by Jon Stenhugg
Sven kept his binoculars fixed to his face as the large helicopter turned and flew past them on its way out back to the island where it was stationed. “Well, I think I’ll stop holding my breath now. Mission accomplished. But wait. They didn’t pick up anything. And it’s leaving.”
Ekman sat without saying a word, his gaze fixed on the helicopter which continued its journey eastward, passing the Old City and then disappearing out of sight. He put down his binoculars, and stared incredulously at Sven, then back at the empty, darkening sky. “That was our Huey, but that’s not the way to Bromma,” he said, motioning with his hand to the right. “There’s a Russian transport aircraft waiting to take the torpedo on board. But they didn’t pick it up. What the hell is happening?”
He dialled his security-encrypted cell phone as he spoke. “Patch me through to the Navy Command Centre on Långholmen immediately,” he said, and then, “I don’t give a shit if it’s busy. Patch me through now. I don’t care how you do it!”
A sardonic smile broke out on Ekman’s face when the major in charge of the Command Centre on Långholmen Island told him the torpedo had disappeared.
“Really? Any idea where it could be?”
“This is a pile of dog shit and I’m going to be crucified for it,” was his answer.
“What are the Russians doing?” asked Ekman.
“They’ve packed up everything already and left for Bromma.”
*
“Bromma Control, this is AN72 Coaler requesting takeoff slot again.”
“Coaler, this is Bromma. We may have an aircraft landing soon. Stand by.”
“How long must we wait, Bromma?”
“Stand by, Coaler.”
“Bromma Control, this is AN72 Coaler. We are in position for takeoff. Affirm immediate takeoff.”
“Coaler, this is Bromma Control. You are on an unauthorised runway. Do not continue.”
“Thank you, Bromma Control. Affirm AN72 Coaler is cleared for immediate takeoff.”
“Negative. AN72 Coaler, you are not cleared for takeoff. Bromma Control.”
The blast from the overwing twin jet engines on the Coaler vibrated the windows of the control tower as it rushed by. The air traffic controller grimaced as the aircraft gathered speed to take off. He saw it nearly jumping vertically off the runway, then veered to the northwest. He glanced at his radar screen and thought to himself, At least I bought them a few more minutes.
Chapter 23
At the home of the Swedish Prime Minister the silence was broken as the fax whirred. The page with the current report dropped onto the tray. The PM picked it up, swallowed several times before handing it over to his political secretary, and they both sat down facing each other.
The PM was first to speak. “We’re going to have to call Moscow very soon. We’ll have to have a complete strategy. They’ll assume that if the torpedo has been stolen, the Americans are involved, of course, and they’ll assume we’re in on it. The Americans aren’t saying anything to us, except to offer their help in surveillance, and they’d do that even if they stole it.”
“So how do we play it?” asked the secretary. “If we don’t offer to help the Russians, we’ll look like we’re in on it. If we do help them and the Americans are behind it, we catch it in the ass the next time we need help ourselves.”
The PM leaned forward, folding his hands together in a prayer-like gesture, then he threw his heavy body backwards, nearly tipping the armchair he was sitting in. “I have it!” he said. “We’ll ask both Moscow and Washington for assistance.”
“Do you think that will work, Prime Minister?”
“Do you mean, will it help us find the torpedo? No, of course not. It’ll just get us off the hook. They’ll end up squabbling with each other and in the end we won’t have to do anything. In the end it’ll be the one with the most muscle nearby that’ll get it, and that’s probably going to be Moscow, so we should be a little nicer to them than to the Yanks. I’ll call them first.”
The call to Moscow was made after that, but the result wasn’t exactly the scenario the PM had assumed. Before he could make his offer and ask for assistance, he was told in no uncertain terms that the torpedo belonged to Russia, and that it would be reclaimed by Russia. Any attempt to get involved would result in the loss of Swedish lives. He was told Sweden could take up the matter via the EU if they wished, but Russia didn’t negotiate with small countries in Europe anymore. He was also told the meeting scheduled to discuss the gas pipeline through the Baltic had been cancelled for the time being. When the call was over the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces in Sweden was waiting on another line.
“Good afternoon, Prime Minister.”
“Good afternoon, Supreme Commander.”
“I’ve been briefed on the situation at hand and I’m ready to take any action you deem necessary.”
“It looks like the Russians are intent on taking the torpedo, regardless of where it is, or what we do. In fact, I was told to keep out of the way. Politically, it seems wise to take their advice right now.”
“Militarily, it makes sense. They’d chop us into hamburger if we tried to get in the way. Have you been briefed on the latest developments, Prime Minister?”
“We had a fax about twenty minutes ago. Why? Has anything changed?”
“It seems an American C-130 was involved in the theft of the torpedo. It’s on course to enter Norwegian airspace soon.”
“And if the warhead were to explode in Swedish airspace? What would be the consequences?”
“The Crisis Team has informed me there would be two significant consequences. First, we’d lose electricity to large parts of the western counties until the power companies could redirect from other sources. Second, the mountainous regions of Dalarna would become poisoned by radioactivity. Because of the current wind conditions, it’s possible large parts of the greater Stockholm area would also be affected – how much is hard to say until it happens.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“I heard them speak of approximately half a million people affected, casualties in the order of ten thousand.”
