Page 74 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)
The men from the tactical unit have put on their breathing masks, and two members of the team are now slowly moving towards the brick building with their assault rifles raised.
On the far side of the hangar, the train thunders by. Car after car jolts as it passes over the switch, as though a slight electric shock is working its way backwards through the train.
Joona studies the brick facade through the drone’s video feed, taking in the graffiti and the damp sheets of plywood over the windows.
Someone has pried the front door loose, and it is lying like a ramp on the two steps.
‘Moving closer,’ says the UAS operator.
The drone glides slowly towards the door, hovering a metre above the ground. A brown doormat emerges from the gloom. There are muddy footprints and empty wine bottles on the floor, a yellow raincoat hanging on a hook.
On the feed from the thermal camera, Joona notices that the blob of lava on the ground floor has started to move. It shifts slightly to one side, slowly spreads out, and suddenly seems to have too many legs.
Thoughts of the skeleton man briefly cross his mind before the orange lump splits in two. A German Shepherd bursts out through the doorway and launches itself at the drone.
The operator makes the unit turn sharply, and one of the propellors hits the overhanging roof, causing the drone to lurch to one side. It slams into the smooth wall of the silo and loses all power.
‘Fuck!’
The commander of the tactical unit gives his men the order to storm the building, and the team breaks through two of the boarded-up windows.
They detonate several tear gas canisters, one after another.
Joona gets out of his car and loads a round into the chamber as he runs towards the silo.
The dog has started barking aggressively.
Up ahead, the group of operatives peel apart, moving quickly towards the brick building with their rifles raised.
Three shots ring out in quick succession, echoing around the yard.
Joona rounds the corner of the silo and sees the dog slumped on the ground.
Grey smoke is billowing out of the doorway, and the operatives disappear through it, securing the sides as they go.
Joona speeds up.
The gravelly, frozen ground is so hard it feels like concrete.
As he approaches the brick building, he radios Jamal.
‘I’m following you in,’ he says. ‘I’m following you in, over.’
Joona tears off his hat and uses it to cover his nose and mouth, then raises his pistol and heads in through the doorway.
In the smoke up ahead, the operatives’ tactical lights sweep across a large room with peeling medallion wallpaper.
Joona takes an immediate right, striding through a mudroom with a shower cubicle.
Beside the washing machine, there are two axes in a red bucket.
Both are still in their plastic wrapping.
‘Freeze, police!’ he hears Jamal shout somewhere deeper in the building.
Joona’s eyes are burning from the tear gas as he comes out into a shabby kitchen. The sink is full of bloody toilet paper, and there are several empty dog bowls on the floor, a pack of hotdog buns beside a beer can on the table.
He hears heavy footsteps and catches a glimpse of a man with long grey hair dart past the doorway up ahead.
Gun lights flash through the kitchen.
One of the operatives appears in the doorway, and Joona meets his eye and uses a hand to indicate the direction the man ran.
A series of metallic clangs reverberate through the pipes.
Joona turns back towards the mudroom and makes his way into a larger room with a narrow staircase to the floor above.
There are two spent tear gas canisters on the rough wooden floor.
The joists overhead creak, and a trickle of dust falls from the ceiling.
Jamal and another of the operatives come through from the adjoining room.
‘He’s upstairs,’ says Joona.
‘Alpha, follow me. Everyone else, stay downstairs,’ Jamal says over the radio.
The three men run up the stairs, covering each other as they tactically pick their way between the cupboards, chests of drawers and sofas.
The building is darker on the first floor, the air a little warmer and thick with dust. From the room to the right, they hear a muffled cough.
Jamal runs over and opens the door, swinging around to the left while his colleague takes the right.
Joona hurries after them with his Colt Combat raised.
They catch only a brief glimpse of the long-haired man as he runs through to another room, slamming the door behind him.
His feet thud against the floor.
Jamal stands with his back to the wall, takes off his breathing mask and tries the handle.
The door is locked.
