Sohlberg and the White Death (54 page)

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Authors: Jens Amundsen

Tags: #Crime, #Police Procedural, #Mystery, #Thriller, #Suspense

BOOK: Sohlberg and the White Death

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The arms dealer stood up and said:

“I’m sorry. But my wife is very sick. I have to go see her upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

~ ~ ~

Inhale.

The first rule of killing is proper breathing. Without it you can’t concentrate on the target.

Hold your breath for two heartbeats.

Then exhale.

Two heartbeats.

Inhale.

The second rule of killing is to shoot after exhaling. The killshot is most precise when your body is completely still.

Hold your breath for two heartbeats.

Exhale.

~ ~ ~

The bullet slipped out of the barrel with a muzzle velocity of 2,799 feet per second. Contact with the target would be in less than 3 seconds.

He inhaled and waited for two heartbeats.

He exhaled and waited for two heartbeats and squeezed the trigger.

A second and then a third bullet glided effortlessly after the first-born. In the chilly air he saw the vapor trail of each of the bullets as they wended their way to Leonid Minin’s home. A white plume of concrete dust swirled from the wall.

~ ~ ~

Leonid Minin had just turned to the right of the doorway and taken five steps down the hallway when he heard sounds that he would never forget. The arms dealer would live but he would forever hear the sounds of explosive armor-piercing incendiary bullets that fragmented into hundreds of rabid flesh-tearing monsters. The bloody pyrotechnical nightmare would always chase him in his dreams.

A week later the crime scene investigators finished their grisly work. Cleaning crews arrived from a biohazard remediation company and they spent ten days washing out the blood, bone, and flesh of three men and one woman from the walls, ceiling, and floor where they had met their Norwegian Raufoss angels of death.

Chapter 32/Trettito

LYON, FRANCE: NOVEMBER 21,

OR SEVEN MONTHS AND 12 DAYS

AFTER THE DAY

Rain, sleet, and overcast skies matched the mood of the Norwegian detective. He understood beyond a shadow of a doubt what he needed to do.

The two men met under the tent that covered the sidewalk tables of Le Broc’ Café. The popular eatery with the red facade was usually crowded. But today no one sat near the detectives. Inclement and windy weather had pushed the smarter patrons inside to the second floor. Sohlberg ordered a hot chocolate.

After the waiter left Sohlberg stared long and hard at Laprade. “The curator’s death is not acceptable.”

Laprade eyed the menu. His grimace indicated that he did not like anything on it. The waiter came back a few minutes later with Sohlberg’s drink. Laprade waved the waiter away.

“Sohlberg . . . we’re not responsible. It wasn’t our decision. It was Pierre’s operation. We only gave him the money to stop a nuclear backpack from incinerating thousands or tens of thousands of men . . . women . . . and children here . . . in New York . . . or some other city in the West.”

“But Tatiana—”

“Tatiana von Gersdorff knew that Leonid Minin’s money was dirty. All of her super-wealthy clients in Switzerland are crooked pigs. Don’t you understand? . . . You can put all the makeup and clothes and perfumes and jewelry and mansions and yachts you want on a dirty stinking pig but it’s a fact that a dirty stinking pig is still a dirty stinking pig.”

“Maybe. But Leonid Minin is still very much alive and open for business.”

“Not much longer. Someone in French intelligence leaked information to the newspapers that Minin works for the C.I.A. as an informant. . . . Some people in Moscow won’t like the fact that he’s the one who betrayed Viktor Bout and other friends of friends of the Kremlin.”

“Let’s just stay on topic . . . the woman who got killed in Switzerland.”

“What about her?”

“Her
accidental
murder doesn’t bother you? . . . She’s just like Azra Korbal. . . . What about the translator from the Chinese embassy? . . . Did he deserve to die?”

“Sohlberg . . . innocent and not so innocent bystanders get killed in wars. There’s always collateral damage.”

“That’s why I never work with people who compromise me or my values . . . my standards. And that’s why I’m quitting Interpol.”

“What do you mean you’re quitting? . . .

“We have work to do. Bonhoeffer and Pierre just gave us the tip about the twenty-seven billion euros that are unclaimed at the Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow. . . . Billions that are tied to Ishmael and his business partners in Russia . . . billions that no one has stepped forward to claim after the Italians blew up Arkady Kovalchuk on his flight to Moscow.”

“I don’t care about a bagman for politicians who do business with gangsters. I don’t care about the twenty-seven billion euros. What I care about is that I have
never
had innocent blood on my hands. Now . . . thanks to you . . . my hands are dirty.”

“Sohlberg . . . why does everything have to be black and white with you? . . . There’s a lot of gray area out there.”

“There are also a lot of dirty hands in the gray area.”

