The Nightmare
The word “music” comes from the “art of the muses” and reflects the Greek myth of the Nine Muses. All nine were daughters of the powerful god Zeus and the titan Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. Euterpe, the muse of music, is often portrayed holding a double flute to her lips. Her name means “Giver of Joy.”
The gift of musicality does not have a generally agreed-upon definition. There are people who lack the ability to hear differing frequencies in music while, on the other hand, there are people born with an exact memory for music and perfect pitch so they can reproduce a specific tone without any external reference.
Throughout the ages, a number of exceptional musical geniuses have emerged, some of whom have achieved lasting fame—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who began to tour the courts of Europe at the age of six; Ludwig van Beethoven, who wrote many of his masterpieces after becoming totally deaf.
The legendary Niccolò Paganini was born in 1782 in the Italian city of Genoa. He was a self-taught violinist and composer. To this day, very few violinists have been able to perform Paganini’s swift, complicated works. Until his death, Paganini was plagued by rumors that to gain his musical virtuosity he’d signed a contract with the Devil.
contents
3.
A boat adrift in Jungfrufjärden Bay
9.
All about hand-to-hand combat
11.
In the cabin
16.
The mistake
18.
The fire
20.
The house
24.
The object
26.
A palm
28.
The brigade
30.
The pain
31.
The message
33.
The search
34.
Dreambow
35.
Deleted data
38.
Saga Bauer
39.
Farther away
41.
Sleepless
42.
National Inspectorate of Strategic Products
44.
The e-mails
51.
The winner
57.
Thunderstorm
58.
The heir
62.
Sweet sleep
63.
The Johan Fredrik Berwald Competition
70.
A feeling
72.
The riddle
75.
The bait
77.
The stakeout
82.
The face
83.
The suspect
84.
The fire
86.
The white trunk of the birch tree
88.
The visitor
89.
The meeting
92.
Discovered
95.
Disappeared
97.
Flight
99.
The payment
100.
Pontus Salman
101.
The girl who picks dandelions
103.
Closer
104.
The nightmare
105.
The witness
106.
The pappa
107.
The empty room
108.
Loyalty
109.
The contract
110.
On board
111.
Traitors
112.
Automatic fire
114.
The final fight
115.
The conclusion
In the light of the long June night, on becalmed waters, a large pleasure craft is discovered adrift on Jungfrufjärden Bay in the southern Stockholm archipelago. The water, a sleepy blue-gray in color, moves as softly as the fog. The old man rowing in his wooden skiff calls out a few times, even though he’s starting to suspect no one is going to answer. He’s been watching the yacht from shore for almost an hour as it’s been drifting backward, pushed by the lazy current away from land.
The man guides his boat until it bumps against the larger craft. Pulling in his oars and tying up to the swimming platform, he climbs the metal ladder and over the railing. There’s nothing to see on the afterdeck except for a pink recliner. The old man stands still and listens. Hearing nothing, he opens the glass door and steps down into the salon. A gray light shines through the large windows over the varnished teak brightwork and a deep blue cloth canvas settee. He continues down the steep stairs, which are paneled in more shining wood. Past a dark galley, past a bathroom, into the large cabin. Tiny windows near the ceiling offer barely enough light to reveal an arrow-shaped double berth. Near the headboard a young woman in a jean jacket sits slumped at the edge of the bed. Her thighs are spread; one hand rests on a pink pillow. She looks right into the old man’s eyes with a puzzled, frightened expression.
The old man needs a moment to realize the woman is dead.
Fastened to her long black hair is a clasp shaped in the form of a white dove: the dove of peace.
As the old man moves toward her and touches her cheek, her head falls forward and a thin stream of water dribbles from her lips and on down to her chin.
1
foreboding
A cold shiver runs down Penelope Fernandez’s spine. Her heart beats faster and she darts a look over her shoulder. Perhaps she feels a sense of foreboding of what’s to come as her day progresses.
In spite of the television studio’s heat, Penelope’s face feels chilled. Maybe the sensation is left over from her time in makeup when the cold powder puff was pressed to her skin and the peace-dove hair clip was taken out so they could rub in the mousse that would make her hair fall in serpentine locks.
