Patricia asked if I was following her so far. I said yes, fascinated, and asked her to continue. Which she did, in a low and intense voice.
‘The interpreter saw the connection when she heard that the newly arrived agent was out the evening that Fredriksen was killed. She got cold feet after that, possibly after doubting the excellence of the Soviet Union for some time. Coming to Norway could have been quite a shock, particularly if she had never been abroad before. She had got to know your fiancée at the university, and had met up with her at yesterday’s lecture. And either then, or at some point later in the day, the interpreter gave your fiancée an envelope with some documents that would prove the connection. It is most likely that they met later on in the day and were seen. Or they may have been seen at the university, if the interpreter was already being followed. Whatever the case, your fiancée was then followed and watched, and they saw her going out, somewhat carelessly, with the envelope in her hand. They struck immediately. I am pretty certain that must be what happened.’
I agreed that it must have been what had happened – although I had not made this connection myself.
‘It is worth noting that the interpreter smelt a rat and was nervous. She walked out with you after the meeting and left the embassy. She may have gone to her flat, but it is more likely that she went to a friend’s or stayed the night in a hotel. Her experience of the KGB and Soviet police meant that she did not trust the Norwegian police, but she did trust you as she had met you and heard about you from your fiancée. She didn’t know if everything had worked out, but tried, without any luck, to ring the halls of residence and then you, when she couldn’t get hold of your fiancée. In the end, she called your fiancée’s mother, whom she knew of by name, and asked her to give you a message about where and when to meet her. Either the interpreter was extremely unfortunate, or they were already on her trail, which is more likely. What is certain is that she definitely had someone hot on her heels and was shot just before she could speak to you.’
I was very impressed, and said so. Then I asked the most important and vital question that she still had not answered: ‘But WHERE is Miriam?’
‘That is of course the most important question now. The book I wanted to check was quite simply a dictionary. I have now gone through all the words that start “bas” and there is only one word that fits here, and that is basement. I would assume that means the embassy basement. It would not be easy for them to find a suitable hiding place in the vicinity at such short notice, and if the basement was anywhere else, the interpreter would be far less likely to know about it. However, it would be risky for them to move Miriam today, as now they must presume that the embassy is being watched.’
‘So in other words, it is more likely that they might kill her instead?’
Patricia sighed on the other end.
‘Clearly that is a possibility, yes. I think they kidnapped her without knowing who she was, simply because they wanted to get the documents back and they had seen her. They should by now have discovered that she is your fiancée. To kill a Norwegian citizen entails a risk, but to kill the fiancée of one of the country’s best-known policemen would be even worse. They probably do not know how much you and the police actually know and can prove. The interpreter’s handbag may prove to be crucial here.’
‘But there is nothing of interest in the handbag,’ I retorted, confused.
Patricia sighed again, but then hurried on with renewed vigour.
‘Unfortunately not. But they do not know that, or what she might have told you, and nor do they know if she is alive or not. They are no doubt wondering how much the Norwegian police know, how much you can prove, and how to deal with the situation. The chances are that Miriam is still being held somewhere in the basement. But it is impossible to prove it and to get her out of there will therefore not be easy. It quickly becomes a matter of how much you believe what I say is right, and if you are willing to risk your career to save your fiancée. A police raid against the embassy would cause a scandal, and if no hostage was found, heads would roll and tensions between the two countries would escalate. On the other hand, it would also be a scandal if a hostage was found in their embassy, and that could quite literally cause heads to roll in the Soviet Union.’
There was a heavy knock at the door as I was listening. I hastily whispered: ‘Thank you for all your help – I will think about it,’ and then put the phone down.
IX
Danielsen and my boss were already on their way in as I put down the receiver. They both looked very serious indeed.
‘Danielsen has some very bad news, and I have some very onerous information,’ my boss told me.
My blood turned to ice and my muscles froze. I sat there, immobile, and stared at Danielsen.
‘She is dead,’ he said, gravely.
‘Who?’ I almost shouted.
Danielsen realized his blunder and threw up his hands. ‘I am so sorry for putting it so badly. We know nothing more about your fiancée. But unfortunately the interpreter died during the operation at the University Hospital about half an hour ago. She did not regain consciousness. The bullet wounds would have been fatal, no matter how soon she had got to hospital, they said.’
I felt a paradoxical relief as soon as he said that it was the interpreter who had died. I had been terrified that he was talking about Miriam and it was a relief to know that nothing I could have done at the National Theatre would have saved the interpreter’s life. But I also felt pained on the part of the interpreter, and realized that this further reduced the chances of getting Miriam back. So I looked back at my boss, without saying anything.
