Into a Raging Blaze (12 page)

The morning after, she carried on searching the Internet. She felt a growing anger. The anger ran through her, scratching the inside of her gut. She should really stop roving around all these websites; it wasn't working, she knew that. Yet she couldn't help herself. She clicked from one page to another, searching restlessly for pictures, a name, anything that might provide her with a clue. Over and over she googled different search keywords, but she had already visited many of the hits the day before. It felt like she was going around in circles, and it pissed her off a lot. At lunchtime, she was close to throwing the computer to the floor in despair.

It couldn't carry on like this. She wouldn't find him. Not like this.

She needed to get out. She pulled on her coat, pushed her feet into her shoes, and took a brisk, furious walk down toward the city center. Everything irritated her. Everyone was in the way. When she crossed a road near Hötorget, she was inches from being run over. Startled by the car's horn, she stuck a finger up at the driver, who grimaced at her in his rearview mirror. She marched into the PUB store. Department stores were full of things to look at and she needed distractions. She went up and down between the floors on
the escalators, wandered around the clothing departments. Slowly, she regained her calm.

She still had the report. If there was anywhere that she might find a clue about what had happened, something about Jean and their meeting, it was bound to be there, in amongst the hundreds of pages of the Commission's report.

Back at home, she made some sandwiches and ate them at the kitchen table. A dog was howling somewhere in the building. The sound—a muted complaint—penetrated into the stairwell and was audible through her front door.

She sat down in an armchair with the report. The pile of paper rested heavily on her lap. An EU report. Four hundred and twenty pages of Brussels prose. It was because of this that she had lost her job. She had never thought that something like this would be of such significance to her. It was lucky she was quick-witted. If she hadn't remembered the report and smuggled it out of her office she would never have gotten her hands on it again. She carefully turned to the first page.

Security Across Borders—A New European Intelligence Service

She settled down and began to read.

The report was introduced by a sweeping description of the present-day situation. The text talked about the threat to our societies—terrorism, organized crime, floods of refugees—and how these threats were only growing in a globalized world. It was no longer possible to distinguish between civilian and military threats, said the report. And this required closer cooperation between military and civilian security services.

The Union had a common strategy against terrorism and other serious crime in Europe. The so-called Stockholm Program had been a success, but now the battle for a free and open Europe needed to be taken to a new level. There was a need for a central organization at a European level. An organization that could function as a central operator, a meeting place for the nations' security services.

The hours passed by without her noticing while she worked through the heavy, bureaucratic text. It whispered, threatened, argued, reasoned. It wanted to persuade, convince, make her think like the person who had written the report. It wanted her to say yes. The entire text was dripping with the same racist assumptions about the EU and the surrounding world that had been a source of provocation for her so many times previously. Border controls, illegal immigrants as potential threats. Terrorism and Muslims.

The text was constantly getting at a basic idea, which only became apparent after a couple of hundred pages. It was time to go one step further, said the report—it was time to develop, “a European, transnational ability to defend the freedom and security of the European Union and its member states. For this purpose, we propose the creation of a federal European security organization, with the purpose of promoting and coordinating the fight against terrorism and organized crime, both within the Union and throughout the world.”

She read on. There were then several chapters that outlined how the security service would work, what mandate it would have, which assignments it would undertake. The text became more and more detailed and technical. The new organization was described, its methods for gathering intelligence in EU countries, its direction. During the first two years a “platform” would be developed containing sources, informants, and whistleblowers throughout Europe. Parallel to this, a network of sources and infiltrators outside of Schengen would also be developed. She shuddered—these were real secrets. Long paragraphs outlined how to efficiently connect “resources” to the global fight against terrorism. Two long chapters described how operations outside of Europe's borders would be carried out in order to, as it said, “prevent threats to the Union.” The next chapter explained how the EU would develop a closer collaborative relationship with Mossad, the CIA, and other agencies. The report then continued, section by section, by detailing how effective exchanges of information and operational resources would be facilitated between the security services of European nations, including MI6 and MI5 of Britain, the French DGSE, the German BND, the
Spanish CNI, and many others. Within three years, the organization would have “independent operational abilities.”

Operational abilities.

Jean was right. This was the groundwork for a European spy organization.

The final pages included a budget. At first she thought she had misread. The estimated cost for the EIS, it said, quite matter of fact, was 1.1 billion Euros.

Stockholm city center stretched out beneath a gray sky. She stood at the window and looked toward Sveavägen, where people passed by on their way home from work; it was already afternoon. The day had flown by while she read, without her noticing. Somewhere, deep down in the pages of the report, there were clues that would lead her to Jean. He would be able to explain what this was about. She shouldn't be in possession of this information. But now she was, she couldn't pretend it didn't exist. She felt a strange, sucking sensation in her stomach and got up to pace around the room. A new European intelligence service. She worked in the Security Policy Department, she had worked day in, day out on European foreign policy, yet she hadn't heard anything about this. Not even a hint. It didn't make sense. A giant like that couldn't just slip under the radar. Secrets always spread through Brussels. The biggest secrets got to be known by everyone, sooner or later—it was a city of whispers. Somewhere there had to be more information: minuted conversations, notes, preliminary studies. Jean knew more. But where could she find him?

The reference number.

She checked herself. It was a chance, but it might just work. Reference numbers were unique. Each EU document had one, and all documents that referenced a report also referred to the same number, creating a link back to the first document. This way, each and every EU document created its own winding paper trail in a complicated series of numbers. With the reference number, she would be able to, with a little luck, trace the documents associated with the report and the spy organization hidden within it.

