Project Nirvana

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  This novel is the second title in the

  Walter Gröhn and Jonna de Brugge trilogy which includes:

  Anger Mode

  Project Nirvana

  The Weakest Link

  STEFAN TEGENFALK

  PROJECT NIRVANA

  TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH

  BY DAVID EVANS

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

  Massolit Publishing Ltd, London

  www.massolit.co.uk

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Originally published in Sweden as Nirvanaprojektet in 2010

  by Massolit Förlag, Stockholm (www.massolit.se)

  Copyright © 2010 by Stefan Tegenfalk

  www.stefantegenfalk.com

  English translation copyright © 2012 by David Evans

  The moral right of Stefan Tegenfalk to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright,

  Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any method whatsoever, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or storage in any data retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-908233-03-5

  Typeset by Landegra Design

  See now that I, even I, am he,

  and there is no god with me:

  I kill, and I make alive; I wound, and I heal:

  neither is there any that can deliver out of my hand.

  Deuteronomy 32:39

  Frankfurt, 20 November 2009

  Günter Himmelmann shut down his computer and gazed through the panoramic window. From the thirty-first floor, the streets of Frankfurt meandered as once the river of life had done. He could look back on a life in the service of Science, the last thirty years of which were embellished with a number of successes. He was not only a competent and respected scientist with a string of new discoveries on his list of credits, but had a talent for turning research results into financial dividends.

  The greatest and most revolutionary of all his discoveries had been achieved with the help of the Swedes. They had accomplished what many had thought impossible; not even the Americans had come as far. Ironically, he would not need his business skills for this latest revelation. Their astonishing results would sell like bottled water in the desert. Everything had proceeded according to plan; the results were better than they had hoped. Until the day they had opened Pandora’s box. A shiver swept through his body as he recalled that moment. They had set something free that they could not control. The others were euphoric and refused to listen to him. Blinded by success, they had raced into the unknown. Was he the only one who could see the risks?

  As a scientist, he considered religion to be a primitive ritual. Something for the general masses to embrace when they needed solace and answers to Life’s perplexing questions. Still, he was certain that whatever God there was would punish him and the others. In anger over man’s attempt to play the role of the Creator, God would sabotage their work. Someone had to stop the madness. He had already started on the road to making matters right again. Step by step, he planned the retreat. Perhaps this was what he would be most remembered for.

  The digital clock over the door to the office showed fourteen minutes to eight. It was time to leave the place where everything had started. He put on his winter coat and gazed at the room for one last time before switching off the lights and closing the door.

  As he walked through the vast office complex, he saw a light at one of the desks. Konrad Friedrich was one of the most dedicated researchers in the stem-cell research department. Always first to arrive in the morning and most often the last to go home. Günter wondered what drove such a skilled scientist to that sort of indefatigable dedication. Friedrich was consumed by his work, as if his life depended on its outcome. Deep down, Günter knew that it was he, and he alone, who had pushed them to ignite the fire. Until the day he had realized his big mistake.

  He raised his hand and gave Konrad a wave before he got into the lift and pressed the button. The mirror showed an old man with facial lines, formed by a life of searching, that resembled a spider’s web. He looked himself straight in the eye and saw deep fatigue. But beneath the exhaustion, there was resoluteness.

  The synthesized voice announced that the lift had arrived at the main entrance lobby and the doors opened. He walked past the reception desk and, as was his custom, wished the security guard a pleasant evening.

  “Leaving early today, Herr Himmelmann?” the guard replied in a friendly voice.

  “Yes, Marcel, today I am leaving early.”

  A cold gust of wind hit him and he pulled his belt tight around his coat. The noise of the city felt distant and, for once, he had no appointments to hurry to. The only engagement he had was with his wife. She was finally getting back her husband from the job that had consumed his private life for the past thirty years. What she did not know was that they would soon be thrust into a significantly more stressful time. But he had no other choice.

  Fragments of memories from the time when he viewed the world as an unexplored ocean of possibilities popped up as he slowly walked towards the car park. Images of when he, young and naive, had questioned his fellow researchers. How he had swum against the mainstream and finally proven them wrong. He had laid the foundations for this cathedral of science that employed hundreds of talented individuals.

  A black BMW was the only car left in the management parking area. The company’s managers almost always left early on the last working day of the week. Everyone except Günter Himmelmann. He cast a last look at the building and took hold of the handle of the car door. In the same instant, an agonizing pain cut through his body. He tried to scream, but a barely audible wheeze was all that left his lips. Paralyzed by the red-hot pain, he stumbled and landed with his back against the car. It was as if his body was on fire. He looked down and felt something warm and moist on his hand. In the glare of the sterile lights of the car park, he could see that his hand was darkly stained. Instantly, he realized that it was blood. His own blood. A shadow moved at the corner of his eye and he struggled to look up. The silhouette of a hooded figure materialized in the evening dusk. A face that was frozen and expressionless like a zombie’s slowly appeared from under the hood. In one hand, the impassive stranger held a long, shiny object.

