The Cup (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

It was nighttime when they arrived in Stockholm. Late October in Sweden meant short days and nights growing long. The city was already in winter mode. The temperature outside was a chilly 10° above zero. Snow covered the ground around the airport.

A man wearing a dark overcoat came forward to meet them as they neared customs. He had the face of a man who had seen more than he wanted to. He was around six feet tall, about Nick's height, with the same hard look Nick saw every time he looked in a mirror. It was something that came with years of military service. He was about forty years old, with blonde hair cropped close to his head. He had ice blue eyes that passed over Nick and the others with quick appraisal.

"Nicholas Carter?"

"Yes."

"Otto Forsberg. Welcome to Sweden."

Forsberg's English was good, his accent slight. They shook hands. Nick introduced the others. In Sweden, everyone learned English in school.

"Come with me," Forsberg said. He flashed his ID and took them through customs, bypassing inspection.

"Do you have checked baggage?" he asked.

"No, just what we're carrying."

"Good. I have a car waiting."

As they left the airport and stepped into the Swedish night, the cold hit them with razor sharpness. Selena pulled up the fur-lined hood of a blue parka. The coat set off the blue/violet color of her eyes and her blondish hair. With her high cheekbones and fair skin, most Swedes would take her for a native.

They got into the car, a black Volvo wagon idling by the entrance to the terminal. The heater was blasting. Nick was glad of the warmth inside the car.

"Where are you staying?" Forsberg asked.

Selena gave him the name of the hotel. Forsberg said something to the driver and they pulled away into light traffic.

Forsberg opened a briefcase that had been in the car and took out a folder. He handed it to Nick.

"We will begin tomorrow. In the meantime, I thought you would want to see what we have found out so far."

"Anything new on who killed your man?"

"We're still following up on our inquiries."

"So, nothing new."

"Not yet."

"How do you plan to work us into your investigation?"

"I will be honest. It was not my idea to invite you here. I don't see what you can do that we can't. However, you are here now and my orders are to find a way for you to be useful."

"Sure glad we can be useful," Lamont said.

"It's an awkward situation," Forsberg said. "At this point I'm not sure how you fit in. You bring fresh eyes to our investigation. Perhaps you'll see something we've overlooked. Or you may have an idea that helps us find whoever killed Vilgot. You know what it's like. Intelligence work is a little like being a policeman. There's a lot of looking at bits of information and trying to piece them together into a picture we can understand."

"You knew the dead man?" Selena asked.

"Yes, I knew him. We are a small organization and he was a good friend. This is personal for me. I want the people who did this. If you can help me do that, I will be very grateful."

"We didn't bring our weapons," Nick said. "Speaking of grateful, that's what I'd be if you could issue us pistols."

"You think you will need them?"

"Something like what you have under your coat would probably work."

"Ah, I didn't think that was quite so obvious."

"What are you carrying?" Ronnie asked.

"A 10mm
Pist 88
, what you would call a Glock 17."

"To answer your question," Nick said, "I don't know if we'll need them but I don't want to find out we do if we run into trouble. Whoever killed your man isn't playing games. If we succeed in finding him, he may be with his buddies. Even if he's not, he's not going to go peacefully."

"I'll see what I can do," Forsberg said, "but it's unlikely to be approved. Not many of us carry guns here."

"Mmm," Nick said.

"Tomorrow we are going to one of the asylum centers for the refugees," Forsberg said. "It's the last place Andersson was seen before he disappeared. I want to question the residents again."

"Residents?"

"It's an apartment block, people from Syria and Iraq. It's not a pleasant place but it's better than living in a plastic tent. The people there are lucky."

"Some kind of luck," Lamont said.

"Do you speak Arabic?" Selena asked.

"No."

"Then I can translate."

"Yes, your ability with languages is in our file. You understand the dialects?"

There's always a file,
she thought. Sometimes she wondered if there was any aspect of her life that wasn't in a folder somewhere.

"It depends, but yes. Most of the dialects from the Middle East."

"That's the first good news I've had today. When we interviewed people at the center we had to rely on one of their interpreters. I'm sure he didn't translate everything. Perhaps you will have better results."

The car pulled up at the entrance of the hotel.

"Here you are."

They got out of the car.

"I'll be back at 0800 tomorrow to pick you up." He looked at his watch. "I'd better get going. We're having a special family dinner tonight. It's my grandfather's birthday. He's ninety-two."

"That's fantastic," Nick said.

