Death in Oslo by Anne Holt Read Free Book Online Page B

green windows, ‘I just wanted to ask . . .’ He scratched his beard and swallowed. ‘Hotel Opera,’ he blurted out and looked directly at the Chief of Police, Bastesen. ‘Hotel Opera!’
    ‘Yes . . .’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I don’t quite understand your question,’ Bastesen said, offended and with a furrow on his brow. ‘It was—’
    ‘When we’ve got the Continental and the Grand,’ Salhus interrupted, making a great effort to keep his voice down. ‘Wonderful, traditional, good hotels. We have elegant VIP accommodation and we have . . .’ He lowered his voice even more and tapped the map of the centre of Oslo with his finger. ‘Kings have stayed here. Princesses and presidents.
Albert bloody Einstein
. . .’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘God knows how many other celebrities, film stars and Nobel Prize winners have slept happily and safely in their beds just here . . .’ He almost made a hole in the map with his index finger. ‘And then someone decides to put the American president in a bloody transformer kiosk between a central station full of junkies and a bloody building site. Jesus Christ . . .’
    He straightened his back and pulled a face. A faint humming from the air-conditioning was the only sound in the room. The minister and the Chief of Police leant forward and carefully studied the map on the table, as if Madam President might be hiding somewhere there, between the street names and the shaded blocks.
    ‘What on earth were you thinking?’
    The Minister of Justice took a couple of steps back. Bastesen brushed some invisible dust from the front of his uniform.
    ‘Well, that attitude’s not going to get us anywhere,’ he said calmly. ‘May I just remind you that we are responsible for bodyguard services now. That means the security of all objects, both nationals and non-nationals. And I can assure you that—’
    ‘Terje,’ Salhus cut in and puffed out his cheeks before exhaling slowly. ‘I apologise. You are absolutely right. I shouldn’t get so agitated. But . . . we
know
the Grand! We have
experience
in making the Continental secure. Why on earth . . .’
    ‘Give me a chance to answer, man!’
    ‘I suggest we sit down,’ the Minister of Justice said in a tense voice.
    Neither of the two took any notice of his suggestion.
    ‘They had just completed the presidential suite,’ Bastesen explained. ‘The hotel is preparing to welcome the cultural elite. Major stars. Up until now, they’ve had a reputation for not quite . . . Well, let’s just say they’re not quite in the same class as the Grand, but when the new opera house is finished, the location will be a huge competitive advantage and . . .’ He drew a circle round Bjørvika with his finger. ‘Right now this is Spaghetti Junction and not particularly attractive, it’s true. But the plans are . . . The presidential suite met all our requirements, in terms of aesthetics, practicality and security. Superb view. They added a couple of rooms on the ninth floor to an already existing suite, which is . . . And what’s more . . .’ he gave a crooked smile, ‘it was actually quite reasonable.’
    An angel passed through the room. Salhus stared at Bastesen in disbelief; Bastesen stared at the map.
    Eventually the Director General of the PST groaned. ‘Reasonable! The American president comes to Norway, the security operation is massive, perhaps the biggest we have ever had, and you choose a hotel that is . . . cheap!
Cheap!
’
    ‘As I’m sure is also the case in your division,’ Bastesen continued calmly, ‘it is the responsibility of the head of every government agency to save public money wherever possible. We undertook a total analysis of Hotel Opera and compared it with the other hotels you just mentioned. The Opera came out best. Overall. And may I remind you that Madam Presidenttravels with a pretty large security operation herself. The Secret Service has of course inspected the area. Thoroughly. And had very few