by Jon Stenhugg
They ordered ham and cheese sandwiches with coffee for Hurtree and tea for Sara, then sat down at a simple Formica table near the window. The place was empty except for them and the man behind the counter, an immigrant from the Middle East.
“We got him,” Sara said as they waited for their food to arrive, her feelings bubbling up like the fizz in a soft drink. “And thank you, thank you for your help. I still don’t know how you knew where we should park. How did you know the road where we parked would give us the view we needed?”
“Google Maps,” said Hurtree. “Best invention in the world. If Hitler had had Google Maps we’d all be speaking German.”
“I’ll remember to tell Ekman when I see him, and believe me, he’ll ask.”
“I wonder what’ll happen to Schneller?” said Hurtree. “Do you think the NSS will prosecute him?”
“He confessed to murder when we sat in the search room,” said Sara. “That has to be worth something.”
“Yeah, good thing you had someone else there as a witness,” said Hurtree, smiling his weird smile.
“I sent her out,” Sara said. “No wonder he confessed so quickly. But he did tell me he didn’t know anything about Spimler. That’s something at least.”
“Is it?” asked Hurtree. “Did he tell you why he killed your victim?”
“He said…,” Sara stopped for a second, the answer reeling through her head again as she spoke. “He said he did it because he liked it. Even the torture. And he said something about killing him so that he wouldn’t speak to anyone else.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Schneller,” said Hurtree. “Tomorrow you’ll wonder if you even spoke to him at all. I wonder if he uses hypnosis on his interrogators? He used to work for Markus Wolf, you know. The head of Stasi in East Germany.”
“I’ve heard the name. I think I saw something about him on TV, but they didn’t do anything up here.”
“Oh no, Sara. Hell no,” said Hurtree. “Nothing ever happens up here.”
“No, I’m serious. There might have been one or two spies through the years, but no one who ever did anything terrible. Anyway, I don’t know very much about them, as long as they don’t murder people.”
“Right,” said Hurtree. “At your age you get to believe everything you’ve ever been told.”
Sara winced, stared into her tea cup while he continued, “Schneller isn’t just a spy. Think of him as the world champion of spies, the king of spies, the most dangerous person you’ve ever met.”
Sara looked at the menu as if it would provide her with the answers she sought. “So I get to catch the top spy in the world. And I’m certain my boss is already pissed off at me because of it. What made this such a bad day? And what about this Shkval?” Sara asked, hoping to get a little background from him.
“Oh yeah, that. Well, we couldn’t find it after the Sally went down. We just assumed the Russians got it because they were operating a tracked submersible there just after the ship sank. Now they’re asking us if we found it, and then they want to do a trade for one of our guys that went to jail trying to smuggle one of these torpedoes out of Russia a few years ago. So the sum of the story is, the guy who stole it doesn’t have it, and the man who bought it from him doesn’t have it, because our info indicates Schneller was hired by him to find it. We don’t have it, the Russians don’t have it, and right now I’d guess there are a lot of people out there quaking in their boots, worried that the person who does have it might use it,” said Hurtree. “It’s not the kind of ordnance you want showing up at a garage sale. Let’s hope no one makes a flagpole out of it. Do you know if it was an armed version? Some of them were tipped with nuclear warheads, you know.”
“No,” said Sara, and the word ‘nuclear’ made her focus even more. “But wouldn’t a nuclear-tipped torpedo defeat the purpose? Wouldn’t it destroy the submarine that used it too?”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone thought way back in the good old days. Then someone figured out you could use them as a sort of coastal defence weapon, just shoot them at attacking ships. Or…,” Hurtree waggled his fingers to the guy behind the counter for another cup of coffee. “Tea? No? Or, you could use them to shoot at ships in waters where you could control a narrow strait, just like the one outside.” And he motioned towards Denmark. “Or the Straits of Hormuz.”
