the bunker boys might have been right after all. Some of the stuff Gus had on display on his posters were hardly defensive, and if people were stocking up on that kind of weaponry, an attack on the checkpoint could easily be made. But it would be suicide for whoever attempted it. The air force would be called in, and the rebels would quickly be crushed. They would never reach Neiden, and even if they did, what could they do?
Only a suicidal bunch of madmen would attempt an attack on the checkpoint, and as far as Bjorn could judge, Lundby was not exactly brimming with such people. True, some of the folks down there were running away from the law, and Einar had even killed a man. But everyone seemed to have purely defensive concerns. And then there were people like Pedro and Jan who would hardly approve of such an attack. Those men would only stand to loose if things went completely haywire,
An attack on the checkpoint would be both suicidal and meaningless. If it ever happened, it would be a random act of violence, or an act of desperation, a final retaliation against a great injustice. And as long as no one was pushing them up against a wall, an attack was extremely unlikely, even if technically possible.
And while thinking of this, Bjorn realized that he was not much more exposed to violence where he was than he would have been on any other military base. Military personnel were increasingly being targeted by islamists and other loonies. He was probably no more exposed to such random violence at the checkpoint than anywhere else. But Gus' clear line of sight was nevertheless a little unsettling.
It did not matter much what it was all about, though, Bjorn concluded, since the test was no doubt set up to test his personality in some way. There was some final test for him to clear before his assignment on Wednesday, and all he had to do on Tuesday was to act naturally, and pretend that he did not know that he was being tested.
But now that Pedro had hinted on the test, it was impossible for Bjorn to completely rid himself of the sense of self consciousness that comes with such knowledge. He felt watched and monitored, even in his own room. And on that note, his attention was drawn to a sun glare coming from a window or similar reflecting surface down in the village.
Suddenly, Bjorn got the creepy feeling that the whole village was watching him, but he lay the absurd thought quickly to rest, focusing instead on where the glare was coming from. He picked up a pair of binoculars and directed them towards the village, but the glare was gone before he found its source. Instead, he found himself studying Gus's gun store, partly hidden behind the little hill where Gus had set up the installation of fences and other defensive hardware.
"He has a clear view of us from that top window," Bjorn thought to himself as he studied the house that had once belonged to Ante's grandparents. "But he'd be an idiot to fire anything at us from that position. It is too far away and too obvious a target for a counter strike."
However, Bjorn could not completely free himself from an uneasy feeling that the bunker boys might have been right after all. Some of the stuff Gus had on display on his posters were hardly defensive, and if people were stocking up on that kind of weaponry, an attack on the checkpoint could easily be made. But it would be suicide for whoever attempted it. The air force would be called in, and the rebels would quickly be crushed. They would never reach Neiden, and even if they did, what could they do?
Only a suicidal bunch of madmen would attempt an attack on the checkpoint, and as far as Bjorn could judge, Lundby was not exactly brimming with such people. True, some of the folks down there were running away from the law, and Einar had even killed a man. But everyone seemed to have purely defensive concerns. And then there were people like Pedro and Jan who would hardly approve of such an attack. Those men would only stand to loose if things went completely haywire,
An attack on the checkpoint would be both suicidal and meaningless. If it ever happened, it would be a random act of violence, or an act of desperation, a final retaliation against a great injustice. And as long as no one was pushing them up against a wall, an attack was extremely unlikely, even if technically possible.
And while thinking of this, Bjorn realized that he was not much more exposed to violence where he was than he would have been on any other military base. Military personnel were increasingly being targeted by islamists and other loonies. He was probably no more exposed to such random violence at the checkpoint than anywhere else. But Gus' clear line of sight was nevertheless a little unsettling.
Friday, November 14, 2014
149
Katinka returned with two mugs and a pot of coffee. She put the mugs on the table and poured the hot brew into them. The men thanked her. Then she went back to the kitchen before reappearing moments later, sitting down on a stool behind the bar, and picking up a book that she had evidently left there for moments like this, with little or nothing to do.
There was something relaxing and pleasant about her person, almost serene, and Bjorn could not help thinking that Roger might actually have been right about himself and Katinka. The age separating the two was great, indecent even, but Katinka looked content, as if fully confident in Roger's ability to protect her from any kind of harm, and her initial worry, and subsequent interrogation by Ante, had left no lasting impression on her. She looked happy.
"So, they got their gun store over there, and their drug store over here," Ante said, breaking Bjorn's train of thought, and moving his attention from Katinka to the street outside.
"Yeah?" Bjorn asked, resting his eyes on a car moving slowly past in the direction of Gus' gun store.
"Well, what do you think about that?" Ante continued, sipping his coffee. "You get your gun over there, and then stack up on some psychedelic drugs over there, and you're all set for a shooting spree."
"But you're the one thinking that's cool," Bjorn noted coldly. "You know what I think about it."
"Yeah. You find it a little crazy, don't you?"
"A little? Well, I think it's insane. That's what I think of it."
"You wouldn't last long if you tried something like that here in Lundby, though," Ante continued. "Everybody has a gun, and you'd quickly find yourself dead if you started shooting wildly around you."
"Still. It's just not a very good idea to combine these things, is it?"
"But you know Anders..."
"The mass murderer?"
"Yeah," Ante said with a thoughtful look across the street where a young man entered the drug store. "He had no trouble getting the guns and the drugs that he took just before going on his murderous rampage. And that was in Oslo where they got rules against that kind of thing."
"Still... There wouldn't have been anything at all stopping him up here."
"Except for pretty much the entire village shooting back at him," Ante noted with a cheeky smile.
Bjorn couldn't help thinking that Ante had a point. Yet, the tragedy in Oslo was different, and a rather extreme example, he felt. He wasn't buying Ante's argument, but had no ready counter argument either.
"You know, he just started his own party," Ante continued.
"Anders?"
"Yeah. Didn't you hear about that?"
"Well... yeah. But are anyone taking it seriously. I mean, the man is mad, right?"
"He got a few thousand followers on Facebook."
"He does?"
"Yep. A few thousand. I think that's saying quite a lot, don't you?"
"Like what?"
"About people and politics."
"Yeah?"
"And the foreign minister is as popular as ever," Ante continued. "You know... far more people were killed in Libya on his orders than Anders managed to kill out on that island."
"Yeah, but come on... You're not comparing the foreign minister with Anders, are you?"
"Sure, why not? They both illustrate the same point."
"They do?"
"Killing people will actually make you more popular, not less."
"But..."
"Yeah?"
"It's a stupid comparison."
"Why?"
"Well, the foreign minister and Anders? Come on! Anders killed those kids in cold blood."
"And the kids in Libya?"
"Kids in Libya?" Bjorn protested. "We were bombing military targets. If we killed any kids, it was by accident. That's a huge difference right there."
"But killing people does make you more popular," Ante continued undeterred. "That's all I'm saying."
"Well... okay... you're probably right about that."
"And that's kind of sad, sin't it."
There was something relaxing and pleasant about her person, almost serene, and Bjorn could not help thinking that Roger might actually have been right about himself and Katinka. The age separating the two was great, indecent even, but Katinka looked content, as if fully confident in Roger's ability to protect her from any kind of harm, and her initial worry, and subsequent interrogation by Ante, had left no lasting impression on her. She looked happy.
"So, they got their gun store over there, and their drug store over here," Ante said, breaking Bjorn's train of thought, and moving his attention from Katinka to the street outside.
"Yeah?" Bjorn asked, resting his eyes on a car moving slowly past in the direction of Gus' gun store.
"Well, what do you think about that?" Ante continued, sipping his coffee. "You get your gun over there, and then stack up on some psychedelic drugs over there, and you're all set for a shooting spree."
"But you're the one thinking that's cool," Bjorn noted coldly. "You know what I think about it."
"Yeah. You find it a little crazy, don't you?"
"A little? Well, I think it's insane. That's what I think of it."
"You wouldn't last long if you tried something like that here in Lundby, though," Ante continued. "Everybody has a gun, and you'd quickly find yourself dead if you started shooting wildly around you."
"Still. It's just not a very good idea to combine these things, is it?"
"But you know Anders..."
"The mass murderer?"
"Yeah," Ante said with a thoughtful look across the street where a young man entered the drug store. "He had no trouble getting the guns and the drugs that he took just before going on his murderous rampage. And that was in Oslo where they got rules against that kind of thing."
"Still... There wouldn't have been anything at all stopping him up here."
"Except for pretty much the entire village shooting back at him," Ante noted with a cheeky smile.
Bjorn couldn't help thinking that Ante had a point. Yet, the tragedy in Oslo was different, and a rather extreme example, he felt. He wasn't buying Ante's argument, but had no ready counter argument either.
"You know, he just started his own party," Ante continued.
"Anders?"
"Yeah. Didn't you hear about that?"
"Well... yeah. But are anyone taking it seriously. I mean, the man is mad, right?"
"He got a few thousand followers on Facebook."
"He does?"
"Yep. A few thousand. I think that's saying quite a lot, don't you?"
"Like what?"
"About people and politics."
"Yeah?"
"And the foreign minister is as popular as ever," Ante continued. "You know... far more people were killed in Libya on his orders than Anders managed to kill out on that island."
"Yeah, but come on... You're not comparing the foreign minister with Anders, are you?"
"Sure, why not? They both illustrate the same point."
"They do?"
"Killing people will actually make you more popular, not less."
"But..."
"Yeah?"
"It's a stupid comparison."
"Why?"
"Well, the foreign minister and Anders? Come on! Anders killed those kids in cold blood."
"And the kids in Libya?"
"Kids in Libya?" Bjorn protested. "We were bombing military targets. If we killed any kids, it was by accident. That's a huge difference right there."
"But killing people does make you more popular," Ante continued undeterred. "That's all I'm saying."
"Well... okay... you're probably right about that."
"And that's kind of sad, sin't it."
Friday, November 7, 2014
144
Bjorn started leafing through the menu in front of him, mostly to check what sort of prices they were charging for the food. It was the very same glossy menu that he was used to from Oslo, but all the prices were covered with little handwritten tags expressing the prices in MG.
"I wonder how they make ends meet with these prices," Bjorn commented. "Hundred MG for a pizza. That's nothing."
"Well, everything else is cheep too," Ante replied. "I bet they can make that pizza for less than fifty. And then they make some money on the drinks and stuff, too. They'll make like a hundred MG on the two of us by the time we're finished."
"That's still not a lot, is it?"
"Maybe not, but better than what Ane's workers are getting."
"True."
"And let's say they sell like twenty pizzas in a day, plus extras. That's two Gram in a day. That's not so bad here in Lundby."
"So you think they're doing all right?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Well, there's wages for one, and renting and heating this place. And what about the license for the franchise. That's not free either. Two Gram can't possibly cover all that."
Ante looked out of the window, as if searching for an answer.
"And yet, here they are," Ante commented thoughtfully. "Maybe they're not paying the franchising license."
"Well... Actually... That would explain a few things, wouldn't it? Like the beer, and this interior. You think they are just pretending to be a Peppe's franchise?"
"It would explain their concern about getting arrested too, wouldn't it?"
"It would."
Bjorn was impressed by Ante's reasoning. It made perfect sense, and explained all the little oddities.
"You're quite a detective!" Bjorn said, lifting his beer to his lips.
"Thanks."
Ante too, took a sip of his beer. Then he placed the glass back on a coaster in a deliberate and thoughtful manner.
"You know, my grandfather would have loved this," he said.
"Peppe's?"
"No. Opening a restaurant like this. Or rather... a restaurant of his own, in his own house."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. He actually did so. He got laid off at the iron mine. And the first thing he did was to make an informal restaurant in his house. He was a bit of a wizard in the kitchen."
"A little like you, in other words?"
"Yeah. Thanks. Only better. He made these fantastic reindeer steaks. And he had all these local herbs that he knew how to use."
"Local herbs? Here in the arctic?"
"Well, yeah. Things grow here too you know. It's not like we don't get any summer at all."
"Yeah. Well. Anyway... So he opened a restaurant?"
"He did."
"How did it go?"
"Pretty badly. He got shut down almost immediately. And he had to pay a fee and all."
"Really?"
"Yep. They took a big chunk of his savings."
"But why?"
"Well. He didn't have the licenses and the papers and stuff. It was illegal back then to open a restaurant in a private home."
"It still is, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Except here in Lundby. They got different rules here now."
"More like no rules at all."
Bjorn took another sip of his beer.
"It's not going to end well," he commented thoughtfully.
"You keep saying that," Ante protested. "Yet nothing wrong has happened."
"Not yet, no."
"And what exactly is going to go wrong, you think?"
"Well, I don't know. But it's not like all those rules we live under serve no purpose. They are there for a reason."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, of course!"
"So you feel unsafe, having a pizza here in Lundby, eating at Nora's Place and having a sandwich down at the market?"
"No. But it would have been better if it was regulated in some way."
"But it is."
"No it isn't. This is completely unregulated. You know that."
"It's regulated by the market."
"What?"
"If any of these guys serve bad food, people will stop going to their restaurants. You don't need anyone to shut down places just in case."
Bjorn had no idea why he was defending the regulatory bodies that had shut down Ante's grandfather's restaurant. He just did. Almost mechanically, as if it was his duty to defend the rules and regulations that so obviously were infringing on people's freedoms. Yet he could not stop himself from playing the devils advocate.
"And what about the so called pharmacy across the road here?" Bjorn said defiantly. "Surely, you don't think that's all right too?"
"Well, actually I do. But here's the pizza."
And sure enough, Katinka was heading straight for their table with a large pizza, straight from the oven and cut into a grid of palm size pieces.
"You want some garlic sauce to go with that?" Katinka asked as she put the pizza on the table between the two men.
"Yeah, that would be nice," Ante answered.
"Okay, I'll be right back."
Katinka hurried back off to the kitchen to get the sauce, which gave Ante an opportunity to mention Bjorn's intention to question Katinka about her worry about getting arrested.
"And here she is," Ante said with a smile on seeing Katinka return. "I'm all ears."
Katinka put the garlic sauce on the table.
"And you are fine with drinks and all?" she asked looking from Ante to Bjorn.
"Well, I have a question," Bjorn ventured.
"Yes?"
"Is this a real Peppe's franchise, or just a copy?"
"Ah... Why do you ask?"
