Anger Mode (31 page)

“No, of course not,” Jörgen quickly replied.

A brief silence settled on the room.

Ulrika stared intensely at Jörgen.

“Then let’s move on to the personal question,” he said, clearing his throat.

Her expression changed again. She folded her hands on the table and regained her excitement.

“I’m quite interested in you,” he managed to blurt out.

It felt as if he had jumped off a cliff.

“Interested?” Ulrika repeated, as if she had misheard.

“Yes, the way a person can be interested in another.”

“Which way is that, then?” she said, feigning surprise.

“Well, how you work and how you are as a person.”

Once again, it was quiet for a few seconds.

“What do you expect me to say to that?” she said.

“Let me rephrase that. I’d like to get to know you better,” Jörgen said.

Ulrika laughed and brushed her ear with her hand. “Did I perhaps just hear a pick-up line?” she said. He’s as slow as treacle, she thought, but was still happy that he finally had confessed what she wanted to hear. If he had not made an advance, she would have done it. It was that simple. That question about Karin Sjöstrand was just an excuse to come here. He was here for her sake.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jörgen answered and felt his breakfast wanting to check out.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she said, looking Jörgen in the eye. Nice and easy, Ullis, she thought. Play a little hard to get. Let him do the work.

“Are we talking about dinner?” she finally asked.

“Yes, but only if you want to. I’m being a little too forward, perhaps,” he said, with an embarrassed smile.

“Well, a dinner cannot hurt. We’ve all got to eat,” she answered, glowing.

“Excellent,” Jörgen said. “When are you free?”

“Tonight, perhaps,” she answered quickly.

“Any particular place?” he asked.

“No restaurant, please. I’ve eaten out way too often lately,” she lied. “Home cooking never fails.”

Jörgen swallowed. She expects me to invite her back to my place
,
he thought. The flat looked like the day after an Ozzy Osbourne party. Sebastian’s going to have a fit when he gets back next week.

“It’s a bit messy at the moment with builders all over the flat,” Jörgen said. “I’d love to invite you to my place, but it’s not possible. It’s a bit messy, to say the least.”

“I see,” Ulrika said. “There is, however, no mess at my place. Not yet, anyway,” she laughed.

“So you’re inviting me to dinner?” Jörgen responded.

“Shall we say seven o’clock?”

“It’s a date,” Jörgen said and immediately had a stomach ache.

Jörgen and Ulrika exchanged telephone numbers and went out into the corridor. The little metal box was still in Jörgen’s pocket. He had only one chance and he had to take it now.

“One other thing,” Jörgen said, stopping. “It would be interesting to see your office.”

“Whatever for?” she asked.

“Well, mostly out of curiosity. I’m a journalist and we are, by nature, a curious breed.” Take the bait for Christ’s sake, he prayed silently.

“I’m afraid there’s not a lot to see,” she laughed and continued towards the exit.

“I’m betting there is,” Jörgen insisted.

“Well, I don’t know,” Ulrika hesitated.

“Just a little peek,” Jörgen persisted.

“Well, okay then. It’s actually against the rules, but I can say that I know you. You’re hardly a complete stranger.” And you’ll be much less of a stranger soon, sweetie, she thought.

She took Jörgen to the room where she and the two other court secretaries had their workspaces. The room was empty.

“Where are the other two?” Jörgen asked, looking around the empty office.

“They’re on a half-day course today.”

“I see,” he said, sitting in one of the office chairs. Beginner’s luck, he thought.

“That’s my workspace,” she smiled, pointing to the desk next to him.

Jörgen quickly changed desks. He sat in the chair and leaned backwards with his hands behind his head.

“Nice chair,” he said, rocking carefully.

“Be my guest,” she replied.

Jörgen pushed the chair back and, from the corner of his eye, glanced under the table. He spotted both network and power sockets on the wall under the desk. A network cable seemed to lead from the socket to Ulrika’s computer. The spot was good enough. The microrouter would not be discovered unless someone bent down under the desk and knew what to look for.

The only problem was how to get the woman out of the room so that he could connect the box without being detected.

“I have a lot to do,” she said. “And since I’m going to make dinner by seven o’clock, I’ll have to get back to work to finish on time today.”

She clapped her hands.

