High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  She stopped in front of him with her arms crossed. “What do you want?”

  “It’s over between Ellinor and me.”

  “Aha. And?”

  He frowned. “I don’t love her anymore. It’s over,” he explained.

  She didn’t say anything. Just stood there with her arms crossed, glaring at him like an angry tiger. Slowly it started to dawn on him that he might have miscalculated. “Are you angry?” he asked, though he knew even before she exploded that it was the wrong thing to say.

  “Am I angry? You dumped me, yelled at me, and accused me of taking revenge on you through the paper. And then you turn up wanting to talk? You’ve been flip-flopping between me and Ellinor for weeks now, but it’s too late. You can go to hell.”

  “Ambra, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” she said, her voice rising. “You’re so fucking self-righteous. Did you hear that? Self-righteous.” She practically screamed that last part. People were staring at them. He stepped toward her.

  “Calm down a little,” he said.

  “I don’t want to calm down. I’m leaving.”

  “If you can take it easy a moment, I’ll explain,” he said, grabbing her arm.

  Smack!

  He hadn’t seen it coming at all, but he definitely felt it. Ambra had slapped him, square on the face.

  “What the hell . . .” he said in surprise. It was incredible how quick she was. And strong.

  “Fuck. Off,” she said coolly, turning on her heel and storming away. He remained where he was.

  The guards in reception were now watching him with slack jaws. Phones were ringing, but no one was picking them up. The other people in the lobby were staring too. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that things hadn’t quite gone according to plan. He would go home and regroup. He gave the people staring at him a stern look and managed to avoid rubbing his cheek before he made it out onto the street. Christ, she was strong.

  * * *

  “So I guess you could say I’ve really blown it now,” Ambra said to Jill. Her hand was still smarting a bit; she had put everything she had into the slap. She gloomily played with a rose petal that had fallen from the enormous bouquet on the table in Jill’s dressing room at Konserthuset, the Stockholm Concert hall. She watched Jill struggle out of the tight dress she wore onstage. Ludvig floated around them like a blond shadow. He took the dress and hung it up.

  “Serves him right. People should slap other people more often.” Jill took off her earrings and bracelets. “Did you manage to catch any of the show?”

  Ambra shook her head. “Sorry. I was at work. I got here after the break, but they wouldn’t let me in. Though I could hear from the applause that they loved you. Sorry.”

  “It’s a long time since you last saw my show. It would be fun if you came sometime,” Jill said stiffly.

  “Sorry. It’s all been a bit much. The trip to Kiruna brought back so many tough memories, and I’m worried about those girls with the Sventins. Then this whole thing with Tom . . .”

  Jill rolled her eyes in the mirror. “Dwelling on it won’t make it any better. I told you he was no good for you, didn’t I?”

  Ambra puffed up her cheeks. Of course, Jill had to remind her of that.

  “I’ll go get some vases,” Ludvig said with a quick look at Jill. He gathered the paper and cellophane and left the dressing room.

  Jill pulled on a loose sweater and a pair of white velour sweatpants. “They’re from my new collection. They came today.”

  Jill had a number of different collections that she swore she helped design, but Ambra knew she just put her name on them and then earned a fortune: perfumes, jewelry, underwear. She glanced at the thin, pale velour.

  “Hard to imagine that would suit anyone but you. Bloggers with eating disorders, maybe?”

  “What the hell, Ambra, do you have to whine so much? First you get here late, and now you’re just sitting here moaning. Such bad vibes. Stop being so depressing. Pull yourself together.”

  “I don’t have the energy for that today. And I hate that expression.”

  “You hate all expressions.”

  The door opened, and Ludvig came back in. “You got flowers from the prince and his wife,” he said, holding up a vase of luxurious roses. He took a picture and uploaded it to Instagram.

  “Should I take one of the two of you?” he asked, holding up the cell phone.

