Chapter 30 Chapter Thirty

Kohlberg gripped the short-wave walkie-talkie anxiously. "What's the matter?" The walkie-talkie rustled and that was it. "What's the matter?" Kohlberg repeated. Larson strode up to him. "Are you talking to the fire department? They say the wires just shorted out." "Not with the fire department," said Corberg. "What happened to Martin? Hello, hello, please answer." The intercom rang again, louder this time, and then Le En's voice came from inside, with a hesitant tone. "What happened?" he asked. "I don't know," Kolberg said aloud, "can you see anything?"

"I can't see it at the moment." "Have you seen anything before?" "It's hard to say, I think I saw Eriksson, he climbed to the edge of the roof, and then I informed Martin immediately. Next..." "What's next?" said Kohlberg impatiently. "Tell me." "Then the sirens stopped and Eriksson stood up straight away. He was standing straight with his back to me." "Did you see Martin?" "No, not once." "What now?" "Nothing," Lehn said. "There's no one up there." "Fuck!" Kohlberg said, putting down the walkie-talkie.

Larson groaned in concern. The two of them were standing on Belvedere Street just off the corner of Dara Street, not a hundred yards from the building.Malm was there, too, with a company of others. A firefighter came up to them. "Do you want the ladder car to stay over there?" Malm looked at Kohlberg and Larsson, who was in no hurry to give orders now. "No," Kolberg said. "Let them take the car back. There's no point in keeping them there." "Looks like Baker failed, doesn't it?" Larson said. "Well," said Kolberg quietly, "it seems so."

"Wait a minute," someone said, "listen." It was Norman Hasson who spoke.He said something into the intercom, then turned to Kohlberg and said: "One of my men climbed to the church tower now, and he said he seemed to see Baker." "Really? Where?" "He was lying on the north balcony facing the fence." Hasson looked at Kerberg seriously. "It looks like he's hurt." "Hurt? Is he moving?" "Not now. But my men say he saw him moving a few minutes ago." Hassoon's men might be right, Lehn couldn't see the back of the apartment building from the Bonia building, but the church faced north, and it was two hundred yards closer.

"We got him down," murmured Kolberg. "This has to be done," Larson said gloomily.Seconds later, he added: "Honestly, he shouldn't have gone up alone at all. That would be a huge mistake." "Do you know what that means, Larson?" asked Coleberg. Larson stared at him for a long time. "This is not Moscow," he said with great seriousness, "where taxi drivers don't read Gorky and the police don't quote Lenin. This is a mad city in a state of madness. Over there on the roof there is a Poor and hateful lunatic, it's time to deal with him."

"That's right," said Kohlberg, "and he wasn't Lenin either." "I know." "What kind of oboe are you two singing?" Malm asked nervously. Neither of them even looked at him. "Okay," Larson said, "you go save your brother, and I'll take care of the other one." Corberg nodded.He turned to the firefighters, then stopped again. "If you do it the way you do, I guess how likely you are to walk down the roof alive, can you guess?" "Probably guessed," Larson said, and then he looked around at the people standing around. "I'm going to blow open the door and storm the roof from the inside of the building," he said loudly. "I need one person to help me, two at most."

Four or five young police officers and a firefighter raised their hands, and a voice behind Larson said, "Take me there." "Don't get me wrong," Larson said, "I don't want to take people up there who think they're responsible, and I don't want people who try to perform. The chances of getting killed here are higher than any of you think. Be tall." "What do you mean?" Malm asked puzzled. "So, who do you want?" "I only want to take people who are really going to risk getting a bullet. Does anyone think it's funny?"

"take me." Larson turned to look at the speaker. "Well, that's you," he said. "Well, Hult, I guess you'd love to go." "Hey, and me," said someone on the sidewalk, "I want to go too." It was a thin man in his thirties, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. "Who are you?" "My name is Pauling." "Are you a policeman?" "No, I'm a construction worker." "Why are you here?" "I live here." Larson looked him up and down carefully. "Okay," he said, "give him a gun."

