He smiled as he listed his conditions to Kim, patronizing her in the most obvious manner possible. He had leverage and he knew it and enjoyed throwing it in the face of the blonde sitting in front of him. He licked his dry lips and thought his darkest thoughts.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Kim? Shall we discuss the details?”
Kim Zetterman did not reply. Instead, she nodded in resignation.
“As I have suggested, we would like your company to continue with the cable project. That is a top priority. You will get security people to help you. They will be getting in touch after the Christmas break. I am one of the board members of the naval cable supplier, Marine Cables Incorporated. Jonas was the Chairman of the Board, and I am taking his place. We will be implementing this project as if nothing has happened. And we will make sure that we make a profit. You don’t need to worry.”
“And what about me?” Kim said in a low voice.
“You only need to make withdrawals from the account. So you can buy handbags and other accessories. You don’t need to concern yourself about turnover. I’ll be doing that, as will the firm.”
“The firm, by which you mean the CIA?”
“Ha, ha, my friend, you really don’t need to worry about all that. It’s best that way. Just do as I say. I will come back to Grisslehamn after the break and by then I would like all the papers signed so I can start working. We will start in the spring. Any questions?”
“No sir,” Kim said and stood to attention. “You can go and fuck yourself!”
She put her wine glass to her lips, turned it upside down, and let the liquid run down her throat to the very last drop. Then she turned on her heels and walked through the restaurant toward the exit.
“See you next week, Kim, and don’t forget the papers.” Glock sipped his Calvados as Kim left the restaurant. He placed his glass carefully on the thick cotton tablecloth.
This was going just as planned, he thought, and suppressed a burp so that the inside of his nose stung.
CHAPTER 34
STOCKHOLM, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 31
Modin was driving his Volvo through the falling snow. It was about seventy-five miles from Grisslehamn to Roslagstull, the north-eastern entrance to Stockholm, where the customs posts once stood back in the days when poor farmers would bring grain into the city to sell to the wealthy people in Stockholm. These customers even included the Royal Court right in the center of the city. Sometimes the farmers also used to bring fish from the northern coast, for which they could expect a good price at markets in the capital.
He had already passed Norrtelje, but with some difficulty. A long-distance bus had run off the road near a Statoil gas station. There were flashing blue lights everywhere and the rescue vehicles had blocked the road. Two people had been injured, children were in a state of shock, and the driver was being questioned by the police, as Modin heard on the radio. Winter chaos had arrived in Sweden, just like every year. Yet somehow, the snow, ice, and cold came as a surprise every year.
As if we never learn. No one wants to learn, Modin thought to himself, and swung into the left lane to pass an old red Datsun with iced-up windows, which was leaving a cloud of black smoke behind.
We just don’t like winter. Just look at all the preparations we take for the summer. As early as March, the average Swede starts planning for the boating season and decks out his porch. The barbecue equipment, motorcycles and boats are given a once over in April, long before they are put to use; but winter, it comes as suddenly every year as the year before. No one is ready.
He was now driving at forty-five miles an hour on a stretch of freeway, following the flow of vehicles. One or two BMWs purred past, in contempt of the slower traffic.
He had tuned to Radio Stockholm, which provided regular traffic information. A familiar radio voice announced: “Right now, traffic into the city is at a crawl.”
Modin turned the heater up a notch and felt the nice warm air blowing pleasantly against his calves.
His goal was the Grand Hôtel. He had received a phone call from Kim Zetterman. With despair in her voice, she had begged him to come to town. She was no longer staying at the Grisslehamn Hotel. Not after what had happened. She had moved into the five-star Grand Hôtel on an island outcrop right in the middle of Stockholm.
“You are coming, aren’t you?”
He wasn’t certain about her. Her sudden change from the gentle adventurer on the stubble of his skin to the stiff super rich woman with an attitude was like getting a hug and a punch in the nose at the same time.