  Ambra shook her head. She was completely exhausted. Her shift had finished today, which meant she now had five free, gray, endless days ahead of her.

  “My sister doesn’t want to be seen with me,” Jill said. She sat down in front of the mirror and started brushing her hair with quick movements. Irritation hung heavy in the air between them.

  “You look more mature with that hairstyle. It suits you,” Ambra said, thinking that would help to smooth things over.

  Jill paused and gave Ambra a look she didn’t understand.

  “What?” she asked. What had she said now?

  “Nothing.” Jill went back to brushing her hair with those same jerky movements.

  “How are things with you and Mattias?” Ambra hated that one of the main reasons she wanted to know was because Mattias was a link to Tom. She hated Tom, of course, but still.

  Jill shook her head. “There’s nothing between us. It’s over. We weren’t a good match.”

  “Are you sad?”

  Harder brushing now. “No. No reason to be.”

  Ambra studied her back. She was so pretty, her foster sister. “I wish I was more like you, that I could just move on,” she said, more or less honestly.

  Jill put down the brush with a thud and turned around. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m more superficial? Dumber?”

  “Relax,” Ambra said. “That you’re positive, you can handle breakups, move on without dwelling on things, that’s what I meant.”

  “For someone who studied so much, you aren’t so smart. Sometimes you don’t get a thing.” Jill started making a noise with the pots and brushes on her dressing table.

  “Come on, what’s up with you?” Ambra couldn’t handle Jill’s moodiness today, couldn’t bring herself to smooth things over.

  “With me? Nothing. You’re the one who came here and started moaning. You and your own problems, which are so important you can’t come to one single show.”

  “I was busy at work,” she snapped. Grace had been hounding her all afternoon. Oliver had been throwing taunts around. Everyone was on her case right now. Jill, too, apparently.

  “Men are idiots,” Jill continued, still making a noise. “What did you expect?”

  “Nothing. Let’s talk about something other than my problems if it is bothering you so much. You, maybe? Because that’s what you mean, isn’t it? That everything should be about you and your interesting life and your fucking shows. I’ve heard your songs hundreds of times. I don’t have the patience to listen to them again. But you think only of yourself and your problems, even ignore my birthday. It’s all you, you, you.” Ambra hadn’t even realized that she felt like this, that she was still angry, that she was hurt, but the words were out there now and she had no desire to take them back. Jill was selfish.

  Jill’s eyes narrowed. “I knew you were still pissed about that. Why can’t you admit it right away rather than being annoyed forever? I apologized. I bought you super-expensive clothes, you might remember. But clearly that’s not enough.”

  Ambra jumped up, felt the anger rush through her body. “Yeah, I know they were super-expensive. I knew I would get to hear about that. You bought yourself out of that one. Like always. And then I’m meant to be so fucking grateful and bow down. I hate it. I never asked for that.”

  “I’m a generous person. Is that wrong all of a sudden?”

  “But it isn’t generosity. Don’t you see? You control people with your money. You give them stuff and then expect gratitude. That’s not being generous.”

  Jill’s eyes flashed. “Fi
ne, I promise not to give you another penny. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult? Did I do something to you?”

  Ambra held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot you only talk about fun, positive things. God forbid we might have a serious conversation.”

  “Lay off with the self-important tone. Is it so wrong that I don’t want to dig deep into everything all the time? Are you happy because you get bogged down in all kinds of crap? You’re depressed the whole damn time. What’s the point of always being unhappy? Can you tell me that?”

  Ambra ran her hand through her hair in frustration. Why couldn’t Jill understand this? “I didn’t choose to be sad. It’s a normal reaction, Jill. People get sad. Is it so strange that I feel like crap after being dumped by a man I like?”

  “Ah. But you have a choice. I don’t believe in all this talking about difficult things all the time, going to psychologists, dwelling. It just makes people feel like crap. Look at you. What good does being sad do? All for this damn Tom’s sake.”

  “You don’t get a thing.”

