“You could have been dead,” Axman said.
“There are a lot of things I could have been,” Modin answered while carefully pressing his right index finger against his upper lip. His lips were swollen and a darkening black mark was developing on the lower part of his chin.
Modin opened the pillbox and swallowed another capsule of antibiotics prescribed to him by the doctor at the hospital. The bitter, stale taste made him grimace. The purpose of the antibiotics was to prevent an oncoming and severe case of pneumonia caused by the dirty seawater in the harbor. Seawater he had inhaled voluntarily no less. Other than that, he felt okay. He had survived! Axman’s big eyes and way of looking at him was a clear invitation to keep talking, but Modin declined the invitation. He was not about to discuss moments of regrets he might have had while being down there.
They were sitting on the porch at Modin’s summer house. Axman had not waited for an invitation to sit down at the white dining room table and was now leisurely browsing through the documents lying in front of him.
He led Modin to understand that he had some pretty juicy information on Loklinth to share, and that he was able to back it up with a trail of emails. But Axman’s coolheaded rescue and resuscitation operation the night before had somehow gotten between them.
Modin was toddling around the room in a white bathrobe and a dark-blue towel wrapped around his neck. He had a hard time admitting to himself that Axman had hauled him out of the water last night and, by that, had saved him from certain death. In fact, he knew but couldn’t admit that he had misjudged the situation and that the drowning-trick had been a bad idea. Therefore, he had not been able to properly thank Axman, at least not further than a perfunctory comment: “Thanks for coming Axman, I’m glad to see you.”
Modin’s plan had been for Kent E to save him. Kent E had been a diving instructor in Thailand and he knew virtually everything worth knowing about diving. But last night at the quay, the circumstances had been extreme: it had been pitch black and time was of the essence. Would Kent E really have been able to hack that? He’d never know. His risk assessment had been questionable, but at least he seemed to have had Lady Luck on his side. Axman had been his Lady Luck. Modin just couldn’t figure out why he was so uncomfortable with that. But he was alive, and that was that.
It was midday on the last Sunday in July. A persistent drizzle had replaced the previously nice and sunny weather. Out on the bay, the surface almost seemed to be boiling from the intense rain, while a thin layer of fog was rising from the relatively warm water, elegantly wrapping two mallards paddling along the water’s edge in an enigmatic mist. The sound of water splashing down the gutters could be heard right outside the window. It was a soothing noise, and it created a kind of intimacy between the two men who were listening in complete silence. Words unspoken about what had taken place the previous night united them more than any therapeutic exercise of talking it out would ever have done. They could handle this.
Axman let out a short laugh. He energetically pushed his papers around to finally gather them in a neat little pile right in front of him.
“Come on, Modin, let’s quit the charade now. I have some printouts here I think might interest you, ripped right from Loklinth’s network communication.”
“You are kidding me? You have been able to hack into his computer?”
“Well, not quite, but he has a wireless network in his house. I have been able to sniff out his Internet traffic for the past two weeks. From what I can see, we have more than enough to nail this bastard, once and for all.”
“Is he surfing porn?” Modin said and leaned forward over the table, signaling that he was finally ready to move on.
“Yes, he likes teens with small, barely developed breasts, but that is just an added bonus. What I am talking about is his email traffic. I happen to have a printout.”
Axman pushed the pile of papers over to Modin, who sat down and immediately started going through it. Concentrating deeply, Modin read the first few conversations before putting down the documents. His eyes felt glossy when they finally met Axman’s, from concentration rather than tears or emotions.
“Totally un-fucking believable! Now we got him. How in the frigging hell can anyone be so careless? And he is supposed to be the head of Special Ops.”
Modin was beaming. The muscle stiffness and the aches were gone, as if they had never existed. His jaw was moving from side to side as if he was summarizing what he had just read and at the same time evaluating the information. Quick decisions following precise analysis—that was Modin’s modus operandi.
“Axman, you realize that this is material we can put to good use right now?”
Modin weighted the documents in his hand, moving them up and down. His eyes narrowed and his beat up lips formed into what was supposed to be an evil smile. It was not a pretty sight.
“You know that doing so is highly illegal, right?” Axman was trying to be level headed. “He is, after all, a public government official. If something goes astray, they will hang us from the nearest lamppost.”
“Yeah, I am sure, but nothing will go wrong, Axman. This is some heavy shit. What a frigging pervert. But the other material is even better. I especially like the email commending his consultants for a job well done.”
Modin again browsed through the pile and picked out the particular email. “Loklinth is going to end up behind bars for this, unless…”
Modin’s smile said much more than words could. He had an idea. He realized that the odds had now tipped in their favor. Chris Loklinth was practically a dead man.
He felt a slight shiver going down his spine. He loved the rush of excitement. It was like a good buzz in the making.
“You also need to take a look at this e-mail, Modin,” Axman said and handed him a sheet of paper he had kept separate. “I don’t think you’ll like it, but we have to do something.”