They were not exactly having an amusing time at the police station in Kungsholmsgatan, either. Fredrik Melander had gone home shortly after midnight, but he lived close-by and could easily - well, with some difficulty - be recalled.

Martin Beck and Gunvald Larsson stayed long after the dismal, dirty, grey and depressing dawn began to creep up over the roofs, leaning over photocopies, plans of buildings, drawings and maps of the Tanto district, sunk in their thoughts.

Just before Melander left, he had made a remark: 'And that's a standard apartment building is it, with emergency stairs?'

'Yes, it is,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'So what?'

'And the emergency stairs back oh to the apartment, don't they?'

Now it was Martin Beck's turn to ask, 'So what?'

'I happen to have a brother-in-law who lives in one of those buildings,' said Melander, 'and I know how they're built. When I was going to help him put up a mirror, quite a big one I must admit, half of it fell straight through the wall out into the emergency stairs, and the rest of the wall collapsed into their neighbour's living room.'

'What did the neighbour say to that?' said Gunvald Larsson. 'He was a bit surprised. He was watching TV. Soccer.' 'What's your point?'

'My point is that perhaps that's something to think about, especially if we're going to take them from three or four directions.'

Then Melander had gone home, obviously anxious about his indispensable night's sleep.

While things were comparatively calm at Kungsholmsgatan, Martin Beck and Gunvald Larsson began transforming Melander's idea into what with a certain goodwill might be called the embryo of a plan.

'Their attention will be concentrated on the door, especially as there's only one,' said Martin Beck. 'They'll be expecting someone, you for instance, to kick down the door and come hurtling in with a posse of policemen at your heels. If I've got those guys' methods right, they'll kill as many as possible. Then, when all hope is gone, they'll blow themselves to pieces, hoping to take some of us with them free of charge.'

'I still want to take them alive,' said Gunvald Larsson darkly.

'But how? Shall we starve them out?'

'Good idea,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'And then on Christmas Eve we'll send the Commissioner in dressed as Santa Claus with a big dish of rice pudding. They'll be so surprised, they'll give themselves up at once. Especially if Malm joins in with twelve helicopters and three hundred and fifty men with dogs and armour plate and bulletproof vests.'

Martin Beck was standing by the wall in his usual stance, elbow propped on the old metal filing cabinet Gunvald Larsson was sitting at his desk picking his teeth with a letter opener.

Neither of them said more than one word at the most for the next hour.

Benny Skacke was a good shot He'd had the chance to demonstrate this not only at the shooting range, but also on the job. If he had been a headhunter, his collection would have been enhanced by the somewhat ugly head of a Lebanese who had at the time been considered one of the ten most dangerous men in the world.

Skacke also had excellent night vision. Although it was black as soot outside and the j.a.panese were very economical with the light he could see they were going to have a meal. Dinner was clearly a ritual affair. They put on white clothes, rather like judo costumes, and knelt on each side of a square cloth apparently covered with plates and small bowls.

It looked peaceful and leisurely. Until he discovered that they each had a machine pistol with a spare magazine within easy reach.

His own rifle was standing out in the hall, a Browning High Power Rifle Medallion Grade 458 Magnum. Skacke was convinced he had a chance of hitting both men before they had time to take shelter or shoot back.

But what would happen then? And what about his instructions?

Skacke reluctantly gave up any sharpshooting ideas and stared gloomily out into the darkness.

Martin Beck and Gunvald Larsson had a very hard nut to crack. But first they had to get a few hours' sleep. They went and lay down in two of the empty cells, having issued orders that they were not to be disturbed by anyone except ma.s.s murderers and other perpetrators of especially serious crimes.

Shortly before six they were on their feet again. Gunvald Larsson telephoned Ronn, who had also just awakened and sounded slightly touchy.

'Einar, you needn't go to Tanto today.' 'Urn? Really? Why not?' 'We need to have a talk with you down here.' 'Who'll relieve Skacke?'

'Stromgren or Ek'll have to do that It's not exactly an overwhelmingly difficult a.s.signment'

'When do you want me to come?'

