Mountain Ghost: A Polar Task Force Thriller, Book #2 (PolarPol)

by Christoffer Petersen

  Filippa excused herself, leaving the three police officers alone in the kitchen. She paused at the door, listening for a moment more, before climbing the stairs to the first floor.

  “Sky Solutions offered secure cloud services for companies. But,” Gina said, looking up at the ceiling as the floor creaked with Filippa’s movements. “There was a lot of competition. They looked elsewhere, and the scandal was that they found customers from a different sector.”

  “Government?”

  “And criminal.” Gina reached for Mats’ SÄPO file. “Berglund gave Mats an assignment. He wanted him to break into the Sky Solution servers.”

  Etienne’s seat creaked as he leaned back from the table. “There’s a but coming. Isn’t there?”

  Gina shifted in her seat, and said, “Sky Solutions revealed there had been a breach, and that data had been mined from several accounts before they could close the gap. Criminal and government accounts.”

  “So Mats got in?”

  “Who knows,” Gina said. “But around the time of Berglund’s visit, when Klas said he thought his friend was unusually stressed, Mats’ house was burgled, twice in the same week. Márjá took their son, Niillas, and moved in with her grandparents. And Berglund started to visit more often, coming three times a week until the end of that year.”

  “And a year later,” Evelyn said, checking her notes. “Mats Lindström goes missing.”

  Gina nodded once and then sat down, pointing at the notes in the folder. “I asked for SÄPO’s help and cooperation. That’s what they gave me.”

  “A redacted document. Nothing more? No interviews?” Evelyn looked through the folder, turning one redacted page after another towards Etienne.

  “I interviewed Berglund twice,” Gina said. “Both times he told me that he couldn’t tell me anything, that Mats was working on matters of national security.”

  “Then why was he nominated for Polarpol?” Etienne asked.

  “Maybe Mats wanted out? He told Filippa he was in too deep with SÄPO, but felt that he couldn’t return to the police, for the same reasons. But I think there’s more to it.”

  “Like what?”

  “They were using my brother,” Filippa said, as she returned to the kitchen.

  “I thought you were quiet,” Gina said, with another glance at the ceiling.

  “I was listening,” she said. “But it didn’t sound like you were going to tell them.”

  “I was getting to it, Filippa. I promise.”

  “Then tell them,” Filippa said.

  “It’s just a working theory.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Etienne said.

  Gina reached across the table and pulled Evelyn’s notebook into the middle. She took a pen from the inside pocket of her jacket, turned to a fresh page and drew a circle in the middle.

  “Himlavalv, Sky Vault,” she said, writing the English translation beneath the Swedish word. She drew another circle to the right, adding the word SÄPO in the middle. She connected them with a line. To the left she drew another circle, placing a question mark in the middle, connecting it with another line to the Sky Vault circle in the middle of the page. “You could say Sky Vault is actually Swedish Sky Solutions, but if we assume this is Mats’ operation, and that he has gained access to this cloud, then he also has access to the government data from SÄPO and whoever is over here,” she said, tapping the circle with the question mark.

  “Mats has access to information from the good guys and the bad guys,” Evelyn said.

  “There’s probably a lot of overlap,” Etienne said, thinking of his own experience with Barnes and the unanswered questions still hanging over the events in Iceland. “But both groups would be interested in each other’s data.”

  “Right,” Gina said. “Which makes Mats a person of interest.”

  “But how did they find out it was Mats?”

  “Berglund.” Filippa spat the SÄPO agent’s name, clenching her fists at her sides. “He leaked it, trying to get the bad guys to come for Mats, so they could find out who they were.”

  “We don’t know that, Filippa,” Gina said, turning in her seat.

  “But Mats would know who they are,” Evelyn said. “He’s already in the system. He can read the files.”

  “Which is where it gets complicated,” Gina said.

  Filippa returned to the table, trembling as she pulled out her chair and sat down.