  “No, probably because I’m so bloody stupid.”

  “Do you want me to say it? Because I will. You’re dumb, Jill. Only ever write about stupid stuff on Instagram, don’t take a position on anything. You’re uneducated, egocentric, and manipulative. Just like you’ve always been.”

  Jill pointed to the door. “I don’t need to listen to this shit. Get out. You aren’t my sister, you aren’t my family, my blood, you have no right to talk to me like that. You have no idea what pressure I’m always under to deliver new material, to perform. Get out. And stay out!”

  Ambra grabbed her jacket and purse. “I’m leaving. You can go to hell.”

  * * *

  Ambra walked away from the concert hall as though in a daze. She didn’t even remember how she got home. She was suddenly just on her street, on Västerlånggatan. She blinked away a snowflake, wiped her cheek with her glove, and got cold and wet.

  It didn’t feel like they would be able to repair what they’d just broken, she and Jill. This was the first time they had ever fought like that. They’d always swept and swept, brushing everything under the carpet until finally there was no room for anything else. She looked up, was standing outside her door. It was locked, and for a moment she panicked that she couldn’t remember the code. When she finally remembered the numbers, it took an eternity before she managed to type them in. Her hands were shaking so much that she had to start over several times before the locking mechanism clicked open and a green light told her it was unlocked. She dragged herself up the stairs, clinging to the handrail, and searched her purse for her keys.

  No mail, she saw when she opened the door, not even any junk. There was nothing waiting for her, and that was the final straw. No one sent her anything. No one called or sent messages. The tears stung behind her eyelids. No one cared. She dropped her coat, gloves, and hat onto the hallway floor; kicked off her shoes; went into the living room; lay facedown on the couch; and gave herself over to loud, ugly sobs. She cried for a while, caught her breath, and then started up again. No one loved her.

  Her nose was soon so swollen that she could breathe only through her mouth. When she sat up to gasp for air, she heard a buzzing sound. It was her cell phone. She wiped her nose with her arm, hurried out into the hallway, and fished it from her purse. Hoped it would be Jill after all. She didn’t know how she would cope without her sister. She had to wipe her eyes before she could see who’d sent the message. It was Elsa.

  I’m not doing too well. Think it’s my heart.

  Oh God, not that too. She replied: What happened?

  Her eyes didn’t leave the screen.

  I collapsed. I’m in the hospital. But don’t worry.

  But it was too late. Ambra pressed her hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Elsa. She had forgotten Elsa. There was no point crying anymore; she had to come up with a plan. That was always the best way forward. She sniffed, knew what she needed to do. She was going to Elsa’s side. Back to Kiruna. Again.

  Chapter 56

  “It’s actually fucking depressing,” Tom said as he scanned the list of names.

  “In what way?” Mattias asked as he placed a black bag on the table.

  Mattias’s copy of the list was already burned, the smell of smoke still hanging in the air. Each of them knew it by heart, and Tom would burn his copy before they set off.

  “In every way, I guess,” Tom replied, tearing the scrap of paper to shreds and dropping it into an empty jar. “But the fact they’re ordinary people, guys we’d meet every day. It’s disturbing.”

  He had expected they would be mentally unstable people who hated and threatened any woman who took up space, disturbed men removed from society. But the names on their list were ordinary men with ordinary jobs.

  A doctor who wrote such hate-filled threats that Tom initially thought he must be psychotic. A local politician with extreme right-wing views who regularly threatened female journalists, bloggers, and other prominent women with rape, mutilation, and torture. A guy in finance who spent his nights on the Flashback forums, a journalist who was also the leading agitator on online right-wing opinion sites like Avpixlat and Fria Tider. A cultured, middle-aged man who seemed to hate feminists as much as he loved girls who were far too young for him.

  Using a lighter, Tom set fire to the pieces of paper in the jar. Sometimes he lost faith in his own sex. “There are people who think men should have their voting rights taken away for a few years,” he pondered. It was something he had read somewhere. Or maybe Ambra had said it to him once. A feeling of gloom washed over him.

