Chapter 28 Chapter Twenty Eight

Their makeshift headquarters was a lovely tapered yellow cabin with a black tin roof, a wraparound porch, and a tall mantle at the top of the chimney. Twenty minutes after the helicopter crashed, everyone still had lingering fears. "He shot down the helicopter," Malm said incredulously, and he had babbled about ten times. "You finally understand," said Larson, who had just returned from the observation point. "I've asked the military for assistance," Malm said. "Oh, I don't think—" said Kolberg. "That's our only chance," Malm interrupted him.

Kohlberg thought to himself that this was his only chance to pass the blame on to someone else before he lost face.Can people in the military do it? "What can the military do?" Martin Baker asked. "Bomb the building," Larson said. "Raze that side to the ground, or—" Martin Baker looked at him. "Or what?" "Or call the paratroopers. Maybe no manpower at all, just a dozen dogs." "Sarcasm is inappropriate at this juncture," Martin Baker said. Larson didn't speak, but Le En suddenly spoke. He chose to read his notes at this time.

"Today happens to be Eriksson's thirty-sixth birthday." "It's a wonderful way to celebrate," Larson said. "Wait a minute, if we all put together a band and play Happy Birthday on the street, maybe his dude will be in a good mood and we can send him an episode." poison cake with thirty-six candles." "Shut up, Larson," said Martin Baker. "We haven't called the fire brigade yet," Malm said. "Not really," said Corberg, "but it wasn't the fire brigade who killed his wife. He has good eyesight, and as soon as he thinks there are disguised policemen in the fire brigade—"

He said no more. "What does Eriksson's wife have to do with this?" Malm asked. "It's a big deal," Kolberg said. "Oh, that old-fashioned thing," said Malm, "but there's something interesting about what you're saying, maybe you can get a relative to persuade him to surrender, like his girlfriend." "He doesn't have a girlfriend," Lehn said. "Well, maybe get his daughter or his parents." Kohlberg shuddered.It seems that the way the inspector handles cases is all learned from movies. Malm got up and walked towards the cars.

Colberg looked expectantly at Martin Baker, but Martin Baker ignored him, standing by the wall of the ancient guardhouse with a sad and uncertain expression. The situation is really not optimistic. Three people were dead—Niman, Kavant, and Axelson—and the crashed helicopter brought the number of injuries to seven, which was a scary number.As he ran for his life outside the Eastman Dental Center, Colberry hadn't had much time to think, but now he's terrified.He was afraid that if the police acted so hastily again, more police officers would be killed or injured, but he was even more worried that Eriksson would suddenly stop shooting only at the police.If so, the disaster will be out of control, there are too many people in his range, most of them are in the compound or the apartment along Oding Road, Eriksson is really going crazy, they can stop it him?If time is so urgent, there is only one solution—to bombard the roofs, but what damage that will do!

Kohlberg wondered what Martin Beck was thinking. He was not used to being at a loss at such a time, so he was very annoyed.Fortunately this did not last long, for the Inspector appeared at the door, and Martin Baker looked up at him. "It can only be done by one person," he said. "Who is going?" "I go" "I won't let you go," said Malm at once. "Sorry, it's my own decision to go or not." "Wait a minute," Kolberg said, "what's your reason? Tactical or moral?" Martin Baker looked at him, but said nothing.

For Kohlberg, that answer was enough—that is, it was both. If Martin Baker had made up his mind, Kohlberg would never have stopped him, they had known each other too long and their friendship was too deep. "What are you going to do?" Larson asked. "Go to his downstairs house first, climb into the fence through the window-go to the window under the north balcony, and then climb up the ladder." "Well, it might work," Larson said. "Where do you want Eriksson to be?" asked Kohlberg. "Facing the street, preferably on the roof above, on the roof of the penthouse on the north side."

Kohlberg frowned and stroked his upper lip with his left thumb. "Maybe he won't go there," Larson said, "because he'll be a target if he's out there." "Wait a minute," said Kohlberg, "if I understand the roof structure correctly, the two penthouses are just like boxes on the roof of the building. There are two or three yards apart, and there's a glass roof sloping in at the edge, so there's a depression over there." Martin Baker looked at him. "Yeah, that's right," Kohlberg continued. "I think that's where he hid when he shot the car on Odin Road."

"But he wasn't at risk of being hit then," objected Larson, "and now the snipers have climbed the Bonia Building or the church tower—no, wait a minute, there doesn't seem to be any on the Bonia Building. people." "And he hasn't thought about the church tower," Kolberg said. "To be honest, there's no one there." "Yeah," Larson said, "that's pretty stupid." "Okay. If we want to get him over there, or drive him up to the roof of the penthouse, we'll have to get his attention." Kohlberg frowned again, and everyone else remained silent.

