The Nightmare

52

Axel Riessen walks to his kitchen window and looks out over the rosebushes, past the iron fence, down the street, and toward the wide staircase of Engelbrekt Church.

The instant he’d signed his name to the employment contract, he’d taken over all of the late Carl Palmcrona’s duties and responsibilities.

It felt very good, it felt right. First thing I do, he told himself, is begin a collaboration with the United Nations as regards the Convention on the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons.

He smiles to himself and marvels at how life can take strange turns. Then he remembers Beverly. His stomach flutters with worry. One time she’d told him that she was going to the store, but four hours later, she still hadn’t returned. He’d gone out to search for her. He’d finally found her sitting in a wheelbarrow outside of the Observatory Museum. She was confused, smelled like alcohol, and her underwear was missing. Someone had stuck gum in her hair.

She said she’d run into some boys in the park.

“They were throwing stones at an injured dove,” Beverly explained. “So I thought that I’d give them my money so they’d stop. But I only had twelve crowns. That wasn’t enough. They wanted me to do something else instead. They told me they would stomp the dove to death if I didn’t.”

She became quiet and tears came into her eyes.

“I didn’t want to do it, but I felt so sorry for the dove.”

Axel takes out his cell phone and calls Beverly’s number.

As the signal roams, he looks down the road, past the building that once housed the Chinese embassy, and down to the dark house where the Catholic network Opus Dei has its main headquarters.

His own building is an enormous mansion he and his brother, Robert, share. It is situated on Bragevägen in the middle of Lärkstaden, an exclusive district between Östermalm and Vasastan. All the houses there look alike, as if they were children produced from the same family.

The Riessen residence has two apartments, one on each side. Each one is three stories tall and is completely separate from the other.

Their father, Erloff Riessen, has been dead for twenty years. He was the Swedish ambassador to France and then England, while his brother, Torleif Riessen, had been a famous pianist who’d performed at Symphony Hall in Boston and the Grosser Musikvereinssaal in Vienna. The noble house of Riessen always ran to two professions, diplomats and classical musicians, and the two were strangely similar: they demanded absolute obedience and submission.

The father and mother, Erloff and Alice Riessen, decided on a logical agreement: from childhood Axel should devote himself to music while his younger brother, Robert, would be trained in his father’s profession as a diplomat. This arrangement was turned upside down when Axel made the greatest mistake of his life. He was seventeen years old when he was forced to leave the music profession. Instead, he was sent to a military academy while Robert now trained as the family musician. Axel accepted his punishment, even thought it was fair, and since that day, he vowed never to pick up the violin again.

Axel’s mother never again spoke with him.

After nine rings, Beverly answers the phone, coughing.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Axel demands.

“I’m-”

She must have turned her face from the receiver because he couldn’t understand her next words.

“I can’t hear you,” he says, even more frightened. His voice is sharp and forced.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Just tell me where you are,” he pleads.

“You’re going on and on!” she says and laughs. “I’m here in my apartment, of course. Are you all right?”

“I was just worried.”

“Silly, I was just about to watch a show on Princess Victoria.” She hangs up and he feels that ongoing worry. There is a vague tone to her voice.

He looks at the phone and wonders if he should dial her again. He jumps when the phone starts to ring.

“Riessen.”

“Jörgen Grünlicht here.”

“Hello,” Axel says with a little surprise in his voice.

“How was your meeting with the team?”

“It was fairly fruitful,” Axel replies.

“You made Kenya the priority, I hope.”

“As well as the final user certificate from the Netherlands,” Axel says. “There was a lot on the table and I’m waiting to decide where I stand. I need to research a little more-”

“But Kenya,” Grünlicht says. “Have you signed the export form yet? Pontus Salman is on my back wondering why it’s still held up. You understand that this is a damned big piece of business already way behind schedule. ISP had given them a positive preliminary decision and they’ve gone ahead with production, a damned large shipment already sent from Trollhättan to the docks in Gothenburg. The owner is sending a container ship from Panama tomorrow. They’ll unload their cargo during the day and then the next day they can load the ammunition.”

“Jörgen, I understand all this. I’ve gone over the paperwork and sure… I’ll sign it, but I’ve just started this job and I need to be thorough.”

“I, myself, went through the whole business,” Jörgen says in a brusque manner. “There’s nothing unclear about it.”

“No, but-”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at home,” Axel says, even more mystified.

“I’ll send the paperwork by messenger,” Jörgen says shortly. “The messenger will wait while you sign it. Then we won’t lose any more time.”

“That’s not really necessary. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Axel protests.

Twenty minutes later, Axel goes to the door at the persistent ring of the messenger sent by Jörgen Grünlicht. He’s greatly troubled by Grünlicht’s obstinacy. On the other hand, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to delay this piece of business.