“I wish you’d got me at least one attractive dress,” Astrid said irritably after lunch. “That skirt you bought is much too big—you must have been thinking of the fat lady in the circus—and I can hardly have tea at the mansion house in jeans. I guess I’ll have to press my good slacks and wear those; but I just know our hostess will be all done up in a dress and nylons and high heels, even just for afternoon tea.”
There was that uncharacteristic hint of insecurity again. I’d judged her as a woman who could attend a formal ball in shipwrecked rags without turning a hair, but obviously I’d been wrong. Even though the Adelskalender had told me she’d married a Swedish aristocrat, it seemed that afternoon tea at an obscure baronial mansion house had her badly worried.
I said, “Hell, I might as well be married again. She hasn’t got a thing to wear, she says. Where have I heard that one before?”
Astrid made a face at me and scurried off to find an electric iron. When I helped her out of the car in front of the big house a couple of hours later—we could have walked up, of course, but we’d have had to wade through a lot of melted snow—she looked very good to me, in her neat slacks and jacket and tailored silk blouse; but her nervousness was still apparent. She stood there for a moment uncertainly, looking at the other cars: two sizable Volvos and a Mercedes, not the economy-model Mercedes that had shadowed us for a while but a large luxury job.
I said, “I don’t have anything to worry about, you said. They aren’t laying for me behind the door with tommy guns, right? You’re not leading me to my execution, so what’s bugging you?”
She said, “It’s not that; it is merely… I think I am just an Indiana country girl at heart, Matt. All these barons and baronesses…” She squared her shoulders. “That is stupid; why should I care what they think of me? To hell with all of them, right?”
“That’s my girl,” I said, guiding her up the front steps of the house.
Margareta Stjernhjelm opened the door for us herself. As Astrid had predicted, she’d dressed for the occasion, in a smart blue dress; and she had the slightly awkward, coltish look of any modern young outdoors woman who doesn’t find herself in a silk dress and high-heeled pumps very often. Behind her was a tall man who was too old to be her husband—anyway, I thought I would recognize Torsten, since I’d met him the last time I was here. However, this man had to be related to me also. He was almost as tall and bony and ugly as I was.
He didn’t like me. We’d never seen each other before, but he made it quite clear that he wasn’t ever going to be a bosom pal of mine. For a start, he let me know by his contemptuous scrutiny that he thought I looked pretty damned ridiculous in this northern climate in the light slacks and seersucker jacket I’d worn for the Mexico job. Of course he was perfectly right, but it seemed unnecessary to make a point of it. While the strange Stjernhjelm was giving me the evil eye, our hostess was greeting Astrid; then she shook hands with me.
“It is a great pleasure to have you visiting us, Matthew,” she said. “Torsten has told me much of you. You do not mind that I call you by your first name? We are very informal within the family. Anyway, we are delighted that you have come to Torsäter again; and we are only sorry that we must take advantage of your visit like this. Mrs. Watrous will have told you?”
I noted that Astrid was not yet included in the informality of the family; and I could see that she realized it, too. Then I understood that it was a matter of protocol. By the rules, it was okay for Margareta, a lady, to suggest to me, a gentleman, that first names were acceptable here; however, between two ladies, the initiative had to come from the older.
I said, “Mrs. Watrous doesn’t tell much. I do get the impression that it’s not entirely a social gathering.”
“I am afraid not. But let me introduce Baron Olaf Stjernhjelm… I believe you are already acquainted with Countess Watrous, Olaf. And this is our relative Matthew, from America.”
The tall man bowed formally to Astrid and turned to me. I can spot a knuckle-grinder a mile away on a dusty New Mexico day; but while there are responses that will preserve your finger joints and even make the other guy a little unhappy, I saw no reason to give anything away to this hostile character, not even how strong my grip really was, or wasn’t. I let him knead away painfully, telling myself that I shouldn’t judge my family, or the land of my forebears, by one macho creep; we’ve got them on the western shore of the Atlantic, too.
“I, too, have heard much of you,” Cousin Olaf said, releasing me at last. His eyes were very blue, I noticed; a china-blue shade that was disconcerting. There was something familiar about them, but I couldn’t place it at once. He went on: “The black sheep of the family. The sinister American expert who calls himself Helm. Some people await you in the living room, Mister Helm. If the ladies will excuse us… Come this way.”
“There will be tea, as promised, when you have finished, Matthew,” Margareta said. “Or something stronger if you prefer.”
When I glanced towards Astrid, she said, “Do not worry about me, Matt. I am certain Margareta will take very good care of me… You do not mind if I call you Margareta, do you, my dear; and I hope you will call me Astrid.” She winked at me as I turned away to let me know that she could play this game as well as anybody. Obviously, now that the initial suspense was over, she was no longer taking this noble gathering so seriously.
Cousin Olaf managed to bump me slightly or, rather, brush me with his arm as he made the gesture of showing me the way. It told him I was carrying a gun in my waistband—one of the silenced .22 automatics—but it told me something about him, too. He’d been just a bit too slick about checking out the local artillery. He was not a gentleman farmer, nor had he gone into one of the other peaceful occupations adopted by most of my Swedish relatives when the baron business became unprofitable. The army, maybe, since the family history showed a lot of military Stjernhjelms including the previous master of this house; but if so, I would have bet on one of the darker branches of military intelligence.