The waiter brought the coffee and gave Hurtree a strange look as he placed it in front of him. Sara said, “I think we’d probably better wait for the rest of this conversation in the car. By the way, where do you want to go? Are you going back to the States now that you’ve identified Schneller for whoever it was that wanted him ID’d? Should I take you to the airport, train station or are you going to walk?”
“Let’s walk to the car,” said Hurtree.
*
It was going to be a fantastic day in Trelleborg, one of those freak late-autumn days that almost felt like summer. The slanting rays of the sun began to warm them both, and there was no wind. They stopped to watch the ferry to Germany as it left the harbour, leaving behind wisps of black diesel smoke from the smoke stacks topside. On board were a number of tourists who would have a great story to tell when they arrived: “Some kind of pervert caught in the women’s toilet. Only in Sweden, of course.”
“Schneller did say something more,” Sara said as they got into her car. “He said he’d be safer in jail. He seemed to be afraid of someone.”
“That must mean whoever gave him the contract is unhappy for some reason. It can’t be because of the killing, since he already did that. It must have something to do with the Shkval.”
“Hoffberg had the manual, maybe that’s what the killer was looking for,” said Sara.
“Maybe it was Hoffberg who had the Shkval, and that’s what Schneller, or Lemko or whatever we should call him, was asking about,” said Hurtree.
“It’s hard to say, but even if Hoffberg had it, he didn’t tell Lemko about it. Lemko definitely said Hoffberg didn’t tell him anything, that he killed him so that he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else either. Actually, that would make sense. If Lemko thought Hoffberg had the Shkval then maybe he thought he could find it in some other way.”
“Don’t count on anything Schneller told you being the truth. Who was this Hoffberg guy? What kind of person was he?” asked Hurtree. They were still sitting parked in the car, the low autumn sun getting in their eyes.
“He was an ex-MP, a Member of Parliament. Sat on the Defence Committee until he quit a year or so back. Seemed to have had some difficulties working with others. Very determined person, I’d say.”
“What the hell would he be doing with a Shkval? Or even a manual for one?” asked Hurtree, shaking his head back and forth.
“What would anyone do with such a weapon?” asked Sara.
“Maybe he was trying to change the world. That seems to be what people are trying to do today. Some use politics, like your victim – Hoffberg, was it? Others use weapons, like Al-Qaida.”
“Maybe Hoffberg was getting tired of politics.”
“Well, it cost him his life if that’s true. I wonder what happened to the torpedo?”
“Yeah, it makes you wonder. And you still haven’t told me where you want to go.”
“Somewhere far away from wherever that Shkval is,” said Hurtree. “Very far away.”
*
The building that housed the Swedish Foreign Office was in the centre of Stockholm, a palace designed more than a hundred years ago; a place where regents waiting to inherit the Swedish throne could live in regal comfort while waiting for the job. It was an elegant building, with simple lines, overlooking the Royal Castle across the small bay and with a view of the opera house on the other side of the square.
Its location made it convenient for Niklas Shoreman when he wished to see one of the latest operas, this evening a version of Verdi’s Aida. It also made it an excellent place to meet with the Russian ambassador, and Niklas Shoreman was waiting impatiently for the Ambassador t
o join him at the wine bar between acts three and four.
“Niklas,” said the Russian ambassador, “what do you think of the singing?”
“It’s better than the costumes,” said Shoreman. “Ambassador, I just heard Schneller will be given the part of Radames soon.”
The Ambassador’s smile froze, and he focused on Shoreman as he said, “If that’s true then we should be able to deal with the issue of the fish.”
“Yes, we’ll have to see how to deal with this when it surfaces.”
The crowd milling around the small table where they stood included students in jeans and elegant couples dressed to attract attention. The Ambassador looked away for a minute. When he felt there were no prying ears nearby, he said, “Perhaps Magdalena should play the part of Aida.”
“Only Schneller knows who she is,” said Shoreman. “Unless you know something which might help.”
“No, Niklas. I’m sorry. We diplomats only get to talk, you know that. And no one’s talking about Magdalena. Schneller is the only who can call her in.”
