The Rabbit Hunter. Ларс Кеплер

that a Code Platinum has been declared.

      She runs to the hall as she listens to the final instructions, then drops the phone in her bag.

      There’s no time to lose.

      She pulls her black leather bodysuit over her naked body, feeling the cool fabric against her back and breasts, then pushes her bare feet into her boots and grabs her helmet, heavy bulletproof vest and gloves from the rack.

      Without wasting time locking the door she leaves her flat, tugging her zipper up to her chin. She pulls her helmet on, tucking in a few stray strands of blonde hair.

      There’s a filthy Triumph motorcycle out on Tavast Street. It has a shoddy muffler, frame sliders that have been repaired a number of times, and a broken transmission. She runs over to it, and lets the lock fall to the tarmac with its heavy chain.

      She straddles the motorcycle, kicks the engine into gear and sets off as fast as she can.

      Ignoring traffic lights and stop signs, she accelerates to pass a taxi.

      The engine vibrates against the inside of her knees and thighs, and the noise in her helmet sounds like a creature bellowing underwater.

      Officer Saga Bauer is five foot six, with muscles like a ballet dancer. She was once one of the best boxers in northern Europe, but stopped fighting competitively a couple of years ago.

      She’s twenty-nine years old, and still breathtakingly beautiful with her pale skin, slender neck and clear blue eyes.

      She doesn’t think about her appearance much, and never notices that people tend to smile and blush in her presence.

      A plastic bag swirls into the air in front of the motorcycle and she is dragged from her thoughts.

      When she reaches Söder Mälarstrand she turns sharply left. The pedal scrapes the road but she manages to hold the line as she passes beneath the Central Bridge and up the access ramp.

      This is the first time she’s been involved with a Code Platinum. It’s the alert reserved for the highest threats to national security.

      She feels like she’s flying as she passes the spires and narrow alleyways of Gamla stan and Riddarholmen.

      Saga has trained for scenarios like this. She is expected to act independently and not be swayed by anything, even the law.

      She can see the gloomy brick buildings of Karolinska Hospital ahead, and pulls onto the E4, pushing the three-cylinder, 900cc engine to its limits and hitting two hundred and twenty kilometres an hour. She passes Roslagstull and turns left towards the university.

      The cold air helps her stay calm as she thinks through the information she has been given and formulates an initial operational strategy.

      Saga gets off the highway and speeds along Vendevägen towards Djursholm with its lush greenery and sprawling villas. The turquoise glow of swimming pools shimmers between fruit trees and bushes.

      She pulls onto a roundabout too quickly, and takes the first exit to the right. Before her brain has time to notice the parked car her muscles instinctively react and the bike swerves sharply. She almost falls, but manages to counteract the momentum using her bodyweight. The rear wheel slides across the road. There’s a muffled thud as she hits a large plastic dustbin before she regains control of the bike and accelerates hard.

      Her heart is pumping.

      Fortunately, her motorcycle has a low centre of gravity and extremely responsive steering.

      That’s probably what saved her.

      Saga sees big yachts out on the water as she follows the wide curve of the road through the imposing houses. She’s already leaning hard to her left, but accelerates further as she reaches the shore.

       7

      Saga slows down as she approaches the address she was given.

      She lets the bike fall sideways onto the grass beside the road, drops her helmet and pulls on her bulletproof vest and holster.

      Thirteen minutes have passed since her phone woke her up.

      The alarm is shrieking inside the house.

      For a moment, she wishes Detective Joona Linna was there. She has worked alongside him in all her biggest cases so far. He’s the best police officer she’s ever met.

      She let him down once, but will never do it again.

      They lost touch after he received his prison sentence. She would have liked to visit him, but she knows he needs to construct a new life for himself. It’s going to take a lot to win the trust of the other prisoners.

      Now a Code Platinum has been declared, and Saga is on her own.

      No one else from the Security Police has arrived yet.

      She climbs over the gate and runs up to the main entrance of the villa. She inserts an opener into the lock, then the thin end of her lock-pick. She moves the pick slightly to the right inside the mechanism until the catch releases.

      The lock opens with a dull click.

      Dropping her tools on the ground she draws her Glock, releases the safety and opens the door. The sound of the howling alarm drowns out everything else.

      Saga quickly checks the entrance and large hallway beyond it, then hurries back to the alarm control panel and taps in the code she memorised.

      Silence sweeps through the house. It feels foreboding.

      With her pistol raised and her finger on the trigger she goes through the hallway, past the staircase, and reaches a large living room. She checks behind the doors and along the wall to the right, then continues in a crouch.

      One of the big windows at the back of the house has been broken. A chair is lying overturned on the floor, surrounded by sparkling fragments of glass.

      Saga moves on, towards the door to the kitchen, and sees herself reflected in the glass surfaces.

      Blood and fragments of skull are splattered across the floor, sofa and coffee table.

      She sweeps the room with her pistol then keeps moving slowly as more and more of the kitchen comes into view. She sees white cupboards and stainless steel countertops.

      She stops and listens.

      She can hear a low ticking, as if someone is tapping a fingernail on a tabletop.

      Aiming her gun at the door to the kitchen, Saga moves silently to one side of it, and sees a man lying on his back on the floor.

      He’s been shot through his chest and both eyes.

      The back of his head is gone.

      A dark puddle has spread out beneath him.

      His hands are lying by his sides, as if he’s sunbathing.

      Saga raises her pistol again and checks the rest of the kitchen.

      The curtains in front of the patio doors are swaying, billowing into the room. The rings on the curtain rod are tapping against each other.

      Blood from the first shot to the man’s head has sprayed far across the floor, and been trodden about by bare feet.

      The prints lead directly towards Saga.

      She quickly turns and sweeps her pistol around the room before walking back towards the double doors leading to the living room.

      Saga startles when, from the corner of her eye, she sees a person crawling out from their hiding place behind one of the sofas.

      She spins around just as the person stands up. It’s a woman in a blue dress. Saga points her pistol between the woman’s breasts as she takes an unsteady step.

      ‘Hands behind your head!’ Saga calls out.