play, and in total he’d only earned four hundred points and had actually slipped two places on the list. The flow of love that had washed over him after the business in Kungsträdgården had quickly reduced to the Manneken-fucking-Pis. A pathetic little trickle that stung more than it did any good. And someone else appeared to have replaced him as clip of the week, a clown who had thrown a pie at some world-famous business leader that HP had never even heard of. Ridiculous, a piece of piss, and nowhere near his own achievement.
To make the whole thing even worse, he was running out of money.
He’d soon have to take up Mange’s offer of doing some casual work in the computer shop to pay the bills.
He needed a new mission.
A task that challenged him, something more in line with what he was capable of. And he needed it soon, because right now this shit was damn useless!
♦ ♦ ♦
“Okay, attention, Alpha One!”
Vahtola stepped into the room and the chatter among the six bodyguards died away instantly.
“Welcome to today’s assignment,” she began curtly. “You’ll be deployed as follows: one plus three will reinforce the prime minister’s group, he’s due to land at twenty forty-five at Bromma, and, as you all know, after Kungsträdgården we’re doubling up.”
Nods of agreement from the whole group, no one could object to the logic of that following the warning shot that the royal party had quite literally been subjected to a week or so before.
“Bengtsson, you can have Kruse, Savic, and Normén. Take two standard cars. The prime minister has his armored vehicle plus one, so you’ll be a total of four vehicles. Channel twenty-eight as usual. Questions?”
Bengtsson, a wiry man somewhere in his forties with thinning hair, Vahtola’s second in command, merely shook his head quickly.
“Good, you can get going at once,” Vahtola concluded, and a few minutes later they were sitting in the cars.
Bengtsson had made it easy for them by letting them divide up among themselves before they set off, and Rebecca hadintentionally kept close to Kruse, a sturdy man from Gothenburg who had been in Alpha since the group was formed. She hadn’t spoken to Dejan since the incident in the self-defense class, even though she knew she should probably apologize to him. After all, he was the one who ended up getting hurt, not her. But for some reason it hadn’t happened and now too much time had passed.
The injury was still visible from the plaster supporting the bridge of Dejan’s nose, and he shot sullen looks in her direction whenever he got the chance.
Macho dumbass!
Kruse, on the other hand, was more like a kindly uncle; he didn’t really give her any sort of looks at all, usually spoke about his wife and their almost grown-up kids back home in Gothenburg, whom he only saw when he had time off. She’d asked him why he hadn’t tried to get a post closer to home, but he had just laughed:
“Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard, Normén. You’ll realize that soon enough. Besides, Iréne doesn’t want me cluttering the place up during the week.”
They booked out an ordinary black Volvo S60 and set off after Bengtsson and Dejan’s Suburban. Quarter of an hour or so later they were out at Bromma Airport.
♦ ♦ ♦
Finally it had arrived!
He had almost given up hope, and had been toying with the idea of giving up altogether and getting rid of the cell to the Greek when the light finally started to flash.
Three days in Mange’s shop had been quite okay. Washing the floor, running cables, and playing World of Warcraftwhenever he got the chance. And five hundred tax-free kronor in his hand if the till could spare it, so it wasn’t actually too bad.
The customers were pretty okay as well. Mostly a load of nerds who wanted advice about various gadgets, and seemed to look up to Mange as if he was some sort of holy guru.
Everywhere else Mangelito was just small fry, completely lost, but in
To make the whole thing even worse, he was running out of money.
He’d soon have to take up Mange’s offer of doing some casual work in the computer shop to pay the bills.
He needed a new mission.
A task that challenged him, something more in line with what he was capable of. And he needed it soon, because right now this shit was damn useless!
♦ ♦ ♦
“Okay, attention, Alpha One!”
Vahtola stepped into the room and the chatter among the six bodyguards died away instantly.
“Welcome to today’s assignment,” she began curtly. “You’ll be deployed as follows: one plus three will reinforce the prime minister’s group, he’s due to land at twenty forty-five at Bromma, and, as you all know, after Kungsträdgården we’re doubling up.”
Nods of agreement from the whole group, no one could object to the logic of that following the warning shot that the royal party had quite literally been subjected to a week or so before.
“Bengtsson, you can have Kruse, Savic, and Normén. Take two standard cars. The prime minister has his armored vehicle plus one, so you’ll be a total of four vehicles. Channel twenty-eight as usual. Questions?”
Bengtsson, a wiry man somewhere in his forties with thinning hair, Vahtola’s second in command, merely shook his head quickly.
“Good, you can get going at once,” Vahtola concluded, and a few minutes later they were sitting in the cars.
Bengtsson had made it easy for them by letting them divide up among themselves before they set off, and Rebecca hadintentionally kept close to Kruse, a sturdy man from Gothenburg who had been in Alpha since the group was formed. She hadn’t spoken to Dejan since the incident in the self-defense class, even though she knew she should probably apologize to him. After all, he was the one who ended up getting hurt, not her. But for some reason it hadn’t happened and now too much time had passed.
The injury was still visible from the plaster supporting the bridge of Dejan’s nose, and he shot sullen looks in her direction whenever he got the chance.
Macho dumbass!
Kruse, on the other hand, was more like a kindly uncle; he didn’t really give her any sort of looks at all, usually spoke about his wife and their almost grown-up kids back home in Gothenburg, whom he only saw when he had time off. She’d asked him why he hadn’t tried to get a post closer to home, but he had just laughed:
“Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard, Normén. You’ll realize that soon enough. Besides, Iréne doesn’t want me cluttering the place up during the week.”
They booked out an ordinary black Volvo S60 and set off after Bengtsson and Dejan’s Suburban. Quarter of an hour or so later they were out at Bromma Airport.
♦ ♦ ♦
Finally it had arrived!
He had almost given up hope, and had been toying with the idea of giving up altogether and getting rid of the cell to the Greek when the light finally started to flash.
Three days in Mange’s shop had been quite okay. Washing the floor, running cables, and playing World of Warcraftwhenever he got the chance. And five hundred tax-free kronor in his hand if the till could spare it, so it wasn’t actually too bad.
The customers were pretty okay as well. Mostly a load of nerds who wanted advice about various gadgets, and seemed to look up to Mange as if he was some sort of holy guru.
Everywhere else Mangelito was just small fry, completely lost, but in
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