Borg’s abrupt entrance had sabotaged the interview, but Walter didn’t have a choice. He was now part of a carefully laid-out procedure and no deviations would be tolerated. He just had to follow orders and release Hedman. All according to regulations.
One unscheduled meeting
with SÄPO’s top management and the investigation was now in a new phase. David Lilja had been just as surprised as Walter by the “strictly classified” message from SÄPO. The Security Service top brass announced that they were “keeping their eyes” on Martin Borg. They did not have to say any more than that. With Chief Prosecutor Äsa Julén’s permission, Chief Inspector David Lilja had immediately handed over the Tor Hedman investigation to SÄPO.
For once, Walter had not protested at Lilja’s decision, despite it meaning that he would have to play along and release Hedman. SÄPO was also trying to establish a working relationship with the local police force, in this case the Stockholm County CID.
Walter actually felt a certain respect for his colleagues at SÄPO. Apparently, they were not all desk cops. He also realized that this
glasnost
within SÄPO was only temporary. They would soon be back to normal with their paranoia and “we-do-it-our-way” mentality.
Walter was jolted out of his meditation by a text-message ringtone. He looked at the message from Jonna. They had definitely found something in the woods. Slowly, the noose was being tightened around Borg’s neck.
Martin Borg parked
Tor Hedman in one of the Security Service’s interview rooms. Contentedly, he watched Hedman, who had now accepted Martin’s generous offer in return for unconditional silence. Tor needed to stay quiet not just to stay alive. He was also soon to be set free. Granted, it would be far away from Sweden, but he would still be free.
Borg’s lie had been sufficiently credible for Tor to agree to the deal. The Security Service were above both regulations and the law, everyone knew that. Even Tor Hedman.
Still, Martin was troubled. It had all been a little too easy. From the dead Turk to the transfer of Hedman. Julén had given him hardly any resistance and Thomas Kokk had accepted all of Martin’s proposals without a single protest. Even Hedman took his deal without haggling or asking stupid questions. Paranoia was driving him crazy. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind him, wrenching him back to reality.
“Have you heard the latest news?” one man from Martin’s section said.
“What news? Martin shook his head, confused.
“A SWAT team and County CID started an op outside Örebro,” the colleague said. “They have even called in the National SWAT team, who are en route in helicopters.”
Martin thoughts scattered. “Where in Örebro?”
“All I know is outside Örebro.”
“What is Stockholm County CID doing so far outside their jurisdiction?” Martin wondered.
“Yes, it is a little strange. Apparently, someone was planning to hijack a prison transfer from Kumla. The transit vehicle was going to be escorted by the SWAT team and County CID, but instead they went after the would-be ambushers after receiving a tip-off.”
Panic flooded Martin’s brain. Logic wrestled with these contradictions. He had to contact the Mentor. He had to . . .
Suddenly, he understood. The insight sent a chill through him. Everything happening around him was a charade created by the Prosecutor’s Office, County CID, his own section, Thomas Kokk and God knows who else.
But why hadn’t the Mentor warned him? They must be getting close to the organization. Martin had two unused SIM cards left. He took his mobile phone and keyed in the encrypted text string that contained the telephone number. He had to get out of the building. Away from the constantly eavesdropped base stations that were close to the police headquarters.
He punched in his code and took the lift down to the garage. As he approached his car, he stopped. Of course, he thought. His private car would be bugged with a transmitter.Yet he still took the car to avoid calling attention to himself. He parked outside the Gamla Stan underground station and got on a train heading towards Hässelby Strand.
He did not see that he was being followed.
Two women in their 30s squeezed between the doors just as they were closing. Martin checked out their clothes. Boring, plain colours that attracted as little attention as possible.
They were chatting. Their body language was exaggerated. They avoided any eye contact with Martin. Their nods and expressions were rehearsed. Just as the train doors were about to close again, he jumped off the train. The women didn’t seem to notice his sudden exit.
Perhaps he was being paranoid.
