Project Nirvana (46 page)

To SÄPO, it was more interesting that former Stockholm County Police Commissioner Folke Uddestad had hired Tor Hedman and Jerry Salminen to steal incriminating material, consisting of a film and photographs that the journalist Jörgen Blad had used for blackmail.

It’s like a bloody soap opera, Kokk decided, after reading the summary of the contents of the hard drive. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could lead Kokk to the nucleus of Borg’s organization. Nothing that would help Kokk to destroy the supposed secret organization within the police force. If there really was such an organization.

One thing they knew for certain was that Borg had nourished a deep resentment towards Islam, an almost obsessive hatred for the religion. His bookshelf was packed with literature that described Islam as the next great threat to the Free World. It would destroy mankind long before global warming or the population crisis.

Anders Holmberg looked at Kokk worriedly. “Perhaps we’re just chasing ghosts?” he said, folding his arms. “Perhaps there is no secret organization. Perhaps Borg was a solo act who used outsiders to help him.”

“Borg had plenty of support inside the Service when he was given a clean sheet after the incident in Gnesta,” Kokk protested.

“Restraint was exercised, my own included, but it was not to save Borg. It was to protect the Service; you know that, Thomas. We’ve already taken a lot of criticism for using illegal surveillance techniques. There’s also the case of the agent in Personal Protection, who was recently sentenced for rape as well as tampering with evidence. If the general public is to continue to have confidence in the elite units of the Swedish police force, no more scandals can be allowed to see the light of day. The headlines in the tabloids have to be stopped. We must close ranks or lose all credibility and our ability to co-operate with other law-enforcement agencies. The British have already shown some unease over our situation. Yesterday, we had great difficulty in getting the NBI to divulge the names of three Iraqis whom they arrested during a raid.”

“Yes, I know all about that,” Kokk said sharply. “It was my section that had the problem.”

“Well then, we’re on the same wavelength,” said Holmberg. “You appreciate the seriousness of the situation.”

Holmberg and Kokk were not on the same wavelength. It was not just because Holmberg was Kokk’s superior. Holmberg was an administrator appointed by politicians to lead the Security Service. Both Holmberg and Kokk had law degrees, but only Kokk had graduated from the police academy and was therefore a “real” police officer, a qualification that was of great significance to his colleagues. Even so, Kokk disliked the contempt that many regular police bore instinctively towards the “amateur” police in the Security Service. This contempt had become more widespread since Holmberg had taken over the Service.

“So the suspects are individuals who have a strong dislike of Islam? Is that all we have to go on?” asked Kokk. Kokk looked at the others in the room.

“Any anti-Islamist sympathizers who are currently serving on the force. That’s correct,” replied Holmberg.

“That’s half the police force. Maybe more, if you apply the same statistics as the general population. That’s a lot of suspects to investigate.”

Chief Inspector Sten Gullviksson agreed. “You can’t investigate every frustrated police officer who’s let off a little steam by expressing dislike of Muslims,” he said, playing with his ballpoint pen.

Kokk carefully observed the overweight Chief Inspector. The other members of the executive seemed to agree with him.

“Obviously, we can’t forbid anyone their constitutional right to free speech. Instead, we must take measures to change their attitudes,” Holmberg added.

Perhaps there was something in what Holmberg said. Even so, Kokk could not ignore the fact that some individuals within SÄPO had been involved in Brageler’s abduction. He hoped to God that none of them were implicated in his death. It had been a particularly callous assassination in a hospital using a high-velocity Russian rifle, one that he had witnessed with his own eyes. The evidence did not seem to point to a connection, but things were not always what they seemed. He was sure there were other forces at work. Forces he did not yet understand.

The incident at Gnesta had caused him to have doubts about his future career on the force. Those doubts now resurfaced. The SÄPO executive was ignoring the hard evidence. What kind of behaviour did the executive think should be tolerated? Just anti-Islamic attitudes? Or was there a tolerance of even deeper frustrations, even of people opposed to the democratic society they lived in?

