The Swede Read Online Free Page B

chords.
    The song ended, a truck horn blasted somewhere nearby, and he felt a pang of annoyance at what she’d said.
    “I could be wrong,” he went on in a low voice, as if not expecting to be heard, “but I do think you should brief me, give me a clue about why I’m here. Of course”—the old record kept rasping—“if you prefer to treat me like something the cat dragged in, go ahead. I’d just like to take a shower and eat once in a while.”
    “How about we start with food?”
    “If that’s the agenda.”
    “Korean?”
    Grip shrugged. She turned off at the next exit.
    T he fizz of the beer revived his brain. There were only a few tables in the cramped family restaurant, but Friedman seemed to know the place. Grip chose at random from the speckled menu, getting a couple of small pancakes with scallions, and what he hoped was some kind of beef with noodles. Friedman didn’t even look at the menu, but ordered from memory. When the food arrived, she maneuvered her chopsticks quickly, pecking like a bird.
    “My mother is from Hawaii,” she said.
    Grip didn’t understand what that was intended to explain—her eyes, the chopsticks? “Hawaii,” he repeated. Sure, he knew how to use chopsticks, but not the way she did.
    “Where did you grow up?” she asked, while stirring a bowl with some sort of sauce.
    Grip looked at her for a moment before replying: “In a small town.”
    “But now you live in?”
    “Stockholm.”
    Friedman tore a bite from one of his pancakes, sitting on the platter between them.
    “You’ve probably figured it out by now, but I’ll say it anyway. I work for the FBI.” She smiled professionally. “Maybe that doesn’t tell you very much.”
    Grip didn’t respond. He picked up something that looked like a little burned leaf and moved it to the side with the tips of his chopsticks.
    “Yes, it’s true that we asked you to come here. I need your help with something, but I didn’t want you to be influenced until I asked the first question. It’s just my way of avoiding preconceptions. So we can start with clean sheets, if you know what I mean?”
    “I already know that your mother is from Hawaii,” said Grip.
    “She is. From the tiny island of Lanai. She lost the tip of her pinkie in a childhood accident, and she hates boat rides. But you still don’t know what I’m working on, or why you’re here.”
    “When do you plan to ask the first question?”
    “In a couple of days.”
    “Is this about Topeka?”
    “Our discussion of Topeka will come later.”
    “A couple days. What should I do in the meantime?”
    “You said all you needed was to eat, sleep, and shower, right? First we’ll pay for this, and then we’ll fly to California.”

CHAPTER 6
    Thailand, January 4, 2005
    O NE NIGHT, THAT WAS ALL N. meant to stay.
    His life had been shattered, and the more he began to remember, the clearer it became that he’d reached the end. According to the authorities’ lists, he was missing, and so he would remain. It was while passing through a nameless village that he’d seen the sign: W EEJAY’S F AMILY H OTEL AND B AR . An arrow pointed the way. Under it, on a board hanging from strings, a hand-painted addition: W EEJAY S URVIVED —W E’RE O PEN . N. turned off the paved road and followed the arrow into the green forest, down toward the sea.
    The sign said 200 meters, but after more than a kilometer, he still hadn’t found the place. Impossible that he’d made a wrong turn, not with only one trail, a strip of patchy grass lined by two hard ruts. On either side rose towering trunks and impenetrable thickets. It was like a tunnel, and only when he looked straight up could he see the sky past the treetops. He walked on. The forest was silent. No birds singing, not even a breeze.
    Eventually the red earth grew sandy under his feet, and he saw where the green tunnel suddenly ended. In the light, a striped umbrella.
    And then the beach.
    He made his way to a bar under a big