Fear Of Broken Glass: The Elements: Prologue

by Mark, David

  ‘You saved her life,’Ash said, placing a hand on Daniel’s shoulder as he left and closed the door behind him. He followed Ulrika around to the back, hearing the murmured exchange of voices between Bok and Baron.

  The technology gap, that was all they talked about these days, but not today. Today the news was disconcerting, the radio telling about tornadoes that had ravaged the South-East England. Bok felt uneasy. On the same day London had been hit by a hurricane, the Dow Jones had fallen more than a hundred points. It had prompted US Treasury Secretary James Baker to make an announcement. That was an unprecedented move, to make such a statement. It heralded worse was yet to come. But that wasn’t why he was uneasy. He wondered for a moment, what could lie behind the deeds of the last two days, of who had been behind sending in two hit-teams. But from where? East European they were, from the other side of the Iron Curtain.

  As Bok sat and cleaned himself in the car he thought of the aftermath of the storm that had skirted north into the border region between Norway and Sweden. Gotfridsgaarden had come off lightly, sheltered by the monolith, few trees down, far fewer than had been the case in the National Park. And here in Tiveden, they were suffering from a storm of their own, more news about to hit the spotlight regarding omniscient portents of an entirely different nature. This wasn’t something remotely concerning the weather, yet connected to the outside world, subservient to the push and pull of unprecedented forces.

  And here he was, in the middle of it all.

  He looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle, recognizing the squat low form of Conrad Baron’s BX. He watched him park, climb out and walk towards his own car.

  Finished, Bok opened his door and stood up. He paused to look around, noting the bullet holes and taped windows of the homestead. Then he turned to the British agent, wondering what the hell it was the world was coming to – and how stable quiet periods should ever, ever be taken for granted.

  ‘We had a deal,’ Conrad said obviously flustered as he closed the distance, striding to stand on the other side of Bok’s car. ‘The painting. I can hardly go back empty-handed.’

  Bok had almost expected this. He looked around. ‘Agard came here. Painted here.’ He nodded up to the top of the monolith. ‘He and Gustav used to sit up there. They were good friends,’ he said, glancing towards the trees on the farthest lower slopes and the lands upon which Gustav Kron had ended the last years of his life. He thought of the times he had spent there.

  ‘What do you know you’re not telling?’

  Bok smiled, as he turned and looked at his British colleague, this man who had nearly cost him his life and cursed his involvement. ‘Tell me, do you believe in evil?’

  ‘Evil?’ Baron shrugged, looking away.

  ‘I do.’ Even though it was constructed by us. ‘Before that, only God was responsible, for everything.’ He looked back up to the top of the monolith. ‘Evil things happened around here.’

  ‘So you knew him, Kron?’

  ‘Gustav? Yes, I knew him. He used to come into Tived to shop at least twice a week.’ He used to make clogs too, but that had been more of a pastime than any living, he reasoned. Because here should be far away from anywhere. He looked across at his British counterpart. ‘So why did you come here?’

  Conrad was nervous, looking around as if waiting for something more to happen, meeting the man he only knew by reputation for the first time. ‘Because I find people.’ Was all he said, returning his gaze to stare back at him with a guarded expression. ‘The sort of people who usually can’t be found.’

  ‘That’s your job?’

  ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘And Anna Kron?’

  ‘I never knew she was dead,’ Conrad admitted. ‘Denisen just got in the way.’ He looked away in frustration.

  Yeah, he got in the way... ‘You or your people fabricated the lawyer’s letter sent to Swift.’

  ‘Just enough to get him involved. No more. I have no idea what the painting is or where it comes, or why the hell anyone wants to get their hands on it. Or,’ he paused. ‘Why you wanted to destroy it.’

  ‘It means no one can return.’ That was one very good reason.

  ‘They wanted this to happen, didn’t they – provoke some incident?’

  There was a look in Conrad Baron’s eyes then, a look Bok could almost read. Baron knew he had been played, knew he hadn’t been told the truth. ‘This is the Devil’s work Mr. Baron.’