"Well... You seem to be concerned about getting arrested, right?" Bjorn continued, feeling suddenly uncomfortable about his intrusive questioning.
Katinka straightened up and looked at Bjorn with suspicion.
"We're protected by Lance."
"And?" Bjorn asked puzzled.
"You're under their jurisdiction."
"What you mean?"
"It means you cannot come here and arrest people or harass us or anything like that."
"And if we did, what would they do?"
"Well, they would arrest you."
"Arrest us?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"They would send some guys over and put you in irons, I guess."
"Like immediately?"
"No. We would call them first."
"But you'd be on your way to Kirkenes long before they get here."
"Only if you managed to get out of the house. And even then, they would arrest you at their first opportunity."
"Well, we carry guns you know."
"So do they."
Bjorn was stunned by Katinka's insinuation, and was unable to come up with more to say.
"Well, thank you for your explanation," Ante added. "So I take it, you're insured by Lance."
"Yes. I think everyone here is. Everyone with a business, that is."
"Like David across the street?" Ante suggested.
"Oh yeah. I mean... He really needs protection."
"Why?"
"Well, it's not exactly legal, what he's doing."
"Not even here in Lundby?"
"No. It's legal here of course. But. Well, he's selling drugs, you know."
"And what's your feeling about that?"
"Ah. Well, As long as he's not pushing his drugs on anyone."
"And he isn't, is he?"
"No. I don't think so."
Ante sent Bjorn a knowing smile and a nod.
"Well, thank you Katinka," he said. "Thanks a lot."
"I wonder how they make ends meet with these prices," Bjorn commented. "Hundred MG for a pizza. That's nothing."
"Well, everything else is cheep too," Ante replied. "I bet they can make that pizza for less than fifty. And then they make some money on the drinks and stuff, too. They'll make like a hundred MG on the two of us by the time we're finished."
"That's still not a lot, is it?"
"Maybe not, but better than what Ane's workers are getting."
"True."
"And let's say they sell like twenty pizzas in a day, plus extras. That's two Gram in a day. That's not so bad here in Lundby."
"So you think they're doing all right?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Well, there's wages for one, and renting and heating this place. And what about the license for the franchise. That's not free either. Two Gram can't possibly cover all that."
Ante looked out of the window, as if searching for an answer.
"And yet, here they are," Ante commented thoughtfully. "Maybe they're not paying the franchising license."
"Well... Actually... That would explain a few things, wouldn't it? Like the beer, and this interior. You think they are just pretending to be a Peppe's franchise?"
"It would explain their concern about getting arrested too, wouldn't it?"
"It would."
Bjorn was impressed by Ante's reasoning. It made perfect sense, and explained all the little oddities.
"You're quite a detective!" Bjorn said, lifting his beer to his lips.
"Thanks."
Ante too, took a sip of his beer. Then he placed the glass back on a coaster in a deliberate and thoughtful manner.
"You know, my grandfather would have loved this," he said.
"Peppe's?"
"No. Opening a restaurant like this. Or rather... a restaurant of his own, in his own house."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. He actually did so. He got laid off at the iron mine. And the first thing he did was to make an informal restaurant in his house. He was a bit of a wizard in the kitchen."
"A little like you, in other words?"
"Yeah. Thanks. Only better. He made these fantastic reindeer steaks. And he had all these local herbs that he knew how to use."
"Local herbs? Here in the arctic?"
"Well, yeah. Things grow here too you know. It's not like we don't get any summer at all."
"Yeah. Well. Anyway... So he opened a restaurant?"
"He did."
"How did it go?"
"Pretty badly. He got shut down almost immediately. And he had to pay a fee and all."
"Really?"
"Yep. They took a big chunk of his savings."
"But why?"
"Well. He didn't have the licenses and the papers and stuff. It was illegal back then to open a restaurant in a private home."
"It still is, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Except here in Lundby. They got different rules here now."
"More like no rules at all."
Bjorn took another sip of his beer.
"It's not going to end well," he commented thoughtfully.
"You keep saying that," Ante protested. "Yet nothing wrong has happened."
"Not yet, no."
"And what exactly is going to go wrong, you think?"
"Well, I don't know. But it's not like all those rules we live under serve no purpose. They are there for a reason."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, of course!"
"So you feel unsafe, having a pizza here in Lundby, eating at Nora's Place and having a sandwich down at the market?"
"No. But it would have been better if it was regulated in some way."
"But it is."
"No it isn't. This is completely unregulated. You know that."
"It's regulated by the market."
"What?"
"If any of these guys serve bad food, people will stop going to their restaurants. You don't need anyone to shut down places just in case."
Bjorn had no idea why he was defending the regulatory bodies that had shut down Ante's grandfather's restaurant. He just did. Almost mechanically, as if it was his duty to defend the rules and regulations that so obviously were infringing on people's freedoms. Yet he could not stop himself from playing the devils advocate.
"And what about the so called pharmacy across the road here?" Bjorn said defiantly. "Surely, you don't think that's all right too?"
"Well, actually I do. But here's the pizza."
And sure enough, Katinka was heading straight for their table with a large pizza, straight from the oven and cut into a grid of palm size pieces.
"You want some garlic sauce to go with that?" Katinka asked as she put the pizza on the table between the two men.
"Yeah, that would be nice," Ante answered.
"Okay, I'll be right back."
Katinka hurried back off to the kitchen to get the sauce, which gave Ante an opportunity to mention Bjorn's intention to question Katinka about her worry about getting arrested.
"And here she is," Ante said with a smile on seeing Katinka return. "I'm all ears."
Katinka put the garlic sauce on the table.
"And you are fine with drinks and all?" she asked looking from Ante to Bjorn.
"Well, I have a question," Bjorn ventured.
"Yes?"
"Is this a real Peppe's franchise, or just a copy?"
"Ah... Why do you ask?"
"Well... You seem to be concerned about getting arrested, right?" Bjorn continued, feeling suddenly uncomfortable about his intrusive questioning.
Katinka straightened up and looked at Bjorn with suspicion.
"We're protected by Lance."
"And?" Bjorn asked puzzled.
"You're under their jurisdiction."
"What you mean?"
"It means you cannot come here and arrest people or harass us or anything like that."
"And if we did, what would they do?"
"Well, they would arrest you."
"Arrest us?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"They would send some guys over and put you in irons, I guess."
"Like immediately?"
"No. We would call them first."
"But you'd be on your way to Kirkenes long before they get here."
"Only if you managed to get out of the house. And even then, they would arrest you at their first opportunity."
"Well, we carry guns you know."
"So do they."
Bjorn was stunned by Katinka's insinuation, and was unable to come up with more to say.
"Well, thank you for your explanation," Ante added. "So I take it, you're insured by Lance."
"Yes. I think everyone here is. Everyone with a business, that is."
"Like David across the street?" Ante suggested.
"Oh yeah. I mean... He really needs protection."
"Why?"
"Well, it's not exactly legal, what he's doing."
"Not even here in Lundby?"
"No. It's legal here of course. But. Well, he's selling drugs, you know."
"And what's your feeling about that?"
"Ah. Well, As long as he's not pushing his drugs on anyone."
"And he isn't, is he?"
"No. I don't think so."
Ante sent Bjorn a knowing smile and a nod.
"Well, thank you Katinka," he said. "Thanks a lot."
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
142
"So, it looks like this Gus guy is a friend of Pedro," Bjorn commented, noticing a Lance Security logo at the bottom of one of the posters in front of Gus' store. "Proud to be associated with Lance Security and Rogue Justice," it said in a banner next to it.
"That's a sinister organization if I ever saw one," Bjorn continued, pointing to the banner. "Rogue Justice, I mean."
"Yeah?" Ante asked. "And what is it?"
"They are hired guns, that's what they are."
"A little like us in other words," Ante commented flippantly.
"Well, not exactly. We don't kill for money."
"Really?"
"No! What is it with you?"
"I mean, if we get orders from Oslo to arrest or kill Jan, for instance, we're not going to do it?"
"Well... But that's different. And it's not going to happen. Is it?"
"I sure hope not. I'd hate to get on the wrong side of him and his thugs."
"Me too."
Having seen enough of Gus' posters, Bjorn turned to the street, looking in both direction from the corner where they were standing. He could see the odd car moving passed the intersection down by the main road. But the road along the crest of the hill was quite deserted. There were a few parked cars here and there, but no one out in the street.
"He even has a shooting range," Ante commented.
"Who?" Bjorn asked.
"Gus."
"Really? Where?"
"Over by the airport, apparently."
"And how do you know?"
"Well, it said on that poster you pointed to. Didn't you read it?"
Bjorn turned to have another look at the poster which had appeared to him as a pure propaganda piece for selling military grade weapons. And now at second glance he saw it immediately. Gus did not only sell guns and security equipment. He provided training too, and the poster made this quite clear.
"Funny how I didn't get that right away," Bjorn commented.
"You're a terrible detective, that's for sure," Ante replied.
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I do," Ante said with a smile. "But lets have a pizza. I'm hungry."
The men crossed the street and walked in the direction of the church.
"So, who is this Gus anyway?" Bjorn asked. "Sounds like an American with a name like that."
"I think he is. He sounds like it, and he looks like an ex-marine. You know, with a crew cut and everything."
"Really? And why is he here? He's not an asylum seeker, surely."
"No. I'm pretty sure he isn't."
"He's part of this whole Mafia thing, isn't he?" Bjorn suggested.
"Mafia?"
"Well, how else would you describe the things going on here?"
Ante didn't reply right away.
"I kind of like this, though," Ante replied.
"You do?"
"Yeah. I don't see anything wrong going on."
"You don't? But that guy is selling weapons over there. Don't you find that a tiny bit creepy? And look! Isn't that David's drug store?"
Bjorn pointed across the street, a little up from where they were walking.
"The sky is not the limit! Isn't that what it says on that board over there?" Bjorn continued.
"Yeah, yeah, it does."
"Isn't that a little odd?"
"Well... It's not like that guy is forcing me to buy his drugs."
"But he's obviously selling drugs, isn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's a pharmacist. What do you expect."
"I'd expect him to sell proper drugs. You know, medicine. Not crap."
"Okay, okay! So this place is in the hands of the Mafia. So what?"
"So what?" Bjorn asked perplexed.
"Yeah? So what? As long as no one is harmed, what do I care?"
"Boy! You really have spent too much time with Thomas."
"Yeah, I guess I have," Ante said with a smile. "But anyway, here's Peppe's Pizza. Let's have a bite!"
"That's a sinister organization if I ever saw one," Bjorn continued, pointing to the banner. "Rogue Justice, I mean."
"Yeah?" Ante asked. "And what is it?"
"They are hired guns, that's what they are."
"A little like us in other words," Ante commented flippantly.
"Well, not exactly. We don't kill for money."
"Really?"
"No! What is it with you?"
"I mean, if we get orders from Oslo to arrest or kill Jan, for instance, we're not going to do it?"
"Well... But that's different. And it's not going to happen. Is it?"
"I sure hope not. I'd hate to get on the wrong side of him and his thugs."
"Me too."
Having seen enough of Gus' posters, Bjorn turned to the street, looking in both direction from the corner where they were standing. He could see the odd car moving passed the intersection down by the main road. But the road along the crest of the hill was quite deserted. There were a few parked cars here and there, but no one out in the street.
"He even has a shooting range," Ante commented.
"Who?" Bjorn asked.
"Gus."
"Really? Where?"
"Over by the airport, apparently."
"And how do you know?"
"Well, it said on that poster you pointed to. Didn't you read it?"
Bjorn turned to have another look at the poster which had appeared to him as a pure propaganda piece for selling military grade weapons. And now at second glance he saw it immediately. Gus did not only sell guns and security equipment. He provided training too, and the poster made this quite clear.
"Funny how I didn't get that right away," Bjorn commented.
"You're a terrible detective, that's for sure," Ante replied.
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I do," Ante said with a smile. "But lets have a pizza. I'm hungry."
The men crossed the street and walked in the direction of the church.
"So, who is this Gus anyway?" Bjorn asked. "Sounds like an American with a name like that."
"I think he is. He sounds like it, and he looks like an ex-marine. You know, with a crew cut and everything."
"Really? And why is he here? He's not an asylum seeker, surely."
"No. I'm pretty sure he isn't."
"He's part of this whole Mafia thing, isn't he?" Bjorn suggested.
"Mafia?"
"Well, how else would you describe the things going on here?"
Ante didn't reply right away.
"I kind of like this, though," Ante replied.
"You do?"
"Yeah. I don't see anything wrong going on."
"You don't? But that guy is selling weapons over there. Don't you find that a tiny bit creepy? And look! Isn't that David's drug store?"
Bjorn pointed across the street, a little up from where they were walking.
"The sky is not the limit! Isn't that what it says on that board over there?" Bjorn continued.
"Yeah, yeah, it does."
"Isn't that a little odd?"
"Well... It's not like that guy is forcing me to buy his drugs."
"But he's obviously selling drugs, isn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's a pharmacist. What do you expect."
"I'd expect him to sell proper drugs. You know, medicine. Not crap."
"Okay, okay! So this place is in the hands of the Mafia. So what?"
"So what?" Bjorn asked perplexed.
"Yeah? So what? As long as no one is harmed, what do I care?"
"Boy! You really have spent too much time with Thomas."
"Yeah, I guess I have," Ante said with a smile. "But anyway, here's Peppe's Pizza. Let's have a bite!"
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
141
"There it is!" Ante exclaimed on seeing the roof of his grandparent's home appearing behind a small hill. "You see that hill, with the barbed wire and fences and stuff? Well, that is all part of my grandparents' back yard. It's turned into a kind of a show case for Gus's defense installations."
"So he's not just selling guns?" Bjorn asked.
"No. Anything defense related, he's into it."
"Really? You know Gus, then?"
"Yeah. I met him a few weeks back when I was in town with Thomas. We went up here to have a look at the store. And so we got to meet him. He seems like a nice guy."
"But all that barbed wire and stuff does not look too inviting, does it."
"Well, that's why he has it out in his back yard, tucked behind that hill, I guess."
"Yeah, I didn't see any of that when we drove by in Igor's car."
"No. It's all pretty toned down, seen from the street side."
Getting closer to Gus' property, the various exhibits could be seen in more detail. There were several different examples of fences, there were surveillance cameras, and rolls of barbed wire put out here and there. And it was clearly all for show.