‘My news is not necessarily bad, but both pieces of information are onerous. First, on hearing about the shooting at the National Theatre, the Government has postponed the ratification of the Barents Sea agreement in the Storting indefinitely. And second, the Soviet Embassy has just informed us that they take it very seriously indeed that one of their staff has been shot, and have requested a meeting with the head of the investigation as soon as possible.’
‘They have got something to hide and are playing with high stakes. I think we should first allow ourselves a couple of hours to think about this, and then all three of us should go,’ I said.
They both nodded. But my boss said that we could not delay it too long, with due respect, as he put it, to the embassy, the press, the Government and my fiancée. He suggested that he and I pay another visit to the head of the police security service at two o’clock, and that Danielsen should then come with us to the Soviet Embassy at four.
Danielsen and I quickly agreed. This would give the investigation three hours to produce some evidence – and me three hours to think about the decision I would have to make should no evidence materialize.
X
Nothing more happened between one o’clock and a quarter to two. I sat in my office and waited for a telephone call with good or bad news about Miriam. I had no idea where it would come from though, and, of course, it did not come.
So I sat there alone thinking about what Patricia had said. I found no other explanation that fitted as well as hers, and it seemed more and more likely that she was right. But I could not be sure, and to confront the Soviet Embassy without any evidence was a horrifying prospect.
At the same time it felt like I had a duty to try everything I could to bring Miriam back, without worrying about what the consequences might be for me. She had apparently been kidnapped because of her connection to me, while trying to help me solve the hardest murder case I had ever worked on.
And yet: the thought of being shown to be bluffing, having accused the Soviet Embassy of kidnapping, was terrifying, not least after my last meeting with the vice-ambassador. My career, thus far successful, could crash-land in a scandal if this got out, and result in me being fired. This was a day when I could lose everything: my fiancée, my position and my reputation.
The visit to Victoria Terrace at two o’clock did little to help.
Asle Bryne again expressed his guarded sympathy for the situation I found myself in, but could not offer any assistance. He nodded, almost eagerly, to the theory that Soviet agents were behind the kidnapping and today’s murder, and believed that the ‘communists’ were in all likelihood also behind the murders of both Per Johan and Vera Fredriksen. But he had no evidence to substantiate it.
When the question of how the spy allegations had ended up in the press was raised, Asle Bryne again lit his pipe and categorically denied that the leak could have come from the ranks of the police security service. He refused, slightly apologetically and very demonstratively, to give the identity of the police security service’s source with regard to the Fredriksen spy claims. However, when I asked him directly, he could confirm that the source had not been the interpreter, whom he maintained was totally unknown to him and the police security service.
I was back in the office by half past two and once again, sat alone with my dilemma. At a quarter to three, I rang Patricia to tell her about the latest development. I could hardly hope that she had any evidence. And indeed, she did not. She did, however, go to unexpected lengths to advise me as to what I should do.
‘You have to do it. I am more and more convinced that I am right, and it could save your fiancée’s life,’ she said.
I said that I had to think about it, and that it felt like leaping into the unknown.
‘Remember that you can always rely on my support, even if everything goes wrong,’ she said, finishing our telephone call at five to three.
Again I sat there and pondered. To begin with, I was deeply touched by Patricia’s care and consideration for both Miriam and myself. Then I thought about what she had said in parting, and again, I wondered what her motive was. It struck me that Patricia, from her perspective, was perhaps manufacturing a win-win situation, where she would either become my hero because she was right, or would be the only person who would still support me if I lost both my fiancée and my job. I could not bring myself to believe that she really would think the latter, but whatever the case, it was a far more painful alternative for me than for her. So in the midst of it all, I harboured a vague doubt as to Patricia’s intentions. And in a strange way, I was now fighting with a bad conscience about both Patricia and Miriam.
Two further conversations did not make things any easier or the pressure any less. Miriam’s mother rang to ask me if there was any news. I told her that the interpreter had died and that I was going to the embassy in an hour, but there was no news, for better or worse, about Miriam herself. Her mother finished by saying: ‘We’re losing hope. But we are very grateful for everything you are doing.’ There is no doubt that she meant well, but it did not make my situation any easier. I sat with the telephone in my hand, feeling ever gloomier and more and more uncertain.
Two minutes later, a woman from the switchboard knocked on my door. She said that the newspapers had started to ring and asked if it was true that my fiancée had disappeared, and if so, might it have something to do with the Fredriksen case, the day’s murder and the oil agreement?
I asked her to come with me to Danielsen’s office. We quickly agreed on a two-line standard response: we confirmed that my fiancée was missing and that an investigation was underway, but that it was too early to comment on what had happened.
The switchboard lady then took this back with her. I stood and looked questioningly at Danielsen. He shook his head a fraction.