  “From the little Berglund said in the interviews, it seems that Mats was less than cooperative. Filippa thinks it was SÄPO who burgled Mats’ house, and that they did it twice in the hope that after the first time, Mats would let his guard down, not believing they would do it again.”

  “But they did,” Filippa said.

  “We think so,” Gina said. “It’s possible.”

  “And they burgled him because he wouldn’t give them the information?” Evelyn pulled back her notebook to add more notes beneath Gina’s circles.

  “It made them suspicious.” Gina reached out to take Filippa’s hand. “And I’m sorry, but it does seem suspicious.”

  “My brother’s not a criminal,” Filippa said, pulling her hand free. “He doesn’t work for criminals, either.”

  “Then why not just tell them who was in the cloud?” Etienne frowned, looking from Filippa to Gina. “You said there was more to this?”

  “It’s a theory – my own,” she said, with another glance at Filippa. “If we believe Filippa’s right, that Mats isn’t a criminal, then we’re left with two options. One, he’s seen something he shouldn’t have, and SÄPO knows it. If he hands over the data, or his code, or whatever it is that reveals his tracks, then he confirms that he knows something that SÄPO would rather keep quiet. Call me a conspiracy nut, but that’s the kind of thing secret services do, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Etienne said, brushing it off with a shrug. “And the second thing? If Mats isn’t working for the mob, or organised crime – whoever they are.”

  “Mats is working both sides, for the government, as double agent.” Filippa pressed her hand to her mouth after speaking, as if now the words were out, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, let them back in. Now it was said, someone had to do something about it.

  “This is your theory too?” Etienne asked, turning to look at Gina.

  “No,” Filippa said. “Just mine.”

  “Just a second,” Evelyn said, as she flicked through her notes. “We’ve got the Christmas party last year, the articles in the newspaper about the breach, a Danish/Swedish company providing cloud services to the security service, and undisclosed actors, who may be linked to organised crime.” She turned to the next page. “Mats, we think, is involved, and Berglund is using him as a consultant. But, if he’s a double agent…”

  “Then the other actors want the same information that SÄPO does,” Etienne said.

  “Leaving Mats Lindström with very few options,” Evelyn said, tapping her finger on the page. “Mats has a wife…”

  “And a young son,” Gina said.

  “Pursued by both sides of the law.” Etienne paused to take a long, deep breath. “He’s all out of options. And if he’s going to protect his family, one viable option – albeit not an attractive one – to remove the problem of what he does or doesn’t know is to take his own life.”

  “Or pretend to,” Filippa said, with another look at the photos from Facebook.

  Chapter 9

  Etienne excused himself from the kitchen, tapping Evelyn on the shoulder as he walked into the hall. They pulled on their boots and jackets before leaving the house. Etienne took Evelyn’s arm, guiding the Alaska State Trooper off the deck and around the side of the house. Snow fell from the trees in the garden with soft thumps as the flurry of flakes in the air settled on the boughs. Etienne stopped walking as they reached the first shadows.

  “Thoughts?” he said, keeping a casual eye on Berglund’s SUV still parked on the street.

  Evelyn glanced in the same direction, then pulled h
er fleece hat out of her jacket pocket, tugging it onto her head before speaking. “It’s complicated.”

  “More than I first thought,” Etienne said.

  “I mean, if it wasn’t for the whole SÄPO thing, even without the supposed criminal element…”

  “Yes?”

  “A dad gets in over his head – could be debts, an affair, whatever. He thinks he can save his family any further pain by taking his own life. He’s wrong, of course. But we’ve both seen it before.”

  “We have.” Etienne nodded. Too many times, he thought.

  “Then, factor in the whole national security thing, and suddenly he’s in way over his head. Add to that, the unlikely but not impossible fact that he’s got the goods from both sides of the street – data that could embarrass the so-called good guys and the bad. Well, now we’ve got an interesting mix.”

  “Enough to take his own life?”

