Free Death in Oslo by Anne Holt Page B

their faces. The furious parents came rushing over. A young man in blue overalls poured beer all over the angriest father.
    A police car was trying to force its way through the crowd.It had to give up halfway and stop. Two of the youths sat down on the bonnet. One girl insisted on kissing the policeman who got out of the car to sort things out. Several others ran over. A whole flock of girls in red overalls badgered the uniformed policeman for a kiss.
    ‘What is this?’ the guest mumbled. ‘What kind of a country is this?’
    ‘Strictly speaking, you should have known that,’ the ambassador responded, ‘before sending Madam President here. On a day like this.’
    The guest gave an audible sigh, almost demonstrative. He went over to a table where mineral water and glasses were set out on a silver tray. He lifted one of the bottles and looked sidelong at the ambassador.
    ‘Go ahead. Please, help yourself.’
    The ambassador also appeared to have had enough of the Norwegian people. He picked up a remote control and pushed a button. The curtains closed.
    ‘I apologise for making that comment, Warren.’
    The ambassador sat down. His movements were heavier now, as if the day so far had already been too long and his age was becoming a burden.
    ‘That’s fine,’ Warren Scifford assured him. ‘And in any case, you’re right. I should have known. The point is that I do know. I know everything there is to read or hear about this place. You know the procedures, George. You know how we work.’
    He held a bottle of Farris mineral water at arm’s length and looked at the label with suspicion. Then he shrugged and poured himself a glass.
    ‘We’ve been working on it for two months,’ he said. ‘And in fact we thought it was a great idea when Madam President first suggested Norway as the destination of her first overseas visit. An . . .’ he lifted his glass in a silent cheers, ‘an excellent idea. And you, of course, know why.’
    The ambassador said nothing.
    ‘We have a scale,’ Warren Scifford continued. ‘Completely unofficial, naturally, but still fairly serious. With the exception of a handful of Pacific states where there are only a few thousand friendly inhabitants and the only threat to the President would be an unexpected tsunami . . .’ he took a sip of water, swallowed and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve, ‘Norway is the safest country to visit in the world. Last time . . .’ He shook his head slightly. ‘President Clinton behaved like he was on some scout trip in Little Rock when he was here. That was before your time, and before . . .’ He suddenly rubbed his temples.
    ‘Everything OK?’ asked the ambassador.
    Warren Scifford frowned and rolled his neck. ‘Tiring flight,’ he mumbled. ‘In fact, I haven’t slept for twenty-four hours. It all happened a bit fast, you might say. When’s this guy coming? And when can I—?’
    The telephone on the vast desk started to ring.
    ‘Yes?’ The ambassador held the receiver a few centimetres from his ear. ‘Yes,’ he said again and put the receiver down.
    Warren Scifford put the glass back on the tray.
    ‘He’s not coming,’ the ambassador said and got up.
    ‘What?’
    ‘We’re going to them.’ He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on.
    ‘But we had
an agreement
. . .’
    ‘Well, actually, it was more of an order.’ The ambassador pointed at Scifford’s jacket. ‘An order from us to them. Put your jacket on. They won’t tolerate that. They want us to go there.’
    Before Warren Scifford could complain again, the ambassador put a fatherly hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘You would do exactly the same, Warren. We’re guests in this country. They want to play at home. And even though there aren’t many of them, be prepared for . . .’
    He stopped and laughed, a surprisingly high whinny. Then he went over to the door before finishing the conversation. ‘There may not be many people in this country, but they are incredibly