The Nightmare

68

Joona Linna and Saga Bauer hear whistles shriek and the insistent beating of drums when they reach the Royal Institute of Technology. A demonstration is heading down Odengatan. It seems to be about seventy young people carrying antifascist symbols and signs protesting Säpo’s treatment of the Brigade’s members. “Säpo reeks of fascism, the state supports fascism!” they chant in their bright young voices.

But the angry sounds disappear as Joona and Saga walk along idyllic Bragevägen, a gentle curve heading up to Engelbrekt Church. They’d contacted ISP to find that the general director was working from home that morning.

On the left side of the street, they soon see the Riessens’ private palace. The façade is powerful with its dark, handcrafted brickwork, lead-lined windowpanes, carved woodwork, and the dull green of copper around the bay and chimney.

The outer door is equally imposing. A bronze plaque is affixed to the dark, shining wood to announce AXEL RIESSEN. Saga rings the doorbell. After a short time, a tall, tanned man opens the door. He has a friendly expression on his face.

Saga identifies herself as an inspector for the Security Service and explains their errand as briefly as possible while Axel Riessen examines her ID thoroughly. Then he looks up and says, “I doubt that I could be of much help to you, but-”

“It is always a pleasure to drop by,” Joona says with courteous formality.

Axel gives him a surprised look, then smiles at Joona’s pleasantry, appreciative of the joke. Dressed casually in dark blue trousers, a light blue shirt buttoned to the neck, and slippers, he shows them into the high-ceilinged entryway. It is filled with light.

“I suggest that we sit in the orangery. It’s somewhat cooler there.”

They find the apartment immense as they follow Axel past a mahogany staircase with dark wainscoting. They pass through two more large salons in a row to get to the orangery.

It is a glass room between the house and the garden. The high hedge right outside creates green shadows and a wall of flickering leaves. Scented herbs and scentless orchids fill copper pots lined up on benches and tiled surfaces.

“Please, make yourselves at home,” Axel says, and gestures toward chairs around a table. “I was just about to take tea and crumpets and it would be pleasant to have some company.”

“I haven’t had crumpets since I was an exchange student in Edinburgh.” Saga smiles.

“Well, then,” Axel says contentedly, and leaves the room.

A few minutes later, he returns with a tray. He places the teapot, the napkins, the lemon wedges, and the sugar bowl in the middle of the table. The warm crumpets are covered by a linen cloth with a generous amount of butter nearby in a butter dish. Axel takes his time setting the table for them with care. He places teacups and saucers in front of them along with a linen napkin. Then he pours the tea.

They can hear soft violin music filtering through doors and walls.

“So tell me, what can I do for you?” Axel asks.

Saga carefully sets her cup and saucer down, clears her throat. “We have to ask you a few questions about ISP and we hope you’ll be able to help us.”

“Absolutely, but I must clear this first with a phone call,” he says as he picks up his cell phone.

“Of course,” Saga says.

“Please excuse me, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Saga Bauer.”

“May I please see your ID again, Saga Bauer?”

Saga hands it to him and he stands up and leaves the room. They can hear him speak for a few seconds, and then he returns, thanks them, and hands Saga her ID.

Saga starts her questions. “Last year, ISP issued export authorization for South Africa, Namibia, Tanzania, Algeria, and Tunisia. Ammunition for heavy machine guns, portable antitank guns, antitank rockets, grenade launchers-”

“And the JAS Gripen plane, of course,” Axel adds. “Sweden has had a long working relationship with many of those countries.”

“But never with Sudan?”

Axel meets her gaze with the hint of a smile. “Not to my knowledge.”

“I mean before the arrest warrant was issued for President al-Bashir,” she explains.

“I understand,” he says strongly. “Otherwise it would be totally unthinkable. What we would call an absolute block, where there’s nothing to discuss.”

“You may have already had a chance to review many of your predecessor’s-Carl Palmcrona’s-decisions,” Saga says.

“I have,” Axel replies.

“Did you note anything odd?”

