by Mark Davis
“But I might. I am not so much looking forward to following Freyja as I am to meeting her other disciples. To break bread with those fellows of mine who have been to the top and are now on their way down.”
She chuckled, realizing the aptness of her metaphor.
“I don’t want to be sentenced to prison, even if my condition prevents them from actually sending me there. I’ll have to do something, while I still can. I don’t want to end up like my father. That’s another kind of prison.”
She took another drink and set it down with a slam.
“All my life I wanted to be remembered for something … Now I don’t. I don’t want to be remembered. I don’t want to exist anymore. I don’t even want to have existed.”
TWENTY-SIX
Elizabeth slipped into the box man, the neutral position of freefall, with her back in a relaxed arch, legs wide apart and uplifted behind her, head up, arms straight out from her shoulders.
It was a position of power from which she could initiate radical changes in direction with the slight bend of an arm or leg, making her limbs the ailerons and flaps of an airplane. Left arm tilted down with a pull of her right arm up, she found herself banking at an angle like a pivoting aircraft.
She tilted her arm even more and executed a complete turn. She halted and executed a turn in the other direction.
To move forward, all Elizabeth had to do was to pull her arms in, straighten her legs and dip her head down, and she was descending as gracefully as a jet toward landing.
Bored with technique, she curled into a ball and shot up twenty feet to just beneath the padded ceiling. Elizabeth straightened and descended to the middle of the chamber and pivoted to hang upside down. She righted herself and stood straight again.
Elizabeth folded her arms and settled her hands over one another and let the wind circulate her around until she spun around the chamber like a centrifuge. With quick extension of her hands, she came to a gentle stop and hovered like an angel.
The instructor tapped on the glass. Her half-hour was up. The wind lessened and she came to a light landing on her feet.
“You are a natural at this,” the instructor said.
“Nothing like it,” she replied.
Elizabeth went to the changing room, helmet tucked under one arm. This was her sixth session. Freyja kept sending tickets and Elizabeth kept working in sessions in the mornings.
After each indoor skydive, Elizabeth felt better. It felt good to have such complete mastery of one’s body in a world with such strange physics, the next best thing to space tourism. She was beginning to look forward to the arrival of a new ticket—and it was good therapy for anxiety, as the oceanic sensation of the drug had been—good therapy, even if the prescribing physician in this instance was a psychopath.
And what, precisely, was the agenda in sending Elizabeth to this chamber, again and again?
But Lars did not object. In fact, he wanted Elizabeth to use each ticket, and go alone, in case Freyja might be lured in to showing her face. Ingrid had a live tap into the many cameras set up within MegaJump, running the feed through facial recognition software against known cyber criminals. Elizabeth knew, of course, that Freyja would never risk herself that way. She, too, would be tapping into that feed, watching Elizabeth’s progress so the goddess could occasionally send text messages of congratulations when her student did particularly well.
Elizabeth waited outside for her ride to come. The morning was brilliant, but the sun was rising into an arc that was noticeably flatter than it had been when Elizabeth had first arrived in Norway. She would soon need to get back home for fall classes. And there was Max as well. They had a text storm the evening before. Max had nothing important to text about, but she could read the need behind his words. Max was fragile. He needed his mother a short train ride away.
The thought of leaving Norway without reaching Freyja bothered her. But there was no reason why she should could not continue the digital contact from America. She might still be helpful to the investigation and her fellow PIGers. And Max … and Max.
___________
Another sunny Oslo day, taunting all who work indoors.
Lars took a seat at the end of the table, framed by the large window that looked out over the city and harbor. One by one, the PIGers took their seats, most bearing big mugs of coffee. Nasrin was composed and pretty, in an elegant black business suit. George looked his age, perhaps he had had a sleepless night. His bow tie and suspenders did not make him look any younger. Ingrid had pressed her hair down, looking more presentable and not at all hungover or sleep deprived.
Bowie was his usual smirking self.
“Elizabeth, what is your evaluation of Sandra Armstrong?” Lars asked.
All eyes were on her.
“Well, when I started on Sandra, I couldn’t believe she was one of the suicides,” she said. “Someone of that caliber getting into such an unlikely cult. But beneath all that polished steel was a brittle and surprisingly defenseless ego. The prospect of disgrace was too much for Sandra to bear and the likelihood of a prison sentence came as an additional, unacceptable horror. Her diagnosis clinched it. Sandra was going to commit suicide one way or another. Freyja just happened to get inside her decision cycle.”
“And the others?”
“Sophia Goddard was a narcissistic young woman who could not live up to the impossible expectations she had of herself. You might call her callow. If she had been a few years older, I don’t believe Sophia would have signed up. Mike Drummond, well, he’s the only one in this whole group who showed positive signs of mental illness. He was clearly borderline psychotic. All remain explained except for Jacobson.”
“Remind us.”
“Because he was too self-absorbed to kill himself over a mere crush gone bad.”
“What about the indoor skydiving?” Norris asked.
