She had cut her hair: now she had almost the same style that Sophie used to have.
“Are you okay, Jesper? Your face is completely white.”
“It’s nothing,” he muttered. He leaned forward to air-kiss her on both cheeks, Östermalm-style, the way far too many people had started to do. As if they were in Paris rather than a tarted-up conference venue on the Stockholm waterfront. And Carina LeMoine had her very own way of conducting the ritual. She stretched it out, did it slightly too slowly, which had the effect of setting the second kiss somewhere between a Continental greeting and something else. Something far more intimate. Even if he was prepared for her perfume, the smell still made his heart start to beat a little harder.
Narciso Rodriguez—the same as Sophie wore.
He turned sideways and leaned against the bar again. Carina LeMoine took a step closer and did the same. Standing a little too close to him for Stenberg to feel entirely relaxed.
“You look tired. Are you sure everything’s okay?” Carina had to raise her voice to make herself heard over the growing hubbub. “Are you sleeping all right?”
“Absolutely.” Stenberg tried to force out a smile to make his lie seem more believable. To judge by the look on Carina’s face, he didn’t succeed very well.
The bartender put his drinks down on the counter beside them. Before Stenberg had time to object, Carina LeMoine picked up one of the glasses and raised it toward him in a toast.
“To the future. And new alliances.” She put the glass to her lips a little too slowly. Stenberg realized he was staring at her mouth. He downed his drink.
“Another?” the bartender asked as he put his empty glass down. Stenberg didn’t answer, and the bartender appeared to interpret his silence as a yes.
Carina LeMoine leaned forward. “Not long to go now, Jesper,” she said close to his ear. “Two months to go until the election. Time to get moving. Our collaboration will be significantly more extensive from now on. After Eva Swensk’s appointment, I owe you a favor.”
Her cheek brushed his ear fleetingly. Or was it actually her lips? The back of her hand touched his thigh and stayed there for a fraction of a second.
His erection came out of nowhere and made his crotch almost ache. How long had it been since he had had sex? Three weeks? Longer? He couldn’t quite remember. He’d had other things on his mind, and Karolina didn’t usually take the initiative when it came to that.
Carina LeMoine was manipulating him—he understood that, of course. Yet he still found it hard to come up with an effective antidote.
The bartender put a fresh drink down and Stenberg took a couple of quick sips. He forced himself to put the glass down without finishing it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father-in-law approaching.
“So this is where the youngsters are having fun.”
“Hello, Karl-Erik.” Carina LeMoine kissed Stenberg’s father-in-law on the cheeks just as exaggeratedly slowly as she had kissed Stenberg, who experienced a sudden pang of something that felt oddly like jealousy.
“Jesper and I were just talking about the future and how important it is to stick together. Isn’t that right?”
Stenberg nodded. Even managed to force a smile.
“I’m reluctant to leave two such stylish gentlemen, but my company’s waiting.” Carina LeMoine nodded toward the rest of the room. “Why don’t we have lunch together soon? I’ll ask Lina to arrange something.”
“Sure. Definitely.” Stenberg squeezed out another smile.
“I actually meant Karl-Erik, but of course you and I should meet up again soon as well, Jesper.”
Fuck, straight into the trap. Stenberg tried to look untroubled, but he could feel his cheeks blush.
“Well, then, au revoir, gentlemen.” Carina LeMoine flashed her perfect teeth.
Just as she turned away, Stenberg got the impression that she winked at him. He looked at Karl-Erik to see if he’d noticed anything, but the expression on his father-in-law’s face didn’t give him any clues. Stenberg emptied his glass and nodded when the bartender gave him a quizzical look. He felt Karl-Erik take a gentle hold of his arm and spotted his shake of the head toward the bartender.
“John Thorning has been offered an ambassadorial post. It’s all been put through the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. I haven’t mentioned it to you because it was better if it looked like you weren’t involved. He’s asked for time to think.”
