Project Nirvana (45 page)

“I hope Carl was not too put out,” he began.

“You seem well,” she said, ignoring the question.

“Perhaps,” he replied. ”You’ve hardly aged since I last saw you. You look younger.”

She smiled defensively. “I try to keep to a healthy diet and work out regularly. How about you?”

“Same here,” said Walter and quickly skipped to the vegetarian section.

“Stop lying. You’ve never cared about your health.”

“Do you want fish or vegetarian?” Walter pointed out a few dishes that seemed relatively healthy.

“The salmon looks nice,” she said and put her menu down.

Walter poured water into her glass. “Something to drink? Some white wine perhaps?”

“Water is fine,” she said.

“For me too,” said Walter, filling his own glass with the tepid tap water. An elderly waiter with a straight back and rounded shoulders approached and asked if they were ready to order. He smiled with his head slightly to one side, while glancing at the table next to them.

Walter gave him the menus and ordered two oven-baked salmon and a fresh carafe of tap water.

“Why did you want to see me?” Eva asked, taking a piece of bread from the small wicker basket on the table.

Walter brushed his face with his hand. “It was an impulse,” he said. “Well, actually, it has been at the back of my mind for some time.” He tapped his head. “But it took until now to muster enough courage.”

“Courage for what?”

“To dare to meet you.”

She laughed. “Am I that dangerous?”

Walter looked at her tentatively. “The grief,” he said. “I kept seeing Martine in you and it wouldn’t stop. But a while ago, something happened. Finally, I have a chance to move on. To stop thinking of Martine every minute, every second. Constantly blaming . . .”

“Is that why you wanted to meet me?” she interrupted drily.

“No, I don’t want to rehash the past or blame you for not loving her as much as I did.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to check whether I’m really moving on or if the future is still filled with the memories . . .”

“Remember what the therapist said,” interrupted Eva again. “Let the memories be something positive. Not something painful.”

“I remember,” answered Walter. “But I need to find out if I can sit here with you and not have a relapse when I see her in you.”

Eva sighed. “Be my guest,” she said, opening her arms. “Here I am.”

Walter leaned back in his chair and lowered his eyes.

“What made you pull yourself together? Is it just time passing? Or have you found someone?”

Walter shook his head.

“What is it then?”

He was always surprised by Eva’s strength and how she had been able to move forwards, although losing Martine had left scars in her grieving subconscious, just as it had in his. She had been his rock, courageous and with the strength to help Walter out of the empty void he had found himself trapped in. He had accused her of not mourning sufficiently. He had self-medicated his grief with booze in the vain hope of never having to wake up sober again.

Finally, she’d had enough. Working through her own grief was hard enough, but having to share Walter’s demons and listen to his accusations that she didn’t love her own daughter enough had made her finally leave him. Two personal crises had hit him in the space of twelve months.

In time, she had found somebody new. A man whose feelings were as warm and comforting as Walter’s were cold and accusing.

He was happy for her sake. She deserved a good partner to share the remainder of her years with. “There’s been a lot going on at work,” he began.

“Really,” she said, taking a piece of the salmon.

“A young girl just started in my section,” he said slowly.

There was something in her eyes that Walter could not quite read.

“Her name is Jonna,” he continued. “She’s a lot like Martine. Not in appearance, but personality-wise.”

Without a word, Eva put down her knife and fork.

“In a strange way, I feel much better when I’m working with her,” he continued. “Not that she’s a replacement for Martine, but . . .” Walter lost his train of thought again.

“How old is she?”

“The same age as Martine before she . . .”

“Go on,” Eva encouraged him.

“She has the same fire, fearlessness, sharp mind,” said Walter. “Martine got the latter from you.” Walter smiled a wry smile.

“No flattery, thank you,” she said, unamused.

“Now that you’ve been sitting in front of me for a little while, I’m no longer thinking of Martine. I’m actually beginning to believe that I have taken a few steps away from that chaotic time in my life. Of course, Jonna is not Martine, but working with her has given me the will to let go of the past.”

“I’m happy for you,” Eva said, softly now.