Hassoon immediately pulled out the police gun tucked in the breastband of his coat, but Pauling didn't want it. "Can I use my own gun?" he asked. "It'll be in a minute." Larson nodded.Pauling left. "That's against the law," said Malm. "It's not right." "That's right," Larson said, "and it's a serious violation of the law, and what's worse, there are civilians who volunteer to go to war with guns." Within a minute Pauling was back with the gun, a .22 Colt with a long barrel that held ten rounds. "Let's go in," Larson said.

He paused and looked at Kollberg.Kohlberg had already rounded the corner with two bundles of long ropes under his arm. "Let Kohlberg go up and get Baker out first," he added. "Hasson, get some men to put explosives on the door." Hasson nodded and walked away. After a while, they are ready. "Okay," Larson said. He rounded the corner, the other two following behind him. "You go in through the south door," Larson said when they got to the building. "I'll go north. After you light the fuse, run at least one flight of stairs, maybe two. Can you do that, Hult? "

"Can." "Very good. One more thing, if one of you kills him, then the person who did it will be responsible for it in the future." "Even killing in self-defense?" Hoult asked. "Yes, even for self-defense. Now let's set the watch." Kohlberg turned the doorknob.The door is locked, but he has the key.Kohlberg quickly opened the door.Entering the vestibule, Kohlberg saw Martin Baker's coat on a hook and the walkie-talkie on the table.As soon as he entered the house, he saw the open window and the steps of the iron ladder outside.The ladder looked shaky and unstable.The last time he climbed this kind of ladder, he gained a lot of weight, but Kolberg knew that this kind of ladder could bear far more than his own weight, so he climbed out of the window without hesitation. He slung two bundles of rope over his shoulders so they wouldn't get in his way or trip over the ladder, and began to climb cautiously up the balcony. Ever since Lehn reported that there was nothing to be seen in the telescope, Kolberg had been telling himself that it must be too bad.He thought he was mentally prepared, but he was still out of breath when he climbed over the railing and saw Martin Baker lying still and bloody three feet away. Kohlberg climbed over the railing and looked down at the pale yellow face of Martin Baker. "Martin," he whispered softly, "Martin, my God..." As Kohlberg spoke, he saw a slight pulsation in Martin Baker's tense neck.Kohlberg put his finger lightly on the pulse, which was still beating, but very slowly. Kohlberg examined his friend's body and, as far as he could see, Martin Baker had only been shot once, but right in the middle of the chest. The bullet made a hole as small as it could get in the middle of a button.Kohlberg tore open Martin Baker's blood-soaked shirt, judging from the oval-shaped wound, the bullet should have entered the right chest from the side.Kolberg could not tell whether the bullet had come out the other side or had lodged itself in the chest cavity. He saw a pool of blood on the ground under the iron pipe.The blood pool was not very big, and the bleeding from the wound had almost stopped. Kolberg took the bundles of ropes from his head, hung one bundle from the upper crossbar, and stopped with the other bundle to listen.There was no sound from the roof.He let go of the rope and carefully placed one end under Martin Baker's back.Kolberg tied the rope quietly and quickly. After finishing, he checked whether the rope was tied properly and whether the knot was loose. Finally, he felt in Martin Baker's pocket, found a clean handkerchief, and took it out of his trouser pocket. Get out slightly dirty towels. Corberg took off the cashmere scarf and tied it around Martin Baker's chest, and stuffed the two folded handkerchiefs between the knot and the wound. He still didn't hear anything. Now comes the hardest part. Kohlberg peered over the balcony railing and pulled the ladder up to the window.He cautiously pushed the frame to the railing, pulled the rope tied to Martin Baker's body, let the rope wrap around the railing where the ladder was originally hung, and tied it around his waist. He carefully lifted Martin Baker over the railing, supporting himself with all his strength, keeping the rope taut.After Martin Baker was suspended outside the glass fence, Kolberg began to loosen the knot on his waist with his right hand, while his left hand held the weight of Martin Baker's whole body.After the knot was untied, Kohlberg slowly lowered