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shot since he graduated from police college. He had kept his police-issue gun in the glove compartment of his car, but a few years before he had moved it to a locker at the police station. During his training he had been an excellent shot. He had once won a medal in a competition.
    He pulled his suitcase towards him and opened it, put the pistol into the holster and placed them both neatly on top of his private possessions. Then he shut the lid and locked the case.
    The helicopter had stopped lurching; the engine dronedevenly and soporifically. There was nothing to see but the clouds and the back of the pilot’s leather jacket.
    Jensen was no longer in pain. The skin around the operation scar was pulling a bit, and he felt weak. It didn’t hurt any more. What remained was a strange emptiness, as if a close relative had died. For many years the pain had been his constant companion; now it was gone. The fact brought him no relief or satisfaction.
    He fell asleep with his head leaning on the back rest of the seat.
    The pilot woke him half an hour later.
    ‘As far as I can tell, we’re there.’
    Outside the cockpit there was nothing to be seen but thick grey fog.
    ‘The control tower isn’t answering,’ said the man at the controls. ‘The radar isn’t working. Visibility’s almost zero and it’ll soon be dark. Shall I try to land?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘This is going to be very dodgy. I suppose we’d better go down and have a look.’
    Jensen nodded. He took his wallet out of his inside pocket, located his police ID badge and put it in his breast pocket.
    The helicopter pilot gave him a surprised sideways glance. He was about thirty, a small man with unkempt hair and a frank, open face.
    He had presumably thought Jensen was about to give him some money.
    Below them, something was taking shape out of the fog.
    ‘Uh-oh,’ said the pilot. ‘Right on top of the terminal. How about that for navigation? No lights, either.’
    The machine pulled sharply back into the air. The fog closed in on them again.
    ‘Okay, we’ll try a bit further out on the airfield.’
    He brought the machine down with the greatest of care. It took a minute or so, and then they could see the ground, the grass and the concrete landing strips. To their right, a red and white object emerged from the gloom.
    ‘A tanker,’ said the pilot. ‘Parked right across the runway. They’ve blockaded the airport.’
    He peered out into the fog.
    ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This’ll be fine.’
    Jensen got up and put on his overcoat. He picked up his hat.
    The helicopter touched down. The pilot reached out an arm and opened the cabin door.
    ‘Can you see the landing beacon over there? There’s a number on it. A black four. We’ll take that as a landmark.’
    He looked at his watch.
    ‘The day after tomorrow and the day after that I’ll be here at exactly nine in the morning. I’ll wait for two minutes. From 09.00 to 09.02.’
    Jensen took his suitcase and climbed out on to the ground.
    ‘Bye,’ said the helicopter pilot. ‘Best of luck.’
    ‘Goodbye.’
    The machine took off in a roaring swirl of air and was swallowed by the mist. The engine sound died away.
    The silence was then complete. There was nothing to see. It was starting to get dark and the visibility was worsening still further.
    Inspector Jensen put on his hat and set off towards the terminal building.

CHAPTER 10
    When Jensen reached the terminal, it was almost dark. The big glass doors were locked. There were no lights on, and nothing to indicate there was any living being in the vicinity.
    On the concrete forecourt were six baggage trucks and a tank painted in camouflage colours. Its crew had left it without even stopping to close the hatch. He climbed up and looked in. Everything seemed normal.
    Out on the airfield he had seen the burnt-out wreck of a crashed passenger plane, and numerous lorries and army buses lined up across the runways.
    He walked round the outside of the building