High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “Thanks, it’s a fucking mess.”

  “Do you know where they got the information from?” He didn’t say any more, but Tom knew he must have seen Ambra’s name. His anger mixed with feelings of guilt.

  “This is my fault.”

  “Okay. Understood. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  They continued the meeting in the conference room, ordered in salads, drew up guidelines on the whiteboard. Every now and then, someone would disappear to make an important call. Information continued to flow in during the day. They lost another two clients, but they also managed to reach all of their operatives, and Tom breathed a sigh of relief once each of them reported back that they were safe. By six that evening, even the most stubborn journalists stopped calling. Other stories had taken over.

  Some of the staff went home, a few went away to work out. Tom was reading through reports and protocols when he realized his cell phone was ringing. The sound was muted, but when he saw it was his mother, he answered with a stifled sigh. He had completely forgotten her.

  “Tom? What exactly is going on?”

  “Did the press call you?” He felt ice cold, hadn’t thought about that. But his mother had changed her name when she married, his sisters, too, so they should be safe. If Ambra had put his family in danger, he didn’t know whether he could be responsible for his actions. He ran his hand over his face.

  “No, I’m just calling because I’m worried. You’re still my boy.”

  That made him smile. He was almost two meters tall, weighed just shy of 250 pounds, and had enemies on four continents. “A journalist set me up.”

  “Didn’t she have a similar name, the girl you were seeing?”

  Johanna came in and gave him a questioning glance. “I’m trying to fix it. I have to get back to work, Mom.”

  “We’ll see what happens tomorrow,” Johanna said once he hung up. “Maybe you should make a statement after all?”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling a new wave of irritation. He had always managed to keep a low profile, but suddenly his name and picture were everywhere. It felt goddamn uncomfortable.

  “How is your family taking it?” Johanna asked.

  He shrugged. Ellinor had called, but he’d sent her a message telling her not to worry and she hadn’t been in touch since.

  He glanced at his watch. It was probably time to do the one thing he had been putting off all day. He took out his cell phone, grabbed a bottle of water, moved over to the window, and called Ambra. He heard the rings, one after one, and he wondered whether she would be a coward and avoid him. But the call went through.

  “Hi,” she said. Her voice was composed.

  “Are you happy now? You got your scoop.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I know you’re upset.”

  “Upset? That’s one way of putting it.”

  “I can hear that you’re angry, and I understand that. But would you let me explain? They took the story away from me.”

  “You took pictures in Kiruna. And you talked about things I told you in confidence, didn’t you? Or did I misunderstand that too?” How did she have the stomach to try to push this onto others?

  “The picture was a mistake. I took it for my own personal use. I’m sorry. And I confided in my boss, that’s all. You have no idea what it’s like at the paper. Oliver Holm wants the same job I do, and he went behind my back. I’m as shocked as you are.”

  He very much doubted that. “So now you’re risking other people’s lives for a story? One that’s false?”

  “But is it? Can’t I at least write that, if that’s the case? Put everything right?”

  “You’ve got some fucking nerve. Are you sure this isn’t just revenge on your part?”

  “For what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. Ellinor turns up and then I’m hung out to dry in your rag? I didn’t expect it from you, that you could be so fake, so two-faced.”

  “But I . . .”

  “You know what?” he interrupted her. “I hope that Oliver guy gets the job. And I hope you go to hell.” He was shaking as he hung up.

  “Is everything okay?” Johanna had stuck her head around the door.

  Tom turned around. “Fine, thanks. Good work today.”

  She blushed slightly. He didn’t think he had seen Johanna blush before. “Are you headed home?” he asked.

  “Unless you need anything else?”

  “You go,” he said. There were still plenty of people in the office, but the atmosphere was slightly calmer now. His employees were at their most focused when they were surrounded by chaos, so after the initial shock they had shifted into another gear. Even those who weren’t scheduled to work had come in to help out. Everyone had been incredible, and he was proud of them.

  His phone buzzed on the desk. He turned it over. A message from Mattias: Want to grab a beer?

  He was about to say no, automatically. But then he felt it could be good to talk to someone who knew how it was. Say what you liked about Mattias, but he would understand this kind of thing. Tom replied that it sounded good.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Tom was sitting with his back to the wall in a bar on Hornsgatan. The place was practically empty.

  Mattias had chosen the bar deliberately, Tom was sure of it. They used to come here when they were younger. The food was cheap, the portions were big, and the beer was good. He was smart like that, Mattias. He was also manipulative and stubborn. But Tom was tired of being angry, he realized.

  “Tough day?” Mattias asked.

  “Ambra tricked me,” Tom said, rubbing his forehead.

  “Oh? How?”

  Tom gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard?”

  Mattias slowly put down his glass. “Depends what you’re talking about. I read a long article by an Oliver Holm in Aftonbladet.”

  “Ambra has to be behind it,” was all Tom said.

  Mattias gave him a long, thoughtful look. “So, let me guess. You’ve broken it off.”

