‘I cost you money, I understand that,’ says Viktor. ‘I refuse to recommend you. But you understand why? Cryptocurrency is risky.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ says Joyce. ‘Someone’s been reading the mainstream media.’ She ruffles Alan’s hair. ‘Haven’t they, Alan? Yes, they have.’
‘You’re living in the past,’ says the Viking.
‘There is truth in that,’ says Viktor. ‘I live where I am comfortable. I live where my skills are. You will be the same in thirty, forty years. Talking about cryptocurrency while the youngsters laugh at you. But you know what is good for you here? I live in the past because I’m old. I am old, my Viking friend, and you know what that means? It means you don’t have to kill me, you just have to be patient. The cells in my body, they atrophy as we speak. Everyone you see before you will be dead before you know it.’
‘Keep it light, Viktor,’ says Pauline.
‘So I’m a fool. So I’m in your way, I cost you some money.’ Viktor shrugs. ‘You’re doing OK, I heard about your house. Just go about your business – you do it well, I know. You know why no one has killed me yet?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I never kill anyone,’ says Viktor. ‘Honestly, once you start, that’s it, you have to keep killing.’
‘That’s like lip salve,’ says Pauline. ‘Once you start using it, your lips dry out, and so you have to keep using it.’
Viktor gestures towards Pauline to show his point is proven. ‘So here is my suggestion. You get on with your life, launder money, enjoy your house, don’t kill people. I’ll get on with my life, do my job, then die of natural causes in five to seven years if you’re lucky.’
‘And if I disagree? If I still think you cost me too much money?’
‘Then kill me,’ says Viktor. ‘I’ll put the word out today, to my many friends and associates, that you wish to kill me. And when my body is found, they will come to their own conclusions, and they will track you down and murder you.’
A key turns in Joyce’s door. Viktor throws himself on the ground, pointing his gun towards it. As it opens, Bogdan walks in, and Viktor reholsters the gun. Walking behind Bogdan is Stephen, looking very dapper in a suit. The Viking is focusing on Viktor, however.
‘Your friends won’t find me,’ says the Viking. ‘No one knows me. Look at you, a KGB colonel, and you have found out nothing about me. And you’ – he turns to Elizabeth – ‘an MI6 officer, you have found out nothing about me. I am a ghost. You can’t kill a ghost.’
As the Viking makes his speech, Ron sees Stephen take a seat on one of Joyce’s dining chairs. He pulls a notepad out of his pocket. Ron sees that Stephen’s hands are shaking. But not from fear.
‘Ghost are you, chief?’ says Stephen, tapping his notebook. He has the immediate attention of the room. ‘Nice to see you again by the way. This is the Viking you were talking about, then, Elizabeth.’
‘Yes, dear,’ says Elizabeth. ‘The very one.’
‘Henrik Mikael Hansen, born in Norrk?ping on 4 May 1989.’ Stephen reads from his notebook. ‘Mum a pastry chef, dad a librarian. What do you say to that?’
‘You are wrong,’ says Henrik Mikael Hansen of Norrk?ping. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m Swedish, but apart from that. No one is a pastry chef.’
‘You love books, Henrik,’ says Stephen. ‘I love them too. You have quite the collection. A lot of them unique. And with unique books you can usually find a record of their sale. Nowadays you buy them all through a holding company, but, when you first started collecting, you used your own name, and that’s how we discovered your identity. It was a first edition of Wind in the Willows that gave you away.’