To the Top of the Mountain

45

SARA SVENHAGEN WAS pale and worn out. She was sitting at the front, on Hultin’s desk, swinging her legs. He thought it was charming. But then, he was also an old chauvinist.

What she had just told them wasn’t quite as charming. But it was illuminating. Horribly illuminating.

Aside from Gunnar Nyberg and Kerstin Holm, everyone was there. The World Police and Fire Games were getting off to a false start with a few events. At 3 p.m. the following day, the opening ceremony would take place. Even if there wouldn’t be as many competitors as planned, and even if the organisers had mismanaged it to the point of being put on trial, Stockholm Stadium would be full of policemen and women from all corners of the earth.

‘So you met Niklas Lindberg on the stairs on the way up?’ asked Arto Söderstedt.

‘Yeah,’ said Sara Svenhagen. ‘Though we didn’t know that there was a Niklas Lindberg. The walls between us have been much too high.’

She cast a glance at Jorge Chavez. He was pale and worn out, but met her eyes. He looked deeply sorry.

‘Has Rajko Nedic said anything?’ asked Viggo Norlander.

Sara Svenhagen smiled grimly. It wasn’t a smile, it just looked like one.

‘No,’ she said. ‘He can’t talk. He’ll never be able to talk again.’

‘But he’s alive?’

‘Yes. He’s in Söder hospital. They’re trying to patch up his mouth, but his tongue couldn’t be saved.’

‘A precisely calculated charge,’ said Hjelm. ‘Has Daddy said anything about the explosive?’

She gave him a dark look.

‘Yes, Daddy said that it’s the same explosive. And Rajko Nedic is under arrest for sexual assault of children, as well as distribution of child pornography. I’m sure you can add to the charges eventually.’

‘The thing with Gillis Döös and Max Grahn is interesting,’ said Söderstedt. ‘Former Security Service men, about to crack an earlier investigation for us, they were also supplying Nedic with information on the investigation?’

‘They call themselves “security consultants”. But they don’t seem to have got hold of much.’

‘Overpaid consultants are a sign of our times,’ Söderstedt concluded.

‘And the “policeman” is Ludvig Johnsson,’ said Hultin. ‘He was blackmailing Nedic because he’d found out he was a paedophile. Now he’s on holiday. And absolutely no one has any idea where?’

‘No, someone does,’ said Sara Svenhagen. ‘He’s there now.’

‘Gunnar, my Gunnar,’ Hultin nodded woefully. ‘Do you think he’s in any danger? Do you think Johnsson might decide to bump Nyberg off to get away?’

‘No,’ Sara said definitively. ‘No, there’s no chance.’

‘Still, Gunnar Nyberg has cut himself off from the A-Unit again. This time he’s hardly got the law on his side.’

‘Would you have done anything differently?’ asked Sara, looking Hultin in the eye.

‘Hardly,’ he said, gravely. ‘That’s why I’m not planning on taking any action against him. For the moment. We’ll see how it pans out, I suppose.’

‘I think they’re busy working on a parallel investigation,’ said Hjelm. ‘Gunnar’s pig-headedly set about getting Ludvig to tidy up after himself. And when Gunnar sets about doing something like that, he doesn’t give up. Ever.’

‘That seems likely,’ said Hultin. ‘Anyway, these are all parentheses for the moment. We’ve got to focus on saving people’s lives at the World Police and Fire Games now. We’ve got just over a day. We’ve got to start asking ourselves whether we should cancel the ceremony pretty soon. Bloody good advert for Stockholm and for the supremely competent Swedish police. We’ll be the laughing stock of the world. We should try to avoid that. Can you summarise your interrogation, Paul?’

‘Risto Petrovic is behind the whole mess. He’s got links high up among the right-wing extremists. They’re going to be supplying Niklas Lindberg with serious amounts of the liquid explosive sometime soon. Around a million kronor’s worth. It’ll be a hell of a bang. Not a ten million-krona bang, that’s true, but big enough. Stockholm Stadium’ll probably become part of the townscape of the past.

‘Worst-case scenario? He could kill thousands of people, mainly police. So how can we get to Lindberg? Four ways: through Kullberg, through Petrovic, through other acquaintances, through the right-wing umbrella organisation. The fourth is impossible in principle, we’re talking about the most shadowy organisation imaginable, people who’re probably at the top of societies all over the world, who want to see ethnic cleansing on a large scale. The second is difficult. It would only be possible if we could find a weak link in Petrovic, something which would get him to think like a person and not like a severely war-damaged sociopath. The first is probably our best bet. We loosened Agne up yesterday, we got the World Police and Fire Games out of him without him really knowing it. I think we can still get more out of him. The third is difficult, but we might have time to poke around in Lindberg’s circle of acquaintances and find… some girlfriend or boyfriend or someone else he trusts.’

Hultin looked cool. Cool under fire.

‘You’re hardly alone now,’ he said. ‘Mörner’s released the entire thing to the press. Since he doesn’t get more than about one per cent of any of this, he didn’t give them much. But what he did give them were the four named incidents: “the Kumla Bombing”, one dead; “the Sickla Slaughter”, five dead, one injured; “the Skövde Shooting”, two dead, two injured; “the Hornstull Hit”, three dead, one injured. It’s starting to resemble a battlefield. We’re up to eleven dead now and since we know that papers like Svenska Dagbladet are fond of counting bodies, we should try to pause.

‘We’ve been lying low with Nedic, with the “policeman”, with Orpheus and Eurydice, and with the threat against the Police Games. The press is trying its best to put the pieces together, and the result is slowly becoming quite amusing, if you have that kind of gallows humour. Which we don’t. Anyway, Niklas Lindberg’s name and face are now on every front page in Sweden. That should limit his room for manoeuvre a bit. You’ve got access to every policeman or woman in the force. Put a baton in the hand of the National Commissioner and he’ll wave it. The power’s in your hands.’

‘Or maybe in yours,’ said Söderstedt.

Hultin ignored him completely.

‘The power’s in your hands,’ he repeated. ‘Use it well. The following work schedule applies. Paul and Jorge will work on the interrogation again. Press all the buttons you can find. Hit below the belt. Arto and Viggo, you’ll take care of the international material on Petrovic. Look for possible areas for blackmail: parents, siblings, anything.’

Hultin opened his mouth to continue. There was nothing left to say. There was no one left.

Though not quite.

‘I can help with Lindberg’s acquaintances,’ said Sara Svenhagen. ‘If we’re tearing down the walls.’

Another glance at Jorge.

‘OK,’ said Hultin neutrally. ‘You and I will work on his acquaintances. We must be able to find something.’

Jorge stood up. He looked profoundly serious. The weight of the seriousness of the moment.

‘This thing with tearing down walls,’ he said, as though beginning a speech. ‘If Sara and I hadn’t built those walls between us, the case could’ve been solved more quickly. We would’ve had the “policeman” more quickly, we would’ve had Nedic more quickly and, not least, Sara would’ve been able to catch Lindberg in the stairwell at Hornsgatan 131. In a way, I’m glad she didn’t. He wouldn’t have given himself up willingly. And then my future wife would’ve been in mortal danger.’

They looked at one another. A vacuum grew in the Supreme Command Centre. Time, working overtime, took a break. Burdens were lifted from shoulders. But only for a moment.

During that moment, Jorge Chavez said: ‘No more walls, Sara. Never again. I’m asking you in front of the people I’m closest to: will you marry me?’

Sara Svenhagen smiled faintly. ‘If we get Niklas Lindberg,’ she said.

They met in a kiss on Hultin’s desk.

He didn’t mind.