Five kilometres from the position shown by the GPS co-
ordinates, the group stopped at a road sign, where the road had been widened to allow passing traffic. Three hundred metres farther down the road, they were going to turn onto a private, gravel road, according to the map. It came to a dead end at a waterfall and no buildings were shown on the map. Yet there was an electricity cable somewhere close to the road, which had been installed since the 1950s according to the electricity company. The service had not been in use for 40 years. It had been billed to a deceased civil servant at the Fortifications Authority. Were they heading for a camping site?
The team leader looked at Wilhelmsson with mounting scepticism. “So you don’t know what the target location is?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Or number of suspects?”
“No details on that either,” Wilhelmsson replied.
“So what was the tip then?” the team leader asked, glaring at Jonna.
She cleared her throat, although she didn’t need to. “That someone was preparing to hijack our transit vehicle today. Nothing more than that,” she lied.
Jonna felt the sweat starting to run down her spine. She was now telling brazen lies to her colleague and consciously exposing them to potential danger. There could be a gang of fanatics, armed to the teeth, waiting for them.
Walter sat down in front of Tor Hedman and his lawyer. He poured water into a glass and folded his hands together on the table. He looked calmly from the green defence lawyer to the hardened villain with the blood of several lives on his hands. Walter allowed himself a contented smile. The lawyer and Tor looked at him with some suspicion.
“Our Internal Affairs section has now arrested Martin Borg and he’s starting to unburden his guilty conscience,” Walter began. “If I were you, I would start to do that too. The way things are now, it looks as if Tor is the one behind the killings in Gnesta. Is that a correct account?”
Tor’s face did not move a muscle.
“I would like to speak with Martin Borg’s counsel,” the lawyer countered quickly.
“You can’t,” said Walter. “You have both been served with gagging orders.”
The lawyer exchanged glances with Tor.
“Haven’t you worked out anything yet?” Walter asked in a calm voice. “I’m assuming that you haven’t been playing cards while we were otherwise engaged? If you don’t have something to offer us, then your home team seems have wasted a useful time-out opportunity.”
The lawyer’s face flushed.
“Is the earlier deal still on?” Tor suddenly asked.
The lawyer raised a hand and asked Tor to take it easy, but Tor had other plans. After a short exchange of words, the young lawyer had to accept it.
“I’ll do what I can,” Walter said. “But I would be lying if I made any promises.”
“So what’s it to be? Three or four years?” asked Tor.
“You’ll have to ask the Chief Prosecutor. She’s on her way here, so you’ll be able to ask her that question yourself.”
Tor paused. “Is it one of those bloody, menopausal cows?” he said, after a moment’s thought. “The type that wants to set examples and show everyone that she can be hard on criminals too?”
“I suggest that you be on your best behaviour. If you get the Chief Prosecutor on your side, then it will be so much easier to fix the other stuff.”
Tor grunted something incomprehensible.
“Do you want to start right away?” Walter asked, starting the recorder just as one of the female clerks came in to act as the interview notary.
For a long time, Tor looked unconvinced. Then he opened his mouth to speak.
Martin Borg felt the taste of victory in his mouth as he walked through the labyrinthine corridors under the police headquarters towards the detention-cell block entrance. The Mentor had made a promise and then fulfilled it, by arranging a corpse that matched the description of Jerry Salminen’s accomplice at Gnesta. Although it was up to him to fix the details, he felt back in the game. A gang shooting in the restaurant industry wasn’t anything that would make the headlines.
Kokk had been speechless when Martin explained that the dead Vecdi Gönül was without a doubt Jerry Salminen’s fugitive accomplice. The SÄPO machine was moving at full speed and now Martin’s situation was viewed in a different light. Soon he would be able to solve all his problems and once again focus on the most important issue at hand. The war against Islam.
In five minutes, he would be signing out Hedman from County CID and put him under his own investigation, even if the practical details would be handled by others from Martin’s section. Chief Prosecutor Julén had been hard pushed to keep Kokk and SÄPO’s operational leadership out when there was such convincing evidence.
As for Hedman, all he had to do was to keep his mouth shut. Martin was going to make him an irresistible offer that would also be the final solution of his Hedman problem. Martin put such thoughts aside for the moment when he saw Hedman’s lanky body behind the table in the interview room.
Tor looked hunted, as he sat there accompanied by a young lawyer in a grey suit and garish tie. On the other side of the table, the pensioner Gröhn was sitting together with an interview notary. Martin loved the element of surprise, and the look on Gröhn’s face as he and two colleagues from SÄPO stepped through the door was priceless.
Martin presented the requisition to Walter.
“Tor Hedman is going to SÄPO headquarters,” he said quickly and watched Hedman, whose brain was now fully occupied with trying to figure out if Borg’s entrance was a good thing.
Walter took the papers from Borg’s hand and read them summarily. “I’m not finished here yet,” he said, and tossed the papers onto the table. “You’ll have to wait about an hour or so.”
Martin nodded to his colleagues to fetch Hedman. “It says ‘without delay’, if I have read it correctly,” he said.
