The Library of Shadows

24

In the sunlight Kortmann's villa looked even more grotesque than on the night when they last visited. The huge building with the gleaming red bricks looked like some sort of cake, even though the impression was seriously marred by the rusty tower for the lift, which was leaning against the house like an old hollow tree. The sky was a deep blue, and the lawn surrounding the villa still had a lush green colour, even though they were well into October by now.

Jon wondered if it was because of the good weather or because Katherina had come along that Kortmann received them in the driveway instead of in his library. He was sitting in something that resembled an antique wheelchair with a curved black metal frame and a seat covered with red leather. A thick blanket hid his legs, and a pair of sunglasses concealed his eyes.

They had rung Kortmann several hours earlier, explaining that there was something they wanted to show him. He had sounded neither surprised nor particularly curious, merely suggesting that they meet that same afternoon. Both Iversen and Katherina insisted on going along – for different reasons, Jon suspected. Iversen was convinced that just because Kortmann was on the board of one of Remer's companies, that didn't necessarily mean he was part of the Shadow Organization. On the contrary, he might know nothing and was being used without his knowledge. Jon sensed that Katherina was of a different opinion. She pointed out that it was Kortmann who had constantly put up roadblocks to meetings of the two groups, and he was the one who was chiefly responsible for the split twenty years earlier. Who could possibly be a better mole?

Jon tried to stay neutral. Remer's corporate structure was so vast and complex that it might well be a coincidence, but he still couldn't get the idea out of his head that Kortmann was Remer's mysterious bookseller friend. Kortmann was no book dealer, but he knew enough about Luca, Jon and the bookshop to explain Remer's knowledge and interest.

'Welcome,' Kortmann declared in a friendly tone as Katherina, Iversen and Jon got out of the car. Jon was carrying an envelope with the documents pertaining to the company in which Remer and Kortmann had mutual interests.

They greeted Kortmann and took turns shaking his hand. He then rolled his wheelchair ahead of them, leading the way along a path that went round to the back of the house.

'I thought we might sit outside and enjoy the weather,' said Kortmann.

He led them over to a big terrace at the bottom of the garden. The wall surrounding the property and the tall, old trees gave the impression that they were totally isolated from the outside world.

A black-clad man was busy moving refreshments and glasses from a silver tray onto a patio table surrounded by mahogany chairs. The man, whom Jon recognized as Kortmann's chauffeur, gave them a polite nod and then walked back towards the house.

'Have a seat,' Kortmann invited them, gesturing towards the chairs. 'Let's hear what you've found.'

They sat down as he requested and Jon took the documents out of the envelope. Kortmann didn't react.

'We've managed to find some information about the individual we think is a member of the Shadow Organization,' said Jon, pushing to the middle of the table the paper with Kortmann's name on the list. His name had been highlighted in yellow.

Kortmann turned to look at Katherina, then at Jon. 'What is this?' he asked without deigning to give the document a glance.

'A list of the board members for the Habitat development,' explained Jon. 'Your name is on the list.'

'I'm on so many boards,' said Kortmann wearily. 'What's so special about Habitat?'

'The majority shares are owned by Remer, and we're positive that he's part of the Shadow Organization.'

'Remer?' Kortmann repeated, glancing away for a moment. Suddenly he burst out laughing. 'Remer is supposedly in your Shadow Organization? No, come on now. I know that at times Remer can be very creative in his interpretation of the law, but the idea that he's behind a secret plot…' He laughed again.

'We're not saying that he's the leader,' Katherina emphasized. 'Just that he's part of it.'

Kortmann looked at Katherina, and his smile disappeared. He turned to Jon. 'I must admit that I'd expected more from you, Campelli. First this insane theory, devised by an eccentric like Tom Nшrreskov, about a Shadow Organization, even though it's impossible to prove its existence, and now the idea that Remer, of all people, is supposed to be part of the conspiracy.'

Jon could feel his anger growing. Making a great effort to keep his voice neutral, he described the entire chain of events concerning Remer, his interest in Libri di Luca and how Jon had been fired from his job.

'That sounds more like Remer,' said Kortmann when Jon was done. 'You can call him a hard, calculating and opportunistic man, but he's no leader of some sort of sect.'

Katherina shifted uneasily in her chair, but Iversen placed his hand on her arm to keep her from exploding.

'How well do you know him?' asked Iversen in a placatory tone of voice. 'Does he have a different relationship with you than with the other board members?'

'I don't think so,' replied Kortmann. 'There's a congenial and professional atmosphere, and we happen to agree on many issues – that's all.'

'Has he ever read anything aloud for you?'

Kortmann shrugged. 'We've occasionally read things to each other. The minutes of meetings, drafts for press releases – that sort of thing.'

