182

Bjorn felt strangely pleased with himself for having registered his complaint with the Blacklist. He was not alone in finding it intolerable that the website did not allow him to remove his profile, and having registered his complaint together with the three other disgruntled users, he had at least made it clear that he too was less than pleased with the way the site was hogging his data. He still felt irritated that his profile could not be erased, but his anger was gone. It was not like the site had an awful lot of information on him, and apart from the villagers and a few desperate individuals from places like Libya and the Middle East, no one was taking the site seriously anyway.

Bjorn poured himself a final cup of coffee from his thermos. Then, looking out over the fjord, he noticed the barge that had entered the port earlier, maneuvering out towards the center of the bay, filled with a cargo of containers. On studying the containers more closely with his binoculars, he saw that they were accommodation units, similar to the ones next to Ane's fish processing plants. And indeed, pretty much identical to those used as barracks at the checkpoint.

Bjorn sipped his coffee while following the barge on its way to its destination. For a while, it looked like it was heading for the village, but then, as it came closer, it made another turn and headed towards the airport. And just as the barge disappeared from view, another barge appeared, heading out from the port. This one filled with rocks and boulders. "It must have come in on someone else's watch," Bjorn thought as he looked closer to see if the rocks were iron ore, or simply building material.

The rocks carried by the second barge were pale grey, and clearly not iron ore, so Bjorn concluded that it must be intended for some building project, possibly related to the living units that he had just seen. He put down his binoculars and finished his coffee, idly following the barge on its way. And to Bjorn's satisfaction, the second barge followed the exact same path as the first one. They were related, in other words, just like he had thought. "They must be doing some last minute work in preparation for the influx of asylum seekers," Bjorn concluded.

The second barge disappeared behind the hill between him and the airport, and for a while, there was virtually nothing to occupy his mind. The coastguard vessel out to the north east was laying still in the water. The cranes to the north west were hardly moving, and even the luxury apartments down by the water seemed almost lifeless, with very little work being done outside.

Bjorn grabbed his pack of cigarettes, and was about to step outside when a small truck that he had idly been following as it headed towards the port, slowed down by the intersection with the Neiden road. The truck took a right turn, and sped up again as it started its climb towards the checkpoint.

Bjorn put the pack of cigarettes back in his pocket, and looking briefly at his PC to see if he was still logged in with the Department of Justice, he closed the tab connected to the Blacklist, not bothering to log out. A few minutes later, the truck appeared from behind the hill to the north east, after having been out of sight for a while. Then it completed its climb up the winding road before coming to a complete stop next to the glass cage.

The driver was a strong man with a crew cut, and next to him sat two men, just as strong as him but with a less disciplined look.

"We're here with the signs that Frank ordered," the driver said, before Bjorn had time to ask for the men's passports.
"Signs?" Bjorn asked, confused.
"Yep. Frank placed an order for some stuff this morning, and we're here to deliver it."
"Is that so?" Bjorn asked, still a little confused. "Wait a minute, I'll call Frank."
"Sure, you go ahead."

Bjorn called Frank, and got him immediately on the other end of the line.

"There's a guy here with some signs he's delivering," Bjorn explained. "Something you ordered this morning, he says."
"Oh! Already?" Frank replied. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I thought they wouldn't be here before Geir had taken your place. Just let him in, will you?"
"Okay... He has two guys with him. Is that still all right?"
"Sure! They're putting up the signs. He'll need help to do that. You let them in. Tell them to drive up to the barracks, and I'll meet them there."
"Okay."

Bjorn put down the phone.

"That seems to be in order," Bjorn said to the driver. "Frank will meet you at the back of the barracks." Then, he opened the gate, letting the truck pass.

A little later, Geir appeared from behind the barracks, all smiles, wearing his bomber jacket and pilot sunglasses. Bjorn checked his watch, and was surprised to see that it was indeed time to call it a day.

"So, who was that guy I just let in?" Bjorn asked as Geir entered the glass cage.
"That was Gus, the owner of the gun store down in the village," Geir explained.
"Really?" Bjorn said in amazement.
"It's not as crazy as it sounds," Geir continued. "He is good with these kind of things. He does it cheaply and quickly. And Frank figures that we can influence him to our advantage if we promise him some business from time to time. Pretty smart, huh?"

Bjorn was not convinced, but nodded nevertheless. Then he handed the automatic pistol over to Geir.