"He volunteered to fight the Germans during World War II. You would enjoy his stories, I think."

"Wasn't Sweden neutral?"

"Not all of us were."

Forsberg got back in the car. They watched it drive away.

"He seems pretty friendly," Ronnie said.

"Makes a change," Lamont said. "Usually everybody tells us to stay out of the way."

"Sooner or later someone will," Nick said.

CHAPTER 3
 

Stockholm was built on an archipelago, a series of islands interwoven with lakes and canals. Nick and Selena's room looked out over the waterfront of Lake Mälaren with a good view of the city. City Hall lay in one direction, the Swedish Parliament building and Old Town in the other.

The hotel was a typical upscale European design, with a central living area paneled in light wood that might have been birch or ash. Recessed in one wall was an enormous TV. The bathroom was tiled in gray and black, accented with chrome and multiple mirrors. Large white ceramic bowls set on a stone counter served as wash basins.

The suite looked as though it had come straight from the pages of a high-end architectural magazine. Light blue, translucent cloth curtains hung on a wall of windows looking out over the lake.

The furniture was functional and comfortable, featuring chairs and a couch covered in gray fabric with matching wall-to-wall carpeting and a polished round table. Discrete recessed lighting could be adjusted for a variety of effects.

Nick looked around the room.

"Not bad."

Selena tossed her jacket over the back of a chair. "The Swedes have a real knack for this kind of thing."

"Let's have a drink downstairs and get something to eat. It might be our last chance to relax for a while. Things will start in earnest tomorrow."

"What about Ronnie and Lamont?"

"I'll give them a call. They're just next door."

Fifteen minutes later they were in the lobby bar, sitting in front of a massive rock fireplace blazing with a gas fire. A waitress brought their drinks. Soda for Ronnie, alcohol for everyone else.

Alcohol didn't mix well with Ronnie's Navajo genes. One of the reasons he'd joined the Marines was to get away from the problems on the reservation caused by drinking. Alcohol in any form was illegal on tribal land, but that didn't stop people from getting drunk. Poverty and booze went hand-in-hand on the Rez.

"That fire feels great," he said. "These days the cold gets to me when the weather changes."

"What do you expect?" Lamont said. "You're gettin' old. Hell, I'm surprised you're not already using a walker."

"If anyone around here needs a walker, it's you," Ronnie said.

"I can still out run you any day."

"I don't think so."

Nick broke in. "Let's talk about tomorrow."

"What time's the restaurant open?" Lamont asked. "Are we going to have time for breakfast?"

"There's twenty-four hour room service. Just leave one of those cards out on the door handle with what you want and when you want it. They'll bring it."

"Man, I love staying in places like this. Thanks for booking us in here, Selena."

"You're welcome," she said.

Selena had upgraded them to the best rooms in the hotel, just because she could. She did the same with airplane tickets if they were flying commercial. She'd told Nick it helped make up for the times they had to sleep on a bed of rocks or sand, freeze in mud or snow or fight off scorpions and snakes. An inheritance meant she didn't have to worry about money and she intended to enjoy it. Somehow she'd managed to remain unspoiled in spite of her wealth.

"I still don't see what we're supposed to do here," Lamont said.

"It depends on what Forsberg's team turns up." Nick drained his whiskey and signaled the waiter for another. "You heard what he said. He's hoping Selena catches something they missed when we go to that refugee center. We bring a fresh perspective. Maybe we'll see something they don't."

"Sending all of us means Elizabeth thinks there's going to be trouble," Selena said.

"Sometimes she plays things pretty close to the vest," Nick said, "but she wouldn't hold back anything important."

"It might not have anything to do with her," Ronnie said. "Rice is on his way out but he wouldn't mind helping out his legacy with some success over ISIS before he goes. He's the one that gave her the word."

"We don't know ISIS is involved," Nick said.

"Yeah, but it seems damn likely to me. ISIS has been blowing up statues and defacing sculptures everywhere they go, but they don't destroy the small stuff. They sell it for big bucks to buy weapons. If Andersson found someone doing that, it would've been enough reason to kill him."

"So much for what the Koran says about images," Lamont said. "None of their radical ideology means a damn thing when it comes to making money."

"It's classic." Selena had ordered a martini. She took a sip from her glass and set it down. "Ideology takes second place to money. They excuse it as using the infidel's own works against him."

"ISIS is bad news," Nick said. "You wonder how they can do what they do."

"I don't see how anyone can do what they do," Lamont said.

"That's why you're one of the good guys."