Stenberg murmured in reply. His head was starting to feel heavy. No one was offered an ambassador’s post just like that. Karl-Erik must have been prepared. And evidently John Thorning as well.
“The article,” he said. “Per Sörensen.”
“John saw through the offer. That article is his response. His way of raising the stakes.” Karl-Erik leaned closer to Stenberg. “John Thorning is an enemy we can’t afford right now. He could ruin more than you can imagine. Arrange to see him again next week. Play the obedient protégé for a while until we work out what it is he really wants.”
“Is he still here?” Stenberg didn’t really know why he was asking. The thought of having to fawn over John Thorning made him feel sick.
“No, he just left. Said he had to catch the morning ferry out to Sandhamn.”
Karl-Erik straightened up and patted the top of Stenberg’s arm.
“You look tired. What about going home and getting some rest?”
Stenberg shook his head.
“I just need a bit of fresh air.”
He left the bar, aiming for the nearest glass door. Fortunately the balcony was empty. He leaned against the metal railing and breathed in the summer night’s air. Looked down over the railing.
For a moment he thought he could see the silhouette of a figure lying stretched out on the pavement below. His stomach clenched and before he could stop himself he vomited straight over the railing and down into the darkness. Taken completely by surprise, he stood there for a couple of seconds as he swallowed to get rid of the bitter taste of alcohol and half-digested food. He clung to the railing and waited for his stomach to settle down.
A discreet cough made him turn around. Boman was standing in the doorway.
“I’ve been asked to drive you home, Jesper.”
Stenberg wiped his mouth with his hand and glared at him. Slicked-back hair, an impeccable dark suit with the parachute regiment’s pin on his lapel. The constant helper, always ready. Always on duty. Day and night alike.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” he said. Tried to meet the man’s unnaturally pale-blue gaze.
“Tired of what?”
“Of always doing what you’re told.”
Boman raised his eyebrows slightly. “There’s a certain satisfaction in subordinating oneself and letting someone else make the decisions. Perhaps you should try it.” He went and stood beside Stenberg, conjured a pack of Marlboros from his inside pocket, and tapped out a cigarette.
“You think I’m just a lackey, don’t you?” Boman lit the cigarette between his cupped hands.
“What else would you be?” Stenberg wasn’t in the mood for this discussion, but the alcohol and the headache pills he’d been taking at increasingly regular intervals were making his stomach turn somersaults, and he refused to let go of the railing.
Boman took a deep drag. Let the smoke out of one corner of his mouth and looked intently at Stenberg.
“I’m surprised you haven’t worked it out. You’re evidently an intelligent man.” He picked a piece of tobacco from the tip of his tongue. “I’m Karl-Erik’s confidant. The only person he trusts unconditionally. Sometimes he asks me to drive his car—you’re right about that. But more often I help him with completely different services.”
“Such as?”
Boman shrugged his shoulders.
“I keep an eye on things. I evaluate risks, solve problems. Make sure that
the party’s brand and reputation don’t get soiled. If I worked in the private sector, I’d probably have a smart office and title. Something to do with risk management or security.” He took another drag. “But both Karl-Erik and I prefer to keep a low profile. To exert influence without being seen.”
Stenberg’s stomach had calmed down slightly. He straightened up and brushed the front of his jacket.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I wanted to explain to you that you and I have something in common. The Cedergren family gave me a job when my career in the military came to an end. Welcomed me into the family, were prepared to overlook my little . . . peculiarities.”
Boman gave a wry smile.
“I’m not cut out for an average life. If it weren’t for the Cedergren family, I’d probably be dead. I’d have drunk myself to death or fired my service pistol at my temple out of sheer boredom. But Karl-Erik gave me a role, made me feel I could do something important. All I can offer him in return is my absolute loyalty.”
Boman took a last drag on the cigarette before flicking the butt off into the summer darkness.
“The way I see it, you got an even better deal. The princess, and perhaps even the whole kingdom. But that means you have to behave and not forget for a single moment who made all this possible.”