  “And you think that’s wrong?”

  “It’s not my place to think anything.”

  “Lay off. Of course you think. It’s the only thing you do.”

  “You do have a tendency to do this,” Mattias said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You did it to me.”

  “You betrayed me.” Did he really have to point that out again?

  Mattias stroked his chin and looked as if he was about to explain something to a stubborn child. “Okay, listen to me now. When I gave evidence against you—about a hundred years ago now—I did it to protect the unit. We wouldn’t have survived a scandal like that. I was told to do it.”

  Tom stared at him. “So why didn’t you say anything?”

  Mattias sighed deeply. “Tom, I did, several times. But you wouldn’t listen. Sometimes, when you get hurt, or offended, you don’t listen. You made up your mind to feel betrayed. And you were, I know that. But I did it for the sake of the unit. I think you would have done the same.”

  “No, I would never have sold you out. I would’ve damn well died for you, for my men.”

  Mattias lifted a peanut to his mouth and chewed slowly. “You’ve always had a dramatic side. I know you would’ve given your life for a comrade. I would’ve too, at least for you. But if it was a choice between betraying a friend or saving the unit? Think about it. Plus, things have gone well for you, and it was a long time ago. When are you planning to get over it?”

  “Now you’re making it sound like I bear a grudge.” Tom had never thought of himself like that.

  “Sometimes you do,” Mattias said evenly.

  Tom took a swig of his beer. “You lied.”

  Mattias shrugged. “We’re a lying bunch.”

  “You sold me out.”

  “For the unit. You do the same, every day. Sacrifice the individual for the good of the group. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. You know the diffe
rence between right and wrong, you have ideals, you do the right thing without looking for confirmation, you fight for a better world.”

  “But?”

  “Sometimes you can be a tad self-righteous.”

  Tom leaned back against the wall. Stared at Mattias and felt himself yield. Was he self-righteous? “I don’t know if I can forgive,” he said.

  “Of course you can. You just have to decide to.”

  “I can’t think about it now anyway. I have more important things on my mind.”

  “The paper? To hell with it. It’ll blow over.”

  Their food arrived, huge burgers with french fries. Mattias ordered two more beers. They waited until they were alone again.

  It felt good to sit there like that. He had missed Mattias, much more than he realized. Imagine if he followed Mattias’s advice? Maybe he could decide to move on, force himself to?

  They ate their food and didn’t talk about anything in particular. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into old routines. To relax. To be friends.

  “That was good,” Tom said, studying his friend. But Mattias had something else on his chest, he could feel it. He waved to the waiter for more beers, and waited.

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” Mattias said after a moment, confirming his suspicions.

  “What?”

  “A domestic operation.”

  “Military?” Tom asked. It was a long time since Mattias was last active in the field.

  Mattias frowned. “Not exactly. I want to go after Swedish net haters.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the field?”

  “Yeah.”

  Something didn’t quite fit. “You and your new team?”

  “No, it’s a private initiative.”

  “From who?”

  “From me.”

  Tom gave Mattias a questioning look. “Is this a sanctioned operation we’re talking about?” he eventually asked.

  Mattias shook his head. His eyes didn’t leave Tom’s.

  “Is it legal?” Tom asked, though he suspected he knew the answer. Against his will, he was curious.

  “Not even slightly.”

  “How big a team are we talking about?”

  “What do you think?”

  Tom couldn’t help it—his old instinct reared its head. He and Mattias had done that kind of thing before, domestic operations. Though never without the law on their side. “What does it involve?”

  “I’m going to make sure justice is done. I’ve managed to localize several of the worst online trolls in Sweden. These are people who threaten and harass women.”

  “Sounds like something for the police. The military doesn’t get involved in that kind of thing.”

  Mattias waved his hand dismissively. “The police had their chance. These are cases that get dropped, for lack of evidence or resources. But I have addresses. I know who they are. It would practically be an act of charity to disarm them. Our job is to protect democracy, not practice it.”

  “But we’re not some vigilante group.”

  “True.”

  Tom was silent. It was tempting, he had to admit it.

  “What’s the goal?”

  “Just to scare the shit out of them, make them stop.”

  “Like some kind of social deed, then?”

  “Exactly.”

  “A small team. Someone keeping watch, someone driving? And then us.”

  “Yup. I think you’ll find one of the target names particularly interesting. A man who’s been at it for years. He’s harassed a number of female journalists, among other things. He doesn’t post anything under his own name, but he’s one of the leading voices on a right-wing extremist opinion site called Avpixlat, as well as various closed Facebook groups. I’d say he’s a real threat to democracy.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Mattias smirked. “You’re really going to like this.”

  Chapter 52

  Ambra hadn’t thought she could feel any worse than she already did, but that presumption was proved wrong the very next day. Oliver Holm continued his revelations about Lodestar and Tom, using the knife of investigative journalism to tear his victim to shreds. And regardless of what Ambra thought of Oliver as a person, he knew how to do his job.