"And let me use your PC, will you?" Geir insisted, as Bjorn was about to unplug it.
"No! It's mine," Bjorn retorted, pulling the cord from its socket.
"But mine is a stationary. I can't very well bring that one out here. And Frank suggested I use yours."
"He did, did he?" Bjorn asked, still very reluctant to hand his PC over to Geir.
"Yeah, he did."
Bjorn looked at his PC, then back at Geir. "Okay. If that is so, I'll let you use it. But only this once."

175

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.

67

Ante was apparently the only one who had seen the news from Lier, and so he became the centre of attention that morning, describing the fiery scene to every new colleague coming into the kitchen for breakfast. And by the third time the same story was being told, Bjorn felt a strong desire to leave the kitchen.

Bjorn was in no mood for further speculations about the imminent influx of desperate, aggressive and right out violent asylum seekers. Not that he was very concerned for his own safety. He knew full well when he signed on to the job as a border guard that violent episodes might well happen. But the uncomfortable dream, still lingering in the back of his mind was a terrible backdrop for a clear and level headed assessment of the news story. And the excited small talk among his colleagues did not help much either.

So it was with some relief that Bjorn stepped out in the sun, thermos in hand, on his way to relieve John from his night shift. The fresh air was invigorating, and Bjorn felt happy knowing that he would be able to enjoy a full six hours all to himself in the glass cage.

There were no whales to watch this morning, but there were plenty of other things to keep Bjorn entertained. A small army of workers were putting red terracotta roof tiles into place on the apartment building down by the fjord, the morning delivery of fish for Ane's processing plant was coming in from the east, and there was even a large container ship entering through the narrow straight, with a delivery for the port.

The ferry had just entered through the strait when the enormous ship suddenly appeared, and for a moment it looked like the ship was going to crush the ferry. However, it was soon clear that there was never any danger of the ship hitting the ferry. As soon as the two vessels were inside the bay area, they headed in different directions, and Bjorn could see that the ferry was in fact moving a good deal faster than the enormous ship.

The general level of activity in the bay area had picked up noticeably over the last few days. Things were happening everywhere, and it was quite exciting to see the progress made over such a short period of time. The apartment building was now fully clad with a brick façade, the windows and doors were all in place, and the roofing would, by the look of it, be completed pretty soon too. There were more cars going between the port and the village, and the two big cranes over by the village centre were also doing more work.

Bjorn was starting to feel excited about the planned outing to the village to celebrate Thomas' birthday too, and all this energy and excitement made him feel happy and optimistic. When he, every now and again, had to let a car in or inspect a car before leaving, he greeted the drivers with a happy smile, asking them where they were from and what they were planning to do on their way in, and warning them politely on their way out that the amounts of stuff they could freely take with them from the village would soon be subject to customs regulations.

Bjorn considered Frank's prediction for what the lawmakers in Oslo would come up with to be so likely that he warned people as if it was a done deal. And Bjorn was strengthened in his belief by the reaction of the drivers. Everyone seemed to accept his warning as inevitable, saying such things as "it's too good to last", and that "it is pretty much a miracle that it has not been stopped yet".

Towards the end of Bjorn's shift, a small bus load of young men and women heading for Lundby stopped at the barrier, which once again reminded Bjorn of his own imminent pleasure trip to the village.

"So where are you all from?" Bjorn asked, expecting the usual answer. But, as it turned out, they were not from Neiden. They were from Alta, a full six hours drive away Lundby. And they were going to Lundby to spend the weekend partying. Rumors about Lundby's night life had clearly also spread. People were not only going to the village to buy chap stuff, they were going there to have a good time too.

17

Bjorn sat down in the office chair in front of the control panel, put his thermos on a small ledge by the window in front of him, and felt immediately at ease as he gazed out at the panoramic view of the fjord, with snow capped alpine mountains rising up from the icy marsh land on the other side.

Lundby, partially hidden from view by two low hills shielding it from the weather on either side, looked positively idyllic with houses scattered in a seemingly random fashion on the barren rocks, between which a road could be seen, with the occasional car driving by. The pace of life in the village, which Bjorn derived solely from the cars coming and going, seemed neither stressful nor sedated. From the distance, everything looked both normal and peaceful.

The port, completely hidden from view by a hill to the east could nevertheless be detected due to the regular comings and goings of the ferry. And there was almost always a little rush of cars driving by, down by the fjord, every twenty minutes after a ferry arrival. People were coming and going, and the woman that Bjorn had briefly talked to on the ferry was probably not the only one doing business in the village. Some of the cars coming in from the port were fairly large trucks, clearly carrying goods of various kinds.

