A lone boy made of iron, fifteen centimetres high, sits with his arms wrapped around his knees. The statue is located in the back garden of the Finnish church in Gamla Stan. Axel Riessen is three metres away, leaning on the ochre wall, eating noodles from a carton. He waves with his chopsticks as Joona and Saga walk through the gate.
“Tell us what you’ve figured out,” Joona says abruptly.
Axel nods, puts the carton of food down on the windowsill of the church, wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, and then takes time to shake hands with Joona and Saga.
“You said you understand what the photograph means,” Joona repeats.
Axel looks down, takes a deep breath, and then begins to speak. “It’s all about Kenya,” he says. “The four people in the box are celebrating an agreement on a huge shipment of ammunition to Kenya.”
He stops.
“Keep going,” Joona prompts.
“Kenya is buying 1.25 million units of licenced, manufactured 5.56?x?45 millimetre ammunition.”
“For automatic rifles,” Saga says.
“Supposedly an export to Kenya,” Axel says. “But they’ll never see it. It will be diverted to Sudan and the militia in Darfur. It suddenly all came to me. Agathe al-Haji is the buyer’s representative; therefore, it is for Sudan.”
“How does Kenya fit in?” Joona asks.
“These four in the box meet after the arrest warrant was issued. Right? We know because of the date this composition is being played. An embargo is on Sudan … but not on Kenya. And Kenya is nearby, located just to the south.”
“How can you be so sure?” Saga asks.
“Carl Palmcrona opted out of this tangle through suicide. This was his last job but he left it unfinished. He left it to me to carry out,” Axel says bitterly. “And I’ve promised to sign the export authorisation today.”
“So it’s the same business deal, just with the name of Sudan crossed out and Kenya put in,” Saga says.
“It’s watertight,” Axel says.
“Or it was before someone photographed the meeting,” Joona says drily.
“Before Palmcrona committed suicide, all the work was done. They believed he would sign the authorisation,” Axel tells them.
“And now they’re really uptight to find out he hadn’t done it.” Joona smiles.
“Everything’s left hanging,” Saga says.
“I was brought in quickly,” Axel says. “They practically forced a pen into my hand to make me sign the contract.”
“But?”
“I wanted to make my own decisions.”
“And you have.”
“Right.”
“And all the paperwork looked fine?” Saga asks.
“Yes … and I promised to sign and I would have, without a doubt, if I hadn’t seen that photograph and connected it with the Kenyan deal.”
They all stand quietly, contemplating the iron statue of the boy. It’s the smallest public artwork in Stockholm. Joona leans forward and pats the boy’s shiny head. The metal radiates warmth after a full day in the sun.
“They’re already loading the container ship in Gothenburg Harbour,” Axel says quietly.
“I’ve guessed as much,” Saga says. “But without export authorisation, then—”
“Then the ammunition cannot leave Sweden.”
“They expect you to sign today?” Joona asks. “Can you delay it somehow? We’ve got to keep on with our investigation and releasing that cargo might hinder it.”
“They’re not going to just sit around and wait.”
“Tell them that you’re still going through the paperwork,” Joona suggests.
“Well, I can do that, but it won’t be easy. The deal’s already delayed because of me, but I’ll give it a shot,” Axel says.
“Keep in mind your safety, too. Our investigation is important, but—”
Axel smiles and asks sceptically, “Do you think they’ll threaten me?”
Joona smiles back gravely. “As long as they want a signature from you, you’re not in danger. But if you block this, they’ll lose an incredible amount of money. Just imagine what it’s already taken to bribe people all the way from Sweden to Kenya.”
“I can’t delay the signature for ever. Salman’s been trying to reach me all day. These people know the field. You can’t deceive them too long.” Just then, Axel’s mobile phone rings.
He looks at the display and grimaces. “It’s Pontus Salman again—”
“Pick it up,” Joona says.
“All right,” Axel says, and takes the call. They can all hear the staccato voice on the other end.
“I couldn’t reach you,” Salman says accusingly. “You know the ship is already loaded and waiting. It costs money to keep it in the harbour. The ship’s owner has also tried to contact you. They haven’t got the authorisation form yet.”
“I am so sorry,” Axel says soothingly. He looks at Joona and Saga. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had time to take one last look at—”
“I’ve talked to the government officials and they said you were going to sign today.”
Axel blanks, his thoughts suddenly scattering. He’s tempted to just hang up. Instead, he clears his throat, apologises, and then he lies. “Something else came up that required my immediate attention. I had to put this aside for a moment—”
Axel can hear how false his voice sounds, and he had taken too long to answer. He was tempted again to simply tell the truth: that there would be no export authorisation because he now knows the truth about the illegal deal.
“We understood this would be completed today,” Salman says, not trying to hide his anger.
“You took a risk,” Axel says.
“What are you telling me?”
“Without my authorisation there can be no shipment—”
“But we have … excuse me?”
“You had permission to manufacture the ammunition and there’s been a positive preliminary decision. But that’s all.”
“You understand there’s a great deal at stake here,” Salman says pleadingly. “What can I tell the ship’s owner? Can you give us any idea at all about how long the delay will be? He needs to know how long he must stay in port. It’s purely a question of logistics.”
“I remain positive. But I still need to go through everything one last time. Then you’ll get my decision,” Axel says firmly.