Craig Russell - The Valkyrie Song

‘So you think this was a warning rather than a serious attempt on your life?’ asked Fabel.

‘Trust me, I was not meant to die. You see, my death would change nothing: the papers would still go to OLAF with or without my presence. This bomb was intended to scare me off sending the information on to OLAF and from having any more discussions with them.’

‘Then you know who’s behind it all?’

‘Tell me, Herr Fabel, do you have any suggestions? Something tells me that you might.’ Frolov smiled. It was a charming smile and Fabel guessed it came from the oligarch’s arsenal of business weapons.

‘I’d rather it came from you, Herr Frolov.’

‘I have interests in every corner of Europe and I was dealing with a Balkan-based company. My investigators came up with a connection to cigarette smuggling into the EU. That in turn led us to a non-governmental organisation which was fraudulently benefiting from EU funding while in turn funding the warehousing and distribution of contraband cigarettes. Small-time stuff.’

‘Enough to go to all this trouble?’ Fabel indicated the shattered restaurant.

‘Not in itself.’ The smile had left Frolov’s face. ‘My staff includes what you would call forensic accountants and, well, private investigators. One of the investigators died recently in a car crash. He was drunk and speeding. Except I knew him personally — a Karelian called Kontinen. His father had died of alcoholism and Kontinen was a sworn teetotaller. He was also a very thorough man. And a careful driver. So we dug deeper. Kontinen had been looking into our Balkan partner but had come across something much, much bigger.’

‘What?’

‘Kontinen had found out that the company in the Balkans had been using a Serb warlord-cum-gangster as a subcontractor.’

‘Goran Vuja i c?’

Frolov stared at Fabel for a moment. ‘Do I sense that our paths have just crossed?’

‘Tell me more about Vuja i c ’s operation,’ said Fabel.

‘First of all you need to know that Kontinen had discovered that Vuja i c was involved in some dirty business out there that was not connected to the company we were investigating. Vuja i c was as scummy as they come: a drug and human trafficker who was selling women into slavery and prostitution. He had been moving and warehousing the contraband cigarettes for the Balkan company, but he had also been subcontracting for somebody out here in the West.’

‘What kind of subcontracting?’

‘Vuja i c ran three warehouses, using women as slave labourers. We tipped off the Serbian authorities and Vuja i c disappeared. Unfortunately, so did the women. What happened to them we don’t know. Vuja i c moved into major drug trafficking and ended up dead. In the meantime, we believe he found a new location for the greenwashing operation.’

‘China?’ asked Fabel.

‘Our paths cross again… yes. Western China.’

‘What exactly do you mean by greenwashing?’

‘One thing I’ve learned as a businessman is that the environment is setting the agenda these days. There are a thousand and one legislative and regulatory bodies out there ready to shut you down if you breach environmental standards. Greenwashing is when you take action on the cheap to make it appear that you’re complying. Green plus whitewashing equals greenwashing — get it? Anyway, one of the things you do is fake shipment manifests for sensitive waste and send it out of the regulatory zone to somewhere like an impoverished former Soviet republic-’

‘Or China or the Balkans.’

‘Exactly,’ said Frolov. ‘But less so the Balkans nowadays. Democratisation and regeneration are the enemies of this kind of enterprise. Anyway, you ship the stuff out of the regulatory zone, in this case the EU, and when you ship it back it’s been processed. Or it simply disappears. But the point is that because it’s been outside the regulatory zone, there’s no health-and-safety or any other control on the conditions or pay of the workers.’

‘So what was being greenwashed?’

‘Electronics, mobile phones, that kind of thing. Our investigator, before he died, had been in touch with a Norwegian journalist who had gathered some evidence. The journalist had obtained some samples from the warehouses and had got conclusive results. What they were I don’t know, my people are still trying to trace the journalist.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Fabel. ‘The journalist and the analyst he sent the samples to are both dead. They were getting close to proving something because the killer didn’t even take the time to try and fake accidents. They were both shot in the head. Professional executions.’

‘I see…’ Frolov sighed.

‘But I know what they were testing for,’ continued Fabel. ‘Polybrominated diphenyl ethers. And I know where the operation was moved to: Hunan Province in China and Bitola in Macedonia, although I guess Vuja i c had to quit Macedonia too.’

A black-uniformed MEK officer came over.

‘We can move Herr Frolov out now, Chief Commissar.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Fabel. Then, to Frolov: ‘You’re their number-one target now — you realise that, don’t you? As soon as Vuja i c got himself caught he had enough information to perhaps do a deal with the Danish police. So he was killed in Copenhagen. They killed your investigator, then Halvorsen, the Norwegian journalist, and Sparwald, the analytical chemist. Each of them died for having part of the evidence. And you have it all.’

‘I guess I’d better keep a low profile…’ Frolov shrugged. ‘Now, Herr Fabel, are you going to tell me the name of who was behind all this? Or shall I tell you?’

‘I’m investigating three other murders,’ said Fabel. ‘Armin Lensch, who worked for Norivon, an environmental waste-management company and part of the NeuHansa Group. Peter Claasens, a shipping agent who managed Norivon traffic — I’m guessing one or both of them tripped up over some irregularity and were killed before they got the chance to tell anyone, or even work out the real significance of what they had found. Then there was the murder of Jake Westland, the British rock star.’

‘ He was involved with this? I thought that was the work of some crazed serial killer.’

‘That’s what you were supposed to think. The truth is that Westland was as careful with his investments as you are. He obviously smelt a rat. Because of his… well, his ancestry, I suppose you’d say, he would be particularly sensitive to anything that suggested the abuse of women. Poor bastard, he was probably lured to his death thinking he was meeting someone with information.’

‘So you already suspected Gina Bronsted?’ asked Frolov.

‘Yes. Or at least some element within the NeuHansa Group.’

‘Trust me, Herr Fabel. Look no further than Bronsted. You said you’ve developed a nose for crooks over your years as a policeman. Well, believe me, you develop the same kind of instinct when you’re in business. I’m sure you have a lot of experience with sociopaths in your line of work. Well, so do I. A certain ruthlessness, a lack of empathy, even a lack of conscience is positively encouraged amongst the commercially ambitious. The next time you talk to Gina Bronsted, take a long look into her eyes. I promise you, you’ll find nothing there.’

Fabel could see that Frolov was sincere about what he was saying. Whether it was Bronsted or not behind the attack, it was clear that Fabel had been wrong: this bombing was the work of the Valkyrie. She had deliberately missed with the same precision with which she usually hit her target. A warning. Timed perfectly.

‘Where were you when the bomb went off?’ he asked the Russian.

‘Here — this was our table. With things the way they are, we thought it was a good idea to sit away from the window.’