Having spent some time taking in the initial impression from the commanding view of the glass panelled office, Bjorn leant back in the chair with a mug of hot coffee in his hand, letting his eyes wander freely in search of things of interest. With the road to Neiden still blocked by snow, there was no chance of anyone coming up to the checkpoint, unless in an errand for the checkpoint itself, so there was literally nothing for Bjorn to do but to let his mind wander with his gaze.

The view both barren and motionless, made any motion draw immediate attention to itself, and two cranes, partially hidden by the near hill between the check point and Lundby, drew Bjorn´s attention every time they made an occasional turn, and so did cars coming and going on the bits of road visible from the check point, as did a mobile crane getting into place at a building site down by the fjord, at the near side of the hill obscuring the view of Lundby.

It soon became intensely sleep inducing to just sit and watch the view, and Bjorn realized he had to entertain his mind in order not to nod off with his wandering eyes and mind. He decided to scrutinize the building site down by the fjord, and lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes to take a closer look. By the look of it, the building being erected was some sort of low apartment building, and the site was very busy with people, many of whom did not seem to have much else to do than to carry materials from one place to another. Others, presumably more skilled workers, were busy finishing the ground floor façade, while others were putting in place scaffolding higher up.

Everything seemed to be happening all at once, and looking through the large openings, still without doors or windows, people could be seen in the light of harsh incandescent lamps, tiding up and getting started on the interior. For every skilled worker, there seemed to be at least five people busy sweeping floors and carrying stuff around, and Bjorn got a strong feeling that what he was witnessing was nothing less than modern day slavery. The only thing missing was any sign of armed guards. And the slaves did not seem as discouraged as he would have expected. They did not work excessively hard. But they did not seem to drag their feet either.

7

Not being very interested in football, Bjorn remained standing in the front of the office, behind the men clustering around the TV screen. He followed the game with muted interest, looking out of the window every now and again to look for signs of anyone coming to pick him up.

After a few minutes, he noticed a car in the distance, a red sedan charging along the road down by the fjord, coming in and out of view on its way towards the Port. The bright head lights made it easy to spot in the grey surroundings as it flashed its lights directly in Bjorn's direction every time it came out from a curve that had briefly hidden it from view.

As the car came closer, it remained in view for longer periods of time until it was no longer hidden at all, charging down the final stretch towards the port. The car disappeared briefly behind a large shed by the entrance to the port before coming back in view, making a wide curve towards the check point, completely ignoring the markings on the tarmac, separating parking areas from lanes of traffic, bus stops, and the like.

The driver was, by the look of it, deliberately trying to make an extravagant point of breaking all the rules as he increased his speed during the final hundred yards just to slam on the breaks and bring the car to a complete stop as it slid screeching sideways into place in front of the office.

"That must be Ante," Trond said without  taking his eyes off the TV.
"That's my man?" Bjorn asked, putting down his mug of coffee.
"Yes," Trond replied, taking a quick look out of the window to make absolutely sure of the identity of the driver.

Bjorn took his back pack and left the office, not waiting for Ante to get in, and thanking the men for the coffee as he left. The car stood right across from the door of the office with the driver's seat facing it, and the driver rolled down the window to greet Bjorn as he stepped into the cold.

"So you are Ante?" Bjorn asked.
"And you must be Bjorn."
"Sure am," Bjorn replied.
"Then, hop in!"

Ante signalled to Bjorn that he should take the front seat before rolling up the window, quickly so as not to loose more heat than absolutely necessary. Getting into the car after tossing his back pack into the back seat, Bjorn sat down and strapped on his seat belt, anticipating correctly that the drive back to the Neiden check point would be at least as speedy as Ante's drive to the Port.

The road turned out to be in pretty bad shape, and Bjorn was tossed around in his seat as Ante ignored the smaller pot holes and swerved sharply around the bigger ones. But the need to focus on his driving to navigate the pot holes, did not prevent Ante from engaging Bjorn in small talk, pointing out things along the road as they passed them, and asking Bjorn about his trip and his first impressions of the arctic.

Ante talked in a thick local dialect that Bjorn could not help find amusing, since the man's extravagant driving and talkativeness had every mark of the typical stereotype portrayal of a North Norway inhabitant, flamboyant, foul mouthed and passionate. Dark haired and with subtle Asian features, Bjorn guessed the man to be Sami, and asked him politely if this was true.

