Once, Carter had been convinced that these were the people who would create the new order. But he didn’t believe it any longer. And then it was just as well to destroy the world, smashing it into bits.
The sun had already pulled itself up over the horizon. Carter thought again about what had happened. Tynnes Falk was dead. That which should never have happened, had happened. They had always been aware of the fact that something beyond their control might occur and interfere with their plans. They had included this in their calculations and had taken every precaution they could think of. But they had never been able to imagine that one of them might die. A meaningless and unplanned death. But this was what had happened. When Carter first got that call from Sweden, he had refused to believe it was true. But he had been forced to accept it at last. His friend Tynnes Falk no longer existed. It hurt him and changed all their plans. And it had happened at the worst possible time — right when they were about to strike. Now he was the only one left on the threshold of the great moment. But life always consisted of more than carefully laid plans and conscious decisions. There were always coincidences.
Their great operation already had a name in his head: Jacob’s Marsh. On one rare occasion, Falk had drunk a lot of wine and started talking about his childhood. He had grown up on an estate where his father was some kind of caretaker. There had been a marsh next to a particular strip of forest. It had been bordered by beautiful, chaotic wildflowers, according to Falk. He had played there many times as a child, watching the dragonflies and having the best times in his life. He had explained why it was called Jacob’s Marsh. A long time ago a man named Jacob had drowned himself there due to unrequited love.
The marsh had acquired extra significance for Falk later in life, not least after his meeting with Carter and the realization that they shared some of their most fundamental understandings of life. The marsh became a symbol for the chaos of life, where the only way open in the end was to go and drown yourself. Or at the very least make sure everyone else did.
Jacob’s Marsh. That was a good name. Not that the operation needed a name, but it was a way to honor Falk’s memory. A gesture only Carter would be able to appreciate.
He stayed in bed a few more moments and thought about Falk. But when he realized he was starting to get sentimental he got up, took a shower, and went down to the dining room to eat his breakfast.
He spent the rest of the morning in his living room, listening to some Beethoven string quartets until he couldn’t stand Celine’s clatter in the kitchen any longer. Then he went to the beach and took a walk. His chauffeur and bodyguard, Alfredo, walked a short distance behind him. Whenever Carter went into Luanda and saw the social disintegration, garbage heaps, poverty, and misery he felt the action he was taking was justified.
He walked along the ocean and looked back at the decomposing city from time to time. Whatever rose from the ashes after the fire he was going to start would be better than this.
He was back at the house shortly before eleven. Celine had gone home. He drank a cup of coffee and a glass of water. Then he retired to his study on the second floor. It had a breathtaking view over the harbor, but he pulled the curtains shut. He liked the evenings best. He needed to keep the strong African sun away from his sensitive eyes. He sat down at the computer and went through his daily routine.
Somewhere deep inside that electronic world, an invisible clock was ticking. Falk had created it from Carter’s instructions. It was Sunday, the twelfth of October, only eight days away from D-day.
He was done with his regular checks at a quarter past eleven.
He was about to turn off the computer when he froze. A small icon had just started flashing in the corner of the screen. The rhythm was two short flashes, then one long. He took out the manual that Falk had written for him and looked through it until he found the right page.
At first he thought there had to be a mistake. Then he realized it was all too true. Someone had just broken through the first layer of security into Falk’s computer in Sweden. In that little town, Ystad, that Carter had only ever seen in postcards.
He stared at the screen, unable to believe his eyes. Falk had sworn that the system would be impossible to break into.
But still someone had done it.
Carter started sweating. He forced himself to remain calm. There were many layers to the security system in Falk’s computer, and the innermost core of the program was buried under miles and miles of decoys and firewalls that no one could penetrate.
But someone was trying to get in.
Carter thought hard. He had immediately sent someone to Ystad after hearing of Falk’s death. There had been several unfortunate incidents, but until now Carter had thought that everything was under control, especially since he had reacted so quickly and without hesitation.
He decided that everything was still under control, even though he couldn’t deny that someone had broken through the first line of defense in Falk’s computer and was possibly trying to go further. This needed to be taken care of as soon as possible.
Who could it be? Carter had trouble imagining that it was one of the policemen he had heard about through his informant, the ones who seemed to be sorting out the details surrounding Falk’s death and the other events with what appeared to be complacency.
But who else could it be?
He found no answer and remained motionless in front of his computer as dusk fell over Luanda. When he finally got up from the desk he was still outwardly calm.
But a problem had arisen, and it was something that needed to be rectified.
He missed Falk more than ever.
He typed his message and sent it off into the electronic realm.
His answer came after about a minute.
Wallander was standing behind Martinsson. Robert Modin was sitting in front of the computer, where an ever-changing matrix of numbers was rushing by on the screen. Then the screen started to calm down. Only the occasional ones and zeroes flashed by. Then it became completely dark. Robert looked at Martinsson, who nodded. Robert continued to tap commands into the computer, and new hordes of numbers started flashing by. Then they stopped again. Both Martinsson and Wallander leaned over.
“I have no idea what this is,” Robert said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Could it be a computation of some kind?” Martinsson wondered. Robert shook his head.
“I don’t think so. It looks like a system of numbers awaiting a command.”
It was Martinsson’s turn to shake his head.
“Can you explain what you mean?” he asked.
“It can’t be a calculation. There is no evidence of any equations here. The numbers only relate to themselves. I think it looks more like a code.”
Wallander was unsatisfied. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it was hardly a horde of meaningless numbers.
“Didn’t people stop with codes after the Second World War?” he asked, but there was no answer from the other two.
They kept staring at the numbers.
“It’s something to do with the number twenty,” Robert said suddenly.
Martinsson leaned forward again, but Wallander’s back was starting to hurt and he remained upright. Robert pointed and explained what he meant to Martinsson, who nodded and listened with interest. Wallander’s thoughts started to drift.
“Could it be something to do with the year 2000?” Martinsson asked. “Isn’t that when electronic chaos is supposed to break out and all computers are going to go haywire?”
“It’s not 2000,” Robert said stubbornly. “It’s the number twenty. And no computers ever simply go haywire. It’s people who do that.”