Martin bumped into a man on the stairs up to Vasagatan. He turned around, but the man continued walking as if nothing had happened. For a moment, Martin thought that it was a set-up planned by the Mentor. That, despite the dead Turk, he was a liability that had to be eliminated. Maybe he wasn’t being followed by Internal Affairs. Even if he was, there was no evidence against him. Hedman had agreed to keep quiet, not that the idiot’s word was worth much, but it would do for the time being.
In the unlikely event that Hedman started to talk, it was his word against that villain’s. A police officer’s word carried much more weight. Still, the feeling that he was being set up would not leave him.
Chapter 20
Jörgen Blad stared
at the text message he had received from Jonna. It was short and inconclusive. Her text, which read “Go to Örebro. Get ready for a big story”, was accompanied by a set of GPS coordinates.
How big? And what should he get ready for? Jörgen was at first confused and then so excited that he had difficulty sitting still. His journalist’s brain was fumbling for an explanation. What was she talking about? In Örebro? What could there be in Örebro that was sensational?
Jörgen had tried to call back but, of course, her mobile was turned off.
“Something’s come up,” Jörgen said, absent-mindedly putting his glass of juice on the table. “I’m not sure what it is.”
“Sounds a bit naughty,” said Sebastian, amused.
“Not this time,” Jörgen mumbled. “Hopefully it’s another exclusive.”
“From that chic police chick?”
Jörgen nodded.
“What’s going on?”
“My guess is that it involves an internal police scandal.”
“Like the guy that Miguel followed?”
“Very likely.”
“You promised Miguel that he could share the story.”
“He’s just a paparazzi,” Jörgen said. “I’m taking the lead on this story and have the journalistic responsibility. If he manages to take a good picture of something or someone and gets a prize for it, then fine. But the story and other stuff is all mine.”
“Of course it is,” Sebastian smiled. “On the subject of other stuff, is there something else you have to take care of?”
Jörgen looked up and saw a naked Sebastian. He had let his dressing gown fall to the floor. The sunlight through the kitchen window fell on his erect penis, leaving an elongated shadow on the kitchen floor. His body was exquisite . . . Jörgen adored his pale, slender frame, which had no superfluous body fat. He was simply God’s gift to Jörgen.
“I can’t,” Jörgen said softly. “I have to go now.”
Sebastian sighed and the shadow quickly receded. He grabbed his dressing gown and returned to the bedroom. The door slammed.
Jörgen checked his watch. When could he get to Örebro? In about two hours, perhaps, but then he had to move fast. He grabbed his jacket and closed the door without saying goodbye to Sebastian.
Miguel was busy taking nude pictures of a woman celebrity chef. Jörgen had neither the time nor the inclination to go and get him. The small digital camera in his jacket worked well enough at close distances and would have to suffice.
He threw himself into his car and punched in the sat-nav co-ordinates he had received from Jonna. Jörgen carefully studied the map on the small colour screen. Apparently, he was going for a stroll in the woods. If the co-ordinates that Jonna had sent him were correct.
Jonna’s pulse raced
. Ahead of them on the trail, a house towered in the middle of the forest. A stone building that looked deserted. Behind the house, there was a waterfall. The roar of the water was clearly audible. Wilhelmsson crouched behind some bushes. Suddenly, one of the SWAT team signalled to Wilhelmsson. Jonna followed him closely.
“What’s that?” Wilhelmsson whispered.
“A surveillance camera,” the police officer said and pointed out a small camera on a tripod. “Some hunters use them to spot prey. As soon as something moves in front of the camera, it sends pictures using a mobile-phone internet connection.”
“Have we been detected?” Jonna asked.
The officer nodded.
“There are others,” he said, pointing farther ahead. “The light above the camera lens shows that it is operational.”
Under some leaves, yet another camera was discovered. The camera lens was pointing directly at them.
His police radio sprang into life. The team leader gave the order to go ahead and before Wilhelmsson could take out his personal radio to abort his order, stun grenades began exploding inside the building. Wilhelmsson rushed towards the house wall, with Jonna at his heels. She was panting. Her bulletproof vest made it difficult to breathe, because it was too tight across her chest.
