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  ‘A lot of old friends of the DDR are filled with the thirst for revenge,’ said Strauss. ‘They think their dream country was betrayed. That it was dissolved following a huge desertion. Very much a stab in the back.’

  ‘Your Security Service classify everything in order to conceal what they missed back in the day,’ Breuer interjected.

  ‘But why are you here?’ said Sara, suddenly hit by a realisation. ‘You set off before you knew that Stellan was dead, so it’s not the murderer you’re after. And you’ve stayed on despite him being dead, so you weren’t after Stellan either. Who are you looking for? The person who made the call?’

  Sara could feel that she’d struck the bullseye. There was no better feeling than that, when intuition worked hand in hand with intellect.

  Breuer was silent for a long time before speaking.

  ‘I don’t know how much you know about this world. Terrorist networks, international operations, collaboration between groups across different parts of the world. Everything is about personal ties. You only trust the people you know. We think that the buyers of the information about the explosives have sent someone that the contact in your country knows personally, in order to set the ball rolling. Thirty-year-old information requires thirty-year-old ties.’

  Sara was startled when a cup of coffee was placed in front of her. The cup was remarkably small in the hand of the burly policeman, who, despite his bulkiness, had still managed to brew coffee without her noticing. She wondered whether the others had noticed. Of course they had. They were police officers. Sara bent forward to take a sip of the hot liquid.

  ‘You stay loyal to your old friends,’ Breuer continued. ‘You don’t do anything for another country, for an ideology, but you do for a friend you trained with, saved the life of, were saved by. Someone that you know you’ve depended on completely in the past – perhaps you still do. It’s the secrets you share that bind you together.’

  ‘And Stellan was the one who was supposed to hand over that information? But why are you still here if he’s dead?’

  ‘Someone is still coming to collect the information.’

  Sara let those words sink in.

  ‘And you want to arrest the person they send?’

  ‘Genau.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  Once again, the two Germans quickly exchanged glances. They were apparently in agreement.

  ‘Abu Rasil,’ said Breuer. ‘At least, that’s one of his names. Abu Omar, Doctor el-Azzeh, Abu Hussein. The man was behind more than ten spectacular terrorist attacks in the seventies and eighties. He has the lives of more than one hundred people on his conscience. He’s been lying low for years, but we think that he’s suddenly been activated. Tempted in by the person who sold the information, because he’s the only person that Geiger and Ober would trust and hand the information over to.

  ‘He was a frequent visitor to East Germany at the invitation of the Communist Party, and he took East Germans and their sympathisers from other countries to training camps that he organised in the Middle East.’

  ‘Or so the rumours say,’ said Strauss, who received a somewhat unhappy look from Breuer in response.

  ‘Including Swedes?’ said Sara. ‘Did Stellan go to a training camp? What about Ober?’

  ‘One of them. Perhaps both. And that’s where they formed the personal ties. Abu Rasil is the only person who can extract the information, so they have to send him. Which I’m sure he’ll be richly rewarded for.’

  ‘And you’re after him?’

  ‘Yes. Four terrorist attacks on German soil. Not including the current bombs.’

  ‘Breuer was tracking him in the eighties, and was close to catching him,’ said Strauss. ‘Since then he’s been lying low.’

  ‘But at least his plan was stopped,’ said Breuer. ‘We believe he was planning a huge attack in protest at German reunification.’

  ‘And now it seems as if he’s out for revenge. Stay-Put is the perfect reminder of the old contradictions, and of how the USA treated the German population as insignificant pawns in their political games. There are many who would like to see a schism like that between the USA and Europe.’

  ‘But how can you be so certain that he’ll come? Stellan’s dead.’

  ‘There may be someone else in the network who can pass the information to him. You haven’t been able to find Ober, for instance.’

  No, they hadn’t. Sara took it to heart, even though it wasn’t her responsibility.

  ‘But it may be fortunate,’ said Strauss. ‘Ober might lead us to Abu Rasil.’