“Of course,” Jörgen said, getting up from the chair.

He followed her to the door.

As soon as she entered the corridor, he locked the door behind her and threw himself under the desk. He tore out the microrouter from his jacket pocket, fumbling with a network cable and the small power adapter. He heard Ulrika knocking on the door and yelling something. Jörgen was so frantic that his whole body was shaking. He fumbled with the network cable in the wall socket, removing it. His hands felt as if they would not work. No matter how he pressed the small tab that held the plug in place, it would not come loose. At last, he jerked out the cable and plugged it into the socket on the microrouter. He heard it become quiet on the other side of the door and guessed that she was looking for her keys. He plugged the power adapter in an electric socket and the power cable into the microrouter. Now he could hear the key turning in the lock.

Just as he plugged the network cable between the wall socket and the microrouter, the door opened. Jörgen dived out from under the table.

He met Ulrika’s stare while on all fours beside the desk.

“What are you doing?” she asked, somewhat irritatedly,with the key in her hand.

Jörgen stood up. He pretended to stumble.

“I suddenly became very dizzy,” he lied, and clutched his forehead.

Ulrika looked at him thoughtfully. “Dizzy?”

“Yes, I don’t know what happened. Suddenly the room started to spin and I had to grab something to avoid losing my balance and fainting. I grabbed the door handle, but I fell backwards and the door must have locked itself shut.”

Ulrika raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I didn’t want to grab you. Then we would have both fallen into the corridor,” he persisted, seeing the doubt in her eyes.

“That was very considerate,” she said, “but how did you end up at the desk?”

“I must have rolled over here.”

“Rolled?”

“I think so. Don’t really remember.”

“Are you sick?” she wondered. “An illness, perhaps.”

Jörgen shook his head. “No, it was just something momentary – perhaps too much excitement taking its toll.”

“I see,” she said and nodded.

Jörgen interpreted the nod as a sign that the story was swallowed and the incident was now history.

They parted at the entrance and agreed that she would call him one hour before the dinner was ready.

C
HAPTER 23

WHEN JÖRGEN STEPPED out onto the street in front of the district court, he felt an enormous sense of relief. He had succeeded where Walter Gröhn had failed. He had successfully planted that little metal box inside the very heart of the Stockholm District Court and in a place that would almost certainly avoid detection. He only hoped that he had connected it to the right network. There were no other options available and he assumed that Ulrika Melin, in her role as a court secretary, was connected, and had access, to the correct network.

This was investigative journalism of the highest order. Even Günter Wallraff would be impressed by the precision and skill with which Jörgen Blad had performed. What was a little undercover work among Turkish miners compared to the mental pressure that he had had to endure under Ulrika Melin’s desk? He had voluntarily flirted with a straight woman to facilitate the hacking of a Swedish court database. All this to uncover the truth and expose a major scandal. It had required nerves of Swedish steel.

Before he could put this behind him, he needed to get the microrouter back. To leave it sitting under the desk was not a viable option. Sooner or later, it would be discovered and would point the finger at Jörgen as surely as traffic cones to a council roadworker. So he was forced to stay in that woman’s good book for a little longer, even though his stomach rebelled at the thought of wine and candlelight. After that, his part would be over.

Jörgen walked down Norr Mälarstrand and sat down in a coffee shop on the corner of Garvar Lundin alley. He turned his mobile phone on and keyed in in the number of Officer Jonna de Brugge.

“It’s done,” he stated curtly.

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“Then I underestimated you,” Jonna replied.

“I’m not a person to be underestimated,” Jörgen said, swelling a little with pride. A little flattery and gratitude never went amiss.

“I will try to remember that,” she replied.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

“If you have succeeded in planting your box in the right way and in the right place, all that remains is for Serge to do his part of the job. The critical part of the operation is hacking into the court databases,” Jonna explained.

“Yes, I know that,” Jörgen said. “I meant, where am I to go now?”

“In two hours, I’m going to leave the police station and call in sick. Afterwards, I’ll pick you up so that we can visit the bank where you stashed the evidence on Folke Uddestad. Then, we’ll go directly to Serge and I’ll start to search any police databases that I can get into with a little illegal help from him.”

“That sounds like an acceptable plan,” Jörgen answered. “There’s just one glitch.”

