Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

Despite its exclusive location, there’s something austere about the ISP offices. The floors are laid with synthetic carpet and the furniture is simple and neutral in pine and white-its neutrality almost an intentional reminder of the morally dubious nature of arms exports, Axel thinks with a shudder. This is the national agency entrusted with the responsibility of making sure that Swedish weapons do not wind up in war zones and dictatorships. But Axel can’t help feeling that under Carl Palmcrona’s directorship, the ISP began to drift off course. It was less inclined to cooperate with the United Nations, and more likely to behave like the proactive Export Council. Axel is not a pacifist. He is well aware that arms exports are vital for Sweden’s balance of trade. But he believes that the Swedish neutrality policy must be protected as well.

He looks around Palmcrona’s office. Being there so soon after his death feels macabre.

A high-pitched whine is being emitted from the light system in the ceiling. It sounds like an inharmonious overtone from a piano. Axel remembers he once heard the same overtone on a recording of John Cage’s first sonata.

Closing the door behind them, Grunlicht asks Axel to take a seat. He appears tense in spite of his welcoming smile.

“Good that you could come so quickly,” he says, handing over the folder with the contract.

“Of course.”

“Go ahead and read through it,” Grunlicht says as he sweeps his hand over the desk.

Axel sits in a straight-backed chair and puts the folder back down on the desk. He then looks up.

“I’ll take a look at it and get back to you next week.”

“It’s a very good contract, but this offer won’t last forever.”

“I know you’re in a rush.”

He looks at Grunlicht’s pale, expectant face.

Axel knows there is no one in this country with a track record that can equal his own. This is perhaps the greatest argument for him to take the position. If he says yes, it will enable him to prevent some idiot from getting control over arms exports. He can stay committed to limiting the spread of weapons-and stay in Sweden with Beverly.

Grunlicht leans forward and says, with a shadow of guilt in his voice, “I know I’m pushing you, Axel, and I’m sorry for that. But the situation is a bit urgent. Palmcrona left several urgent matters hanging, and the companies are about to lose their deals, and-”

“Why doesn’t the government take over for the time being?”

“Sure,” Grunlicht says with a thin smile. “They can certainly take over, but they would still need advice, preferably from you.”

Silence fills the room. It’s as if feathers were falling all around them.

“I hear what you’re saying,” says Axel slowly. “But I’m still…”

Grunlicht slides the folder directly in front of Axel. “I just got off the phone with the prime minister. He asked if you were on board. You really should look at the agreement we’ve produced for you. It’s a pretty-”

“I believe you,” says Axel, “but you should know that I’ve been sick.”

“Who has not?”

“I mean, I have-”

“We know all about it,” says Grunlicht.

Axel lowers his eyes. “Of course.”

“But we also know that the problems are a thing of the past. ISP is an authority based on trust. You have worked against the flow of weapons to war zones, and that is precisely what ISP stands for. There is only one name at the top of the government’s list-and it is yours.”

As Axel reaches for the agreement, he wonders if it is possible that they know everything about him-except for Beverly.

Opening the folder, he tries to push away the gut feeling that this is a gold-plated trap.

He reads through the contract carefully. It’s very good, almost too good. Often he feels a slight blush as he reads through it.

“Welcome aboard,” Grunlicht says, as he hands Axel a pen.

Axel thanks him and signs his name. He stands up, turns his back to Grunlicht, and looks out the window. The three crowns of city hall are erased by the haze.

“Not a bad view, is it? Better than mine from the Foreign Office,” says Grunlicht over his shoulder.

Axel turns toward him as he continues.

“You’ve got three cases at the moment. The one with Kenya is under the greatest time pressure. It’s a big, important piece of business. I advise you to look at it right away. Carl has already done the preliminary work, so…”

Grunlicht falls silent and pushes another document toward him. He watches Axel closely with a strange gleam in his eye. Axel has the feeling that if Grunlicht could, he’d put the pen in Axel’s hand and hold it there while he signs.

“You’ll be a fine replacement for Carl.”

Without waiting for an answer, Grunlicht heads out of the door. “Meeting with the expert group this afternoon at three,” he calls as he goes.

Axel is left standing alone in the room. A heavy silence descends around him. He sits back down at the desk and begins to glance through the document that Carl Palmcrona had left unsigned behind him. It seems perfectly well-prepared. It deals with the export of one and a quarter million units of 5.56? 45 millimeter ammunition to Kenya. The Export Control Committee had voted for a positive recommendation. Palmcrona’s preliminary decision had also been positive. Silencia Defense AB was a well-known, established firm. But without this last step of the general director’s signature on the permission form, the actual export could not take place.

Axel leans back and suddenly Palmcrona’s mysterious words come back to him: I’ll pull an Algernon so I won’t reap my nightmare.

Goran Stone smiles at Joona Linna, removes an envelope from his briefcase, opens it, and holds out a key in his cupped palm. Saga Bauer stands right next to the elevator, looking downcast. All three of them are outside the apartment of Carl Palmcrona at Grevgatan 2.

“Our technicians come tomorrow,” Goran says.

“Do you know what time?” asks Joona.

“What time, Saga?” asks Goran.

“I believe-”

“Believe? You should know exactly,” Goran says.

“At ten o’clock,” Saga says in a low voice.

“And did you give them my orders to start with the Internet and telephone system?”

“Yes, I-”

Goran silences her with a wave of his hand as his phone rings. He takes a few steps down the stairs to answer, stepping into a niche next to the window with reddish brown panes.

Joona turns to Saga and asks quietly, “Aren’t you in charge of this case?”

Saga shakes her head.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Don’t know,” she says in a tired voice. “It always happens this way. Counterterrorism isn’t even Goran’s specialty.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“There’s nothing to do…”

She falls silent as Goran finishes his phone call and returns to where they’re standing. Saga suddenly holds out her hand for the key to Palmcrona’s door.

“I want the key,” she says.

“What?”

“I’m in charge of this investigation,” she states firmly.

“What do you say about all this?” Goran says jokingly as he smiles at Joona.

“This is nothing against you, Goran,” Joona says. “But I was just in a meeting with the higher-ups and I accepted an offer to work under Saga Bauer-”

“Oh, she can come along,” Goran says hastily.

“As the one in charge of the investigation,” Saga says again.

“Are you guys trying to get rid of me-or what the hell is this all about?” Goran says, looking both surprised and injured.

“Well, you can come along, if you want,” Joona answers calmly.