  ‘I’ve got one question,’ said Sara. ‘They seem to be able to detonate bombs anyway. Why do they need this?’

  Breuer looked at her for a long time.

  ‘I must remind you that you signed the confidentiality papers. If you breathe so much as a word of what we tell you, then you’ll be in breach of some of the most important laws in the EU, and you may receive up to thirty years in prison. This is about the security of the entire union. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Breuer looked around the motorhome, seemingly searching for something with her gaze. Then she took a deep breath.

  ‘Stay-Put was NATO’s final line of defence against the Warsaw Pact. Bombs under roads, but also small atomic bombs that could be carried by individuals. The nuclear devices in West Germany have been recovered. The explosive that was detonated a few days ago was a smaller charge that was intended to block the road in the opening phase of any war. Perhaps those were left in place because we’ve never been able to trust Russia – not even after the end of the Soviet Union.’

  ‘The problem is that the USSR knew all about our defences,’ Strauss added. ‘Thanks to their spies and moles.’

  ‘And the peace movement in the West,’ said Breuer. ‘Which mapped missile installations, mines, ammunition stores, roadblocks and nuclear warheads – all in the name of peace. Since they shared that information openly, it obviously fell into the hands of the Warsaw Pact, and they thought they had to respond in kind. The actions of the peace movement actually hastened the arms race.’

  ‘The American troops in the West made the Russians paranoid,’ said Strauss. ‘Those forces were supposedly there to defend Europe, but they could just as well have been used for attacks, according to Russian logic. A fundamental doctrine was that Hiroshima had proven that the Yanks wanted to make use of the weapons they had.’

  ‘Since there was a terror balance, the Warsaw Pact responded to NATO’s initiatives,’ Breur continued, ‘and naturally they wanted their response to be worse in order to serve as a deterrent. The arms race meant they buried their own explosives. But we’ve never found out where.’

  ‘East Germany wasn’t provided with that information because the USSR wanted to retain full control. They didn’t trust their vassal states, while simultaneously demanding blind loyalty from them.’

  ‘The two sides were in constant competition, and according to Soviet defectors, the USSR not only buried bombs to blow up roads, but they also buried explosives powerful enough to destroy an entire province.’

  ‘Atom bombs,’ said Strauss.

  ‘And those are still in the ground?’ said Sara.

  She raised a hand in check, as if to pause the flow of information or to stop unwelcome insights. But the hulking policeman seemed to interpret it as a request for a refill, because he topped up Sara’s cup. Breuer continued.

  ‘The Russians say it’s all gone, but that they don’t have any documentation to prove it. Then Putin smiles scornfully and implies they have nuclear explosives in the middle of the EU. Both the EU and the USA have demanded to review the Soviet archives, but the requests have been refused. No diplomatic approaches have succeeded, and there’s no desire to jeopardise the oil and gas supplies from Russia, so no one dares go too hard on them.’

  ‘And you think that the Soviet Union was willing to use those nuclear bombs?’

  ‘The Warsaw Pact knew they needed
a quick victory if they were going to invade,’ Breuer said. ‘They had to take West Germany before NATO had time to mobilise – preferably during the initial phase. But they also had a backup plan in case they failed. What would happen if NATO entered East Germany? The Warsaw Pact would be under threat, and by extension so would the USSR. They’ve always wanted buffer countries between themselves and the enemy – Hitler and Napoleon showed them that. It’s a fear that’s deeply entrenched in the Russian psyche – no more wars on their own soil. The strategy was for a proactive, advanced defence beyond Soviet territory. They were prepared to do whatever it took to avoid an invasion. The devastation of all of central Europe was a solution.’

  ‘Could it have happened?’ said Sara.

  ‘Yes,’ said Breuer. ‘Absolutely. It’s actually rather strange that it didn’t.’

  ‘But it’s not too late,’ said Strauss. ‘If Abu Rasil finds out how to trigger the bombs.’

  ‘And that’s why he’s coming here?’ Sara summarised, mostly for her own sake.

