Anger Mode (21 page)

The man slowly shook his head. “The material world you live in is so empty,” he said. “You cannot see the light because you are blinded by your own arrogance and filled with a self-righteousness that will be your downfall.”

“I see,” Martin said and leaned back in his chair. He surveyed the man and irritation began to build within him. It was as if he were mocking Martin – in fact, the entire SÄPO organization. Yet he could not avoid feeling a grudging admiration at the self-assurance and calm that these fanatics radiated. They were perhaps at peace with themselves and their faith, which was what made the scumbags the difficult and fearsome adversaries they were. Fanatics were always difficult to break down. Especially the ones that submitted to a higher power in the form of something as abstract as a god or a dead prophet. The Americans had had little success on the Guantanamo base, despite better resources and fewer restrictions. As a colleague in the CIA had expressed it, “It’s ten times easier to turn a communist than a brainwashed, Islamic terrorist.”

The communists’ loathing of the West during the Cold War had been deep and entrenched, yet the Islamic radicals’ hatred was of such magnitude that it could be subdued only with death. Few communists would give their lives as readily for their cause as an Islamist suicide bomber would. The enemy was no longer nations like the Soviet Union and its satellite regimes. The enemy was now among us. It could be your neighbour or a co-worker. And they struck indiscriminately at both military and civilian targets – hard and soft. Women, children and old men in wheelchairs were of no significance. They were all unbelievers and were to be wiped out for the Holy Cause.

“Let’s skip all that stuff about God owning the drawings for a while and change the subject completely,” Martin suggested and looked at his papers. “Is the name Karin Sjöstrand familiar?”

The man looked at Martin as if he had suddenly started to speak in a foreign language.

“Why would I know her?” he asked and shook his head in denial.

“Lennart Ekwall, then?” Martin continued. “District Prosecutor Lennart Ekwall.”

The man did not reply.

“Perhaps the name Bror Lantz then?” Martin leaned towards him. “He’s a judge at Stockholm District Court, if that rings a bell.”

The man remained expressionless.

Martin needed to do something. The towelhead had shut down completely.

“I myself have a problem with some of the laws and courts that we have in this country,” Martin resumed, changing tactic. By showing understanding of matters close to the interview subject’s core beliefs, one could, in the best of cases, build up an empathetic relationship, which enabled information to be gleaned by reading between the lines.

The man said nothing and just stared condescendingly at Martin.

“I have nothing against Islam or its practitioners. We need diversity to survive as a civilization,” Martin tried. In fact, I’m rather fascinated by Islam and would like to learn more.”

No reaction.

“Wouldn’t you like to see children playing side by side wherever they are in the world and regardless of their religion?” he asked, with a touch of desperation in his voice. He has to take the bait now, Martin thought. At the very least, he would start to vent his righteous anger at US politics in the Middle East.

Not a single muscle twitched in the man’s face.

C
HAPTER 15

MARTIN BORG CLOSED the file and asked his colleague to take over the interrogation, if one could even call it an interrogation. He walked down the corridor after progress with the interview had stalled. It was still early in the morning and he needed space to think. Martin’s contempt towards those who were appointed to defend democracy increased with each day that passed. The majority of his colleagues were blinded by naivety and preoccupied with political correctness. That would plunge them into the abyss. He leaned back against the wall and popped a piece of nicotine gum in his mouth, while tracing the contours of the charm with his thumb. It was worn down after protecting him for twenty years.

A feeling of impotence enveloped him. It was like trying to dam a waterfall with his bare hands. Did no one understand the kind of threat posed by the Islamization of Europe? Why were everybody’s eyes closed? Probably because they were not aware of the truth. They were not as informed as he was himself and never would be because of the censoring of the press, as well as the politicians competing with each other to demonstrate their tolerance. All that he could do was to convince the general population before it was too late.

Martin walked into interrogation room “C”, where he found his colleague Ove Jernberg in the middle of questioning another of the Holy Prophet’s lackeys.

Martin waved Ove towards the doorway.

“How’s it going?” Martin whispered.

“He’s as silent as the grave,” Ove replied.

“Has he said anything at all?”

“Not really, just that it’s Allah who decides and dictates what he and his brothers are doing.”

“Nothing about the drug? Not even a hint?”

“Not so much as a syllable,” Ove answered, shaking his head.

“We have three more left to question, but it’s hardly likely that any of them will say anything that will help the investigation. On the other hand, one bonus is that we are spared any legal eagles spouting off about the law. We’ll just have to keep chipping away at them and try to wear them down. Besides, we should get a shot at other members of the Allah fan club. It seems, however, that they are out of the country.”

“When will the Chief Prosecutor be put in the picture?” Ove asked.