After some persuasion, Modin gave in. He had been given half a promise that she would tell him more about her late husband, his business, and his links to the intelligence community. That was carrot enough for Modin. He wanted to know more about Jonas Zetterman to help make sure that Chris Loklinth and Special Ops would not take over Zetterman’s business.
When he stopped at a 7-Eleven on Birger Jarlsgatan and bought a Coke and a packet of chewing gum, ice crystals were still floating down from the sky and glittered in the headlights of passing cars. He could feel the biting cold in his cheeks and through his jeans.
He jumped back into his car so he wouldn’t freeze his ass off. He was wearing a snow jacket, but it was around zero degrees Fahrenheit—that was cold enough to make him shiver no matter what he’d wear.
He drove into Birger Jarlsgatan, then all the way to the square at Nybroplan, past the Freemasons’ Lodge on Blasieholmsgatan, and swung to the right, parking right outside the Grand Hôtel. He took out his overnight bag and approached the hotel doorman with a top hat and a black frock coat.
“Welcome, sir.”
CHAPTER 35
Anton Modin clutched his bag, ignored the elevator, and took the stairs to the top floor.
The walls were clad in grey marble, and the treads of the stairs were covered in a royal blue carpet that effectively muffled the sound of all footsteps. At the very top, there were two sets of doors, each leading to different suites. Kim was staying in the Nobel Suite to the left. The brass plate on the door announced its noble name and room number, 702. Opposite the door to the corridor was a small table with two chairs. A white orchid in a vase graced the table and a framed painting that, no doubt, had cost a fortune hung on the wall above.
Could be worse, Modin thought before entering the room itself. He rang the doorbell and waited. He could hear the elevator descending.
Kim was wearing jeans and a white polo neck sweater. Her eyes were large and clear and she met his gaze dead on. In the few days since he’d seen her last, she seemed to have grown in stature as a human being; she radiated far more confidence. Or, maybe it just seemed that way because she was sober and less affected by the tragic murder of her husband. Whatever the cause, she was somehow liberated. Both her facial expression and body language were proof of that. She had caught up with the fact that she now was one of the richest women in Sweden. At the young age of twenty-seven, she was somebody and did not need to lick anyone’s ass in order to cement her position. Quite the contrary.
Modin felt embarrassed; he simply couldn’t help it.
“Come in,” she said and took a few steps back with her eyes locked on Modin. “I have ordered champagne from room service. Here, have a glass.”
Modin accepted the elegant flute and stepped inside the suite. He took off his shoes in the roomy octagonal entryway that was lit by a skylight and went into the lounge that had a view of the Royal Palace. Against one wall was a writing desk, and if he craned his neck, he could see a smaller living room with a couch and two loungers. A wool rug covered the hardwood floor and sliding doors separated the bedroom from the lounge. Further inside the suite was a bathroom with a steam bath and a Jacuzzi. Everything in the suite was held in discreet shades of beige and brown, highlighted with a maroon cushion, a peach colored armchair, and a gray curtain. It was pleasantly impersonal and he realized that she was not tied to this accommodation in the way she would be had she bought fu
rniture for her own place. She could pick up her cell phone and credit card and leave at a moment’s notice. She was a free woman.
“I want you to stay for the weekend,” she said firmly, leaving no room for an argument.
Modin wove his fingers together and placed his hands on his stomach. He looked around as he emptied his glass. The champagne was exquisite.
“You can stay here in the suite with me, or I can book an extra room.”
She smiled and tossed her hair back, sat down in a maroon lounger, and leaned back with her legs wide apart and champagne flute in hand.
He still had not replied.
“What do you think? We can have a really good time, order expensive room service, or go down to the Mattias Dahlgen restaurant and have a bite to eat.” Her intense gaze stayed on Modin for a long time.
“I don’t know. Maybe I ought to drive home soon. The weather, you know…” He got to his feet and went over to the window.
“You’ve been drinking,” she said. “You can’t drive.”
“We’ll have to see about that,” Modin said and saw her fill his glass he put on the table.