  So this was how it was going to end. Face down in his own blood in his parking space outside the company to which he had dedicated his life. Then the man’s hand flashed forwards. The blade of his knife cut into Günter’s throat and a burning heat spread through his body seconds before darkness flooded his eyes.

  The assassin looked at the dead body on the ground. Blood pumped from the victim’s throat and was spreading in a pool on the tarmac. He opened the car door and piled the body into the front seat of the BMW. Just as he was about to close the door, he paused. A scarcely discernible grin appeared on the man’s face. He had forgotten something. Taking a firm grip on the corpse’s hair, he straightened the body in the seat and fastened the seat belt.

  Once again, he had taken a life. First, a deep stab to the kidneys to silence the victim. The extraordinary pain put the victim into a state of paralysis. Then a short pause before the final strike that drove the knife blade through an artery in the throat. The strike that separated the soul from the body. He was a true artist. An artist of assassination, who helped others to solve their problems for a fee.
He could use more modern methods, such as a gun with a silencer, but that was too easy. It was like drinking watered-down vodka. He wanted to see the death spasms twitching the victim’s muscles.

  The white surgical gloves he wore were now coloured red. He inspected them for a while and then closed his eyes. He was known as Mjasník, “the Butcher”. Always feared by his victims and equally respected by those who hired him.

  He left the place unnoticed, as he had been when he had arrived. His work was not yet done.

  Stockholm, March 2010

  Chapter 1

  “A transfer?” detective Inspector Walter Gröhn said slowly, looking at Jonna de Brugge. “For what reason?”

  In his hand he held the paperwork that Jonna de Brugge had brought with her. It was signed by both Walter’s superior, Chief Inspector David Lilja, and Jonna’s boss at the Special Investigation Unit (known as RSU), Johan Hildebrandt. The paperwork’s contents hit him like a bowling ball at full speed down a bowling alley. It was not yet nine o’clock in the morning and Walter had drunk only half a mug of his coffee, but his daily routine had already been knocked all over the place like bowling pins after a strike.

  “If you read it a little more thoroughly, you’ll see that I’ve taken one year’s leave of absence from RSU so that I can work at Stockholm County CID,” Jonna pointed out with a faint smile, “so it’s not an irreversible change.”

  Walter read through the text again. After he had finished, he took off his glasses with a pensive expression. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.

  Jonna paused. She had expected the question, but was not really sure of the answer. What was the reason she had wanted to leave again after only recently returning to RSU? Was it Walter? Or perhaps because she wanted to spend more time in the real world and not as an analyst, trapped between four high-security walls? Her current job mainly consisted of finding alternative solutions to problems that the Security Service and the local police were not making progress on.

  Finally, Jonna shrugged her shoulders. “Change of scene,” she replied curtly.

  “Change of scene?”

  Walter had difficulty hiding his amusement. Whether she was being sarcastic or if she really meant what she was saying was not apparent from her brief answer. He imagined that he had caught a hint of a smile in her poker face. She was apparently quite like him. The more he thought about her, the more he realized their similarities. To those who did not know her, Jonna was difficult to read. Even those close to her could expect a cold shoulder when they least expected it. Walter wondered if he had influenced her during the few weeks that they had worked together. He had undoubtedly made some sort of impression, since she had now herself applied – and more, got approval – for a leave of absence from RSU to work in Walter’s team at Stockholm County CID.

  “How did you manage to swing this?”

  “Julén,” Jonna answered briefly.

  “I should’ve guessed,” Walter said. “You do learn quickly.”

  “Isn’t that the point of the exercise?” Jonna said. “To learn quickly, that is.”

  Walter put down the bowling-ball paperwork. “There will be no more unofficial investigations at any rate.”

  “No objections there,” Jonna said, “but I’d prefer active duty if . . .”

  “I see no problem with that, considering Cederberg’s and Jonsson’s reluctance to leave the police station except when it’s time to go home,” Walter interrupted.

  This is going as well as I hoped, Jonna thought, and suppressed a smile.

  “There’s a briefing at ten o’clock in the small conference room,” Walter concluded and dismissed Jonna with a nod towards the doorway.

  Jonna felt as if she had received an injection of fresh motivation as she went through the door from Walter’s office. She had been on loan to Stockholm County CID in the previous year. She had subsequently been recalled by Hildebrandt, her supervisor, to help combat a sudden wave of internet crime that had required a great deal of manpower. Organized gangs of blackmailers had threatened to shut down various e-store websites by means of incessant cyber attacks. Despite the challenge, Jonna had felt strangely uninterested. It was as if she had developed a sweet tooth and had been forced to return to a sugar-free diet.