"Radical Islam isn’t rational," Selena said. "It's collective insanity."

Ronnie changed the subject. "You think the Swedes are going to give us guns?".

"I don't know," Nick said. "Let's see if Forsberg can arrange it."

CHAPTER 4

The next morning Forsberg waited until the Volvo pulled away from the hotel to tell them.

"Sorry, no guns," he said. "And if you're thinking about going around that, I wouldn't advise it."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Nick said. "For the record, I think it's a mistake."

"You won't need them," Forsberg said.

"Let's hope you're right."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

The refugee housing was located in a suburb on the outskirts of Stockholm, bordering tracts of farmland. Set back from the street was a long, six-story brick apartment building that took up an entire block. It had been erected before World War II and was showing its age. Graffiti was scrawled across the front in Arabic. Trash littered the barren ground in front of the building. A group of sullen men in jackets and woolen caps stood around a fire built in an oil drum.

"Keep the engine running," Forsberg told the driver. "We shouldn't be long."

The men around the fire gave them hostile looks as they got out of the car. Lamont looked at the building. Someone was watching from a second story window. Someone on the top floor closed a curtain.

"Not a good vibe," Lamont said. "Reminds me of parts of D.C."

"I get a bad feeling about this place," Ronnie said.

"The religious leader here is Abu Sayed Hussein," Forsberg said. "I want to talk to him first. These people listen to him,"

"What did he say when you interviewed him before?"

It was cold. Nick kept his hands in his pockets. His breath formed clouds of steam in the air as they talked.

"He said he didn't know anything. He was hiding something."

"Is everyone here Muslim?"

"Yes."

"Is Hussein Sunni or Shia?" Selena asked.

"Sunni. We found out early on that it's a good idea to keep the two apart. They're housed in separate facilities."

"Isis is Sunni," Nick said.

"Do you want me to translate?" Selena asked.

"It would be better if he didn't know you spoke Arabic. I called earlier and spoke with the man who supervises this place and let him know we were coming. I asked for a translator to be made available. Hussein will have someone with him. I want you to tell me afterward if the translation was accurate. If you think there's something I should ask when we're talking, go ahead and interrupt."

"You expect him to lie?"

"Nothing feels right about this guy," Forsberg said. He turned to Nick and the others. "I'd like the rest of you to stay with the car."

"Why?" Nick asked.

"No offense, but all of you together look a little intimidating. It's hard enough to get these people to talk to us. I don't want them to think we're here to arrest somebody. Everyone is afraid of being sent back where they came from."

"They already know we're here," Nick said. "They've been watching us since we pulled up."

"I know, but we need to be sensitive."

Nick rolled his eyes.

A lanky man with a shock of ash blonde hair came out of the building and walked toward them.

"That's Alf Nilsson," Forsberg said. "He's the supervisor here, but Hussein is really the one in charge. I've known Alf for years."

Nick started to say something but changed his mind.

Nilsson came up to them. "Good morning, Otto. Hussein's expecting you."

"Hello, Alf." The two men shook hands.

"Who have you brought with you?"

Forsberg introduced Nick and the others.

"Americans?" Nelson asked.

"They're here to help." Forsberg didn't elaborate on what kind of help.

"If you say so. Follow me."

The building had three separate entrances. Nilsson led Forsberg and Selena to the one on the far left. The door opened onto a narrow hall. The air was thick with cooking smells and the sour odor of too many people. On the right, a concrete stairway with an iron railing climbed toward the upper floors. Yellow paint on the walls peeled away from cracked concrete showing underneath. A single light bulb lit the hall. Graffiti in Arabic was scrawled everywhere.

"What will happen to the people who live here?" Selena asked Nilsson.

"It depends. Some will be deported. Some of them will go somewhere else. Some will stay here, in Sweden."

Nilsson looked away from her as he spoke.

Doesn't want to talk about it,
she thought.
I can't blame him.

They walked past several apartments to the end of the hall and knocked on the door.

An older woman wearing a
gray covering over her hair and shoulders
opened the door. It was hard to tell her age. She seemed worn and angry, the kind of look that comes from years of poverty and hardship.

Her eyes flicked over Selena and she frowned. "He is waiting for you."

"I'll leave you here," Nilsson said.

The woman turned and walked away, not bothering to see if they were behind her. They followed the woman to a large room in the back where windows looked out over a snow-covered field and a half dozen children kicking a soccer ball. A worn Persian rug covered the floor.

