Лейф Перссон - Another Time, Another Life

“What do you think, dear?” asked Johansson.

“What do you think?” Johansson’s wife countered in that way he sometimes had a hard time with. “I’m not the one who’s going to be a secret agent,” she added, smiling in that other way he had never had any problem with whatsoever.

“If he had asked me twenty years ago I would have thrown him out,” said Johansson, whatever that had to do with it, given that the question had been asked a few days ago.

“Do you think we need a secret police force?” his wife asked, looking at him with curiosity.

“It’s clear we need a secret police force,” said Johansson with a conviction that didn’t feel quite genuine. For we do need it, don’t we? he thought. Of course we need SePo, don’t we?

“Okay then,” said his wife, shrugging her shoulders. “Because we need a secret police force and you’re an excellent police officer — and a respectable person who lives a respectable life, at least since you met me — then I guess the only answer is yes.”

Why does she look so amused? thought Johansson. I don’t understand women. They’re not like us, he thought.

“You’re not pulling my leg?”

“Would I ever pull your leg?” his wife teased. “What does Bo say, by the way?”

“Jarnebring,” said Johansson with surprise. “Why do you wonder that? I don’t care what he thinks about it.”

“Aye, aye, aye,” said his wife, shaking her head at the same time that she seemed highly amused. “Little Bosse doesn’t want to play with his best buddy anymore.”

“He says I’m too old,” said Johansson curtly. There she goes again, he thought.

“Do you know something?” His wife looked at him.

Johansson just shook his head. Best to bide your time a little, he thought.

“Do you remember that old comic strip about those two rascals, Knoll and Tott?”

“Yes,” said Johansson hesitantly.

“That’s you and Bo,” she said. “You’re just like Knoll and Tott. Or were their names Pigge and Gnidde?”

“I don’t remember,” said Johansson. Women are definitely not like us, he thought. “On a different note,” Johansson continued, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. “Forget about that for now. What do you want to do this evening? Dinner? A movie? Or...” Johansson moved his shoulders in a manner that was clear enough.

“First I think we should go out to eat — we have to celebrate your new job. Then maybe we can go to a movie — there’s actually one I want to see. And then... a little... or what? Was that what you said? You’re shy too. Do you know that? Yes, maybe... we’ll see.”

“Good,” said Johansson, getting up quickly. “That’s what we’ll do then. I just have to shower first.” How beautiful she is, he thought, and then he leaned over and placed his hand on her slender neck. She had a hollow there, right at the hairline, that seemed made for his right thumb.

“Go shower now,” said his wife, releasing herself from his grip. “I have to start powdering my nose if we’re going to make it to the movie too.”

Wonder what kind of film it is? thought Johansson as he stood in the shower. Say what you want about her taste in films, it wasn’t much like his own and at the most recent one he had been on the verge of falling asleep in the middle. Shouldn’t I get to decide which film? he thought suddenly. This celebration is for me, isn’t it?

The cleaning out of the Swedish secret police archives, before the truth seekers from the nation’s academic institutions were let onto the premises, became one of the most extensive operations in the history of the organization, and a good illustration of the fact that the fruits of persistent police work could be an end in themselves. Disregarding the fact that the reason for the original efforts and the motivation behind the later measures were diametrically opposed

Obviously not all of what was filed could be cleaned out — or even a significant portion of it — because to do so would scarcely have contributed to the improvement of the secret police’s reputation. At the same time, certain individuals must by necessity be rescued from the eyes of the review commission. Primarily this concerned the most important informants used over the years. All in all there were thousands of individuals who appeared under various aliases, cover names, and code designations, and who were almost always found in more than one file, and who in practice were almost impossible to clean out.

It was Chief Inspector Wiklander who found the first big dust bunny. Wiklander was head of the detective group that was part of Johansson’s new “free resource,” the combined investigation and detective squad that was intended to become his primary weapon in the struggle against those who most urgently and unexpectedly threatened the security of the realm. Johansson had become acquainted with Wiklander during his time as acting head of the National Crime Bureau, and as soon as Johansson settled down in his new chair as boss he had contacted him. Wiklander was one of the best policemen Johansson had encountered during his long career. Almost as competent as he himself had been at the same age, and just as taciturn. After less than a month on Johansson’s team, Wiklander had requested a special meeting with his top boss.

“Do you remember the West German embassy, Boss?” asked Wiklander.

“Sit down,” said Johansson, nodding toward his visitor’s chair. Do I remember the West German embassy? he thought, and the feelings that suddenly arose were mixed to say the least.

The reason that Wiklander had started looking into the occupation of the West German embassy on the twenty-fourth of April 1975 was mostly a coincidence. In one of the secret police’s many incident files the embassy occupation was entered as two murders; both the military attaché and the trade attaché had been murdered. Because the statute of limitations on murder was twenty-five years and it was already the end of March in the year 2000, the crimes associated with the embassy occupation had turned up on the special computerized review list of serious crimes that would soon be free of judicial consequences and relegated to the national archives. “The final twitch” was the expression used in the building to refer to those cases on the list of impending nullification.

“I wasn’t there personally, I was still in school, but I remember that my buddies and I were glued to the TV,” said Wiklander, smiling and shaking his head.

Me too, thought Johansson with sorrow in his heart, but he didn’t intend to talk about why he felt that way, not with Wiklander in any event.

“I’m listening,” he said instead, leaning back in his chair.

The reason the embassy drama was still on the list of crimes not yet past the statute of limitations was that there were certain questions remaining. It was thus still an open case. True, no one seemed to have given a thought to it during the past more than twenty years, but the filing of an incident did not always bear any logical connection with the work that was put into it.

“The reason it’s still there is that we’re pretty sure the Germans inside the embassy must have had help from people on the outside,” Wiklander clarified.

“Sure,” said Johansson dryly. “You didn’t need to be Einstein to figure that out.”

“No,” said Wiklander. “I realized it when I was watching it on TV. Even though I was still in school.”

Right man in the right place, thought Johansson contentedly, nodding at him to continue.

Thus it was mostly out of personal curiosity that Wiklander had ordered the old binders from the archive. Among the first things he noticed were the traces of Bureau Chief Berg’s sanitary efforts a few years earlier.