Sohlberg and the Gift

by Jens Amundsen

  More giggles and twittering.

  Thorsen’s absurd noises ceased when Sohlberg said:

  “Listen Thorsen. I found your name and signature listed on a sign-out sheet for fingerprint cards before they’re archived and permanently stored in our computers. You forgot about that little detail . . . that little piece of trivia.”

  “I . . . I . . . I deleted the card because Ellingsen and Myklebust told me to get rid of it.”

  “Did you make and keep a copy for yourself?”

  “No. I deleted it from the system.”

  “That means . . . let’s see . . . that you could be charged with destroying official government records . . . right?”

  “I—”

  “Do me a favor Thorsen. . . . Actually . . . do me three favors.”

  “Oh yes. Whatever you want.”

  “Pretend that you’re grateful for my saving your career at the Zoo.”

  “But of course I’m grateful.”

  “Don’t lie. Remember . . . you’re a bad liar.”

  “Sorry. I’ll . . . pretend.”

  “Good. Next. Pretend you’re humble. Pretend you’re not the next Oslo Police Commissioner. Everyone hates you more nowadays with your arrogant bossiness. No one has died and made you Zoo boss. Okay?”

  “Of course. Yes. I see what you mean.”

  “I doubt your fake humility will last even if you do see what I mean.”

  “It will. I promise.” A pale and sweaty Thorsen turned to leave. He looked back at Sohlberg. “What’s the third favor?”

  “Get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you at all. If you ever see me then you must turn immediately and go the opposite way. Alright?”

  “Yes. I will.”

  Sohlberg doubted it. But at least he had one more club to hold over Thorsen’s head which was predestined to get bigger and bigger in the bright future that is always assured for Yes-Men and Empty Suits.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Hei . . . I wanted to see if you’re still interested in getting examined and treated.”

  The telephone call at home from Bergitta Nansen caught Sohlberg completely off guard. Her come-hither voice enticed him. He had no idea what to tell the alluring psychiatrist. But he knew someone who knew exactly what to say and how to say it.

  “One moment please.”

  He turned to his wife and quickly explained the promise that he had made to the psychiatrist.

  “Really?” said an apprehensive if not incredulous Emma Sohlberg.

  “Yes. She wants to see if I have psychosis or personality disorders.”

  “Give me that phone!”

  He obeyed with a smile.

  “Listen Doktor Nansen. My husband is not going to be examined or treated by you or anyone else for mental illness. You leave him alone . . . you hear? . . . I’m a registered nurse and his wife and I can tell you that he has no psychosis or personality disorders. . . . What? . . . I don’t care what he promised you. That was part of an investigation for a case that’s been solved and closed. . . .

  “No. Absolutely not. I don’t care if ‘the science’ needs a good test subject. He will not see you ever again. And I am unanimous in that. Good day Doktor!”

  ~ ~ ~

  A few weeks after his visit with Thorsen at the Zoo lobby Sohlberg was watching NRK2 television with his wife. An NRK news report came on but Sohlberg barely paid attention to it because he was reading another delightful Colin Thubron travel book. This gem described Thubron’s travels in remote and exotic Asian deserts filled with ruined cities and lost civilizations. The television reporter spoke at length about a renewed Venstre party led by Liselotte Bjørkedal.

  With his mind focused on the distant and warm climes of Central Asian deserts Sohlberg barely paid any attention to the reporter who said:

  “Liselotte Bjørkedal has positioned herself as Norway’s Iron Lady or the Margaret Thatcher of The Liberal Left. She wants to deport all immigrants who have a criminal record. The tough and charming Bjørkedal has set her eyes on the Prime Minister’s office . . . which is now within reach. It’s been a remarkable rise to power . . . one that took a great leap forward when her party rival Kasper Berge resigned in shame over his corrupt dealings in the prosecution of the Janne Eide murder and the looting of the Olan Eide fortune.”

  Sohlberg’s ears caught some of what the reporter was saying. But he was close to burnt-out on the Eide case and he tuned out media reports that cropped up from time to time on the case. He continued reading Colin Thubron’s exquisite literary flights when all of the sudden Sohlberg understood that he had just heard something of extreme importance. He shouted:

  “What . . . what did he say?”

  A startled Emma Sohlberg turned and looked askance at her greatly disturbed husband. “What’s the matter with you? . . . They were just reporting about this politician.”

  “What . . . exactly what did they say?”

  “Sohlberg! . . . Calm down. Don’t scream at me . . . I’m not a tape recorder.”

  “I’m sorry Love . . . but I heard something very important. Now I’m going to have to order the videotape segment or the transcript and wait weeks and weeks for it. By then I might forget what sounded so important. . . . Great!”