But I thought it quite possible that, with some early military training perhaps—they all have to put in some army time in that country—Cousin Olaf had been a roving mercenary fighting any way that was handy. These days there are plenty to choose from. At least I’d identified what it was I’d recognized in his eyes. They were killer eyes. As they say, it takes one to know one. But I hadn’t expected to find one in these fine surroundings.
Under the circumstances, it was no fun turning my back on him; but I let him be polite and usher me into the living room ahead of him. I was a little startled to find six men waiting for us there, dressed in sober business suits complete with vests and ties. They were standing to greet us, all except old Colonel Stjernhjelm, who was in a wheelchair, with his son pushing him towards me. He’d been a tall, straight old gentleman when I’d seen him last, but he was bowed and shrunken now—he had to be well up in his eighties. His eyes were still clear, however, although his hand felt very fragile in my grasp.
“It is good to see you again, Matthew,” he said. “I am pleased that you remembered us when you needed a place to stay here in Sweden. That is what the family is for. I trust you are finding the little villa comfortable.”
“Thank you, sir, we couldn’t be more comfortable,” I said. “And we certainly appreciate the hospitality.”
“You remember my son Torsten,” the colonel said.
I shook hands with the tall young man behind the chair, blond and blue-eyed; but no killer eyes here.
“And here is someone who wishes much to make your acquaintance, Matthew,” said the old man. “The original plan was that you should be invited to his estate down in Skåne for this meeting; but before those arrangements could be made, you made things easy for us by asking to be allowed to come here. So the plan was changed, and we are all meeting here at Torsäter instead… Axel, this is Matthew, from America.”
The man who had come forward was in his fifties. He did not have my height, or the blond hai
r of Olaf and Torsten; but there was no mistaking the family features. I was glad I’d done my homework last night. This was the man whose name appeared in capital letters at the beginning of the Stjernhjelm section of the fat little book I’d studied. This was the chief of the clan, as my mother’s Scottish ancestors would have put it. In Swedish: the huvudman.
I told myself what the hell, it was just another Swede in a good dark suit of European cut. Okay, a relative; but I’d lived most of my life without much contact with my relatives, and I could have made it the rest of the way alone quite comfortably. This guy meant nothing to me, although he was a competent-looking character I wouldn’t have minded doing business with, if I’d had any business to transact. Brown hair. Gray eyes. No Stjernhjelm beanpole, he was actually a little on the stocky side.
Still, we shared something; we all shared something in this room, something old and once considered very important. Something in the blood or, if you wanted to be scientific, the genes. I couldn’t even disown Cousin Olaf, behind me. Often, looking in the mirror, I’d seen the same eyes there. Not quite the same porcelain-blue color, of course, but the same. I took the hand the headman offered me.
“A pleasure, sir,” I said.
“Perhaps,” he said with a faint smile. “That remains to be seen, does it not? But we are very glad to welcome you here, Matthew. We have gone to considerable trouble to bring you to Sweden. It was young Torsten’s suggestion, as a matter of fact. He remembered you from your visit here when he was a boy; he seems to have been impressed by you. He suggested to his father that, since there was a specialist of sorts in the family, it might be well to make use of him in this crisis, if he was willing.”
I thought it over for a moment. Apparently I’d been correct when I accused Astrid of leading me on a wild-goose chase into darkest Sweden, except that the goose to which she’d led me wasn’t very wild and the region wasn’t very dark. Somehow she’d talked Mac into dispensing with my services temporarily, or had she? Was he? Or had he taken advantage of the family’s request for my help, and used it, and me, for purposes of his own—purposes involving a place called Lysaniemi?
“Crisis?” I said. “May I ask what kind of a crisis?”
“I will answer that question in a moment,” Axel said. “But first let me introduce some more of your släktingar, your relations…”
I shook hands with Jan, Gunnar, and another, older, Torsten—I remembered that it was a very common name in the family. These were, apparently, solid middle-aged Swedish citizens like the headman. Having taken care of the formalities, we sat down on the stiff-looking, brocade-covered chairs that reminded me of an antique sofa I’d recently employed for purposes much less respectable.
Axel said, “Very well. I am told that you do not do so well with the Swedish, so we will continue in English. I think everyone here understands it although our accents may leave something to be desired. You have never been to one of the family gatherings we have every few years?”
“It’s a long way across the ocean,” I said. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, those are mainly social functions. But we do try to keep track of the members of the family everywhere. For instance, we know that you were in Sweden some years ago under rather mysterious circumstances. You were involved in trouble up north. At the time, it was known in official circles that you were working for the United States government, although the fact was never made public. Later during the same visit to Europe, you came here to Torsäter and participated in our yearly älg hunt.”
“Without much success,” I said.
“Yes, as you will see, that is important. Very important. We have trouble, Matthew. It could be serious trouble. A certain younger member of the family has become involved in an unpleasant conspiracy… Well, you know how some young people are these days. They must forever be proving, and sometimes proving violently, that they are for the peace and against the atom. This particular plot could have serious consequences internationally which, I understand, is why Mrs. Watrous was able to persuade the head of your agency to let us make use of your services. With your consent, of course.”