Joona steps forward and kicks it as hard as he can. There is a crunching sound, and the door swings open. Splintered wood and broken metal drop to the carpeted floor on the other side.
The room is empty.
Against one wall, there are a number of old paint tins.
The man has escaped into another room, disappearing down a service corridor and passing them in the opposite direction.
Rather than run after him, Joona turns around and overtakes the man before he reaches the stairs.
‘Stop!’
The man veers off into a dark hallway behind a sheet of thick plastic.
The operatives’ tactical lights swing across the floor.
Jamal and his colleague come out onto the landing from the same direction as the grey-haired man.
The whites of their eyes glow in the gloom.
Joona points to the plastic sheet, tears it down, and the three men run down the hallway.
The ceiling boards have begun to collapse. One is already on the floor, another hanging down across the passageway.
Up ahead, a door slams.
Joona pushes the loose board to one side and feels a protruding nail catch his arm.
The men pause and exchange a quick glance at the end of the hallway, then move forward and secure the corners in the same way as earlier.
The large room, with a ceiling rose and an arched window looking out onto the train tracks, has two doors.
The one on the left is blocked by a pile of moving boxes.
Joona hears a soft scraping sound.
They stop to listen.
Behind the right-hand door, someone coughs quietly.
Jamal moves over to it and pulls a stun grenade from his belt. His colleague aims his rifle at the door.
Joona lowers his pistol.
Blood from the cut on his arm has started dripping from his wrist.
Jamal pulls the pin, opens the door and tosses the grenade inside, then slams the door and backs away.
There are a series of loud bangs, and the floor shakes. Flakes of paint fall from the ceiling, and there is a bright flash of light around the edges of the door.
The man lets out a guttural scream.
Jamal opens the door and sees him crawling beneath a bed with a filthy mattress.
‘Police! Come out!’ he shouts, dropping to one knee and taking aim beneath the bed.
His colleague runs in after him, and Joona moves over to the left-hand door to kick the moving boxes out of the way.
Dust swirls through the air, and files and papers spill across the floor.
Jamal pulls the bed back, but the grey-haired man has disappeared through a hole in the wall.
Joona opens the left-hand door and heads through to a large room full of empty bookshelves. He sees the man get up on unsteady legs.
‘Police, stop!’ he shouts, taking aim at the man’s chest.
His dirty grey hair is knotted and hanging over his face, his ears are bleeding following the blast, and he seems to be struggling to see.
The man is dressed in layers of over-sized clothing, and his rubber boots have been mended with silver tape. The sharp stench of sweat and old urine is heavy in the air around him.
He staggers back towards the tiled stove in the corner, blinking repeatedly as he pulls out a knife with a blue plastic handle and brandishes it in front of him.
‘Drop the knife,’ Joona tells him.
‘Go fuck yourself,’ he wheezes.
Jamal comes into the room behind Joona, moving level with him and taking aim at the man.
‘No one shoot,’ says Joona.
Illuminated by Jamal’s tactical light, the man lowers the knife. He is breathing heavily now, and his shadow rocks slowly back and forth over the wallpaper and the pale rectangles left by the frames that once hung there.
Joona holsters his gun and holds up both hands.
‘Toss the knife,’ he says as he slowly approaches the man. ‘Drop it, put your hands behind your head and turn—’
The man lunges towards him without warning, thrusting the knife in Joona’s direction. Joona twists away from the blade and knocks the man’s arm upwards, grabbing his hand as he rams his knee into his chest.
The knife clatters to the floor and skids beneath the empty wood basket.
Gripping the man’s wrist, Joona kicks his feet out from beneath him.
There is a loud bang as the man lands on his back, hitting his head on the floor. Saliva and mucus spray across his grubby face.
Joona twists his arm, forcing his shoulder up off the floorboards, then uses his foot to turn him over onto his front and cuffs both hands behind his back.
The man gasps desperately, as though he has just come up for air, and then starts coughing.