“Mm.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He ended the call. Tapped O for Oleg. Just as he was about to press the Call button he hesitated. He clicked the message symbol instead and typed:Call you tomorrow.
31
Harry was lying on his back on top of the duvet, almost fully dressed. His Dr. Martens boots were standing on the floor beside the bed, his coat draped over the chair. Kaja was lying under the duvet, but right beside him with her head on his arm.
“You feel exactly the same,” she said, running her hand over his sweater. “All these years, and nothing’s changed. It’s not fair.”
“I’ve started to smell of BO,” he said.
She stuck her face into his armpit and sniffed. “Rubbish, you smell good, you smell of Harry.”
“That’s the left one. It’s the right one that’s changed. Maybe it’s age.”
Kaja laughed quietly. “You know research has shown that it’s a myth that old people smell worse? According to a Japanese study, the aroma component 2-nonenal is only found in people over forty, but in blind tests the sweat of older people was found to smell better than people in their thirties.”
“Bloody hell,” Harry said. “You’ve just theorised away the fact that I smell like shit on the other side.”
Kaja laughed. The soft laugh he had been longing for.Herlaughter.
“So tell me,” she said. “You and Bohr.”
Harry was granted a cigarette and started at the beginning. He told her about Roar Bohr’s cabin, and how Bohr had overpowered him in the room below them. About coming to in the empty premises that used to belong to E14, and his conversation with Bohr. He repeated it more or less in detail, minus the last part. The offer to carry out the execution.
Oddly, Kaja didn’t seem particularly shocked that Bohr had executed one of his own soldiers. Or that he had kept watch over her both in Kabul and here in Oslo.
“I thought you might freak out a bit when I told you you’d been under observation without knowing it.”
She shook her head and borrowed his cigarette. “I never saw him, but sometimes I just had a feeling. You see, when Bohr found out I’d lost my older brother the same way he lost his younger sister, he started to treat me a bit like a surrogate younger sister. It was only little things, like the fact that I got a bit more backup than the others when I went out on jobs beyond the secure zones. I pretended never to notice. And being watched is something you get used to.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, yes.” She put the cigarette back between his lips. “When I was working in Basra, there were mostly British people in the coalition forces around the hotel where the Red Cross team were living. And the British are different, you know. The Americans work broadly, they sweep streets and talk about ‘snake procedure’ when they’re out to get someone; they go straight forward and literally smash through walls that are in their way. They claim it’s quicker as well as more terrifying, which shouldn’t be undervalued. Whereas the British…”—she traced her fingers across his chest—“they sneak along by the walls, they’re invisible. There was a curfew after eight o’clock, but sometimes we used to go out onto the hotel roof outside the bar. We never saw them, but occasionally I would see a couple of red dots on the person I was standing next to. And he saw the same on me. Like a discreet message from the Brits that they were there. And that we should go back inside. It made me feel safer.”
“Mm.” Harry took a drag on his cigarette. “Who was he?”
“Who?”
“The guy you saw the dots on.”
Kaja smiled. But her eyes looked sad. “Anton. He was with the ICRC. Most people don’t realise it, but there are two Red Crosses. There’s the IFRC, who are regular health workers under the command of the UN. And then there’s the ICRC, which mostly consists of Swiss nationals and has its headquarters outside the UN building in Geneva. They’re the Red Cross equivalent of the Marines and Special Forces. You don’t often hear about them, but they’re the first in and the last out. They do everything the UN can’t do because of safety considerations. It’s the ICRC who go around at night counting bodies, that sort of thing. ICRC staff keep a low profile, but you can recognise them by the fact their shirts are more expensive and they exude a feeling that they’re a bit superior to the rest of us.”
“Because they are?”
Kaja took a deep breath. “Yes. But they’re just as liable to die of shrapnel from a mine.”
“Mm. Did you love him?”
“Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Iwas jealous.”
