Project Nirvana

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  The APB for the van was broadcast only to the team that the Security Service and Stockholm County CID had somewhat ironically codenamed “the A-Team”. It was a temporary unit consisting exclusively of novice police officers.

  Unmarked cars had been posted on all the major entrance and exit roads to Stockholm city with orders to be on the lookout for the van. They had no other clues.

  It was five past eleven in the evening when Spjuth suddenly saw something that made his pulse race. “Holy shit,” he swore. “It’s the wanted van!”

  Ärenmark quickly sat up in his car seat, which he had set to recline. “Are you certain?”

  “One hundred per cent.”

  “I’ll call the Command Centre,” Ärenmark said, reaching for his mobile phone.

  Viktor Spjuth started the car and drove onto the E18. He accelerated the BMW until he regained visual contact with the van. He drove behind it at a safe distance and let a few cars get between him and the van.

  “We’re to follow them until back-up arrives,” Ärenmark said excitedly. “If we blow this, we can start reading the jobs ads tomorrow.”

  “Did they say that?”

  “No, but it goes without saying.”

  “I guess so.”

  This was Ärenmark’s first real call-out where it might be necessary to use his firearm. Until today, he had only arrested very drunk yobbos and restrained the occasional crackhead who hadn’t had the sense to obey orders. This was a totally different ball game.

  From patrol cop to plain-clothes detective and an unmarked car. He heard his heart thumping under his bulletproof vest.

  At the Rinkeby intersection, the van stopped at a red light. An articulated lorry drove onto the intersection and its engine suddenly died. Black smoke billowed from the exhaust of the foreign-registered truck as the driver attempted to restart the engine. The long trailer blocked both lanes of the intersection and traffic started to build up behind it.

  The van was now completely boxed in by cars. Ärenmark saw his chance.

  “Let’s take them,” he said to Spjuth, opening his car door.

  Viktor Spjuth threw a quick look at his colleague, who had already drawn his service revolver. It took him a split second to come to the same decision. They jumped out of their car with guns at the ready.

  There were four cars between them and the van. The driver of the lorry was frantically trying to start his engine, which was stalling and spewing out thick diesel smoke. They could hear the sound of sirens approaching. On the other side of the road, Ärenmark saw the blue light of an ambulance that was trying to squeeze past the trailer. The driver of the van could not see the ambulance – only hear the sound, which he might mistake for a police siren.

  “Quickly!” Ärenmark shouted to Spjuth, running as fast as he could to the van.

  At the same time as the lorry driver’s engine roared back to life, Ärenmark tore open the passenger door of the van. He yelled so hard that his voice broke as he aimed his Sig Sauer into the cabin. One second later, he saw Spjuth open the driver’s door. His face was grim and his gun was pointing, dangerously, at Ärenmark. Both men in the van threw their hands in the air, terrified.

  Chapter 23

  Jörgen Blad was tired and bloated after his dinner with Sebastian. He had eaten a fourteen-ounce entrecôte steak, accompanied by a root-vegetable gratin, which had had enough cholesterol to induce a heart attack. His eyelids drooped half shut as soon as he sat down in the meeting room. As usual, the air was stuffy and it was too warm. Even after a double expresso, he had difficulty staying alert. The clock on the wall said it was past midnight and the newspaper editor, Palle Öhlin, was on the speakerphone. Opposite Jörgen was the duty news editor who, fortunately for Jörgen, was not his future father-in-law, Sven-Erik. Lars Strand was much more accommodating and respected Jörgen’s special talents.

  “Can Tina confirm all of this?” Palle inquired, in a sleepy voice.

  “Yes,” Lars replied. “I spoke to her before she left.”

  “The photos certainly look damned good. What’s your headline, Lars?”

  Lars thought for a few seconds. “SWAT team raids police premises,” he suggested, “or ‘War on police corruption’.”

  “That last one works really well with the images,” Palle said, “but it’s also high-risk. If we’re going to run with that headline, I’ll have to talk to the proprietors.”

  Jörgen knew that he was close to a breakthrough. It was just a question of how big the story would be. “Tomorrow we’ll know more about Palmryd,” he said elatedly. “I will . . .”

  “We will put the entire research staff on the story,” Palle interrupted. “They’ll drop what they’re doing. This is too big a story to be handled by just you and Tina.”

  “But . . .”

  “Tomorrow, Bosse G will take over the story,” Palle stopped him again. “You’ll get your share of the credit, I promise.”

  Bosse G? Jörgen was furious. A share of the credit? He was the one who had dug up the story. Bosse G was a stuffed shirt who, on one occasion of beer-induced inebriation, had admitted his dislike of homosexuals, describing them as upper-class elitists. He had suggested that Jörgen practised the type of undercover reportage made famous by Günter Wallraff on his own acquaintances. He was convinced that there were some juicy scandals to be found among promiscuous celebrities.

  “Not Bosse G,” protested Jörgen. “If he’s involved, there will be no story.”

  Lars raised an eyebrow. “No story?” he queried.

  “I’m still a freelancer,” said Jörgen. “If I don’t like the deal, I’ll go to another newspaper.”

