“Just between us, I’m at home,” she replied. “Alone. With my computer and the TV. What about you? No parties in Kiruna?”
Tom almost laughed. “Not exactly. I shoveled the whole driveway and went out with Freja. Doesn’t get any more exciting than that.”
They fell silent. He raised one leg, brushed some dust from his pants, felt like a teenager who had called up the cutest girl in class and now needed to think of something to say. “I just felt like calling you,” he said.
“How are you?” she asked. Her voice was easygoing, but he knew what she meant.
He thought back to his anxiety attack that morning. “It was tough before, but it’s okay now,” he said, wondering whether he would have been this honest with anyone else. But Ambra was great in that sense. She was direct, didn’t tiptoe around. Ellinor did. He didn’t like that, he realized, though he’d never thought about it before. The tiptoeing around difficult subjects, the avoidance.
“Have you talked to anyone about it?” she asked.
“I talk to you,” he said.
“You do?”
“I’ve told you more than most others,” he said. It was true. Other than a handful of colleagues, David, and the men who were with him in Chad, no one knew what had happened down there.
There was a long silence on her end. He waited, comfortable just to listen to her soft breathing. “You never actually told me what happened, what you went through.”
“It’s a long story. Maybe some other time.”
“Okeydokey.”
He heard her breathing again, and could almost smell the scent of her, her warmth and softness. “Listen, Tom Lexington. Now that we’re on the phone, making small talk, you think we should talk about that kiss . . . ?”
She trailed off.
He brushed some more dust from his leg.
“The one at the airport, I mean,” she added. “Or in the sauna.”
“I remember,” he said. As though he could have forgotten any of those kisses. “I don’t really know what happened,” he said honestly. Now, looking back, with twelve hundred kilometers between them, he couldn’t explain it, the explosive attraction he suddenly felt.
“They were pretty good kisses,” she said. Still in the same easygoing tone.
“Agreed. Though you know my situation. With Ellinor, I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. I just wanted to bring it up so we, well, you know. So we can stop thinking about it. Put it behind us.”
“Sure,” he agreed.
Long silence. Tom clutched his phone. Did she want to hang up now? Did he? Definitely not. He wanted to hear her low voice in his ear, to see her in his mind. She made him feel calm. And turned on. And happy.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
Her voice sounded thoughtful, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear the question, but he said: “Sure.”
“If Ellinor turned around and said she wanted you back, would you want that?”
“Yes,” he replied. Because it was true.
Wasn’t it?
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks for being honest.”
“I’m sorry I . . . That I gave you mixed signals.”
“Yeah. Though nothing serious really happened. You haven’t been doing too well, right?”
“No, but that’s no excuse. I think things are looking up. And if Ellinor and I are going to have a chance in the future, I don’t want to mess that up by . . .” Tom trailed off. He could hear her gentle breathing on the other end of the line, way down south in Stockholm.
“Don’t worry, Tom. It was a nice kiss, but it’s like you said, it doesn’t mean anything in the long run.”
Had he really said that? That it was meaningless? It sounded like she was fumbling with something. “What are you doing?” he asked as he heard fireworks over the line. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t long until midnight.
“I was looking for the remote. Jill’s doing a show on TV, and I promised to watch. But it hasn’t started yet.”
“Just say if you want to hang up.”
“I’m happy to talk.”
“Did you always want to be a journalist?” he asked, pulling himself together a little. He looked over at Freja, but she was sleeping by the fire.
“Feels like it.”
“Why?”
“It was Renée’s idea. She said it was a way of fighting for the weak, being their voice in society, and I guess it is in a way.”
“So you fight for the weak?”
“I try. I mean, I work for a tabloid, but that’s essentially my driving motivation. It’s a tough world, but it’s the only one I want to be in, because if you want people to read what you write, Aftonbladet is where you should be. It’s the same if you’re passionate about providing the public with correct information, so they can make informed decisions. There are so many shitty sites out there; someone needs to fight that battle, be objective. Or does that sound arrogant?”
“No, it’s obvious from your writing that you care.”
“I’m not all that proud of everything I’ve done.”
“No?”
She sighed. “There are things I’ve written that affected people badly, speculative things. You can’t always choose the angle or the headlines that’ll be used.”
Tom knew what she meant. He had witnessed people being hung out to dry, people who deserved better than running the gauntlet in the media.
“What about you? Have you always wanted to be—whatever you are?”
“Not to begin with. But it suits me.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Hey. When we spoke last, you said you were in Chad when you were captured?”
Tom looked up at the ceiling. Of course she couldn’t let it go. The word Chad had just slipped out. He didn’t normally have any problem keeping quiet about sensitive things like that. Though he also didn’t talk to other people all that often. It was easier that way. Avoiding civilians. But talking to Ambra really was easy, which also meant it was easy to slip up.
“Is it because I’m a journalist that you don’t want to say anything?” she asked when he didn’t reply.