  “More than enough, sure,” Evelyn said. She wrinkled her nose, waiting for Etienne to ask more.

  “But?”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  “I didn’t think you did.”

  Etienne recalled what he had read in Trooper Evelyn Odell’s file, that she was a competent tracker, which, Etienne mused, meant reading people, situations, not just following clues, but leaping ahead of them, working the trail, but anticipating diversions, backtracking, and false trails.

  “And?”

  Evelyn took a breath. “If it was me,” she said, breath condensing as she exhaled. “I wouldn’t leave a young wife and a three-year-old at home, unprotected.”

  “He’s technically competent.”

  “So he’s wired the house. But not in plain view, no,” Evelyn said, smiling as she warmed to the topic. “He’s sneaky, it’s all hidden. Even his wife…”

  “Márjá.”

  “Yeah, she doesn’t know. It’s in the walls. There’ll be a router or a server somewhere in the house, the loft, maybe, if it wasn’t so cold.”

  “The basement.”

  “Sure. He could hide it down there. Most basements have clutter. He’ll have stuff tucked away, hidden with the rest of the junk.”

  “Go on,” Etienne said. “To what purpose?”

  “Simple. He’s keeping an eye on his family.”

  “He’s just put them through hell.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  “How?”

  “When he comes back.”

  “And when does he do that, Trooper?” Etienne twirled his fingers, speeding her thoughts as Berglund got out of his car. “Faster.”

  Evelyn turned as Berglund slammed the door of the SUV. “Shit. Okay. He comes back when it’s safe.”

  “And when is it safe?”

  “When he’s gone,” Evelyn said, lowering her voice as Berglund strode across the garden towards them.

  “Inspector,” he said, beckoning for Etienne to meet him halfway.

  “Just a second.” Etienne turned to Evelyn. “Go back inside. Get Filippa and Gina to take you to Mats Lindström’s house. Take a good, long look around. But don’t give them any hope. If Filippa tries to get you to speak…”

  “Play dumb.” Evelyn grinned. “Got it.”

  Etienne took a step towards Berglund, stopping as Evelyn caught his arm.

  “Why are we so interested? I mean, what’s in it for us?”

  “We’re in a bind, Evelyn. You’ve seen the signs. It’s just the two of us. I’m not saying we’re ever going to recruit Mats Lindström – there’s a lot of baggage there. But finding him… Now that could give us an edge, could keep the wheels spinning for a little while longer.” Etienne shrugged. “All I want is another chance at a win, something where the odds are in our favour.”

  “Are they?” Evelyn frowned. “In our favour?”

  “I have no idea. Now, go see what you can find out.”

  Etienne watched Evelyn take a few steps towards the house, curious that she left only tiny tracks in the snow, as if she contemplated each footstep, another demonstration of the skills she brought to Polarpol. Etienne took a breath of cold air, felt the familiar chill in his chest, and then turned to greet Berglund.

  “Jöns,” he said, as he shook the SÄPO agent’s hand. “This is a strange case.”

  “Gina brought you up to speed?” Berglund asked. He offered Etienne a cigarette, lighting one for himself when Etienne declined.

  “From the police perspective, yes. But I’d like your take on it.”

  “Are you tired, Inspector?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Then if you’ll come with me, I’d like to show you something.”

  Etienne followed Berglund to the SUV, idly noting the impressions of the man’s boots in the snow – heavier than Evelyn’s, with a thick arch of snow pressed between the tread of the heel and toe.

  I am tired, Etienne thought. I need to look up, lift my head, see the bigger picture. And yet, there was something reassuring about looking at tracks in the snow, something familiar. He looked up when they reached the car, and Berglund extinguished his cigarette, pinching it between his finger and thumb.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have an office in town.”

  “At the police station?”

  “Close by,” Berglund said, gesturing at the passenger door. “Get in, Inspector.”