‘Nothing more to report, I’m afraid. We do not know any more about your fiancée, but we do know a bit more about the interpreter. According to the embassy, she lived in a studio flat not far from the embassy itself, but her landlady had not seen her since yesterday morning. A hotel on one of the side streets off Karl Johan called after the announcement of her death to say that they thought she had booked in there overnight. A slightly out-of-breath young woman had suddenly shown up there the evening before, without a reservation and without any luggage. She had paid in cash and seemed very nervous. She said she was called Hanne Hansen and spoke very good Norwegian, but did not have any ID and the receptionist noticed some Russian letters on her jacket. She went down to the reception twice in the evening and once again in the morning to make some short phone calls. Otherwise, as far as the hotel knew, she stayed in her room until she checked out at a quarter past eleven. A man had called in the morning and explained that his mentally unstable wife had run away, but they refused to give out any information about their guests. This enquiry could well have been about the interpreter and would indicate that they were looking for her. But it is still not hard evidence.’
I felt relief surge through my body as I listened to Danielsen. It was clearly the interpreter, and fitted well with the assumption that they were looking for her – and that in turn fitted well with the scenario that Patricia had outlined. When Danielsen stopped talking, I could still hear her voice in my head.
I stood there with Danielsen in front of my eyes and Patricia’s voice in my ears, then together we walked pensively over to my boss’s office and asked him if we could come in for a minute. I told him the main points of Patricia’s reasoning – without of course mentioning her name.
We sat there and looked at each other – and then at the clock on the wall. It was twenty to four. Whereas time had dragged unbearably earlier in the day, it now suddenly seemed to be racing.
‘Impressive thinking in such a demanding situation. It may well be the truth, but we still have no evidence,’ my boss said, slowly.
Once again, I got unexpected help from Danielsen.
‘Good thinking, and I think you are right. But it would be terrible if K2’s fiancée is with the communists and we knew and did nothing about it,’ he said.
My boss and I suddenly sighed in unison. He spoke first.
‘We will have to go soon, if we are going to be on time. We will just have to assess the situation there and then as things unfold,’ he said.
Then he stood up without waiting for an answer. Neither Danielsen nor I said anything. We followed him in silence. None of us spoke during the short drive to the embassy.
XI
The table was set with vodka, water and cakes for five, rather than four. Otherwise, everything was the same as it had been the last time we were shown into the meeting room at the embassy. We were met by the same receptionist and shown along the corridor by the same guide. There was still no emotion to be seen on their faces. And again we were shown to places under the huge portrait of Brezhnev. There was no one sitting in the other chairs when we arrived this time, either.
The interpreter and vice-ambassador arrived at the same time. The vice-ambassador was very definitely the same, his handshake if anything a little firmer than before and his voice even louder and faster.
Naturally, the interpreter was new, and I felt sad when I saw her come in. She was not as dark, but all the more serious, and closer to fifty than thirty. She was also twice the size. Her handshake was weak and her voice hesitant when she started to interpret the vice-ambassador’s first volley.
‘The vice-ambassador welcomes you back and thanks you for making the time on what must be a very busy day for you. This is, of course, a very upsetting time for us at the embassy. One of our dear colleagues has been killed on the street in broad daylight, and wicked rumours published in the press have meant that the agreement, which is so important to both our countries, has not been ratified. We hope that the matter will soon be resolved and that this is no more than a temporary postponement. Otherwise, the good relations enjoyed by the Soviet Union and Norway could be jeopardized.’
The last sentence sounded akin to a threat of war. And in my already fraught frame of mind, I found this very provoking, especially when he spoke of the dead interpreter as a dear colleague. The situation suddenly resembled a game of chess, where the ambassador was playing with the white pieces and had opened with two very aggressive moves.
My boss started tentatively and diplomatically by giving his condolence
s for their loss, and assuring the vice-ambassador that the investigation would be given the highest priority. He then asked what measures the embassy would like to see taken.
The answer came fast and hard from the vice-ambassador, and then somewhat more slowly via the interpreter.
‘The vice-ambassador thanks you for your sympathies. It is hoped that the press will be reprimanded as soon as possible and that there is an official statement to clarify that there is no suspicion that the crimes committed can in any way be linked to representatives of the Soviet state.’
I looked at my boss, and did not envy him his job.
He replied tersely that in a democracy, the police did not usually reprimand the free press in this way, and as long as the investigation was ongoing, it was problematic to make categorical statements about who had not committed the crimes.
So far, we were covering the same ground as last time. It felt as though the game had stalled. But then the vice-ambassador made another aggressive move.
‘The vice-ambassador finds it hard to understand why the police cannot publicly state that there is nothing to indicate that representatives of the Soviet Union are in any way involved in the crimes in question. Unless of course there are grounds for suspicion. And in that case, the vice-ambassador would like to be given the opportunity to clear this up here and now.’
This was a very aggressive move, which made for a moment of drama.
My boss took his time. Danielsen stepped in.
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