"How did you guess?" Ante asked with a broad smile.
"Well..."
"Of course I am," Ante continued without waiting for an answer. "My family has been up here for generations."
"Really?"
"Rain deer herding and fishing, that's what we used to do up here before my grandfather gave it up and started working at the iron mine instead. And when that was closed down, and the fish processing plant folded too, that was the end of it."
"And now?"
"Well, most of my family has moved south. My parents are living on the dole in Kirkenes, and I'm the only one up here with a job."

6

Bjorn went for a short stroll along the perimeter of the ferry landing, taking in some more impressions of the place before returning to the checkpoint where he entered the small box-like structure that constituted the office. He had noticed while walking about, that Trond was checking diligently the cars that had lined up to drive on board the waiting ferry, and he asked one of Trond's colleagues, as he entered the office, if any of them had managed to catch anyone trying to escape the colony.

The man smiled at him, and said that they had not been having any such luck as of yet, before offering Bjorn a cup of coffee.

"No such luck?" Bjorn asked before accepting the man's offer to pour him a cup.
"No such luck, I'm afraid," the man confirmed, handing Bjorn a mug of freshly brewed coffee. "You see, there is a bounty on any refugee we manage to catch. We get an extra month's wage for each one."
"Is that so?"
"It is. The prospect keeps us diligent, and it makes it harder for the desperate ones to bribe their way to freedom."
"Makes sense. But you haven't caught anyone yet, have you?"
"I guess they know it's hopeless. Not only do they have to get passed us, they have to find their way into the parallel economy too, and Kirkenes is just too small for a refugee to hide."

The man looked like he was about to expand on his thoughts when he was interrupted by Trond giving him a signal through the wide window behind Bjorn, to raise the barrier that was preventing the cars from entering the ferry. The man excused himself, and turned to push a button on a dashboard, prompting the barrier to be raised, and the few cars that had been waiting to enter, drove onto the ferry, making a clattering noise as they drove onto the steel plate hanging out from the front of the boat.

Once the cars were well on board, together with two pedestrians that Trond appeared to know from before, the steel plate was raised, and pretty soon the ferry started moving away from the wharf and out to the fjord, heading for Kirkenes. Trond entered the office, and they all sat down in separate chairs, waiting for the ferry to return in two hours' time.

The sound of a TV that had been muted while the ferry had been at the wharf, was turned on again, and everyone returned to watching the football match that was being broadcasted, commenting on the game, and expressing their feelings with muted cries of excitement as the players chased the ball back and forth on the green grass, some distant place, far to the south, where spring was well on its way.

5

The ferry came to a complete stop at a wharf separated from the deep water harbour by a large round rock sticking half way into the water. The ramp was lowered, and everyone were allowed to leave, with the police officer escorting the Africans to a small office in the middle of the open area directly in front of the ferry, and the young woman, with her oversized suitcase, hurrying over to a waiting bus a bit further up.

Bjorn´s instructions, which he received a week before leaving for his assignment, were to report to the chief officer at the Lundby Port checkpoint, which had to be the office directly in front of him. But, seeing that the men at the check point would have to take care of the Africans first, he went over to the rounded rock to the side of the wharf to waste some time, climbing its moderate incline to get another full view of the port.

The deep water harbour looked completely abandoned with no sign of any activity, and if it had not been for two cars parked over by a shed at the far eastern edge of the port, he would not have guessed that anyone was there at all. However, just as he was about to turn and go back down the rock, he heard the distant clatter of a heavily loaded train approaching the port.

And as if this clatter had been some sort of signal, two men came out of the shed, heading across the tarmac of the port in the direction of the machinery designed to move iron ore onto the heap at the other end of the port. The train came into view from behind a hill to the east, coming to a slow stop as it reached the port.

Bjorn was at once fascinated by the scene where everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Even the men walking briskly over to the heavy machinery seemed to move slowly, surrounded as they were by big structures on every side.

Bjorn tossed a glance towards the check point to see if he could stand and watch the spectacle across the water for a little longer, but to his surprise, the Africans were already gone, and nowhere to be seen. He hurried down the rock and over to the office where he presented himself to the first man he met.

"So you are Bjorn" the man said, clearly expecting him. "I´m Trond, chief officer at this checkpoint."
"Glad to meet you."
"Can I see your papers."