The wiry little man took hold of Stenberg’s elbow.
“Time to go home and get some rest.” His grip wasn’t aggressive but almost tender. Even so, something in Boman’s tone made Stenberg realize that it wouldn’t be a good idea to object.
Twenty-Seven
Jesper Stenberg leaned his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. He had carpet-bombed his headache with acetaminophen when he got home the previous evening, then in the morning switched to Karolina’s stronger migraine tablets from the back of the medicine cabinet. But the only effect he noticed was a numbness in the end of his nose and fingertips. And his stomach was also starting to make ominous warning signs, so any thought of lunch was out of the question. He looked at the clock. Just over two hours to go, then he could go home with an easy conscience. It was Friday, after all, and no state-run organization could be expected to go on working after three o’clock.
He had fallen asleep on the way home, although he was only faking to start with. He couldn’t bear the idea of having to listen to another installment of Boman’s lecture about how much they both owed the Cedergren family. Boman was clearly trying to stress his own importance, not least to himself. If Stenberg knew the party and its members at all, Boman’s work would consist mainly of making parking tickets disappear and stopping visits to porn clubs from appearing on parliamentary credit card accounts.
His computer and cell phone beeped simultaneously, reminding him that it was social media time. Which meant that he ought to be tweeting, or at least blogging a few lines about the previous day’s party. Post a couple of the press pictures that were already waiting in his in-box. Or why not a selfie with the prime minister?
In truth, Stenberg would rather not be reminded about yesterday evening at all. He poured a fresh glass of water from the crystal carafe. There were plenty of excuses for his behavior: the nightmares, lack of sleep, alcohol, stress. The little mind games that his boss and Carina LeMoine had been playing. John Thorning’s newspaper article and Karl-Erik’s so-called advice, which had begun to look more and more like undisguised orders. He had made a fool of himself. Karl-Erik had no doubt called Karolina that morning a matter of minutes after he had got into his Security Police car. He’d have talked about their conversation, spiced it up with Boman’s testimony, and explained how concerned he was. Stenberg loathed the way his father-in-law used that word. The way he lingered over the second syllable ever so slightly too long.
I’m conceeerned about Jesper . . .
He would have to fall into line. Book another meeting with John Thorning and listen to the old bastard’s supercilious pontificating. And as soon as that meeting was over, his father-in-law would want a report. A chess duel for the over-sixties with him as the key piece.
Stenberg almost lost his grip on the glass and spilled some water in his lap. Fucking hell! He stood up and tried frantically to wipe the water from his suit trousers. Just as he realized how ridiculous he was being, there was a knock on the door, and before he had time to answer, Oscar Wallin was standing in his room. Wallin looked at him, then at the stain in his crotch. Stenberg let his hands fall to his sides.
“I just wanted to wish you a good weekend,” Wallin said. “I’ve got a meeting out of the office this afternoon and then I’m heading off to the country. Summer in the archipelago, that’s something else, isn’t it? We all need a place where we can relax, disconnect from all our worries. John Thorning said the same thing. They’ve got a place out in Sandhamn, but I’m sure you already knew that. He went off there this morning.”
Stenberg stared at Wallin without saying anything.
“I’ll have my phone with me if anything crops up,” Wallin went on in the same brisk tone. “Have a great weekend, and see you on Monday!”
As soon as the door closed behind Wallin, Stenberg clapped one hand over his mouth and rushed toward the little basin in the corner of the room. He didn’t quite make it before the contents of his stomach forced their way out between his fingers and sprayed across the front of his jacket.
Twenty-Eight
He woke up slowly. He was in no hurry to open his eyes and lie there in the darkness for a few seconds, listening to the sounds. The fibers of the wooden walls and floor twisting as the morning sunlight warmed them. The cries of the seagulls circling over the little jetty below the house. Farther away was a boat on a Sunday outing, the sound of its motor so faint that he could only just make it out. His senses always felt sharper out here. As if the clean air blew away all distractions. Made him see things in a new way.