  Bok had stayed long enough to tell the police what needed telling. And the British had sent an agent, nothing more than a courier to lure them to the Hangman; all so neat and tidy. Meaning, Baron was expendable. Like the rest of them. All of them accessories in someone else’s game, planting information to lure more dangerous predators into the arena. Except, Thomas Denisen had it forged.

  And then, it had all fallen apart.

  ‘What about you? You were there, weren’t you? Come on Bok, they sent a whole hit-team. I need to know why. Give me something at least.’

  They obviously had no idea what they were dealing with. Bok nodded, he understood, looking out across the roof of his car. ‘Yes, there is always a reason.’ He looked back at Baron, the expression on his face telling him the matter wasn’t open for discussion.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it? Just in case it went pear-shaped. Dead or missing, Denisen was going to be a problem, wasn’t he?’ Then Baron looked away. ‘Damn you...’

  Plans were always fallible. He couldn’t tell Baron that of course. MI6 would think they were amateurs. Swedish Intelligence needed close cooperation with them now more than ever. The whole situation reminded him of something someone had once said a long time ago. ‘Martin Luther said, that without the Devil and the threat of damnation, there really is little need of Priests and Pastors or any church,’ Bok said, as he raised a hand and rubbed his beard. ‘There is more truth in that than you can know.’ Finally he nodded. What was there left to hide? ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘It was a necessary call.’

  Chapter 24

  A NEW BEGINNING

  Such is the equilibrium of all things,

  that evil effects those who practice evil,

  so that in evil there is the punishment of evil.

  It is the same with falsity,

  which returns upon those who reside within falsity.

  Hence everyone brings punishment

  and torment upon himself,

  those who join with the company of the diabolical,

  being the ones inflicting torment.

  Emmanuel Swedenborg

  Genesis 7

  Concerning The Hells, 696

  Arcana Coelestia

  Conrad clenched his teeth feeling angry. It was an odd feeling, looking at the reality he was a part of. Tomorrow would be like no other day because he’d been a pawn in someone else’s game. And that game involved in all probability an East-German or at worst, a KGB hit team sent in from the East, all to get... all for old names on a list? He laughed softly and shook his head. It was so meaningless, life weighed in the balance of greed by those who wanted to know, at any cost.

  ‘Almquist had nothing to do with solving Thomas Denisen’s death,’ Bok said.

  What did he mean by that?

  He watched Bok retrieve something from inside his car, standing back up with a paper in his hand. His eyes searched the paper as Bok unfolded it, holding it up. It was a list of names, each written in a beautiful script by an old fountain pen, on fine faintly lined old yellow paper.

  ‘Where does this come from?’ He said, waving the paper in the air across from the other side of his car.

  Names people had been willing to kill and die for.

  Conrad started, ‘Where did you get it?’

  Anna was supposed to have the list.

  That was why they needed Anna, for her list. Her little list of names.

  ‘Back of the painting.’

  Conrad’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’

  ‘It was in the back of the p
ainting. It was well-hidden. You couldn’t have known,’ he said, without being smug about it.

  Conrad felt dumbstruck. They had the list in their possession the entire time.

  ‘I have a list. You know what it is.’ Bok waved it in the air. ‘This is why.’

  Conrad felt dumb-struck. ‘It belonged to someone,’ he admitted.

  ‘Karl Oskar Eklund?’

  Conrad looked up sharply. ‘Eklund? No! Wait... how do you...’

  It was Eklund’s list?

  Almquist had been onto Eklund. Bok knew about Eklund? The list belonged to Eklund. The only thing linking them was the painting. Except, as far as he could tell, Almquist had nothing to do with the painting.

  ‘Perhaps our information was better than yours, this time.’

  ‘Except, we’re supposed to know what’s on it.’

  ‘You do?’

  Conrad shook his head.

  ‘Almquist would have recognized a name or two on that list then,’ Bok added.

  Conrad look up quickly. Who was his source? ‘What names?’

  ‘Females, perhaps. Murder victims.’

  ‘The murder victims are on this list?’