“In a few hours. We have a meeting with Åsa Julén at eight-thirty.”

Ove nodded and returned to the interrogation.

CHIEF PROSECUTOR ÅSA Julén was fifteen minutes late for the meeting on the investigation of which she was in charge. Stressed out, she sat down, complaining that the traffic remained busy, despite the congestion tax, an economic recession and increased petrol prices.

Martin Borg gave Ove Jernberg and the head of the County Drug Squad, Michael Stjerna, a meaningful look. All three smiled a little at Julén’s harassed entrance.

The County Police Commissioner, Folke Uddestad, was the one who opened the meeting, which irritated Martin. Lack of sleep did not improve his mood. It was, in fact, SÄPO that now led the operational part of the investigation and he was the most senior officer from SÄPO in the room. Commissioner Uddestad contributed nothing to the investigation. He was probably more of a hindrance, with his bureaucratic rigmarole and concern about motives. Martin knew that the Commissioner would actively meddle in the investigation now. He had probably prepared many counter-arguments.

“Well, as you all know, we have taken in five people for preliminary questioning. And as we feared, we haven’t managed to get anything out of them,” Uddestad began, taking a bite of a gingerbread biscuit, which then broke into pieces and ended up in his mug of coffee. For a moment, he lost track.

Martin saw an opening.

“It’s correct that we haven’t got anything out of the initial questioning,” he began. “All five have also waived their rights to legal aid, which perhaps says more about their antagonistic position to Swedish society than their religious beliefs.”

The room fell silent as all eyes were directed towards Uddestad. Martin watched the Commissioner as he fished with his spoon in the coffee mug. A clown in a uniform, Martin thought, and felt angry that somebody like Uddestad could become a police commissioner. But if an idiot like Uddestad could make County Police Commissioner, then Martin could very well become a department head eventually. This fact eased Martin’s irritation slightly.

“How’s it going with the detective work? Has the Drug Squad found any leads on Drug-X?” Åsa Julén asked.

“Very few,” Michael Stjerna answered. “And that worries us.”

“In what way?” she asked.

“Normally, there’s always someone who knows something,” Stjerna explained. “We’ve shaken down every fuck – dealer and supplier,” he said, correcting himself. “They all look at us like village idiots when we press them. Which can only mean one thing.”

“That the drug originates from a tightly-knit gang,” Martin interrupted. “Coincidentally, we have such a group here in the building.”

Stjerna nodded in agreement.

“But the interrogations are not making any progress,” Julén pointed out.

“No,” Martin admitted. “We need more time.”

Julén deliberated for a brief moment. That the suspects had not said anything was, in itself, suspicious. When suspects had nothing to hide, they were usually talkative. But she was walking a tightrope; she was aware of that. “Innocent until proven guilty” was playing in the back of her mind. The new laws, however, made her decision considerably easier. She had something to fall back on.

“I will invoke the anti-terrorism laws from now on. I have gained approval from the Prosecutor-General and the Minister for Justice. You will have more time and more room for manoeuvre. The limited period of detention is no longer an obstacle,” she informed them.

All signalled their approval, except Uddestad, who raised the question of whether it was unlawful to withhold blueprints of mosques.

“We have examined the technical drawings we found in the flat,” said Alf Gunnarson from SÄPO’s forensics team. “Most factors suggest that they are building plans for new mosques, as well as of some mosques that are already completed. Some are entire buildings; others are premises in larger properties.

“I see,” Julén said, with a worried frown. “What are we really getting out of the drawings? Are there any secret tunnels indicated or storage facilities where they might want to keep something secret? Anything that can be classified as terrorist activity?”

“We have found nothing so far,” Gunnarson said.

Julén looked hesitant.

Uddestad shook his head doubtfully. “We still have to identify a link to Drug-X, the two court officials and the district prosecutor, which is the original reason we are sitting here. Also if the terrorist prince is indeed supplying them with the drug.”

Martin bit his lip hard. That tosser could not keep silent. If he were allowed to continue, he would make Julén waver. At heart, Åsa Julén was a coward and disliked taking risks; everyone who had to deal with her knew that. Martin must get the County Police Commissioner away from the investigation before he did any damage, but, even for a team leader of SÄPO, that was easier said than done. The prosecutor in charge of the investigation made the final decision. She was, for all intents and purposes, Martin’s superior and, to top it all off, Uddestad was also personally connected with a big player in the political world. And it was not just any politician. Of all the bloody zombies in parliament, it had to be the Minister for Justice. Even if a politician could not directly interfere and give them instructions, they could whip up public opinion over individual cases. In any event, the Minister for Justice had a legitimate reason to be concerned about any investigation involving the judicial system.