  Berglund said little as he drove, pointing out the same sights that Gina had on the way in, with more or less the same enthusiasm. He parked on the street in a space outside a row of shops, pointing at a window on the second floor as they got out of the car.

  “I had an office at the police station, but when the case developed, I moved here.” Berglund locked the car and strode to the door. “Fewer distractions,” he said.

  Etienne followed Berglund inside, following the Swede’s lead and kicking the snow from his boots on the mat before the stairs. Berglund took the stairs two at a time, leading the way before stooping to pick up a paper and adverts on the mat outside the door to his apartment. He opened the door, flicked on the lights, and waved Etienne inside.

  “It’s basic,” he said, pointing out the kitchen and the bathroom. “A single bed in the living room. I’ve turned the bedroom into the office. Which reminds me.” Berglund stopped at the office door. “Where are you staying?”

  “Actually, we haven’t got that far. Gina seemed in a bit of a hurry.” Etienne said nothing about being kidnapped, although the thought made him smile.

  “Yes,” Berglund said. “It was deliberate. She wanted to keep you away from me for as long as possible.” He turned the lights on in the office and sat down at the chair in front of a computer desk with three screens. “Did she tell you why?”

  “No.” Etienne grabbed the spare chair by the wall. He placed it beside Berglund as the SÄPO agent turned on the computer. “But if I had to guess, it would be to tell her side of the story, before you complicated things.”

  “Her side of the story is what complicates things, Inspector.”

  Berglund pressed his thumb on a pad, scanning his print, before entering a password. The screens flickered into life. Etienne looked away as Berglund entered a second password, noticing the blackout curtains covering the window. He turned the other way and saw the lock on the door, but struggled to remember if he had seen Berglund unlock the office before inviting him in.

  “This is Mats Lindström,” Berglund said, pointing at a photo on the screen. It’s from today, from his own Facebook account – his profile, his timeline. He posted it this afternoon.”

  “Mats posted it?”

  “Posted in his name, by whoever has access to Mats’ account.”

  “I can’t imagine what Márjá feels about this.”

  “To be blunt, Inspector, that’s not my concern. This,” he said, scrolling through the latest posts on Mats Lindström’s profile, “is what concerns me.”

  “He’s posted every day?”

  “A couple of times each day. Once in the morning, ag
ain in the afternoon. Around the same time, each time, give or take twenty minutes.”

  “Gina and Filippa…”

  “Only showed you a few photos?” Berglund nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Look here.” Berglund opened the About section of Mats Lindström’s profile. “This email isn’t Lindström’s.”

  “It’s not his account?”

  Berglund shook his head. “The account Gina showed you is Lindström’s. This one is a fake. Sure, there are many people with the same name, and they all have Facebook accounts. But this one, and…” He paused to open three more shortcuts on the browser. “These three were all created on the same date. Just before Christmas. There are matching Instagram profiles. Twitter. You name it.”

  “All created on the same day?”

  “Yes.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “They are fishing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “They – whoever they are – are posting, tagging, all in Mats Lindström’s name.”

  “Why not just tag his real account, like they did with the party photos?”

  “Sure, they’ve done that, but that just creates interference. They drew the attention of the wrong people. Tagging the real profile caught Lindström’s wife, his sister. They’re not looking for them. They don’t want their attention. They want Lindström’s.”

  “You think he’s alive?”

  Berglund clicked the mouse, dragging one browser tab onto each screen. “Here’s your proof. Whoever created these accounts, whoever is posting, is sending a message to Lindström. We just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “They’re communicating?”

  Berglund nodded. “It could be the time stamp. Maybe it’s the words – encoded. Or the photos. We don’t know.”

  “And has he responded?”

  “We don’t know that either.” Berglund tapped his fingers on the mouse, not enough pressure to click, but enough to reveal his frustration. “Honestly, it’s easier if they send something encrypted. We can work with that. This is just a puzzle. It might even be a distraction, making us look this way, when we should be looking another.”