He kept his eyes closed and breathed in through his nose. The familiar smell of scrubbed wooden floors and rag rugs. The smell of the archipelago filtering through the old windows. Brackish water, seaweed, damp rocks slowly drying in the sun.
But then he noticed something else. A faint smell he couldn’t quite identify. Sharp, almost acrid. The drains, maybe? He’d run all the taps and flushed the toilet the moment he arrived and hadn’t seen any worrying signs of leaks. Anyway, this smell was more reminiscent of tobacco smoke. Time to find out what it was that needed repairing. He opened his eyes and looked up at the whitewashed boards in the ceiling, filled his lungs with air, and tried to get up.
The pain came out of nowhere, squeezing like a tight band around his chest and constricting his throat. He gasped for breath and contorted his body to try to make the pain stop, but the band kept getting tighter, pinning him to the mattress. His hands clasped to his chest, he could feel his heart buzzing against his sternum. It was vibrating like a pneumatic drill instead of methodically pumping oxygen around his body.
A heart attack, he thought. A fucking heart attack.
Suddenly it felt as if the ceiling were several hundred meters above him. His field of vision was shrinking, becoming a narrow tube. He had to get out of bed, find his medication. Then call for help. He managed to roll onto his side, saw the jar of pills and his phone on the bedside table. His fingers closed around the jar and he pulled it toward him and got the lid off with his teeth. He put three pills in his mouth and chewed to break them up. His mouth filled with a dry, bitter dust that he tried desperately to swallow.
The pain in his chest was getting even stronger. The tube was getting narrower; the ceiling was out of sight now. He realized he was dying. That the oxygen in his brain was running out and that everything—pain, fear, panic—would soon be over. In a way, it was a strangely comforting thought.
Twenty-Nine
Jesper Stenberg was having trouble not laughing. His smile was making his face hurt as he got up from his heavy desk chair.<
br />
“A terrible tragedy, of course. John was my role model in many ways. A good friend. Our thoughts are with his family . . .” he heard himself say into the phone. Then a lot more nonsense that seemed appropriate but which was gradually drowned out by his own thoughts.
He ended the call with one last expression of sorrow and was halfway out of the room by the time the receiver settled back into its cradle. He walked with light, almost airy steps toward the far end of the corridor.
He forced himself to stop outside Wallin’s door and take a couple of deep breaths. Then he threw it open without knocking.
Wallin had his feet crossed on the edge of his desk. It took a couple of seconds before he slowly removed them.
“Have you heard?” Stenberg said, even though he could read the answer from Wallin’s arrogant expression. The day was just getting better and better.
“Heard what?”
Stenberg drew the moment out. For the first time in months he felt completely present. As if time had slowed down slightly, giving him the chance to enjoy every aspect of his triumph. He glanced around at Wallin’s office. Photographs on the walls, a number of them of himself and Wallin together. Diplomas from various courses and colleges. In the middle of the wall was a picture that he had noticed before. A quotation that reminded him of the one Karolina had had installed in his own office.
Only those who dare to fail greatly, can ever achieve greatly.
An almost perfect summary of Wallin’s situation. He had dared everything—and now he had failed.
“John Thorning,” Stenberg said as calmly as he could. “He died yesterday morning. Had a massive heart attack out at his summer cottage. A terrible tragedy, of course. John was a close friend.”
He saw the color drain from Wallin’s face, could almost see the thoughts whirring through the man’s mind as he tried to figure out the consequences. He decided to give him a bit of help.
“Listen, now that we’re talking, there was something else I was going to mention. After the election the police are going to be placed under a Home Office minister. A new post, one which brings us into line with the rest of Europe. In purely organizational terms, the police shouldn’t be too close to prosecutors and courts. In formal terms the Home Office minister will report to me, but as of the last day of September he or she will be responsible for all police matters.”
Ultimatum Page 22