“She’s as stubborn as Martine. They could be twin sisters. You must meet her sometime.”

Eva said nothing. Instead, she turned her eyes to the window. Walter saw she had a tear in the corner of her eye. It swelled and finally rolled slowly down her chin. He gave her a napkin and she quickly dried the tear.

“Forgive me,” she said, her eyes lowered towards the table.

“I’m the one who should ask for forgiveness, for constantly interrupting your new life,” said Walter. “It won’t happen again – this time, I mean it.”

“I would like to meet Jonna,” Eva said. “You’ll always be a part of my life, just as much as Carl. Our lives are hopelessly intertwined, whether we wish it or not.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” replied Walter.

They ate in silence. The waiter took their plates and asked if they wanted dessert. They both declined.

“It’s been hectic at work too,” Walter said, after the bill arrived.

“I’ve seen it on TV. The shooting at the hospital and the power struggle within the law-enforcement agencies. Where is society heading?”

“That last part is pure media speculation,” Walter said.

“No smoke without fire, though?”

“As you may know, I had responsibility for the manhunt for Leo Brageler.”

“The man who poisoned the court officials?”

“That’s the one.”

“What does he have to do with it?”

“He was the man shot in the hospital.”

Eva looked at Walter in surprise. “But why?”

“I don’t know. It’s SÄPO’s baby now.”

“But you caught him in the end?”

“Yes,” said Walter, “but there’s more. He told me a lot of interesting things that I first thought were the rantings of a loony, but they stuck in my mind. With his background, I can’t dismiss the possibility that there might be some truth in what he told me.”

Eva was curious. “What did he say?”

Walter drank some water. He gently stroked the edge of the glass with his finger.

“He told me about a project in which they had successfully cloned a human soul. Made a copy of the ego, so to speak. They had also succeeding in transplanting the clone into the brain of another person.”

“A copy of what?”

“Whatever is in here,” Walter said, tapping his forehead.

Eva shook her head. “Have you lost your mind?”

Walter looked at her, uncomprehending.

“How can you believe something so stupid?”

“What do you mean?” Walter heard his voice harden.

“I’ve been a doctor for almost thirty years,” Eva said. “It’s impossible that somebody could have successfully cloned the soul, which is another term for our consciousness. I read every day about new discoveries in medicine, and related fields, and I can’t remember a single article that even mentions the possibility. There are some so-called researchers who undertake speculative studies, but that is all there is to the subject.”

“Why is it impossible?” interrupted Walter, who was mildly offended. “It’s possible to manipulate animals and plants genetically. Just look at the advances in DNA techniques for law enforcement. Previously, we had to rely on fingerprints. Now we can solve crimes by extracting DNA from a skin fragment or a drop of saliva.”

“True,” Eva said, stretching her back. “But our consciousness is just an abstract state connected to the physical body; it consists of chemical substances working together with electrical impulses. There’s some evidence to suggest that the brain has some type of energy field, but very little is known about it and it’s difficult to research something that has no physical form. Ask any scientist who researches anti-matter. I thought the police were more enlightened. But given the events of the past six months with all these police scandals, I suppose . . .”

“That’s enough,” Walter interrupted. “I understand all of what you say and, in all honesty, I don’t really believe any of the things he said. I’m just trying to understand why a super-intelligent person like Leo Brageler would want to tell us a fantastic yarn. What could he possibly gain?”

“Intelligent?” Eva said. “Was it intelligence that set him off on a killing spree?”

“Well, he didn’t actually kill them in person.”

“No, but he was the mastermind behind their deaths, was he not?”

“Yes, but he hired others to break into the houses and flats. He hired thugs for his dirty work.”

Eva shook her head disapprovingly. Walter held out a box of cough drops, but she declined with an irritated wave of her hand. After a short while, her expression changed.

“I get it now,” she said, looking at Walter.

“Get what?”

“You’re so desperate to find any possible connection to Martine that you’re swallowing this nonsense. What’s next? Reincarnation? Or are you joining the Scientologists?”

Walter sighed heavily.