Little foot paths, laid out with plenty of gravel, connected the back yard to the dirt path that the two men were following, clearly inviting them to walk in between the installations, almost like an open air museum.
"You want to have a look?" Ante asked as they came across the first of the foot paths leading into Gus' property.
"Sure! Why not?" Bjorn answered. "It's almost like a war museum, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"
"Private Property," a sign read, with "Trespassers will be Shot" written in small letters underneath. And was it not for the fact that the sign was placed on the back of a fence, so as to indicate that the threat applied to those venturing out of Gus' property, rather than into it, Bjorn would have hesitated to follow the foot paths further. But as it were, it all seemed quite harmless, despite of its aggressive nature. It also helped that the exhibits were clearly marked, and separated, so as to underscore the fact that the items on display were all for sale and only serving as examples.
"So you think this guy put up the fence around Ane's factory?" Bjorn asked idly.
"He probably did," Ante answered. "Who else would have done it?"
"Good point."
The men strolled around the hill with the fences and barbed wire, reaching the side of the little house that had once belonged to Ante's grand parents.
"Looks like Gus is away," Ante commented on seeing the windows of the house, all behind closed metal shutters.
"Those shutters are also part of what this guy sells, you think?" Bjorn asked.
"Probably is," Ante said with a nod. "He's basically the security installation guy. It's probably not a bad business to be in. Not in a place like this, anyway."
"Well, look at what we have here," Bjorn exclaimed on following one of the foot paths over to the front of the house. "It's the exact same armillary sphere that Frederico has in front of his church."
"It is, isn't it?" Ante agreed. "You see, they are all over the place."
"Yeah, you're right. It's a little occult and spooky, don't you think?"
"Kind of, I guess. But it doesn't bother me."
And it did not bother Bjorn either. Not there and then, anyway. However, some sort of massive propaganda was going on in the village, and although harmless at the moment, he could not quite rid himself of the thought that this could all turn pretty ugly at some point.
"And here we have the guns," Ante said, pointing towards several large posters put up along the street. "They are all to scale, and with the prices displayed under each item. Come check it out!"
Bjorn followed Ante to the posters which were all facing the street.
"So this is how Gus shows off his wares?" Bjorn commented as he turned to the front of the posters.
"Yeah, the house is too far removed from the street to have a very effective store front, so he put up these posters instead."
"That's a pretty smart move."
"It is, isn't it? People can window shop here along the street, and then go in an get the gun they want."
"Or at least have an idea what they might like, before going in to talk to Gus."
"Exactly."
"But Gus isn't here, is he?"
"Nope. Here are the opening hours. He's closed on Sundays."
"Closed and away, by the look of it."
"So he's not just selling guns?" Bjorn asked.
"No. Anything defense related, he's into it."
"Really? You know Gus, then?"
"Yeah. I met him a few weeks back when I was in town with Thomas. We went up here to have a look at the store. And so we got to meet him. He seems like a nice guy."
"But all that barbed wire and stuff does not look too inviting, does it."
"Well, that's why he has it out in his back yard, tucked behind that hill, I guess."
"Yeah, I didn't see any of that when we drove by in Igor's car."
"No. It's all pretty toned down, seen from the street side."
Getting closer to Gus' property, the various exhibits could be seen in more detail. There were several different examples of fences, there were surveillance cameras, and rolls of barbed wire put out here and there. And it was clearly all for show.
Little foot paths, laid out with plenty of gravel, connected the back yard to the dirt path that the two men were following, clearly inviting them to walk in between the installations, almost like an open air museum.
"You want to have a look?" Ante asked as they came across the first of the foot paths leading into Gus' property.
"Sure! Why not?" Bjorn answered. "It's almost like a war museum, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"
"Private Property," a sign read, with "Trespassers will be Shot" written in small letters underneath. And was it not for the fact that the sign was placed on the back of a fence, so as to indicate that the threat applied to those venturing out of Gus' property, rather than into it, Bjorn would have hesitated to follow the foot paths further. But as it were, it all seemed quite harmless, despite of its aggressive nature. It also helped that the exhibits were clearly marked, and separated, so as to underscore the fact that the items on display were all for sale and only serving as examples.
"So you think this guy put up the fence around Ane's factory?" Bjorn asked idly.
"He probably did," Ante answered. "Who else would have done it?"
"Good point."
The men strolled around the hill with the fences and barbed wire, reaching the side of the little house that had once belonged to Ante's grand parents.
"Looks like Gus is away," Ante commented on seeing the windows of the house, all behind closed metal shutters.
"Those shutters are also part of what this guy sells, you think?" Bjorn asked.
"Probably is," Ante said with a nod. "He's basically the security installation guy. It's probably not a bad business to be in. Not in a place like this, anyway."
"Well, look at what we have here," Bjorn exclaimed on following one of the foot paths over to the front of the house. "It's the exact same armillary sphere that Frederico has in front of his church."
"It is, isn't it?" Ante agreed. "You see, they are all over the place."
"Yeah, you're right. It's a little occult and spooky, don't you think?"
"Kind of, I guess. But it doesn't bother me."
And it did not bother Bjorn either. Not there and then, anyway. However, some sort of massive propaganda was going on in the village, and although harmless at the moment, he could not quite rid himself of the thought that this could all turn pretty ugly at some point.
"And here we have the guns," Ante said, pointing towards several large posters put up along the street. "They are all to scale, and with the prices displayed under each item. Come check it out!"
Bjorn followed Ante to the posters which were all facing the street.
"So this is how Gus shows off his wares?" Bjorn commented as he turned to the front of the posters.
"Yeah, the house is too far removed from the street to have a very effective store front, so he put up these posters instead."
"That's a pretty smart move."
"It is, isn't it? People can window shop here along the street, and then go in an get the gun they want."
"Or at least have an idea what they might like, before going in to talk to Gus."
"Exactly."
"But Gus isn't here, is he?"
"Nope. Here are the opening hours. He's closed on Sundays."
"Closed and away, by the look of it."
Thursday, September 11, 2014
119
Ante and Bjorn were finishing their breakfast, eagerly anticipating their Sunday outing, when Frank appeared in the kitchen.
He looked unusually relaxed and pleased with himself as he sat down for breakfast.
"So, what are you two up to today?" Frank asked, sensing their eagerness to leave.
"We're going down to the village," Ante answered.
"And why not?" Frank asked rhetorically. "It looks like it will be a nice day."
"It does indeed."
"Any special plans?"
"No, not really. I'll show Bjorn around, and we plan to have lunch at Peppe's."
"So you're planning to leave us here alone to take care of our own lunch?"
"No, no... There's a lasagne in the fridge, ready to go into the oven. I've told Thomas all about it. He'll get it baked."
"Well, that's awfully good of you, Ante. You really know how to take care of us, don't you?"
"You guys are always on my mind, you know," Ante answered with a big smile.
The men chuckled and Bjorn took the opportunity to gather his things, casually mentioning the incident with the private jet as he did so.
"Is that so?" Frank asked. "That's certainly interesting."
"The airport isn't opened, is it?"
"No it isn't, and we don't have anyone down there to check what they are bringing in or taking out of the colony."
"Is there any plans to open it, though?"
"I believe there are. But it will of course have to be properly regulated when it happens. Can't have people flying in and out of the colony without any control, can we?"
"No, of course not."
Frank ate quietly, watching Ante and Bjorn put their plates and cutlery into the dishwasher.
"I'll inform Oslo about what you saw, Bjorn," Frank said as the two headed for the exit. "Are you back before dinner?"
"Yes, we'll be back after lunch," Ante confirmed.
Then, turning around in the doorway, Ante asked Frank about the dress code for going to Lundby.
"Is it all right if we go like this?" he asked. "In uniform, I mean."
"Sure," Frank replied. "And keep the guns on you too. We need to be more visible to the villagers, show them that we're watching them. That kind of thing, you know."
Ante looked over at Bjorn who had followed the exchange of words.
"Is that all right with you too, Bjorn?" he asked.
"Sure, why not?"
Bjorn had been thinking that he and Ante would have to change into civilian clothes since this was a non-official outing. But he had no strong feelings either way, and simply grabbing the jacket hanging on the rack by the exit was certainly more convenient than having to change in and out of civilian clothes.
The two men put on their coats and stepped out in the cool crispness of the arctic spring weather, loudly pronouncing a final goodbye to Frank in the kitchen as they did so.
He looked unusually relaxed and pleased with himself as he sat down for breakfast.
"So, what are you two up to today?" Frank asked, sensing their eagerness to leave.
"We're going down to the village," Ante answered.
"And why not?" Frank asked rhetorically. "It looks like it will be a nice day."
"It does indeed."
"Any special plans?"
"No, not really. I'll show Bjorn around, and we plan to have lunch at Peppe's."
"So you're planning to leave us here alone to take care of our own lunch?"
"No, no... There's a lasagne in the fridge, ready to go into the oven. I've told Thomas all about it. He'll get it baked."
"Well, that's awfully good of you, Ante. You really know how to take care of us, don't you?"
"You guys are always on my mind, you know," Ante answered with a big smile.
The men chuckled and Bjorn took the opportunity to gather his things, casually mentioning the incident with the private jet as he did so.
"Is that so?" Frank asked. "That's certainly interesting."
"The airport isn't opened, is it?"
"No it isn't, and we don't have anyone down there to check what they are bringing in or taking out of the colony."
"Is there any plans to open it, though?"
"I believe there are. But it will of course have to be properly regulated when it happens. Can't have people flying in and out of the colony without any control, can we?"
"No, of course not."
Frank ate quietly, watching Ante and Bjorn put their plates and cutlery into the dishwasher.
"I'll inform Oslo about what you saw, Bjorn," Frank said as the two headed for the exit. "Are you back before dinner?"
"Yes, we'll be back after lunch," Ante confirmed.
Then, turning around in the doorway, Ante asked Frank about the dress code for going to Lundby.
"Is it all right if we go like this?" he asked. "In uniform, I mean."
"Sure," Frank replied. "And keep the guns on you too. We need to be more visible to the villagers, show them that we're watching them. That kind of thing, you know."
Ante looked over at Bjorn who had followed the exchange of words.
"Is that all right with you too, Bjorn?" he asked.
"Sure, why not?"
Bjorn had been thinking that he and Ante would have to change into civilian clothes since this was a non-official outing. But he had no strong feelings either way, and simply grabbing the jacket hanging on the rack by the exit was certainly more convenient than having to change in and out of civilian clothes.
The two men put on their coats and stepped out in the cool crispness of the arctic spring weather, loudly pronouncing a final goodbye to Frank in the kitchen as they did so.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
117
The alarm on his mobile phone shook Bjorn out of his deep sleep, and the pain of being woken up so brutally made him immediately regret having agreed to Ante's deal. But he had no choice at this point but to get out of bed and replace whoever was in the glass cage.
Bjorn turned on the lights and headed to the showers for a quick wash. Then he put on his uniform and strapped on his gun before going down to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and some coffee. A red glow to the north east could be seen from the kitchen, and for a moment Bjorn was again fascinated by the view.
"A few more weeks now, and there will be a midnight sun hanging there, just above the horizon," Bjorn thought to himself, trying to imagine what that would be like.
He poured the freshly made coffee into a thermos, and proceeded to head for the glass cage, sandwich and thermos in hand. It had stopped raining and there was a tear in the clouds, revealing the moon to the west. The cold air was invigorating, and Bjorn found himself looking forward to the six hours ahead of himself.
"Six hours of quiet solitary meditation is not a bad way to start a day," he thought, feeling content and ready to take his turn.
Bjorn was a little surprised to find Frank standing outside the glass cage, impatiently waiting to be replace, but he immediately knew his surprise was silly. He knew full well that Frank too took his occasional turn in the cage, and it was Bjorn's lack of attention to such details that had made him miss the fact that Frank was the one he was to replace.
Frank's impatience made Bjorn worried for a moment that he might be late. But on checking his watch he could see that he was in fact a few minutes early. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Frank was simply eager to get his shift over and done with, and was waiting on Bjorn in much the same way an early morning commuter waits for his bus.
On seeing Bjorn, Frank swung the belt of the semi automatic gun he was carrying, off his shoulders in preparation of giving it to Bjorn. And the following exchange of duties was brief to the point of being almost wordless. Bjorn got the gun and the key to the gun rack, and Frank headed off to the barracks with nothing but a "see you later" to wish Bjorn well.
But Bjorn did not mind the briefness of the exchange. He put his thermos and sandwich on the little ledge by the window, next to the door. Then he swung the belt of the gun over his head and onto his left shoulder where he let it hang while sticking the key to the gun rack into his pocket.
Bjorn pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a deep puff before turning his attention to the road.
"There is not going to be much traffic at this hour," Bjorn thought with a smile. "All the more time to meditate and daydream."
And Bjorn was right. Not a single car passed the check point during the following six hours. And had it not been for a curious incident an hour or so into his guard duty, there would have been nothing to report. However, the incident was strange and somewhat eerie, and definitely something to report back to Frank.
Bjorn was sitting in his chair, sipping his coffee while the sun slowly rose to the east when he suddenly became aware of a light hanging over the mountains to the north west. The light seemed to hover in mid air like a star of some kind, gradually growing brighter.
Then he heard a distant humming sound, and he realized that he was watching a low flying airplane coming straight at him. It continued on its path straight towards him for another few seconds before turning gracefully in the direction of the abandoned airfield.
For a moment, Bjorn could see the private jet perfectly with its engines humming at low power and its sleek exterior, shiny and white. But once it disappeared behind a hill to the east, it was as if it had not been there at all. It was as if he had imagined it, and that it had not actually flown by.
Bjorn turned on the lights and headed to the showers for a quick wash. Then he put on his uniform and strapped on his gun before going down to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and some coffee. A red glow to the north east could be seen from the kitchen, and for a moment Bjorn was again fascinated by the view.
"A few more weeks now, and there will be a midnight sun hanging there, just above the horizon," Bjorn thought to himself, trying to imagine what that would be like.
He poured the freshly made coffee into a thermos, and proceeded to head for the glass cage, sandwich and thermos in hand. It had stopped raining and there was a tear in the clouds, revealing the moon to the west. The cold air was invigorating, and Bjorn found himself looking forward to the six hours ahead of himself.
