Once he is back inside the cabin, Thorleif realises that he hasn’t drawn breath for a long time. With a gasp he hunches his shoulders and inhales deeply, planting his hands on his thighs as he does so in order not to fall. He stands like for a few moments before he slumps down on the floor and leans against a kitchen cupboard. He looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.
He sits there in deep despair, panting, before he stands up on wobbly legs and creeps over to the window. Carefully, he twitches the curtain and looks outside. The evening is matte and dark. There is not much left of the moon in the night sky, only a torn nail that offers little light. There is no one on the road below.
It was possibly a mistake to return to the cabin, Thorleif thinks, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else to hide. As he surveys the landscape and can clearly see both the roads and the cabins, he concludes that it was actually quite a smart move. He can easily see anyone approaching. All he has to do is stay where he is and keep a lookout. Stay awake and wait. But what does he do if the man should turn up?
Thorleif looks around. He can’t remember if he saw any weapons in the tool shed. There must be an axe, he thinks. Next to the tap he sees a set of kitchen knives. He takes the biggest one, the one that looks the sharpest, and feels the edge. Yes, it’s nice and sharp, he decides. He knows that he must get the first strike right. No mistakes. He has covered several crime stories where the victim tried to use a knife against a burglar or boyfriend only to fall victim to their own weapon.
Thorleif puts down the knife on the table and looks outside again. In just a couple of minutes the sky has grown darker. But he sees no one. He hears no one. He blinks and runs a hand over his sweaty face. His T-shirt sticks to his body. Take it easy now, Thorleif, he says to himself. Stay alert.
You have been in worse situations than this.
*
A dark Mercedes saloon stops in front of the red information board cut in the shape of a cabin, complete with ridged roof and windows. Orjan Mjones, who had been leaning against the left wall of the Mix kiosk while he listened out for the sound of the engine, steps forwards and goes over to Jeton Pocoli and Durim Redzepi as they emerge from the car.
‘What’s happening?’ Pocoli asks.
‘He’s up there,’ Mjones says and nods in the direction of Hallingskarvet as he takes out his mobile and opens an email from Flurim Ahmetaj. The email contains a JPEG file with a map of all the cabins in Ustaoset. One of the numbered cabins has been circled in red.
Pocoli and Redzepi move closer.
‘Here is the road,’ Mjones says, pointing. ‘It bends to the right a little further up.’ He turns towards the petrol station and gestures to the right, to the back of the brown building. ‘And you can see the cabin up there.’ He points towards the red cabin. ‘There are tons of cabins here, but I bet my life that’s where he is.’
‘But won’t he see us if we take the road?’ Pocoli asks.
‘Yes, and that’s precisely why we won’t do that. We’ll split up. Before the hill begins there is a road called Nystolvegen to the right. You’ll take that and follow it for a while.’
‘But won’t he still be able to see us from the cabin?’
‘Yes, possibly. But he doesn’t know who you are. He has only met me.’
Pocoli nods. ‘So we take the long way round and approach the cabin from the rear?’
‘Yes. Spread out so you cover as much of the back as possible. Don’t get closer to the cabin than fifty metres. And take as much time as you like. There is a greater chance that he will be less vigilant if you’re the only two people he sees on the road.
‘And what will you be doing?’
‘I’ll stay here until you’re in position. Once you are, I’ll start to walk up the hill. If he sees me, he might try to run away, away from me.’
‘And then he will run right into us.’
‘Exactly.’
Pocoli nods again. ‘It sounds like a good plan.’