Anger Mode

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  “Cover up,” Margareta Fors repeated. She did not understand what Åsa meant – or if she wanted to understand.

  “The Security Service have taken over the investigation, since it may involve sabotage by poisoning or drugging officials within the justice system,” Åsa said.

  Margareta took a deep breath and looked listlessly through the car window. The closer they got to the city limits, the thicker the traffic became. She did not have the energy to analyse the consequences of these events just now. The trip had been quite exhausting and she needed sleep, a lot of sleep, before she could focus. If she could just rest, she would be able to tackle the problems the next day.

  She wrapped up the conversation with Åsa so that she could call her husband. She felt the knot in her stomach turn into something uncontrollable. For the first time in a long while, she started to cry.

  THERE WAS NO weekend overtime or on-call duty for Walter. After writing his memo, he went to Karolinska University Hospital for a consultation with a specialist about his increasingly frequent dizzy spells. After only three questions, the doctor arranged for Walter to be admitted and sent to radiology.

  Once his cranium had been x-rayed and the doctor had studied the x-rays, Walter sent two text messages, one to Jonna, in which he briefly informed her that the next day’s meeting was postponed, and one to David Lilja, in which he described in more detail the reason why he would not be able to work for a while. Walter turned his mobile phone off and lay down in the hospital bed. If the worst should happen, his life had been quite pleasant until now.

  Or was life really that pleasant? After Martine’s death, his life had mostly been about moving on.

  COUNTY POLICE COMMISSIONER Folke Uddestad was the last to enter the conference room. It was nine minutes past nine on Monday morning by the time Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén addressed those attending.

  “Can we have an update on the situation?” she opened the meeting impatiently.

  “Before we start, I just want to inform you that Walter Gröhn can’t be here,” interrupted David Lilja, apologizing. “He has recently been admitted to hospital.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “That’s unfortunate news,” Uddestad said, without seeming very interested. He cleared his throat. “Yesterday some surveillance and investigative work was done by the duty officers at the Drug Squad and SÄPO,” he began. “So far, none of the dealers or suppliers has heard anything about a new type of drug on the market. However, today is the first day that significant operations will take place, so it’s too early to draw any conclusions. The Drug Squad will shortly mobilize large numbers of staff. With such a massive operation being launched, we’ll most probably be able to establish where Drug-X is coming from. SÄPO also has a lead that’s probably the most solid one at present. It concerns, among other things, a suspected terrorist cell, based in Sweden, which doesn’t have a huge respect for our country. What makes them particularly interesting is that they specifically denounce Swedish laws and courts.”

  Uddestad handed the audience over to Martin Borg, a team leader in the Security Service’s Counter-Terrorism Unit. He had a muscular build and penetrating, steel-grey eyes. His hair was crew cut and he wore a dark suit, which hung well on his frame.

  “At the Counter-Terrorism Unit, we have, for some time, been following an Islamic group, known as Wahhabists, whose goal is to turn Sweden into an Islamic state and to introduce Sharia law,” he started stiffly. “For those of you not familiar with Wahhabism and Sharia, Saudi Arabia is an example of a country where these strict religious laws are implemented and also where the majority of Wahhabi followers are. And I think we’re all familiar with conditions in Saudi Arabia.” Everybody nodded in agreement.

  Martin gave a wry smile when he saw how his colleagues from the local police pretended to be well informed on the subject.

  “Women are dressed in sheets like ghosts and are severely oppressed by men,” Martin continued and watched both of the women in the room. Neither Åsa Julén nor Jonna de Brugge raised an eyebrow. So naive. Without people like me around, they would soon be forced to wear the burka, he thought.

  “We estimate that there are about twenty people in total in this group, of which there is a fanatical hardcore of ten bearded men in nightshirts, who have their base in a flat in central Stockholm,” Martin said.

  Jonna grinned when the word nightshirt was used, but she got an admonishing stare from Julén.

