Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Apparently Iben and Malene spent hours in an Internet café last night, but found nothing to lead them to Zigic. The emails were sent via an anonymiser site and are impossible to trace. The two look exhausted, especially Iben, who has deep shadows under her eyes. Even so, they appear to be bursting with energy — on an adrenaline high. Their eyes seem to be urging everyone, even Anne-Lise, to stick together.

The police have given the office a preliminary once-over and have checked Iben and Malene’s flats, but so far they have found no clues. They ask general questions about the women’s work at the DCGI.

About half an hour later the older policeman begins to tap on the table. ‘That’s it for now. We can’t do much more at present. The investigation will be handed over to the Computer Crime Unit here in Copenhagen.’

Iben shoves away a pile of photocopies. ‘I see. So you’re leaving?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And what if Zigic turns up here?’

‘Two of our men are downstairs, guarding the door. They know the score. Don’t worry.’

They stare at him.

‘I can assure you that it is highly unlikely — extremely unlikely — that Zigic would come here. If he does, he’ll be doing us all a good turn because then we can put him away.’

Iben refuses to be reassured. ‘Are you telling me that the two guards downstairs know all about arresting an experienced mercenary? A mass murderer, who’s personally killed and tortured hundreds of victims?’

The younger officer nods calmly. ‘You’re obviously upset, but please remember that men like Zigic don’t bother to email their victims first before assassinating them.’

‘Sure. He’ll just sneak up behind his victim in the street without warning … like Olof Palme’s killer, right?’ Malene interjects.

The older policeman looks at Malene and pushes his mug of coffee out of the way. ‘That was a problem handled by the Swedish police. Bloody tragic. But a Swedish case.’

He begins to pack his briefcase. ‘We’re all busy people. My colleague and I have to get back to the station. If there are any new developments, call the Computer Crime Unit.’

The door closes behind them.

The five employees stay on in the boardroom to talk about the situation.

Iben speaks without her usual composure and repeats herself several times. ‘Of course the cops are right. This isn’t serious.’

But something has changed.

Anne-Lise scans the others for signs of fear. What about Camilla, Paul and Malene? Are they really scared? Or are they play-acting as well?

They talk about the risks and about who, apart from Mirko Zigic, could have sent the emails. For much of the time they are simply making the same points again and again, and after about an hour, Paul gets up.

‘You all stay here. I understand that there’s a lot for you to talk about. The trouble is, I simply have to go. I have an appointment at the Foreign Affairs Ministry. Fill me in later if you come up with something.’

Camilla looks up with disbelief. ‘Paul! You’re not leaving?’

‘That’s the idea. Is there a problem?’

‘But think of the danger!’

‘Come on, I don’t think anything bad will happen.’

Iben interrupts. ‘It seems to me that we should regard this as a very serious matter.’

Paul’s face looks grave and he sits back down on the edge of his chair. ‘You must believe me, I am taking it seriously. Honestly. Very much so.’

He studies each face in turn. Anne-Lise enjoys the attention.

‘However, what that police officer said is surely true,’ Paul continues. ‘No experienced soldier would bother emailing his victims before murdering them. The sender’s aim is only to scare us. Maybe to distract us from our work here, which seems to me to be the real danger. We mustn’t let it happen.’

He stands up. ‘Anyway, you keep talking. I don’t expect you to do much more than that today. Later this week, we’ll get up to speed again.’

They stay seated around the table and discuss options for protecting themselves and catching Zigic, aware that there is something faintly insulting about Paul’s manner. It was all very well of him to say, ‘I understand that there’s a lot for you to talk about,’ but then he made it obvious he personally hadn’t the slightest need to talk. Does he think that they need to sit about empathising all day just because they’re women?

They decide to try to concentrate on work.

Back in the library Anne-Lise phones Henrik. ‘They looked at me … properly!’ She can’t get over it. ‘And spoke to me as if I were really there. No barriers!’

Henrik is pleased. ‘Heartfelt thanks to whoever sent those emails.’

She twists the phone cord around her finger. ‘Shush.’

Everyone in the office knows that the one thing that can disturb Paul’s unruffled demeanour is the prospect of another meeting at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, since the outcome of such visits determines the DCGI’s ability to grow and its future existence. Although the Ministry for Science, Technology and Development pays its running costs, the Centre is an independent organisation and has to raise money for its projects, publications and conferences by applying for grants from private and state foundations. One way or another, a substantial proportion of its finances can be traced back to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs.

Paul carries a heavy responsibility. To avoid redundancies, each year he must convince the Foreign Affairs ministry that the Centre is effective enough to justify their approval for new project funding. As he has told his staff, that isn’t his only problem. The men from the Ministry might well decide that the DCGI is too effective. It could occur to them that it would be desirable, all things considered, to shift the DCGI maintenance grant to their Ministry. True, at first glance it might not seem to matter which arm of the government supports the Centre, but Paul knows better.

The working briefs of the DCGI and the Danish Institute for Human Rights are very similar. The DIHR is an independent organisation too, but its fixed costs are paid by the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. The day may come when some young, inexperienced civil service adviser sees the advantages of making the DCGI part of the DIHR, with its hundred or so staff members. The upshot for Paul would be the loss of his special claim to give television interviews. And according to Paul, the DCGI’s duty to inform the public about genocide issues would be undermined.

Yet, as far as anyone knows, today’s meeting at the Ministry is not particularly important. Apparently Paul is out just to make a good impression.

Anne-Lise spends the rest of the morning unpacking parcels of printed matter from abroad and recording their contents.

By lunchtime Paul still isn’t back. The women have their usual lunch in the small meeting room, except the bread is stale because no one could face breaking the police cordon to buy fresh rolls.

Camilla hardly eats a thing. She looks defeated, her arms hanging limply by her sides. ‘But what if it isn’t Zigic? It could be one of so many people, couldn’t it?’

Iben replies energetically, quickly swallowing the last bite: ‘You’re right. The other day I tried to arrive at a figure for how many men known to have participated actively in genocides are still alive. Fifteen million, at least! More than five times the number of men alive in Denmark today. If you count people who’ve backed a killer at some point, the number is much, much larger — maybe several hundred million. That’s like the entire population of Europe. Or the US, for that matter. So, Zigic or no Zigic, there’s no telling who else might have been provoked by what’s on our website.’