“We’ll establish the backgrounds of the detainees and turn over every stone. Sooner or later, I’m convinced that we’ll find a connection,” Martin said, reading the mood around the table. He had to avoid losing his temper.

“Very possibly, but we need to have other options,” Uddestad replied and threw up his hands. “Personally, I think this is far-fetched – terrorist princes notwithstanding.”

Uddestad was apparently going to question every decision and suggestion from Martin’s direction. He felt his blood boil, but controlled himself and decided to let Julén deal with the problem.

“SÄPO’s in charge of this investigation from an operational perspective,” Martin said respectfully. “And I’ve been appointed to advise the head of the investigation. I therefore have a mandate – after consultation with my superior, Åsa Julén, of course – to make the necessary decisions regarding activities, strategies and other matters that may move the investigation forwards.” He looked at Julén, who fidgeted uneasily.

Julén felt uncomfortable caught in the crossfire between the County Police Commissioner and the investigation team leader from SÄPO. That there was friction in the investigation team was, in itself, nothing unusual. When this happened, it was usually between the prosecutor and the police. It could sometimes be a healthy dynamic that produced new ideas, since the friction usually developed when the investigation was not making any progress. But this situation was more or less unique: a police commissioner and the Security Service more or less in open confrontation. She had known for some time that Commissioner Folke Uddestad did not have a high regard for the Security Service. She knew less about Martin Borg. She had heard some rumours that he possibly had some difficulties working with female colleagues, but he was not alone in that. This dispute could blow up into something messy. She discreetly scratched behind her ear.

“Yes, that is so,” she began, with some hesitation in her voice. “But the Minister for Justice himself also made it very clear that the Commissioner should participate in the investigation, and neither the Prosecutor-General nor myself have any objection to that. What role the Commissioner has in this context is perhaps not entirely clear yet and, until that is clarified, SÄPO leads, quite rightly, the operational part of the investigation. But regardless of that, I am, in fact, in my role as Chief Prosecutor, still in charge of the investigation. And as I see things right now, there’s no reason to allocate our resources other than on the group of individuals that’s currently being detained and their associates. Until someone can convince me of the contrary, we shall continue as SÄPO proposes.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, except Folke Uddestad.

Martin added that he would gladly accept ideas and suggestions, especially from the Commissioner who, with his extensive experience in law enforcement, certainly would make a valuable contribution to the investigation.

Uddestad was the first person to leave the room.

Martin assessed his situation directly after the meeting. He was now faced with three different challenges. To begin with, he had an operational problem in the form of the uncommunicative gentlemen with the beards. After the initial interrogations, he realized that it would be difficult to get them to open up. However, he believed that, with some creative thinking and a slightly unorthodox technique, he had a solution to that problem, a solution that he had often used successfully on previous occasions.

The second challenge was more of an internal one and had so far had not been a problem, but it could eventually become one. That problem was Åsa Julén. Martin had two reasons to be concerned about her. To start with, she was a woman and women were, by definition, weak and naive. The second reason was her unwillingness to take risks. She would need persuading before she went ahead with a prosecution. Anything to protect herself in the event of a possible failure. Her record consisted almost exclusively of prosecutions in which the burden of evidence was so much to her advantage that a not-guilty verdict was as likely as a pathological liar telling the truth. Yet no battle could be won without taking risks; any soldier would testify to that fact.

So Martin and his team would have to present a mountain of conclusive evidence that would make it impossible for Julén to lose in court.

The third and final problem was also internal and its name was Folke Uddestad. While Martin believed he had a good understanding of and control over the other two cards in his hand, there was still this joker in the pack. Therefore, he would be forced to take special measures to ensure that Uddestad did not query every move in the investigation. That there was no love lost between the County Police Commissioner and the Security Service was not news. Back in the middle of the 1980s, it was discovered that Uddestad appeared in SÄPO’s top-secret list of police-authority personnel who could pose problems, because of so-called “strongly dissenting views on police activities”. Consequently, Uddestad regarded SÄPO as a snake in the grass. The top-secret list, however, was not sufficiently secret to prevent it from ending up in the public limelight, just a few months after it had been created. Rumours of a mole deep within the Security Service grew stronger after that happened. In the beginning, many believed that it was a political decision from the government to create the list and to monitor individual officers with the police authorities. This quickly proved to be incorrect. The initiative had been taken by some high-level SÄPO officials, who believed that a certain moral decay prevailed within the police force. Therefore, they felt forced to act and identified individual police officers, to prepare for a “cleansing” of those who represented the decay. These moral guardians still were firmly entrenched within SÄPO, despite a media storm of hurricane proportions.