“It’s a common method for running large development projects nowadays. By breaking down a big project into smaller parts, it makes the development process faster. Each participant focuses on their own, small part without knowing about the bigger picture. In this project, there were only four people other than Brageler who knew the whole story.”
The room was quiet.
Finally, Cederberg was forced to speak. “Eighty scientists who didn’t have a clue about what was going on? Sounds crazy, if you ask me.”
“Not really,” Eschenbach said. “They were researching the structure of something called ribosomes. They control the proteins in the cells of the body and they are one of the smallest components in the human body that we know of. According to representatives of the company, they were working on a type of adaptive medicine. In layman’s terms, a smart drug.”
“We know about this from our Drug-X investigation,” Lilja said. “These so-called adaptive medicines are at least ten years away.”
Eschenback concurred.
“How could Günter Himmelmann act so secretly without the knowledge of the board and the company management?” Borg asked. “Even if he was the founder of the company, it must have cost a considerable amount of funds.”
“The board and management group got their reports. How accurate they were is difficult to say. Remember that Dysencomp has almost five thousand employees. Most of its growth is through acquisitions, but still the company has grown from one hundred and fifty people to five thousand in twenty-five years.”
“So funds could get lost in the company,” Jonna said.
Eschenbach shook his head. “Not really. Not even a company like Dysencomp, which has two hundred million euros in annual profits, can finance a project of this type.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lilja. “There were only eighty scientists involved.”
“The project had an annual budget of three hundred million euros for over seven years.”
“Where did the money come from?” Borg asked. “The board?”
“The board approved annual donations that amounted to the company’s expenses for this particular project.”
“Donations from whom?” Jonna asked.
Eschenbach had a troubled expression. He took up his pen and twisted it a few times. “A fund registered in Panama,” he said, “but we don’t know who is behind the fund. And somebody high up in the Panamanian Government is anxious to keep it that way.”
“Could the Americans help us out here?” Morell asked.
Eschenbach shook his head.
“Not without a small invasion. Politically speaking, the relationship between the USA and Panama is glacial, after their accusations that Panama is a transit country for drugs heading to North America.”
Martin looked puzzled.
“But the board members must know where the money came from,” he said. “They can’t just have approved these enormous donations without any knowledge?”
“Each year, billions of dollars are donated to companies all over the world,” said Eschenbach. “While some can be traced to criminal activities, others are legitimate donations for different types of research. There are funds for financing new technology in transplants, heart and lung disease. The list is endless and it is global. A donor can be anonymous, yet still place conditions on how the money is used. Internationally, there is still plenty of respect for privacy surrounding donations into cures for diseases.”
Martin shook his head. “So what proportion of those funds is money laundering?”
Eschenbach did not seem to understand the question.
Morell intervened. “The motive is not clear and the murderer is still unidentified,” he concluded. “So the only lead you have at this time is Leo Brageler?
“Correct,” Eschenbach confirmed.
“Unfortunately, we can’t help you there,” Morell said; all eyes were on him. “Brageler has disappeared off the face of the planet. To be honest, we don’t have the slightest idea where he is or even if he is still breathing.”
Eschenbach exchanged a look with his partner, Wägner.
“Our superiors want . . . no,” he corrected himself. “Our superiors demand that this case is solved. The pressure on my group is considerable and I have practically unlimited resources. If there is anything we can do to assist you, Wägner and his liaison team are at your disposal at all hours of the day.”
Morell stood up and walked to the whiteboard. He thanked Jonna for her presentation. “Currently, County CID is leading the manhunt for Brageler and the Security Service are responsible for locating Drug-X,” he began. “Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén heads both investigations and that is probably not the best solution for a number of reasons. The National Police Board is currently in talks with the Prosecutor-General about transferring both investigations to the National Bureau of Investigation. By doing this, we’ll have direct channels to both Europol and Interpol. We’ll also get extra resources for those direct channels. As I said, however, this is not yet finalized.”