“What do you mean by ‘odd’?”

“Decisions that appear strange to you,” Saga says. She sips her tea again.

“Any reason for this question?” he asks.

“That’s what we’re asking you.” She smiles.

“Then I’d say no.”

“How far back in time have you been able to go?”

Joona listens to Saga’s continuing questions regarding classification, preliminary permission, and export authorization of war matériel while he observes Axel Riessen’s calm, attentive face. He hears the violin music again. It’s now coming from outside, from the window open to the garden. It’s a mazurka with high, sad notes. Then the violin stops, goes back to the beginning, and replays the piece.

Joona is listening to the music and thinking about the four people sitting in the private box. He touches his briefcase absentmindedly where he has the copy of the picture.

He thinks about Palmcrona and how he hung from the ceiling with a laundry line around his throat, about Palmcrona’s will and Palmcrona’s son.

Joona sees that Saga nods at something Axel is saying. A green shade passes over Axel’s face, perhaps a reflection from the copper tray on the table.

Palmcrona understood the gravity of the situation immediately, Joona thinks. All Björn Almskog had to mention in his blackmail letter was that Palmcrona was photographed in a private box with the arms dealer Raphael Guidi. Carl Palmcrona did not doubt the authenticity of the photograph for a moment.

Maybe he already knew about its existence.

Or else Björn’s knowledge made real a photograph he’d known nothing about.

Axel pours more tea for Saga. She is wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

Something is not right here, Joona thinks.

Pontus Salman gave a definite date for the meeting. He did not find the photo troublesome.

So how did Palmcrona know the picture meant trouble?

Joona listens as Axel and Saga discuss how the initial situation of security policies will change when an embargo is imposed or lifted.

Joona makes a humming sound so they’ll think he’s following the discussion, but instead he concentrates on the meeting in the private box.

The table was set for four people and there were four people in the picture. This means that the fifth person, the one holding the camera, was not part of the party and would not be invited to sit down at the table with a champagne glass in his hand.

The fifth person probably has the answer to this riddle.

We’ll have to get Penelope Fernandez to talk soon, Joona thinks. Even if she is not the photographer, she might have the key; she might know who it was.

His mind turns back to the people in the photograph: Carl Palmcrona, Raphael Guidi, Agathe al-Haji, and Pontus Salman.

Joona thinks back to their meeting with Pontus Salman. He had pointed himself out right away. According to him, the only strange thing about the picture was that Carl Palmcrona was drinking champagne although they had nothing to celebrate. It was just a preliminary meeting.

But maybe there was something to celebrate.

Joona’s pulse quickens.

What if all four of them were about to toast an agreement with the champagne?

Pontus Salman had pointed himself out and given them so many details along with the place and the time.

The time, Joona thinks. The time could be different.

We have only Pontus Salman’s word that the meeting happened in Frankfurt in 2008.

We need Penelope Fernandez’s help.

Joona fiddles with the briefcase. Would it be possible to identify the musicians in the background? Their faces are clear. Someone must recognize them.

If we identify the musicians, we can pinpoint the time of the meeting. There are four people playing: a quartet.

Maybe the four of them have only played together once. That would fix the date beyond all doubt.

Of course, Joona thinks. We should have gotten on this already.

He intends to leave Saga and Axel Riessen to their discussion and return immediately to the police station. He wants to ask Petter Näslund if they’d considered the quartet of musicians as a way to find the exact date of the meeting.

He looks at Saga and watches her smile at Axel Riessen and then ask him about the American defense industry and their large corporations, Raytheon and Lockheed Martin.

Violin music can be heard again through the open window. It’s a quicker piece this time. It stops suddenly and then there’s the sound of two strings checked against each other.

“Who’s playing?” Joona asks as he stands up.

“That’s my brother, Robert,” Axel says, somewhat surprised.

“I see-is he a professional violinist?”

“He’s the pride and joy of the family… but these days he’s primarily a violin maker. He has his studio on the grounds, here in the back.”

“Would you mind if I go over to ask him a question?”