  It was almost two weeks since she had summoned the nerve to approach the head of the RSU. At first, he had stared silently at her with his piercing, stony gaze. Then he had categorically refused her request for a leave of absence. That it was only a temporary transfer to County CID was irrelevant. The timing was bad because RSU needed every sharp mind they could lay their hands on. She could reapply in six months, although he could not give any guarantees, notwithstanding the noble motives behind her request.

  After a few sleepless nights, Jonna had decided to contact Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén. She had, to Jonna’s surprise, accepted Jonna’s invitation for lunch the next day. They did not actually know each other well, but Jonna had obviously made a good impression with her conduct during the Leo Brageler case. She had considered how she should put her case to avoid stepping on her supervisor’s toes while still getting her way. One brain more or less would hardly derail RSU in the hunt for the cyber mafia, and it was only for a limited period of time. She had not been able to see an easy solution, but after her two-hour lunch with Julén, who had been in an excellent mood, Jonna had felt much more optimistic. Julén promised to pull some strings. Not so long ago, she had managed to reinstate Walter, so she had experience in pulling strings. Navigating the corridors of power at police headquarters was obviously part of her daily duties nowadays.

  Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén had scrutinized Jonna and then concluded that a change of priorities was probably a good thing. Leo Brageler was still at large. In all honesty, Walter and County CID had made very little progress towards apprehending the brain behind Drug-X, and this was making Julén increasingly anxious. Nor had the National Security Service, SÄPO, made any notable progress in the task of locating the drug. An extra pair of hands would not make the odds any worse.

  One week later, a slightly flushed Hildebrandt had summoned Jonna to his office. He had not looked amused, but he had still signed the paperwork, on which David Lilja’s signature was also written in red ink. As Jonna was clearing her personal effects from her desk, Hildebrandt approached her and wished her well with a warm handshake. So her escape to County CID had not caused him too much inconvenience. And unless she was planning to stay at County CID indefinitely, he had plans for her when she returned. What they were, he did not go into any further, but if he judged her character correctly – which he assumed he did – she would find his ideas most rewarding.

  With Hildebrandt’s words stored in the back of her mind, Jonna left the RSU. Finally, she would spend her time looking for the person who had become an obsession to her. Leo Brageler had been the reason for her headlong jump into an unofficial investigation with Walter that had almost cost her a career and nearly sent her to jail. By cutting procedural corners, Jonna and Walter had managed both to avoid prosecution and, most importantly, to discover the name of the criminal mastermind behind the drug that had spread so much destruction. Also, by enlisting the help of an unscrupulous journalist.

  She also had a legitimate reason to get in touch with the cute security guard who had helped her with some rather too “refreshed” cruise-ferry passengers. The thought gave her a tingling feeling in her stomach.

  Ever since the incident in Gnesta, the world around Tor “Headcase” Hedman had crumbled like a sandcastle. His brother-in-arms of the past eight years, Jerry Salminen, had literally gone up in smoke during a disastrous visit to their golden goose, Omar Khayyam, in Gnesta. The two-timing Omar and his client had sold out Tor and Jerry to the Albanians and had also put a price on their heads. During their visit to straighten out the affair, Tor had been too quick on the trigger
as they pressured the ex-Syrian intelligence officer to divulge information. Shortly afterwards, they had been caught unawares by two police agents, who had also seemed to have dealings with Omar. When the gun battle was over, there were two more dead bodies, one of which was a cop. To dodge being arrested as a cop killer, Tor had cut a deal with the surviving dirty cop. Tor had realized the potential disaster of this decision, but he had no option while a gun was being pointed at his head.

  Almost five months later, he was still living at Ricki’s – his favourite slut. He did not dare return to his cabin because of the outstanding arrest warrant. One consolation of this miserable situation was that he was getting laid on a regular basis. Ricki had agreed to a few tricks every week, and on credit too, because Tor was short of cash. She had also kindly bought him some new sets of clothes so that he could change daily. As collateral for her help, Tor gave her Omar’s ring, because he could not expect to fuck her and sleep on her sofa free of charge. Tor had not revisited the hospital after the operation on his hand and it was getting worse. He had difficulty moving his fingers and the area around the titanium plate was painful. He had not left Ricki’s flat in Hallonbergen since the taxi ride from Ekerö island and, as long as he did not have a weapon, he could not be outside among people. Without cash, he could not buy a gun. He was stuck in a downwards spiral.

  “I need some cash now!” Ricki said, glaring sourly at Tor. She had been more than fair with Tor, but there were limits even to her goodwill. Months with nothing to show for it except the ring was no longer enough. She needed money just like everyone else. Her customers were becoming increasingly infrequent and the older she got, the more often they would argue about the price. Despite the boob job and face-lift, it was impossible to conceal the effects of nineteen hard years of dealing with all sorts of punters. In her glory days, she had pulled in twenty thousand crowns a week and could always take Sundays off. Nowadays, she was lucky if she could scrape together five thousand, and that included the weekly blow job for that handicapped guy in Sundbyberg.