"Six hours of quiet solitary meditation is not a bad way to start a day," he thought, feeling content and ready to take his turn.
Bjorn was a little surprised to find Frank standing outside the glass cage, impatiently waiting to be replace, but he immediately knew his surprise was silly. He knew full well that Frank too took his occasional turn in the cage, and it was Bjorn's lack of attention to such details that had made him miss the fact that Frank was the one he was to replace.
Frank's impatience made Bjorn worried for a moment that he might be late. But on checking his watch he could see that he was in fact a few minutes early. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Frank was simply eager to get his shift over and done with, and was waiting on Bjorn in much the same way an early morning commuter waits for his bus.
On seeing Bjorn, Frank swung the belt of the semi automatic gun he was carrying, off his shoulders in preparation of giving it to Bjorn. And the following exchange of duties was brief to the point of being almost wordless. Bjorn got the gun and the key to the gun rack, and Frank headed off to the barracks with nothing but a "see you later" to wish Bjorn well.
But Bjorn did not mind the briefness of the exchange. He put his thermos and sandwich on the little ledge by the window, next to the door. Then he swung the belt of the gun over his head and onto his left shoulder where he let it hang while sticking the key to the gun rack into his pocket.
Bjorn pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a deep puff before turning his attention to the road.
"There is not going to be much traffic at this hour," Bjorn thought with a smile. "All the more time to meditate and daydream."
And Bjorn was right. Not a single car passed the check point during the following six hours. And had it not been for a curious incident an hour or so into his guard duty, there would have been nothing to report. However, the incident was strange and somewhat eerie, and definitely something to report back to Frank.
Bjorn was sitting in his chair, sipping his coffee while the sun slowly rose to the east when he suddenly became aware of a light hanging over the mountains to the north west. The light seemed to hover in mid air like a star of some kind, gradually growing brighter.
Then he heard a distant humming sound, and he realized that he was watching a low flying airplane coming straight at him. It continued on its path straight towards him for another few seconds before turning gracefully in the direction of the abandoned airfield.
For a moment, Bjorn could see the private jet perfectly with its engines humming at low power and its sleek exterior, shiny and white. But once it disappeared behind a hill to the east, it was as if it had not been there at all. It was as if he had imagined it, and that it had not actually flown by.
Friday, September 5, 2014
115
By the time Bjorn got out in the hallway, everybody were clattering down the stairs, except for Frank who came staggering out of his room apparently just woken up from a dream.
"Hi Frank," Bjorn said cheerfully. "I need to talk to you about a thing."
"About what?" Frank asked grumpily.
"About a boat taxi I came across last night."
"I know, I know," Frank interjected. "Geir told me all about it."
"He did?" Bjorn asked, feeling a sting of disappointment.
"He sent me an e-mail."
"Oh... So that's taken care of then?"
"I've reported it on to Oslo," Frank explained, leading Bjorn towards the stairs. "We don't have the resources to control the entire coast line for this kind of thing, so my suggestion is that we should employ the coast guard to patrol the entrance to the bay. That way every boat coming and going can be controlled as they pass through the narrow straight to Kirkenes."
Bjorn nodded in agreement, as he walked down the stairs. Frank sure knew his stuff. He might be a show off, but he had a good head on his shoulders, at least when he made an effort to use it.
Sitting down at the table, Frank was not very happy to see his gun, but revealed no concern about this apart from an almost undetectable twitch. Then, he simply pulled the gun towards himself, and lay it across his lap. Frank was obviously in no mood to talk about the gun, and Ante, together with Bjorn, pretended to be completely ignorant about it. And with John and Espen either oblivious to it, or sensing the unspoken tension related to the gun, did not remark on it either.
And to make absolutely sure that no one would mention the gun, Bjorn announced to everyone his intention to go out with a plate of food and a glass of wine to Thomas out in the glass cage. And this had the desired effect of setting off the conversation on a happy and careless note.
Bjorn piled up some meat, potatoes and vegetables on a plate, poured a generous glass of red wine, and headed out to Thomas with it all, grabbing a paper napkin and some cutlery on his way out.
The rain had turned to a light drizzle, and Bjorn got to the glass cage without getting wet beyond a very light sprinkle that did not even soak into his clothes.
"Thanks, that's very good of you," Thomas said cheerfully as Bjorn entered the tiny office. "This will certainly make my time here in the cage pass quicker."
"I´m sure it will," Bjorn agreed.
Then, before heading back to the barracks, Bjorn took in the view from the glass cage. The clouds hanging low and heavy over the bay added to the fairy tale beauty of the place. The utter greyness and lifelessness conjured up the feeling that this was indeed the edge of the world, an arctic corner where no man was ever supposed to come, and which civilization had violated by adding roads and houses in godless defiance of the natural order of things.
"It's almost a little spooky, isn't it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"What is?" Thomas asked, taking an initial sip of his wine.
"The view."
"I like it," Thomas said as a matter of fact.
"Me too," Bjorn agreed. "It's beautiful."
Bjorn left Thomas with his plate of food and glass of wine, heading back to the kitchen where the conversation had turned to the riots at the asylum centre in Lier. John had learned from looking around on the web that the riots had indeed been taking place at the very same place where Lars had organized his demonstration just days before, and John was sensing a conspiracy of some kind.
"So you think that Lars is behind it?" Espen asked.
"Well, he did not seem very upset with the riots, did he?" John replied.
"When was Lars ever upset with a riot?" Frank commented with a grin.
"But you have to admit it's a little disconcerting that he is targeting Lundby with his rhetoric these days." John added in defence of his theory.
"And that is why we are going to get a big fence around this place," Frank explained. "As long as we are one step ahead of the mob, we're fine."
The men fell silent on this note, and Bjorn took another sip of his red wine, only to be struck by its unusual taste.
"So what wine is this?" Bjorn asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject matter.
"It is a red green wine," Ante answered with a big smile.
"So they do exist," Bjorn commented glibly.
"They do indeed! Proves that even you can be right at times."
"Wasn't it Espen who came up with that theory" Bjorn asked modestly, turning to Espen.
"Or was it Thomas?" Espen asked.
Ante looked around the table with a smile.
"You know, maybe we should all take credit for being such good thinkers," Ante suggested.
And with this the conversation turned permanently to lighter matters. The wine drinkers at the table all agreed that the wine had an unusual feel to it which went quite well with the turkey. But they were more divided when it came to whether or not to repeat the experience. Frank and Espen thought it a nice experience as a one off, while Bjorn and Ante thought it good enough to try again, with Ante suggesting they should try the wine again one day with a duck or a goose or some similar fatty bird.
"Well, you're the one in charge of the household," Frank noted. "So I guess the decision is ultimately yours to make."
"It is indeed," Ante said smiling form ear to ear.
"Hi Frank," Bjorn said cheerfully. "I need to talk to you about a thing."
"About what?" Frank asked grumpily.
"About a boat taxi I came across last night."
"I know, I know," Frank interjected. "Geir told me all about it."
"He did?" Bjorn asked, feeling a sting of disappointment.
"He sent me an e-mail."
"Oh... So that's taken care of then?"
"I've reported it on to Oslo," Frank explained, leading Bjorn towards the stairs. "We don't have the resources to control the entire coast line for this kind of thing, so my suggestion is that we should employ the coast guard to patrol the entrance to the bay. That way every boat coming and going can be controlled as they pass through the narrow straight to Kirkenes."
Bjorn nodded in agreement, as he walked down the stairs. Frank sure knew his stuff. He might be a show off, but he had a good head on his shoulders, at least when he made an effort to use it.
Sitting down at the table, Frank was not very happy to see his gun, but revealed no concern about this apart from an almost undetectable twitch. Then, he simply pulled the gun towards himself, and lay it across his lap. Frank was obviously in no mood to talk about the gun, and Ante, together with Bjorn, pretended to be completely ignorant about it. And with John and Espen either oblivious to it, or sensing the unspoken tension related to the gun, did not remark on it either.
And to make absolutely sure that no one would mention the gun, Bjorn announced to everyone his intention to go out with a plate of food and a glass of wine to Thomas out in the glass cage. And this had the desired effect of setting off the conversation on a happy and careless note.
Bjorn piled up some meat, potatoes and vegetables on a plate, poured a generous glass of red wine, and headed out to Thomas with it all, grabbing a paper napkin and some cutlery on his way out.
The rain had turned to a light drizzle, and Bjorn got to the glass cage without getting wet beyond a very light sprinkle that did not even soak into his clothes.
"Thanks, that's very good of you," Thomas said cheerfully as Bjorn entered the tiny office. "This will certainly make my time here in the cage pass quicker."
"I´m sure it will," Bjorn agreed.
Then, before heading back to the barracks, Bjorn took in the view from the glass cage. The clouds hanging low and heavy over the bay added to the fairy tale beauty of the place. The utter greyness and lifelessness conjured up the feeling that this was indeed the edge of the world, an arctic corner where no man was ever supposed to come, and which civilization had violated by adding roads and houses in godless defiance of the natural order of things.
"It's almost a little spooky, isn't it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"What is?" Thomas asked, taking an initial sip of his wine.
"The view."
"I like it," Thomas said as a matter of fact.
"Me too," Bjorn agreed. "It's beautiful."
Bjorn left Thomas with his plate of food and glass of wine, heading back to the kitchen where the conversation had turned to the riots at the asylum centre in Lier. John had learned from looking around on the web that the riots had indeed been taking place at the very same place where Lars had organized his demonstration just days before, and John was sensing a conspiracy of some kind.
"So you think that Lars is behind it?" Espen asked.
"Well, he did not seem very upset with the riots, did he?" John replied.
"When was Lars ever upset with a riot?" Frank commented with a grin.
"But you have to admit it's a little disconcerting that he is targeting Lundby with his rhetoric these days." John added in defence of his theory.
"And that is why we are going to get a big fence around this place," Frank explained. "As long as we are one step ahead of the mob, we're fine."
The men fell silent on this note, and Bjorn took another sip of his red wine, only to be struck by its unusual taste.
"So what wine is this?" Bjorn asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject matter.
"It is a red green wine," Ante answered with a big smile.
"So they do exist," Bjorn commented glibly.
"They do indeed! Proves that even you can be right at times."
"Wasn't it Espen who came up with that theory" Bjorn asked modestly, turning to Espen.
"Or was it Thomas?" Espen asked.
Ante looked around the table with a smile.
"You know, maybe we should all take credit for being such good thinkers," Ante suggested.
And with this the conversation turned permanently to lighter matters. The wine drinkers at the table all agreed that the wine had an unusual feel to it which went quite well with the turkey. But they were more divided when it came to whether or not to repeat the experience. Frank and Espen thought it a nice experience as a one off, while Bjorn and Ante thought it good enough to try again, with Ante suggesting they should try the wine again one day with a duck or a goose or some similar fatty bird.
"Well, you're the one in charge of the household," Frank noted. "So I guess the decision is ultimately yours to make."
"It is indeed," Ante said smiling form ear to ear.
Monday, September 1, 2014
113
With Thomas in the room, it was suddenly as if the whole thing with Frank's gun was settled and sorted out, including the strong suspicion that Frank was somehow compromised or corrupted. And when Ante and Thomas left for the kitchen, Bjorn did not immediately see any problem with Frank's gun being left at the coffee table in front of him. However, Bjorn soon felt like going up to his room, and feeling it a little too irresponsible to leave the gun unattended in the living room, he brought it with him to the kitchen.
"Isn't it better if you keep this gun with you until Frank comes down to pick it up?" Bjorn asked as he put the gun down on the dining table.
"Why not leave it on Frank's spot?" Thomas suggested from over by the counter where he was preparing a sandwich for himself.
"Like here?" Bjorn asked, pushing the gun over to Frank's regular spot.
"Yeah, like that."
"And that's all right with you, Ante?" Bjorn asked.
"Sure! Why not?" Ante answered as if the whole discussion was without consequences as far as he was concerned.
Bjorn smiled. Ante's sudden change of temperament was amusing, considering how anxious he had been. And Ante smiled back in unspoken recognition of this.
Thomas' cluelessness regarding the significance of the gun had clearly been both refreshing and uplifting as far as Ante was concerned. And Thomas' continued ignorance as he headed for the glass cage with his sandwich and thermos with freshly made coffee, was putting Ante back into his usual careless and happy self. However, Bjorn did not stay behind to chat with Ante. Instead, he followed Thomas out in the hall before heading up stairs to his room.
Bjorn wanted to find out more about Rogue Justice. The way it had been mentioned in the Gazette was strangely obscure, and its business model seemed far fetched to say the least. Bjorn knew that he would not be able to keep his mind off the subject before doing at least some research on it, so small talk with Ante, no mater how pleasant this usually was, was of little interested to him at the moment.
Back in his room, Bjorn felt completely at ease as he sat down in front of his computer. He could see cars down by the fjord driving back and forth between the village and the port, and he was reminded of the article in the Gazette predicting an unusually busy weekend with record number of bargain hunters coming and going. And he could also see Nora's place in the distance. The large boulder next to it made it easy to pick out among the houses along the distant shoreline.
Bjorn turned on his computer and typed in "Rogue Justice" in the search field of his browser.
Nothing of relevance came up on his screen, so Bjorn added the word "assassins" to the search string to see if this gave a better result, but this search returned an even sadder looking list.
"So it does not exist, then?" Bjorn thought to himself. Then he changed the word "assassins" with the word "blacklist", more out of idle curiosity than anything else, and immediately got up the address of the recently created web site for registering all sorts of bickering and complaints.
Bjorn clicked on the link to the Blacklist, and was surprised to see how much it had developed since the last time he looked at it. People had clearly been busy adding people they disliked to the web page, and the first page that Bjorn found himself reading even had a list of "most wanted criminals".
There was a banner in a bold font stressing that all of the bellow mentioned people must be considered innocent until proven guilty, but on clicking on a few of the people in the list, there was no doubt that they were all guilty of grave crimes. Two of them had pictures of themselves grinning from ear to ear as they held up severed human heads, and a third had a video attached to his name showing him executing a bunch of kids by shooting them in the back.
Bjorn found the collection of evidence so sickening that he stopped clicking on the links to them, and focused instead on the written accusations and the demands for retribution.