KOM(2011)790. The characteristic EU number was printed in the top right-hand corner of the first page. If there were more documents connected to the report, they were probably at the Ministry of Justice archives; this was their area of responsibility. She sent a text message to Jamal asking him to call.

After dinner, she made a fresh attempt to find Jean online. Yet more smiling faces and horrid pictures of people in office settings. At around nine it occurred to her that she had read something in the report about a meeting in London that had apparently fired the starting gun for the entire EIS project. She leafed through the document to the right page. An informal conference in London, it said, where an agreement had been reached concerning the foundations of the organization. When she searched online, she found nothing. Naturally, the meeting had been secret. Instead, she found several hits for a lecture on EC law and jurisprudence underpinning the fight against terror. The link was two years old. She clicked and was taken to a PDF from the Harvard Law School.

She scrolled quickly through the text. At the end was a series of pictures, somewhat amateurish photographs of men in suits on a panel, talking, smiling at the camera in a reception.

She leaned closer to the screen. She knew one of the men. It was Stefano Manservisi, the Head of the EU Commission's Directorate General for Internal Security. Next to him were two women, posing with huge smiles. Behind them a group of people were chatting.

There.

It was him: Jean.

10

Stockholm, Monday, September 26

Intelligence was the art of formulating accurate guesses about the future. Anyone looking for threats also had to be able to imagine a future where that threat might become a reality. Not all possible futures were of equal interest; it was only a certain type that was worthy of attention: the one that bore a threat against the safety of the nation. It was important to be careful when putting together fragments of information and trying to distinguish these potential futures, scenarios. Not an exact science, obviously—rather, it was a question of probabilities, risks.

Bente dropped these thoughts as she slowed her car, pulled into a parking space and grabbed her handbag. The flight had been delayed further. She had come straight from Arlanda airport, but she was still late.

A secretary from Counterespionage met her in the bright entrance to the Security Service building and quickly led her up to the eighth floor. They were waiting for her in a cold conference room. Gustav Kempell, who was Head of Counterespionage, two investigators from the branch, and a technician.

They shook hands, introducing themselves by their first names. Gustav, Joakim, Lars, Jakob. No one needed to know more.

Kempell was the same as always: same square glasses and still, gray gaze; same calm manner as he went right to the point as soon as they sat down.

In the first stage, Dymek was to be profiled—her friends, family, networks, her travel and meetings, whether anyone had spotted
any unusual behavior, contact outside of what was expected. They briefly discussed if she could be considered to have a motive, and if so how it was to be investigated. But it was still too early to contact her. First they needed to know more. They needed to go through Dymek's work computer—it would be confiscated from the MFA.

The question was how she had gotten hold of the material. She had told her bosses that she had met a man from the EU Commission, but the Commission denied any such contact.

The incident was serious, but could be contained. Civil servants mismanaging secret documents, causing cracks in the wall of secrecy, had happened before. But this was about a diplomat at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—close to the government. It was connected to the EU Commission, to the Brits, and a sensitive project. The information was highly classified. It was therefore important to deal with it quickly, tidily, and without a whisper of the affair reaching the media. The damage was potentially extensive if the report was distributed any further. Everyone agreed that it was vital to secure all copies—physical and especially digital. The distribution of the report digitally involved far greater damage; to stem it was crucial but would involve significantly more detective work.

Perhaps Carina Dymek had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But they couldn't count on that. If she wasn't alone, who was her contact?

“Probably someone that Dymek trusted,” said one of the investigators. “Someone she was willing to take risks for.”

“Not necessarily. Someone may be putting pressure on her.”

Perhaps.

“We'll postpone discussing motives,” said Kempell. “First we need a comprehensive profile—relations, networks, everything—then we can see if we can get under her skin. I want to know if this is an isolated case, if it only concerns this civil servant—Dymek. We'll have to hope so,” he added without any conviction. Skepticism was the watchword in Counterespionage and Kempell was the branch's chief skeptic.

For now, they were only to observe and document.

“What does the Commission say?” Kempell asked, turning to Bente.

“Nothing new. They claim that they have no leak.” She briefly explained what Mikael had heard in Brussels. The Commission had clammed up—it was a reflex reaction. They were afraid of scandal and wanted to avoid an investigation.

“That's just as well. We'll focus on Dymek and leave the Commission alone.” Kempell adjusted his glasses and said, as if in passing, “I gather you were in contact with the Brits this morning.”

“That's correct.”

The question took her by surprise. She hadn't thought that Kempell would bring up her meeting with Green in front of the others. She had told him about it in confidence and had believed it would remain between the two of them. Had she known that Kempell would be so open about her contact, she would probably not have told him about Green.

“And what did they say?”

“They're worried.”

Kempell looked intently at her. His perseverance irritated her.

“The Brits are keen to limit the damage,” she said quickly. “They see a greater risk than we do, I would say. Perhaps they know more than we do. They're prepared to support our investigation. I think we can form a decent partnership on this.”

Kempell nodded. “So your judgment is that the Brits know more than us. Did you get any impression of what it might all be about?”

She thought back to what Green had said in the morning—that there might be a tsunami. She looked at the others. What could she say that wouldn't immediately leak into the rest of the building?

She shrugged her shoulders. “They think this is bigger than just Dymek.”

Kempell looked at her quizzically. Then he turned to the others.

“Remember,” he said, “it is important that we cooperate with London. No matter what, we must cooperate. This is a serious incident, but damaging the Brits' trust in us would be far more serious. Our relationship with London has taken decades to build; it is an old friendship. It must endure, even after this fucking Dymek is gone.”