  Bok nodded. ‘The list contains the names of the women murdered in the draugr killings. If Almquist had seen the list, that meant he had to be removed from play. Almquist’s world was the draugr killings. The painting involved the man called Chivers, too...’

  Chivers, he shuddered at the memory of the screams. ‘Why Chivers?’

  ‘Because he was the trumpet blower.’

  ‘Whistle blower,’ Conrad corrected, looking up. ‘The expression is whistle blower.’ He returned his attention to the list. He didn’t understand.

  ‘Chivers had to know about Eklund’s list. Who was he, really?’

  ‘A black market art dealer. He was nobody. He must have overheard something, I don’t know. Chivers isn’t important. Almquist is.’

  ‘Was,’ Bok corrected. ‘Almquist was.’

  The painting. ‘So it really came from the painting?’

  Bok smiled.

  ‘How did you know it was in the back of the painting?’

  ‘Call it a hunch.’

  ‘Some hunch.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘It was the only thing that made any sense. The list is of interest to who?’

  Conrad snorted. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Come on,’ Bok said quietly, ‘Don’t take me for a fool.’

  ‘So they killed Almquist to stop him seeing this list?’ He could see from the look in Bok’s eyes no answer was needed.

  ‘It wouldn’t look good, would it? A detective discovering murder victims had been some cover for something much...’

  ‘Worse,’ Conrad finished.

  Maneuvered into position, Almquist had been. Someone knew about the painting and the list. A piece of paper telling of old operations, women murdered, or made to look like they had been murdered, killed in the line of cold war duties. Who had killed them? It mattered not. They were dead. Killed by unseen enemies. People couldn’t just disappear, they had to be brought to an end, so their names were committed to files, even if they remained unclosed. He saw the patterns of events clearly now: ‘Denisen had contacted the black market, someone had monitored that market, arousing those who must have had a tip-off the list was hidden in the painting.’

  ‘It also provided the means of bringing Almquist into play...’

  ‘So the painting was already in play?’ And it had been too late to bring it back to Copenhagen.

  As if reading his mind, Bok said, ‘Denisen was an intended victim, from the start. Almquist couldn’t be allowed to find it, the painting, for what it contained.’

  Conrad fought to control his thoughts, his mind filling with too many possibilities. ‘Swift contacted Denisen. Denisen was maneuvered into play.’ Now it was obvious. Denisen was intended to be... killed. ‘Almquist had to be silenced?’ What did that mean? ‘They set him up, too? To remove him because of...’ he nodded at the list still clasped in Bok’s big hand.

  ‘They had to get rid of him because of something he knew about the killings, or the circumstances at the time.’

  Conrad stood bolt upright. ‘Old evidence?’ He saw dismay in Bok’s eyes. ‘They had to get rid of Almquist because of what he knew, from the his old investigation concerning the names on this list?’

  ‘Someone obviously wanted to tidy up the loose ends,’ Bok agreed quietly. He looked back at the list in his hand again the re-folded it and handed it to Conrad.

  Conrad opened it and studied it in more detail, seeing how the edges had been singed, as if by burning. He recalled Eklund’s apartment had been burned out. ‘This was taken from his apartment, wasn’t it?’

  Bok nodded. ‘And whatever’s on this list has something to do with what Almquist was involved in.’

  ‘Who took it?’ He handed the list of names back to Bok. ‘Scandinavian.’ All of the names were of Scandinavian origin. None of them he had seen before.

  Bok laughed a small laugh as he took it back. ‘You don’t know?’

  There was something in Bok’s voice Conrad didn’t like. He breathed out, feeling tired, the remnants of the old guard still casting shadows deeper than any night. A light breeze descended, brushing the drying leaves on the ground, touching their hair, touching his face. He heard for the first time the distant melody of the stream, the song of bird; the sound of the wind in the trees. ‘It was me, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You were involved in clearing out Eklund’s apartment?’

  It was his turn to nod. ‘I never saw it. There was a lot of old papers.’

  ‘You couldn’t know. If they thought you had seen any names on the list, that would mean they had to take care of you as well.’