  “The group also has a motley bunch of followers, who are a few hundred in number, mostly young, unemployed men from immigrant housing estates with roots in the Middle East. They have very strong financial links with high-level contacts in Saudi Arabia. That’s also where you find most of the followers of Wahhabism, which is a fundamentalist movement within Islam. We believe that we have enough evidence to justify a raid on the group. If the Prosecutor’s Office gives us the green light, then we can hit them as early as tomorrow. The National SWAT team is ready to go.”

  A tense silence filled the room. Martin adjusted his tie and sat in the chair to the side of the whiteboard. He looked over the company in the room. They were a sorry bunch. He had, however, not expected better. They were like the general population: naive and simple-minded, completely oblivious to the battle that was going to involve them all. The entire Western civilization would fall into an Islamic dark age if nothing was done. In medieval times, Muslims had tried to subvert European culture, but Europeans had a short memory. Now Muslims were flooding the refugee centres, cheered on by idealists who wanted to consign the continent to the abyss. The sight of the sheepish faces around the table only strengthened his conviction that he was doing the right thing.

  All eyes were now on Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén.

  “You say that they reject our laws and courts,” she deliberated. “Can you explain that further?”

  “Of course,” Martin answered without standing up. “The group has the aim of turning Sweden into an Islamic state. They’re financed by Prince Hatim al-Amri, one of several thousand princes in Saudi Arabia, who has considerable resources at his disposal. The prince finances resistance groups in Iraq and Afghanistan and is known as a loyal Wahhabist and opponent to the West. As we understand it, the Swedish group’s strategy is to lay a carpet of mosques all over the country. They have over twenty planning permissions, from Malmö in the south to Luleå in the north. In this way, they can set up a base to begin actually recruiting.”

  “What recruiting?” Julén asked.

  “By controlling the mosques, they will pressure the Muslim communities, in particular the Sunnis and their imams, to move in their direction.”

  “The direction of Wahhabism and Sharia law,” Julén concluded.

  “Exactly,” Martin said. “With four hundred thousand Muslims in the country, there’s great potential. And their

  voices would definitely be heard. Each year, Sweden takes in about fifty thousand refugees with Islamic religious beliefs and, if we compare the Swedish reluctance to have children against the Muslim preference for breeding, Sweden will soon have changed its population. This is the process that this group is trying to accelerate. In twenty to thirty years, there will be as many Muslims as there are ethnic Swedes in this country. Then it will be too late to stop the transition to an Islamic state.”

  “But what does this have to do with Drug-X?” Julén interrupted sceptically. “Building mosques and preaching about an Islamic state doesn’t mean they have access to Drug-X. What would be the purpose?”

  Martin gave a slight smile. Her naivety obviously had no bounds.

  “Our terrorist Prince Hatim al-Amri actually owns a pharmaceuticals plant that develops and manufactures pharmaceuticals mainly for Muslim countries in the third world. There’s also one of the world’s most advanced centres for genetic research in the desert about three hundred kilometres from the capital Riyadh. Muslim scientists from all over the world work there. The USA would have normally bombed the centre to bits,
if not for the fact that Saudi Arabia is one of their most reliable allies in the region. They look the other way as long as the oil keeps on flowing and the Saudis keep on buying American weapons for billions of dollars each year.”

  Julén looked cautiously at Martin. “So you mean that Drug-X is coming from a terrorist prince in Saudi Arabia?”

  “In all probability, yes.”

  “And the motive?” Jonna asked, unconvinced.

  Martin looked cynically at Jonna. “That should be obvious,” he said, wondering if RSU had lowered their recruiting standards. “They create chaos and insecurity in the Swedish justice system. The Muslims can then, with good reason, demand to have their own laws and courts, since the Swedish courts cannot be trusted. And in the longer term, they can impose their justice system on the rest of the population when the time is ripe.”

  “That’s certainly not a possibility,” Julén objected and looked around the room.

  “Who could have thought that a handful of lunatics armed with Stanley knives could bring down the Twin Towers in New York?” Martin said. “Or take out parts of the Pentagon itself, the brain of the American military?”