“I just hope we can avoid Aida’s fate,” said Niklas Shoreman.
Chapter 17
Sara was still driving Hurtree back to Stockholm. They were both exhausted by the lack of sleep and the excitement of capturing Lemko, or was it Schneller? Sara kept asking Hurtree questions to keep herself awake.
“So where is Spimler?” she asked. “We solved Hoffberg’s murder, but there’s still no sign of his friend. Maybe Lemko got to him too.”
Hurtree’s opened his eyes again and asked her to repeat the question, then he answered, “If Schneller got to Spimler he probably would’ve told you. It’s strange, but it sounds to me as if he was trying to get himself put in jail.”
“Yeah, I had the same feeling,” she said. “Especially that part about being safer in jail.”
“Well,” said Hurtree, “if Schneller wanted to be in jail then it’s probably because he’s worried his client will find out he hasn’t fulfilled his end of the contract. So what would that be? He managed to off Hoffberg, so that can’t be it. What would make him so afraid he’d be glad to be put into jail?”
“Maybe he couldn’t find the rocket,” said Sara, and it felt as if a line began to connect points of light inside her brain. She blinked again, and could see an approaching car in the rainy, black distance. “Shit, I’m tired,” she said finally. “I hope we can make it to Stockholm.”
“Maybe if you turn down the heat a little we’ll be able to stay awake long enough to survive the trip,” said Hurtree, and he offered her another bar of Danish chocolate. He munched as he spoke. “Sara, it isn’t a rocket. It’s a torpedo, a very fast one, and it has to be somewhere – Schneller must’ve been trying to find out where. That’s probably what his mission was. That’s what he failed at. That’s why he’s scared of being on the loose.”
“What should we call him? Schneller? Lemko? Do you think Schneller will talk to Ekman at the NSS? I mean, if he knows something, but didn’t tell me, do you think he’ll tell Ekman?” asked Sara.
“I doubt it,” said Hurtree. “Schneller isn’t the kind of person who reveals anything he doesn’t have to. He’ll admit to murder to gain control of the moment, but he won’t give away anything more than he has to. Not Schneller.”
“Maybe Spimler ran off with the torpedo,” she said. “Maybe that’s why we can’t find him or the weapon. If we could just find Spimler I’m sure we’ll find the torpedo.”
“You know,” said Hurtree, “sometimes when I was still working I found that backtracking the whole crime scene would help me to get some new perspective. Sometimes I could figure out what was going on just by getting as close to the victims and the bad guys as I could.”
“Yeah, we do that,” said Sara. “We call it criminal analysis, and we do a lot of it.”
“Of course you do, but that’s not what I meant,” said Hurtree. “What I meant is, if I was working on some violent crime where drugs were involved, I’d try to backtrack the drug deal too, if I could. The dealers, their homes, friends, enemies.”
“Sounds like Criminal Investigation for Dummies to me,” Sara said. “Like I said, we do that. So what’s new?”
“Nothing, but in this case it might help to go to the place where the torpedo was originally stolen, not just where it might have ended up. Wasn’t that in Estonia?”
“How come you know so much about it?” asked Sara.
Hurtree yawned a reply. “Sorry, all out of Danish chocolate, Sara. How many more hours is it to Stockholm? I’m ready to pass out.”
“Only another hour,” Sara said. “Do you have a hotel in Stockholm?”
“No,” said Hurtree, “I’ll sleep on a park bench.”
“Sure,” she said, “and you’ll be an ice statue by morning. You can crawl into the back seat as soon as we arrive. In the meantime you can help to keep me awake, otherwise you’ll wake up in a room in the hospital, if at all.”
They continued like that for the rest of the drive, Sara almost fainting with exhaustion and Hurtree snoring sometimes, then jerking himself upright when the noise woke him up. Sara got her second wind about half an hour out of Stockholm by opening the windows to let in the freezing night air, and she started to teach Hurtree some Swedish drinking songs. He taught her some of the German songs he remembered from his days in Munich.