“Thank you, Supreme Commander. Does anyone know how this screw-up happened?”
“We’re investigating that, of course, and you’ll be informed as soon as we have an answer.”
“That’s not good enough, Supreme Commander. I want to know what you think happened.”
“If you mean who fucked up first, I guess it was you politicians, when you didn’t get rid of the torpedo in the first place. And from what I’ve heard, the guy who brought it into the city was once a Member of Parliament, even sat on the Defence Committee. We didn’t arrange to have Russian military forces operating in our capital either. If it had been up to me I would have asked the Americans to remove it.”
“It wasn’t up to you. I’m the Prime Minister. I have to make decisions like this every day. Including who I need to have as my Supreme Commander.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. Will there be anything else?”
“Do you know if the Russians have left Stockholm yet?”
“Yes, Prime Minister, they’re chasing the American transport plane towards the Norwegian border. I’d say they’re preparing an attack on the C-130 as soon as they’re within firing range.”
“And if the torpedo is damaged or explodes?”
“In that case, the sooner the better, since they’ll be over mountains, which will limit the damage.”
“Keep me informed in case anything drastic happens. I need some time to think,” said the Prime Minister.
“Prime Minister?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to order the evacuation of the city of Mora.”
The Prime Minister spluttered, “But…but you can’t do that. I forbid it.”
“On the contrary, Prime Minister. I can’t do anything less than that.”
*
After the Russian military transport left Bromma Airport, Sven
and Lars Ekman returned to Police Headquarters. Sara had left Hurtree in the centre of the city, and had been called to the Communications and Command Centre, a room which always reminded her of NASA Mission Control. Rows of CCTV monitors and desks were manned by nearly fifty police officers, all looking very stern and concerned, no one certain of what was going on.
Sara was sitting at one of the desks used by patrol units to call into if they needed assistance, filling in for a police assistant who needed a break. She was working the radio desk, a policeman’s own 911.
The activity near Långholmen had generated a few calls, but otherwise the room was quiet when Sven and Ekman walked in, and it was easy for Ekman to get everyone’s attention as he shouted, “Alright, everyone, listen up. The emergency we were dealing with earlier this afternoon has been resolved. You can inform the public, or anyone in the field, that the military exercise they observed has now been concluded. I thank you for your attention and concern. Now let’s get back to work.”
Lars Ekman and Sven went over to the desk coordinating military info. Ekman took up a telephone and made a call. Sara got the distinct feeling that the emergency wasn’t quite over; that it had just been moved somewhere else for the time being.
The red lamp in front of her flashed, indicating an incoming call, and she answered to hear the voice of a young policeman shouting into his communications radio. He was out of breath, speaking in short, staccato sentences, and Sara asked him to calm down so she could understand what he was trying to say.
“We’ve had a problem. With our prisoner. Seems to have escaped. Can’t find him.”
Sara asked him to identify himself and to give her his location. He told her they were at a truck stop in the town of Arboga, about a two-hour drive southwest of Stockholm, on the way to the prison at Kumla. Sara told him she’d get him some help from the locals in Arboga, and that they should keep looking for their prisoner without moving their vehicle. She asked him for the name of the prisoner for the log.
“The name on the prisoner manifest is Lemko,” he said.
Sara stood up and signalled to Sven, who saw her arms waving in the air just as he was leaving the room. She kept talking to the policeman, writing down more details. She showed Sven the notepad as he trotted to her desk.
“It’s Lemko,” she said quietly, so only he could hear. “He’s escaped.”
Sven sat on the chair next to the desk, his shoulders slumped, and shook his head slowly as he began to process what he’d just been told. “It feels like we’re losing everything today,” he said. “I wish it’d been someone else who had told me. Just tell me you didn’t have anything to do with the transport detail.”
Sara looked at him and sighed a deep sigh. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d had a hard day; had probably been forced to put up with a lot of crap from Ekman.
“I can catch Lemko. I think I know where he’s going,” she said.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“It would take longer to explain than to catch him. It wasn’t anything he said when I spoke to him in Malmö, it’s just a feeling I have. I think he’s been abducted, snatched. It’s possible someone’s interested in knowing what he knows. He was so happy to be in our custody. And if he got picked up in Arboga then I have a feeling I know what they’re going to do with him.”
“Which is?”
“Gothenburg,” Sara said. “They’re going to take him out of Sweden via the ferry to Denmark or Germany. They both leave at the same time. I can catch him if you’ll let me work on it.”
Sven looked up at her. His eyes were red from being rubbed again and again. He looked over at Ekman who was pointing at monitors, telephones held to both ears at the same time.
“OK.” Sven held his gaze on Ekman and his voice dropped to a loud whisper. “If you’ve done your report on the capture down in Trelleborg then OK, you get to go. Just be careful to follow the rules this time, Sara. You’re becoming very heavy baggage to carry.”