“Chief Prosecutor Julén is on her way here,” Walter protested. “She will participate herself in the interview.”
“Quite correct,” Martin smiled. “Upstairs at SÄPO, not here.”
There was an awkward silence in the room. The lawyer fidgeted and the clerk’s eyes flicked back and forth between Walter and Borg. Finally, Walter gave up and folded his arms.
“He’s all yours,” he said.
“Just make your mark on the papers, please,” Martin smiled, holding out a pen.
Walter grabbed the pen and signed. “As you please,” he said, dropping the pen onto the table.
Martin picked up the gold-coloured pen, put it in the inside pocket of his suit, and explained to the lawyer that the interview was over. A new time would be set later in the day, by the investigation leader Åsa Julén.
Walter sat silently in the empty interrogation room. He had asked the clerk to close the door as she went out and he stared at the chair Hedman had been sitting in just a few minutes ago. Walter had spotted a crack in Tor’s façade and was close to punching a big hole through his increasingly shaky reasoning. Perhaps a few more hours would have been enough for Walter to get him where he wanted him.
Borg’s abrupt entrance had sabotaged the interview, but Walter didn’t have a choice. He was now part of a carefully laid-out procedure and no deviations would be tolerated. He just had to follow orders and release Hedman. All according to regulations.
One unscheduled meeting with SÄPO’s top management and the investigation was now in a new phase. David Lilja had been just as surprised as Walter by the “strictly classified” message from SÄPO. The Security Service top brass announced that they were “keeping their eyes” on Martin Borg. They did not have to say any more than that. With Chief Prosecutor Äsa Julén’s permission, Chief Inspector David Lilja had immediately handed over the Tor Hedman investigation t
o SÄPO.
For once, Walter had not protested at Lilja’s decision, despite it meaning that he would have to play along and release Hedman. SÄPO was also trying to establish a working relationship with the local police force, in this case the Stockholm County CID.
Walter actually felt a certain respect for his colleagues at SÄPO. Apparently, they were not all desk cops. He also realized that this glasnost within SÄPO was only temporary. They would soon be back to normal with their paranoia and “we-do-it-our-way” mentality.
Walter was jolted out of his meditation by a text-message ringtone. He looked at the message from Jonna. They had definitely found something in the woods. Slowly, the noose was being tightened around Borg’s neck.
Martin Borg parked Tor Hedman in one of the Security Service’s interview rooms. Contentedly, he watched Hedman, who had now accepted Martin’s generous offer in return for unconditional silence. Tor needed to stay quiet not just to stay alive. He was also soon to be set free. Granted, it would be far away from Sweden, but he would still be free.
Borg’s lie had been sufficiently credible for Tor to agree to the deal. The Security Service were above both regulations and the law, everyone knew that. Even Tor Hedman.
Still, Martin was troubled. It had all been a little too easy. From the dead Turk to the transfer of Hedman. Julén had given him hardly any resistance and Thomas Kokk had accepted all of Martin’s proposals without a single protest. Even Hedman took his deal without haggling or asking stupid questions. Paranoia was driving him crazy. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind him, wrenching him back to reality.
“Have you heard the latest news?” one man from Martin’s section said.
“What news? Martin shook his head, confused.
“A SWAT team and County CID started an op outside Örebro,” the colleague said. “They have even called in the National SWAT team, who are en route in helicopters.”
Martin thoughts scattered. “Where in Örebro?”
“All I know is outside Örebro.”
“What is Stockholm County CID doing so far outside their jurisdiction?” Martin wondered.
“Yes, it is a little strange. Apparently, someone was planning to hijack a prison transfer from Kumla. The transit vehicle was going to be escorted by the SWAT team and County CID, but instead they went after the would-be ambushers after receiving a tip-off.”
Panic flooded Martin’s brain. Logic wrestled with these contradictions. He had to contact the Mentor. He had to . . .
Suddenly, he understood. The insight sent a chill through him. Everything happening around him was a charade created by the Prosecutor’s Office, County CID, his own section, Thomas Kokk and God knows who else.
But why hadn’t the Mentor warned him? They must be getting close to the organization. Martin had two unused SIM cards left. He took his mobile phone and keyed in the encrypted text string that contained the telephone number. He had to get out of the building. Away from the constantly eavesdropped base stations that were close to the police headquarters.
He punched in his code and took the lift down to the garage. As he approached his car, he stopped. Of course, he thought. His private car would be bugged with a transmitter.Yet he still took the car to avoid calling attention to himself. He parked outside the Gamla Stan underground station and got on a train heading towards Hässelby Strand.
He did not see that he was being followed.
Two women in their 30s squeezed between the doors just as they were closing. Martin checked out their clothes. Boring, plain colours that attracted as little attention as possible.
They were chatting. Their body language was exaggerated. They avoided any eye contact with Martin. Their nods and expressions were rehearsed. Just as the train doors were about to close again, he jumped off the train. The women didn’t seem to notice his sudden exit.
Perhaps he was being paranoid.