Martin Baker, holding the rope tightly with both hands, trying to estimate as much rope as possible without being able to look out of the fence. Corberg guessed that Martin Baker must have descended to the open window before leaning over to look down. He let out a few more inches of rope and tied it securely to the rail above the glass. Then Corberg took another bundle of rope from the iron frame, slung it over his shoulders, and quickly and nimbly climbed down the ladder and through the window. A half-dead Martin Baker hung a foot and a half below the ledge of the window, his head hanging forward and his body hanging at an angle. After Kolberg stood firm, he leaned out of the window sill.He grasped the rope with both hands and began to pull hard.He switched the rope to one hand and with the other hand grabbed the rope under Martin Baker's arm and pulled him up, then grabbed him by the armpit and dragged him in through the window. After Kolberg had untied the rope and lowered Martin Baker to the floor, he climbed up the gray ladder again, untied the rope tied to the railing, and let it fall to the ground.Corberg went back to the window, removed the ladder, and brought it down. Then Kolberg put Martin Baker on his back and started walking downstairs. There were only six seconds left in the event when Larson realized he had made the worst mistake of his life.Standing outside the iron gate, he looked at the fuze spread out in front of him, only to realize that he didn't bring any matches.Larson doesn't smoke, so he doesn't carry a lighter with him.When he went to a restaurant to eat, he usually carried a box or two of restaurant matches with him, but since the last time he went out to eat, he had changed his coat countless times. Larson's jaw almost dropped.Before his mouth was on the stage, he quickly took out the pistol, opened the safety catch, and aimed the silencer at the fuze—adjusting the angle so that the bullet would not bounce into the door and where it should not be shot, such as his stomach —and pull the trigger.Bullets buzzed like wasps across the stone staircase, setting the fuses on fire.Seeing the pleasing blue flames hissing from the fuse, Larson rushed downstairs.Just as he ran down a half and a half of the stairs, there was a loud bang from entrance B, shaking the house, and then the gunpowder on his side exploded four seconds later. Larson's movements are still faster than Huerte, or faster than Pauling.In the process of rushing upstairs, he recovered the one or two seconds he was behind just now.The iron gate was gone, or should I say lying flat on the ground.Go up half a flight of stairs, and you will reach the glass door with iron bars. Larson kicked the door open and came to the roof.He stood right next to the chimneys of the two penthouses, to be precise. Larson saw Eriksson straddling the roof with the ugly Johansen automatic gun at a glance.But Eriksson didn't see Larson, apparently all his thoughts were on the first door that exploded, and his attention was focused on the south half of the human building. Larson stepped on the guardrail facing the street, pushed hard, and stood on the roof of the house on the top floor.Eric turned to look at him. Despite being twelve feet apart, the two were on a par with each other.Larson saw the opponent clearly, and his finger was on the trigger. Eriksson seemed unimpressed.He continued to turn, turning his gun on his opponent.However, Larson did not shoot. Larsson aimed motionlessly at Eriksson's chest, and the barrel of Eriksson's rifle was turned toward him. At that moment, Pauling fired.The shot was extremely accurate, and most of his sight was blocked by Larson, but he still accurately shot Eriksson's left shoulder from more than sixty feet away. The rifle fell to the tin roof with a bang, Eriksson twisted and fell down. Then Hult also arrived, and he hit Eriksson on the back of the head with the body of the gun, and the sound sounded cruel. The man on the roof lay still, blood gushing from his head. Hult gasped heavily and raised his gun again. "Stop it," Larson said, "that's enough." He holstered the gun, adjusted the bandages on his head, and flicked a large speck of soot off his shirt with his forefinger. Pauling climbed onto the roof too, looking left and right. "What are you doing, why aren't you shooting?" he asked. "I don't understand—" "No one expects you to understand," Larson interrupted. "By the way, do you have a license for that gun?" Pauling shook his head. "Then you're probably in trouble," Larson said. "Come on, let's take him down."