  ‘He’s probably already in the country,’ said Breuer. ‘Waiting for the all-clear from his handler. As soon as they’re ready to detonate the charges, they’ll notify him, and he in turn will give his signal to his contact here in Sweden that they’re to meet for the handover of the necessary information.’

  ‘And that could happen at any time?’

  ‘Any time at all.’

  33

  Sara caught the Nockebybanan light railway and changed on to the metro at Alvik. She ended up in a carriage with a full graduating high school class, all resplendent in their white peaked caps. They were yelling, singing, laughing and crowing. Running back and forth, hugging each other. Behaving as if they owned the whole world.

  And they did.

  Right now, at least.

  Sara chose to think about other matters.

  For the first time since she became a police officer, she felt as if she’d encountered something she couldn’t affect. She didn’t know anything about spies or terrorists, or how to stop them. She knew a lot about Stellan, but apparently not the most important thing about him. His secret life.

  He must have been eliminated because he’d known too much. If he’d been able to identify Abu Rasil, then perhaps he had constituted a threat. Was that why Ober had shot him?

  Ober – who had once recruited him.

  Maybe Stellan was no longer needed, and when the ring had been reactivated he had been a dangerous witness? Perhaps he’d told Ober that he no longer believed in the old doctrines?

  Perhaps he’d simply refused to participate in the act of terror that was to follow?

  Sara almost hoped that was it. It would make Stellan’s betrayal of her and the whole Swedish population a little easier to bear.

  Once she was back home in the apartment, she made herself a late lunch, having not realised until then how hungry she was. In the living room, the smashed guitar reminded Sara of the discoveries of the night before, as well as the explanations and Ebba’s comments.

  Her anxiety about atom bombs was replaced with one relating to a disaster in her personal life.

  She felt that she couldn’t be completely sure of Martin. But she wanted to be. She didn’t want to just reach the most reasonable attitude through intellectual considerations – she wanted to feel convinced with her whole body.

  She still had a few hours until she was due at work, so she decided to look into Nikki X some more. She took the metro to Tekniska högskolan, strolled past St Giorgios Church and crossed the street to the 7-Eleven, where she bought a fresh pay-as-you-go SIM card that she slipped into her work mobile. Then she carried on walking north, before stopping a short distance from Birger Jarlsgatan 125. She wrote a text message:

  Horny. How much for a home visit?

  She got her reply after less than a minute.

  Four thousand.

  Sara answered:

  Can you come now?

  Where?

  Blendavägen 27 in Täby.

  There in half an hour.

  Maybe it was stupid to pick Martin’s friend Danne’s address, but that was what she’d come up with when trying to think of addresses a long way out of town, and she wanted Nikki X out of her flat as quickly as possible.

  While Sara waited, it occurred to her that Nikki might not still live in the flat where she was registered as resident. In that case, it was all for nothing. But after ten minutes, a taxi pulled up outside the door and an attractive, heavily made-up woman of around thirty came out. She was wearing a short skirt, a plunging neckline and towering stilettos. The driver rolled down his window, and Sara overheard him say, ‘Hansson?’ as the woman climbed into the back seat.

  As soon as the taxi was gone, Sara tapped in the police door code and opened the front door. She now knew it would say ‘Hansson’ on the front door of the flat, and when she found one with that name she rang the bell, waited thirty seconds and then picked the lock before entering.

  A heavy scent of perfume. White-painted walls in the hall, with shoes with needle-sharp heels lined up in rows as straight as arrows. Black-and-white photos of naked bodies. White drapes in front of a door that led into the living room and kitchen. There was a door off the hall, that Sara pushed ajar.

  A window, curtains drawn, a bed with silk sheets, a stack of towels, rolls of toilet paper, bottles of oils and lubricants, a bowl of condoms. Had Martin been here?