  He interviewed military researchers and various other experts who, without exception, spoke negatively about private security firms. Key phrases like “violence without responsibility” and “moral gray zones” were bandied about over and over again. If you read his reports carefully, between the lines, it became clear that Lodestar Security Group had never been involved in any of the worrying examples the experts brought up, but it made no difference. Because of the context and the angle of the text, the firm still took the hit.

  This was the downside to the kind of paper she worked for, and the thing Ambra hated most of all about her own profession: the sensationalism and pursuit of the victim whenever the press smelled blood. It was one thing to watch and criticize power—that was their job, and she did it at least as ruthlessly as Oliver Holm—but it was something entirely different to shape sentences and hide facts to support your own theory.

  She scrolled through the report with a rock in her stomach. Two images of Tom kept reoccurring. First, the one she’d found when she’d Googled David Hammar. Tom was still bearded there. The picture had been blown up and was slightly grainy, but it was so familiar that she wanted to reach out and stroke the screen. And then the picture she’d taken using her cell phone, for her own personal use. How could they publish that?

  Tom would never forgive her. They had published what little information they had in a small text box. Tom’s age. His middle name. The fact he used to work abroad. Oliver hadn’t found any more than that. But it was enough. Ambra’s heart ached. That private, serious man who had endured so much. Exposed and strung up, and all because of her stupidity. She placed a hand on her chest and massaged. It hurt so much.

  She checked her phone, was waiting for a message from a press secretary, but noticed she had a message from an unknown number instead. She opened it and gasped for breath.

  You fucking whore. Do everyone a favor and kill yourself.

  She didn’t want to look at the image they had sent, but she saw it anyway. An awful picture of a dead woman hanging from a rope. With shaking fingers, she deleted it from her screen.

  “Is everything okay?” It was Grace who asked. She had appeared by Ambra’s desk without a sound.

  Ambra turned over her phone, suppressed her reaction, had no desire to appear frightened or vulnerable in front of Grace. Instead, she nodded to the computer screen, where the report was open. “How long is this going to go on?”

  Grace crossed her arms. “Their lawyer called. Threatened to sue us.”

  “Can they?”

  “No, I checked with our lawyers. We haven’t printed any false information.”

  “But the angle is so ugly.”

  “This is a tabloid. But we won’t do any more.”

  “That didn’t wash?”

  “It did, but not for more than we’ve already printed.”

  “I regret saying anything to you.”

  “And I wish you’d written it.” Grace thoughtfully glanced at the screen and shook her head. “It’s a damn good story. You should’ve taken the chance. I just found out that we’re having a reorganization in spring. Everyone will have to reapply for their jobs.”

  Ambra had to assume that would be the death blow for her career. Oliver had stolen her story. The one Grace thought she was too much of a coward to write. That she just wasn’t hungry enough.

  “They didn’t kill any civilians in Chad,” Ambra said.

  “You know that?”

  She nodded. “Tom told me.”

  “And you trust him?”

  “Yeah, I do. I also talked to Karsten this morning. The killings happened a thousand kilometers away. I told you I wanted to wait.”


  “Hmm. There you have it. Still, we haven’t formally done anything wrong.”

  Other than dragging Tom and Lodestar through the dirt in the country’s biggest paper.

  Grace walked away. Ambra remained where she was, feeling totally downcast.

  Jesus, she really had blown it now. Even if she had sat down and written a plan for The Best Way to Destroy My Life, she wouldn’t have managed quite so well. Somehow, she had lost both Tom and, in all likelihood, her job.

  What had Ellinor and Tom been doing since Friday? Making love, laughing? Talking and straightening things out? Gotten engaged again, maybe? At least they could hate her together now. These thoughts hurt so much, they were the mental equivalent of poking at an open wound.

  He had been so angry. She guessed she should be angry in return. And she was, but most of all, she was sad.

  AMBRA VINTER DUMPED AGAIN.

  That was the headline of her life.

  Chapter 53

  Mattias was thinking about Jill. He did that nowadays, had spoken with her every day since he’d gone out to her house. At first it was with the excuse that he wanted to see how she was doing after the intruder, the police, and that whole debacle. But by the third evening, Jill was firm in her claim that she was over it now, and ever since he had been calling just because he enjoyed talking with her.

  They had even been out for dinner again, when he’d taken her to his favorite place at Östermalm, so he supposed he could say that they were dating now. They hadn’t had sex that evening, but it had definitely been in the air.

  Jill was the first woman in his life for some time, and he liked her a lot. They seemed to be on roughly the same wavelength—busy, experienced, focused. The question was how well she would fit into his heavily regulated love life. He realized it sounded a little self-important, but no one had ever complained.

  He opened the computer, loaded Skype, and called her. She was the one to suggest they use Skype that evening. He’d protested automatically.

  “I’m not at all comfortable leaving a digital trail like that,” he’d argued.

  Jill had burst out laughing and said something about how the government probably had more interesting conversations to eavesdrop on, and that was that.