  “Sohlberg. Just go to the Internet . . . look at the N.R.K. website . . . I’m sure they’ll have the news report for you to watch again immediately.”

  “Oh yes. Brilliant my Love. Brilliant.”

  Sohlberg jumped up and ran off to get his laptop. In his rush to hear the news segment he forgot to thank Fru Sohlberg for her assistance.

  Emma Sohlbeg yelled:

  “You’re welcome!”

  Her sarcasm was lost on Sohlberg. He had already bound up the stairs and was inside the study looking for his Apple computer.

  ~ ~ ~

  The morning after the NRK news report Sohlberg prepared his wife a cheese and ham omelette for breakfast.

  “Wow!” she exclaimed. “What’s all this about . . . since when do we have eggs and ham? Are we abandoning your vegetarian diet?”

  “We can have a little treat once in a while.”

  Emma Sohlberg hummed loudly. She dug into the omelette but not before noticing that he only ate his favorite combination of oats and yogurt and cloudberry jam. His absent-minded demeanor made her wonder if he was about to solve another case.

  He startled her with his unexpected statement:

  “Have you ever been played for a fool?”

  “Excuse me? . . . What kind of a question is that?”

  “It’s just a question . . . why so many questions about a question?”

  “Sohlberg . . . I’m suspicious. You take the time to make me eggs with ham . . . it’s a rarity to see any meat in this home.”

  “You mean red meat . . . right? I do make you lots of fish and chicken dishes.”

  “True. But why ask me such a disturbing question? . . . Have you ever been played for a fool? . . . I almost feel like one of your criminals. . . . Sohlberg . . . are you interrogating me?”

  “No. No. I just want your feedback.”

  “Oh.”

  “So . . . have you ever been played for a fool?”

  She thought about the question and how honestly to answer it. “Yes. I have been played for a fool.”

  “When? . . . How? . . . Name two or three worst cases of your getting played for a fool.”

  “Sohlberg can I enjoy my breakfast in peace? . . . Just because you gave me a tiny slice of ham doesn’t mean you can grill me like one of your murder suspects.”

  He waited a few minutes while he ate a small bowl of chopped dates.

  “My two worst cases huh? . . . Alright. I’m ready.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and nibbled on a piece of toast with cloudberry jam. “Do I need a lawyer? . . . Will my answers be used later against me?”

  He laughed and said, “Never.”

  “I don’t believe you but here we go. An old boyfriend played me for a fool in college.
Had me thinking we were a couple when he had another gal on the side. Actually two or three on the side. He tricked me into lending him a lot of money. He then broke up with me a week later and never paid me back.”

  “The other one?”

  “You know that one . . . my parents manipulating me into welcoming that jerk of a brother-in-law back into the family when it was always perfectly clear that toxic piece of garbage was the same old poisonous and rabid animal.”

  “Fair enough. But have you ever been played for a fool in a situation where you did something that was very very good for someone who deserved your help . . . but you later suspected or found out that it was all part of someone’s bigger self-serving scheme . . . nasty manipulation . . . or dirty trick?”

  “No. I don’t think I’ve been in that situation . . . as far as I know.”

  “What would you do if you found out about such a situation?”

  Fru Sohlberg put down her toast. “That’s an awful place to be in.” She raised her hands to her chin and thought for a long while. Finally she said, “I guess that I would probably do . . . nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “What could you really do? . . . Show everyone that maybe you’re a fool . . . or at the very least hurt your reputation as someone who’s been unknowingly manipulated or tricked or duped?”

  “Suppose I’m not interested in myself.”

  “The ever-altruistic Harald Sohlberg. Alright. Then . . . you’d have to balance the good that you did after being tricked or manipulated versus the bad or evil consequences of the greater or ultimate trick that manipulated you into doing good.”

  “Weighing good versus evil.”

  “Isn’t that part of your job?”

  He almost nodded but managed to only say:

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh. One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Sohlberg . . . you’d also have to consider all unforseen consequences from exposing the larger manipulation or trick.”

  “That’s impossible . . . how does anyone figure out unforeseen consequences.”

  “Exactly. A very smart man who made very dumb decisions predicted his own future failures when he said, ‘There’s the known knowns . . . and the known unknowns . . . and the unknown unknowns.’ ”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He brought about an awful catastrophe . . . a horrific mess that’ll go on for decades. He left his own Nation’s treasure spent and its blood spilled.”

  “Who? . . . Hitler? . . Stalin?”

  “Don Rumsfeld . . . the American Secretary of Defense. He was talking about American wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and Pakistan.”