Kortmann fell silent, turning his face up towards the blue sky. Jon could almost see him thinking through the consequences of the question: 'What if…'

'Can you deny he's a Lector?' asked Katherina impatiently.

'Of course not,' snapped Kortmann. 'Only a receiver can do that.'

'So that's one time when you could have used our help,' she concluded.

Kortmann didn't reply.

'There's another name on the list,' said Jon. 'A Patrick Vedel. Do you know him?'

'Not outside of our work together on the board,' said Kortmann. 'Why?'

'He's on almost all of Remer's boards,' Jon explained. 'We think he's a receiver. A team consisting of a transmitter, Remer, and a receiver, Patrick Vedel, would be a strong combination on a board. Wouldn't you agree?'

'If I bought your theory, yes,' replied their host. Even though Kortmann had sunglasses on, Jon could still feel his sharp gaze aimed at him. 'But I don't.'

Maybe they'd made a mistake by coming here so soon without concrete evidence, but Jon doubted whether Kortmann could ever be convinced, either because he simply refused, or because he was part of the whole thing.

'Why exactly have you come here?' asked Kortmann, turning away from Jon. 'Iversen, why don't you tell me why you're all here?'

Iversen cleared his throat and nodded at the paper in the middle of the table. 'We found your name,' he said without looking at Kortmann.

'Am I on trial here?' The man in the wheelchair clenched his fists, and the tone of his voice was anything but friendly.

'We've proved that there was a connection between you and the Shadow Organization,' said Katherina.

'There is no Shadow Organization!' he shouted, making Iversen jump. 'It's a figment of your imagination, a smokescreen fabricated by the only people who have something to gain by diverting attention from themselves.' He pointed at Katherina. 'Who thought this up in the first place? Tom Nшrreskov, a receiver. And who has been deeply involved in the investigation? And whose opinion has been given a suspicious amount of weight? A receiver.'

Kortmann took off his sunglasses and stared straight at Jon. 'Can't you see it yourself?'

Jon calmly regarded the man in the wheelchair. His reaction was convincing; his eyes were fierce, his nostrils flaring. If he was playacting, he was good at it, but Jon had enough experience of powerful people to know that they were often successful precisely because of their ability to appear convincing, even when there was no substance to their claims.

'I see a man who's afraid of losing power,' Jon said calmly.

The man in the wheelchair studied Jon for a moment and then put his dark glasses back on.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said firmly. 'I was counting on you, as a Campelli, to work with the Bibliophile Society.' He sighed. 'But as things now stand, that's impossible.'

'But he's been activated,' Iversen objected. 'Jon is the strongest Lector I've ever seen.'

'And for that reason he's much more dangerous to us, Iversen.'

'Us?' Iversen repeated.

Kortmann pressed a brass button on the armrest of his wheelchair.

'I'd like you to leave now,' he said calmly. 'Iversen can stay, of course. But you two must leave my property immediately.'

They heard a door slam in the house and the chauffeur came walking towards them. Jon and Katherina stood up. Iversen hesitated for a moment, but then got up as well.

'Iversen?' said Kortmann, leaning forward in his chair. 'Don't be stupid. Don't do something you'll come to regret. I can get you another job. The Society is your life. Why throw it away for the sake of a lie?'

Iversen looked at Jon and Katherina for a moment and then turned to face Kortmann.

'I'm not doing this for myself, for them or for the Society,' he said firmly. 'I'm doing it for Luca.'

He turned and headed for the driveway, taking deliberate strides. Jon and Katherina followed.

'Are you okay?' asked Jon as they drove away from the suburb of Hellerup.

Iversen sat in silence in the back seat, staring out of the side window. He gave his head a brief shake and then smiled at Jon.

'I'm fine,' he said. 'Just disappointed, that's all.' Again he turned his gaze towards the houses slipping past. 'We need to get hold of the others,' he said. 'Preferably before Kortmann does. We have to know how many are with us.'

Jon nodded. They had no idea how big the Shadow Organization might be, but it was guaranteed that three people were too few to do anything about it. 'Kortmann gave me a list of all transmitters,' he said. 'We can start at the top.'

'Excellent,' said Iversen. 'I was afraid I wouldn't be able to remember all the names.' He caught Jon's eye in the rear-view mirror. 'But I think it would be best if I was the one who contacted them.'

'Okay,' said Jon.

'How many do you think we can count on?' asked Katherina.

'I have no idea,' replied Iversen. 'Each person is going to make up his own mind. We can't expect everyone to believe this sort of story, but that's probably not the only factor that will come into play. Some people are already unhappy with Kortmann, but there are no doubt others that are going to give us problems.' He sighed. 'Pau is one of them, I'm afraid.'

