Holger had just entered his office when the phone rang. With an adept movement, he picked it up while putting his briefcase on the floor.
‘Holger Berg,’ he said as a smile broke on his face in recognition of the caller’s voice: ‘If it isn’t the Chairman of the Officers Association – to what do I owe the honour?’ he continued with thinly veiled irony.
‘Have you heard the news, Holger?’
‘I’ve been in meetings all day; a smaller M&A transaction. Nothing major. Although, the thought of even saying that an M&A deal is no big issue is quite something. Everything ends up being boring, I guess. What news?’
‘It’s big,’ answered the chairman tauntingly and continued: ‘Units from the Jaeger Corps have killed two Russian ISAF soldiers in Afghanistan, from the para-unit guarding the prison in Kabul. The boys have also taken Russian prisoners, which is causing an explosive political situation ahead of the elections here in Denmark. The government, of course, wants to use the homecoming of our Special Forces to their advantage. The opposition has always been sceptical about Denmark’s participation in the war 66on terror and view it as something we’ve only done to please the Americans. So, it’s obvious it will be framed differently by the two parties in the election campaign. And then it will be interesting to see whether the whole debacle of the Russians smuggling drugs can be swept under the carpet. Opium, as I understand it. What do you think – massive, right?’
‘I’m speechless.’
Holger sat down, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. His mind was already kicking into gear.
‘It sounds fascinating. Has there been any reaction from the Russians?’ he asked.
‘Not yet. Not officially, at least. The story has just broken, but I would expect the Defence Command to try to spin it positively. The press release from the Ministry of Defence certainly tees up for the whole shebang. Regardless of any trouble it might cause internally with ISAF. Doesn’t exactly give hope for co-operation with the Russians in Kabul, does it?’
‘True. Even though all nations whine about the costs of their involvement, there won’t be any brownie points for this kind of entrepreneurial self-financing. They will understand to keep their heads down. No Danes injured?’
‘No.’
‘Has the Defence Secretary made any statements?’ Holger asked pensively as fragmented images of operational details cartwheeled around in his head.
‘No, not yet,’ replied the chairman.
‘How much opium were they smuggling? I’m guessing it wasn’t just for personal consumption?’
‘Close to 250 kilograms. Good for a street value of a quarter of a 67million. Not bad, eh? You’re quite an interrogation expert, Holger. No doubt about that. But does everything have to be a job for you? Is your interrogation over yet?’ the chairman answered with a burst of laughter.
‘Ah, well, when one makes as much money as I do, it’s all about work. It’s tough, but someone has to do it. How about we grab a beer after work? If you have time, we could also find something to eat.’
‘For God’s sake, Holger, shouldn’t you be thinking about your weight? I would much rather have you give a talk at the association. I’ll send you an outline, and you can give me a ring once you’ve read it.’
Holger put the phone down, turned in his chair and glanced at a framed black-and-white photo on the wall. A photo from his younger days. Looking significantly slimmer, wearing a camouflage uniform and complete combat kit. The photo was taken just after completing the combat swimming course at the Frogman Corps. Holger closed his eyes, and images flashed before him. All of a sudden, he was back. As the last arrival in his assigned Jaeger patrol, he had been appointed signaller, and with the para course and combat swimmer course completed, there had only been one final hurdle to being accepted properly by the other operators: to complete the combat survival course at 22 Special Air Service Regiment. The SAS was stationed in Hereford on the border of England and Wales and was amongst the world’s most famous Special Forces units. Holger had looked forward immensely to the challenge. He had to pass this course or face being asked to leave the Jaeger Corps. The three weeks of survival training concluded with a period of interrogation notorious for its brutality; he had 68to survive thirty-six hours of intense questioning without saying anything other than ‘the big four’: rank, name, number and date of birth. There had been another young Jaeger and two from the Frogman Corps on the course. During his time at the combat swimmer course, Holger had only been exposed to the instructors, so this was his first acquaintance with ordinary ‘Frogs’. All the Danes passed with flying colours and had partied like crazy before returning to Denmark.
Holger was abruptly hauled back to the present by the ringing tone of the telephone on his desk.
‘Yes, just say that I’m in a meeting. And hold all my calls for an hour. Put them through to Bente. My secretary, yes!’
Holger immediately regretted his tone. He had forgotten entirely that a temp manned the reception this week. But that’s not her fault. He quickly checked his computer for emails and answered a couple more pressing ones while rolling his head from side to side to loosen the tension in his shoulders. Holger already felt better, and having pressed ‘send’, a sudden impulse made him take a book from his desk drawer, a spy thriller that pitted one man against all odds. Holger found the page with the folded corner and was soon oblivious to his surroundings. Not even noticing his secretary when she opened the door to his office many hours later to whisper goodbye. He was in a parallel world.