I said, “Mrs. Watrous seems to have done a good job as your emissary, but I don’t understand the necessity for all the elaborate mystification in which she has involved us.”
Axel said, a little embarrassed, “I do not know the details. I do know that your chief asked certain things of us in return for his cooperation…”
Okay. Mac was up to his old tricks. Apparently he’d taken advantage of Astrid’s request to get me to Sweden with a convincing cover story. Now all I had to do, while solving my family’s problems, was figure out what I’d really been sent here for with the name Lysaniemi so carefully planted in my brain, and how it related to Mac’s disappearance and that of all those other missing people, an ocean away.
Axel was speaking again: “Of course, while we do consider the national and international danger, our motives are not altogether unselfish. Whether the conspiracy succeeds or fails, the family name will inevitably be involved in much unfavorable publicity, unless drastic measures are taken soon.”
“Drastic? How drastic?” The thought that came to me was fairly incredible in these polite surroundings, but I put the question anyway: “Do I gather that you had me brought all this way because you want some shooting done?”
Axel Stjernhjelm watched me thoughtfully for a moment; then he said, “Some years ago, as we mentioned, you were here on a hunt. You had a very good shot at a trophy moose, but for reasons of your own you did not take it. More recently, we know—we received a complete evaluation last night from Mrs. Watrous; I hope you will not blame her for keeping us informed—a certain young woman aimed a loaded pistol at you. Although, with your skill and experience, you could undoubtedly have created an opportunity to use your own weapon in self-defense, and would certainly have been justified in doing so, you did not. Instead you disarmed her at some risk to yourself.” The headman’s glance touched Olaf Stjernhjelm, and returned to me. “If shooting were all that was required, well, you are not the only expert marksman in the family. For that, we did not need to bring you here over such a distance; we already had a… a suitable candidate available. But for the young person involved to suffer violence would create exactly the publicity we are trying to avoid, besides being distasteful to almost all of us. What we need is a man who knows when not to shoot; a specialist capable of solving our problem discreetly. We hope you are the man.”
I could feel Cousin Olaf seething a couple of chairs away. It was clear now why he hated me. He’d obviously proposed himself for the job of saving the family from shame, but he’d been turned down in my favor presumably because, with his killer eyes, he’d never been known to pass up a shot at anything, animal or human. I found it ironical that, after a lifetime in a savage business, I should be receiving so much credit for a couple of triggers I hadn’t pulled.
I said, “I see, sir. And what exactly is the problem? Or should I say, who is the problem?”
“You have already met her. She was just mentioned: the young lady who threatened you with a pistol. Karin Segerby, née Stjernhjelm.”
I hadn’t been aware that the little blonde girl with the gun was a relation of mine, but I wasn’t surprised. It seemed to be that kind of family.
13
The drinking habits of the Swedes are very odd, at least by the American boozing standards to which I subscribe. I’ve heard that public drunkenness is a big problem in the country, but I don’t see how it can be, since nobody ever offers you a real drink when you need one. That afternoon, after all the surprises that had been sprung on me, and all the strangers I’d had to meet, I still had to make it on a cup of tea and a glass of sherry.
Later, after we’d parked the red Golf in front of the guest villa once more, and gone inside, Astrid said, “If you are heading where I think you are heading, please make mine a double. How can one be expected to be sociable to a group of important new relations on
sherry, for Heaven’s sake?”
I grinned. “I thought you were the little girl brought up to consider Scandinavia the Promised Land. You sound more like a hard-drinking Yankee wench to me.” In the kitchen, I paused by the refrigerator. “Ice? I think this thing makes all of eight cubes. I’ll split them with you.”
“You are all heart, my dear. What do we do now?”
I glanced at her sharply as I put a glass into her hand. “We? You’ve done your duty, ma’am. You’ve delivered the warm body, complete with a psychological analysis I’d love to read some time.”
A little color came into her face. She busied herself testing the contents of her glass. “I just said that you were a dreadful man; what else could I say?”
“Sure.” I studied her for a moment longer. “Well, Cousin Olaf is coming over to give me a detailed briefing. In the meantime a few questions come to mind.”
“Yes?”
“The original story I heard was that you approached my chief in Washington on behalf of your missing husband. Now I learn that’s not true; you went there on a recruiting mission on behalf of his family, which happens to be my family, too. You went there to arrange for the loan of my services, right?” When she nodded, I asked, “Where does that leave your lost husband, Astrid?”
She hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was hard: “Why should I care about him and his Hannah Gray? Wherever they are, they have each other, do they not?”
“So you’re not really the forgiving woman you wanted me to think you?”
She laughed shortly. “If you believed that, you are really a very gullible man. Any other questions?”
“Always, but let’s go sit in the living room where it’s comfortable,” I said. When we were there, I asked, “Those heart palpitations. They were my chief’s idea, weren’t they? It’s just what he would do, to give himself a plausible reason for assigning me to protect you, in your weakened condition.”
The Vanishers Page 13