“We can’t bring our daughter back, no matter how much we want it,” she continued, standing up. She put her napkin on the table and looked at Walter, defiantly.

He was about to say something, but she cut him off.

“I’ve also thought what it would’ve been like if she hadn’t left that last time,” she said. “Not once, but hundreds, thousands of times. All those ‘what ifs’. What if I had done this or that? What if Walter had done something different? Those ‘what ifs’ will eat away at your sanity. I’ve stopped that now. There are no ‘what ifs’ any more. For me, there are my memories of Martine and the present. Life exists here and now. What I can touch and feel. I have to think like that to be able to move on. What’s happened, has happened. We can’t turn back time.”

“I agree with you completely,” said Walter, taking out his wallet. “Go home to Carl; I’ll take care of the bill. Thank you for seeing me.”

Eva looked at Walter. “You’re welcome to visit us at our country cottage this summer,” she said. “Carl has turned the boat house by the jetty into a guest cabin. He would be very happy if you came. If you give him some compliments about the boat house, I’m sure he’ll offer you some of that vintage Scotch he is so proud of.”

Walter laughed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I might take you up on it some day.”

Eva gave him a hug and left the restaurant.

Walter sat so deep in thought that the waiter came over and inquired if everything was all right. He had paid the bill, so he had assumed he had finished.

“I want a beer and a schnaps,” Walter answered, putting his wallet on the table. The waiter raised an eyebrow, but did as his customer asked. A few minutes later, a large, cold beer and a frosty schnaps were on the table. Walter drew a smiley face on the misty schnaps glass before drinking it in one gulp. He washed the alcohol down with a mouthful of beer and a warm feeling spread through his body.

Perhaps this was the first sign that he was on the way to emerging from the paralysis that had afflicted him after Martine’s death. Strengthened by both the alcohol and his new-found insight, he fiddled with the beer bottle’s label. The sticker was loose in one corner and he tore off a bit.

“Newcastle Brown Ale,” he read. “Imported from England.”

England’s working-class beer at its best, he thought, and poured out the rest of the beer. The Brits had more to offer than just rainy weather and hard-headed women lawyers like Alice McDaniel. She had helped them crack the case. A courageous, almost reckless, woman.

Something that Alice had said about her call from Leo Brageler stuck in his mind. Getting hold of her ex-directory telephone number from a telephone company in the Isle of Man would normally involve the NBI. Even then only the authority requesting the number would be privy to the information. Yet Brageler’s kidnappers had managed to obtain it in only a few hours, if Brageler had told the truth. Walter pushed the thoughts from his mind and emptied the beer glass. It was not his problem any longer.

Chapter 25

After a meticulous
search of Martin Borg’s flat, the team from the SÄPO’s Internal Affairs section found a small laptop hidden in one of the armchairs in the living room. They had been close to missing it, but an observant technician had noticed a fake hem in the arm cushion. Under the hem there was a hidden zipper and, when the fabric lining inside the cushion was removed, a cavity inside the foam cushion was revealed. A laptop computer was wedged inside the cavity.

With mounting fascination, Thomas Kokk studied the computer screen. Hopefully, the information hidden in all those bytes of data would help Kokk and the executive of SÄPO to expose the organization to which Borg belonged. The technicians had already decrypted the contents of the hard drive, with a little help from the code-breakers at FRA and their American counterparts at their National Security Agency.

As usual, the collaboration between the Swedish and American intelligence agencies had worked smoothly and it had not taken long to get the necessary decryption codes from the American NSA at Fort George G. Meade in Maryland.

Kokk’s initial excitement was soon replaced by bewilderment. There were indeed some police names in Borg’s laptop, but not to the extent that Kokk had hoped. After a few hours’ investigation, it became obvious that the files actually belonged to the former Syrian intelligence officer, Omar Khayyam. The defector had been under the protection of SÄPO, but was found dead in Gnesta and, according to Martin Borg, Omar had been Ove Jernberg’s confidential informant. There were a number of offshore bank accounts, as well as bank transactions to individuals in the criminal world, both domestic and international. That would interest the Fraud Squad.