  Julén felt herself begin to sweat. This could have major ramifications internationally and, as the head of the investigation, she would be making all the critical decisions. She had no one else to turn to, apart from her formal superior the Prosecutor-General.

  Luckily, all that was being asked for now was a search warrant for one house. The other matters would be handled later. Showing the ability to act was most important right now, especially with the Security Service. They normally knew what they were doing. This would be her second terrorist case after the Libyan citizens that she deported last year.

  “I will see to it that you get your search warrant directly after the meeting,” Julén said.

  “The Prosecutor’s Office is now taking over the investigation along with SÄPO as the acting police authority, since this case now falls under the anti-terrorist legislation.”

  The room fell silent.

  Jonna could not stomach the speed of the changeover and was unable to stay quiet.

  “So the motive for using the drug is political?” she asked.

  “Yes, definitely political,” Martin answered dryly. It seemed as if he had a little pike on the hook. A wannabe policewoman from RSU was definitely not going to stand in his way right now.

  Jonna frowned.

  Martin sighed out loud. “Let me explain it in another way for you,” he slowly explained as if Jonna was mentally challenged. “The courts are the main pillar of any judicial system. If they are infiltrated by outside forces that can, in one way or another, influence the court verdicts, or if the courts are simply neutralized by physically stopping them from functioning, then the credibility of the system and the state disappears. Eventually of the whole constitution. This can bring about the end of democracy in a society. What usually happens after the system breaks down is that someone intervenes and, with drastic action, tries to get society functioning correctly again. Sometimes, it returns to a democracy, but more often it becomes a totalitarian regime. Sometimes an Islamic state.”

  “So Drug-X is a threat to national security and therefore even the constitution because traces of the drug were found in the daughter of a lay juror?” Jonna asked and saw that Folke Uddestad was avoiding eye contact with her. He looked almost uncomfortable.

  “Yes, you could put it like that,” Martin answered, but felt his patience with the pike beginning to fade. He forced back his mounting irritation with a smile. “But not only that. We have two further reasons to believe it – to be precise, Lantz and Ekwall. We suspect that even they are victims of Drug-X.”

  Jonna frowned extravagantly to show that she did not quite understand the logic of his reply. “Why not just kill all the judges and magistrates in all our courtrooms or just blast the buildings into rubble? Why go the long way round and drug the daughter of a court official? They could just as easily have used a more readily available drug if they wanted to put a particular person under pressure, or whatever they were after …” She did not bother to finish the sentence. Nobody was listening to her. A combination of anger and resignation overcame her. She had a good mind to mention the angels of death, as well as Walter and her theory, but decided not to do so. Walter had said he was going to write a memo; he probably knew what he was doing.

  The theory that the Security Service had suggested was so utterly nonsensical that she no longer wanted to discuss it. What she knew about Islam and Muslims, be they terrorists or not, was sufficient for her to realize that this was a dream scenario for SÄPO, rather than a genuine threat assessment. The Muslims provided a feeble excuse to create a tangible enemy. With those deduction techniques, you could always come up with an enemy.

  It surprised her that the others kept as quiet as dummies. Not even her colleague from RSU, Fredrik Regnell, had opened his mouth. He normally had the gift of the gab and offered a sound analysis on almost anything. Now he sat silently in his chair and watched Jonna’s futile attempts to shoot holes in the Security Service’s theory.

  Jonna did not have much experience of investigations. This was her second since she had accepted the position as analyst with the rank of special agent within RSU. But despite her meagre experience, she felt that the investigation that was being taken away from her was going off the rails even before it had properly started. Now it would be under the umbrella of SÄPO, and Julén and the Security Service were actively searching for a motive that presented people as a threat to the Swedish constitution and democracy. The motive was so far-fetched that, by comparison, the conspiracy theory about Elvis Presley’s alien abduction seemed feasible.