Penelope Fernandez is the spokesperson for the Swedish Peace and Reconciliation Society. Silently, she is being ushered into the newsroom and to her spotlighted seat across from Pontus Salman, CEO of the armaments manufacturer Silencia Defense AB. The news anchor Stefanie von Sydow is narrating a report on all the layoffs resulting from the purchase of the Bofors Corporation by British BAE Systems Limited. Then she turns to Penelope.
“Penelope Fernandez, in several public debates you have been critical of the management of Swedish arms exports. In fact, you recently compared it to the French Angola-gate scandal. There, highly placed politicians and businessmen were prosecuted for bribery and weapons smuggling and given long prison sentences. But here in Sweden? We really haven’t seen this, have we?”
“Well, you can interpret this in two ways,” replies Penelope. “Either our politicians behave differently or our justice system works differently.”
“You know very well,” begins Pontus Salman, “that we have a long tradition of—”
“According to Swedish law,” Penelope says, “all manufacture and export of armaments are illegal.”
“You’re wrong, of course,” says Salman.
“Paragraphs 3 and 6 of the Military Equipment Act,” Penelope points out with precision.
“We at Silencia Defense have already gotten a positive preliminary decision.” Salman smiles.
“Otherwise this would be a case of major weapons crimes and—”
“But, we
do
have permission.”
“Don’t forget the rationale for armaments—”
“Just a moment, Penelope.” Stefanie von Sydow stops her and nods to Pontus Salman, who’s lifted his hand to signal that he wasn’t finished.
“All business transactions are reviewed in advance,” he explains. “Either directly by the government or by the National Inspectorate of Strategic Products, if you know what that is.”
“France has similar regulations,” says Penelope. “And yet military equipment worth eight million Swedish crowns landed in Angola despite the UN weapons embargo and in spite of a completely binding prohibition—”
“We’re not talking about France, we’re talking about Sweden.”
“I know that people want to keep their jobs, but I still would like to hear how you can explain the export of enormous amounts of ammunition to Kenya? It’s a country that—”
“You have no proof,” he says. “Nothing. Not one shred. Or do you?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot—”
“You have no concrete evidence?” asks Stefanie von Sydow.
“No, but I—”
“Then I think I’m owed an apology,” says Pontus Salman.
Penelope stares him in the eyes, her anger and frustration boiling up, but she tamps it down, stays silent. Pontus Salman smiles smugly and begins to talk about Silencia Defense’s factory in Trollhättan. Two hundred new jobs were created when they were given permission to start production, he says. He speaks slowly and in elaborate detail, deftly truncating the time left for his opponent.
As Penelope listens, she forces aside her anger by focusing on other matters. Soon, very soon, she and Björn will board his boat. They’ll make up the arrow-shaped bed in the forecabin and fill the refrigerator and tiny freezer with treats. She conjures up the frosted schnapps glasses, and the platter of marinated herring, mustard herring, soused herring, fresh potatoes, boiled eggs, and hardtack. After they anchor at a tiny island in the archipelago, they’ll set the table on the afterdeck and sit there eating in the evening sun for hours.
* * *
Penelope Fernandez walks out of the Swedish Television building and heads toward Valhallavägen. She wasted two hours waiting for a slot in another morning program before the producer finally told her she’d been bumped by a segment on quick tips for a summer tummy. Far away, on the fields of Gärdet, she can make out the colorful tents of Circus Maximus and the little forms of two elephants, probably very large. One raises his trunk high in the air.
Penelope is only twenty-four years old. She has curly black hair cut to her shoulders, and a tiny crucifix, a confirmation present, glitters from a silver chain around her neck. Her skin is the soft golden color of virgin olive oil or honey, as a boy in high school said during a project where the students were supposed to describe one another. Her eyes are large and serious. More than once, she’s heard herself described as looking like Sophia Loren.
Penelope pulls out her cell phone to let Björn know she’s on her way. She’ll be taking the subway from Karlaplan station.
“Penny? Is something wrong?” Björn sounds rushed.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Everything’s set. I left a message on your machine. You’re all that’s missing.”
“No need to stress, then, right?”
As Penelope takes the steep escalator down to the subway platform, her heart begins to beat uneasily. She closes her eyes. The escalator sinks downward, seeming to shrink as the air becomes cooler and cooler.
