Лейф Перссон - Another Time, Another Life

“Oh boy, that last part almost sounded a little threatening,” said the undersecretary, unperturbed. “Would you like a cup of coffee by the way? I’m in the mood for one anyway.” The undersecretary made an inviting gesture toward cups, coffeepot, and plates on his coffee table. “As you can see I’ve got an ample supply of pastries.”

I see that, thought Johansson, who had already made note of the excess of pastries on the table and immediately decided not to let himself be tempted, not even by a little cognac ring. On the other hand, he thought, those napoleons do look heavenly.

“By the way, how’s it going with Stein?” the undersecretary continued as he poured coffee into Johansson’s cup.

“Not so well,” said Johansson, who had decided that it was high time to turn the screw.

“Not so well,” the undersecretary repeated, actually sounding sincerely surprised. “Is it that old story from the West German embassy that’s still haunting her?”

“No,” said Johansson, shaking his head heavily. “If only it were that good.” And if you’re going to pour coffee for me, I prefer that you do it in my cup, he thought.

“Now I’m getting worried,” said the undersecretary, setting down the coffeepot and looking at Johansson without trying any of his usual grimaces. “As you know, my esteemed boss intends to offer her a position in the government, and if you and your people have a different opinion I’m afraid you’ll have to count on us devoting a good deal of time and effort to scrutinizing your arguments.”

“Has she already been asked?” Johansson said.

“No,” said the undersecretary. “But soon.”

“Tell your boss he has to find someone else,” said Johansson. “If you don’t want to tell him, I can take it up with him directly.”

“Johansson, Johansson,” said the undersecretary deprecatingly. “Now you really have to tell me what this is all about. And I’m assuming that this doesn’t have anything to do with a twenty-five-year-old embassy occupation.”

“No,” said Johansson. “It doesn’t.”

“Well,” said the undersecretary, attempting a smile, “I’m frightfully curious. What in the world has she done? Is she involved in the Palme assassination too?”

“No,” said Johansson curtly as he took a blue plastic folder from his briefcase. “I will gladly tell you what this is about, provided you acknowledge on a paper I have with me that you have had access to this information and that you also sign a special confidentiality agreement on another paper that I also have with me. I have discussed the matter both with the GD and our lead attorney, and the GD told me that if you sign you should be informed, and if you don’t, he is going to personally request a private presentation for your boss.”

“Give me a pen,” said the undersecretary. “Before I die of curiosity.”

“Well,” said the undersecretary as he set aside the pen and pushed the folder with the signed documents back to Johansson.

“Now I’m going to tell you about two partially connected problems we discovered during our background check of Undersecretary Stein,” said Johansson. “Namely, that we have reason to suspect that Liska and his organization, in cooperation with domestic interests within our so-called defense lobby, planned to subject Undersecretary Stein to influence were she to be appointed minister of defense or given a similarly security-related position within the Swedish government.”

“Goodness,” said the undersecretary. “Correct me if I’ve counted wrong, but I come up with at least three objections in a single sentence.”

“A few months ago Liska managed, with the help of a few useful idiots in the military intelligence service, to activate the case that concerns the embassy occupation — which will soon pass the statute of limitations,” Johansson said. “We believe they’ve opened up a portal through which they intend to convey disinformation in order to influence Helena Stein and people like her.” Why do you look so strange? thought Johansson. What happened to your usual trademark sardonic smile?

“Sounds rather daring given the relations between our respective countries,” said the undersecretary. “But I hear what you’re saying,” he continued. “You don’t think you could be a little more precise?”

“Not at the present time,” said Johansson. “We have decided to follow up on what we have and provide the usual updates as we go forward, depending on how the whole thing develops.”

“But that’s just excellent,” said the undersecretary. “Because we are forewarned, we are also forearmed, and if I were Stein I would be the one who was most grateful. In any event she doesn’t need to worry that the Americans will try to yank her chain.”

And not yours either, thought Johansson.

“No, neither the Americans nor anyone else is going to yank her chain,” said Johansson. In any case not in that way, he thought.

“Okay then,” said the undersecretary, who for some reason chose not to question any further what Johansson had just said. “Then I don’t really understand the problem. What obstacle is there to appointing her?”

“Unfortunately it won’t work,” said Johansson.

“What do you mean it won’t work?” said the undersecretary, no longer making any attempt to conceal how irritated he was. “Has she murdered someone, or what?”

“Yes,” said Johansson.

“What?” said the undersecretary.

You definitely did not know that, thought Johansson when he saw the undersecretary’s suddenly wide-open eyes.

Johansson then related what had gone on when Helena Stein stabbed Kjell Göran Eriksson to death almost eleven years ago, basically the same way he had told it to his best friend and to his own investigation team.

After that he gave an account of the measures he had taken, all the way from the prosecutor’s dismissal with prejudice down to all the top-secret classifications he himself had put in place, not least the little scrap of paper he had put into the shredder with his own hands.

“What a completely improbable fucking story,” the undersecretary moaned, shaking his head with dismay.

“Regardless of that,” continued Johansson, who had one more point to clear up before he was finished, “completely regardless of that she represents a risk that we advise your superior in the strongest possible terms not to take,” said Johansson, and he almost felt solemn as he said it. For a simple boy from the country like himself it was almost as though the eagle of history had brushed him with its wing.

“I see exactly what you mean,” said the undersecretary, looking as though he would like to moan audibly.

“For both your sake and mine I would still like to go over the risks we envisage. There are four sources of risk here. The first is leaks within our own closed operation,” said Johansson. “It’s true we’re known with good reason for being taciturn, and compared with all the babbling brooks running around in the open police operation, we’re about as talkative as a concrete wall with no cracks. Still I can’t overlook the risk, even if I judge it to be the least serious in this context.”

“How many at SePo know about Stein?” the undersecretary asked.

“Eight including myself, plus another seven who know parts of it and might possibly figure out the rest themselves.”

“And that’s as secretive as you’ve managed to be,” said the undersecretary crossly.

“As you already know,” said Johansson, grinning. “And with you now, that makes nine.”

“What are the other three risks, besides ourselves?” he asked.

Johansson’s colleagues at the detective squad in Stockholm were another risk. The files on Eriksson would be returned in exactly the condition they were in when they were loaned out and with all conceivable discretion. Regardless, it was still an open murder investigation, and sooner or later — this could definitely not be ruled out — it might end up in competent enough hands that someone would be forced to start being interested in Helena Stein.