The Swimmer (42 page)
And after a few more weeks, she’d gone up to Stockholm for a weekend to visit Gabriella. They’d gone shopping at NK and Nitty Gritty. Eaten oysters at a new bistro. Afterward there were drinks, and Klara made out with a copywriter on a couch at Riche for a while. Laughing. A little drunk. Stumbling home along the frozen water with a 7-Eleven hot dog in her hand. Slowly starting to get used to this quite ordinary, quite wonderful life.
But when she got back to the archipelago everything that had happened washed over her again. It was as if she couldn’t escape the betrayal. Her father’s betrayal, Cyril’s betrayal, and most of all her own.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t rid herself of the idea that she was responsible for Mahmoud’s murder. That she was responsible for her father’s murder.
But she couldn’t go on like that, lying there in her childhood room dwelling, dwelling, dwelling on it. The only way to avoid it was to stay active.
In mid-March, she contacted her old teacher and Mahmoud’s supervisor, Lysander, and they’d met for lunch at the Saluhall in Uppsala.
He was the same. Steel gray hair and a rigid posture. A soft heart that he masked well behind a facade of filterless Gitanes. He knew of course that there had to be something else behind Mahmoud’s death than the story in the papers, spread by Bronzelius and his colleagues. You couldn’t dupe Lysander into thinking Mahmoud had come into contact with a terrorist network through his research, and then tried to infiltrate it. That this led to his heroic death. But still Lysander didn’t try to fish for information from Klara, for which she was grateful. And he agreed without hesitation to let her finish Mahmoud’s dissertation.
So she went to Brussels and arranged for the move. Found a small studio in the Luthagen area in Uppsala and took over Mahmoud’s office. Maybe it was unhealthy. Maybe it wasn’t a normal grieving process. But it was what she had to do.
And so, finally, when the ice over the Fyris river had disappeared almost entirely outside her office window, when Uppsala started buzzing about Walpurgis celebrations and the spring ball, Klara opened the drawer where she had kept the note with the e-mail address of the woman who called herself Susan.
She asked the taxi driver to stop at the Smithsonian metro station. The early summer warmth hit her as she opened the back door. The Mall was green and full of joggers and people eating lunch. It was her first time in the States. How was it possible that she hadn’t been here before? Everything felt so familiar. She removed her earbuds, letting this new world wash over her without a filter.
It took her half an hour to get to Capitol Hill. A quick look at her phone’s map application. She took a right turn onto Independence Avenue around the congressional building and then left onto First Street. The smell of summer, hot dogs, and onions wafted from the vendors on street corners. Men and women in suits hurried by her on the street, heading to their next important, meaningless meeting. It was confusing. Just six months ago, that had been her. But that was another time. Another life.
And there it was at last, right in front of her. The US Supreme Court building, as white and proud as a Roman temple.
Klara saw her immediately. To the left, halfway up the stairs. Alone, small, and pale. Forgettable. Not someone you’d notice. Just as she’d described herself in her e-mail. Klara looked up at the angled roof of the building. equal justice under law. Was Susan being ironic when she chose this meeting place?
Klara climbed the stairs and sat down diagonally one step behind the woman.
‘Welcome to Washington,’ said Susan, without turning around.
Her eyes seemed to be fastened to the back of the Capitol Building. Klara said nothing.
‘Summer came early this year,’ said Susan.
Klara nodded.
‘It would seem so.’
Susan took a deep breath.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What is it you want to know?’
They were surrounded by the sound of the city, the traffic, sirens. Klara leaned forward and filled her lungs with the early summer air. It was time.
‘Who was he?’ she said.
Susan didn’t seem to have heard her at first. Then she turned slowly toward Klara. Her eyes were gray like the rocks of the archipelago, like ashes, like razor blades.
‘He liked to swim,’ she said.
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An invitation from the publisher
Thank you, to everyone at Wahlström & Widstrand, above all my editor Helene Atterling who understood immediately what I wanted to do with this book and who gave me the opportunity to do it. Julia Lövestam; Åsa Selling; Astri von Arbin Ahlander; Håkan Bravinger; Johan Jarnvik; Pelle Hilmersson, now it’s your turn. And, finally, my beloved wife Liisa - We did it.
Afterwards, it’s completely silent. The child is lying under me, my hands pressed tightly against its ears. The child blinks at me, takes a thin, feverish breath. Not even one sliver of glass has reached her.
Klara Walldéen was orphaned as a child and brought up by her grandparents on a remote Swedish archipelago. She is now making her name in the murky world of European politics – but she has just seen something she shouldn’t: something people will kill to keep hidden.
On the other side of the world, an old spy hides from his past. Once, he was a man of action, so dedicated to the cause that he abandoned his baby daughter to keep his cover. Now, alone and far from home, only the rhythm of his daily swims can keep his ghosts at bay.
Then, on Christmas eve, Klara is thrown into a terrifying chase through Europe. Only the Swimmer can save her. But time is running out...
This is an electrifying thriller from a brilliant new talent. Published in twenty-seven countries, and already a bestseller in Sweden,
The Swimmer
is on the cusp of becoming a global phenomenon.
‘A multi-layered thriller full of style, drive and immediacy. It is so elegantly constructed that, while reading, I forgot I was holding a debut novel in my hands. Joakim Zander has used his insider knowledge to forge a powerful conspiracy story in which individuals can be lost, and power can be bought and sold.’
Göteborgs-Posten
‘
The Swimmer
is a fluidly written, thrilling, and worthwhile read.’
Folkbladet
‘A well-written thriller that drives tension through sparse minimalist language. Zander chooses his words carefully to support his agenda. He wants to scrutinize the methods and effects of the so-called battle between good and evil.’
Norrköpings Tidningar
‘Well-written and incredibly compelling, with a carefully created cast of characters and a plot that avoids the usual genre clichés.’
Skånska Dagbladet
‘This could easily have been just another conspiracy thriller, but Zander’s novel differentiates itself through rich language and well-structured plotlines. The story ranges from glossy EU parties to stormy boat rides between jagged cliff faces sharpened by thick ice. In the midst of the breathless action, Zander also succeeds in writing flesh-and-blood characters that feel believable.’
Dalarnas Tidningar
‘An unsettling thriller about the ruthlessness underpinning democratic power, where ends justify means and good guys are bad guys. At the end you look up and see the world differently.’
Lesley Thomson, bestselling author of
The Detective’s Daughter
‘A fast-paced thriller with the potential to be an international bestseller. Joakim Zander has crafted a page-turning plot; a story about moral questions, guilt and atonement, culpability and revenge.’
Borås Tidning
‘A terrific globe-trotting page-turner, rich with complex conflicts and a big, meaty, chillingly credible conspiracy.’
Chris Pavone, bestselling author of
The Expats
J
OAKIM
Z
ANDER
was born in 1975 in Stockholm, Sweden. He currently works as a lawyer for the European Union in Helsinki, Finland and has previously lived in Belgium, the USA, and the Middle East.
Contact him via Twitter:
@JoakimZander
Find out more at:
www.headofzeus.com/newvoices
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