  “I remember now. The known knowns . . . the known unknowns . . . and the unknown unknowns.”

  “Yes my Love. And those two . . . the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns could very well bring disaster upon you or us or someone else.”

  “So . . . you’re basically telling me to stop while I’m ahead.”

  “As you like to say . . . Bingo!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Before leaving home early on the morning of Saint Lucia Day Sohlberg told his wife:

  “What a great day. . . . I have an appointment that will bring a lot of light to the darkness left behind by Kasper Berge and Liv Holm and Ludvik Helland.”

  “Well . . . you’ve got a spring to your step. You never get this way until it’s far warmer in April or May.”

  “I guess I’m just a happy guy thinking of warm days ahead,” said Sohlberg despite the fact that sub-freezing cold weather had gripped Oslo more strongly than an alcoholic grabbing onto his best bottle of whiskey.

  At noon Sohlberg left the Zoo and headed north to the neighborhood of Nydalen. He never failed to be amazed by the frenzied construction of new office buildings in the area. He arrived at an ugly blue office building on the southeast corner of a traffic circle where three streets converged. He had a hard time finding a parking space and finally wedged his marked police car up on the sidewalk on Sandakerveien between two large trucks. Sohlberg hoped his meeting would be brief so that he could come back in time to save his car from getting crushed by one or both of the trucks.

  After a while he found the office he wanted on the top floor. The location of the office struck Sohlberg as ironic. Across the street stood the massive modern building that housed Norway’s version of the American FBI—the Police Security Service.

  An elegant gold letter sign next to maple double doors announced: NORGE SECURITY AND INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES SA.

  Sohlberg was surprised at the large and busy offices for NSAIS. He calculated that at least thirty to forty people worked there in various capacities. The beautiful but unfriendly front desk secretary gave him a frosty dead-eye stare as soon as he said:

  “I’m here to see Leif Noer.”

  “Is he expecting you?” she said with a suspicious frown.

  Sohlberg smiled when he noticed that the young woman’s short red hair appeared to bristle at his continuing presence and existence. “Yes,” he said loudly. “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t see you’re down for an appointment.”

  “I don’t do appointments. So . . . young lady . . . please call him right now and tell him Sohlberg is here to see him.”

  Her frown got as hostile and disdainful as she thought she could get away with a uniformed police officer standing less than five feet away from her. She dialed and hissed Sohlberg’s message and then added: “Yes. That’s right. He’s right in front of me. Please tell the boss immediately. Okay . . . I’ll wait. . . .” A few seconds later the red-faced beauty bared her perfect white fangs with a forced smile. “Go down that hallway. Turn right at the door.”

  Leif Noer welcomed Sohlberg with a friendly wave from a low sofa chair by a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window.

  “Come in . . . would you like some green tea?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable,” said the former police inspector. His slanted eyes and bullet-shaped shaved head gave him an Asian look. The Fu Manchu beard imparted a sinister or sagacious look based on how tightly Noer squinted his eyes. The tighter the squint the more fierce and dangerous the overall appearance.

  “Something’s been bothering me,” said Sohlberg.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Noer. “Tranquility is a treasure in these hectic modern times. Please have a seat.”

  Sohlberg sat down on another low sofa by the window. He noticed that twelve monumental but serene Buddha statutes surrounded the room as did a dozen bonsai trees of all shapes and sizes. He could see the traffic circle below and Kristoffer Aamots gate on the left and Vitaminveien on the right. Meanwhile Noer dipped a bamboo brush into a little ceramic pot brimming with jet black ink.

  “Tell me Chief Inspector . . . what troubles you?” Noer glided the fat brush over narrow sheets of white paper to produce exquisite Japanese characters.

  “What would happen if it came out that a well-known and rising politician leaked information that led to the destruction of her main rival in her own party?”

  Silence. The brush continued its graceful zen movements.

  “Wouldn’t you say Noer . . . that she would be seen by the public and her own party members as committing a self-serving betrayal of her colleague?”

  “I could only say that you . . . Chief Inspector Sohlberg . . . are putting the cart before the horse. What proof have you of this atrocious betrayal?”

  “More than plenty if someone tipped off a couple of journalists. They’d connect the dots and fill in the blanks. I know that they’d find plenty of evidence.”

  “So you want to leak a leak about a leak?”

  “Noer. Stop playing games with me. I know that the party pays you quite a lot for your services.”

  “Security is no crime. Protecting the physical safety of my clients is quite legal. The same goes for sweeping their residences and offices for wiretaps and other little bug
s. Then of course you have investigative services. That’s legal too . . . specially when you are trying to root out corrupt individuals from an organization . . . even from the government itself.”