And the fact that Nora’s boat was still moored by the jetty.

“I think she’s on Grönskär,” Thomas said. “We’ll take the Buster.”

CHAPTER 78

Henrik and Thomas raced down to the jetty. Henrik hardly had time to cast off before Thomas revved the engine. He blessed his years with the maritime police, where he had learned to handle boats at high speed and in difficult nighttime conditions.

But he still didn’t see the rigid inflatable boat—commonly called a RIB—before it was almost upon him.

It came hurtling through the sound as if it had been fired from a cannon; it had no lights and was ignoring the speed limit of five knots. It must have been doing forty knots, maybe more.

It raced across the surface of the water, a miracle of speed that wasn’t remotely under the control of its young, intoxicated driver.

Loud rock music pulsated from the speakers, but Thomas barely had time to register the noise before they were on the point of colliding. He did, however, see the driver’s terrified face and could hear the sound of young girls’ laughter, which quickly turned into hysterical screams. They were so close that he could smell rubber from the other boat.

Thomas gripped the wheel so hard that his fingers hurt. He tried to avoid the RIB by veering sharply to the left, as hard as possible. The sudden maneuver caused the Buster to list heavily, and water splashed in over the port side. And still it seemed as if the RIB was heading inexorably toward them. He realized in despair that there was no escape; time had run out.

With only inches to spare, they avoided a direct collision, but the other boat was so close that it touched the Buster’s hull. The petrified driver, who had been trying to move to starboard, lost control. The impact made the prow jerk sideways, and the speed at which the RIB was traveling increased the effect. The engine let out a high-pitched roar, and the RIB was standing on its right-hand side above the dark water. For a moment it balanced there as the occupants desperately tried to hang on, but then gravity took over and the boat tipped over with a dull, heavy thud. The passengers were hurled into the sea as the hull came crashing down in a cascade of water.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Henrik yelled. The sudden changes of direction had thrown him down on the deck; he had managed to grab ahold of a cleat and clung on for dear life.

Thomas had great difficulty in steering the Buster, which listed heavily once again. When he had regained control he swung around and went back to the RIB, which was floating upside down surrounded by screaming teenagers.

“Are you OK?” he shouted to Henrik, who was hauling himself upright.

“Black and blue, but I’m on my feet.”

Thomas tried to peer through the darkness as he headed for the capsized RIB. “Can you see anything?” he asked Henrik.

Henrik leaned over the rail. “I can see seven, no, eight or nine people in the water, I think. Could be more.”

“We need help,” Thomas said, painfully conscious of how vital it was to find Nora. But they couldn’t just leave the teenagers to their fate. He took out his phone and called Peter Lagerlöf, one of his best friends in the maritime police. Thomas sent up a silent prayer that Peter would be on duty. And that his boat was somewhere near Sandhamn. With a limited number of boats at their disposal, there was no guarantee that the maritime police would be able to help immediately.

He was in luck.

The police launch was just off Korsö, only minutes away. Peter would inform the coast guard so Thomas could devote himself to the immediate situation.

Thomas carefully maneuvered the Buster toward the teenagers. Three hysterical girls were treading water as they tried to cling to the RIB. Several were screaming for help farther away. Thomas slowed down and let the engine tick over so he and Henrik could haul the shocked, soaking girls on board.

“How many of you were on the RIB?” Thomas asked.

“I can’t remember,” one of the girls sobbed as she sank down onto the seat. The other two were stunned silent.

“How many of you were in the boat?” he tried again. “This is important; you have to try to remember.”

The girl looked at him, her eyes glassy. “I don’t know. There were, like, lots of us. We were just messing around.”

God, he thought with a shudder. They’re just kids. Teenagers playing with grown-ups’ toys. They have no idea how to control the power in a boat like that.

Henrik leaned over the side to haul up a young boy. He grabbed the boy’s arms, but just as the youngster was about to climb aboard, his friend who was next to him became hysterical.

“Me first, me first,” he screamed, clinging to his friend’s shoulders and pushing him under the water.

Thomas didn’t dare let go of the wheel in case the boat began to drift.

“Henrik,” he yelled. “Stop him—he’s drowning the other kid!”

Henrik bent down and seized the boy’s drenched shirt with his left hand. Then he punched him hard with his right hand.

“Calm down!” he said. “Otherwise you’ll be swimming home! We’ll take care of both of you.”

The boy stiffened, then let go. With staring, horrified eyes, he kept still as Henrik helped the two of them on board.

In his peripheral vision Thomas could see the police launch approaching. He sighed with relief. Every minute they lost before finding Nora increased the danger she was in.

The launch was picking up several teenagers out of the water.

“Sebastian,” sobbed one of the girls sitting in the Buster. “Has anyone seen Sebastian?”

“What did you say?” Henrik asked.

“Sebastian was driving the boat. I asked him to drive the boat. Where is he?”

Henrik glanced at Thomas. He shook his head, and Thomas looked around. He couldn’t see anyone else in the water.

“You have to find him. It’s all my fault,” the girl said.

“Could he be underneath the RIB?” Henrik said quietly to Thomas.

Thomas hesitated. It wasn’t impossible. If Sebastian hadn’t managed to swim away he could well be there, hopefully in an air bubble. “Here, take the wheel,” he said to Henrik. He pulled off his jeans and sweater and dived into the water, which was surprisingly warm given that it must be at least sixty feet deep out here. With strong, rapid strokes he swam over to the capsized RIB. Resting one hand on the hull, he tried to listen for any sounds, any indication that there might be someone underneath. Then he took a deep breath and dived under the boat.

It was pitch black and virtually impossible to see anything. He fumbled around for a few seconds before he was forced to swim back out and come up for air. When he came up for the third time, the police launch was alongside. Peter was on the foredeck with a floodlight.

“Have you got an underwater flashlight?” Thomas yelled.

Peter nodded and shouted something to one of the other officers. He lay down on his stomach and handed the flashlight to Thomas, who took another deep breath and dived once more.

By the eerie glow of the flashlight he could see the boy, trapped between the wheel and the driving seat. His hair was floating outward around his head, like seaweed swaying in the current.

Thomas tried his best to free him, but he was running out of oxygen and had to swim back up to the surface to catch his breath.