All heads turned to the FBI agent, the group surprised that he had spoken up. This much, she had divulged to the whole group.
“What’s that about?”
“It may be metaphorically connected in Freyja’s mind with the suicides from such a high place,” Elizabeth replied. “Or it may be another way of her trying to jack into my head.”
She instantly regretted her words.
Lars stiffened in his seat. Bowie raised an eyebrow. Only Lars, George, Ingrid and Nasrin knew about her nocturnal conversations with Freyja. Elizabeth followed up quickly, hoping to cover her tracks.
“I mean, since she’s observing us all, it may be that Freyja believes that getting me to undertake some kind of vigorous activity might bring me into her orbit.”
“As an informant?” Bowie asked.
“No, I think as one of her victims,” Elizabeth said. “She believes I’m susceptible.”
Agent Norris leaned forward, sniffing a nuance like a truffle pig.
“Miss Browne, you used the words ‘another way’ to get inside your head,” Norris said. “Are you in some kind of communication with Freyja that you have not told us about?”
In the bright light of the office, Elizabeth was sure everyone could see the strawberries blooming on her cheeks.
“She is,” Lars finally answered.
“Care to tell us about it?” Bowie asked.
For the next five minutes Lars gave a concise and accurate description of Freyja’s online avatar and its conversation with Elizabeth. As she listened, Elizabeth was grateful that he omitted personal details about Max and her anxiety attacks.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Norris asked.
“We kept this close-hold because we wanted to create as little feedback as possible,” Lars replied.
“What does that mean?” Norris asked.
“If there is one thing we can be confident of, Freyja is always listening to us, always watching us,” Lars said. “I didn’t want the larger group adding comment and complexity to this early stage of dialogue with Freyja.”
<
br /> “When were you going to tell us?” Bowie asked.
“Soon, but now it doesn’t matter.”
“Matters a fuckload to me,” Bowie said.
“It doesn’t matter because now I know who Freyja is. She has revealed herself.”
All eyes locked on Lars.
“She is Karl Pedersen.”
“And you know this how?” Nasrin asked.
“Because Pedersen has escaped.”
Nasrin laughed. “How does one escape from that prison we toured—call an Uber, or just ask the warden for a lift?”
“Karl got over a wall. That’s an automatic three years to his sentence, and not concurrent either.”
“And?”
“He left behind all his devices, each one with digital traces of the site used to converse with Elizabeth as Freyja.”
“They have all since gone dark,” Ingrid said. “But I documented the TOR addresses and took screenshots. Here is Freyja.”
Ingrid swiveled her laptop to show them Freyja, every freckle on her pale skin, wisps of blonde hair roiled by a light wind. Freyja had a subtle smile that matched the good humor of her blue eyes.
“So that’s her,” Bowie said. “I must say, Karl the Killer must have quite a woman inside him trying to get out.”
“What do you think Elizabeth?” Nasrin asked.
“I have my doubts about Karl Pedersen,” Elizabeth said. “He’s a psychopath, to be sure, but he prefers to kill people face to face. Using dialogue to lure people to their deaths would be a strange hobby for such an accomplished criminal.”
“It would not be all that unusual,” George said, one hand raised by his chin, a habitual gesture from the days when he would be sucking a pipe. “Sometimes even criminal masterminds have their secrets. And the digital evidence is compelling.”
Harold Kober, the PST agent, briefed them on the details of the comprehensive manhunt for Karl Pedersen. It was assumed that Pedersen had a network of helpers and probably had already exited the country. There was a little more talk of Pedersen, then Lars closed the meeting. He thanked everyone for their assistance and observed that the working group was almost done.
“Anything else?” Lars asked.
“I am almost done,” Elizabeth said. “I have to return stateside in a week, tops, to prepare for my fall classes.”
As she spoke, she caught a micro-expression on Lars’ face, a drawing of the eyebrows and narrowing of the mouth. Was Lars angry? He had to have known this was coming. They had talked about it.
“Well.” Lars cleared his throat. “We will miss you and your good work.”
“Yes, indeed,” Nasrin said, leaning sideways to get a good look at Elizabeth.
“I thought you might want to stay for the interrogation?” George asked.
“I might be able to come back for that,” Elizabeth said. “If not, George, we shall have to share notes.”
___________
“Walk back with you to the hotel?”
“Sure.”
Nasrin fell into stride with Elizabeth.
“Are you going to miss Norway?” she asked.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “No. I have a lot of memories to take back, some of them wonderful. Some not.”
Elizabeth realized that it sounded as if she were speaking of the unpleasantness that had transpired between her and Nasrin on the plane and afterwards. But she didn’t mean that and didn’t want to dredge all that up again.
“Until I met you Nasrin, I had never actually been in the middle of a gun battle,” Elizabeth explained. “Nor almost raped and murdered by a master criminal in my hotel room.”
“Stick with me and you will see the world.”
“At the moment, I feel that I have seen quite enough of it to last a while.”
“And will you miss Lars?”
Nasrin was studying Elizabeth intently, gauging her every reaction.
