KRUUNUNHAKA, HELSINKI, FINLAND
Aside from her FBI training at Quantico—and maybe the odd foray on the wild side with her late husband Kyle when she was younger—Alex had never been placed in handcuffs before. She wasn’t a fan.
Helsinki Cathedral, a Finnish Evangelical Lutheran church, was situated in the neighborhood of Kruununhaka in the center of the city. As the blue lights flashed atop the sedans and minivans of the city’s police, many of her residents came out for a look to see what all the fuss was about.
Paramedics treated the injured men and placed them into ambulances, where they were handcuffed to their stretchers by police officers who accompanied them as they were transported to local hospitals. Alex, on the other hand, was detained at the scene by a constable on the order of his sergeant until he could arrive and assess her status. She held a chemical ice pack to the goose egg on the back of her head with her cuffed hands. The locals, meanwhile, continued to look on, no doubt speculating on the identity of the single white female who bested four men with a considerable advantage of size and numbers over her.
Alex said nothing to the constable beyond giving him her name. She was nauseated and had a headache, and the flashing emergency lights only added to her restlessness and agitation.
She wasn’t thrilled about being detained, but she dared not play the CIA card, given that she was in-country unofficially and without diplomatic cover. She wasn’t above calling her former chief at Interpol, though, and asked if she could make a call.
“No telephone,” said the constable. “You can make a call from the station.”
A short time later, his sergeant arrived. “Who was the other woman?” he asked.
“What other woman?” replied Alex.
“Look, you’re in a lot of trouble, Miss Martel,” he said. “Some of the injuries inflicted on these men are quite severe. I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure you are more than you seem. If you cooperate, I might be able to help you. But if you deliberately obstruct this investigation, you will likely find yourself in the best-case scenario of being an overnight guest in our cells. Your choice.”
She remained silent, so the sergeant explained the situation some more as he transferred her over to his car.
“You are not currently under arrest, but we are detaining you for further questioning at the station. You have the right to an attorney and to not incriminate yourself. But you will have an opportunity to plead your case before a prosecutor who will consider what charges will be laid based on the evidence. Do you understand?”
Alex nodded, her head throbbing. None of what he said alleviated her annoyance, but it at least gave her a process to anticipate.
As the sergeant was about to drive off with her, a gray Audi A8 sedan pulled up rather forcefully, boxing them in. The sergeant muttered something in Finnish that sounded like it might have been the equivalent of an f-bomb and stepped out of the car.
Emmi Rakkolainen, the Finnish Security and Intelligence Service officer she had met in The Hague, stepped out of the Audi and squared off with the sergeant. Alex couldn’t make out what was being said, but when Emmi flashed her ID, he settled down as quickly as if somebody had used a shock collar on him. Alex was able to hit the electric window button with her elbow and it receded into the door.
“Do I need to remind you that Supo has preeminence in these situations?” Emmi asked in English.
“This is a matter of disturbing the peace and multiple instances of aggravated assault,” the sergeant said.
“You are as misguided as you are foolish, and I’m not sure which is worse,” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Do you think the woman in that car instigated all this, or might she have been defending herself?”
“Defending herself? She caused these men serious injury.”
“I understand there were at least four attackers. Is that what’s bothering you—she beat up some men? Would you have preferred she let them kill her?”
“Who are you calling?”
She ignored his question and spoke into the phone. “Prime Minister Rantala, thank you for taking my call, ma’am.” The conversation switched to Finnish until Alex heard her say, “Yes, Madam Prime Minister. I will put the sergeant on the line.” Even in the twilight glow of evening, Alex saw the man’s face blanch. Emmi thrust the phone at him. “Prime Minister Rantala said that although she is currently meeting with the interior minister—the minister who oversees policing in Finland, as you know—she will gladly take a few minutes to educate you about the investigative powers of a Supo officer in matters pertaining to national security. At least I believe this is how she phrased it. But, please, by all means, talk to her.”
The sergeant took the phone gingerly as if it were on fire. “Hello?” he said sheepishly.
There was a brief pause, then, “Yes, Your Excellency.” Another pause, then, “Yes, Prime Minister. I understand, Prime Minister.” Finally, “Yes, thank you. And I sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding and for interrupting your meeting, Madam Prime Minister.”
He handed the phone back to Emmi, and she spoke into it. “Kiitos, Pääministeri.” Thank you, Prime Minister.
The sergeant opened the back door of the Volvo and helped Alex step out.
“You’re not making many new friends here in Finland, I see,” Emmi said as the young constable came over and freed her from the handcuffs.
“No one is taking the time to get to know me,” Alex replied. “I’m told it takes a while for me to grow on some people.”
“I, for one, don’t believe it,” Emmi said. The sergeant gave her a sideways glance as she said it. “Smile,” she said to him. “This woman is one of the good guys.”
“Right?” said Alex.
“If you say so,” he said.
“Come on,” said Emmi. “I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
“Thanks, really, but I’m starving.”
“Then we’ll stop somewhere first. How do you feel about pizza?”