During the sixties and seventies, anti-communists were openly accepted within the Security Service. The threat of the day had been communism; today, it was Islam. If there was no threat, then the Security Service would invent one. What they were discussing was unconstitutional. Not to investigate a crime was in itself a crime.

The Brageler murder could not be covered up. However, if a secret organization was discovered, it would severely damage the Security Service for a long time. There was no doubt of that. There would be repercussions, which would spread like an earthquake, and the aftershocks would reach the Government too. There were no winners in such a scenario. Except possibly democracy itself, as well as any members of the organization who had escaped the consequences of their actions. That would include the people that were allowed to “let off steam”.

He was standing
in the doorway with a shy smile. Everything was perfect, even the paprika filling in the meat had the correct blend of hot spices – after many attempts.

“Come in,” she welcomed Alexander, waving him through.

“I brought you something,” he said, giving a small package to Jonna.

She looked at the small, gift-wrapped box. “Shall I open it now?”

“If you want.”

She removed the wrapping paper and found a small, wooden box with a latched lid. She opened the latch and looked inside. An iron object lay on a bed of cotton wool.

“What is it?” she asked, taking the object out.

She turned it around a few times in her hand before recognizing what it was. “An arrowhead?”

Alexander nodded. “A completely authentic replica from the early Iron Age,” he said. “We made exact casts of all the artifacts that we excavated outside Uppsala last year.”

“Incredible,” she said, feeling the rough surface. The tip was sharp.

“It’s unique. It was the best-preserved example of an arrowhead known to date.”

“It must be exciting to search for objects that have so much to tell.”

“Yes, that’s part of the charm of being an archaeologist. There’s so much history still to be discovered. The longer one digs, the farther back in time one goes.”

“Sounds a bit like time travel,” said Jonna, smiling.

“Well, I suppose it is, in a way.” He returned her smile.

“Since the snow didn’t let you fly to South America, I made you a Mexican stew as consolation.”

He laughed.

“Every cloud has a silver lining,” said Jonna, serving the food. She tasted a bit and felt the chilli peppers burning in her mouth. It must have been too long on the heat and fermented the peppers. She took a glass of water to put out the fire in her mouth.

“This stew has a bite,” Alexander said, taking a glass of water as well. His cheeks were flaming red and he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. After forcing down a few more mouthfuls, Jonna took pity on him. Alexander did not protest and helped her to take the plates to the kitchen. Jonna took out the dessert from the fridge. She could hardly make a mess of the fruit salad.

They ate in silence. Jonna couldn’t think of anything to say. Alexander seemed to share her dilemma. Finally, he broke the ice.

“This might sound a little strange, but in some ways I’m glad that I didn’t start on the trip,” he said, taking a little sip of the wine in an attempt to gain more confidence.

“Really? Why are you glad?” asked Jonna, hoping that the answer would be . . .

“It meant that I could see you again,” he said, with a nervous smile.

Right answer, she thought, trying to stay cool. Or maybe not. She was damned if she was going to play games.

“I’m glad too,” she answered, drinking some wine as well. A big gulp. The air was suddenly charged with electricity. It was as if she could feel the electrons flowing between them. What should she say now? For once, nothing. She would find her way in silence.

After clearing away the worst of the dishes, it was time to move into the living room. Jonna lit some candles and looked out of the window. It was windy outdoors and the bracket of the balcony window box was banging against the railing. Far off, she saw the lights of an emergency vehicle flashing. Perhaps an ambulance. Perhaps some of her colleagues responding to an emergency call. How distant it all felt from the safety of her home. The impressions of the day began to surface slowly, but she had to suppress them. If only for one day: today. In the reflection in the window, she could see Alexander on the sofa. He was flicking through an edition of the magazine
Police in Sweden
. This was the right moment. Everything was just so right.

“See anything exciting?” she asked, and sat next to him.

“It’s not every day that I get to read what police write about other police.”

“More often than not, it’s about tedious topics like administration or some other red tape,” she said, and refilled their wine glasses. She was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol.