“What?” Jonna inquired.

“The key to the security deposit box was stolen from me.”

“The key was stolen!” Jonna exclaimed.

“Take it easy; I’ll fix it,” Jörgen said defensively. “The glitch can be fixed. We just have to fetch the spare key. You see, I stashed a spare key under the sink at my mother’s – as a safety measure in case I lost the original key. It’s a safe bet that nobody will look there and my mother is blissfully ignorant about it. You will have to keep her busy while I fetch the key from the kitchen.”

“In other words, we have to go to your mother’s before the bank. For your sake, I hope she lives locally. The clock is ticking and the banks close at 3 pm,” Jonna declared.

“Calm down; it’ll be fine. She lives in Högdalen. She’s a pensioner and is almost never out. It will take no more than thirty minutes.”

“There’s another detour as well,” Jörgen quickly added.

“Okay,” Jonna said, resigned.

“We actually have to visit two banks, since I keep the key to the safety deposit box with the evidence on Folke Uddestad in a second bank, and that’s the bank we have to go to first.”

Jonna was quiet for a few seconds. She felt her blood pressure rise.

“You’re a master at making simple matters complicated, both for yourself and others.”

“And one final thing while we are making plans,” he finished. To be on the safe side, he forced a chuckle.

“There’s more?” Jonna cried.

“I have to go on a date tonight.”

“A date?”

“Yes, with a woman who works at the District Court,” Jörgen explained.

“You’re joking.”

“If only I was,” he sighed.

Jörgen gave a short account of the afternoon’s events and why he was forced to stay in court secretary Ulrika Melin’s good books.

At first, Jonna was against Jörgen’s date. It was hardly the time for any social activities, but she quickly changed her mind when she realized the precariousness of not removing the microrouter. If Jörgen got caught, it could lead to Jonna. That was something she had not considered when she sent him to buy top-up cards. Why had she not let Serge buy the cards instead? However hard she denied it, she knew the adage “no smoke without fire” would linger in an investigator’s mind. Jonna had herself been taught that. And even if she were acquitted in a court of law, she would always be guilty in the eyes of her peers.

Jörgen had two hours until Jonna had to pick him up. He felt restless and his fingertips were itching. If only he had his laptop. Headlines for the exclusive were popping up in his head like popcorn. He already had sufficient material to be the kingpin of the news desk. He was embedded. As fucking embedded as a person could be, and in something so big that it could only end with a sure-fire success. A clear case of the right man in the right place.

He reached for a daily newspaper on the table next to him and read the headlines with a smirk. If he did not get the “Journalist of the Year” award after this, he never would.

But first, he had a date to get through. Jörgen checked the time. He was dreading what the evening had in store. What did a woman of her type expect from the evening? Probably a happy ending between the sheets. Jörgen felt a strong impulse to throw himself into a taxi to Arlanda airport and to take the first plane out of the country.

AS SOON AS Jonna finished the call with Jörgen, she rang Walter.

“I’ll soon be dead from scurvy,” Walter declared after realizing that even the apple pie was not fit for human consumption. If you survive the operation, then the hospital food will finish you instead
,
he thought.

“Both microrouters are in position now,” Jonna briefly informed him. She herself was eating out tonight. A tasty chicken meal at a good restaurant before it was time for the nightclub.

“Both?” Walter replied, surprised. “Have you planted one at the District Court too? How did you manage that?”

“Jörgen Blad managed to plant the microrouter there by befriending a female employee of the District Court chambers.”

“Unbelievable.” Walter’s voice had an approving tone.

“It may well be.”

“And what does ‘befriending’ mean?”

“Not a clue, except that he has a date with her tonight,” Jonna replied. “He didn’t go into detail and I didn’t ask.”

“But how the hell did he manage to plant the device there?”

“He managed to put it under the woman’s desk during an unsupervized moment – if we are to believe what he says,” Jonna said.

“Is there any reason not to?” Walter’s tone altered.

“It’s difficult for me to say from one phone conversation. Unlike you, perhaps, but then you are better acquainted with him.”

Walter muttered something to himself that she could not hear.

“When will you start digging?” he went on.

“As soon as I’ve gone off duty and after we have fetched the evidence on Folke Uddestad. After this call, I’ll go and make up a story for my boss. Tell him that I have a fever and have to get to bed. To be honest, I don’t feel very comfortable telling lies.”