Handing him his papers, he could not help noticing the police officer that had escorted the Africans, standing behind him. And still puzzled about their whereabouts, he asked about them.

"They are on their way to Lundby" the officer explained, adding "on the bus" in way of further explanation.
"You just put them on the bus? Just like that?"
"Yes."
"With no escort?"
"With no escort."
"No interrogation? No nothing?"
"We just hand out these tokens, one to each of them, and the rest is up to them," the officer explained, pulling a plastic chip out of his pocket.
"You are sending them to the casino?" Bjorn asked in amazement.

The officer smiled at Bjorn´s bewilderment, before explaining that the tokens function as money in the village.

"They can of course be wasted on the casino," the officer continued, "but I think most people have other priorities when they get here. We only give them enough for the bus fair, and a single night at the local hotel. The rest is up to them."

So this was the new Norwegian policy towards asylum seekers, thought Bjorn to himself, shocked to hear that people were completely left to their own devices in this terribly hostile environment, where a night sleeping rough on the streets would see you dead before dawn.

The officer turned to a colleague, asking him to call the Neiden checkpoint to pick up Bjorn. Then he turned back to Bjorn again, explaining that the company taking care of the asylum seekers have promised to arrange shelter and food in return for non-interference by the authorities.

"We do go into Lundby to check on the conditions from time to time. And so far, everything seems to be in order," the officer continued, noting that Bjorn was still quite stunned to learn the cold hard reality of the country´s new policy towards asylum seekers.

Trond excused himself, heading over to an approaching car. "I´ll let you know when your colleague arrives. Feel free to sit down in the office, or walk around as you please."

4

The ferry passed through a narrow straight, only a few hundred metres wide, before entering a wider and more open landscape. The mountains that had come progressively closer together, pulled back, revealing a port on the south shore, and a small cluster of houses on a low hill protruding into the fjord some distance further up.

Everything looked small in the grand landscape, but the port turned out to be quite a lot bigger than Bjorn had imagined. It was equipped to handle at least two ships simultaneously, with one part of the port dedicated to handling iron ore, and another part equipped with a large crane that could be used to unload containers.

It struck Bjorn as a bit strange to have a big crane on a port that had iron ore as its only export. However, considering how isolated the port was, it probably made sense to have a crane capable of unloading whatever machinery the mine might require directly from a ship rather than to have such equipment delivered in parts through alternative routes, and Bjorn let the thought rest with this as he proceeded to look for other land marks and tell tale signs of his future residence.

Bjorn was scrutinizing the hills to the south of the village for any sign of the check point where he would be spending the next few months when he was interrupted in his thoughts by the ticket controller.

"Is this your first trip to Lundby?" the man asked as he punched the ticket that Bjorn handed over to him.
"It is," Bjorn confirmed with a thoughtful nod.
"Are you planning to spend any time in the village?"
"No."
"Really?"
"No. I´m going to stay at the check point over at the road to Neiden."
"And never enter the village?"
"I wasn´t planning to. Why?"
"Well. It has some nice places to visit."
"Like what?"
"Like restaurants and night clubs and stuff."
"Night clubs? In Lundby?"
"Well. Only one."
"Lundby has a night club?"
"It does. It is not a bad place."
"You mean to say that Lundby, which was completely abandoned until just a few months ago, has a night scene with restaurants and a night club, and stuff like that?"
"It sure does. You should check it out."

Bjorn was stunned. This was very unexpected. No one had mentioned anything about restaurants and the like in Lundby, and he had thought of the place as a prison camp more than anything else. Yet, here he was talking to one with local knowledge, basically claiming that the place is an entertaining place to visit. Bjorn was tempted to have the woman sitting up front confirm what the man was saying, but seeing that she was still completely absorbed by her book, he simply told the man that he might consider checking the place out one day.

"Make sure you have some tokens if you do. Most of the places only accept Gram."
"Gram?"
"Yeah. They are like casino tokens. They serve as money in most of the places."
"Really?"
"All the places are basically owned by this one guy who owns the casino, and he insists on using the so called Gram tokens as money."
"So there is a casino in Lundby too?"
"Well. That´s the name of the night club."
"Oh. I see. Well. I´ll get some tokens when I need them."
"They are the cheapest if you buy them over there" said the man, pointing to a vending machine over by the stair well.

So this was what the man had been driving at all along, thought Bjorn with a smile as he thanked him for letting him know about the casino tokens. It was all a sales pitch for using the vending machine. A sales pitch that Bjorn chose to ignore.