'Him I can live without,' muttered Katherina.

'What about the receivers?' asked Jon. 'Can we count on them?'

'I'm sure we can,' replied Katherina. 'Of course there are going to be a few sceptics, but I think they'll support us. I'll get Clara to call a meeting as soon as possible.'

'Is there anything I can do?' asked Jon.

'You can keep training,' Katherina suggested, and smiled.

It felt as if several years had passed since Jon had met Iversen at the Assistens Cemetery. At that time he'd had a career and was in a blessed state of ignorance. He'd also harboured a burdensome anger against the father whom he believed had abandoned him. The anger was now gone, Jon realized, or at least it had changed character. What remained was bitterness at being kept in the dark, but the anger itself was now directed at other targets: the reasons for his parents' deaths.

Luca had been buried next to Arman, but it had been a very long time since Jon had visited his paternal grandfather's grave, so it took some time to find the right place. The two gravestones stood next to the outer cemetery wall, and around them stood a solid-looking wrought-iron fence about half a metre high. Many of the other graves along the wall were covered with ivy, but the Campelli plot had recently been cleaned and the dark granite stones rose proudly from the white gravel as if it were a Japanese garden. A single withered bouquet lay in front of Luca's headstone.

The inscription on the headstone had been etched with gilded letters, soberly listing Luca's name, birth date and date of death. The 'L' of his first name and the 'C' of his surname were shaped like little pictograms with curving lines, like the initial capitals in old books.

The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and it was cold. Luckily the wall offered protection to the surrounding trees and bushes from the wind, but it was still very cold – most likely the reason why there was no one else to be seen in the cemetery.

Jon stood there for a while, looking at the grave in silence. He wasn't entirely sure why he had chosen this place for his training. His flat felt too confined, and now that he was supposed to read on his own, he felt a little calmer about being in a place where there were no electrical fixtures. Maybe it was to prove something to Luca. He didn't really know, but now that he was here, it felt right.

He sat down on a rock in the sun and reached into his coat for the book he'd taken from the stack Iversen had given him. It wasThe Divine Comedy, supposedly one of Luca's favourite books, and even though it was a small travelling copy, there was no doubt that it had been lovingly bound. The leather was a deep burgundy and the title had been stamped in black type.

Jon opened the book at random and began to read. It was a strange feeling to be reading aloud among the graves, but he had a sense of security sitting there among the trees and bushes and heavy stones. Here he was not afraid of being overheard or observed. He was alone and could focus on his reading.

Gradually he worked out how far he could go, but it took a while for him to find his way into the verse form, which made it difficult to inject any emotions. After three or four pages he finally found the rhythm and level of concentration that gave the paper its glassy appearance, and the shadows behind it began to appear like figures in a morning fog. He focused on them until they became as sharp as silhouettes cut from paper.

Iversen and Katherina were most likely gathering supporters at this very moment – and apparently Jon's help wasn't needed. He'd felt that he was in the way. In that sense it was nice to get away for a while, partly so as not to ruin anything for them, and partly just to spend some time alone. Yet it was frustrating not to be able to do anything.

After a few more pages, he began urging his powers to go further, shattering the glass surface on which the images had moved. He had the same feeling of power he'd noticed during his activation. The reading proceeded on its own; he could concentrate on adding colour to the story. Slowly he began to embellish the character descriptions and the dreary settings in which the people found themselves. There was no resistance, but the whole time he held himself back a bit. Like a film editor, he tried to create slow, smooth segues between the scenes instead of abrupt shifts.

He had no idea how long he'd been reading, but when he put the book aside, he was sitting in shadow. His throat was dry and his fingers, which had been holding the book, were cold and almost numb. He held them up to his lips and blew warm air on them. Everything around him was in shadow, and it was difficult to make out any details, but when his eyes fell on Luca's grave, he froze and held his breath.

The bars of the fence around the plot, which had previously been straight and vertical, were now bent, stretched out, and coiled, forming patterns that looked like eddies and waves. Anyone who hadn't seen the grave before would most likely not have noticed anything unusual, other than the artistry it must have taken to bend the metal bars in such a mesmerizing way.

Jon glanced around, almost expecting to see a team of blacksmiths standing there and having a good laugh at his expense, but the only things moving were the treetops, swaying in the wind.

When he stood up, he noticed an overwhelming sense of fatigue, but he felt well enough to go over to the fence and study it close up. There was nothing visible on the metal itself. It seemed as if it had always looked that way, corroded by wind and weather.

Cautiously he leaned down and touched the iron bars with his fingertips.

The metal was ice-cold.