'As soon as you've read the newspaper and had your coffee, or whatever you usually do in the mornings.' 'All right Fine.'

Gunvald Larsson hung up and stared at Martin Beck. "Three men should be enough,' he said finally. 'One from the balcony, one through the door and one from that emergency stairway.'

'Through the wall.'

'Exactly.'

'You're good at crashing through locked doors,' said Martin Beck. 'But what about walls?'

'Whoever goes through the wall is going to have to have a pneumatic drill with a silencer. Artificial sound effects probably won't wholly cover the noise even then, and all the time they'll be keeping an eye on the door, too, so in my view the man coming from the balcony has the best chance. Doesn't that sound right to you?'

'Yes, but which three men do we use?'

'Two seem obvious,' said Gunvald Larsson.

'You and me.'

'It was our idea, and it's going to be difficult to carry out. Can we put that responsibility on to anyone else?' 'Hardly. But who...?'

'Skacke?' Larsson suggested with considerable hesitation.

'He's too young,' said Martin Beck, 'and he's got small children. He's learning, but he's still pretty inexperienced, especially in practical matters. I couldn't stand to see him lying dead in that apartment the way I saw Stenstrom lying dead in that bus.'

'Then who could you stand to see lying dead up there?' said Gunvald Larsson with unusual sharpness.

Martin Beck did not reply.

'Melander's too old,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'He would volunteer, of course, but he'll soon be fifty-five, and he's done more than his share of that kind of work. He's a bit slow, too. Of course, we're not so young either, for that matter, even if we aren't slow.'

'So that leaves -'

'Einar,' said Gunvald Larsson. He sighed deeply. 'I've thought about it for hours,' he said. 'Einar has certain disadvantages which we both know perfectly well, but he has one great advantage. He's worked with us for a long time and knows how we think.'

Martin Beck longed for Kollberg. It was no doubt true that Ronn knew how Gunvald Larsson thought, but it was just as certain that he didn't know how Martin Beck thought - or if he did, he never showed it 'We'll have to talk to him,' said Martin Beck. 'This isn't the sort of a.s.signment you just give to people and say, "Now just do this and that.'"

'He'll be here soon,' said Gunvald Larsson.

While they were waiting, Stromgren was sent to the apartment in Tanto. Skacke was too tired to show any surprise. He put his fine rifle into a case that looked as if it held some kind of musical instrument. Then he left the building, got into his fairly new car and went home to bed.

Ronn's red nose did not appear in the doorway until just before nine. He had taken his time, among other things because of Gunvald Larsson's tone of voice, which had not promised any happy surprises, and also because it had been a long time since he'd had a chance to relax. Then he had taken the metro into town, since he basically disliked driving a car.

After greeting the other two men he sat down, guardedly, watching his colleagues. Martin Beck decided that as Gunvald Larsson had been a friend of Ronn's for years, he could do the talking. Gunvald Larsson thought so too.

'Beck and I have been thinking for several hours about how we're going to get at those guys in Tanto, and we think we've come to a possible solution.'

'Possible' is the word, thought Martin Beck, as Gunvald Larsson began to outline the plan.

Ronn sat silently for a long time, and then looked at them, a swift glance at Martin Beck, as if he had already seen him too many times and knew what he was about, and a far longer examination of Gunvald Larsson. The silence was almost unbearable. As they had told Melander from the start to take all calls, there was not even the hope that a telephone ring would break the tension.

Finally, after what must have been several minutes, Ronn said, 'Where I come from, they call that suicide.'

Then he said, 'Have you shown this so-called plan to Melander?'

'Yes,' said Martin Beck. 'The basic idea was his, as a matter of fact.'

'What basic idea? That he wouldn't have to get involved himself?'

Gunvald Larsson and Martin Beck had a hard time hiding their disappointment at Ronn's opinion of their plan. But Ronn suddenly walked across to the window, peered out into the sleet and said sorrowfully, 'Well, I suppose I'll do it Bring the wretched thing here so I can read it through again.'

