Box 21 by Anders Roslund, Börge Hellström Page A

beds, he said, but never told them anything about the guests.
     
‘Yes, I do.’
     
‘I want you to go there.’
     
The calm surface rippled in the wake of a passing motor-boat, the wavelets dispersing her image.
     
‘But they’re after me; I might be on the wanted list. I’ve got to be careful.’
     
‘I want you to go back.’
     
‘Why?’
     
Silence. Lydia didn’t reply.
     
‘Lydia, tell me. Why?’
     
‘Why? Because it’s not going to happen again. What happened to me will never happen again. That’s why.’
     
Alena got up. She paced up and down along the quayside,between the iron posts, which were taller than a man.
     
‘What do you want me to do there?’
     
‘There’s a bucket with a towel in it. In the storeroom. Underneath the towel you’ll find a gun. And Semtex.’
     
‘Semtex?’
     
‘Plastic explosive. And a detonator. In plastic carrier bags.’
     
‘How do you know?’
     
‘I saw it there.’
     
‘How do you know it’s Semtex?’
     
‘I just know.’
     
Alena Sljusareva had been trying to take all this in, listening but not quite hearing what Lydia said. She said shush into the phone. Lydia kept talking, so Alena shushed her again, more loudly, hissing until the line was her own.
     
‘Lydia, I’m going to hang up now. Phone me back in two minutes. Two minutes, that’s enough.’
     
There was an afternoon sailing in a few hours. She could take it. She had the money. She had everything she needed in her shoulder bag. She wanted to go home, to see the place she called home; she wanted to close her eyes, forget about the last three years, be seventeen again and happy and lovely, be someone who had never left Klaipeda, not even to see Vilnius.
     
None of it was true or ever would be. That was then. Now she was someone different.
     
The phone rang.
     
‘I’ll help you.’
     
‘Thank you, Alena. I love you.’
     
Alena felt nervous, carried on marching between the iron posts, up and down with the phone pressed to her ear.
     
‘Number forty-six, you’ll see the figures quite high up the door. There is a small padlock, nothing special. The bucket is just inside the door, to the right when you go in. The gun and some ammunition is in one of the bags, the Semtex is next to it. Take the lot and then go to the Central Station, to our box.’
     
‘I was there yesterday.’
     
‘Was everything all right?’
     
Alena took her time.
     
Their box was a small, square metal lock-up, set into the stone of a waiting-room wall. Their lives were stored in box 21.
     
‘Everything was fine.’
     
‘Get the video.’
     
That video. Alena had almost forgotten about it and the faceless man who liked being filmed. Once, he had asked her to make love with Lydia. Alena had refused, but Lydia had caressed her cheek when he was watching and said they could touch each other, that he could film them, if they could make their own film afterwards.
     
‘Now?’
     
‘Yes, it’s the right time. We’ll use it.’
     
‘Are you sure?’
     
‘Dead certain.’
     
Lydia cleared her throat before starting to explain.
     
‘I’ve been lying here just thinking about everything. My arm hurts and my back feels like it’s on fire. It’s hard to sleep. I’ve written down my thoughts. Worked it all out, read it, scribbled bits out and rewritten. Alena, I am absolutely sure. Someone has to know. This must never happen again.’
     
Alena looked at the large blue ferry waiting a few hundred metres away. She wouldn’t get back to the harbour in time. Not today. But tomorrow was another day and the departure time was the same. All she had to do was vanish for one more night. It could be done.
     
‘Then what?’
     
‘Then come here, to Söder Hospital. There’s a guard keeping an eye on me, so we can’t talk. I’ll be sitting in the patients’ dayroom and watching TV. There are other patients around most of the time, people I don’t know, so I won’t be alone. There’s a toilet next to the dayroom. If I sit onthe sofa, I’ll see you when you go past. Go into