Alexander put down the magazine and they toasted each other.

“Delicious wine,” he said, looking at his glass.

“From South America,” Jonna said. “Argentina, to be precise.”

Alexander laughed. “I should’ve guessed,” he said. “Do you have any more South American surprises for me?”

Jonna smiled. “Later, perhaps,” she said.

A pause.

Alexander put his glass on the table. The candlelight played on the glass, turning the wine black. “There’s a mountain in Chile called the
Cerro Armazones
,” he began. “It rises over three thousand metres and the view is fantastic. It almost never rains there.” He paused, as if he was trying to remember something.

“How far can you see?” Jonna wondered.

“Far. Very far. In fact, more than two million years back in time.”

“Are there caves?”

“No, quite the contrary. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve seen.”

“Tell me,” Jonna said impatiently.

“To lie on your back in the middle of the night on top of the mountain and to look at the clear, starlit sky is an experience everyone should have. It’s magical. It’s one of the places on Earth where you can see the Milky Way so clearly that you almost feel like you are part of it. Which, actually, we are.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Jonna said. “How did you manage to get there?”

“It’s a long story. A good friend of mine is an astronomer and they are planning to build a new observatory right at the top of the mountain. Instead of spending two weeks on a sandy beach in Spain, I travelled there to visit him.”

“Sounds like a smart choice,” Jonna agreed.

Alexander fidgeted slightly. “Jonna, do you know what I’m thinking?”

She shook her head, drank a little more wine and played with her glass in anticipation of his answer.

“When I look at you, I think of that night. I lay there, under the heavens, unable to stop marvelling at the beauty of the galaxy. How lucky we are to live on this amazing planet, which we know so little about.”

Jonna stood up from the sofa and went towards her bedroom door. “I know one thing for sure,” she said, beckoning Alexander with her finger.

He was surprised, but followed her into the bedroom. Shy, but not timid. His warm, urgent gaze made any resistance she had left dissolve into atoms. In his eyes, she saw a starry night appear. It was beautiful. She closed her eyes as his warm lips touched hers.

Their tongues melded and a shiver of sensual pleasure ran through her body. She surrendered unconditionally and they fell onto her bed entwined with each other. Together under the Milky Way.

Epilogue

The road down
to the village was framed by large fields of waving, yellow rape. On the horizon, the sea sparkled, as if it were winking a welcome to her.

She felt she was home. She had wandered along this lane as long as she could remember. Yet this was the first time her feet had touched the gravel of the lane, which led to the seaside town. She stroked the rape and a familiar sensation of joy spread through her body. She was going to be reunited with loved ones whom she had not seen for a lifetime. She hummed that song again. The song that kept popping into her head and that never stopped. Eventually, it had become her travelling companion.
A mourir pour mourir
– to die, since I must die.

She walked down the cobbled road that was just wide enough to accommodate two cars. This was the main street, along which she used to ride her bicycle every morning when she was a child, to fetch bread from the bakery. A little farther down there would be a dark green house and then she had to turn right. As she came down the hill, she saw the building and the street that led up another hill. A car passed by slowly. The man in the driver’s seat looked at her as he drove by. She thought she recognized him and tried to recall his name. It was almost on the tip of her tongue when something flickered at the corner of her eye.

There were the dark shadows again. She stopped and turned around, but could not shake them off this time either. They swooped over her and her vision soon became blurred.

Then came the silence, the emptiness and darkness. Afterwards, the flames. The flames racked her body and she felt the agony burning her inside.

“No, no more!” she screamed.

Excruciating pain shot throughout her body, culminating in her head. Her body twisted with agony.

Hold on, just a little longer, she told herself.

Then that sound again. The high-pitched wailing that penetrated skin and tissue and headed towards her brain. Everything went to her brain. After that, instant silence. There was peace once it stopped. She could hear her own breaths as she gasped for air. Colette Rousseau opened her eyes, to find herself lying on the side of the road.