The prime minister isn’t so drunk, just polite. He strikes up a conversation with Kate, finds out she manages Kamp, and suggests the possibility of making a deal for all foreign dignitaries to stay there at a fixed rate. She gives him a business card. He promises to call. She beams excitement. Everyone drinks too much, except me. A little after midnight, the interior minister suggests a continuation of affairs of state aboard his yacht tomorrow. All present are invited and should meet at the Nyland Yacht Club Blekholmen clubhouse at noon. He asks who’s in. All shout approval.
The interior minister and Jyri approach me. “Allow me to introduce Inspector Vaara, my hatchet man,” Jyri says.
I say, “I prefer the term ‘enforcer.’”
The minister says he’d like for me to be at the yacht club, and hopes I’ll bring Kate. He would like to speak with her as well. This piques my curiosity. I thanked Jyri for arranging the babysitter, she seemed perfect, but said I would need another tomorrow.
“She’s my aunt,” he said, “and she loves kids. She’d probably pay you to let her babysit again, just ask her. Come to the bar with me,” he says, “and I’ll show you something.”
We walk over, lean against it, and Jyri keeps his voice hushed. “Did you know,” he says, “that there are now more spies in Finland than at any time since the Cold War?”
“No, I didn’t,” I answer.
“Russia has by far the most here, around thirty trained operatives, followed by the U.S. and China, and then there are small representations by other countries as well. They’re seeking information about our defense policy and intentions toward NATO, and countries economically and technologically behind us are looking for shortcuts through espionage.”
“And the point is?”
“I know who they are, and some of them are quite upset about heroin revenues lost by theft. Your campaign against the drug trade ends now until the Soderlund murder is solved, for the obvious reason that you’re under scrutiny. You were upset because we’ve taken no steps to interdict the human slave trade. You made an attempt and it ended badly.”
I start to speak, but he raises a hand to silence me. “Yes, I know all about it. I had you move money and drugs from one criminal’s house to another. I then spoke to a Russian spy, told him I knew about his problem, gave him names and the address where you left the money and dope, and said I prefer they take care of it in-house. The men who raped and murdered the women you tried to help were among them. I asked him for proof when the matter was resolved.”
He takes out his iPhone and shows me an image. Five men are in a warehouse, naked. Chains hanging from a crossbeam have hooks on the end. These hooks are driven into the soft flesh behind the chins of five men. Their toes are inches from the floor. They’re in various states of being tortured to death. Electrodes are attached to tongues and genitals. A couple lack genitals and or other body parts. A couple have most of their skin flayed off.
“One would assume that they were told they wouldn’t be allowed to die until they revealed the location of the rest of the drugs and money they’ve stolen,” Jyri said. “Of course, they couldn’t. I’ve seen the dossiers of these men. They’ve trafficked in hundreds of women and subjected many to unthinkable abuse. Now they’ve paid, and gangsters will no longer be searching for the real thieves, meaning you and yours. You have indeed done something to, as you put it, ‘help people.’ That was my gift to you.”
He deletes the image. I thank him. Now I can believe that, in some small way, justice has been served by my activities. I go back to my seat beside Kate.
Real Finn boss Topi Ruutio stops by and one of his redneck nationalist supporters comes to worship. We’re speaking English and the devotee, loud, drunk and rude, tells Kate to learn to speak fucking Finnish. He must think it will score points with Ruutio, who seems like a nice guy. Ruutio calls him an ill-mannered cunthead and tells him to fuck off.
On the way out, Milo hands Kate a set of car keys. He points down the street at a brand-new Audi S4. “That belongs to you,” he says.
“Why?”
Milo looks at the ground, hands in pockets. “I upset you the other day when I slipped and you found out about the body dump and I wanted to make it up to you.”
Kate is second-day drunk and weaving a bit. She kisses his cheek. “You think you can buy my affection,” she says, “but you can’t.”
He reddens, turns away. She giggles. “You don’t have to, I already like you. But if you want to keep showering me with expensive gifts, I’ll let you.”
The guy that yelled at Kate is smoking in the corner of the patio as we come out. No one is looking. Sweetness ambles over and slaps him. Even openhanded, the blow lifts the guy off his feet, onto his back. He rolls over and pushes himself up onto all fours, tries to get up. Sweetness rests his foot on his back, puts his weight into it and slams him hard onto the ground. “Be rude to her again,” he said, “and I’ll kill you.”
Sweetness walks away. The guy stands up. In the streetlight, I see the slap left about a thousand millimeter-sized little blood blisters on his cheek and jaw. He reaches in his mouth and pulls out a molar, then another tooth, and another tooth, and he cries.
I drive Kate home in her new Audi.
27
I get up early the next morning. I have a post-op checkup with my brother Jari. In his office, we do the usual stuff. He tests my reflexes and blood pressure and so on, but mostly we talk.
“Do you have any physical problems at all? Coordination. Weakness. Headaches. Any more seizures?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“What about going flat? Have you had any improvement there, felt any emotions?”
“Of a kind,” I say. “I don’t feel anything, but sometimes I like or want things.”
I pick up my cane. “Like this. I love this thing, would sleep with it if I could.”
“What about people?”
“Women. I see a beautiful girl, it drives me crazy. Picture the wants of a six-year-old combined with the libido of a sixteen-year-old.”
“Have you acted on those feelings?”
“No, but I could. I don’t seem to care about what I do, either. My existence is binary. Want/don’t want. Like/don’t like. Will/won’t. I have no shades of gray.”
“What about your family. Anything there?”
“Not a damned thing. I practice smiling in the mirror. I remember what my feelings were, and act according to what I think I should do based on memories. It seems to work. I know what my duties are, and I fulfill them.”
“I advised you to talk to your wife about this. Have you done it, or even considered it?”
“No, and I won’t. I don’t think Kate could accept it.”
He leans forward in his chair, rests his elbows on his desk and his head on his hands. “It’s been three months. No progress at all doesn’t bode well. You need your wife and her support.”
I say nothing.
“Do you really think you’ve hidden the change in yourself from her? How do you think this is affecting her?”
I think of the gifts she now accepts, knowing the source of the money that bought them. She never would have even contemplated accepting them a short time ago. She’s trying to find a way of coming to terms with what I do now, and she refuses to complain because I asked her, openly and honestly, before all that has come to pass began. I realize, although she isn’t coming to terms with it, that it isn’t fair to hold her to the agreement, because she didn’t understand what it might entail. Nor did I.
I was naive and used. Arvid once told me that my naivete would be the death of me. For the hundredth time, I think: this black-op was never for the forces of good. I was misled. I’m a rogue cop and a criminal. Sooner or later, I’ll outlive my usefulness and they’ll find a way to get rid of me. Probably set me up, discredit me, and see that I get a long prison sentence. The public will applaud such excellent skank. The mighty brought low. Even a savior of children. I can’t quit because first I need to find a way to not only get free of the corrupt politicos that control me, but to destroy them in order to do it.