Not too surprisingly, the top ten list was filled entirely by mass murderers from far off places like Mexico, Columbia, Congo and Syria. However, when he narrowed the list down geographically to Lundby and surrounding areas, Bjorn was surprised to see public officials being listed among the most wanted, with the single most sought after "criminal" being the head of the child protection services in Alta.
Bjorn clicked on the link to see what the complaint was, and was not too surprised to see the accusation of kidnapping being levied against her. It is after all the job of the child protection services to act forcefully at times to save children form their abusive parents, and it is inevitable that some of these parents feel strongly about their loss of custody over their own children. To accuse the head of this social service in Alta of kidnapping was in other words nothing short of low level bickering.
However, the list of plaintiffs levying charges against this particular woman was surprisingly long, and looking through the list Bjorn was struck by how many of the plaintiffs were shamelessly exposing themselves with a resent picture of themselves and with their full name and address for everyone to see. "Where is the shame?" he wondered as he eyed the list with quiet curiosity. "Didn't it use to be the ultimate shame to be judged unfit to raise a child? Didn't people use to come up with all sorts of excuses and avoid the subject all together if their child was taken away from them by the state?"
"Not any more, evidently," Bjorn concluded as he finally reached the end of the list, where to his shock a familiar face was staring right at him. It was the woman who insisted on being let into the colony the other day, and Bjorn realized on seeing her that he had in fact enabled a crime by letting her in. This woman was most certainly running away from the authorities, and a danger to her daughter. And he had let her into the colony without mentioning this to anybody but Ante.
Bjorn clicked on the picture, getting up the full details on the woman. Her name was Cecilie, and her address was still unchanged from the one she must have had in Alta. And her accusation levied at the head of the child protection services in Alta was that of attempted kidnapping of her daughter.
There was no more information on the woman, and Bjorn was about to leave the page when he glanced over at the right column with its add for Lance Securities. The ad was unchanged. However, a thin black banner appearing directly underneath the ad for Lance made it look somewhat altered.
He looked at the banner, and got another surprise. "Rogue Justice" it said in deep red letters on the black background, as if deliberately making itself hard to find. Bjorn clicked on it and found himself redirected to a website with no name. The URL field did not contain a name of a website, but an IP address, followed by a few slashes separated with some more numbers.
The odd looking address only added to the sense that the website was deliberately hiding in the very darkest corners of the web, and when Bjorn poked around on the screen, he realized that the webpage was nothing but a single image. The little text there were was clearly meant for purely human interpretation, deliberately using hard to read fonts to make image recognition software incapable of reading it. And the only text on the page was a cryptic message which required some thinking in order to be recognized as an e-mail address. The rest was a series of images making it clear to the determined reader that the service provided by the webpage's owner was indeed that of a hired gun.
"Isn't it better if you keep this gun with you until Frank comes down to pick it up?" Bjorn asked as he put the gun down on the dining table.
"Why not leave it on Frank's spot?" Thomas suggested from over by the counter where he was preparing a sandwich for himself.
"Like here?" Bjorn asked, pushing the gun over to Frank's regular spot.
"Yeah, like that."
"And that's all right with you, Ante?" Bjorn asked.
"Sure! Why not?" Ante answered as if the whole discussion was without consequences as far as he was concerned.
Bjorn smiled. Ante's sudden change of temperament was amusing, considering how anxious he had been. And Ante smiled back in unspoken recognition of this.
Thomas' cluelessness regarding the significance of the gun had clearly been both refreshing and uplifting as far as Ante was concerned. And Thomas' continued ignorance as he headed for the glass cage with his sandwich and thermos with freshly made coffee, was putting Ante back into his usual careless and happy self. However, Bjorn did not stay behind to chat with Ante. Instead, he followed Thomas out in the hall before heading up stairs to his room.
Bjorn wanted to find out more about Rogue Justice. The way it had been mentioned in the Gazette was strangely obscure, and its business model seemed far fetched to say the least. Bjorn knew that he would not be able to keep his mind off the subject before doing at least some research on it, so small talk with Ante, no mater how pleasant this usually was, was of little interested to him at the moment.
Back in his room, Bjorn felt completely at ease as he sat down in front of his computer. He could see cars down by the fjord driving back and forth between the village and the port, and he was reminded of the article in the Gazette predicting an unusually busy weekend with record number of bargain hunters coming and going. And he could also see Nora's place in the distance. The large boulder next to it made it easy to pick out among the houses along the distant shoreline.
Bjorn turned on his computer and typed in "Rogue Justice" in the search field of his browser.
Nothing of relevance came up on his screen, so Bjorn added the word "assassins" to the search string to see if this gave a better result, but this search returned an even sadder looking list.
"So it does not exist, then?" Bjorn thought to himself. Then he changed the word "assassins" with the word "blacklist", more out of idle curiosity than anything else, and immediately got up the address of the recently created web site for registering all sorts of bickering and complaints.
Bjorn clicked on the link to the Blacklist, and was surprised to see how much it had developed since the last time he looked at it. People had clearly been busy adding people they disliked to the web page, and the first page that Bjorn found himself reading even had a list of "most wanted criminals".
There was a banner in a bold font stressing that all of the bellow mentioned people must be considered innocent until proven guilty, but on clicking on a few of the people in the list, there was no doubt that they were all guilty of grave crimes. Two of them had pictures of themselves grinning from ear to ear as they held up severed human heads, and a third had a video attached to his name showing him executing a bunch of kids by shooting them in the back.
Bjorn found the collection of evidence so sickening that he stopped clicking on the links to them, and focused instead on the written accusations and the demands for retribution.
Not too surprisingly, the top ten list was filled entirely by mass murderers from far off places like Mexico, Columbia, Congo and Syria. However, when he narrowed the list down geographically to Lundby and surrounding areas, Bjorn was surprised to see public officials being listed among the most wanted, with the single most sought after "criminal" being the head of the child protection services in Alta.
Bjorn clicked on the link to see what the complaint was, and was not too surprised to see the accusation of kidnapping being levied against her. It is after all the job of the child protection services to act forcefully at times to save children form their abusive parents, and it is inevitable that some of these parents feel strongly about their loss of custody over their own children. To accuse the head of this social service in Alta of kidnapping was in other words nothing short of low level bickering.
However, the list of plaintiffs levying charges against this particular woman was surprisingly long, and looking through the list Bjorn was struck by how many of the plaintiffs were shamelessly exposing themselves with a resent picture of themselves and with their full name and address for everyone to see. "Where is the shame?" he wondered as he eyed the list with quiet curiosity. "Didn't it use to be the ultimate shame to be judged unfit to raise a child? Didn't people use to come up with all sorts of excuses and avoid the subject all together if their child was taken away from them by the state?"
"Not any more, evidently," Bjorn concluded as he finally reached the end of the list, where to his shock a familiar face was staring right at him. It was the woman who insisted on being let into the colony the other day, and Bjorn realized on seeing her that he had in fact enabled a crime by letting her in. This woman was most certainly running away from the authorities, and a danger to her daughter. And he had let her into the colony without mentioning this to anybody but Ante.
Bjorn clicked on the picture, getting up the full details on the woman. Her name was Cecilie, and her address was still unchanged from the one she must have had in Alta. And her accusation levied at the head of the child protection services in Alta was that of attempted kidnapping of her daughter.
There was no more information on the woman, and Bjorn was about to leave the page when he glanced over at the right column with its add for Lance Securities. The ad was unchanged. However, a thin black banner appearing directly underneath the ad for Lance made it look somewhat altered.
He looked at the banner, and got another surprise. "Rogue Justice" it said in deep red letters on the black background, as if deliberately making itself hard to find. Bjorn clicked on it and found himself redirected to a website with no name. The URL field did not contain a name of a website, but an IP address, followed by a few slashes separated with some more numbers.
The odd looking address only added to the sense that the website was deliberately hiding in the very darkest corners of the web, and when Bjorn poked around on the screen, he realized that the webpage was nothing but a single image. The little text there were was clearly meant for purely human interpretation, deliberately using hard to read fonts to make image recognition software incapable of reading it. And the only text on the page was a cryptic message which required some thinking in order to be recognized as an e-mail address. The rest was a series of images making it clear to the determined reader that the service provided by the webpage's owner was indeed that of a hired gun.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
112
Ante and Bjorn looked at Frank's gun on the coffee table, then at each other.
"So what do we do?" Ante asked.
"About the gun, you mean?"
"Yeah."
Bjorn had no ready answer. Ante shouldn't have picked the gun up in the first place, but now that the damage was done, they had to come up with some way to make it seem like almost an accident that the gun found its way back to the checkpoint.
"Will you take it up to Frank for me?" Ante asked.
"Me?"
"Yeah... you know... Take it up and give it to him. Say something like, 'Ante picked this one up for you, and here it is', you know... matter of fact like."
"No! I'm not going to do that. It's your problem, not mine. And by the way, Frank is almost certainly fast asleep right now. He won't be very happy with me waking him up."
Ante looked disappointed and a little desperate.
"Come on!" Bjorn said, making an effort to sound sensible. "It's not such a big deal. Why don't you keep it with you until Frank shows up, and then you give it to him... in the manner of fact way you had in mind."
But before Ante had time to reply, Thomas appeared in doorway.
"So, what's up?" He asked cheerfully.
"Ah... nothing." Ante answered, shortly followed by Bjorn telling Thomas honestly about the gun, without revealing any of the conclusions that he and Ante had arrived at, or saying anything about the prostitutes.
"Well, that's nice of you," Thomas said with not even a hint of irony. "I'm sure he'll be happy to have it back... Imagine that, though... Misplacing his gun at the casino... He really is an airhead at times."
"So, what's for dinner?" Thomas continued, clearly not very concerned about Frank's gun.
"Roasted turkey legs," Ante answered. "With roasted potatoes and green beans."
"Man! And I'm missing out on that!"
"You are?" Bjorn asked, puzzled.
"Yeah, I'll be sitting in the glass box while you enjoy your feast... Make sure you leave some for me, will you?"
"Of course," Ante answered. "Have I ever not done that?"
"No, but I don't want to take any chances."
"You want me to bring out a plate for you right away when we start eating?" Bjorn suggested, for some reason feeling generous towards Thomas. "That way you won't have to wait until nine."
"Well, that would be great. You think Frank's okay with that?"
"Sure... of course," Ante said confidently. "He won't mind."
"So what do we do?" Ante asked.
"About the gun, you mean?"
"Yeah."
Bjorn had no ready answer. Ante shouldn't have picked the gun up in the first place, but now that the damage was done, they had to come up with some way to make it seem like almost an accident that the gun found its way back to the checkpoint.
"Will you take it up to Frank for me?" Ante asked.
"Me?"
"Yeah... you know... Take it up and give it to him. Say something like, 'Ante picked this one up for you, and here it is', you know... matter of fact like."
"No! I'm not going to do that. It's your problem, not mine. And by the way, Frank is almost certainly fast asleep right now. He won't be very happy with me waking him up."
Ante looked disappointed and a little desperate.
"Come on!" Bjorn said, making an effort to sound sensible. "It's not such a big deal. Why don't you keep it with you until Frank shows up, and then you give it to him... in the manner of fact way you had in mind."
But before Ante had time to reply, Thomas appeared in doorway.
"So, what's up?" He asked cheerfully.
"Ah... nothing." Ante answered, shortly followed by Bjorn telling Thomas honestly about the gun, without revealing any of the conclusions that he and Ante had arrived at, or saying anything about the prostitutes.
"Well, that's nice of you," Thomas said with not even a hint of irony. "I'm sure he'll be happy to have it back... Imagine that, though... Misplacing his gun at the casino... He really is an airhead at times."
"So, what's for dinner?" Thomas continued, clearly not very concerned about Frank's gun.
"Roasted turkey legs," Ante answered. "With roasted potatoes and green beans."
"Man! And I'm missing out on that!"
"You are?" Bjorn asked, puzzled.
"Yeah, I'll be sitting in the glass box while you enjoy your feast... Make sure you leave some for me, will you?"
"Of course," Ante answered. "Have I ever not done that?"
"No, but I don't want to take any chances."
"You want me to bring out a plate for you right away when we start eating?" Bjorn suggested, for some reason feeling generous towards Thomas. "That way you won't have to wait until nine."
"Well, that would be great. You think Frank's okay with that?"
"Sure... of course," Ante said confidently. "He won't mind."
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
111
"So, who's the one with limited observational skills now?" Bjorn asked with a malicious smile.
"Well, we don't actually know that he's corrupted," Ante countered while looking around for a place to drop the gun.
"No, but do you have a better explanation?"
"Not really."
"So you think I'm right, then?" Bjorn asked, delighted to finally being the observant one.
Ante did not answer, putting instead the gun down on the coffee table. Then, as Bjorn pressed him for an answer he had to admit that Bjorn had a good point. But it wasn't completely impossible that Frank was the kind of person who'd spend every penny of his earnings on immediate pleasures such as those available at the casino, so he refused to give Bjorn full credit for his conclusion.
"It amazes me that no one has seen this before, though," Bjorn continued. "I mean... He has behaved like this before, hasn't he?"
"Every single time we´ve been down there," Ante confirmed. "But this was definitely his most outrageous performance so far."
"And no one has wondered about this?"
"No."
"But now that I've mentioned it, you find my explanation entirely plausible?"
"Plausible, yes. But not the only possible explanation."
"And that is why you don't want to report any concern to his superiors?" Bjorn asked, looking around to make sure that Ante and he were the only two in the room.
Ante hesitated, as if he was unsure what exactly his concern was. "But we do not know who his superiors are, do we?" he ventured as an initial objection.
"But that is not very hard to find out, is it?" Bjorn countered.
"No, maybe not. But do we really want to have Frank investigated? You think he's dangerous?"
"If he's corrupted, who knows what he might do?"
"But do you honestly think he's dangerous?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly! So why should we do anything? As long as we don't know anything, we shouldn't say anything... And Frank is a good boss, he gives us all sorts of freedoms, and if they replace him, I'm sure life will not be as good."
Bjorn had to agree with Ante's final point. Frank was an easy going boss, never too picky about the rules, and having him replaced would almost certainly lead to less freedoms. And maybe this was why everybody else too were pretending not to notice Frank's self indulgent blowouts.
"It wouldn't be very popular with our colleagues, would it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"It would not," Ante agreed.