Eschenbach nodded approvingly. “To recap,” he said, “we will lend you all our resources. Brageler may be the key to many doors.”
Morell looked pleased. Cederberg and Lilja were not quite as positive and Martin Borg seemed to be in a trance. As soon as the meeting with the Germans was over, Jonna decided to make a short visit to her former boss at RSU, Johan Hildebrandt. She would even get an unscheduled meeting with Åsa Julén. If Walter had known what was going on in Jonna’s head, he would probably have had a heart attack.
Chapter 14
Twenty minutes after
the old man’s arrival, the man with the accent entered the room. Leo saw he was carrying a padded envelope. Alice McDaniel had fulfilled her task. Yet the envelope looked unfamiliar. The colour was not as he remembered and there were no seals. Leo was confused.
The old man opened the envelope and took out a stack of documents. The man with the accent started up his laptop and put the CD from the envelope into the drive. After browsing through the stack of papers, the old man threw everything on the floor.
His eyes darkened and when Mozart started to stream from the laptop speakers, he threw it against the wall in fury. Bits of plastic flew all over the floor. “Are you making fun of us?” he snarled, bending down over Leo.
Leo looked at the man, puzzled. “You have the wrong envelope.”
“The wrong envelope?”
“You’ll have to ask Alice McDaniel again,” Leo said and tried to stand up. He felt a stabbing blow to his solar plexus and once again tasted blood in his mouth.
The old man looked into Leo’s eyes as if he was trying to see if he was telling the truth. Then he took out his mobile phone and pressed a number.
“Make sure she puts the correct envelope in the locker this time,” he ordered, handing the phone to Leo.
Leo took the phone and heard it ringing. Finally, Alice McDaniel answered. “I must have the real envelope,” Leo began.
“Must?” she asked.
“Is there a problem?”
“You could say that,” she replied.
“Is it about money?”
“No. How did you find out my ex-directory home number?”
Leo did not know how to answer her. “Mutual contacts,” he lied.
“Which ones?” she asked.
“I can’t divulge that information.”
A short pause.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“A friend helped me,” Leo answered, meeting the dark eyes of the old man.
“Until I get an honest response, I’m keeping your property. You have exactly sixteen hours before my flight departs tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re welcome to come to my law firm’s office again. Just don’t forget to bring an explanation with you that I can corroborate.”
She hung up before Leo could reply.
He handed back the mobile phone.
“What is it now?” the old man asked.
“She wants an explanation of how I got hold of her ex-directory number before she will hand over the envelope,” Leo said, “and she wants to be able to confirm it herself.”
“Bollocks,” the old man shouted. “Why does everything have to be so messy? Not even the English solicitor can stick to the script. We’ll have to do this the hard way, even if it means taking risks.”
He turned to the man with the accent. An unspoken order was given and the man left the room.
Leo wondered how they would get their hands on the envelope. Violence was no stranger to these monsters. He had not anticipated this. An ex-directory phone number and a pig-headed solicitor. He hoped she was better prepared than he was.
Alice McDaniel drank
up her coffee and paid the bill. She decided to leave the hotel immediately and change her flight for one that departed the same evening. She briefly considered calling the police, but after some consideration she decided against it. What could she say? That a client had called her on an ex-directory number in the Isle of Man and asked her to deliver his property in Stockholm for a fee? The reputation of her law firm would be irreparably damaged if she involved the Swedish police, who would probably not lift a finger. At the same time, she found it unacceptable that it had been so easy to get hold of her ex-directory telephone number. Why wouldn’t her client meet her in person? She didn’t understand the point of this ridiculous game; her irritation was replaced by indignation.