“Same answer. Yes. No.”
“Well, it’s a Friday and all the efforts of Lars and PIG will be focused on Karl.”
They came to the entrance of their hotel.
“If you find yourself at loose ends this weekend,” Nasrin said, “I could sure use a friend to go shopping with, maybe a glass of wine or spot of dinner?”
“Let’s play it by ear and see where we are tomorrow.”
Nasrin went straight to her room. Another envelope was waiting for Elizabeth at the front desk. Yet another MegaJump ticket?
Elizabeth took the envelope and walked from the lobby toward the hallway that led to the elevator. A strong hand grabbed her by the inside of her elbow, tight enough to pinch a nerve.
Lars spun her around.
“Elizabeth, what the hell are you doing?”
“Excuse me?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going up to my room. What are you doing?”
Lars stepped back, confused, embarrassed, as if he were surprised by himself.
“You were so abrupt this morning, like you wanted to slam a door in my face.”
“You just hurt me,” she said, rubbing the inside of her arm.
His face reddened.
“I’m sorry.”
“I mean it, Lars, it really hurts.”
“I am sorry. That is not who I am.”
Elizabeth let him hang for a few beats.
“Okay,” she said. “I will let you off. This one time. Got it?”
“Yes, I have got it.”
“Lars, I told you not to take me for granted,” she said. “You always knew I had to go back for my classes, my research office, my son.”
“In theory, yes. But the way you said it this morning, announcing it so publicly. It felt like a rejection, almost a slap in the face.”
“I’m sorry for that,” she said. “I did not mean it that way.”
Another micro-expression, an ever-so brief flutter.
“Elizabeth.”
He put his strong hands on her shoulders, drew her close and rested his forehead on hers. She let him hold her like that for a good half a minute, then she withdrew and his hands dropped to his side.
“You know it would never work, not long term,” she said. “Not as rooted as we are in our respective worlds.”
“I could retire,” he said.
“It’s not just being in different places,” she said. “You know that we’re both way too intense, in very different ways. And what would you be without your position? You are still young enough to be promoted, to rise in the government. Are you willing to throw all that away?”
Lars shook his head. He recognized that she was right, even if he didn’t like it.
“Okay,” he said. “I shall be on my way.”
He turned, shoulders slumped, looking forlorn.
“Lars?”
He turned slowly.
“Call me tomorrow morning. We could have dinner tomorrow night if you like. Talk all this out like the adults we are.”
“That would be good,” he said without enthusiasm. “One more thing. We are going to post plainclothes in the lobby tonight and have the staff keep a watchful eye on the employee’s entrances. Just to stop Karl in case he decides to pay you another visit.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator dinged and Elizabeth went up to her room.
___________
Elizabeth went for an early evening run around the park, returning to her room aching and sweaty but feeling all the better for it. She showered, slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a Georgetown Bulldogs T-shirt and resolved to order in. She had enough of her colleagues, even George, who had asked her to dinner and was a little perturbed when she politely declined.
There was text message on her phone. It was Freyja, confirming their “session” at eight tonight. Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. She’d be on her own, no Lars or George watching out for her. But she was leaving soon. She might learn somethin
g. And if it was Karl, maybe he would give up his location.
But Freyja wasn’t Karl, of that she was sure. Elizabeth had no idea who was behind this digital simulacrum of a goddess, but it wasn’t him.
Elizabeth ordered in and within half an hour a young man arrived with a tray bearing a cheeseburger with a Ringnes that came with a tall, icy glass. For dessert, there were berries floating in crème fraiche.
“Good thing I ran today,” she said to the young man, placing forty kroner in his hand.
Elizabeth ate quickly, greedily, downing the thick cheeseburger with beer, before devouring all the berries with a spoon. Done, Elizabeth went to the wash basin to rub the grease off her face and hands. She belched.
No, this is not a night to be with company.
As Elizabeth put her tray in the hallway, she was grateful that Lars had posted plainclothes watchers down below. Would that stop someone as clever and determined as Karl? The thought of Karl in her room again prompted Elizabeth to turn the deadbolt on her door. She wedged a chair against the handle of the door, just for good measure.
It was almost time.
As before, she went through the ritual of powdering her face, applying a little blush, a light coat of lipstick and a slight tinge of color above her eyes. She put on a shirt and her nice jeans. She did not feel at all silly for doing this. It felt like putting on armor before battle.
Elizabeth hit “record” on her burner phone. Her laptop pinged precisely at eight.
“Hello, Elizabeth, you are looking lovely tonight.”
“You too,” she said. “As always.”
“I was as surprised as Lars that you announced that you are leaving us so soon. Did you catch the look on his face? He had left his smartphone on and set it up at a nice angle for me on the conference table. I had to replay it several times to fully gauge the depth of his emotion. I am afraid you and he are parting. But I hope that just because you are on the other side of the sea, dear, that we will not fall out of touch. It may surprise you to hear this, but I truly look forward to our little sessions. They mean a lot to me, as I hope they mean to you.”