Then, as their mutual but unspoken agreement to keep quiet about Frank was sinking in, Bjorn was reminded of his conversation with John, and he broke the silence between the two by asking why Ante had offered him so little for the night shift.
"Oh... I don't know," Ante replied, clearly caught off guard by the change of subject. "I did not expect you to take my offer without haggling, I guess."
"Well, I'm not very pleased with it," Bjorn said, not hiding his disappointment.
"Yeah, but what should I have done? You accepted the offer and took the money. Should I have stopped you?"
"Yeah, you should. You should have offered me one G for the job."
"One G? Well... that would have been more than what I pay the others. Eight hundred MG would have been more like it."
"Okay... But that's what you should have offered me."
"I only had that five hundred MG token on me."
"So?"
"Well..."
"Anyway... Don't pull stunts like that on me again, will you? I like you, and I don't want to end up disliking you for stupid things like this."
Ante looked a little bothered, yet defiant. But he did not pursue the topic any further. Instead, he asked Bjorn if he had managed to change his night watch with John.
"Yes, I did," Bjorn said. "And I've noted the changes on the spread sheet in the kitchen."
"Good... And how do you plan to get your rest for the night?"
"I'll turn in early, I guess... Why?"
"So you'll be fine with a trip to Lundby tomorrow?" Ante asked.
"Yes?"
"How about us two going down there tomorrow, after breakfast?" Ante suggested. "We can have lunch at Peppe's, and explore the village. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Well, that's a great idea," Bjorn answered with enthusiasm.
"So that's a deal then?"
"Sure."
"Well, we don't actually know that he's corrupted," Ante countered while looking around for a place to drop the gun.
"No, but do you have a better explanation?"
"Not really."
"So you think I'm right, then?" Bjorn asked, delighted to finally being the observant one.
Ante did not answer, putting instead the gun down on the coffee table. Then, as Bjorn pressed him for an answer he had to admit that Bjorn had a good point. But it wasn't completely impossible that Frank was the kind of person who'd spend every penny of his earnings on immediate pleasures such as those available at the casino, so he refused to give Bjorn full credit for his conclusion.
"It amazes me that no one has seen this before, though," Bjorn continued. "I mean... He has behaved like this before, hasn't he?"
"Every single time we´ve been down there," Ante confirmed. "But this was definitely his most outrageous performance so far."
"And no one has wondered about this?"
"No."
"But now that I've mentioned it, you find my explanation entirely plausible?"
"Plausible, yes. But not the only possible explanation."
"And that is why you don't want to report any concern to his superiors?" Bjorn asked, looking around to make sure that Ante and he were the only two in the room.
Ante hesitated, as if he was unsure what exactly his concern was. "But we do not know who his superiors are, do we?" he ventured as an initial objection.
"But that is not very hard to find out, is it?" Bjorn countered.
"No, maybe not. But do we really want to have Frank investigated? You think he's dangerous?"
"If he's corrupted, who knows what he might do?"
"But do you honestly think he's dangerous?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly! So why should we do anything? As long as we don't know anything, we shouldn't say anything... And Frank is a good boss, he gives us all sorts of freedoms, and if they replace him, I'm sure life will not be as good."
Bjorn had to agree with Ante's final point. Frank was an easy going boss, never too picky about the rules, and having him replaced would almost certainly lead to less freedoms. And maybe this was why everybody else too were pretending not to notice Frank's self indulgent blowouts.
"It wouldn't be very popular with our colleagues, would it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"It would not," Ante agreed.
Then, as their mutual but unspoken agreement to keep quiet about Frank was sinking in, Bjorn was reminded of his conversation with John, and he broke the silence between the two by asking why Ante had offered him so little for the night shift.
"Oh... I don't know," Ante replied, clearly caught off guard by the change of subject. "I did not expect you to take my offer without haggling, I guess."
"Well, I'm not very pleased with it," Bjorn said, not hiding his disappointment.
"Yeah, but what should I have done? You accepted the offer and took the money. Should I have stopped you?"
"Yeah, you should. You should have offered me one G for the job."
"One G? Well... that would have been more than what I pay the others. Eight hundred MG would have been more like it."
"Okay... But that's what you should have offered me."
"I only had that five hundred MG token on me."
"So?"
"Well..."
"Anyway... Don't pull stunts like that on me again, will you? I like you, and I don't want to end up disliking you for stupid things like this."
Ante looked a little bothered, yet defiant. But he did not pursue the topic any further. Instead, he asked Bjorn if he had managed to change his night watch with John.
"Yes, I did," Bjorn said. "And I've noted the changes on the spread sheet in the kitchen."
"Good... And how do you plan to get your rest for the night?"
"I'll turn in early, I guess... Why?"
"So you'll be fine with a trip to Lundby tomorrow?" Ante asked.
"Yes?"
"How about us two going down there tomorrow, after breakfast?" Ante suggested. "We can have lunch at Peppe's, and explore the village. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Well, that's a great idea," Bjorn answered with enthusiasm.
"So that's a deal then?"
"Sure."
Monday, August 25, 2014
110
There were no more mentions of Rouge Justice in the article, and Bjorn had the distinct impression on having read the whole thing that the mention of the company was something of an afterthought, as if the author of the article had had a hard time believing the existence of the company herself.
However, there had been a series of incidents lately, in places like London and New York, where people had been assassinated in what seemed to be acts of extrajudicial justice, and Bjorn could not help being reminded of these incidents on having read the article.
The most famous case was the killing of a Syria fighter returning to his native England. The jihadist had been met by two police officers at Heathrow airport, and was being escorted out of the building when his head pretty much exploded from a bullet entering his forehead and ripping out most of his brains on exiting on the other side.
The shot had been fired at a relatively short range, and at a top down angle which had seen the bullet lodge into the asphalt right behind the victim. The spot from which the shot had been fired was quickly identified, but the investigation of the incident came to nothing, despite the enormous amount of video surveillance available. Several suspicious individuals had been seen both entering the Heathrow area shortly before the incident, and leaving the area shortly after the shot was fired. However, no one was ever apprehended, and the official narrative of what had actually happened shifted as time progressed.
To start with, the police promised a swift and effective investigation, clearly confident that their enormous stack of video surveillance would soon reveal who the killer was. However, as time passed and no progress was made, all sorts of conspiracy theories started evolving, and in the end, the police seemed happy to give some support to the idea that it had been the English secret service, the CIA or some similar government agency that had been behind the assassination. The victim was after all suspected of having beheaded an American reporter, and his prompt execution on returning to England was by and large a popular one. A narrative in which the assassination was in fact planned and executed by government agents was in other words a desirable one from a purely political perspective.
But Bjorn did not buy it. There were too many inconsistencies in the new semi-official narrative, and the assassination at Heathrow was by no means the only one. Jihadists were dropping dead all over the place it seemed, if they were in fact all jihadists that is. And these other cases were generally played down in the media, which Bjorn took to indicate that people in powerful places were determined to keep these cases out of the public eye.
Bjorn found it much more likely that someone, or some group of people, had taken it upon themselves to execute who they themselves regarded as dangerous elements. And Bjorn was not the only one to be of this opinion. He had been following several web sites that claimed to report stuff that the government controlled media was either playing down, or ignoring all together, and he had seen how the reports were getting ever more ugly. And there seemed to be a growing sense among many that some sort of extrajudicial justice was warranted and desirable as long as the government seemed more concerned about protecting the perpetrators of crimes than to prosecute the criminals and have them properly sentenced.
It was the episode in Paris a few years back, where a raving anti-Semite had shot several Jewish school kids, execution style, and posted it on the web for all to see, that had turned talk into action, it seemed. The man had barricaded himself in a council flat, shooting at the police from the windows of his council flat, when he suddenly dropped dead just as the police was moving a robotic tear gas launcher up to the window.
The police was determined to catch the man alive, and was very upset to find him dead on the floor when they entered his flat. They reported it as suicide. But it could not possibly have been the case since the bullet that killed him was of a calibre that did not match any of his weapons. Someone had shot him dead, and it was not the police, nor the man himself. And ever since, a string of similar episodes kept popping up. Outrageous criminal behaviour such as the episode in Paris kept being met with fairly prompt executions, which in turn were covered up by the police, reported as suicides, or pretended to have been planned and executed by the authorities themselves.
But to think that a company existed out there with assassinations of this kind as its business model seemed a far stretch of the imagination. Killing people could hardly be a regular business. However, if Rogue Justice was more like an alias for something else, it could make some sense. Its mention in the article was in a way a message to people that assassinations are fully supported by powerful individuals in Lundby, provided the right conditions are met. It was in a way a green flag to anyone contemplating such an action, and a giant red flag to anyone considering a terrorist attack on the village. The way the company was mentioned was in many ways a clear message to people to feel free to create such a service if they feel it warranted. Neither Pedro nor Jan would object to it, provided the targeted person was plainly and clearly a dangerous criminal.
And it was while he was lost in speculations like these that Ante suddenly came into the room, all smiles and happy, calling on Bjorn to give him some attention. Bjorn was at once distracted from his thoughts, and was in stead confronted with Ante holding up a gun belt with a gun in it, swinging it from side to side as he asked Bjorn rhetorically to guess who's belt it was.
"It's Frank's gun, isn't it," Bjorn answered.
"And guess where I found it?" Ante continued with a smile.
"Upstairs at the casino?" Bjorn ventured.
"Exactly, and you won't believe what good old Frank has been up to."
"But you are going to tell me anyway, aren't you?" Bjorn asked.
"I am indeed!" Ante answered, smiling even broader. "He was kicked out this morning for being the biggest prick ever. He behaved as if the whole darn whorehouse was there to serve him, and although this was kind of quite for a while, it was not very welcome as the night drew to an end. So finally, they kicked him out for being a loud pain in the bum... Imagine that! Being kicked out of a brothel for being too eager!"
"But who in their right mind hangs around in a brothel for more than their allotted time?"
"Allotted time? What do you mean?" Ante asked, looking a little puzzled.
"Well, you just said he was too eager. He was hanging around there way beyond his allotted time, or am I missing something?"
"There is no such thing as allotted time in a brothel. As long as you pay, you can hang around as long as you please."
"Well, sorry for not knowing that," Bjorn answered, for once pleased to be the ignorant one. "So he paid for the whole night?"
"He did indeed."
"But isn't that expensive? I mean... Even in Lundby, that kind of services are hardly free."
"It is kind of odd, isn't it?" Ante agreed. "I have no idea where he gets the money from... and that gold card he keeps waving about..."
"He's corrupted, isn't he?" Bjorn ventured.
"By Jan and Pedro and those guys you mean?"
"Yeah."
Ante looked at the gun, and then back to Bjorn.
"You're right," Ante conceded with a concerned look on his face. "Somebody is paying him for something."
"Maybe we shouldn't talk too much about this in other words," Bjorn suggested. "Or do you think we should report this?"
"Oh no!" Ante said, suddenly fearful. "Let's just keep this under wraps."
However, there had been a series of incidents lately, in places like London and New York, where people had been assassinated in what seemed to be acts of extrajudicial justice, and Bjorn could not help being reminded of these incidents on having read the article.
The most famous case was the killing of a Syria fighter returning to his native England. The jihadist had been met by two police officers at Heathrow airport, and was being escorted out of the building when his head pretty much exploded from a bullet entering his forehead and ripping out most of his brains on exiting on the other side.
The shot had been fired at a relatively short range, and at a top down angle which had seen the bullet lodge into the asphalt right behind the victim. The spot from which the shot had been fired was quickly identified, but the investigation of the incident came to nothing, despite the enormous amount of video surveillance available. Several suspicious individuals had been seen both entering the Heathrow area shortly before the incident, and leaving the area shortly after the shot was fired. However, no one was ever apprehended, and the official narrative of what had actually happened shifted as time progressed.
To start with, the police promised a swift and effective investigation, clearly confident that their enormous stack of video surveillance would soon reveal who the killer was. However, as time passed and no progress was made, all sorts of conspiracy theories started evolving, and in the end, the police seemed happy to give some support to the idea that it had been the English secret service, the CIA or some similar government agency that had been behind the assassination. The victim was after all suspected of having beheaded an American reporter, and his prompt execution on returning to England was by and large a popular one. A narrative in which the assassination was in fact planned and executed by government agents was in other words a desirable one from a purely political perspective.
But Bjorn did not buy it. There were too many inconsistencies in the new semi-official narrative, and the assassination at Heathrow was by no means the only one. Jihadists were dropping dead all over the place it seemed, if they were in fact all jihadists that is. And these other cases were generally played down in the media, which Bjorn took to indicate that people in powerful places were determined to keep these cases out of the public eye.
Bjorn found it much more likely that someone, or some group of people, had taken it upon themselves to execute who they themselves regarded as dangerous elements. And Bjorn was not the only one to be of this opinion. He had been following several web sites that claimed to report stuff that the government controlled media was either playing down, or ignoring all together, and he had seen how the reports were getting ever more ugly. And there seemed to be a growing sense among many that some sort of extrajudicial justice was warranted and desirable as long as the government seemed more concerned about protecting the perpetrators of crimes than to prosecute the criminals and have them properly sentenced.
It was the episode in Paris a few years back, where a raving anti-Semite had shot several Jewish school kids, execution style, and posted it on the web for all to see, that had turned talk into action, it seemed. The man had barricaded himself in a council flat, shooting at the police from the windows of his council flat, when he suddenly dropped dead just as the police was moving a robotic tear gas launcher up to the window.
The police was determined to catch the man alive, and was very upset to find him dead on the floor when they entered his flat. They reported it as suicide. But it could not possibly have been the case since the bullet that killed him was of a calibre that did not match any of his weapons. Someone had shot him dead, and it was not the police, nor the man himself. And ever since, a string of similar episodes kept popping up. Outrageous criminal behaviour such as the episode in Paris kept being met with fairly prompt executions, which in turn were covered up by the police, reported as suicides, or pretended to have been planned and executed by the authorities themselves.
But to think that a company existed out there with assassinations of this kind as its business model seemed a far stretch of the imagination. Killing people could hardly be a regular business. However, if Rogue Justice was more like an alias for something else, it could make some sense. Its mention in the article was in a way a message to people that assassinations are fully supported by powerful individuals in Lundby, provided the right conditions are met. It was in a way a green flag to anyone contemplating such an action, and a giant red flag to anyone considering a terrorist attack on the village. The way the company was mentioned was in many ways a clear message to people to feel free to create such a service if they feel it warranted. Neither Pedro nor Jan would object to it, provided the targeted person was plainly and clearly a dangerous criminal.