  MARTIN BORG KNEW that he had won a double victory when he left the meeting. He now had the Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén eating out of his hand and he had deflected the little pike’s attack. Normally, it was Folke Uddestad who, for personal reasons, was slow to take the Security Service to his bosom, but this time he had probably realized the futility of discrediting his analysis of the facts. Unlike the RSU bimbo. Martin knew the type. She was one of those who would always challenge her colleagues. Always sticking her nose in and never realizing the consequences of her actions. But he had the facts on his side and had presented them well. The rest would be a walk in the park.

  DAVID LILJA ASKED Jonna to stay behind in the room after the meeting was over. He closed the door after the last person had left and sat down opposite her. He appeared to be under a little stress.

  “I’ve just been informed that Walter is suspended indefinitely,” he said.

  “An internal investigation against him will be started as soon as he is discharged from the hospital.”

  Jonna stared at Lilja, shocked.

  “Whatever for?”

  “I can’t go into that,” Lilja replied. “It’s a matter for Internal Affairs only. But the shit has hit the fan for the last time, you might say.”

  “That’s really disappointing news,” Jonna said, suddenly feeling very awkward.

  “Well, it may seem a bit harsh, but he only has himself to blame for it,” Lilja replied dejectedly. “He always has to do things his own way and that ultimately gets punished.”

  “What happens now then?” Jonna wondered.

  “Yes, that’s why I wanted you to stay behind,” Lilja said. “Walter’s suspension, together with his hospital stay, means that we no longer have a place for you at County CID. I will inform your superior Johan Hildebrandt at RSU.”

  “That’s disappointing,” Jonna said.

  “What’s disappointing about that?” Lilja asked.

  “That Walter is suspended. But, most of all, that SÄPO’s suspicions about the Islamic activists are so far-fetched.”

  “Really? And what do you base that on?” Lilja asked, while gathering up the documents he had taken with him to the meeting.

  Jonna bit her lip and looked at the whiteboard. “Do you have a moment?�
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  Lilja shook his head. “I’m sorry. Take it up with Julén or SÄPO, if you must. This case is no longer on my agenda. And in the not too distant future, neither is Walter.”

  Lilja stuffed the documents in his briefcase and thanked Jonna for her efforts at the CID. Then he left the room.

  Jonna watched Lilja with a blank expression. Then she laid her forehead on the table, defeated. She had not even asked why Walter was lying in hospital.

  CHAPTER 13

  IT WAS AS he had feared. Despite everything, he still hung onto the last shred of hope. He had been sitting at the café for over three hours, waiting. Three hours of tense waiting that added up to six cups of coffee and two Danish pastries with cloudberry jam. Jörgen was shaking from a mix of irritation and high-caffeine intake when he left the meeting place. The informant had now definitively demonstrated that the deal was off. The bastard had thrown a spanner into the works of Jörgen’s advancing career. On his way back to his flat, Jörgen’s brain was on overdrive. Should he threaten to publish the video? That was a high-stakes threat that could jeopardize his own journalistic career if he was forced to follow through. But if he airbrushed some of the stills so that it was not possible to identify him as his informant’s partner, he could perhaps find a way out of the dilemma.

  He had walked for fifteen minutes before he got home to the flat at Odengatan. He had promised himself that he would make a decision before he arrived. If only Sebastian had not gone to South America. He still could not ask him for advice, except by disguising the problem and talking about a third party. Sebastian always had an opinion on all manner of things. Suddenly, Jörgen felt how much he missed him.

  Jörgen opened the door to his ninety-six square-metre, four-room flat and immediately saw that something was not right. The hallway felt strangely empty. The coat rack with its outdoor coats was missing from the wall, as was the black-stained chest of drawers that he and Sebastian had bought at Stalands furniture store. As he entered the living room, he first thought that he was in the wrong flat. His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise as he discovered the debris on the floor. What had once been a bookshelf, armchairs and a kitchen table with handmade, Finnish beech chairs was now lying destroyed on the floor. Jörgen carefully lifted the table top of the kitchen table. Underneath were the remains of what had been an Italian bedside table in solid oak, now as flat as an IKEA pack. Not even his bed had survived the devastation. Who had done this? Who could get into his flat unnoticed and why? He froze when he heard the parquet flooring creak behind him.