She and Wilhelmsson had the end of the building covered. The other sides were covered by the SWAT team. They moved quickly and arrived at the corner of the building. Above them in the wall, there was a window. The glass was filthy and impossible to see through. Jonna thought she heard the sound of running footsteps. Radio silence was still in effect. The footsteps approached the corner and she raised her weapon. She had a firm grip on her Sig Sauer and was ready. Wilhelmsson was covering her with his back towards her, but he also kept glancing in Jonna’s direction. The team leader’s voice barked something over the radio just as a SWAT officer came around the corner.
“We can’t proceed any farther,” he panted, staring down the barrel of Jonna’s weapon. She quickly lowered her pistol.
The SWAT officer considered Jonna for a few seconds. “There’s an iron door inside that we’ve not been able to open,” he said. “We’ll have to fetch the hydraulic equipment.”
Jonna nodded. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably and thoughts spun around in her head. What if she had accidentally pulled the trigger? She didn’t want to think about it, but Wilhelmsson guessed what she was thinking.
“It’s happened to me too,” he said, returning his weapon to its holster. “I nearly shot a colleague in a domestic violence incident a few years ago. It took me months to get over it. Even longer for the other guy.”
Jonna was not listening. Her arm was shaking as she put her Sig Sauer back in its holster. She loosened her bulletproof vest so that she could breathe. Despite being in the middle of a forest in the fresh air, she felt suffocated.
In a doorway, a few of the SWAT team were waiting with guns lowered. Jonna went through the door and found herself in a long corridor. On her right, she saw what looked like a hallway, with one room containing an old table and chairs in the middle of the room. A stale smell met her nostrils, making her feel uneasy.
At the end of the hallway, police officers lined up along the walls. A large, grey-painted, iron door towered in front of them. It was rusty and hung on strong hinges. Above the sturdy lock, there was a note that warned of rat poison. Jonna was reminded of the doors of the emergency shelters under the police headquarters. The framed paper label was dated 1972.
“What’s this building used for?” she asked and studied the iron door.
“That’s a question for you guys at CID to answer,” one of the team replied.
“It’s all very peculiar,” said Wilhelmsson. “There shouldn’t be a house here. According to records, there should just be forest in this area. But the local electricity company was right. This must be the house that uses the electricity.”
“Check with MUST,” one of the officers said.
“The National Military Intelligence Agency?” Wilhelmsson said.
“MUST and our colleagues at SÄPO got up to some things during the Cold War. This looks like something they would have had, or possibly it was a centre for weekend warriors. Or an old operations room, in case of war.”
Jonna took out her mobile phone and pressed Walter’s number. The noise from the hydraulic jack forced her to leave the building.
Walter’s phone was busy and he didn’t seem interested in taking her call. Then her phone died again. She looked at the blank display and restarted the phone. Since she had been prompted to upgrade her software, it had happened three times.
A functioning mobile phone was essential these days, considering the glitches with the Swedish radio communication system, RAKEL. When her phone started up, she speed-dialled the operator and was transferred to Customer Services. After a short while, a young woman answered.
“What type of software upgrade?”
“How would I know,” Jonna began. “I just need to know if this is a new routine? Anyway, the phone is not working properly after that upgrade.”
“We don’t send firmware upgrades to mobile phones via web links. Upgrades are downloaded only from the telephone manufacturer’s website.”
“But I received an MMS from you.”
“Impossible,” the woman replied. “It must have been from someone else.”
“It’s your sender ID.”
“If you take the phone to one of our service centres, then I’m sure they will help you out,” the woman said, eager to end the conversation.
Jonna thanked her for the information. She scrutinized her phone as if it belonged to somebody else. As soon as she was back at police headquarters, she would give it to the IT department.
A metallic scraping was audible inside the building and someone shouted out. The police officers quickly got into position again. Jonna ran into the house as the stubborn iron door finally caved in at one side. The hinges had been broken off by the force of the jack. The SWAT team had raised their MP5s and slowly moved through the doorway. Jonna released the safety catch on her Sig Sauer and aimed it at the concrete floor just in front of her. Both hands tightly squeezed the pistol grip. As usual, her heart was pounding inside her bulletproof vest and, at the corner of her eye, she could see Wilhelmsson covering her from the opposite wall. The air was dank and clouds of condensation appeared from her mouth as she breathed with prolonged gasps.