‘I am Commander of the Norwegian resistance movement.’
‘Yes, hello.’
‘Can you put me through to the Delta operations manager?’
‘Yes… where do you come in, and what’s it about?’
‘I’m on Utøya.’
‘You’re on Utøya, yes.’
‘I have completed my operation, so I want to… give myself up.’
‘You want to give yourself up, yes.’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Anders Behring Breivik.’
‘And you were a commander of…?’
‘Knights Templar Europe, the organisation is called, but we are organised in… the anti-communist resistance movement against the Islamisation of Europe and Norway.’
‘Yes.’
‘We have just carried out an operation on behalf of the Knights Templar.’
‘Yes…’
‘Europe and Norway.’
‘Yes…’
‘And in view of the fact that the operation is complete, then… it’s acceptable to surrender to Delta.’
‘You want to surrender to Delta?’
‘Can you… can you put me through to the chief of operations at Delta?’
‘Well, the thing is, you’re talking to someone with, er, in a way, superior authority.’
‘Okay, just find out what you need to and then call me on this phone here, all right?’
‘Hmm, but what telephone number?’
‘Brilliant, bye.’
‘I haven’t got that telephone number. Hello?’
Once more Breivik had called from a mobile without a working SIM card, one from which you could only make emergency calls. The operator therefore could not see the telephone number on the screen.
TheCommander of the anti-communist resistance movement against the Islamisation of Europe and Norway decided to carry on until he was neutralised.
He went south. He followed the pebbles on the beach.
The fastest boat reached the island at 18.27. Four men from the emergency response unit were dropped off at the landing stage. Some AUF members came running up and pointed north, to Bolsjevika and Stoltenberget.
‘He’s there! He’s there!’
That was the last place where Breivik had shot anyone. But since then he had come past the landing stage, via his base at the back of the main building, where he had rung 112, and then gone south.
Delta moved north while Breivik headed for the southern tip of the island.
As he approached the southern tip he saw a bunch of people partly hidden by bushes and undergrowth. They did not see him coming. He realised he had been here before. There were lots of dead and wounded bodies strewn on the ground. Some people were standing in the water, a little way out. The terrain was flat here, with no steep places or sheer cliffs; the island sloped gradually into the water.
A couple of girls noticed the uniformed man approaching.
‘Oh, police! Police! Help us, help us!’
He walked calmly towards them.
‘Which of you need help?’ he asked. He went right up to them. Then he opened fire.
High above, it was all being filmed. The helicopter above the island did not belong to the police, as the killer had thought. It had been chartered by NRK, the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation. The camera team had been filming above the government quarter when the desk editor told them to head to Utøya.
It was too far down for the cameraman to make out through his lens what he was filming. It was only later, when he saw the footage, that he realised he had been filming a massacre.
Breivik stood by the water and saw several people swimming out. A yellow speedboat came towards him. It stopped to pick up some of the swimmers. He fired a few shots, causing the boat to make a rapid turn and retreat over the fjord at speed, away from him, away from the island, away from the youngsters in the water.
Meanwhile, the boat containing Håvard Gåsbakk and five other officers was just putting in to the island. The six on board had heard the shots and seen the bullets hailing down into the water, so they knew which direction they would have to take.
One man stayed on the spot to secure the ferry landing stage, the others moved south in a five-man formation. First the man with the shield, then the others. They forced their way through bushes and scrub to get down to the water, but the undergrowth was so thick that they had to turn inland, up a little path through the woods, and then back down to where the shots were coming from.
Meanwhile, on the southern tip of the island a girl was hit twice in the head and once in the chest as the armed men were walking along the path. Another kid got a bullet through the neck while the men were jogging across open ground. A third, through her head while they were changing shield carrier. A fourth was shot twice in the back as the five men drew nearer. The fifth, a boy, was shot three times, first in the back to bring him down, then through the head and neck, and the men were still not there.
They were running along the gravel path.
We’ll come under fire now. We’ll be shot at, thought Gåsbakk. This is going to be a firefight. The father of two had still not seen any of the dead bodies on the island. The men’s route was outside Breivik’s sphere of operations. The murderer had avoided that stretch because it was in full view of the mainland and there was a risk of being shot.
I’d be crazy to raise my visor, thought Gåsbakk, but lifted it all the same. It was so steamed up in the damp weather that it was impossible to see clearly through it. He heard the rapid succession of shots, a heavy weapon in action.
The gloves are off for this one, he thought, looking down at his MP5 machine pistol, which was nothing compared with the weapon he could hear, something with much more power and range. He felt at a distinct disadvantage.
I should have given Eilif that cuddle, he thought. This could be my last run.
Breivik stood over the people he had killed. Beside him was a boy who looked ‘too fucking young’.
‘You killed my dad! You killed my dad!’ cried the boy. ‘You’ve got to stop shooting now. You’ve done enough killing! Leave us alone.’
Breivik looked down at him, and thought he looked awfully small for a teenager. Perhaps this one was not an indoctrinated cultural Marxist yet.
‘It’s going to be all right, it’s going to be fine,’ he told the small boy.
The boy did not move, but shouted: ‘He let me live! He spared me!’
Breivik turned to go up to his base for more ammunition.
The five men came to the end of the path and swapped shield carrier again. They stood quietly. He must be very close by. They squatted down and secured their position. Listened. It was a while since they had heard a shot. There were no sounds to go on now. One of the Delta men started calling out.
‘Shut up!’ said Gåsbakk. It was unwise to call out until they knew where he was. ‘Keep listening!’
They advanced again. After a hundred metres they came to a low, red building, the schoolhouse. They made for the south-west corner, keeping potential firing zones covered as they went.
All was quiet.
They saw a movement in the undergrowth, fifty metres away. Something reflective gave a glint. They lost sight of the figure. They crossed Lovers’ Path. They advanced through the thicket from two directions. Then a man in police uniform was standing there ahead of them.
‘Delta, Delta,’ they shouted.
Now they’ll shoot me, thought Breivik. But at the same time, they seemed a bit bewildered. They had probably expected a dark-skinned man, he thought.
‘Armed police! Stand still! Hands up!’ one of them shouted.
Breivik set down his rifle, propping it against a tree.