He watched a bus that had just crossed over the Stromsbron Bridge at considerable speed. Despite the low temperature, it had begun to snow heavily. Large, dry snowflakes, ice crystals from the black sky, fell into the water among the swans. The roads were sure to be slippery. He shouldn’t drive.
He was happy in her presence. She seemed to be strong and relaxed, herself for the first time since he’d met her. Qué sera, sera, he thought to himself. I’m not needed anywhere else. Not right now!
“Let’s eat up here in the room and then you can tell me everything,” he said, turning around to face her. “What about braised duck?”
“I will need to change, if we’re going to eat duck. And besides, it is New Year’s Eve. You order, handsome. I’ll be back soon.”
CHAPTER 36
I loved Jonas. I really did. At least at first…” Kim fell silent.
“What happened?”
Modin pulled a little piece of the duck away from the bone and dipped it in the red wine sauce.
“He began to make strange demands on me. Wanted me to satisfy his fantasies and play sex games, or whatever they were. It was perverse. I don’t know why I let them have their way.”
By now they were well into their meal and had managed to polish off two bottles of Bordeaux between them.
“What do you mean ‘let them have their way’?”
“He made me have intercourse with other men. He was exploiting me.”
“Please do tell,” Modin said. She took a gulp of wine and let the liquid linger on her palate for a short while before swallowing.
“I don’t know if I can. I’ve already said too much as it is. I’m getting a bit tipsy.” She laughed, leaned her head back, and pushed forward her bust. A quick reflex action as she drew her fingers through her hair, then lowered her chin onto her chest. She looked up at Modin, a tad embarrassed.
“I was his call girl.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“He manipulated me.”
“For whose benefit?”
“Jonas’. I started chatting up people in his circle of friends and acquaintances and I was… well… kind to them. At first, I thought it was all a harmless game. That it turned Jonas on. But then I realized that this was about something quite different: money, or God knows what else.”
Modin said nothing. He had been taken by complete surprise.
“I had to meet the men in a specific hotel room or at our home. At first I didn’t know where Jonas was going with all of this. He said it was vital that I did what I was told. I thought I didn’t have any choice.”
“Blackmail,” Modin said. He was rather surprised at her openness and honesty about what must have been embarrassing and painful.
“I didn’t want to believe it, but yes, I think he was blackmailing all these men into cooperating with him.” She looked down, and said quietly: “Thinking back on this now, it’s all so disgusting.”
“Yes, I suppose so; and what’s more, it’s illegal.”
“I figured that Jonas had dealings with intelligence,” she said “He was a reserve officer in the navy. He knew a lot of military people.”
She carried on drinking and emptied the rest of the third and last bottle of wine. Even Modin noticed that he had become quite drunk and found it hard to collect his thoughts. It was not easy to take in what Kim was saying.
“So you were a swallow, Kim? Bait for Jonas. His decoy.” He smiled.
“I did everything the men wanted me to do.” She burst into laughter, leaned forward, and began to kiss Modin intensely on his throat and neck. “It was Jonas who taught me what men like.”
Modin offered no resistance and soon their lips met in a passionate tongue kiss.
She wriggled free and sank down between his thighs, opened his fly and squeezed his genitals gently as she pulled up her sweater, exposing her white breasts. Then she pulled out his erect member and let it slide into her mouth.
“Is this a good idea, Kim? We’re both pretty drunk.” At the same time, he felt he was growing stiffer in her mouth. He was still sitting on the floor, awkward and ashamed, but he let it happen. His lust took over. He couldn’t resist. And besides, it was a new year—a year for new opportunities and maybe a new way of life for him.
CHAPTER 37
STOCKHOLM, GRAND HÔTEL, FRIDAY, JANUARY 1, 2010
Do have another egg,” she said and laid a fried egg with the yolk intact on Modin’s plate.