  “Too late,” the speakerphone announced. “We run the story with or without you.”

  “You can’t use the photos,” Jörgen countered quickly. “Without them, you don’t have an exclusive.”

  “You mean the images your source stole from a surveillance camera?”

  “How I obtained the images doesn’t matter,” Jörgen replied. “When I’m finished, no freelancer will ever work for your newspaper again. Your word will count for nothing.”

  Palle groaned over the speakerphone. “Could you work with Berner then?”

  “If we share the credit,” Jörgen said.

  A short pause.

  “OK, it’s a deal,” the speakerphone conceded.

  Jörgen breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where is he?” asked Jonna, as soon as she got into Walter’s car.

  “On his way to Karolinska University Hospital. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

  “What about the others? Were they police?”

  “Hardly. They don’t know much Swedish. It seems they are Balts and the NBI is trying to determine their real identities. Their passports are fake.”

  “If it wasn’t for that witness in Södertälje, we would never had found the van.”

  Walter laughed. “No, that old boy had a good head on his shoulders. Also, the boys in Södertorn’s traffic police are unusually vigilant.”

  Old boy? Jonna looked at Walter, who was very close to falling into that category. “Will we be able to question him?”

  “That’s up to the doctors,” Walter said, turning onto Sveavägen. “But we have to share that privilege with SÄPO. Unless Kokk decides to take over the whole show.”

  “What about Åsa Julén?”

  “What about her?”

  “What will she say about the case?”

  “That Leo Brageler belongs to her and a special prosecutor from the Constitution Protection Division will be appointed to investigate Borg and his associates.”

  Jonna looked out of the car window and wondered what to expect next. It was going to be yet another night on duty. She gazed at the fronts of the houses as they passed by. M
ost windows were dark. In one of the flats, a woman was standing in the window. She was wearing a nightgown. A man came up behind her and put his arms around her. His hand stroked her hair. Walter accelerated past another car and Jonna lost sight of the couple.

  Impressions and images often remained in her head when she turned off the light at night. The first thought in her head when she awoke each morning was often the last thing she had been thinking about before she fell asleep. She was able to live like that. At least for the time being. Before the brutal realities of the job numbed her senses and she lost her ability to empathize. The worst part was not having anyone to talk to. Not having somebody to share her experiences, somebody who really understood her. There was a reason for the statistic that police often chose colleagues as partners. Not to have to explain the feeling after seeing a dead person. Perhaps a drug dealer with half his head blown off. Or a dead five-year-old, run over by a drunk driver. The blend of fear and pumping adrenaline when you had to draw your firearm. Never knowing if you would come home in one piece from a shift.

  There were those who had it worse. Countries where violence was more commonplace and infinitely more brutal. She really had no cause for complaint. Yet this was one of those moments when she doubted herself. Was this really the life she wanted? There were other ways to change the world.

  Walter drove to the Karolinska University Hospital’s main entrance and parked the car outside. Four other police cars were already parked by the entrance. Jonna got out and looked up at the huge building. Leo Brageler was actually somewhere inside the building. She still remembered her earlier analysis and profile of him. Every sentence and conclusion in her report were etched in her memory. Together with other analysts at RSU, she had put together his psychological profile. It had been a difficult task and they had been forced to go outside the traditional norms established for personality types.

  Brageler deviated significantly from the stereotypical profile with his exceptionally high IQ. It was almost unique. The borderline between genius and insanity was quite fine and a part of Jonna believed that his hyper-intelligence had pushed him over the edge. Despite his sick actions, there were no indications that he was irrational or insane.

  On the contrary, he had achieved his goals using his expertise in advanced biomolecular chemistry and with meticulous planning. He had almost succeeding in getting away undetected. Jonna was itching to ask the hundreds of questions to which she was impatient for answers.

  Until SÄPO closed the door. That was an imminent risk and her spirits lowered when she got to the ward. Two uniformed officers stopped Jonna and Walter. Next to them was a plain-clothes stranger. He was Security Service and obviously in charge of the uniforms.

  “No one gets in,” he said apologetically. “Not even County CID.”

  Walter put his badge away calmly and took out his mobile phone. He pressed a number and put the phone to his ear. A few sentences later, he passed the phone over to the uniformed policeman.

  “Somebody wants to talk to you,” the uniform said, with a triumphant grin.

  The Security Service man looked at Walter suspiciously, but still took his phone.

  Shortly afterwards, both Walter and Jonna walked into the ward. Walter knocked on the door to Room 12 before he went in. Jonna was right behind him and the first person they saw was Thomas Kokk. He acknowledged their arrival with a brief nod. Beside Kokk was a dark-haired doctor and a nurse. Two more SÄPO officers were also in the room.

  Jonna looked at the man in the bed. He was haggard, tired and skinny, with sunken cheeks. Yet she was still fascinated by the fact that the emaciated skeleton in the bed had been able to inflict so much damage, on both himself and others. He was a cold-blooded killer responsible for several murders, despite his not having actually committed the crimes.

  His eyes slowly opened. Jonna thought that she would see empty, dead eyes. Instead, she saw fiery determination in his blue-grey eyes. It was as if his mind was divorced from his battered body. He scanned his surroundings without saying a word.