  The realization hit him like a locomotive, making his stomach lurch. He had been set up like Almquist. All because of this list. ‘Then I’m really in the shit,’ he raised his hand to his throat, ‘right up to my fucking neck.’

  As if reading his mind, Bok folded the paper again and to his surprise, handed it back. ‘Take it.’

  Conrad looked at it.

  ‘Take it.’

  Conrad took it.

  ‘I was told I’d receive a call for someone who needed help. That person was you. Do you know what I’m telling you?’

  Conrad knew, he knew with that sickening feeling inside as sure as there was light the next day.

  ‘They knew you would need help.’

  ‘They knew what was going to go down. So I wasn’t supposed to have survived this?’

  ‘I was told to keep my distance,’ Bok replied in an icy voice. To... keep my distance and observe. Your people wanted to provoke an incident and they used us both,’ he looked across at Conrad making the meaning clear. ‘Dead or alive.’

  ‘No,’ Conrad shook his head. ‘My people are divided.’

  ‘Then you need to find out which side wants you dead.’

  Conrad didn’t know what to say to that and looked around, seeing Ash reached the top of the monolith, standing up on top of a stone. How long had the mercenary been involved? She had arrived just before Bok. And Lindgren: He had been given Lindgren as a contact too. The implications were stacking up, one solid possibility standing firmly on top of the other. But it was all yesterday’s news. The list belonged to an older war barely in play any more. So what the hell could he do now?

  ‘Maybe it’s not so black,’ Bok said consolingly. ‘No traces will remain of any bodies; the hangman is burned to ash. Everything remains unidentifiable. Officially, Lindgren helped Vikland in the investigation involving Almquist. Yes, SÄPO will send more people. They will investigate.’

  More Lindgrens. Conrad turned around, feeling naked, all his thoughts fused into bitter frustration. Almquist had been a part of the past. Ash had swung the axe. Ash was a witness, so was Daniel. The last three. And the girl.

  Two hours of rain, running, walking, crying, the pattern repeating itself until
she found the road, wet, weary and fearing for her life. She kept out of sight behind the trees, an occasional car appearing out of the mist. She took her time, hiding, shaking in the cold before she felt brave enough to thumb for a ride. She looked down at herself, at the mud over her clothes and stood out in the rain, washing it away.

  The first car kept driving. She felt alone and vulnerable and desperate. She vowed to get out of this miserable place and stood in the middle of the road. At the sound of the next car she waved her arms. The car slowed. She feared this was them, looking for her; frozen by indecision, staring at two red lights.

  And then she saw Justin leaning out, looking at her with a warm smile. ‘Where are you going?’ he shouted out.

  She just stood there, hesitating.

  ‘Do you speak English?’

  With a flood of relief so intense she felt like crying, Ulrika nodded, lowering her head and ran forwards into the rain.

  They walked past the taped window, turning their backs on the homestead. Ash headed for the edge of the lake, passing the log store on the right, the sauna and toilet block on the left. Then past, continuing up the same track they had taken the day the house had been under attack.

  They walked for five minutes in single file, over bush and stone, through the edge of the pine thicket. Stepping over roots, patches of heather, the ground still damp from the storm of the day before. Was it only yesterday?

  Ulrika was pointing. ‘That’s where they caught me. It seems so long ago...’

  It did seem long ago, turning to walk up through the familiar landscape until out-of-breath, they reached the top. From up here he could see Conrad looking up. He turned away, looking towards the view opening outwards, taking in the gray expanse of Lake Unden. And there, like a stain on the horizon was the smoke. Ash turned around, thinking briefly of the things and places he and Daniel had been involved in, digging in the ground. He loved that job, digging for the past. He had never wanted to go back to prison again, ever, and this is where that had lead him. Seeing a boulder covered in a carpet of emerald moss, Ash made for it, Ulrika falling in step alongside. Ash pulled himself up, Ulrika’s head appearing soon after, drawing themselves up so they could stand and look out. Before them, acre after acre of forest, then taking in the cottage, the outhouse next to the fire; the sloping hill at the side of the rock, from where the stream fed the still dark lake, more water flowing now than it had when they had first arrived.