The Cup

CHAPTER 6

Chief Superintendent Axel Bergstrom sat in his fourth floor office at national police headquarters, put his phone down and chewed on a fingernail. He looked out at Kronensberg Park across the way. In winter the park was a clean, snow filled space, a pleasant piece of the country in the heart of the city. In summer, it was green and lush, a favorite spot to take a lunch break or a walk. Usually Bergstrom found the view soothing. Not today. The call had changed that.

Bergstrom was assigned to the National Task Force, the intelligence and tactical division of the Swedish police responsible for dealing with hostage situations, terrorism and the reality of multiplying threats from every direction.

For years Sweden had been one of the most crime-free and peaceful nations in Europe, but those days were over. Murders were increasing. Drugs were everywhere. The overwhelming influx of refugees and immigrants fleeing the wars in the Middle East had brought with it a host of new problems.

Bergstrom had been a policeman for thirty-five years and would go no farther in his career. He'd had spent his adult life without doing any of the things he'd really wanted to do. When his wife had been alive he'd wanted to travel, but except for one holiday in Spain, they hadn't gone anywhere outside the country. Travel was a luxury he'd never been able to easily afford on his salary.

His retirement ceremony was only a few months away, but his pension wasn't enough to maintain what he considered a decent lifestyle. His position gave him access to everything and anything that touched on criminal activity in Sweden. When he'd discovered that the refugee center in Solna was being used as a distribution center for smuggled antiquities, he'd seen his opportunity.

Bergstrom didn't consider the trade in artifacts a real crime. After all, who was being hurt by it? He'd never understood people who thought tombs and ancient cities were places where everything should be preserved in a museum or left in the dust where it had lain unnoticed for centuries.

Bergstrom only dealt with two buyers in order to minimize his potential exposure. Du Maurier was in France: Mercurio in Italy. Du Maurier would take anything that came from the ancient civilizations of the Middle East. A bás relief, a carved tile, a statue, a piece of pottery, it didn't matter. Mercurio, on the other hand, was only interested in Christian objects. There were fewer of those, but when they turned up he was willing to pay a premium price for them.

It had been a satisfactory arrangement. The artifacts came in with the immigrants and ended up at the center with Sayed Hussein. Bergstrom made sure the police looked in a different direction and arranged for a buyer. The commission was deposited in a bank in Andorra.

He had accumulated a nice nest egg, enough for a comfortable retirement. Most of his flights of fancy centered around someplace warm by the ocean, Ibiza, perhaps, or the Azores. Everything had been going smoothly. Bergstrom could almost feel the sand between his toes.

Then Vilgot Andersson had interfered. That was the trouble with honest cops.

Bergstrom looked down at his thumb, where he'd chewed the nail to the quick.

Things were slipping out of control. First, Andersson's body had been found. Bergstrom had been shocked. There wasn't supposed to be any violence, certainly nothing like that. No one was supposed to get hurt, but they hadn't asked before they killed him and there was nothing he could have done about it, anyway. It was a strong message, meant for Bergstrom as much as anyone else.

The phone call had been from Sayed Hussein's alter ego, Gabriel. Bergstrom didn't like Gabriel but he had to deal with him, since Hussein couldn't speak Swedish or English. Gabriel had told him about the visit from Forsberg and the near riot outside afterward. He'd warned Bergstrom that their arrangement was at risk. He wanted the police to back off.

Bergstrom already knew what had happened at the center. It was the number one topic at police headquarters. What he didn't know was who the people were who had been with Forsberg. They hadn't been in uniform. Gabriel had said he thought the woman might be American.

It had been necessary to spend a few minutes soothing Gabriel. Inside, Bergstrom had been angry. It helped to push away the feeling of panic that was beginning to worm its way into his consciousness. Bergstrom wished he could get rid of Gabriel and Hussein, but it was fantasy. In truth, he was not a brave man. He'd never even fired a gun in anger.

He looked at his watch. In twenty minutes there was a meeting to discuss a response to the morning's events. Someone from the ministry would be there and that always created problems. Whenever the government got involved in police business it was never certain what the result would be. The laissez-faire policy of the Social Democrats toward the immigrants worked to Bergstrom's advantage but an incident like this couldn't be overlooked.

He needed to find out who was working with Forsberg and what was being planned at KSI.

After that he'd decide what to do.