The Pyramid

Then he had a couple more glasses of whisky, set his alarm clock to wake him at six and tried to sleep. A restless slumber carried him towards the dawn at an interminable crawl.

When the bank opened the following day he was the first customer to step through the doors. It took him twenty minutes to sign the loan documents, get his money and exchange half of it for British pounds. He hoped that no one would ask why half of the payment for the car was to be paid in pounds. From the bank he went straight to the travel agency. Anette Bengtsson couldn't believe her eyes when he walked in through the door. But she was immediately willing to help him book the ticket. The return had to remain open for now. He was astonished to hear the price. But he simply pulled out his thousand-kronor notes, took his tickets and left the agency.

Then he took a taxi to Malmö.

He had taken a taxi to Ystad from Malmö before in a state of inebriation. But never in the opposite direction, and never sober. He would never be able to afford a new car now. Perhaps he should consider getting a moped or a bike.

Linda met him by the ferry terminal. They only had a few minutes together. But she convinced him he was doing the right thing. And she asked if he had remembered his passport.

'You'll need a visa,' she said. 'But you can buy that at the airport in Cairo.'

Now he was sitting in 19C and felt how the aeroplane gathered speed and tilted up towards the clouds and the invisible air corridors, headed south. He still felt as if he were standing in his office at the station, with Martinsson in the doorway, the telex in his hand, looking miserable.

Frankfurt airport became a memory of an endless series of corridors and stairs. He took his aisle seat again and, when they came to Rome in order to make the last co

When he stepped out of the bus he was sober again. From here on he did not know what to do. A Swedish policeman in Egypt could feel very insignificant, he thought gloomily as he stepped into the magnificent foyer of the hotel. He walked up to the reception desk, where a pleasant young man who spoke perfect English asked if he could be of service. Wallander explained his situation and said he had not reserved a room. The helpful young man looked concerned for a moment and shook his head. But then he managed to find a room.

'I think you already have a guest by the name of Wallander.'

The man searched in his electronic database and then nodded.

'That's my father,' Wallander said and groaned inwardly over his poor English pronunciation.

'Unfortunately, I ca

'That suits me fine,' Wallander said. He didn't want to be reminded of the pyramids more than was necessary.

He registered, was given a key and a small map, and then made his way through the labyrinthine hotel. He gathered that it had been expanded many times over the years. He found his room and sat down on the bed. The air conditioning was cool. He took off his shirt, which was drenched in sweat. He looked at his face in the bathroom mirror.

'Now I am here,' he said out loud to himself. 'It's late at night. I need to eat something. And sleep. Above all, sleep. But I can't, since my crazy father is being held at a police station somewhere in this city.'

He put on a clean shirt, brushed his teeth and returned to the reception desk downstairs. The young man who had recently helped him was nowhere to be seen. Or else Wallander did not recognise him. He approached an older receptionist who was standing motionless and appeared to be surveying everything that happened in the lobby. He smiled when Wallander turned up in front of him.

'I have come here because my father has found himself in difficulty,' he said. 'His name is Wallander and he is an elderly man who arrived here several days ago.'

'What type of difficulty?' the receptionist asked. 'Has he become ill?'

'He appears to have tried to climb one of the pyramids,' Wallander answered. 'If I am right he chose the highest one.'

The receptionist nodded slowly.

'I have heard about it,' he replied. 'It was very unfortunate. The police and the Ministry of Tourism did not approve.'

He retreated behind a door and returned shortly with another man, also older. They spoke rapidly for a short while. Then they turned to Wallander.

'Are you the old man's son?' one of them asked.

Wallander nodded.

'Not only that,' Wallander said, 'I am also a policeman.'

He displayed his identification, which clearly stated the word 'police'. But the two men did not appear to understand.

'You mean, you are not his son, you are police?'

'I am both,' Wallander said. 'Both his son and police.'

They pondered what he had said for a while. A couple of other receptionists who didn't have anything to do for the moment joined the group. The incomprehensible conversation resumed. Wallander noticed that he was drenched in sweat again.

Then they asked him to wait. They pointed to a group of sofas in the lobby. Wallander sat down. A veiled woman walked past. Scheherazade, Wallander thought. She could have helped me. Or Aladdin. I could have used someone in that league. He waited. An hour went by. He got up and started to walk back to the reception desk. But immediately someone pointed to the sofas again. He felt very thirsty. The clock had struck twelve a long time ago.

There were still many people in the lobby. The American women from the bus left with a guide who was apparently going to take them out into the Egyptian night. Wallander closed his eyes. He jumped when someone touched his shoulder. When he opened his eyes the receptionist was there, together with a number of police officers in impressive uniforms. Wallander got up from the sofa. A clock on the wall read half past two. One of the police officers, who appeared to be about his own age and who was also wearing the most stripes on his uniform, saluted him.

'I hear you have been sent here by the Swedish police,' he said.

'No,' Wallander said. 'I am a police officer. But above all I am Mr Wallander's son.'

The policeman who had saluted him immediately exploded into an incomprehensible torrent of words directed at the receptionists. Wallander thought that the best thing he could do would be to sit down again. After about a quarter of an hour the policeman brightened.

'I am Hassaneyh Radwan,' he said. 'I now have a clear picture. It is a delight to meet a Swedish colleague. Come with me.'

They left the hotel. Wallander felt like a criminal surrounded by officers who were all carrying weapons. It was a very warm night. He sat down beside Radwan in the back of a police car that immediately revved into action and turned on its sirens. Just as they were driving away from the hotel grounds, Wallander saw the pyramids. They were illuminated by large spotlights. It happened so fast he could not believe his eyes. But they were actually the pyramids that he had seen depicted so many times. And then he thought with dread about the fact that his father had tried to climb one.