  Sara realised that it was effectively pointless, but she still wandered around searching for traces of Martin. Under the rug, under the bed, between the sheets, in the wardrobe. The fact that she didn’t find anything didn’t prove that he hadn’t been here. Sara wondered what she was playing at, but still couldn’t stop herself. There was something almost hypnotic about searching for clues she didn’t want to find. If she’d had the equipment with her, she would have taken samples from the stains that were still on the sheets and walls, even though the room smelled like it was freshly cleaned. But that might have been taking it too far – cooking up a tale and sending DNA samples to the lab to check up on her own husband.

  After twenty minutes, she received a text message on her new number.

  I’m here.

  Good. I went to get cash. Back in ten.

  That bought her some time.

  She’d gone over the room.

  If she was interpreting the stains on the walls and sheets correctly, the fuck room was completely drenched in semen, while the rest of the flat seemed clean. No punters there.

  Sara went into the bedroom.

  Everything was white, with pale lilac and green detailing.

  A bed from Hästens. Pillows, linens and candles from Versace and Hermès. Nothing but designer clothes in the wardrobe. Suits, dresses, tops, cardigans, skirts. A distinctly feminine style.

  A dozen handbags from Prada, Marc Jacobs, Louis Vuitton and the like.

  Expensive, shiny underwear. Even stay-ups and some sort of corset or teddy or whatever they called it. Maybe that was for escort clients who bought a full day or weekend. Not Sara’s kind of underwear, anyway.

  Perhaps that was why Nikki X was in her husband’s mobile. Because Martin had always been turned on by stuff like that. But he hadn’t been able to get her to wear it.

  Would he not have slept around if she’d worn sexy lingerie a bit more often? No, it couldn’t be that petty.

  There had to be something else to it.

  If he wasn’t telling the truth, that was.

  In the living room, she noticed something on a desk in the corner. There was an iMac with a keyboard, microphone and mixer. She pulled out a drawer and found a notepad with what appeared to be handwritten lyrics.

  ‘Delusion’, ‘Cold’, ‘Promise to Live’.

  Bloody hell – she really was dreaming of becoming a pop star. It checked out.

  Sara was thinking about whether to boot up the computer to listen to Nikki’s songs when she heard a key turn in the front door lock. Sheer reflex made her
step into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

  Then someone came into the flat.

  Someone in high heels. It had to be Nikki.

  Sara checked her mobile. Ten angry text messages and five missed calls. She had it on silent, and must have missed the vibration alerts.

  What would she say if the girl found her? That she’d received notification of a break-in, and when she’d arrived the door had been standing wide open?

  There were footsteps crossing the living-room floor, and then it sounded as if Nikki had gone into the bedroom. Sara crept to the front door as quietly as she could, opened it and stepped outside. She shut the door again without closing it fully, and heard steps behind her coming from the bedroom.

  ‘Hello?’ said a woman’s voice from the flat’s interior.

  Instead of running outside, Sara crept up one storey. Nikki emerged from the flat and stopped – perhaps surprised that the door wasn’t shut – and then carried on downstairs to the main door. Sara assumed that she didn’t have any immediate suspicions, since she soon returned and shut the door again.

  Just in case the escort was peering through the peephole or the window overlooking the street, Sara waited half an hour.

  That ought to be enough. She put her hand in front of her face as she stepped out of the main door, and walked as quickly as she could back towards the city centre.

  Wondering what on earth she was up to.

  *

  She was sitting in the car with David at Malmskillnadsgatan, trying to focus on the job at hand, but her thoughts wouldn’t leave her be. Stellan, Agneta, Ober, the bomb in Germany, Abu Rasil. What exactly had happened, and what was going to happen next?

  Sara stared into the summer night while she contemplated all this. She had plenty of thinking time during her shifts. There was lots of waiting. David didn’t seem as upset with her any longer. He even bought her a coffee when he ran over to the nearest 7-Eleven. But they still sat together in silence, because that was what they most often did. It was so easy to lose focus if they talked, and it could draw attention. Voices were audible on the street, but when you were silent passers-by usually didn’t notice that you were in the car. Sara was happy that things between them seemed to be better. She realised she’d gone too far, but with everything they saw, it was hard not to cross the line – at least sometimes.