Abu Sayed Hussein sat on a cushion placed on a low dais, a round faced man with a sallow complexion, dressed in a black robe and a white turban. One of his eyelids drooped half closed. His dark hair needed cutting and he wore a thick, full beard. A green banner hung on the wall behind him with "God is Great" written on it in white Arabic letters.

A self-appointed mullah,
Selena thought.
Just what we needed.

A small, rat faced man with a thin beard and beady black eyes sat on Hussein's left. He introduced himself as Gabriel. Hussein gestured at cushions placed in front of him. As Selena and the others sat, he spoke in Arabic.

"Major. If you are here about your unfortunate friend, I have already told you everything I know."

Gabriel translated. His eyes crawled over Selena.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Forsberg said. "We have just a few routine inquiries for you."

"Who have you brought with you?" Gabriel asked.

"She is one of my associates in training. She is here to observe."

Hussein pointed at Selena and said something in Arabic. He looked angry.

"I'm sorry," Selena said, "I don't speak Arabic. Have I done something wrong?"

"You are dressed immodestly," Gabriel said. "Your hair is uncovered."

"Please excuse me. I am still learning."

Selena pulled the hood of her parka over her hair. Hussein grunted approval.

The woman who had answered the door entered the room with a tray and set it down. She knelt and poured glasses of tea from a brass pot. She handed them to Forsberg, Gabriel and Hussein and ignored Selena. She gave Selena a disapproving look and left the room.

Good thing I didn't want any tea,
Selena thought.

Forsberg began.

"I wanted to go over what you told us before about Andersson. You said that he visited here only once?"

The translator spoke to Hussein in Arabic. Selena listened.

"This Swedish dog asks again about the man who died. He says you told him the man was here only once. He wants to know if that is so. Tell him whatever he wants to hear so he'll go away."

"Tell him yes, only once," Hussein said. "He is becoming annoying."

"He says yes, only once."

"Well, you see there's a problem about that," Forsberg said. "We recently discovered Andersson's notes. He mentions three visits here, not one."

"That cannot be," Gabriel said. He turned to Hussein.

"He says the man was here three times. I told him that could not be so."

"Tell him that if the man was here, it was without my knowledge. Tell him that he violated my hospitality and his government's rules for such interrogations."

Gabriel repeated what Hussein had said.

Forsberg said, "Whether it was three visits or one, the last place Andersson was seen alive was here. A witness saw him talking with a man outside before he left. He was murdered later that evening. We would like to find this person and speak with him."

"What did this man look like? We have many men here."

"He had a distinctive scar on his cheek. I want to interview the men and find him."

Gabrielle translated. Hussein scowled.

"He is talking about Ahmed. That fool was stupid to be seen. This has gone far enough. Tell him it is not possible for him to interview the men and that in any event, there is no one with such a scar here. Ask him who the witness was. Then tell him that the interview is over."

"Who was this witness?" Gabriel asked.

"I can't tell you that."

"It will not be possible for you to talk with the men. Besides, there is no one with a scar such as you describe living here. The interview is over."

Gabriel stood.

"What about the man with the scar I saw outside? As we came in?" Selena said.

"There is no such man. This interview is over."

Hussein's woman had been listening outside the door. Now she went into the hall and knocked on the door of the next unit. A man answered. The woman said something to him. He nodded and left his apartment, walking quickly to the entrance.

In the interview room, Forsberg and Selena stood. Hussein remained seated, unsmiling. He waved at them with the back of his hand, dismissing them.

"You must leave now," Gabriel said.

"Let's go," Forsberg said to Selena. They left the room.

"He lied," Selena said as they walked down the hall. "He knows the man with the scar. His name is Ahmed."

After they were gone, Hussein turned to Gabriel.

"Send Ahmed to the farm. He can relieve Jamal."

"I told you there would be problems over killing the spy. We should have disposed of his body."

"It was a direct order from al-Baghdadi. He wanted an example made. Would you like to explain your concerns to him?"

"I meant no disrespect."

"The Swede we have been using to distribute the artifacts has forgotten where his good fortune comes from. He is skimming profits by keeping select pieces for himself."

"The Swedes are a corrupt people," Gabriel said.

"Call him. Threaten to end our business relationship unless he does something to divert police attention from us. It will mislead him into thinking he is still trusted, but he has outlived his usefulness. After he has done as you asked, I want you to go to his house and eliminate him. Retrieve anything that might lead back to us."

Gabrielle placed his hand over his heart and bowed.

"As you wish, Abu."