And about half an hour later: 'I presume the idea is that you rush through the door, while Martin climbs down from the balcony above theirs.'

'Yes,' said Gunvald Larsson.

'And I come crashing through the wall with a roar. What time will all this happen?'

'What time do they usually eat?' asked Martin Beck.

'Nine,' said Ronn. 'First meal on the dot at nine, and it's usually a pretty long one with lots of courses.'

'Then we'll get them at five past nine.'

26.

It was Friday the thirteenth of December, but no one made any jokes about that If any one of the three of them had ever doubted that ten pneumatic drills in an enclosed s.p.a.ce would make an almost incomprehensible racket, especially with two crazily clattering trench-diggers and four hysterical paving machines as background, he was quickly disabused of that notion at two minutes to 9 a.m. that morning.

Ronn was operating in the stairwell with three men. Together they were doing a pretty smart job of boring holes just deep enough so that the wall would collapse at the slightest pressure. Rdnn, incidentally, was one of the few people present who had ever used a pneumatic drill before. The heavy machinery outside was manned by policemen wearing coveralls borrowed from the Highway Department Gunvald Larsson, who was outside by the lifts, had quickly decided that drilling wasn't his forte. Although he'd turned purple in the face with the effort, the drill had kept slipping away and he'd only succeeded in kicking up a horrible din.

Martin Beck, meanwhile, was lying stretched out on the balcony one floor up, a light aluminium ladder beside him. The family that lived there hadn't raised any serious objections when the police appeared and evacuated them to another floor. The other apartment on the floor where the j.a.panese lived was empty. The buildings were so poorly built and the rents so high that many people who could afford to live in them preferred to move elsewhere. In fact, the multinational company that owned this building had recently sued the multinational giant that built it. The suit claimed breach of contract in respect to negligence, faulty materials, fraud and all the usual abuses involved in large-scale housing developments.

Through a crack in a drainpipe, Martin Beck could see straight down on to the balcony below. The two j.a.panese had been out twice to look down at the earth-movers and the paving machines.

Martin Beck's group had estimated preparatory work inside would take eight minutes, and that was what it took. At five minutes past nine on the dot, Gunvald Larsson kicked in the door and hurtled into the apartment. The door, which was made of imitation wood, was immediately transformed into a buckled sc.r.a.p of unidentifiable rubbish.

The larger j.a.panese leaped up from his breakfast, his machine pistol in his hands, and turned to face Gunvald Larsson. But at the same moment the whole wall to the right of him appeared to give way. Large sections of it came crashing into the room, together with Einar Ronn, looking truly ferocious with his Walther pistol drawn. And exactly at that same instant, Martin Beck kicked in the balcony door, discovering what great fun it was to kick in a door, even if this one was only gla.s.s and Masonite.

There was nothing wrong with the training and courage of the two j.a.panese, nor with their knowledge of the rules of strategy. They had been taken by surprise despite all their precautions and were under attack from three different directions. If they tried to resist, the three men in orange coveralls, presumably police, would simply shoot them dead. They said nothing, but the larger one half-turned towards Ronn and the shattered wall. Gunvald Larsson seized the opportunity and struck him from behind with the b.u.t.t of his 38 Master, a fine weapon which Gunvald Larsson had purchased with his own money, but had never fired at a human being.

Almost simultaneously, two small wooden boxes of about the same size and appearance as ordinary cigar boxes fell to the floor from the white sheet that served as a breakfast cloth. From each box ran a thread fastened to the bearer's wrist.

It was not difficult to work out what they were - two compact bombs, the threads leading from each man's wrist to a detonator. If one of them had time to jerk the thread ...

And why wouldn't they have time? A swift jerk, the bomb would go off and that would be that Gunvald Larsson was perplexed. Then he noticed that across the room the giant he'd struck was beginning to come to and was already jerking at the thread. Five, ten seconds appeared to be left of life.

Gunvald Larsson called out, almost in desperation, 'Einar! The thread!'

Then Ronn did something neither he nor anyone else would ever understand at all. Although he was one of the force's most hopeless shots, he raised his Walther an inch or two and shot off the thread to the detonator with almost inhuman precision.