“Thanks, boss,” said Sara, and somehow she couldn’t resist giving him a pat on his shoulder. “I promise to do everything by the book.” She was out of the Communications Centre before Ekman caught sight of her.
*
On the way down to her car she called Robert on her cell and asked him to call the policemen who had been transporting Lemko to Kumla to get some details on the time they’d arrived at the café, and to ask if the parking area was covered by video cameras.
If they could get a fix on the vehicle that had been used to abduct Lemko, she might be able to close in on them before they got too far. As she backed her car out of the parking space, she thought of calling Hurtree to see if he wanted to ride shotgun, but decided against it. This time she’d follow Sven’s rules. Do it by the book, Sara, she reminded herself, as she popped the blue light onto the roof of her Peugeot.
Before she got to the bridge over Södertälje Canal, Sara had Robert on the line telling her what he knew. The two Police Assistants driving Lemko to Kumla had been told not to stop before Arboga, and they’d pulled into a truck stop there for coffee. They’d handcuffed Lemko to the car while they went into the café and when they came out Lemko was gone; the chain and half a handcuff still dangling in the car. Robert told Sara a video camera pointed at the parking lot had captured the arrival of two cars which parked next to the police transport, a grey Mitsubishi and a white van. He gave her the licence numbers of both vehicles and asked her if he could help with anything else.
The video camera had filmed the entire sequence, showing both men as they freed Lemko with a bolt-cutter and forced him into the van, then backed the Mitsubishi behind the police transport, blocking its exit. The van exited on its way towards Gothenburg.
Sara saw the bridge loom ahead, and needed to decide whether to try and follow the kidnap vehicles, or get in front of them by taking a quicker route to Gothenburg.
“Robert, I need to know if either of those vehicles have reserved a spot on the ferry to Fredrikshavn or Kiel tonight. Those ferries leave around 7 pm. Call Stena Line and let me know what you’ve found out. I’m going to take Highway 40 from Jönköping and break every speed limit there is. You can get the guys in Gothenburg to take them into custody at the check-in if they’ve booked. With any luck, I could be there just before the boat leaves. You can also alert the airports down there – Landvetter, Västerås and Sturup should be enough. I don’t want Lemko getting out of Sweden. Oh, and just in case, call the ferry terminal in Helsingborg and our guys in Malmö that watch the bridge to Denmark, and alert the group watching the border to Norway at Svinesund Bridge. If we can box them in it’ll be easier for our traffic patrols to pick them up.”
Sara threw the cell phone onto the seat beside her and began to concentrate on putting as many miles behind her as possible for the next five hours. She was barely an hour into the drive when her phone chirped again. Robert had an update.
“They’ve booked three passengers and a car on both the ferry to Denmark and to Germany. They both leave Gothenburg around seven, just like you said, but it’ll mean we’ll need two teams to be sure to catch them.”
“No. Once they get into the ferry terminal they’ll have to send someone to pick up the boarding cards before they can enter the departure area. That’s where we can get them. Notify Gothenburg. Tell them to keep them in custody at the terminal until I get there.”
“OK. Sara, I thought we’d been pulled off the Lemko case?”
“Yeah. We were. Now he’s either a fugitive or a kidnap victim, and it’s our job to get him back. Has anything new happened with the torpedo?”
“I haven’t heard anything new since it went missing. What a mess. You should’ve seen Ekman’s face when he found out about Lemko’s disappearance. He went completely ballistic. Demanded that those two PAs be transferred to incoming freight.”
“What’d Sven say?” asked Sara.
“He didn’t say anything about you. Just listened to Ekman rant
ing about the lack of competence today. The boss kept cool the whole time.”
“Let’s hope he stays that way. Let me know if Gothenburg has anything to report.”
Sara slipped back into concentrating on the two cones of light that were being cast by the headlamps, the flashing blue light on the top of her car painting strange shapes on the forest on both sides of the road. She turned on the radio to listen to the six o’clock news.
There was a short blurb about the military exercise in the middle of Stockholm, and then something about a major telecom company which was having financial difficulty and would have to let several hundred people go. News like that washed over her sometimes, but she had a hard time relating to it. She knew it was tragic for everyone involved, that families would have to make huge adjustments, and there would be homes without a Christmas tree, no presents for the kids. Sara still had a hard time getting it into her problem-solving mind. She had to draw the line somewhere, and with so much crap to deal with at work she couldn’t take more on board without risking a nervous breakdown.
Her grandmother’s passing was still hanging on the periphery of her awareness. The curator at the hospital had helped her with all the major details of the funeral, including contacting her parents. All Sara needed was to find time to grieve, which was proving hard to do.
*
She was well on her way into Gothenburg when her cell went off again, bringing her back to the real world, and she wondered where she had been during the last two hours. Time spent in another dimension.
“They just called from the ferry terminal,” said Robert, “and they got them, all three of them.”
She hooted out her joy. “Yes!” A surge of adrenaline shot through her body, making her eyes bug out, and creating a very unflattering picture as she blasted past the traffic camera. “Yes, and just tell me they’re holding everybody until I get there.”