Wallander discussed his two theories regarding Landahl with the group, and no one had any objections to make. The discussion proceeded calmly and methodically, but Wallander sensed that under the surface everyone was impatient to return to their individual tasks.
When they finished, Wallander had decided to concentrate his energies on Tynnes Falk. He was more convinced than ever before that everything started with him. Lundberg’s murder had to be pushed aside for now, and its exact connection with the other events still remained to be determined. The question Wallander kept returning to was very simple. What dark forces had been set in motion when Falk had died during his evening walk? Had he died from natural causes? Wallander spent the next few hours calling the coroner’s office in Lund and talking again to the pathologist who had performed the autopsy on Falk. He also again called Enander, Falk’s physician who had visited Wallander at the police station. As before, there was no consensus, but by lunchtime, when Wallander’s stomach was screaming with hunger, he was convinced that Falk had in fact died a natural death. No crime had been committed per se, but this sudden death in front of a cash machine had set a certain course of events in motion.
Wallander pulled over a sheet of paper and wrote the following words:
Falk.
Minks.
Angola.
He looked at what he had written, then added a final item.
20.
The list formed an impenetrable matrix. What was it he was unable to perceive? In order to assuage his sense of irritation and impatience, he left the station and took a walk. He stopped in at a pizzeria and ate. Then he returned to his office and stayed there until five. He was on the verge of giving up. He couldn’t see a motive or logic behind any of the events. He couldn’t get through.
He was about to get a cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was Martinsson.
“I’m at Runnerström Square,” he said. “It’s finally happened.”
“What?”
“Modin got through. He’s in. And there are strange things happening on the screen down here.”
Wallander threw down the receiver.
At last, he thought. We have finally broken through.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was unfortunate that Wallander didn’t think to look around as he got out of his car at Runnerström Square. If he had, he might have caught a glimpse of the shadow that quickly retreated into the darkness further up the street. He would then have known not only that someone was watching them, but that this someone was always in their presence and knew what they were doing — almost what they were thinking. The undercover cars that were posted on Apelbergsgatan and Runnerström Square had not stopped him.
But Wallander didn’t look around. He locked his car and hurried over to Falk’s building, eager to see for himself the strange things Martinsson claimed were happening on Falk’s computer. When Wallander walked in, both Modin and Martinsson were staring at the screen. Wallander was surprised to see that Martinsson had brought in the kind of folding chair that people used on camping or hunting trips. There were also two additional computers in the room. Modin and Martinsson were mumbling and pointing. Wallander could almost feel the intense concentration emanating from them. He greeted the others without receiving much in the way of a reply.
The screen really did look different now. The chaotic swarms of numbers were gone, replaced by more orderly, fixed arrangements of numbers. Robert Modin had removed his headphones. His hands wandered back and forth between the three keyboards like a virtuoso playing three different instruments at once. Wallander waited. Martinsson had a pad of paper in his hands, and from time to time Modin asked him to write something down. It was clear that Modin was running the show. After about ten minutes it was as if they suddenly became aware of Wallander’s presence. Modin stopped typing.
“What’s happening?” Wallander asked. “And why are there now three computers?”
“If you can’t get over the mountain, you have to go around it,” Modin said. His face was shiny with sweat, but he looked happy.
“It’s best if Robert explains,” Martinsson said.
“I never did manage to find out what the password was,” the boy said. “But I brought in my own computers and connected them to Falk’s. Then I was able to get in through the back door, you could say.”
Wallander felt the discussion was already getting too abstract. He knew computers had windows, but he had never heard anything about there being doors.
“How did that work?”
“It’s hard to explain more precisely without getting into technical details. Moreover, it’s kind of a trade secret that I’d rather not get into.”
“Okay, so skip it. What have you found?”
Martinsson took over.
“Falk was connected to the Internet, of course, and in a file with the bizarre name ‘Jacob’s Marsh’ we found a long row of phone numbers arranged in a particular order. Or at least that was what we thought. No more codes. There were two columns, one consisting of names and then a long number. Right now we’re trying to figure out exactly what these are.”
“There are actually both phone numbers and codes in there,” Modin added. “And there are long number combinations that serve as code names for various institutions across the world. There are codes for the USA, Asia, Europe, even for Brazil and Nigeria.”
“What kind of institutions are we talking about?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Martinsson said. “But we found at least one that Robert recognized right away. That was why we called you.”
“What was it?”
“The Pentagon,” Modin said.
Wallander couldn’t decide if there was a note of triumph or fear in Modin’s voice.
“What does that mean, then?”
“We don’t know yet,” Martinsson said. “But there is a lot of classified, perhaps even illegally obtained, information stored in this computer. It could mean that Falk had obtained access to all of these institutions.”
“I have the feeling that someone like me has been working on this computer,” Modin said suddenly.
“So Falk was breaking into other people’s computer networks?”
“That seems to be the case.”
Wallander understood less and less. But his sense of anxiety was returning.
“And what could all this classfied information be used for?” he asked. “Can you discern a purpose?”
“It’s too early for that,” Martinsson said. “First we have to identify more of these institutions. Then we might get a clearer picture. But it will take time. Everything is complicated, especially because Falk arranged it precisely so that no one from the outside would be able to look in and see what he was doing.”
He got up from the folding chair.
“I have to go home for a while,” he said. “It’s Terese’s birthday today. But I’ll be back soon.”
He handed Wallander the pad.
“Give her my congratulations,” he said. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
In his mind Wallander remembered her as a little girl. Wallander had been to her fifth birthday party. He thought about the fact that she was two years older than Eva Persson.
Martinsson started walking away, then stopped.
“I forgot to tell you that I talked to Larsen,” he said.
It took Wallander a few seconds to place his name.