Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [137]
The Yellow Dragon looked straight at Annika, she daren’t even breathe.
‘Stand in the corner,’ he said, pointing.
‘We can’t have a reporter here, surely you can understand that,’ Karina Björnlund said animatedly. ‘I won’t agree to that.’
The Dragon raised a hand. ‘That’s enough now,’ he said. ‘Our group commander bears the responsibility.’
He put his hands in his pockets.
The gun, Annika thought.
‘It’s very cold today,’ he said. ‘I shall be brief.’
Yngve the alcoholic stepped forward. ‘Great,’ he said, ‘but has anyone got something to drink?’
Hans Blomberg undid the top button of his jacket, and from his inside pocket he pulled out a bottle of Absolut. Yngve’s eyes lit up, his lips parting in rapture, and he took the bottle as gently as if it were a baby.
‘I thought we might have a little celebration,’ Hans Blomberg said, nodding encouragingly.
Yngve unscrewed the cap with tears in his eyes. Annika looked down at the floor and wriggled her toes to stop them from going stiff.
What were they going to do with her?
It’s not like the tunnel, it’s not like the tunnel.
Karina Björnlund put her bag down on the floor again.
‘I don’t understand what we’re doing here,’ she said.
‘Your power has made you impatient,’ Göran Nilsson said, looking at the minister with his dragon’s eyes, pausing until he had everyone’s full attention. Then he tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling.
‘I am very aware that some of you were surprised to get my call,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time since I gathered you together like this, and I appreciate that it aroused mixed feelings. But there’s no need for you to be scared.’
He looked straight at the Minister of Culture.
‘I’m not here to harm you,’ he said. ‘I’m here to thank you. You became the only family I had, and I say that without any sentimentality.’
‘So why did you kill Margit, then?’ Karina Björnlund said, her voice tight with fear.
Göran Nilsson shook his head, his stinking yellow dragon head, his divine, revolting ruler’s head.
‘You’re not listening,’ he said. ‘You’re just talking. You weren’t like this before. Power really has changed you.’
Hans Blomberg took a step forward, apparently tired of the lack of focus. ‘Tell me what I should do,’ he said to his leader. ‘I’m ready for armed struggle.’
Göran Nilsson turned to him, sorrow in his eyes. ‘Panther,’ he said, ‘there won’t be any armed struggle. I’ve come home to die.’
The archivist’s eyes opened wide, an imbecilic expression spreading across his face.
‘But you’re back now,’ he said. ‘You’re here again, our leader, we’ve been waiting years. The revolution is near.’
‘The revolution is dead,’ the Dragon said harshly. ‘Capitalist society that treats human beings like cattle has won, and with it all the false ideologies: democracy, freedom of expression, justice before the law, women’s rights.’
Hans Blomberg listened devoutly, Karina Björnlund seemed to shrink with every word, and the alcoholic was completely absorbed in his newfound bottle of bliss.
‘The working class has been reduced to a brain-washed horde of cretinous consumers,’ he said. ‘There’s no desire to improve things any more. The false authorities herd people into the meat-grinder without a word of protest.’
He fixed his eyes on Karina Björnlund.
‘The authorities use people up, now as then,’ he said, his voice clear and steady. ‘They wring us out like dishcloths and then they throw us away. This is how it has always been, but today it is governments elected by the people that permit the buyers of labour to exploit us until we break. I have accepted that this is the case, and I have fought against it in my own way. Revolution?’ He shook his head. ‘There’ll never be any revolution. Humanity has bartered it for Coca-Cola and cable television.’
Hans Blomberg stared at him, his eyes blank and bewildered. ‘But that’s not true. You’re back, and I’ve been waiting so long. I’ve trained all these years, just as you said, and I’m ready. It isn’t too late.’
Göran Nilsson raised his hand.
‘I have very little