MemoRandom. Литагент HarperCollins USD

all wars and made sure that they all ended. Associated with doorways, gates, doors, time, and, not least, journeys.

      Atif opened his eyes and looked up. The plane had become a tiny point of light that was slowly disappearing into the dark evening sky. In a minute or so it would be gone. He turned the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, and pulled out of the airport parking lot.

       11

      Peter Molnar looked out the window, down at the meticulously gritted yard of Police Headquarters. He put a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, then glanced at his expensive diver’s watch. Five minutes late, as usual. That asshole Kollander was five minutes late, as usual. The head of Regional Crime’s little power games were as predictable as they were irritating. He ought to do what Bergh did and take care always to arrive late himself, just to even things out. And stick a discreet finger up at Kollander.

      ‘You can go in now, Peter,’ Kollander’s secretary said, and at that moment the head of the Intelligence Unit appeared in the doorway.

      ‘Morning, Peter!’ Bergh exclaimed as he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead. ‘Do we know why?’ Bergh said in a low voice as he nodded toward their boss’s door. Molnar shook his head.

      ‘Not exactly, but I saw Oscar Wallin in the corridor a little while ago.’

      ‘Oh shit,’ Bergh muttered.

      ‘Well, it was only a matter of time before golden boy showed up. Shall we find out what’s on his mind?’

      As if we didn’t already know, Molnar thought. Bergh knocked on the door and opened it without waiting. Staffan Kollander was seated behind his very large desk. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in a smart, well-pressed white shirt with heavy cuff links that matched the gold of his epaulets.

      Molnar and Bergh exchanged a discreet glance. Neither of them was in uniform, nor was the fourth person in the room. A fair-haired man with a boyish face, who was leaning with just the right amount of nonchalance against a low filing cabinet over by one wall.

      ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Kollander said. ‘You both know Deputy Police Commissioner Wallin, don’t you?’

      ‘Of course, absolutely. Hello, Oscar!’ Both Molnar and Bergh nodded to Wallin.

      Wet-combed hair, clean-shaven, wearing a three-piece suit, Molnar noted. A bit of a difference since they worked on patrol together. But that was, what, ten, twelve years ago? Shit, he was starting to get old. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up like Bergh, grey and overweight, with a beer belly so big he could hardly see his cock when he went for a piss. Molnar straightened up unconsciously and tensed his taut chest muscles. Well, there was no immediate danger.

      Oscar Wallin had made good use of the intervening years. He had been through senior-officer training and had done some extra courses at university. Then a stint at the International Court of Justice in the Hague, before ending up in the Intelligence Unit of National Crime. It was hardly surprising that Minister of Justice Stenberg had handpicked him; they were cut from the same cloth. Ambitious high achievers, media-savvy, and sufficiently ruthless to get wherever they wanted.

      Molnar already had an idea why Wallin was honouring them with his presence.

       What goes around comes around …

      ‘Sit yourselves down.’ Kollander gestured to the armchairs opposite him. ‘Deputy Commissioner Wallin and I have been having a very rewarding discussion. His investigative task sounds very interesting, and I’ve told him that we here at Regional Crime in Stockholm are naturally looking forward to a fruitful collaboration.’

      Kollander turned to Wallin, who was still leaning against the filing cabinet.

      ‘Oscar, would you like to say a little more?’

      ‘Of course, Staffan.’

      Wallin straightened up, took a couple of steps forward, and then sat down on the corner of Kollander’s desk. The head of Regional Crime’s upper lip twitched, a fleeting microsecond of disapproval. Molnar had to make a real effort not to grin.

      ‘Minister of Justice Stenberg has given me a very clear task,’ Wallin began. ‘The idea is to gather all manner of key competencies under one shared roof. A national knowledge centre where resources are exploited fully rather than being spread out around the country. We can’t afford to have several parallel organizations doing their own thing.’

      ‘And what do you want from us, Wallin?’ Bergh interrupted.

      For the second time in less than a minute Molnar came close to breaking into a smile. Fucking Bergh! He may be a desk jockey these days, but every now and then the street cop in him still shone through. Bergh had been a tough bastard in his day. Seriously tough.

      Wallin gathered his thoughts quickly.

      ‘Intelligence management,’ he said curtly. ‘You are doubtless aware that other departments in the county have their own informants. Cityspan, the licenced premises division, the narcotics squad, and plenty more besides. Not to mention my own former workplace, the Intelligence Unit of National Crime.’

      Wallin smiled toward Bergh, but the look in his eyes was icy. The older man squirmed slightly but was wise enough not to respond.

      ‘Sometimes the same informant reports to a number of different handlers, without their being aware that this is the case. This means that erroneous information from one informant risks being accorded far too much attention because the information is confirmed by several different police units, when their source is actually one and the same. And our intelligence material becomes less reliable as a result, as I’m sure you would agree, Bergh?’ Wallin went on staring at Bergh for another couple of seconds, waiting until he gave a curt nod before turning toward Molnar.

      ‘Apart from this, it sometimes happens that certain handlers withhold valuable informants. Some of whom could be exploited more efficiently.’

      This time it was Molnar’s turn to try to appear unconcerned. He adopted a different strategy than Bergh and met Wallin’s gaze head-on. Without giving any sign that he would back down.

      ‘Two of my co-workers will be coming over tomorrow,’ Wallin continued. ‘They have the highest security clearance and I expect you to cooperate fully with them. We need the names and contact details of all of your informants, without any nonsense. All of them. I hope I’ve expressed myself sufficiently clearly?’

      He paused and seemed to be waiting for a response from Molnar, who still didn’t move a muscle. Instead it was Kollander who interjected.

      ‘Of course,’ the head of Regional Crime said, and cleared his throat before going on. ‘As I said earlier, we’re all looking forward to our coming collaboration, Oscar.’

      ‘Well, that was that,’ Kollander said when Wallin had left the room. ‘What do you both make of all this?’

      ‘Well,’ Bergh said, casting a quick glance at Molnar. ‘We had a feeling that something like this was in the offing. Our work with our informants is second to none, and our results speak for themselves. As you no doubt remember, Wallin tried to muscle in when he was up at National Crime. Now he’s got enough influence to demand things instead of having to beg for them, cap in hand.’

      ‘Mmm, I was thinking roughly the same. Our new Minister of Justice appears to have a lot of new ideas. We’ll have to see how things develop in the future.’ Kollander straightened up slightly. ‘District Commissioner Swensk and I agree that the best strategy for the time being is to cooperate. But we don’t have to give them everything on a plate. In advance of a big holiday like this, perhaps now might be a good time to take a look at which members of staff have put in too much overtime, and give those who need it a few weeks off?’ Kollander gave the two other men a pointed grimace.

      Bergh nodded.

      ‘I’ve