The Cup

CHAPTER 4

The next morning Forsberg waited until the Volvo pulled away from the hotel to tell them.

"Sorry, no guns," he said. "And if you're thinking about going around that, I wouldn't advise it."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Nick said. "For the record, I think it's a mistake."

"You won't need them," Forsberg said.

"Let's hope you're right."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

The refugee housing was located in a suburb on the outskirts of Stockholm, bordering tracts of farmland. Set back from the street was a long, six-story brick apartment building that took up an entire block. It had been erected before World War II and was showing its age. Graffiti was scrawled across the front in Arabic. Trash littered the barren ground in front of the building. A group of sullen men in jackets and woolen caps stood around a fire built in an oil drum.

"Keep the engine running," Forsberg told the driver. "We shouldn't be long."

The men around the fire gave them hostile looks as they got out of the car. Lamont looked at the building. Someone was watching from a second story window. Someone on the top floor closed a curtain.

"Not a good vibe," Lamont said. "Reminds me of parts of D.C."

"I get a bad feeling about this place," Ronnie said.

"The religious leader here is Abu Sayed Hussein," Forsberg said. "I want to talk to him first. These people listen to him,"

"What did he say when you interviewed him before?"

It was cold. Nick kept his hands in his pockets. His breath formed clouds of steam in the air as they talked.

"He said he didn't know anything. He was hiding something."

"Is everyone here Muslim?"

"Yes."

"Is Hussein Sunni or Shia?" Selena asked.

"Sunni. We found out early on that it's a good idea to keep the two apart. They're housed in separate facilities."

"Isis is Sunni," Nick said.

"Do you want me to translate?" Selena asked.

"It would be better if he didn't know you spoke Arabic. I called earlier and spoke with the man who supervises this place and let him know we were coming. I asked for a translator to be made available. Hussein will have someone with him. I want you to tell me afterward if the translation was accurate. If you think there's something I should ask when we're talking, go ahead and interrupt."

"You expect him to lie?"

"Nothing feels right about this guy," Forsberg said. He turned to Nick and the others. "I'd like the rest of you to stay with the car."

"Why?" Nick asked.

"No offense, but all of you together look a little intimidating. It's hard enough to get these people to talk to us. I don't want them to think we're here to arrest somebody. Everyone is afraid of being sent back where they came from."

"They already know we're here," Nick said. "They've been watching us since we pulled up."

"I know, but we need to be sensitive."

Nick rolled his eyes.

A lanky man with a shock of ash blonde hair came out of the building and walked toward them.

"That's Alf Nilsson," Forsberg said. "He's the supervisor here, but Hussein is really the one in charge. I've known Alf for years."

Nick started to say something but changed his mind.

Nilsson came up to them. "Good morning, Otto. Hussein's expecting you."

"Hello, Alf." The two men shook hands.

"Who have you brought with you?"

Forsberg introduced Nick and the others.

"Americans?" Nelson asked.

"They're here to help." Forsberg didn't elaborate on what kind of help.

"If you say so. Follow me."

The building had three separate entrances. Nilsson led Forsberg and Selena to the one on the far left. The door opened onto a narrow hall. The air was thick with cooking smells and the sour odor of too many people. On the right, a concrete stairway with an iron railing climbed toward the upper floors. Yellow paint on the walls peeled away from cracked concrete showing underneath. A single light bulb lit the hall. Graffiti in Arabic was scrawled everywhere.

"What will happen to the people who live here?" Selena asked Nilsson.

"It depends. Some will be deported. Some of them will go somewhere else. Some will stay here, in Sweden."

Nilsson looked away from her as he spoke.

Doesn't want to talk about it, she thought. I can't blame him.

They walked past several apartments to the end of the hall and knocked on the door.

An older woman wearing a gray covering over her hair and shoulders opened the door. It was hard to tell her age. She seemed worn and angry, the kind of look that comes from years of poverty and hardship.

Her eyes flicked over Selena and she frowned. "He is waiting for you."

"I'll leave you here," Nilsson said.

The woman turned and walked away, not bothering to see if they were behind her. They followed the woman to a large room in the back where windows looked out over a snow-covered field and a half dozen children kicking a soccer ball. A worn Persian rug covered the floor.

