High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “Do you have a minute?” he asked.

  Ambra nodded for him to sit down opposite her. He folded his tall body into the chair and slid closer.

  “Are you still interested in Chad?” he asked.

  “What did you find out?” she replied, without revealing that she hadn’t given Chad a single thought lately.

  “That area we talked about. Apparently there was some kind of attack there.”

  “What kind of attack?”

  “Rumor is that foreign soldiers turned up, killed civilians, raped women. Awful.” Karsten leaned back and studied her with a thoughtful look. There was more, she could see it.

  “There are links to a Swedish security firm, which makes the whole thing considerably more interesting from our point of view. You asked me about Swedish security firms before?”

  Ambra nodded, couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Had Tom’s unit murdered civilians in Chad? Raped women? It couldn’t be true. Tom had talked about his morals, guaranteed that no innocents were killed, and she had believed him. Had he lied to her? How many Chadian lives was one Swedish doctor worth? Did Isobel know? David Hammar? If this was true, it was dynamite.

  Karsten continued in a thoughtful tone. “I did some research. It does actually seem that individuals from a Swedish security company may have been in the area at the time the attack took place. I guess you already suspect which?”

  “Say it anyway.” Her voice was weak. She grabbed her coffee and drank the last ice-cold drops. And she hadn’t thought her day could get any worse. It was like Grace always said: Things could always be worse.

  “Lodestar Security Group,” he said.

  She wanted to throw up.

  Jesus Christ.

  She stared at Karsten, didn’t know what to say.

  She needed time to process all this. There were so many uncertain variables, of course.

  But still.

  It was awful.

  Tom Lexington must be dumb if he didn’t realize she would find this information.

  “What are your sources?” she asked, because that was crucial in this context.

  “They’re weak,” he said. “Plenty of it’s unconfirmed. That was why I wanted to check with you. I wouldn’t write anything based on this alone, but maybe you have more.” He got up and stretched his long arms. “I’ve gotta get back,” he said, disappearing.

  Ambra remained where she was, trying to process the facts as objectively as she could. The information was uncertain, to say the least. There were so many people who tried to spread disinformation. She needed a second opinion. She looked over to Grace. “Could we talk? I need to bounce an idea off you.”

  They sat down in one of the conference rooms, and she told Grace everything.

  Aside from the fact that she had slept with Tom, of course. And nothing about them dating. Or going to a party, or a sauna, or watching the Northern Lights together; almost everything, in other words.

  Grace leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, and closed her eyes: “A Swedish former elite soldier who first raped and killed civilians abroad, then got held captive? And a Swedish woman being rescued? I’m not going to deny, it’s interesting.” She opened her eyes and looked at Ambra. “Do you want to write it? An ‘Aftonbladet Reveals,’ maybe? It could be really damn good. And just between us, this is precisely what you need.”

  Yes, Ambra had thought the same. A report like this would almost guarantee her a place on the Investigative desk and recognition from Dan Persson. Maybe even the Swedish Grand Prize for Journalism, her own private Holy Grail. “I’m not sure. I think I want to wait until I know more.”

  “Okay,” Grace said, taking her feet down from the table and getting up. “But it does sound interesting.”

  “Grace, while I’m here anyway . . .” Ambra started. But Grace must have known where she was heading. She sighed loudly. “If it’s that foster home thing again, then no, no, and no.”

  “What if I get more info?” Ambra couldn’t give up; it felt more important than anything.

  Grace waved her hand absentmindedly. “Sure, fine, maybe we can talk again then. You need to go now. I’m being interviewed by one of those damn weekly four-color magazines.”

  Back at her desk, Ambra wrote a quick article about the weather—she wondered how many of those she had written over the years—and then, just before the second editorial meeting of the day, she got a message. It was from Elsa.

  Heard anything else about the picture I sent?

  She had completely forgotten it. Ugh, falling in love sucked. It took up far too much time. How could she have forgotten the girls? She was ashamed.

  Not yet.

  Ambra opened the picture Elsa had sent a few days earlier, the unknown man Esaias was talking to. Again, a small bell started ringing at the very back of her mind, as though she really had seen him before. She drummed her fingers impatiently.

  She went over to the coffee machine. Stood there awhile, eavesdropping on different conversations. Thinking. Came up with something. Quickly went back to her desk, put in her earphones, and dialed Henrik Ståhl’s number.

  “Hey,” he replied warmly. “How are you?”

  “I’m calling about work,” she said apologetically.

  “Shoot.”

  Something he’d said while they sat together getting drunk had made its way through the alcohol haze and popped into her head. “You mentioned you had an advanced image search program, right? Is it something I could borrow?”

  “Send me the picture and I’ll run it for you.”

  “You sure? Even though we’re competitors?”

  “Let me be your knight in shining armor—it’s not often that we Dagens Nyheter, Daily News, guys get the chance.”

  Ambra sent him the picture. Not long after, as she was on her way to the afternoon’s editorial meeting, he replied:

  His name’s Uno Aalto. Barely a trace online. But we managed to do a deep web search and then he turned up. He’s a so-called “demon exorcist” from Finland.