And it was while he was lost in speculations like these that Ante suddenly came into the room, all smiles and happy, calling on Bjorn to give him some attention. Bjorn was at once distracted from his thoughts, and was in stead confronted with Ante holding up a gun belt with a gun in it, swinging it from side to side as he asked Bjorn rhetorically to guess who's belt it was.
"It's Frank's gun, isn't it," Bjorn answered.
"And guess where I found it?" Ante continued with a smile.
"Upstairs at the casino?" Bjorn ventured.
"Exactly, and you won't believe what good old Frank has been up to."
"But you are going to tell me anyway, aren't you?" Bjorn asked.
"I am indeed!" Ante answered, smiling even broader. "He was kicked out this morning for being the biggest prick ever. He behaved as if the whole darn whorehouse was there to serve him, and although this was kind of quite for a while, it was not very welcome as the night drew to an end. So finally, they kicked him out for being a loud pain in the bum... Imagine that! Being kicked out of a brothel for being too eager!"
"But who in their right mind hangs around in a brothel for more than their allotted time?"
"Allotted time? What do you mean?" Ante asked, looking a little puzzled.
"Well, you just said he was too eager. He was hanging around there way beyond his allotted time, or am I missing something?"
"There is no such thing as allotted time in a brothel. As long as you pay, you can hang around as long as you please."
"Well, sorry for not knowing that," Bjorn answered, for once pleased to be the ignorant one. "So he paid for the whole night?"
"He did indeed."
"But isn't that expensive? I mean... Even in Lundby, that kind of services are hardly free."
"It is kind of odd, isn't it?" Ante agreed. "I have no idea where he gets the money from... and that gold card he keeps waving about..."
"He's corrupted, isn't he?" Bjorn ventured.
"By Jan and Pedro and those guys you mean?"
"Yeah."
Ante looked at the gun, and then back to Bjorn.
"You're right," Ante conceded with a concerned look on his face. "Somebody is paying him for something."
"Maybe we shouldn't talk too much about this in other words," Bjorn suggested. "Or do you think we should report this?"
"Oh no!" Ante said, suddenly fearful. "Let's just keep this under wraps."
Friday, August 22, 2014
109
The skimpy little newspaper was surprisingly full of well written articles, mainly focusing on local news, but also having the occasional musings on world events. Musings that were as anti-government as everything else in the newspaper, with plenty of over the top claims about the evils of foreign and domestic policies. "To understand the world, we have to keep in mind that governments are in fact criminal gangs, running protection rackets and fighting turf wars for their cronies," it said at one point in what would otherwise have been a well balanced and level headed analysis of the mess in Libya.
It was a little annoying to keep finding such blatant anti-government propaganda, but also refreshing in a way, considering how universally pro-government other news providers tended to be. From listening to TV reports, one would think that another military intervention in Libya was nothing short of an obvious must do. Having someone point out the complete mess left by the first intervention, and putting a question mark by the wisdom of further interventions seemed both proper and just, and it made it all the more evident that many so called journalists are not doing their job properly these days since such musings are rarely if ever expressed in the mainstream media.
However, Bjorn felt so uncomfortable being reminded of the possibility, however remote, that he might be called upon to protect so called national interests in Libya that he turned the page before reading the article to its end. He got the point. According to the Gazette "national interests" are in fact shorthand for oil fields, and the war in Libya has nothing to do with the security and well being of ordinary people, neither in Libya nor anywhere else. Rather, it has everything to do with oil companies wanting ordinary people to pay and risk their lives to secure their oil fields in far away places. Bjorn did not have to read the whole article to know that this would be the typical anti-government attitude towards the latest developments in Libya.
"Maybe true, maybe not," Bjorn thought to himself, uncomfortable with the idea that he might be drawn into an ugly war as a mere pawn in somebody else's game. But the article on Libya was soon forgotten as he turned his attention to the fears and anxieties experienced by the locals in Lundby regarding the so much talked about wave of immigrants, soon to flood the village with all sorts of people.
People in Lundby had been buying a lot of guns over the last two weeks, and a shooting range over by the airport had seen considerable business, with many people using it to practice using their newly acquired weapons. Pedro's insurance business had also seen a significant uptick. Everyone was scared, it seemed, and Bjorn got the distinct feeling that Pedro, or Gus the gun store owner, were behind this, doing their best to make things sound worse than they were in order to generate even more business for themselves.
There was nothing very surprising about the first half of the article, which focused entirely on Gus's gun store and Pedro's insurance company. However, when Bjorn came across a mention of a company called Rogue Justice, Bjorn had to reread the sentences in front of him a couple of times to make sure he had understood them correctly.
"Is this serious?" Bjorn wondered, dropping the newspaper onto the coffee table. "Is this real?"
Bjorn looked out of the window, digesting the strange and matter of fact way the article had described the services offered by Rogue Justice. He noted that the snow had now fully turned to rain. Then he picked up the newspaper again, rereading the sentences once more.
"For those with particular concerns," it read, "Rogue Justice will facilitate assassinations, provided the person in question is clearly and obviously guilty of a grave crime, Rogue Justice will facilitate the elimination of that person against a fee ranging from one KG and upwards depending on the difficulty of the job."
It was a little annoying to keep finding such blatant anti-government propaganda, but also refreshing in a way, considering how universally pro-government other news providers tended to be. From listening to TV reports, one would think that another military intervention in Libya was nothing short of an obvious must do. Having someone point out the complete mess left by the first intervention, and putting a question mark by the wisdom of further interventions seemed both proper and just, and it made it all the more evident that many so called journalists are not doing their job properly these days since such musings are rarely if ever expressed in the mainstream media.
However, Bjorn felt so uncomfortable being reminded of the possibility, however remote, that he might be called upon to protect so called national interests in Libya that he turned the page before reading the article to its end. He got the point. According to the Gazette "national interests" are in fact shorthand for oil fields, and the war in Libya has nothing to do with the security and well being of ordinary people, neither in Libya nor anywhere else. Rather, it has everything to do with oil companies wanting ordinary people to pay and risk their lives to secure their oil fields in far away places. Bjorn did not have to read the whole article to know that this would be the typical anti-government attitude towards the latest developments in Libya.
"Maybe true, maybe not," Bjorn thought to himself, uncomfortable with the idea that he might be drawn into an ugly war as a mere pawn in somebody else's game. But the article on Libya was soon forgotten as he turned his attention to the fears and anxieties experienced by the locals in Lundby regarding the so much talked about wave of immigrants, soon to flood the village with all sorts of people.
People in Lundby had been buying a lot of guns over the last two weeks, and a shooting range over by the airport had seen considerable business, with many people using it to practice using their newly acquired weapons. Pedro's insurance business had also seen a significant uptick. Everyone was scared, it seemed, and Bjorn got the distinct feeling that Pedro, or Gus the gun store owner, were behind this, doing their best to make things sound worse than they were in order to generate even more business for themselves.
There was nothing very surprising about the first half of the article, which focused entirely on Gus's gun store and Pedro's insurance company. However, when Bjorn came across a mention of a company called Rogue Justice, Bjorn had to reread the sentences in front of him a couple of times to make sure he had understood them correctly.
"Is this serious?" Bjorn wondered, dropping the newspaper onto the coffee table. "Is this real?"
Bjorn looked out of the window, digesting the strange and matter of fact way the article had described the services offered by Rogue Justice. He noted that the snow had now fully turned to rain. Then he picked up the newspaper again, rereading the sentences once more.
"For those with particular concerns," it read, "Rogue Justice will facilitate assassinations, provided the person in question is clearly and obviously guilty of a grave crime, Rogue Justice will facilitate the elimination of that person against a fee ranging from one KG and upwards depending on the difficulty of the job."
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
105
Bjorn was completely caught up in his grand daydream when someone entered the living room behind him. He did not immediately turn to greet his colleague, engulfed as he was in visions of the future, but when he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the cabinet with the spare gun, Bjorn was suddenly shaken out of his dream.
Bjorn turned and looked around the side of his chair, immediately catching sight of Frank squatting in front of the cabinet, feverishly unpacking a gun and a gun belt. Then, still not aware of Bjorn's presence, he rose up, strapped the gun belt to his side and put the gun in its place before kicking the empty packaging back into the cupboard.
"So, what's up?" Bjorn asked as Frank finally locked the cabinet with his key.
"What? Me?" Frank asked, looking around bewildered.
"Yeah, what's with the gun?" Bjorn asked.
"Oh... Eh... This?" Frank asked, suddenly blushing while looking sheepishly over at Bjorn.
"Yeah? What happened to your gun?"
"My gun? Well... This is my gun," Frank said, pointing to the gun he had just strapped on.
"No, it's not. You just pulled that one out of the cabinet."
"Eh... I did, didn't I?" Frank answered, lost for words.
"So?"
"Well... It is not really any of your business, is it?" Frank countered.
"It kind of is... I'd like to know where your gun is. You didn't loose it, did you?"
"Eh... No, of course not."
"So where is it?"
"In Lundby," Frank admitted.
"In Lundby?"
"Yeah... I'll... I'll pick it up later... You know... I'm just going to wear this one until I get back down there to get my own."
Frank was about to explain himself further when Ante appeared, drawn to the living room by the sound of Frank's voice.
"So, what's in Lundby?" Ante asked.
"Frank's gun," Bjorn explained.
"You lost your gun in Lundby?" Ante asked, clearly finding this hard to believe.
"No! I know exactly where it is. I'll get it later," Frank protested.
"So, where is it?" Bjorn asked.
"At the casino. It's in a safe in the casino."
"Why?"
There was an awkward silence, with Frank unable to answer Bjorn's simple question. Ante started to chuckle and shake his head.
"You've been upstairs again haven't you?" Ante asked.
"Yeah... Well... And... You know... That's really none of your business."
"Upstairs?" Bjorn asked.
"Upstairs with the girls at the casino," Ante explained. "I knew it! We all knew it... But man... Loosing your gun. That's pretty brain dead... Even for you, Frank."
"Now, watch it, will you," Frank protested. "I'll sort this out."
Then, to everybody's surprise, Igor appeared in the living room, asking for Ante.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Frank asked, switching to English.
"I'm looking for Ante," Igor answered in his heavy Russian accent. "You just ordered a taxi ride, didn't you Ante?"
"Sure, but how did you get here so quickly?"
"I just delivered Frank... Picked him up at the casino."
"Oh... Well... I still have a few things to finish in the kitchen."
"Is it all right if I wait here while you finish whatever you're doing?" Igor asked. "There's no point in me driving down to Lundby just to return in an hour from now."
The three colleagues looked at each other.
"No, it's not all right," Frank said. "This is a military installation. You can sit in your car outside, but not in here with us."
"Come on," Ante protested. "I mean... This is Igor, he's practically part of the family."
"No! We can't have civilians roam around at our premises."
"Roam around? He's not going to roam around. What's the big deal?"
"It would be a security hazard," Frank insisted.
"Says the man who just left his gun at the casino," Ante added cynically.
"Well... Okay... I'll make an exception this once," Frank answered wearily. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm off to bed."
Bjorn turned and looked around the side of his chair, immediately catching sight of Frank squatting in front of the cabinet, feverishly unpacking a gun and a gun belt. Then, still not aware of Bjorn's presence, he rose up, strapped the gun belt to his side and put the gun in its place before kicking the empty packaging back into the cupboard.
"So, what's up?" Bjorn asked as Frank finally locked the cabinet with his key.
"What? Me?" Frank asked, looking around bewildered.
"Yeah, what's with the gun?" Bjorn asked.
"Oh... Eh... This?" Frank asked, suddenly blushing while looking sheepishly over at Bjorn.
"Yeah? What happened to your gun?"
"My gun? Well... This is my gun," Frank said, pointing to the gun he had just strapped on.
"No, it's not. You just pulled that one out of the cabinet."
"Eh... I did, didn't I?" Frank answered, lost for words.
"So?"
"Well... It is not really any of your business, is it?" Frank countered.
"It kind of is... I'd like to know where your gun is. You didn't loose it, did you?"
"Eh... No, of course not."
"So where is it?"
"In Lundby," Frank admitted.
"In Lundby?"
"Yeah... I'll... I'll pick it up later... You know... I'm just going to wear this one until I get back down there to get my own."
Frank was about to explain himself further when Ante appeared, drawn to the living room by the sound of Frank's voice.
"So, what's in Lundby?" Ante asked.
"Frank's gun," Bjorn explained.
"You lost your gun in Lundby?" Ante asked, clearly finding this hard to believe.
"No! I know exactly where it is. I'll get it later," Frank protested.
"So, where is it?" Bjorn asked.
"At the casino. It's in a safe in the casino."
"Why?"
There was an awkward silence, with Frank unable to answer Bjorn's simple question. Ante started to chuckle and shake his head.
"You've been upstairs again haven't you?" Ante asked.
"Yeah... Well... And... You know... That's really none of your business."
"Upstairs?" Bjorn asked.
"Upstairs with the girls at the casino," Ante explained. "I knew it! We all knew it... But man... Loosing your gun. That's pretty brain dead... Even for you, Frank."
"Now, watch it, will you," Frank protested. "I'll sort this out."
Then, to everybody's surprise, Igor appeared in the living room, asking for Ante.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Frank asked, switching to English.
"I'm looking for Ante," Igor answered in his heavy Russian accent. "You just ordered a taxi ride, didn't you Ante?"
"Sure, but how did you get here so quickly?"
"I just delivered Frank... Picked him up at the casino."
"Oh... Well... I still have a few things to finish in the kitchen."
"Is it all right if I wait here while you finish whatever you're doing?" Igor asked. "There's no point in me driving down to Lundby just to return in an hour from now."
The three colleagues looked at each other.
"No, it's not all right," Frank said. "This is a military installation. You can sit in your car outside, but not in here with us."
"Come on," Ante protested. "I mean... This is Igor, he's practically part of the family."
"No! We can't have civilians roam around at our premises."
"Roam around? He's not going to roam around. What's the big deal?"
"It would be a security hazard," Frank insisted.
"Says the man who just left his gun at the casino," Ante added cynically.