“If you’re forced to lie, then you owe it to the other person to do it with a lot of credibility,” Walter said ironically.

“Something you can teach me?”

“Anytime.”

“And another thing,” Walter said, changing the subject, “I was in touch with a friend at the police union this morning.”

“Really?”

“There’s a slim chance that I will be reinstated soon.”

“How did that happen?” Jonna said curiously.

“David Lilja and company may have made a mistake when they suspended me.”

“A mistake?”

“It’s a long story. But to keep it short, the Drug Squad didn’t have all their facts straight when they filed the complaint. With a bit of luck, that could tip the scales in my favour. Besides, I have some chips that I intend to cash in with certain individuals. If everything works out, it might still be possible to salvage this old wreck after all.”

“How fortunate for you,” Jonna said. “The old-boy network is just another form of police corruption, you know.”

“To be part of the system, I would have to have friends. I don’t,” Walter pointed out. “I’m talking about favours given and returned; some unfair decisions that need to be corrected.”

“It’s the same thing,” Jonna argued.

“Perhaps a grey area,” Walter said. “Like breaking the law to prevent other crimes from being committed.”

“But that applies when the laws are not good laws,” Jonna said.

“Laws are only theory. The challenge is their practical implementation. A law can prohibit an action that another law depends on to prevent crime.”

“A catch-22 situation.”

“Exactly,” Walter said emphatically. “Some legislators seem to have a distorted view of reality and of the laws that already exist. I could give you dozens of examples …”

Jonna interrupted Walter. They seemed to have become permanently sidetracked. She suggested that they continue the discussion over a glass of wine when Walter was discharged from the hospital.

The grief tore at his heart.

His memories transported him to a place where he was lying on his back with a blue sky above and endless fields that disappeared over the horizon. A warm summer breeze washed over him.

“Daddy?” she asked and lay down beside him. She was out of breath after running up the hill. “Is Grandma in heaven now?”

He looked at his daughter. Her inquisitive eyes.

“That’s what the priest said,” she added anxiously when he did not answer.

He smiled and put his arm around her. “Grandma is in heaven,” he said, even though he knew there was no such thing.

“Can she see us now?” she asked and pointed at the sky.

“I’m sure she can,” he lied, taking her hand. Faith was the last hope of mankind. Something that made it possible to endure the fear of death and the final destination.

“Can she hear us too?” Cecilia asked, but suddenly realized that might not be such a good thing. Then Grandma could hear her say bad words.

“Perhaps,” he replied, although he knew the truth. It was they, he and his colleagues, who were God. Heaven was on earth and the body kept the soul alive. They had the answers, the truth that would deliver mankind from its ignorance.

He was jolted back into the room with the windows facing the garden. Raindrops from the bluish-grey cloud spattered against the window-ledge. The time had come for the fourth one. Everything was prepared and he felt no remorse.

THE GNESTA INCIDENT caused the highest officers within the Security Service to call an emergency meeting the next morning. The head of the Counter-Terrorism Unit, Thomas Kokk, described in brief terms the events of the night. The head of the Security Service, Agency Director Anders Holmberg, looked troubled and a little irritated where he sat, hunched in the meeting room together with the others from the organization’s executive. He was upset that one of his agents had been killed in action, in what was the first casualty in the history of the Security Service organization. He was also irritated that he had been pulled out of bed at five in the morning and therefore had not been able to sober up from last night’s drinking session with the Jägermeister club.

To summon the executive for a matter involving an operational incident was a rare occurrence. It had not happened since the murder of Prime Minister Olof Palme. The executive was responsible, first and foremost, for the administration of the organization, such as the yearly budget expenditure and other such matters, and for ensuring that designated targets were achieved. They were directly accountable to the government, Parliament and the National Police Board. But the incident was of such a nature that even the executive had to be informed of the situation. That had to be done by the Agency Director himself, together with the head of the operational unit involved.

Agency Director Anders Holmberg still felt drunk even though he had drunk three cups of coffee, one after the other, as soon as he had arrived at the police headquarters in Kungsholmen. His stomach was in turmoil and a throbbing headache had enveloped him.

This was not one of his better days.