But at least the van hadnt shown up again, which was obviously something of a relief.
There was something else which was starting to worry her more and more though: the way her hands kept shaking, particularly the right one. Since she had almost lost hold of the bottle of water in the café, the shakes had returned a couple more times. It was probably due to lack of sleep, as her doctor had suggested. Or it could be a temporary side-effect of her new pills.
Itll take a few weeks for your body to get used to them, Rebecca, youll just have to be patient …
She hadnt said anything to Micke, or anyone else for that matter. The dose she had been given was mild, but antidepressants were hardly something she wanted to boast about.
She walked along the corridor towards her office, passing Mickes door on the way.
It was closed, but she could see his back through the small glass window.
Like most mornings, he had got up early and had got to work while she was still in bed.
They spent far too little time together, she was all too aware of that, but this time it wasnt her fault alone. Shed taken the job at Sentry partly in an attempt to make things up with him after her affair with Tobbe Lundh. So that they would share more, see more of each other.
That had been the theory …
But for herself, she would probably rather they had had a fight about it, with him calling her terrible things, all of which she would have deserved. Slamming doors and not speaking to her for weeks, until she begged and pleaded for forgiveness.
And maybe not even then …
But obviously his behaviour had been far more mature.
She had made a mistake, and he had forgiven her. End of story.
Much more sensible than throwing a load of accusations at her and slamming doors. But also kind of unnatural …
She shut the door of her office behind her and started up her computer.
While it was booting up she found herself glancing at the desk drawer.
A couple of minutes could hardly hurt. Besides, it looked like her computer was updating …
She opened the drawer and carefully took out the photograph. Then she switched on the desk-lamp, adjusted the beam and took the magnifying glass she had just bought out of her handbag.
The resolution of the picture wasnt great, and the almost fifty years that had passed since it was taken hadnt done anything to improve things.
But the man in the middle of the front row, who, unlike the others, was only smiling slightly, not showing his teeth, certainly looked very much like her dad.
She examined him carefully through the magnifying glass. The same pointed nose as her, the same prominent cheekbones and dark eyes. But it was impossible to be absolutely certain. The beret the man was wearing was pulled down low over his forehead, making the proportions of his face look rather squashed. And it also hid his hair, making him even harder to identify.
She moved on to the other men grouped around the armoured car.
Sixty-nine of them in total, all somewhere in their twenties, dressed in light khaki uniforms and berets. One of the men in the back row also looked rather familiar.
His face was shadowed by the men in front of him, which made it even harder to make out any details. But it could very well be Uncle Tage …
Her computer bleeped and she put the magnifying glass down and typed in her username and password.
Then she opened the search engine and typed in a few search terms.
Weapon smuggling, UN, Cyprus.
More than 50,000 hits.
The first took her to a Swedish military history archive, and after a bit of searching she found what she was after:
In December 1963 fighting broke out between Greek and Turkish Cypriots, which led to the UN sending peace-keeping troops to the island. Under pressure from the UN, Sweden recruited a battalion of 955 men which was deployed to difficult terrain in the west of Cyprus. The battalion was allocated a large area with 35 observation posts, and equipped with armoured personnel vehicles to patrol the area. Late in the summer of that year the situation deteriorated and the Swedish troops found themselves caught between the warring parties and were forced to evacuate the Turkish civilian population. It was at this point that Greek Cypriot soldiers discovered that a small number of Swedish soldiers were smuggling arms to the Turkish Cypriots. The guilty men were punished and some officers replaced, stricter discipline was imposed and the Swedish battalion moved to the Famagusta region.
She leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath and laced her fingers together behind her neck. So far Uncle Tages story seemed to fit. But how could she find more details?
She tried some of the other search results, but none of the sites was any great help.
She changed the search terms, but to no avail. But she did find a number of books about Swedish UN missions, and decided to order a couple of them. Just as she was finished there was a knock at her door.
Come in!
Kjellgren looked in.
Morning, boss, everything okay?
Hmm, did you want anything particular?
Sanna said you wanted to talk to me about next weeks rota … ?
Of course, yes, take a seat …
She gestured to a chair as she swept the photograph and magnifying glass into the top drawer of her desk.
Time to rearrange her list of priorities.
He was holding the phone in his hand. He could feel its cool surface against his palm as he gauged how heavy it was. He ran his fingers over the embossed numbers on the back for the umpteenth time.
1 – 2 – 8
He had been the first runner-up, the Ayatollah of FucknRolla, the coolest dude in the Game. Just thinking about it still gave him a bit of a hard-on. Fuck, he really did have a seriously selective memory!
All the rest of it – the way theyd deceived him, making him think that he was a winner, daring him to do whatever they wanted, getting him to cross all his boundaries and then dumping him – was almost forgotten. Maybe even forgiven … A bit like when old blokes bang on about what a great time they had doing military service and how the bastard sergeant was actually quite a decent bloke really …
But the Game wasnt just a training exercise, it wasnt playing at war, firing blanks and planning everything around a lunch of pea soup and pork chops. It was totally real, one hundred percent!
He couldnt deny that holding the phone certainly felt good. Just for a few seconds feeling part of something bigger, something the average Swede would never get anywhere close to.
But in spite of all that, he couldnt go through with the task, he wasnt that sort of person.
Everything that had happened down in Bagarmossen was something else entirely. Self-defence, you could almost say.
Dag or Becca. Not exactly a difficult choice …
What the Game Master was asking him to do now was an entirely different matter. Crystal clear and straight to the point. But he couldnt do it.
He wasnt a murderer.
Not like that …
They were trying to manipulate him, he could see that. The cops, the message on the computer, the surveillance, the articles in the papers. The phone call, the wedding music.
It was all part of one big mind-fuck, intended to brainwash him. Make him malleable. Make him do what the Game Master wanted.
He had to regain the initiative, get the upper hand … Slowly he put the phone down and covered it up with some newspapers. Then he went and got his crowbar.
Okay, if no-one has any more questions, well stop there. Well meet up at 06.00 on Monday for a final run-through before we set off. As you all know, plenty of people will be watching us, which makes this an excellent opportunity to show what we can bring to the organization as a whole.
The rest of the team nodded in agreement. No-one seemed to have anything to add.
Good. She stood up and gathered her papers, the signal to the others that they could leave the table. Her hands were behaving perfectly, no trace of any trembling.
It must have been something temporary, like her doctor had said.
She took out her mobile and switched it from silent to normal. The screen flashed a couple of times, then turned blue. She muttered to herself, then pressed to switch it off. The third time this week, she really should have got it fixed before Blacks visit, but if she left it on and didnt mess about with the settings it ought to work okay. Besides, they did most of their internal communication by radio.
When she got back to her office the letter was on her desk. She realized what it was at once and eagerly tore the envelope open.
Application for weapons licence: Sentry Security.
Then a load of officialese and a large stamp in the bottom right corner.
Approved.
Yes!
That meant they were now authorized to carry guns on duty, just as she had in the Security Police, and that they could now take the pistols they had used down in the firing range with them when they went out.
One worry sorted, and a big one at that. The pressure in her chest eased slightly.
Being armed was important – without weapons they could only ever be lightweight bodyguards, little better than the gym-pumped gorillas trying to keep the fans away from celebrities and pop stars. With weapons they were professionals, specialists who could defend themselves and their charges as far as was physically possible.
The letter of approval gave no indication why the issuing body had changed its decision, but that didnt really matter. She already knew.
Her phone seemed to have woken up and she scrolled through her contacts until she found the right name.