It was still true that he didn’t have a particularly high opinion of journalists. Most of them were thirsty for something sensational. They were usually interested only in things that went wrong, and since so much of the information around his job was classified, they never had access to the bigger picture. Those fragments of information they did occasionally manage to bring together in a scandal often meant something completely different to those who knew the whole story. But that wasn’t something intelligence officers or operatives could share. It was secret, and so they had to hold their tongues, accept whatever was written or said about them. And yet he found himself trusting Ambra more and more. “What do you want to know?” he asked.
“What were you doing in Chad?”
It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she knew. As long as she didn’t write about it. As long as she didn’t know everything.
“Off the record?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He weighed his words before he replied. “It was a private rescue operation. A job I took on for a private individual.”
“A Swede?”
“Yes.”
He could practically hear her thoughts now. It was something he liked about her, really, her determination. In many ways, he was the same. Stubborn. Goal-oriented. Focused on the solution.
“I can’t say much more about it,” he warned.
“Just one more thing, and you don’t have to reply if you don’t want to. Was the operation a success? You were taken prisoner, I know that much. But what about the person you were meant to rescue?”
“She’s fine.”
“A woman?”
He sighed. “No more, Ambra.”
“Sorry, I got a little eager. I didn’t mean to pry. Thanks for telling me. There are so many fireworks here.”
“I can’t really hear you,” he said, co
uld barely make himself heard over the fireworks. He glanced at his watch. Five to twelve.
“I’m going to watch TV now. I’m glad you called. That we could talk.”
“Me too. Happy New Year, Ambra.”
“Happy New Year, Tom.”
Chapter 27
“So what would be a scoop then?” Ambra asked the next morning.
Aftonbladet’s security expert, Karsten Lundqvist, blinked at her in pain. His plaid shirt was crumpled, his hair a mess, and he smelled as if he hadn’t showered. “Could you speak more quietly? My brain hurts.”
“Good night?”
Karsten closed his eyes. “Come, I need coffee.” He got up and Ambra followed him into the kitchen. There was a faint scent of liquor and mints hanging over the entire newsroom, and most people looked pale and hungover—aside from a few of the most self-righteous parents of small children.
“I’m never drinking again,” Karsten said as he opened and closed cabinet doors. The shelves were all empty, so he grabbed a mug from the overflowing dishwasher and rinsed it sloppily. “You want any?” he asked, holding up a jug of dark, muddy-looking coffee.
Ambra shook her head. “Scoop,” she reminded him, leaning back against the worktop. Karsten looked awful; the country wouldn’t be getting any deep analysis from him today. But she wanted to try to talk to him all the same, while everything in the office was still quiet.
“Could you start over from the beginning? More slowly this time,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.
“What mandate does the Swedish military have when they’re abroad?”
“The Swedish military is only allowed to assist, and to defend itself. Nothing offensive. They’re very firm on that. Unlike the Americans and the Brits, for example, who just shoot at whatever they want.”
“Does that also apply to the special forces? That they’re only allowed to defend themselves?”
“Yup. So, in answer to your question, if, for example, a Swedish soldier shot an unarmed civilian abroad, that would be a scoop. If you could prove it, that is. And that’s the near-impossible part. They keep the lid on that kind of thing.”
“What about the private sector?” Ambra asked.
Karsten scratched his bristles. “If we’re going to keep talking about this, let’s go back to my desk,” he said. “I’m going to die unless I sit down.”
Ambra followed him back through the office. He slumped down into his swivel chair. Ambra pulled another chair over to his desk, placed it back to front, and sat down with her chin on the backrest.
“Those private security types are anything from chauffeurs and bodyguards to soldiers with access to military equipment, helicopters, the whole arsenal. Internationally, in particular, it’s about offering private war services to whoever can afford them.”
“Private war? That sounds crazy.”
“It can be. Madmen and sadists are all drawn to that kind of violent work. Not all the companies manage to weed them out.”
“Jesus.”
“Plenty of abuse occurs. It’s no secret.”
“And they don’t get punished? I mean, murder and torture are still illegal.”
“Rarely. The whole thing isn’t made any easier by the fact that they operate in countries where there isn’t a functioning government or police force. The number of unrecorded cases is huge. You’ve heard of Blackwater, right? What they did in Iraq was horrific.”
Ambra nodded. She had read about the infamous security firm that ran riot in Iraq, killing civilians during the war. Abuse, torture, executions, and all paid for by the American state.
“What about Swedish private security firms?” she asked, feeling slightly nauseated. Was this the kind of thing Tom did? He was just a completely ordinary man, right? Wasn’t he? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure. Was he capable of the kind of thing Karsten was talking about? He was a former elite soldier, ran Lodestar, so the answer to that question was probably in some part yes. She shuddered.
Karsten took off his glasses, tore off a piece of tape, wrapped it around one arm, and then pushed them back onto his nose. “I think I sat on them yesterday,” he said with a sigh. “A hell of a night, yeah. You need to know anything else? Before I expire from my hangover.”