Abu Sayed Hussein sat on a cushion placed on a low dais, a round faced man with a sallow complexion, dressed in a black robe and a white turban. One of his eyelids drooped half closed. His dark hair needed cutting and he wore a thick, full beard. A green banner hung on the wall behind him with "God is Great" written on it in white Arabic letters.

A self-appointed mullah, Selena thought. Just what we needed.

A small, rat faced man with a thin beard and beady black eyes sat on Hussein's left. He introduced himself as Gabriel. Hussein gestured at cushions placed in front of him. As Selena and the others sat, he spoke in Arabic.

"Major. If you are here about your unfortunate friend, I have already told you everything I know."

Gabriel translated. His eyes crawled over Selena.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Forsberg said. "We have just a few routine inquiries for you."

"Who have you brought with you?" Gabriel asked.

"She is one of my associates in training. She is here to observe."

Hussein pointed at Selena and said something in Arabic. He looked angry.

"I'm sorry," Selena said, "I don't speak Arabic. Have I done something wrong?"

"You are dressed immodestly," Gabriel said. "Your hair is uncovered."

"Please excuse me. I am still learning."

Selena pulled the hood of her parka over her hair. Hussein grunted approval.

The woman who had answered the door entered the room with a tray and set it down. She knelt and poured glasses of tea from a brass pot. She handed them to Forsberg, Gabriel and Hussein and ignored Selena. She gave Selena a disapproving look and left the room.

Good thing I didn't want any tea, Selena thought.

Forsberg began.

"I wanted to go over what you told us before about Andersson. You said that he visited here only once?"

The translator spoke to Hussein in Arabic. Selena listened.

"This Swedish dog asks again about the man who died. He says you told him the man was here only once. He wants to know if that is so. Tell him whatever he wants to hear so he'll go away."

"Tell him yes, only once," Hussein said. "He is becoming annoying."

"He says yes, only once."

"Well, you see there's a problem about that," Forsberg said. "We recently discovered Andersson's notes. He mentions three visits here, not one."

"That cannot be," Gabriel said. He turned to Hussein.

"He says the man was here three times. I told him that could not be so."

"Tell him that if the man was here, it was without my knowledge. Tell him that he violated my hospitality and his government's rules for such interrogations."

Gabriel repeated what Hussein had said.

Forsberg said, "Whether it was three visits or one, the last place Andersson was seen alive was here. A witness saw him talking with a man outside before he left. He was murdered later that evening. We would like to find this person and speak with him."

"What did this man look like? We have many men here."

"He had a distinctive scar on his cheek. I want to interview the men and find him."

Gabrielle translated. Hussein scowled.

"He is talking about Ahmed. That fool was stupid to be seen. This has gone far enough. Tell him it is not possible for him to interview the men and that in any event, there is no one with such a scar here. Ask him who the witness was. Then tell him that the interview is over."

"Who was this witness?" Gabriel asked.

"I can't tell you that."

"It will not be possible for you to talk with the men. Besides, there is no one with a scar such as you describe living here. The interview is over."

Gabriel stood.

"What about the man with the scar I saw outside? As we came in?" Selena said.

"There is no such man. This interview is over."

Hussein's woman had been listening outside the door. Now she went into the hall and knocked on the door of the next unit. A man answered. The woman said something to him. He nodded and left his apartment, walking quickly to the entrance.

In the interview room, Forsberg and Selena stood. Hussein remained seated, unsmiling. He waved at them with the back of his hand, dismissing them.

"You must leave now," Gabriel said.

"Let's go," Forsberg said to Selena. They left the room.

"He lied," Selena said as they walked down the hall. "He knows the man with the scar. His name is Ahmed."

After they were gone, Hussein turned to Gabriel.

"Send Ahmed to the farm. He can relieve Jamal."

"I told you there would be problems over killing the spy. We should have disposed of his body."

"It was a direct order from al-Baghdadi. He wanted an example made. Would you like to explain your concerns to him?"

"I meant no disrespect."

"The Swede we have been using to distribute the artifacts has forgotten where his good fortune comes from. He is skimming profits by keeping select pieces for himself."

"The Swedes are a corrupt people," Gabriel said.

"Call him. Threaten to end our business relationship unless he does something to divert police attention from us. It will mislead him into thinking he is still trusted, but he has outlived his usefulness. After he has done as you asked, I want you to go to his house and eliminate him. Retrieve anything that might lead back to us."

Gabrielle placed his hand over his heart and bowed.

"As you wish, Abu."