"Well... Okay... I'll make an exception this once," Frank answered wearily. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm off to bed."
Monday, July 14, 2014
98
Bjorn stepped out of bed determined to drive the ghost of his final dream out and away. And by opening the curtains he did just that. It was snowing, and the sight came as a big surprise to him since the sky had been clear and cloudless all night long.
Every little green patch that had been uncovered by the mild weather over the last couple of days were once again covered, and the thick snow drift made everything once again appear completely colourless, as if the landscape was some sort of black and white image. But the sight was refreshingly bright in its sombre greyness, and as far as his dream was concerned, it did the trick. Gone was the uncomfortable feeling at the pit of his stomach, and had it not been for a light hangover, he would have felt just fine.
Gone too was the claustrophobic sense that the barracks was some sort of soulless monster. Sounds of his colleagues coming home during the night, and the occasional sound of a voice in the corridor, and people walking about, had put life back into his immediate surroundings.
Bjorn's morning routine went without incident, and once back in his uniform, and with his hand gun strapped to his side, he felt positively eager to go down and meet his colleagues chatting in the kitchen. Grabbing the paper copy of the Gazette and the leaflet explaining the stall owners' position on their conflict with Pedro, Bjorn walked down the stairs and into the living room where he dropped off the reading material before going over to the kitchen where Bjorn was greeted by Thomas and Geir who were sitting over at the far end of the dining table.
"Good morning!" Thomas said with a smile. "How do you feel?"
"Fine thank you," Bjorn answered, not feeling like mentioning his light hangover. "Where's everybody? I was sure I heard more voices than just the two of you."
"That must have been John... He just left for bed. You just missed him... And Espen was here too, but he's now in the glass cage."
Bjorn grabbed a plate, a cup, a glass and a knife for himself before sitting down with the two men. The table was set with bread and spreads, a carton of juice and a thermos with coffee. But there was no sign of Ante's signature breakfast. No eggs, no bacon and no freshly cut fruit.
"So where is Ante?" Bjorn asked, curious to hear what Thomas and his other colleagues had been up to in the village after he left.
"Well, as I told Geir just now, he got completely smashed by the end of the night, and we ended up taking a taxi back here. He was in no state to drive, and neither were anyone else."
"And who was your driver? Not Igor by any chance?"
"Well, actually yes. And you should have seen Ante making a fool of himself, praising Igor for his fine driving. He gets so sentimental when he gets drunk."
"So he is up sleeping off his hangover?"
"Yeah, just like every time we've been out with him."
Bjorn poured himself some juice, and out of politeness to Geir he asked him if things had gone smoothly during the night.
"Sure!" Geir answered, trying to come across as important. "Not much happening... But we can't all be out partying, you know."
"No, that's true," Bjorn answered sincerely. "Very generous of you and John to have taken the whole night watch yesterday."
"Yeah, we really appreciate it," Thomas added. "But one of these days, you should really go down and experience the nightlife yourself. It will give you a different perspective on the place."
"I don't know..." Geir said hesitantly, clearly a little uncomfortable with the gentle persuasion. "Some of us have to watch this place too, you know."
"I can stay here every now and again," Thomas suggested. "I don't have to go down every weekend."
"Really?" Geir asked. "Well... I'll think about it... But if Frank turns up in a body bag, I'm sure as hell not going down there on anything but business."
Bjorn looked at Thomas, confused by Geir's last remark.
"Well... I'm sure he's fine," Thomas answered with a smile. Then turning to Bjorn, he explained that Frank had suddenly disappeared completely, and that Espen, Ante and himself had given up finding him by the time they drove back to the checkpoint with Igor.
"So you just left him there?" Bjorn asked in disbelief.
"What could we do? It was six o'clock, the casino was closing, and we were kicked out... We brought his jacket with us though."
"Oh... That's good of you... So he might be roaming around in this weather without his jacket?"
"We're pretty sure he's safely in bed with one of those girls he was dancing with," Thomas retorted. "And what good would his jacket be if he can't get hold of it anyway?"
Bjorn shook his head. Then pouring some coffee for himself, he started chuckling. "So Romeo has been out sleeping with the enemy, has he?"
"That was our assessment too," Thomas said with a sly smile before taking a sip of his coffee.
Every little green patch that had been uncovered by the mild weather over the last couple of days were once again covered, and the thick snow drift made everything once again appear completely colourless, as if the landscape was some sort of black and white image. But the sight was refreshingly bright in its sombre greyness, and as far as his dream was concerned, it did the trick. Gone was the uncomfortable feeling at the pit of his stomach, and had it not been for a light hangover, he would have felt just fine.
Gone too was the claustrophobic sense that the barracks was some sort of soulless monster. Sounds of his colleagues coming home during the night, and the occasional sound of a voice in the corridor, and people walking about, had put life back into his immediate surroundings.
Bjorn's morning routine went without incident, and once back in his uniform, and with his hand gun strapped to his side, he felt positively eager to go down and meet his colleagues chatting in the kitchen. Grabbing the paper copy of the Gazette and the leaflet explaining the stall owners' position on their conflict with Pedro, Bjorn walked down the stairs and into the living room where he dropped off the reading material before going over to the kitchen where Bjorn was greeted by Thomas and Geir who were sitting over at the far end of the dining table.
"Good morning!" Thomas said with a smile. "How do you feel?"
"Fine thank you," Bjorn answered, not feeling like mentioning his light hangover. "Where's everybody? I was sure I heard more voices than just the two of you."
"That must have been John... He just left for bed. You just missed him... And Espen was here too, but he's now in the glass cage."
Bjorn grabbed a plate, a cup, a glass and a knife for himself before sitting down with the two men. The table was set with bread and spreads, a carton of juice and a thermos with coffee. But there was no sign of Ante's signature breakfast. No eggs, no bacon and no freshly cut fruit.
"So where is Ante?" Bjorn asked, curious to hear what Thomas and his other colleagues had been up to in the village after he left.
"Well, as I told Geir just now, he got completely smashed by the end of the night, and we ended up taking a taxi back here. He was in no state to drive, and neither were anyone else."
"And who was your driver? Not Igor by any chance?"
"Well, actually yes. And you should have seen Ante making a fool of himself, praising Igor for his fine driving. He gets so sentimental when he gets drunk."
"So he is up sleeping off his hangover?"
"Yeah, just like every time we've been out with him."
Bjorn poured himself some juice, and out of politeness to Geir he asked him if things had gone smoothly during the night.
"Sure!" Geir answered, trying to come across as important. "Not much happening... But we can't all be out partying, you know."
"No, that's true," Bjorn answered sincerely. "Very generous of you and John to have taken the whole night watch yesterday."
"Yeah, we really appreciate it," Thomas added. "But one of these days, you should really go down and experience the nightlife yourself. It will give you a different perspective on the place."
"I don't know..." Geir said hesitantly, clearly a little uncomfortable with the gentle persuasion. "Some of us have to watch this place too, you know."
"I can stay here every now and again," Thomas suggested. "I don't have to go down every weekend."
"Really?" Geir asked. "Well... I'll think about it... But if Frank turns up in a body bag, I'm sure as hell not going down there on anything but business."
Bjorn looked at Thomas, confused by Geir's last remark.
"Well... I'm sure he's fine," Thomas answered with a smile. Then turning to Bjorn, he explained that Frank had suddenly disappeared completely, and that Espen, Ante and himself had given up finding him by the time they drove back to the checkpoint with Igor.
"So you just left him there?" Bjorn asked in disbelief.
"What could we do? It was six o'clock, the casino was closing, and we were kicked out... We brought his jacket with us though."
"Oh... That's good of you... So he might be roaming around in this weather without his jacket?"
"We're pretty sure he's safely in bed with one of those girls he was dancing with," Thomas retorted. "And what good would his jacket be if he can't get hold of it anyway?"
Bjorn shook his head. Then pouring some coffee for himself, he started chuckling. "So Romeo has been out sleeping with the enemy, has he?"
"That was our assessment too," Thomas said with a sly smile before taking a sip of his coffee.
Monday, July 7, 2014
94
Back inside the casino everything seemed louder and more intense than when he left, and Bjorn felt again a relief from knowing that he would not have to hang around there waiting for his colleagues. He was on his way back to the checkpoint, and all he had to do was to tell his colleagues that he had found himself a taxi.
"I haven't seen Frank anywhere," Bjorn told Ante as he reached their table.
"We know," Ante answered with a smile.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he appeared out of nowhere, and now he's out on the dance floor."
Bjorn turned around to see if he could see him, and there he was showing off to two girls as if he was some sort of gift to women. The girls on their side were more than happy to indulge him, but the dance floor was so crowded that it was hard to say if they were girls who just happened to enjoy his clownish behaviour, or if they were in fact impressed by his slick appearance.
"He is not exactly hiding his gun, is he?" Bjorn said as he turned back to Ante.
"No, he's not... He clearly thinks of it as a great girl magnet."
"And it seems to be working, doesn't it?"
"That, and his gold card."
"He's showing that off too?"
"Waves it about every time he's buying a drink."
"What a clown!"
Ante smiled, and nodded in the direction of Thomas and Espen sitting at the other side of the table, engaged in conversation with an attractive blond girl. "But we're not complaining," Ante added. "He's like a honey pot the way he attracts the flies."
Bjorn looked at Ante with a frown, finding his statement a little too indiscrete. "Oh... Don't you worry," Ante said with a smile. "They are all Russians. They hardly know a word of Norwegian."
Still, Bjorn found Ante a bit out of line with his derogatory comment and promptly switched the conversation to his latest discovery.
"They got taxies here in Lundby, did you know?" Bjorn proclaimed proudly.
"Really?"
"Yeah! The bouncers at the door will get you one if you need one, and I've ordered one for myself."
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"All ready?"
Bjorn shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm an old guy I guess," he said, partly to prevent Ante from being the first to bring up his age.
"You're not that old," Ante protested. "Come on, why don't you stay. The party has just started."
Bjorn was happy to hear Ante's protest, but he had made up his mind, and the taxi was already ordered, so he excused himself, fending off Ante's protests, and headed back to the exit. He walked briskly out of the large room, noticing on his way that Jan was standing by the table where drugs were traded openly to anyone who cared to buy some. Jan was clearly engaged in some sort of business discussion, and it struck Bjorn as odd that this man who seemed to welcome both druggies and prostitutes to his establishment was at the same time a patron of the church charity, and also enforcing strict anti smoking rules on his premises. It made absolutely no sense. But at the same time, there was something refreshingly eccentric about these inconsistent rules, and it put a smile on his face.
Stepping once again out into the cold night air, Bjorn was told by the bouncer that his car would arrive in about five minutes. "Just enough time to have a cigarette," Bjorn answered, letting the bouncer know that he would be standing over by the paraffin heaters having a smoke while waiting.
The bouncer nodded silently, and Bjorn went over to the designated smokers' area to have his cigarette. There were several other people standing there, and some were sitting in the chairs that had been put outside with woolly blankets for the guests to cover up while having their smoke. But there were no familiar faces among the smokers, and Bjorn was no longer in any mood to start a conversation, so he smoked his cigarette in silence, looking idly over at the market, the church up the hill, the moon, and the people coming and going.
Then, just as he finished his cigarette, a car pulled up to the curb, and the bouncer signalled to Bjorn that this was his taxi.
"I haven't seen Frank anywhere," Bjorn told Ante as he reached their table.
"We know," Ante answered with a smile.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he appeared out of nowhere, and now he's out on the dance floor."
Bjorn turned around to see if he could see him, and there he was showing off to two girls as if he was some sort of gift to women. The girls on their side were more than happy to indulge him, but the dance floor was so crowded that it was hard to say if they were girls who just happened to enjoy his clownish behaviour, or if they were in fact impressed by his slick appearance.
"He is not exactly hiding his gun, is he?" Bjorn said as he turned back to Ante.
"No, he's not... He clearly thinks of it as a great girl magnet."
"And it seems to be working, doesn't it?"
"That, and his gold card."
"He's showing that off too?"
"Waves it about every time he's buying a drink."
"What a clown!"
Ante smiled, and nodded in the direction of Thomas and Espen sitting at the other side of the table, engaged in conversation with an attractive blond girl. "But we're not complaining," Ante added. "He's like a honey pot the way he attracts the flies."
Bjorn looked at Ante with a frown, finding his statement a little too indiscrete. "Oh... Don't you worry," Ante said with a smile. "They are all Russians. They hardly know a word of Norwegian."
Still, Bjorn found Ante a bit out of line with his derogatory comment and promptly switched the conversation to his latest discovery.
"They got taxies here in Lundby, did you know?" Bjorn proclaimed proudly.
"Really?"
"Yeah! The bouncers at the door will get you one if you need one, and I've ordered one for myself."
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"All ready?"
Bjorn shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm an old guy I guess," he said, partly to prevent Ante from being the first to bring up his age.
"You're not that old," Ante protested. "Come on, why don't you stay. The party has just started."
Bjorn was happy to hear Ante's protest, but he had made up his mind, and the taxi was already ordered, so he excused himself, fending off Ante's protests, and headed back to the exit. He walked briskly out of the large room, noticing on his way that Jan was standing by the table where drugs were traded openly to anyone who cared to buy some. Jan was clearly engaged in some sort of business discussion, and it struck Bjorn as odd that this man who seemed to welcome both druggies and prostitutes to his establishment was at the same time a patron of the church charity, and also enforcing strict anti smoking rules on his premises. It made absolutely no sense. But at the same time, there was something refreshingly eccentric about these inconsistent rules, and it put a smile on his face.
Stepping once again out into the cold night air, Bjorn was told by the bouncer that his car would arrive in about five minutes. "Just enough time to have a cigarette," Bjorn answered, letting the bouncer know that he would be standing over by the paraffin heaters having a smoke while waiting.
The bouncer nodded silently, and Bjorn went over to the designated smokers' area to have his cigarette. There were several other people standing there, and some were sitting in the chairs that had been put outside with woolly blankets for the guests to cover up while having their smoke. But there were no familiar faces among the smokers, and Bjorn was no longer in any mood to start a conversation, so he smoked his cigarette in silence, looking idly over at the market, the church up the hill, the moon, and the people coming and going.
Then, just as he finished his cigarette, a car pulled up to the curb, and the bouncer signalled to Bjorn that this was his taxi.
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