His plate was already full with bacon, white beans, and a slice of toast. He ate with appetite, spilled a few beans onto the table, wiped up the mess with his finger, and reached for the coffee pot. He poured a cup for Kim, then for himself. The night had been energetic and exhilarating. Sex, sex, and more sex in all kinds of positions, accompanied by fireworks outside their window. Modin didn’t remember the last time he had been so passionately horny. Kim was fantastic. Quiet and secretive, but when she wanted, she could be dirty and rampant in her lovemaking without turning into a vamp. She had experience, a great deal more than he had, despite her youth, but like himself, was starved for sex and starved for love. He had been anxious about letting it go so far, but it was too late for regrets. What was done was done.
He looked out one of the vaulted windows in the room to distract himself and to stop thinking about the previous night. He couldn’t help taking a sly peek at her. He was not entirely sure of Kim’s intentions, and thought it was best to lie low.
She was radiant as she drank her coffee, leaning forward, holding her cup with both hands. She was wearing the white hotel bathrobe that had been hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and a pair of Japanese slippers. Her blond hair fell down over her shoulders and framed her pretty face. As he kept looking at her secretly, he couldn’t visualize any of her recent history with Jonas. Either she had moved on, or she was good at concealing her thoughts and emotions about him. If the latter, he didn’t like it.
Standing on her own feet for the first time in her life without a guardian, no strict parents or dominant husband. From now on, she could do as she pleased. Almost. That’s what they were going to talk about: How Jonas’ business dealings would affect her personally in the future.
It was January 1. The New Year had arrived, and it was mid-morning. The snow had stopped. A piercing winter sun lit up the front of the Royal Palace.
He found himself smiling. He could decide to stay as long as things went well. It felt good, and that was an incredible luxury in his otherwise meager life. You can’t have everything, he thought, as he smiled at her. She smiled back with her head tilted to one side, without knowing the thoughts going through his head. He was happy to be with Kim, one of Sweden’s richest young ladies, but at the same time the prettiest, horniest, and the one with the dirtiest imagination. He started to laugh.
“What were you thinking about just now, Mo
din?”
“Life, you and me, and what any of it means in the scheme of things.”
“And?”
“Looks good. We, or at least you, are moving toward a bright future. And toward an eternity of Prada and Gucci.”
She looked at him, not entirely following, then kissed him, and started massaging his back through his bathrobe. He could feel a twinge of agony, but pushed her gently away and got up instead.
“We have to get down to work, Kim.”
“We’ve got masses of time, Modin. Everyone always wants to talk business.” She pouted. “All I want to know is: Who was this husband of mine?”
CHAPTER 38
Who wants to talk business with you?” Modin said. Kim’s mention of everyone wanted to talk business, interested him.
“Oh, a man called Anders Glock.”
“Anders Glock? The former Bofors CEO?”
“I don’t know. He says he has been commissioned by the Swedish government to continue with Jonas’ business plans, especially with the cable project in the Baltic Sea. Why are you so interested?”
“I could imagine that your husband’s death had something to do with his cable project,” Modin said and looked at his bare toes. His toenails needed clipping. “A modern cable between the West and what was once the East,” he continued, “is a question of national security. Not only for NATO, but for the Russians as well.”
“Why?”
“The Internet. The Internet controls all defensive forces nowadays, not vice-versa. You have to be able to access the Internet. Soon, all traffic on the net will be encrypted, even private messages. Modern encryption uses a new technique, which makes cracking the codes impossible. Not even the NSA can crack those codes and therefore the Internet can no longer be controlled. Sure, people can eavesdrop, listen in, but if all the messages are in code, what do you do then? Can you ban encryption? Maybe, but it would prove just about as ineffective as banning illegal downloading. People ignore the rules. The only way of putting a stop to it is to shut down the Internet altogether, and only allow the military and the authorities to surf and police it. What would that be like? North Korea? The only other option is to take control of the infrastructure, such as the cables and satellites themselves. Then people are forced to use the servers the establishment offers. And that’s success.”
Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3) Page 11