  “Probably wouldn’t do any harm,” Mattias said, but Tom had forgotten what they were talking about. He watched the last few scraps of paper burn and remembered that they were discussing men who behaved like assholes. He just wished he had been a little less of an asshole to Ambra. The best he could do right now was to take all those feelings and channel them into this new task. “It’s messed up that these douchebags can carry on like they do. There’s so little we can actually do about it. But aside from that . . .” He trailed off, made sure everything was burned.

  Mattias grinned as he dropped a map of Sweden into his bag. “I know. Aside from the fact this is all so much fun.”

  Tom nodded. It was fun. Illegal, possibly foolhardy. Crazy even, but cool. Mattias would lose his job if it ever came out, and Tom would probably be dragged through the press again. But he wasn’t worried. They could do this. Calculated risks and secret operations were their life’s blood, their field of expertise.

  They had checked and double-checked the list, added some names and taken others away. Thought about it and come up with tough inclusion criteria that they bounced back and forth. There had to be serious, specific threats, they decided, not just generalized, confused hatred. The threats had to have been systematic and made over a long period. The people making the threats also had to be legal adults, and they had set a lower age limit of twenty-five, just to be on the safe side, and an upper limit of sixty. The men must have been told to stop several times but refused.

  After they came up with a list of the hundred worst online trolls and haters in Sweden, they had to sift through them again, and now their list consisted of a handful of the very worst men in the country. Men who genuinely threatened freedom of speech and democracy. Men who systematically silenced female voices and whom the judicial system couldn’t, or hadn’t, tried to touch.

  “Not one of them threatens other men.”

  “No, it’s totally messed up. I’ve looked carefully. But it’s as though they hate women. Lots of them hate immigrants and Muslims, too—it seems to go hand in hand—but it’s the women they go after. Several of them have criminal records, of course. Almost exclusively violence against girlfriends or wives. Assholes, like we said.”

  After they’d compiled their list, they had planned their raids, brought in a couple of old friends, come up with a time line and alter
native plans. They found themselves easily slipping back into their old areas of expertise. Tom weighed a knife in his hand. He and Mattias had been on hundreds of similar missions, both smaller and considerably larger operations. This wasn’t even particularly difficult. He shoved the knife into a holster on his back and studied the equipment on the table in front of him, which they were now going through one last time. It was always a case of balance, what they took with them on an operation, trying to work out what they might need, weighing the pros and cons of each item. He grabbed a set of brass knuckles. They looked painful.

  “Just to frighten them,” Mattias explained. Tom turned over the heavy weapon in his hand, tried to remember whether he had ever used one. He put it down and picked up a pistol.

  “If we get arrested, this could be tricky to explain,” he said drily.

  “You planning to get arrested?”

  Tom felt the weight of the pistol, a Glock 17, in his hand. He was rarely armed, but it was a good weapon—simple and robust. “I guess it could be good to have. But no shooting, right?”

  “Obviously not. You can stop worrying now,” Mattias replied, bending down over a map of southern Sweden. They had looked into construction, planned alternate routes and agreed on meeting places in case they got separated. It was a simple job, but they were experienced enough to know that even the simplest of operations could escalate into catastrophe, and so they checked, double-checked, and triple-checked everything.

  Tom opened a package containing a brand-new cell phone. They would be leaving their own phones in Stockholm, and each had bought a burner phone with a prepaid SIM from a different store. They would use one for each operation and then destroy them and throw them in the trash. Mattias checked his usual smartphone, turned the sound on and off, as though he was making sure it worked.

  “How are things with Jill?” Tom asked. He assumed that was what it was about, mostly because he realized he had done something similar several times over the past few days. It was lucky he had both this operation and the crisis at work to deal with. Otherwise he probably wouldn’t have done anything else.