nothing recorded on the tape. He fiddled with the radio equipment for a while. That worked, too, to the extent that he could hear a faint buzzing in the ether on the police frequency. That was all. He switched off the set, started the car, drove up on to the motorway and carried on northwards towards the city centre.
Although he had the highway to himself, he did not hurry.
When he had been on the road for about twenty minutes, he heard the blare of a horn. A white ambulance came into view in the rearview mirror about fifty metres behind him. Jensen did not accelerate and the other vehicle approached at speed and continued sounding its horn. When it drew level with him he could see two men in white coats in the front seats. The one at the wheel signalled to him with impatient gestures, but Jensen ignored him. The ambulance did not overtake but started forcing him over to the side of the road. The manoeuvre was not executed with much skill, and it was a good two minutes before he was obliged to brake and stop to avoid a collision. The other vehicle stopped, too, at an angle across his path. Jensen turned off the ignition, but remained in his seat. He saw now that this was no regular ambulance, but a delivery van that had been painted white, with crude red crosses on the sides and the rear doors. The two men got out and walked towards the patrol car.
They were wearing blue armbands, but were otherwise dressed entirely in white. White coats, white trousers and white clogs.
One was tall, with his hair brushed back and a short, neat,dark beard. Grey-blue eyes and black horn-rimmed glasses. His expression was solemn and his look was earnest.
The other one was small and weedy, with a thin face and straight hair combed over to one side. A stray strand of dark hair had fallen down over his forehead. His full lips were stretched in an unsure, artificial-looking smile. The look in his brown eyes was distant and seemed fixed on something, presumably the other man’s shoes or a point on the ground.
The tall one tried to pull open the car door. He couldn’t. He made another impatient gesture and started to say something. Jensen pointed to the other side of the car, reached out a hand and pressed a button. The side window opened about ten centimetres. The men from the ambulance went round the car.
‘Are you sick or healthy?’ demanded the tall one.
‘Healthy.’
‘We need to take a closer look at you. Get out.’
Jensen didn’t reply. The man gave him a severe look.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get out.’
The man whose eyes were looking the wrong way plucked at his colleague’s coat sleeve, pointed vaguely and said something. His voice was so quiet and indistinct that Jensen could not make out the words. The tall one listened, and nodded gravely.
‘Why are you driving around in a police car?’
‘Because I’m a policeman.’
Jensen showed his badge.
‘Then you must be sick,’ the tall man said categorically.
‘We’ll take care of you,’ whispered the other one, not looking at Jensen. ‘It could be serious.’
‘Yes, it could be serious,’ the tall one reiterated firmly.
‘I’m healthy,’ said Jensen. ‘Who are you?’
‘Doctors.’
‘Can you show me your ID?’
The two men moved as though synchronised. They produced two laminated plastic cards and held them up. Jensen nodded. Their ID appeared to be genuine.
‘You’re breaking the curfew,’ said the tall man. ‘We must take you in hand.’
‘We must take you in hand,’ whispered his colleague.
‘I hardly think so,’ said Jensen. ‘I’m a police officer.’
‘What’s your rank?’
‘Inspector.’
‘The police have no authority. And in any case, you’re sick.’
‘Who is in charge, then?’ asked Jensen.
‘The medical authorities.’
‘Who is your immediate superior?’
‘The chief medical officer.’
‘The chief medical officer?’
The man with the smile and the cowed look whispered something
Although he had the highway to himself, he did not hurry.
When he had been on the road for about twenty minutes, he heard the blare of a horn. A white ambulance came into view in the rearview mirror about fifty metres behind him. Jensen did not accelerate and the other vehicle approached at speed and continued sounding its horn. When it drew level with him he could see two men in white coats in the front seats. The one at the wheel signalled to him with impatient gestures, but Jensen ignored him. The ambulance did not overtake but started forcing him over to the side of the road. The manoeuvre was not executed with much skill, and it was a good two minutes before he was obliged to brake and stop to avoid a collision. The other vehicle stopped, too, at an angle across his path. Jensen turned off the ignition, but remained in his seat. He saw now that this was no regular ambulance, but a delivery van that had been painted white, with crude red crosses on the sides and the rear doors. The two men got out and walked towards the patrol car.
They were wearing blue armbands, but were otherwise dressed entirely in white. White coats, white trousers and white clogs.
One was tall, with his hair brushed back and a short, neat,dark beard. Grey-blue eyes and black horn-rimmed glasses. His expression was solemn and his look was earnest.
The other one was small and weedy, with a thin face and straight hair combed over to one side. A stray strand of dark hair had fallen down over his forehead. His full lips were stretched in an unsure, artificial-looking smile. The look in his brown eyes was distant and seemed fixed on something, presumably the other man’s shoes or a point on the ground.
The tall one tried to pull open the car door. He couldn’t. He made another impatient gesture and started to say something. Jensen pointed to the other side of the car, reached out a hand and pressed a button. The side window opened about ten centimetres. The men from the ambulance went round the car.
‘Are you sick or healthy?’ demanded the tall one.
‘Healthy.’
‘We need to take a closer look at you. Get out.’
Jensen didn’t reply. The man gave him a severe look.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get out.’
The man whose eyes were looking the wrong way plucked at his colleague’s coat sleeve, pointed vaguely and said something. His voice was so quiet and indistinct that Jensen could not make out the words. The tall one listened, and nodded gravely.
‘Why are you driving around in a police car?’
‘Because I’m a policeman.’
Jensen showed his badge.
‘Then you must be sick,’ the tall man said categorically.
‘We’ll take care of you,’ whispered the other one, not looking at Jensen. ‘It could be serious.’
‘Yes, it could be serious,’ the tall one reiterated firmly.
‘I’m healthy,’ said Jensen. ‘Who are you?’
‘Doctors.’
‘Can you show me your ID?’
The two men moved as though synchronised. They produced two laminated plastic cards and held them up. Jensen nodded. Their ID appeared to be genuine.
‘You’re breaking the curfew,’ said the tall man. ‘We must take you in hand.’
‘We must take you in hand,’ whispered his colleague.
‘I hardly think so,’ said Jensen. ‘I’m a police officer.’
‘What’s your rank?’
‘Inspector.’
‘The police have no authority. And in any case, you’re sick.’
‘Who is in charge, then?’ asked Jensen.
‘The medical authorities.’
‘Who is your immediate superior?’
‘The chief medical officer.’
‘The chief medical officer?’
The man with the smile and the cowed look whispered something
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