whispering about agreements and smelling of tobacco? Had that even actually happened, or was it just a migraine-fueled hallucination? He was inclined to think it was, but he couldn’t be sure. Not here.
Sarac looked at the note again. His migraine attack, absurdly, seemed to have helped a bit. He felt better, his head clearer than before. He had taken off the sling and freed his left arm. His shoulder was still tender but usable. His right leg, on the other hand, slid about of its own accord, and he couldn’t rely a hundred percent on his right arm either. But at least he could move about with the help of the aluminium crutch someone had left beside his bed.
He opened the tall, narrow wardrobe and pulled on the clothes he found inside. The jeans had been washed, no sign of the accident. The same with his socks and boots. There was no sign of his top or jacket, and he guessed the paramedics had been forced to cut them to shreds, so he had to keep the white hospital shirt on. He tucked it into his trousers in an effort to make himself look less like an escaped patient.
His keys and wallet were on the little shelf at the top, but not his police ID. One of his colleagues was probably looking after it for him – Bergh, perhaps? That seemed logical.
He couldn’t find his cell phone either, which actually troubled him more than his police ID. His phone contained all his contacts. Information that could help him remember. He would have to ask Molnar about it, call him as soon as he got home and had safely locked the door behind him.
Sarac heard the elevator ping and looked out into the corridor again. Two men in dark suits got out, and one of them started talking to the guard.
Somber faces, neither of them remotely familiar, but he still guessed they were talking about him. Sure enough, the guard pointed toward his door. Sarac felt his pulse quicken. He didn’t know who the men were, for whom they worked, or what they wanted with him. Nor why their appearance should make his heart race.
The only thing he knew for certain, the only clarity that had emerged from the wretched haze of the past few days, was that somewhere inside his ravaged brain lay the answers to all his questions. Why he was here, what had happened in the hours leading up to the accident, and the reason for the ever-more-tangible feeling that he was in danger. Imminent danger.
I collect secrets … The question is, whose secrets?
The men in suits started walking straight toward his door, with the guard right behind them. Sarac took a deep breath. The message on the note had been right, he needed to get out of there, immediately!
He looked around the room, then stared at the window. There was a fire escape outside, he’d already spotted that. Six storeys down on steep, snow-covered metal steps and frozen railings, leading down to a narrow alleyway.
He could hear the voices getting closer in the corridor. Realized he had to make a decision. He grabbed one of the sheets from the bed and opened the window. Ice-cold night air hit his face, making him gasp with shock. He glanced down quickly into the darkness. It was just about possible. It had to be possible!
The door flew open and the two suited men walked into the room, closely followed by the uniformed guard. The men looked around, saw the empty bed, then the wide-open window.
‘Shit!’ the shorter one hissed. ‘He’s got out.’
The man ran over to the window and stuck his head out. Far below he could see something white flapping in the darkness.
‘The fire escape,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go this way. Cut him off down in the alley!’
He swung his leg over the windowsill and climbed out as the guard and the other man spun around and started to run toward the elevators.
A minute or so later Sarac carefully opened the wardrobe door and laboriously slid out. He stifled a groan as his body protested. He grabbed the crutch, forcing the fingers of his right hand to grasp the plastic handle, then peered cautiously out into the corridor.
Empty, apart from one nurse at the far end by the reception desk. She had her back to him and seemed to be busy on the phone.
He crept out slowly and set off toward a glass door farther along the corridor.
Ward temporarily closed, a handwritten sign announced.
Sarac felt the door: unlocked – probably in case of an emergency evacuation. Thank God for Swedish health and safety regulations! He slipped quickly inside and limped along a narrow passageway that led to another, similar glass door.
The next ward looked much like his own, with the only difference that the lights were all switched off. The only light in the corridor leaked in through the windows or came from the emergency exit signs. It was also completely quiet. No voices, no telephones ringing, no machines humming, no alarms ringing. Just a ghostly silence that was broken a few seconds later by an ambulance siren. He needed to hurry; by now the men must have found the sheet on the fire escape and realized he’d tricked them.
Sarac limped off toward the elevators as fast as he could, struggling to get his body to cooperate. Sweat was already pouring down his back. Strange how something as easy as walking in a straight line could suddenly become so fucking difficult.
When he was just a few metres from the elevators one of them pinged. The up arrow on the wall lit up and a narrow strip of light rose up between the doors. Someone was about to get out. Someone who would wonder what he was doing there, who would probably ask questions he couldn’t answer. Sarac looked around, saw the nurses’ little reception desk, and ducked down behind it. He pulled the crutch closer and tried to ignore his body’s protests. On the floor of the corridor just a metre or so away he saw a rapidly growing rectangle of light as the elevator doors opened. In the middle of the patch of light was the dark silhouette of a man.
Sarac held his breath and waited.
The man got out of the elevator and stood still for a few seconds, as if to get his bearings. His shadow covered most of the rectangle of light from the elevator, making him look enormous. Sarac felt a stab of pain and his pulse rocketed. He pushed back against the reception desk. His body ached, his head was thudding. A memory flickered past and vanished before he could grab it. Flashing blue lights, shadows playing on a tunnel wall.
He heard footsteps as the man went past. Sarac caught a glimpse of a green operating gown and a pair of broad shoulders. Most of the man’s head was obscured by a little green cap and a breathing mask.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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