  “You can’t do this for very long,” the doctor explained. “In thirty minutes, he’s going to X-ray and then straight into surgery.”

  Kokk turned to Walter. “Brageler is now part of the SÄPO investigation being led by a special prosecutor,” he said. “He is classified as a risk to national security, along with Tor Hedman.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Walter said.

  Kokk did not answer.

  “Thanks for letting us visit,” said Walter, approaching the bed. “We’ve been looking for this guy for the last six months. It always feels good to look the subject of a manhunt straight in the eyes.”

  With some effort, Brageler moved. “What’s the time?” he asked, barely audibly.

  “It’s past midnight,” answered the nurse, adjusting the pillow under his head.

  “You have to . . .” he tried to speak.

  “Rest now,” the nurse said.

  Leo shook his head. “You have to hurry.”

  “What do we have to do?” Kokk asked, leaning forwards.

  “There’s no time. You have to stop them.”

  “Who? Your kidnappers?”

  Kokk’s voice was tense.

  Leo nodded slowly. “Jeanette Kessel,” he said. “They need her code and pass to get into BGR. They know where she lives.”

  Kokk looked at the man, confused. “The kidnappers need this Jeanette to get into BGR?”

  “Yes,” replied Leo.

  “How will they do that?” Kokk wanted to know the details.

  Leo slowly began to tell of his plan and of how he had intended to help his kidnappers get into BGR. Once inside, he had been going to activate the silent alarm.

  “What are they looking for at BGR?” Kokk raised his voice.

  “Takes too much time to explain,” Leo said. “But it possesses invaluable research data.”

  “First and foremost, I want to apprehend your kidnappers. If we’re lucky, we can catch them inside the building.”

  Kokk exchanged a look with Walter as he took out his mobile phone and hurried out of the room.

  “What did you mean when you said ‘invaluable research data’?” Walter asked.

  “It’s too complicated and will take too long to explain.”

  “Give me the short version then,” said Walter, looking at the door.

  Leo tried to sit up, but fell back on the bed because he had no strength left in his body.

  “Go on,” Walter urged him impatiently.

  “The compound I used to create the uncontrollable rage attacks was just a small part of something much bigger.”

  “What’s that?”

  Leo was quiet for a moment. He summoned his strength. “I assume you know who Günter Himmelmann was.”

  “Yes, he and a few other employees from Dysencomp were recently killed. Do you know anything about that?”

  Leo shook his head. “My captors asked me the same thing.”

  Walter exchanged a quick glance with Jonna. “Go on,” he encouraged him.

  Leo was interrupted by a coughing fit.

  “I was involved in developing a method to clone what you would call the inner soul, or consciousness,” he began again. “That is, to reproduce a being’s innermost essence and transfer it to another body. Similar to an organ transplant.”

  Walter raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Clone the soul?”

  “It’s been possible to clone a human body for some time, but no one has been able to replicate a person’s consciousness. Until now.”

  “You mean memories, personality, all the attributes that make a human being unique?” Jonna asked.

  “Yes,” said Leo.

  “Sounds like pure science fiction to me,” Walter said and looked at the doctor
for affirmation. The doctor, however, was busy discussing Brageler’s treatment with the nurse.

  “I knew there were plans to attempt to transfer the final component required for the human cloning experiment. Namely, the bio-energy field.”

  “You mean there was an experiment to transfer a person’s soul from one body to another?” Walter said, exchanging yet another sceptical look with Jonna.

  “Yes, they were already planning the procedure on a woman who had volunteered. Colette. Colette Rousseau was her name. She worked at Dysencomp.”

  “And?”

  “Dysencomp suddenly discontinued all collaboration with us at BGR.”

  “Collaboration?”

  “Yes,” replied Leo. “We were part of a project called ‘Nirvana’.”

  “Thank you,” Walter said, holding up his hand. “That’s quite enough.”

  He walked to the doctor and asked him and the nurse to leave the room. Then, he looked at the two SÄPO agents, but was met with rock-hard stares demonstrating the futility of asking them to leave.

  “Tell me everything,” Walter ordered, secretly activating the voice-recording function on his mobile phone. It remained to be seen whether this was the confession of a confused murderer or a delusional fantasy created by a madman. Walter would not be able to use the evidence; he just wanted to know the truth before Brageler disappeared into the black hole of the Security Service.

  Leo explained it in much the same way as he had to his kidnappers. The only difference was that he did not lie this time. He told them that he thought Dysencomp had failed and therefore had decided to abandon the project.

  “Why do you think that something went wrong?” Walter asked after Leo was finished. He had sat down on one of the chairs and opened a box of cough drops, which he idly played with. Eventually, he put a drop in his mouth. He could still not decide if the man laying in the bed was a compulsive liar.

  “From the start, I thought success was highly unlikely,” Leo said. “We still know too little about the bio-energy field that exists in the brain. Although we had made progress, there were gaps in our knowledge about the smallest components. Himmelmann was close to a breakthrough, but I always had the feeling that something was wrong. There was a vital piece of the equation that was missing.”