“Are you kidding me? . . . We live in a messy dirty world. What’s illegal isn’t always wrong . . . and what’s legal isn’t always right.”

“I don’t follow the laws of man. They change with the prevailing winds of popular opinion. . . . What’s good for decades suddenly becomes bad . . . and what was bad is now good. . . . Like you say . . . the law is wrong or not right half the time. That’s why I follow my own moral compass . . . to keep me from falling into the gray area.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m done here. I’m going back to Norway.”

“Ridiculous. You can’t go back. You’ve made tons of enemies up there.”

“It’s been sixteen years. People died and retired. They got promoted or demoted. Fired or transferred.”

“You’re very wrong if you believe that your sins have been forgiven in Norway.”

“Maybe. But after so many years my old police history is now a fossil record . . . ancient history . . . a curious relic of a time long gone . . . buried under the sediment of scandals and political upheavals and shocking murders.”

“Nonsense,” said Laprade. “Your sins have
not
been forgiven. Who has absolved you? . . . No one.”

“Don’t you understand? . . . My sins have been
forgotten
. That’s what I wanted to tell you. It’s time for me to go home.”

Laprade watched Sohlberg disappear into the gray sleet. The grizzled legionnaire disagreed with everything that Sohlberg did, said, and stood for. But he admired the man.

A man with morals and integrity.

A man who could not be bought or corrupted.

A superfluous man in modern society.

But at least Sohlberg was practical. The man understood that it was better for a few to be sacrificed for the welfare of many.

“The bill,” said the waiter.

Laprade laughed. For the first time he would have to pay for Sohlberg’s order. He already missed the Norwegian. Laprade stood up. He paid the bill without leaving a tip.

Later that evening Sohlberg started thinking about the three nuclear bombs in the USA and the $ 27 billion in cash sitting on 200 pallets at the Sheremetyevo Airport. But those ugly problems were no longer his to solve or worry about.

He had done the very best he could. And that was good enough.

THE END.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Nuclear suitcases and backpacks are out there.
See
, “Russian Roulette.”
Frontline
. PBS. February 1999 (television documentary; and, online).
See
also
, Kristof, Nicholas D. “An American Hiroshima.”
New York Times
. 11 August 2004; Op-Ed: online.

As of October 2013, the $ 27 billion in cash remains unclaimed at the Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow.
See
,
e.g.
, Stewart, Will. “Is Saddam Hussein's fortune in a warehouse in Moscow? Mystery over £16.75bn piles of cash left at airport for six years”
Daily Mail
. 29 Sept. 2013: online.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Jacky Law, the courageous pharmaceutical journalist. Her exposé
Big Pharma
(2006) documents how the world’s largest drug companies are downright dangerous to consumers and patients in their blind pursuit of profit.

Source X, for giving me an insider’s look at how drug cartels and other organized crime organizations move and hide their wealth around the world thanks to their bankers—who reap billions in profits.

THE AUTHOR

Jens Amundsen is the pen name of an attorney whose literary anonymity protects him and his clients from the powers that be and want to be.

THE PUBLISHER

Nynorsk Forlag stays true to its roots as an independent publisher bringing the best of Nordic crime novels to the public. From its humble beginnings as an underground press, the company intentionally remains small so as to stay focused on its authors and readers.

Table of Contents

BOOK ONE: LITTLE DID I KNOW; OR, DEATH OF A TRANSLATOR

Chapter 1/Én HEYRIEUX AND LYON, FRANCE: MORNING AND NIGHT OF THE DAY, APRIL 12

Chapter 2/To LYON, FRANCE: MAY 14, OR THIRTY-TWO DAYS AFTER THE DAY

Chapter 3/Tre LYON, FRANCE: MAY 15, OR THIRTY-THREE DAYS AFTER THE DAY

Chapter 4/Fire PARIS AND LYON, FRANCE: JUNE 12, OR TWO MONTHS AFTER THE DAY

Chapter 5/Fem MILAN AND VAREDO, ITALY: JUNE 13, OR TWO MONTHS AND ONE DAY AFTER THE DAY

Chapter 6/Seks PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA: JUNE 13 AND JUNE 14, OR TWO MONTHS AND 2 DAYS AFTER THE D

BOOK TWO: THE TRAP

Chapter 7/Syv MOSCOW, RUSSIA: MORNING OF TUESDAY JULY 12, OR THREE MONTHS AFTER THE DAY

Chapter 8/Åtte ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA: WEDNESDAY JULY 13, OR THREE MONTHS AND 1 DAY AFTER THE DAY

Chapter 9/Ni RINGVASSØY ISLAND, NORWAY: SUNDAY JULY 17, OR THREE MONTHS AND 5 DAYS AFTER THE DAY