“Are they good? The Swedes. Compared to international companies, I mean.”
“Ah yeah. The Swedes are generally appreciated abroad. There are a few companies here with a good reputation, even globally. They’re run by former elite soldiers, people with tactical know-how who’ve been in tight situations. They have firsthand knowledge of trouble hot spots, dangerous countries like Iraq, Afghanistan, the Congo. You know.”
She nodded. “So what do they do there? In those countries?”
“They provide security, to Swedish companies, ambassadors. Security analysis, surveillance, knowledge. If a Swedish company wants to establish itself in a war-torn or unstable country, let’s say Libya or South Sudan, they bring those security experts with them, people who can take responsibility for keeping their staff safe, who know the country.”
Ambra thought for a moment. “Sounds much more civilized than murdering civilians and waging private wars,” she said. It sounded more normal.
“Though the Swedes do end up in more offensive situations, too. There are rumors of all kinds of things.”
“Like what?”
“Different operations. I think the Swedes have been involved in rescue operations, for example. There are a couple of unconfirmed cases I’ve always wondered about.”
“Like what?”
“A Swedish engineer went missing in Pakistan, for example. Everyone assumed he was being held prisoner—we even wrote about it, his family was distraught. But suddenly he reappeared in Sweden, and there was a lid on the whole thing. Someone brought him home.”
“Who?”
“If you have the money, you can buy that kind of expertise.”
“People who’d travel to Pakistan just to rescue someone?” she asked skeptically.
“People who will go absolutely anywhere and rescue absolutely anyone.”
It sounded like an action film. “What would that cost?”
“Rescuing someone who’s been kidnapped? Hard to say. Depends on a lot of different things. The country, the kind of equipment you’d need. If you have to hire extra men, maybe even mercenaries.”
“An educated guess?” she begged.
Karsten shrugged. “Assuming everyone involved wants somewhere in the region of two thousand dollars per day, plus all the bribes, vehicles, and weapons. One, maybe two million dollars?”
“And people actually do this?”
“The most common thing is to pay the ransom. Plenty of international companies have insurance for that kind of thing.”
“So how much does that cost?”
“The ransom? Maybe ten million? The downside, other than the huge amount of money, is that it takes a long time. People can end up being held for years.”
“So it’s quicker to attempt a rescue?”
“Yeah. But it also has its downsides.”
“Like what?”
“That it doesn’t usually work,” Karsten replied drily.
* * *
After her conversation with Karsten, Ambra went back to her desk deep in thought. The office was still quiet, so she could allow her mind to wander while she kept an eye on the news feed. She opened the Lodestar Security home page and clicked through the anonymous pictures. What exactly did this streamlined company get up to? And Tom—who and what was he, under the surface?
She leaned back in her seat. Tom radiated calm and steadfastness, but there was also a hint of something that for want of a better word she would call danger. Had she completely misjudged him? Missed something during the time they’d spent together? What happened in Chad last summer? All she knew was what he told her. That he rescued a Swedish woman. That he was captured and held prisoner. She assumed he wasn’t lying, but really she had no idea. Something told her he was g
ood at lying. She so wanted to put her questions to him directly, but if he discovered she was snooping about in his past, he would clam up immediately. She was sure of it. Because that’s what she was doing, wasn’t it? Snooping?
She got up and stretched her back.
Maybe she should drop the whole thing. Was it even interesting to anyone but her? It was hard to be objective, to work out whether it was the journalist in her who had caught wind of a story, or whether it was nothing but curiosity about a man she was attracted to. She sat down again and leafed through her notes. She had tried to create some kind of time line for Tom Lexington, filled it with what she knew about him. Which wasn’t much.
Military service in Kiruna from 1997 to 1998; he was a Norrland Ranger. When she Googled what that involved, it seemed to be mostly about surviving under extreme conditions. After that, the Military Academy combined with exercises for a few years. He became a captain, if she remembered correctly. And then he trained to become a special forces operative in Karlsborg. That lasted roughly one year. The whole thing was incredibly secretive, but she had put together everything she could find and guessed that Tom must have finished his training to become an elite soldier roughly ten years ago. By then, he was an expert in most things: parachuting, diving, explosives, and gathering intelligence.
But what happened next? How long did he stay in the special forces, for example, after he took his exams? Surely a few years, at the very least. At some point, Tom Lexington left the military and moved over to the private sector. Why? Was it for the money? She read in an online forum that a man with his experience and competence could earn up to 200,000 kronor a month in the most dangerous countries. But something was bugging her here. Tom said that joining the military felt as if he had found his place in the world. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he said it had been more than a job, more like a calling. So what made him leave? She wished she knew when he’d left the military, because right now that was one huge hole in his time line, until he turned up as a partner in Lodestar Security Group. She had managed to find a press statement about that. His name wasn’t given, only his title. She glanced at his time line again. To be honest, it was mostly gaps and question marks.
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