  For a moment, she thought Henrik was messing with her. But she opened the information he sent her, scrolled through everything while the others sat down. It was true. Uno Aalto was a genuine, old-fashioned, crazy Laestadian exorcist. Who associated with Esaias. And she remembered where she had seen him before. On the notice board outside the church. Every warning bell in her body was ringing.

  “Ambra?” The voice belonged to Grace; she sounded insistent. Apparently she’d asked a question.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear,” she was forced to say. Oliver gave her a snide look while Grace repeated the question. How had she ended up on the same shift as Oliver Holm? There were so many reporters she never got to see. Couldn’t Oliver take one of their shifts instead?

  With a dark look at Ambra, Grace continued the meeting. They talked about headlines, front pages, and angles, things Ambra usually loved to discuss, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

  Oliver droned on about something he wanted to write. Ambra yawned into her hand; she was exhausted.

  “What about you, Ambra? Do you have anything?” Grace’s voice shook her. It felt almost as if she’d nodded out.

  “I just found out that an exorcist has arrived in Kiruna. I want to investigate that.”

  Grace raised a slender eyebrow.

  Oliver snorted. “Isn’t that the same old rope? Didn’t we finish off that one last time?”

  Ambra gave Oliver her most poisonous look. She knew she wasn’t at her most socially competent that afternoon, but she was hungover, being provoked, and in love with someone who might well be a crazy psychopath; she didn’t have the energy to be nice to Oliver on top of that.

  She had to find something, otherwise she could forget about that job on the Investigative desk.

  “It’s an important story about kids who are at risk,” she said coolly.

  “Could you tell us about Chad instead?” Grace suggested.

  Ambra gave her a startle
d look and shook her head. She had said she wanted to wait.

  “It’s too good not to keep digging. Illegal. Secret. That kind of article is precisely what we want. That’s evening paper material.”

  “But I don’t want to write it, not yet.”

  It was still unconfirmed, felt speculative, almost dirty. All the same, it was truly ironic that she was sitting here, possibly sacrificing her career, all so as not to tar a man who had been so careless with her feelings.

  If Tom and his men were responsible for those attacks, then they would be charged, of course. But so far, the details were too vague. And she couldn’t actually believe Tom would have been involved in something like that.

  Once the meeting was over, everyone left the room. Everyone but Oliver, who stayed behind with Grace. Ambra watched them talk, intensely, and she left with the sense that she was missing something vital.

  She grabbed her phone the minute she was out of the room.

  This time, Lotta answered immediately. “Yes?” she said, curt and distant.

  “Did you get my message?” Ambra asked. She had texted earlier, sent the picture.

  She received a long-drawn-out sigh in response. “I thought it was a bad joke. An exorcist? You need to stop this.”

  “But you need to keep an eye on those two kids. This changes the situation.”

  “Except for the fact there are no exorcists.”

  “I can send you the information I have,” Ambra offered.

  “Or you can listen to me: If you don’t stop calling, I’ll report you.”

  And with those words, Lotta hung up.

  Ambra spent the rest of the afternoon writing, anxiety like a knot in her chest. When she left the office, Oliver was still at his desk. Grace was bent over him, and they were having a hushed conversation.

  The next day passed in much the same way, other than the fact that Tom didn’t try to call her. She worked, went home. Then she slept, uneasily; got up early; and walked through the cold winter air to work. Yawned, turned on her computer, checked what was going on in the world.

  The first hour was quiet.

  But at eight o’clock, all hell broke loose.

  The morning’s lead article rolled out with huge, black, roaring letters:

  SWEDISH MERCENARIES MURDER CIVILIANS. TERROR IN CHAD.

  Ambra read the headline and frowned. It couldn’t be . . . ?

  No.

  She brought up the article. Read it with a growing sense of panic. This was her story. But in different words. With a spin she would never have chosen. Harsh word choices, insinuating angles, aggressive claims.

  About Tom. About Lodestar Security Group. About secret military units, private elite soldiers. About weapons and illegal operations. And pictures, dear God, her pictures. The ones she’d taken in Tom’s study in Kiruna.

  Ambra’s heart was beating so hard as she read that she thought she would explode. Words and phrases jumped out at her like accusing index fingers.

  Doctor Isobel De la Grip was kidnapped.

  Aftonbladet has tried to reach Tom Lexington for comment.

  Je–sus. Christ.

  Oliver Holm’s name appeared in the byline. He had a new author photo, she noticed, much bigger than before. It was his name on the article. But the information, the pictures, the responsibility, that was all hers.

  This was nothing less than a catastrophe.

  She looked over at Grace, who was standing by her screen, absorbed by it. “What have you done?”

  There was still a part of her that thought it was all a macabre joke, a cruel prank, or maybe a nightmare.

  “Oliver Holm wanted to write that piece. He’s done something similar before, he had a source within the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, so we decided to go ahead. You said you didn’t want it, so I gave it to him.”

  “I told you I wasn’t sure about the information,” Ambra said as sharply as she could, but her voice trembled toward the end.

