Page 73 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

Just seventy minutes have passed since the Opel Kadett was spotted behind the silo in Grillby, but a command post has already been set up outside the petrol station at the intersection of L?nsv?gen and Storgatan, with two black vans, three cars and a command vehicle parked by the flagpoles.

Six operatives from the National Tactical Unit and a UAS team are in position.

Behind the shop, two ambulances, a fire engine and four patrol cars are ready and waiting.

Joona has parked his car right to the exit, so that he can make a swift exit if necessary.

Trains first began calling at Grillby in the 1870s, and the service continued for a hundred years. Nowadays, they pass straight through the old station without stopping.

The small community – bisected by the train line – is just south of the motorway, surrounded by an expanse of snow-covered fields.

From a distance, the only thing that distinguishes it from the flat landscape is the tall concrete silo. It looms above Grillby like some sort of damp, brutalist church, with a long nave featuring four half columns on each side and a forty-five-metre tower.

Up against the high barbed wire fence separating the silo from the railway, there is a boarded-up brick building, a hangar- like structure made from corrugated metal and a blue shipping container.

Sandwiched between the silo and the hangar, there are three covered docks that were once used by the lorries transporting grain.

The black-clad operatives from the tactical unit are gathered behind the vehicles, messing about on their phones, tightening the straps on their bulletproof vests and checking their weapons and magazines, stun grenades and breathing masks one last time.

The red flags outside the petrol station strain and flap in the strengthening wind, and tiny snowflakes swirl around the forecourt.

Joona is wearing a black beanie, warm layers and sturdy boots, and he walks over to the group leader, Jamal, to introduce himself with his heavy bulletproof vest slung over one shoulder.

‘Thanks for getting here so quickly,’ he says.

‘No problem.’

Jamal has chocolate-coloured eyes and a small black goatee.

His helmet is on the ground between his feet, his Heckler & Koch assault rifle hanging on a strap by his hip.

The commander, a white-haired man in a thick coat and a trapper hat, finishes his phone call and comes over to join them.

He holds out a tablet and shows them a map of the area, with routes and assembly points already marked out.

The three men quickly agree on a plan for the various stages of the operation.

‘Listen up, everyone,’ Joona says, raising his voice so that the entire unit can hear him. ‘The suspect has just killed two of our colleagues and should be considered extremely dangerous, but is also likely armed with just an axe – though obviously we can’t rule out other weapons.’

‘Take up your positions and await my order,’ the commander tells his men.

‘Let’s get this bastard!’ shouts Jamal.

Joona makes his way over to the UAS unit – two men in puffer jackets and beanies – behind a black car. In the open boot, they have a number of aluminium cases containing spare batteries, transmitters and other pieces of kit.

UAS stands for Unmanned Aerial System – drones equipped with cameras and thermal imaging systems, in other words. The Police Authority made the decision to use the slightly clunky name internally in order to be able to distinguish the drone handlers from other units during operations.

‘How’s the weather looking?’ asks Joona.

‘It’s not ideal,’ says the commanding officer, glancing over to the silo.

‘But we’ll be OK,’ says the other, spitting a wad of snus to the ground.

The four propellors on the drone start to whirr.

‘Ready?’ asks the commander.

‘The airspace is closed,’ the other replies.

The drone rises straight into the air, quickly reaching a height of two hundred metres. The little black dot is almost invisible through the falling snow.

Joona takes off his hat and heads into the mobile command vehicle.

Seven people – including the tactical commander – are sitting at computers inside. Joona pulls out a seat and takes a seat beside the coordinator.

Through the police camera feed, he follows the footage from the drone in real time.

Narrow roads, gardens and small houses race by before the drone comes to a halt directly above the silo, rocking gently in the wind.

Down below, the enormous concrete structure is visible beside the hangar, the mossy roof of the brick building, the blue shipping container, trees, the fence and two railway tracks.

The surveillance units from Enkoping Police are still positioned around the area, and continue to report that they haven’t detected any activity in and around the silo.

‘Let’s take a closer look, then,’ says the UAS operator.

The drone tilts to one side, and the camera zooms in on the closed doors of the hangar, zipping past the silo and over to the brick building.

It slowly turns around.

Beneath the roof of one of the loading bays, the back bumper of the Opel Kadett is visible.

A powerful crosswind knocks the drone, and the camera pans across the villas and a cluster of trees on the far side of the tracks before stabilising.

Jamal comes into the command vehicle to let them know that his team is in position and waiting for the green light.

The drone’s camera swings across the junk in the yard and the top of the blue shipping container, capturing the thin dusting of snow on top of the black autumn leaves. It continues around the brick building, to the sloping scrubland, the fence, the tracks and the concrete sleepers.

‘Switching to thermal camera,’ says the UAS operator.

The image on the screen in front of Joona splits in two. The right-hand side is now dark grey, with the buildings and train tracks visible in black.

A glowing yellow rabbit moves slowly across the embankment.

The drone swings over the area again, past the dark-grey silo, the hangar and the shipping container to the brick building.

An orange shape appears on the screen, like a blob of lava with pulsing blue contours.

‘Jamal, over,’ the tactical commander says over the radio.

‘Jamal here, over.’

‘One individual in the house. Get ready to go in.’

‘Can we have a more exact position?’

‘Close to the south-west corner.’

‘Which floor? There are four.’

‘We can’t see.’

‘Can’t the drone drop down to check?’ the coordinator asks, taking a swig from a bottle of Coke Zero.

‘It’s too loud,’ the UAS operator replies.

‘Jamal, get ready to storm the house. Await orders,’ says the tactical commander.

Joona puts on his hat, leaves the bus and jogs over to his car. He drives the short distance to the silo and pulls up behind a cluster of trees on Magasinsgatan.

His wiper blades sweep the light snowflakes from the windscreen as he watches the drone feed on the touchscreen of his comms unit.

Six operatives drift towards the building like a handful of bright orange jellyfish.

On the tracks, a long freight train is approaching.

The increasingly heavy snow has begun to settle on the ground.

Through the windscreen, Joona sees two of the tactical unit operatives waiting with their backs to the silo.

‘We can use the noise of the freight train to mask the sound of the drone,’ Joona says.

‘Good idea,’ the UAS operator replies.

The drone sinks down towards the gravel in front of the brick building as the train thunders past behind the silo.

Joona pulls his Colt Combat from his shoulder holster, checks the magazine and slots it back into the pistol.

The drone is now hovering around two metres above the ground, clearing the snow from a cross-shaped patch of ground beneath it.

The thermal camera tilts upwards, revealing that the figure radiating heat is at the bottom of the building.

‘The target is on the ground floor, over,’ the tactical commander says over the radio.

‘Roger that,’ Jamal replies.

‘Await final order.’