"That building is a little further back from the street than the buildings on either side," he said, "about six feet, and I think if we make a little commotion at the corner where the two buildings meet—as close to the building as possible, Then Eriksson would have to climb up to the roof above to see. He shouldn't dare go down to the railing and peek his head? We can send a fire engine—” "I don't want to involve firefighters," Martin Baker said. "We could send some policemen in firefighter uniforms. Eriksson can't do anything to them if they stick to the wall."

"Unless he has a grenade," Larson said pessimistically. "What did you send them there for?" asked Martin Baker. "Create a riot," said Kohlberg. "That's enough. I'll take care of the details. As for you, you can't make a sound." Martin Baker nodded. "Yeah," said Corberg, "I think you know that too." Malm stared at Martin Baker. "Are you willing to go?" he asked at last. "yes." "I'm convinced," Malm said, "but to be honest, I really don't know what you're thinking." Martin Baker didn't answer. Fifteen minutes later, Martin Baker entered the building on Darla Street, moving close to the wall with the light metal ladder under his arm. At the same time, a fire truck came around the corner of Scenic Street with its siren sounding. Martin Baker kept a small short-wave walkie-talkie in his coat pocket and a Walter 7.65 in his shoulder holster.He waved away a plainclothes patrolman who had slipped in from the kitchen, and began to climb slowly upstairs. When Martin Baker reached the top floor, he opened the door with the key Kohlberg had obtained and went in, hanging his coat and jacket in the hall. He looked around the room naturally.The rooms are tastefully decorated and pleasantly furnished.Martin Baker wondered who lived there. The deafening sound of fire trucks continued. Martin Baker felt very calm and relaxed, and he opened the windows at the back of the building with ease.He set up the ladder under the north balcony, put it out the window, and fastened the ladder tightly to the ten-foot balcony railing.Then he climbed down the window, went inside, turned on the intercom, and immediately contacted Lehn. Lehn was standing at the top of the Bonia Building, five hundred yards to the southwest, twenty stories above the ground.He looked at the building on Dala Street outside the campus. His eyes were tearing from the cold wind, but he could still clearly see his monitoring point—the roof of the top floor house. "Nothing," he said into the intercom, "still nothing." He heard the siren of a fire engine and saw a shadow scurrying across a patch of sunlit roofs.Lehn put the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Yes, now," he said rather excitedly, "he's up, on my side, and he's lying down." Twenty-five seconds later, the whistle stopped abruptly, which did not have any special impact on Le En, who was half a kilometer away.But after a while, he saw shadows on the roof again, and then he saw someone stand up.Lehn said: "Martin, he's on the move!" Le En's voice was excited, but no one answered him. If Lehn was a good shooter (unfortunately he wasn't) and had a rifle with a telescope attached (unfortunately he didn't), he would have a good chance of shooting the man on the roof in one fell swoop (but he doubted whether he would have the guts to do so) ).Also, the person he saw this time was probably Martin Baker. It didn't make much sense to Lehn that the fire engine roared and then stopped honking. But for Martin Baker it was life and death. As soon as Lehn informed him, he put down the walkie-talkie, slipped out of the window and quickly climbed the ladder to the balcony.Directly in front of him was the back of the penthouse and a narrow, rusty iron ladder. Martin Baker, gun in his right hand, was climbing up the ladder when the sirens stopped. After the sound of the loud whistle suddenly stopped, the surroundings suddenly became strangely quiet. Martin Baker's gun barrel touched the right side of the iron ladder, and there was a soft "dang" sound. He climbed up to the roof and just poked his head and shoulders over the edge when he saw Eriksson standing six feet in front of him, legs apart, on the roof, pointing a gun at Martin Baker's chest. The muzzle of the gun in Martin Baker's hand rushed forward, and he was in a dilemma. He didn't have time to think about it. Too late. Martin Baker didn't expect to recognize Eriksson so quickly—blond beard, hair combed back, gas mask pushed back on the neck. Martin Baker only had so much time, and he saw that strangely shaped pistol—with its huge stock and square barrel that glowed blue—looking straight at him with its death-like bore. He had read about such situations in books. In short, everything is too late. Martin Baker looked into Eric's blue eyes the moment he let go of his gun. Then the muzzle flashed. The bullet hit Martin Baker's chest like a sledgehammer.