Martin bumped into a man on the stairs up to Vasagatan. He turned around, but the man continued walking as if nothing had happened. For a moment, Martin thought that it was a set-up planned by the Mentor. That, despite the dead Turk, he was a liability that had to be eliminated. Maybe he wasn’t being followed by Internal Affairs. Even if he was, there was no evidence against him. Hedman had agreed to keep quiet, not that the idiot’s word was worth much, but it would do for the time being.
In the unlikely event that Hedman started to talk, it was his word against that villain’s. A police officer’s word carried much more weight. Still, the feeling that he was being set up would not leave him.
Chapter 20
Jörgen Blad stared at the text message he had received from Jonna. It was short and inconclusive. Her text, which read “Go to Örebro. Get ready for a big story”, was accompanied by a set of GPS coordinates.
How big? And what should he get ready for? Jörgen was at first confused and then so excited that he had difficulty sitting still. His journalist’s brain was fumbling for an explanation. What was she talking about? In Örebro? What could there be in Örebro that was sensational?
Jörgen had tried to call back but, of course, her mobile was turned off.
“Something’s come up,” Jörgen said, absent-mindedly putting his glass of juice on the table. “I’m not sure what it is.”
“Sounds a bit naughty,” said Sebastian, amused.
“Not this time,” Jörgen mumbled. “Hopefully it’s another exclusive.”
“From that chic police chick?”
Jörgen nodded.
“What’s going on?”
“My guess is that it involves an internal police scandal.”
“Like the guy that Miguel followed?”
“Very likely.”
“You promised Miguel that he could share the story.”
“He’s just a paparazzi,” Jörgen said. “I’m taking the lead on this story and have the journalistic responsibility. If he manages to take a good picture of something or someone and gets a prize for it, then fine. But the story and other stuff is all mine.”
“Of course it is,” Sebastian smiled. “On the subject of other stuff, is there something else you have to take care of?”
Jörgen looked up and saw a naked Sebastian. He had let his dressing gown fall to the floor. The sunlight through the kitchen window fell on his erect penis, leaving an elongated shadow on the kitchen floor. His body was exquisite . . . Jörgen adored his pale, slender frame, which had no superfluous body fat. He was simply God’s gift to Jörgen.
“I can’t,” Jörgen said softly. “I have to go now.”
Sebastian sighed and the shadow quickly receded. He grabbed his dressing gown and returned to the bedroom. The door slammed.
Jörgen checked his watch. When could he get to Örebro? In about two hours, perhaps, but then he had to move fast. He grabbed his jacket and closed the door without saying goodbye to Sebastian.
Miguel was busy taking nude pictures of a woman celebrity chef. Jörgen had neither the time nor the inclination to go and get him. The small digital camera in his jacket worked well enough at close distances and would have to suffice.
He threw himself into his car and punched in the sat-nav co-ordinates he had received from Jonna. Jörgen carefully studied the map on the small colour screen. Apparently, he was going for a stroll in the woods. If the co-ordinates that Jonna had sent him were correct.
Jonna’s pulse raced. Ahead of them on the trail, a house towered in the middle of the forest. A stone building that looked deserted. Behind the house, there was a waterfall. The roar of the water was clearly audible. Wilhelmsson crouched behind some bushes. Suddenly, one of the SWAT team signalled to Wilhelmsson. Jonna followed him closely.
“What’s that?” Wilhelmsson whispered.
“A surveillance camera,” the police officer said and pointed out a small
camera on a tripod. “Some hunters use them to spot prey. As soon as something moves in front of the camera, it sends pictures using a mobile-phone internet connection.”
“Have we been detected?” Jonna asked.
The officer nodded.
“There are others,” he said, pointing farther ahead. “The light above the camera lens shows that it is operational.”
Under some leaves, yet another camera was discovered. The camera lens was pointing directly at them.
His police radio sprang into life. The team leader gave the order to go ahead and before Wilhelmsson could take out his personal radio to abort his order, stun grenades began exploding inside the building. Wilhelmsson rushed towards the house wall, with Jonna at his heels. She was panting. Her bulletproof vest made it difficult to breathe, because it was too tight across her chest.
She and Wilhelmsson had the end of the building covered. The other sides were covered by the SWAT team. They moved quickly and arrived at the corner of the building. Above them in the wall, there was a window. The glass was filthy and impossible to see through. Jonna thought she heard the sound of running footsteps. Radio silence was still in effect. The footsteps approached the corner and she raised her weapon. She had a firm grip on her Sig Sauer and was ready. Wilhelmsson was covering her with his back towards her, but he also kept glancing in Jonna’s direction. The team leader’s voice barked something over the radio just as a SWAT officer came around the corner.
“We can’t proceed any farther,” he panted, staring down the barrel of Jonna’s weapon. She quickly lowered her pistol.
The SWAT officer considered Jonna for a few seconds. “There’s an iron door inside that we’ve not been able to open,” he said. “We’ll have to fetch the hydraulic equipment.”
Jonna nodded. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably and thoughts spun around in her head. What if she had accidentally pulled the trigger? She didn’t want to think about it, but Wilhelmsson guessed what she was thinking.
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