Waltin had put him up in the apartment at Gärdet where he’d lived when he’d come over most recently to help with Krassner. Not to remind him in any way, but simply because that was the most secure he had to offer at the moment. It was at the disposal of the external operation and only he knew about it. Berg obviously had no inkling about it, and it was a so-called secure address. It was not a place where people from the open operation might come rushing in at any moment. Besides, it was a nice place to stay. Waltin himself had made use of it on a few occasions, and if it was good enough for him with his demands for seclusion and comfort, then it was more than good enough for Hedberg.
When they met, Hedberg said little, as usual, but there must have been something more that was weighing on him because he started by saying that he could only stay until next Saturday. Partly because he’d been planning to return to Java for a long time, partly because he had to see to getting his boat in the water.
“Fine with me,” said Waltin good-humoredly. “Then we’ll just scrape together as much as we have time and energy for.”
During the work-filled days that followed they also started to find each other again. Hedberg softened, and Waltin started to regain his confidence. On Thursday, when they were done for the most part with what they needed to do, Waltin treated him to a nice dinner at an out-of-the-way place, and when they were sitting with their coffee Hedberg opened up.
“At first I thought you intended to set me up,” he said suddenly, looking at Waltin.
“Oh well,” said Waltin, making an effort to sound both relaxed and sufficiently uninterested. “If anything it’s probably the case that you know considerably more about this than I do. The only thing I’ve understood is that wham-bam Berg has my head on a platter.”
“Yes,” said Hedberg, smiling wanly. “I got that. And I certainly think you understand that I’m not the type to set you up.”
No, thought Waltin with feeling, for in that case you’d no doubt dream up something considerably worse.
“Sometimes it’s best not to know something,” said Hedberg cryptically.
You’re telling me, thought Waltin.
Then Hedberg sat quietly for almost a minute while he twirled his spoon in his coffee cup, and that must have been when he decided, for he’d spilled everything that up till that moment Waltin had been forced to figure out for himself.
“There wasn’t anything really wrong with that American,” said Hedberg, for some reason choosing not to refer to him by name. “It was those fucking social democrats that were after him to protect that traitor they had as a boss.” He didn’t go into how he now knew that. “He’d managed to worm his way in with the CIA and sold them out too. To the Russians, of course, since they were the ones he was working for the whole time. Ever since he was a little snot-nosed kid,” clarified Hedberg.
“I guess I’ve suspected a thing or two over the years,” said Waltin, sighing. Would have been fun to read those papers you took with you, he thought.
“Then he had his best friend murdered too,” said Hedberg, nodding.
“My God,” said Waltin with well-acted disgust. “Are you sure of that?” Clearly had more balls than his voters, he thought with delight.
“Quite certain,” said Hedberg, nodding. “A murder-for-hire that the Russians arranged for him. I guess he didn’t dare pull the strings himself,” said Hedberg with a snort.
“No, my God,” said Waltin with emphasis. “I hope you’ll excuse me but I at least have to have a little pick-me-up. Will you join me?” Sounds like a book that just has to get published, thought Waltin with delight. That manuscript must be worth millions.
Hedberg hardly drank at all. Something that Waltin had been glad to note right at the start of their acquaintance, but what he had just related had clearly made an impression.
“I’ll have a small whiskey,” said Hedberg. “Something inexpensive is fine.”
Before they parted they decided to meet the next evening to clear up the final details before Hedberg went back.
I don’t need to worry about him, in any case, thought Waltin as he sat in the taxi on the way back home.
Late on Friday afternoon Waltin had taken the opportunity to drop by Berg’s office in order to turn in yet another thick pile of painstakingly unsorted documents so that his boss would have something to upset his weekend with, and on the way into Berg’s office he almost ran into a chief inspector with the prime minister’s security detail, who was on his way out. Red under the eyes and clearly so upset that he neither saw nor heard.
“Heavens,” said Waltin, smiling with his white teeth toward Berg. “He didn’t seem happy. Have you been mean to him?” As well, he thought.
Berg didn’t seem especially upbeat, either. He sighed heavily and shook his head absentmindedly. He’ll soon be ready for the madhouse, thought Waltin contentedly. We’re only counting the days.
“No,” said Berg. “If only it were that simple. He’s just gotten a touch of his usual headache.”
“So that’s how it is,” said Waltin as he set his papers on Berg’s desk. “Brought along a little reading for you before the weekend, by the way. What’s the big boss come up with this time, then? Is he going to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel?”
“If only it were that good,” sighed Berg. “No, he’s going to the movies with his wife.”
“Here in town?” said Waltin with genuine astonishment. On a Friday evening after payday and thirteen drunks for every dozen and without a guard? The man must have a very strong death wish, thought Waltin, and considering how many years he’d heard everyone complain about the prime minister’s nonexistent security awareness, it was a pure miracle that no one had taken advantage of the opportunity. Must be all the TV-watching, thought Waltin. People just sit and stare at their televisions instead of doing something sensible with their lives.
Berg sighed yet again and then he said something that he really wasn’t allowed to say, not even to Waltin, despite the fact that Waltin was a police superintendent with the secret police and both security-classed and equipped with a muzzle both lengthwise and crosswise.
“He called a few hours ago and canceled his bodyguards. He and his wife were thinking about going to a movie, and before that they were going to have dinner together at their residence.”
“Clint Eastwood’s latest, of course,” said Waltin, clucking with delight.
“No idea,” said Berg, uninterested, for personally he never went to the movies. He didn’t say that; it wasn’t decided for sure. Not even that, he thought dejectedly.
Well, well, thought Waltin when he left Berg. You can’t have everything, but nonetheless he felt the same tingling expectation as that time when he saw dear Mother standing there wobbling on the platform with her silly canes.
High time to go home, thought Berg, looking with distaste at the papers that Waltin had left on his desk. Considering the orderliness that Waltin was clearly capable of, it was his good fortune that he wasn’t compelled to support himself for real by running his own business. When the auditors had reported to Berg they’d been almost white in the face, and what had shaken them the most was that they were completely convinced that Waltin had genuinely exerted himself to do his very best. Anyway, that was completely uninteresting, considering what happened later.