When the thread lay in a meaningless little heap on the floor, Gunvald Larsson threw himself with a bellow on to the man, who was in fact as large as Larsson himself.

While the two battled, Ronn turned to Martin Beck and the other j.a.panese and said calmly, 'Martin, the detonating thread.'

Faced with two opponents and virtually disarmed since Martin Beck had struck his machine pistol out of his hands, the smaller man did something for which he could not afford the time. He looked at Ronn with a kind of strange understanding as he gathered up the slack in the detonating thread in his right hand in order to pull it. As he looked at Ronn and at the pistol, he seemed to be thinking: Why doesn't he kill me?

With the man's gaze thus fixed on Ronn, Martin Beck took a pair of office scissors out of his inside pocket and quite undramatically snipped the thread. And when the man turned in surprise to Martin Beck, Ronn coldly clubbed him from behind with the b.u.t.t of his revolver. The j.a.panese collapsed without so much as a sigh and Ronn knelt down and snapped handcuffs on to him. Martin Beck pushed the cigar box to one side with his foot. It should have been harmless by then, but they couldn't be certain.

The larger j.a.panese was at least twenty years younger than Gunvald Larsson and enormously strong, nimble and skilled in the techniques of judo, jiu-jitsu and super-karate.

But what use was that against a Gunvald Larsson in a mindless rage? He felt the hatred welling up inside him, a wild, uncontrollable hatred against these people who killed for money without caring who they killed or why. After a few minutes' bitter struggle, Gunvald Larsson got the upper hand and proceeded to smash his opponent's face and chest repeatedly against the wall. On the last two occasions, the j.a.panese was already unconscious, his clothes soaked with blood, but Gunvald Larsson kept his grip and raised the large limp body, ready to strike again.

'That's enough now, Gunvald,' said Martin Beck quietly. 'Put the handcuffs on him.'

'Yes,' said Gunvald Larsson. His china-blue eyes cleared. 'That doesn't happen to me often,' he apologized. 'I know,' said Martin Beck.

He looked down at the two unconscious men. 'Alive,' he said almost to himself. 'It worked after all.'

'Yes,' said Gunvald Larsson, 'it worked.' He rubbed his tortured shoulders against the nearest door-jamb and said, also more or less to himself, 'He was d.a.m.n strong, that one.'

What happened next could only be regarded as an absurd anticlimax.

Martin Beck went out on to the balcony and signalled for the noise to stop. When he came back, Ronn and Gunvald Larsson were struggling out of their orange coveralls.

A policeman unknown to them peered in through the ruined door and gave a kind of all-clear signal to someone behind him. One of the lift doors opened and Bulldozer Olsson rushed with small tripping steps into the apartment, his head lowered.

He first looked at the unconscious j.a.panese, then at the ruined apartment, and finally let his jolly eyes sweep over Martin Beck, Gunvald Larsson and Einar Ronn. 'Great job, boys,' he said. 'I never thought you'd make it.'

'Didn't you?' said Gunvald Larsson acidly. 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing here, anyhow?'

Bulldozer Olsson ran his fingers once or twice down the giant cravat of the day, an American political party tie featuring white elephants on a green background. Then he cleared his throat and said, 'Hitadichi and Matsuma Leitzu, I herewith declare you under arrest for attempted murder, terrorism and armed resistance to officers of the law.'

The smaller of the two men had come around and said politely, 'Excuse me, sir, but that's not our names' He paused briefly and then added, 'If what you said was supposed to be our names.'

'Oh, the name business will probably sort itself out,' said Bulldozer happily. He gestured towards the policeman behind him.

'Okay, take them to Kungsholm. Have someone explain their rights to them, and tell them they'll be formally arraigned tomorrow. If they haven't got a lawyer of their own, we'll appoint one.' He paused, then added, 'Though preferably not Crasher.'

Some of Bulldozer's men came into the apartment, and the two men were taken away, one of them on his own two feet, the other on a stretcher.