The Bomber Read Online Free Page B
around. After Annika had given the freelancers instructions, they were on their way too.
It was further to get up the hill than she'd thought. The going was hard— the ground was slippery and stony. They stumbled and cursed in the dark. On top of everything, Henriksson was lugging a large tripod. They didn't encounter any cordons and got up there in time but only to be faced with a seven-foot-high concrete wall.
"I don't believe it," Henriksson groaned.
"Maybe this'll work in our favor," Annika said. "Get up on my shoulders and I'll hoist you up. Then you can climb up on the actual flame. You should be able to see something from there."
The photographer stared at her.
"You want me to stand on the Olympic flame?"
"Yes, why not? It's not alight, and it hasn't been cordoned off. I'm sure you can get on top of it; it's only another yard up from the wall. If it's to hold the eternal flame, it should be able to hold you. Come on, let's go!"
Annika passed up the tripod and the camera bag to him. Henriksson crawled up on the metal frame.
"It's full of little holes!" he shouted.
"Gas holes," Annika said. "Can you see the North Stand?"
He stood up and looked out over the stadium.
"Do you see anything?" Annika shouted.
"You bet I do," the photographer said. He slowly raised his camera and started snapping.
"What?"
He lowered his camera without taking his eyes off the stadium.
"They've lit up part of the stand," he said. "There are about ten people down there walking around picking things up and putting them in little plastic bags. The guys from the doctor's car are there. They're also picking stuff up. They seem to be extremely meticulous about it." He raised his camera again.
Annika felt the hair on her neck stand on end. Shit! Was it really that bad? Henriksson opened up the tripod. After three rolls of film, he had finished. They alternately ran and slid down the hill, shocked, slightly nauseated. What would doctors be picking up and putting in little bags— explosive residue? Hardly.
A couple of minutes before six they were back down with the media scrum. The TV cameras' bluish lights were illuminating the whole scene, making the snowflakes sparkle. Rapport had their link in place, and the reporter had powdered his face. A group of police officials, led by the officer-in-charge, headed their way. They lifted the cordon but couldn't get any further. The wall of journalists was solid. There was silence when the officer screwed up his eyes against the camera lights. He glanced at a paper in his hand, raised his eyes, and began talking.
"At 3:17 A.M. an explosive charge went off at Victoria Stadium in Stockholm," he said. "It's not known what kind of explosives were used. The explosion badly damaged the North Stand. It's not clear at the moment whether it will be possible to repair it."
He paused, consulting his papers. The still cameras were clattering, and the TV cameras were rolling. Annika was standing far out to the left so that she could keep an eye on the ambulance while following the press conference.
"The explosion caused a fire, but this is now under control." Another pause.
"A taxi driver was injured as a piece of a reinforcing rod penetrated the side window of his car," the police officer continued. "The man has been taken to South Hospital and is in stable condition. Some ten buildings on the other side of Sickla Canal have had damage to their windows and facades. These buildings are under construction and not yet occupied. No further personal injuries have been reported."
Another pause. The officer looked very tired and somber as he continued.
"This is sabotage. The explosive device that destroyed the arena was powerful. We are in the process of securing evidence that may lead to the identification of the perpetrator. We are assigning all
It was further to get up the hill than she'd thought. The going was hard— the ground was slippery and stony. They stumbled and cursed in the dark. On top of everything, Henriksson was lugging a large tripod. They didn't encounter any cordons and got up there in time but only to be faced with a seven-foot-high concrete wall.
"I don't believe it," Henriksson groaned.
"Maybe this'll work in our favor," Annika said. "Get up on my shoulders and I'll hoist you up. Then you can climb up on the actual flame. You should be able to see something from there."
The photographer stared at her.
"You want me to stand on the Olympic flame?"
"Yes, why not? It's not alight, and it hasn't been cordoned off. I'm sure you can get on top of it; it's only another yard up from the wall. If it's to hold the eternal flame, it should be able to hold you. Come on, let's go!"
Annika passed up the tripod and the camera bag to him. Henriksson crawled up on the metal frame.
"It's full of little holes!" he shouted.
"Gas holes," Annika said. "Can you see the North Stand?"
He stood up and looked out over the stadium.
"Do you see anything?" Annika shouted.
"You bet I do," the photographer said. He slowly raised his camera and started snapping.
"What?"
He lowered his camera without taking his eyes off the stadium.
"They've lit up part of the stand," he said. "There are about ten people down there walking around picking things up and putting them in little plastic bags. The guys from the doctor's car are there. They're also picking stuff up. They seem to be extremely meticulous about it." He raised his camera again.
Annika felt the hair on her neck stand on end. Shit! Was it really that bad? Henriksson opened up the tripod. After three rolls of film, he had finished. They alternately ran and slid down the hill, shocked, slightly nauseated. What would doctors be picking up and putting in little bags— explosive residue? Hardly.
A couple of minutes before six they were back down with the media scrum. The TV cameras' bluish lights were illuminating the whole scene, making the snowflakes sparkle. Rapport had their link in place, and the reporter had powdered his face. A group of police officials, led by the officer-in-charge, headed their way. They lifted the cordon but couldn't get any further. The wall of journalists was solid. There was silence when the officer screwed up his eyes against the camera lights. He glanced at a paper in his hand, raised his eyes, and began talking.
"At 3:17 A.M. an explosive charge went off at Victoria Stadium in Stockholm," he said. "It's not known what kind of explosives were used. The explosion badly damaged the North Stand. It's not clear at the moment whether it will be possible to repair it."
He paused, consulting his papers. The still cameras were clattering, and the TV cameras were rolling. Annika was standing far out to the left so that she could keep an eye on the ambulance while following the press conference.
"The explosion caused a fire, but this is now under control." Another pause.
"A taxi driver was injured as a piece of a reinforcing rod penetrated the side window of his car," the police officer continued. "The man has been taken to South Hospital and is in stable condition. Some ten buildings on the other side of Sickla Canal have had damage to their windows and facades. These buildings are under construction and not yet occupied. No further personal injuries have been reported."
Another pause. The officer looked very tired and somber as he continued.
"This is sabotage. The explosive device that destroyed the arena was powerful. We are in the process of securing evidence that may lead to the identification of the perpetrator. We are assigning all
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