  “Oliver talked to Karsten and came to a different conclusion. He wanted to write it. I gave him the green light and all the info. It doesn’t belong to you.”

  “What about the pictures?” Those were hers, at the very least. Then she remembered she had emptied her cell phone. Had the pictures ended up on the paper’s server? Shit.

  Grace’s dark eyes narrowed, a boss’s look. “You took those pictures for the paper, Ambra, on your work phone. Aftonbladet owns them. Oliver took them from your work computer. But you’ve been given all picture credit.”

  That wasn’t quite Ambra’s point.

  So now her name was linked to an article that would hit Tom like a grenade. The headline was already online, but that was just the beginning. She knew that. This had the potential to develop into a full-blown mass media storm, a veritable massacre. And the victim would be Tom. She didn’t know what she was most afraid of, that the information was correct or that it was an exaggeration. Both scenarios were catastrophes, just in different ways.

  By nine that morning, the phones started to ring. The media industry and news agencies had woken up and smelled blood.

  Ambra just wanted to hide. But this wasn’t even the worst part.

  What would happen when Tom read it?

  Chapter 51

  Tom had just left the apartment for the gym when his cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket. It was work. He answered and heard a noticeably shaken Johanna on the other end of the line. There were raised voices in the background, which was unusual in itself. Lodestar Security Group distinguished itself by its calm discretion. Tom had never even heard anyone raise their voice—they were professionals, and people listened without their needing to shout.

  “Have you seen the papers?” Johanna asked.

  “No. What’s going on?”

  “We’re about to be hanged by Aftonbladet.”

  He stopped. “What?”

  “It’s completely crazy here,” said Johanna. Her voice almost broke.

  “I’m coming in.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s probably best if you do,” she said, hanging up without a good-bye.

  * * *

  When Tom made it to the office twenty minutes later, he was angrier than he ever remembered being. He had scanned through aftonbladet.se before he climbed into the car, been forced to turn his phone to silent, but he listened to the news on the radio as he drove. There was a piece on them. It was surreal. So this was what Ambra had been up to while she wasn’t answering his calls.

  “The phones are going crazy,” Johanna said the minute he stepped into the office. There were phones ringing everywhere, people talking into headsets, and the noise level was high. People who had been to war, worked under the worst conditions imaginable, now looked shaken.

  “That’s not even the worst thing,” Johanna said with a gloomy frown.

  “Clients have started jumping ship?” Tom asked.

  She nodded. “That too. But even worse: We’ve had to call off an operation in Haiti. We couldn’t guarantee our operatives any longer.”

  “We’ll have to call people home. We need to go through every operation, check who we have out in the field. As soon as we know that, someone needs to start looking at plane tickets.”

  “I’ve prepared the big conference room. The others are waiting in there.”

  “Thanks, Johanna.”

  “No problem, boss. Good to have you here, despite the circumstances.”

  Tom greeted his colleagues and coworkers in the conference room. Ordinarily, things would have been relaxed, but today the room was filled with downcast faces and tense jaws. As people spread out around the table, the seat at the end was left free. Tom sat down there. He had been their boss for so long, they trusted him and expected him to take charge. And Tom knew it was his fault this had even happened. It wasn’t Ambra’s name beneath the article, but much of the material had come from her. And as though he needed any further proof of her involvement, her name appeared beneath several of the images illustratin
g the report. One of which she must have taken in the house in Kiruna.

  He was so damn angry that he was almost afraid of what he would do.

  “The net’s already run amok. We’ll do what we can, but it doesn’t look good,” one of their IT experts said. “All of our bigger clients have been in touch. They want explanations.”

  “We need to call each of the clients,” Tom said. They would have to draw up a list of priorities to limit the damage. It would take years to undo what Ambra had done.

  Their Iraq chief got up and started to write everyone’s suggestions on the whiteboard. They would also have to call every single one of their operatives, they decided, those men and women working out in the world, and come up with an action plan for each of them.

  “We need someone handling the media,” the head of human resources pointed out.

  Tom pulled a face. They didn’t have a press officer for the simple reason that they wanted nothing to do with the press, but that was hardly an option right now. They decided Johanna would be responsible for that. She nodded grimly, and Tom felt a rush of pride. These people he worked with, they were the best on earth. There was no fucking way he was going to let a sensation-seeking journalist ruin it for them. They did important work, hadn’t done anything wrong, and he wouldn’t let them be dragged through the dirt. He was so furious that he wanted to head down to Aftonbladet and scream at Ambra until she was so shamed that she crept back into the sewer.

  When they took a short break, Alexander De la Grip called.

  “What’s going on?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” said Tom. “We’re working to control the damage now.”

  “Isobel is a total wreck. She’s terrified she’s going to lose Marius.”

  “I know. I’m already working on it.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you kept me updated.”

  Goddamn it. This didn’t just affect him. It had an impact on a huge number of others. How could he have failed to see this coming?

  David Hammar called next. “I just wanted to say that I’m here, if you need anything,” he said.