made absolutely clear,’ he said in a measured voice. ‘And that is that the Americans will certainly not let their president disappear into thin air without doing their utmost, one . . .’ he held a finger in the air, ‘to find her. Two . . .’ another finger pointed to the ceiling, ‘to catch whoever it is who has kidnapped her. And three . . .’ he broke into a smile, ‘to move heaven and earth – and hell if needs be – to ensure that thatperson or those people are punished. And let’s just say that that the punishment won’t be meted out in this country.’
The Minister of Justice gave a dry cough. Everyone looked at him. It was the first time he had opened his mouth in the meeting.
‘The Americans are our friends and allies,’ he said. His voice had an edge of formal panic that made Peter Salhus close his eyes, so that he wouldn’t interrupt. ‘And we must of course do whatever we can to help them. But let me make clear . . .’ the minister hit the table hard with his fist, ‘that we are in Norway. Under Norwegian jurisdiction. The Norwegian police will lead the investigation. Let there be no doubt about that. And when the culprit has been caught, then a
Norwegian court
. . .’
He was shouting, and heard it himself. He broke off. Coughed again, and prepared to continue.
‘With all due respect . . .’ Peter Salhus’ voice sounded rough in comparison. He got up from his chair. The Minister of Justice remained seated with his mouth open. ‘Prime Minister,’ Salhus continued, without even looking at the most senior politician responsible for the Norwegian police, ‘I think we could do with a reality check.’
The Director of Police, a thin woman in full uniform who had largely sat and listened throughout the meeting, leaned back and crossed her arms. Her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere most of the time and on two occasions she had left the room to answer calls. Now she seemed to be more interested and looked straight at the Director General of the PST.
‘I would just like to draw your attention to the fact that—’ interjected the obviously angry Minister of Justice.
‘I think we should take a moment to clear this up,’ the Prime Minister interrupted, with a gesture that presumably was intended to reassure, but instead was more like one used when scolding a disobedient child. ‘So, Salhus, in what respectdo you think that we are not in touch with reality? What is it that you’ve seen that the rest of us haven’t?’
His eyes, which naturally already looked narrow in his round face, were now like two slashes of a scalpel.
‘Is it just me . . .’ Salhus threw open his hands, ‘is it just me to who finds this situation completely absurd?’ Without waiting for an answer, he continued: ‘An entire small air force, in addition to Air Force One. Around fifty Secret Service agents. Two armoured cars. Sniffer dogs. A bunch of special advisers, which basically means FBI agents, if any of you were wondering . . .’
He tried not to look at the Minister of Justice, who was now sitting down and aggressively stirring his coffee with a pencil.
‘That is the President’s entourage on a state visit to Norway. And do you know what? That is surprisingly little!’ He leant forward over the table with both his hands placed firmly on the tabletop. ‘
Little!
’
He let the word hang in the air, as if measuring the shock effect.
‘I’m not quite sure that I understand what you’re getting at,’ the Director of Police said. ‘We all know perfectly well how many people the President has with her, and it’s not—’
‘It’s in fact very few,’ Peter Salhus repeated. ‘It’s not unusual for the President to be accompanied by an army of two to three hundred agents. Personal cooks, a fleet of cars. A huge van full of modern communications equipment. Military ambulances. Bulletproof screens for use during official appearances, other IT equipment, entire kennels of sniffer dogs . . .’
The Minister of Justice gave a dry cough. Everyone looked at him. It was the first time he had opened his mouth in the meeting.
‘The Americans are our friends and allies,’ he said. His voice had an edge of formal panic that made Peter Salhus close his eyes, so that he wouldn’t interrupt. ‘And we must of course do whatever we can to help them. But let me make clear . . .’ the minister hit the table hard with his fist, ‘that we are in Norway. Under Norwegian jurisdiction. The Norwegian police will lead the investigation. Let there be no doubt about that. And when the culprit has been caught, then a
Norwegian court
. . .’
He was shouting, and heard it himself. He broke off. Coughed again, and prepared to continue.
‘With all due respect . . .’ Peter Salhus’ voice sounded rough in comparison. He got up from his chair. The Minister of Justice remained seated with his mouth open. ‘Prime Minister,’ Salhus continued, without even looking at the most senior politician responsible for the Norwegian police, ‘I think we could do with a reality check.’
The Director of Police, a thin woman in full uniform who had largely sat and listened throughout the meeting, leaned back and crossed her arms. Her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere most of the time and on two occasions she had left the room to answer calls. Now she seemed to be more interested and looked straight at the Director General of the PST.
‘I would just like to draw your attention to the fact that—’ interjected the obviously angry Minister of Justice.
‘I think we should take a moment to clear this up,’ the Prime Minister interrupted, with a gesture that presumably was intended to reassure, but instead was more like one used when scolding a disobedient child. ‘So, Salhus, in what respectdo you think that we are not in touch with reality? What is it that you’ve seen that the rest of us haven’t?’
His eyes, which naturally already looked narrow in his round face, were now like two slashes of a scalpel.
‘Is it just me . . .’ Salhus threw open his hands, ‘is it just me to who finds this situation completely absurd?’ Without waiting for an answer, he continued: ‘An entire small air force, in addition to Air Force One. Around fifty Secret Service agents. Two armoured cars. Sniffer dogs. A bunch of special advisers, which basically means FBI agents, if any of you were wondering . . .’
He tried not to look at the Minister of Justice, who was now sitting down and aggressively stirring his coffee with a pencil.
‘That is the President’s entourage on a state visit to Norway. And do you know what? That is surprisingly little!’ He leant forward over the table with both his hands placed firmly on the tabletop. ‘
Little!
’
He let the word hang in the air, as if measuring the shock effect.
‘I’m not quite sure that I understand what you’re getting at,’ the Director of Police said. ‘We all know perfectly well how many people the President has with her, and it’s not—’
‘It’s in fact very few,’ Peter Salhus repeated. ‘It’s not unusual for the President to be accompanied by an army of two to three hundred agents. Personal cooks, a fleet of cars. A huge van full of modern communications equipment. Military ambulances. Bulletproof screens for use during official appearances, other IT equipment, entire kennels of sniffer dogs . . .’
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