Walter could smell
Hedman’s anxiety. Adrenaline mixed with Walter’s fear of death produced a suffocating heat under the blanket. They went out through the front door and down the steps. Walter felt Hedman’s heavy, wet breathing on his neck. He was breathing in short, sharp gasps. Following Hedman’s instructions, they staggered to the Mazda. This was a critical moment. Walter opened the passenger door and carefully got into the car. The blanket and the darkness made it difficult to get his bearings and Walter had to feel his way forwards with his hands. He found the dashboard and then the steering wheel.
“Get a move on,” Tor growled, impatiently.
Walter slid over to the driver’s seat. Rivulets of sweat ran down his back and when he finally sat behind the wheel he could breathe normally. Walter fished the car keys from his trouser pocket and lifted the blanket over his head.
“Drive,” Tor ordered.
Walter started the car and put it in gear.
“Hurry up,” shouted Tor.
Walter quickly accelerated and by the time they got to the road, the car was already doing seventy kilometres an hour. There was a sharp left turn and Walter almost went into a skid in the front-wheel drive car. They drove through the police tape at high speed, going south on the gravel road.
The small Mazda bounced between the potholes in the road.
“Take your finger off the trigger and slowly release the hammer,” Walter suggested as they approached a mini-minefield of potholes. If they hit a big hole, the gun could accidentally go off.
“Keep driving!” Tor yelled from under the blanket.
Walter tried to avoid the biggest potholes. With sudden turns of the steering wheel, he was able to crisscross between the holes in the road. Suddenly, the car rocked violently. Walter’s head flew into the side window and he almost drove off the road. For a split second, he thought it was all over.
Tor threw the blanket off and looked around dazedly.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Holes in the road. The suspension hit the ground.”
“Take a right towards Stockholm,” Tor ordered as they approached the tarmac road.
Walter swung to the right and accelerated as much as the Mazda could take. In the rearview mirror, Walter saw a police car turn out from the gravel road. It stopped and blocked the traffic behind them.
“Where to now?” he asked. “Do you have an address? Or shall I . . .”
“We’re going into town,” Tor interrupted and twisted the rearview mirror so that he had a clear view.
“Where in town?”
“I’ll give you directions.”
It would take them half an hour to get to the city. During that time, Walter had to think of something. Any attempt to get free of Hedman was futile. If he had a pistol, he could possibly shoot Hedman in the head. But only if he was sure that Hedman didn’t have his finger on the trigger. Walter could sense Hedman’s finger nervously twitching.
“I think Martin Borg is going to get rid of you the first chance he gets,” began Walter and tried to read the instant reaction in Tor’s eyes.
“I don’t give a shit what you think.”
“This car has no tracking device on it. And it’s not been treated with UV light so that the helicopter can spot it.”
Tor said nothing.
“And I don’t see that we are being followed either.”
“So?” Tor looked at Walter, amused. “Are you going to let me escape?”
Walter nodded.
“Don’t you understand what is taped to your neck,” Tor laughed. “I am going to get away. The question is what happens to you.”
“We’re both going to die,” Walter answered calmly.
“Why do you keep talking about dying all the time,” Tor shouted. “Why do you keep saying it?”
“Because we are both witnesses now,” Walter explained. “You, because of the things you have seen, and me, because I’m stuck to you on our way to meet your executioner.”
“You talking about that Borg again?”
“Maybe someone else.”
“Do you think I’m daft?”
“No, but it would be stupid not to listen. Think logically for once.”
Tor looked at Walter for a long time without saying anything.
Walter didn’t know what that meant. Perhaps he had started to make Tor think. Whatever happened, they would be in the city in twenty minutes.
Jonna rang Johan
Hildebrandt to ask for a meeting as soon as possible. Afterwards, she checked that Åsa Julén was at her desk in the Prosecutor’s Office. In the next hour, she would discover if she still had her job or if she had taken the first step towards digging the grave of her career in law enforcement.
Hildebrandt looked at Jonna for a while without saying a word. As usual, he was trying to figure out what the other person was thinking. Quite often, he was successful, but only because he kept himself well informed about matters in his own department. Jonna was currently an outsider and therefore unpredictable.