By the time she pulled into the parking garage in the basement below her flat they were both giddy and frozen. She let Hurtree come up to her flat to use the toilet and brush his teeth.
She gave him two blankets. “OK, John, we’ll skip the car this time. I’ll let you sleep on the floor. Wake up before I do and you can make breakfast with what you find. Bang on the bedroom door until I return from the dead.”
He mumbled something about being flattered, took the blankets, and she could hear him snoring before she got into her own bed. It would be easy to get to sleep tonight.
*
Sara didn’t know what woke her first, Hurtree’s banging on her door or the telephone call from work. She got a robe, and at the same time answered her boss’ irritated voice on the other end.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Sven, and then continued before Sara could answer. “You’ve just got me into a lot of trouble with the NSS, who are happy you helped to catch Lemko, but enraged you almost lost him. I think you’d better get in here to explain yourself, before I make your day off a permanent leave of absence.”
“Yes, boss,” said Sara, hoping that Hurtree would free up the toilet in a hurry. She pounded on the door, and said in a hoarse whisper, “Please.”
“Please what?” asked Sven.
“Nothing. I’ll be pleased to explain what happened and I’ll be there soon. And I think Ekman may be exaggerating a little about me being the cause of Lemko’s attempt to escape. I was there, I saw what happened. See you soon.”
Sara dropped the phone as she saw the door to the toilet opening. “Please fix us some breakfast. You’ll find everything where it should be,” she said through the door as she finally got a chance to free up some space in her bladder.
Guys must have it a lot easier. They can just tie it up in a knot if they can’t find any other way to hold it.
*
“I have to go into the office,” Sara said when she entered the kitchen. She gazed in amazement at the spread Hurtree had prepared. He’d found every piece of food in her tiny pantry, and the table looked like a luxury hotel breakfast. “Wow,” she said, “I didn’t know I had that much to eat. Help yourself, I never eat anything more than a cracker with a slice of cheese on it.”
“It was all that chocolate yesterday,” said Hurtree. “It always seems to take away my hunger pangs until the next day, and then I’m starved. Is your boss after your head?”
“Yeah, and then some. According to Ekman I was the reason Lemko tried to leave the house, so the NSS have made themselves out to be heroes.”
“Nice bunch of colleagues.”
Sara fixed her simple breakfast and began to organise her defence for the meeting with Sven. She’d do a chronological summary; just tell him everything exactly as it went down. As a last resort she could use Hurtree as a witness if necessary, although she hoped she could keep him out of the picture.
“So what’s your plan, John? Going back to the States today?”
“Not quite yet. I’m probably going to book a hotel for when I get back from my little excursion. I thought I’d do a little backtracking on my own, unless you want to come along.”
“Does that mean Estonia?”
“Yes, and from what I’ve heard, a little town called Paldiski,” said Hurtree. “Maybe that’s where Spimler is.”
“It might be a good place to begin. I know I won’t be able to go there, that’s for sure. I wonder if Ekman will get anything out of Lemko?”
*
Ekman was looking across the table at the man Sara had captured the day before. He’d begun the interrogation without speaking to her, even though he knew she must have been able to glean something from him before the NSS arrived at the ferry terminal.
“We need to get something straight right from the beginning,” said Ekman. “We’re going to need a name for you – a real name, not an alias or a codename, like Schneller. So what’s your real name?”
“I don’t know if I even remember the name I was given at birth. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll do time as Lemko, and you have all those details, so just call me Lemko.”
Ekman stared at him for several minutes. Both men were used to waiting for the other to break the silence, so it would have been lunchtime before anyone spoke if it hadn’t been for Lemko’s smile. It had always been successful before, every time he needed to break a silence without giving in; the charm-school approach, Markus Wolf had called it. Throw them off guard and you’ll get them to move before you have to, and the chess game is on. Ekman recognised the attempt, and decided on a counter-move; he pretended to lose the initiative to lure Lemko into feeling secure for a moment.
“Was breakfast OK this morning? Can I get you something? Another cup of coffee?”