From his office, Lars Danielson watched the large Mercedes pull up in front of FE’s headquarters, and before the car had even come to a halt, he had dialled an extension.
‘CHOD has just arrived. Is anyone else participating? All right. I’ll pick him up by security, and then we come straight up.’
When Danielson arrived at the security gate, the Staff Sergeant behind the glass barrier had already checked IDs. With a smile, he escorted the Chief of Defence and his adjutant up the stairs in the opulently restored old building. At the end of a long passage, he knocked discreetly on a large, white-panelled door before opening it and showing the guests into the fireplace lounge.
‘Good morning, Jorgen. Thank you for taking the time to see me at such short notice. I know you’re busy in your shop,’ the Chief of Defence said with a broad smile that did not reach his eyes.
‘Of course. My door is always open for you, and in the present situation, this matter has absolute top priority,’ responded Commander Jorgen Brogaard, inviting the two men to sit on the sofa with a swift hand gesture.
Lars Danielson had already started pouring the coffee, but the 205apparent sense of conviviality fooled nobody present. They all knew that sharing information was a double-edged sword. The situation was high-stakes, politically; every decision would have to be justifiable to the government and opposition alike. And to the public, once the situation was disclosed.
‘Is there any news from the Foreign Office? The embassy in Moscow doesn’t have any evidence of Chechen involvement, as I understand it. To my knowledge, the Russians have yet to issue a formal statement.’
‘Correct, however, this morning…’ the Chief of Defence began and paused for effect while packing his pipe with tobacco and pulling out a match: ‘…the Ambassador received an envelope with a photograph of Kaare Strand along with a Swiss bank account number to which the ransom is to be transferred,’ he continued with his facial expression clearly underlining the extent to which this matter touched him personally.
Solemnly, he struck the match and lit his pipe before turning to his adjutant, who handed him a folder. As if they were fragile, he produced a couple of coarse-grained colour photos and laid them between the coffee cups on the table. Jorgen Brogaard and Lars Danielson leaned in to study them closer. Their faces left no doubt about how disgusted they were by the photos. They were evidently screenshots from the video of Kaare Strand being tortured. After a while, Commander Brogaard sat back in his armchair; only the clenched jaw muscles betrayed the anger under his calm and measured exterior.
‘Chechen terrorists are deeply involved in all sorts of illegal activities, including porn movies, and there are persistent rumours of involvement with drug smuggling. In light of the report from 206Afghanistan, a Chechen angle starts to look like facts, right?’ said Commander Brogaard as he finally broke the silence and let his grey-blue eyes lock with the gaze of the Chief of Defence.
‘The first letter made it clear that a negotiation team needs to be established at the embassy in Moscow. Ready to meet up at a designated place at a later stage. The Foreign Office is presumably already on this; we must thus ensure that some martinet at the Foreign Office doesn’t involve the local police,’ Lars Danielson cut in.
‘Good point. The Russians are useless. Parts of the police force haven’t received salaries in months. As soon as someone offers them an incentive, they will do whatever is asked, provided the price is right,’ Jorgen Brogaard echoed.
A worried expression crept across the face of the Chief of Defence, and he nodded slowly before answering:
‘Who can find out what’s happening on the ground, and what we can do to get our man back safely?’
Lars Danielson had anticipated the question but paused for effect while sending his boss an esoteric gaze before answering:
‘We could find someone who could do that without creating too much unwanted attention.
But is the Ministry prepared to officially sanction such a mission?’
‘That is not something we can count on,’ the Chief of Defence said with despair.
‘I was explicitly told this morning not to interfere in this matter. The minister made it abundantly clear that the Foreign Office intends to run this through diplomatic channels in co-operation with the Russians. If the military interferes, it’ll lead to the immediate dismissal of the minister. That was spelled out in straightforward terms.’207
‘That’s understandable. If the public gets wind of this and also learns that the military is working on rescuing a hostage in Russia, the whole thing will spin out of control for the government. Not least, if something went wrong. I think we can all imagine how the press would twist that story out of proportion, and all of a sudden, it would be about why we’re in Afghanistan in the first place. The opposition has been banging that drum for months and would welcome such a narrative with open arms. It could win them the election,’ said Jorgen Brogaard instructively.
‘You’re right. We cannot risk anything that can be portrayed by the press as a covert operation on the soil of a so-called allied nation. Let your man write a report, and we can discuss it around this table, agreed?’ spurted the Chief of Defence and hammered his fist on the coffee table to underline his message.
Lars Danielson glanced at his boss with a concerned expression before picking up a folder from the floor. No one commented on the coffee flowing over the table, but Jorgen Brogaard removed the photos before it reached them. Lars Danielson scrolled through the file and passed a memo to the Chief of Defence.
‘The report is already done. I don’t think we can do more at this stage.’
A bit too convenient, mused the Chief of Defence as he perused the report without any facial expressions. Having finished the last page, he looked up at Lars Danielson and squinted his eyes:
‘I take it I may keep this? Interesting, or rather positive, that FE has already done some work on this matter. But tell me, who is this Holger Berg who signed the report?’ he asked, passing the papers to his adjutant without waiting for an answer.
‘He’s just one of our external assets; I hope the report provides 208a basis from which we can consider possible options,’ Jorgen Brogaard cut in.
‘Absolutely,’ murmured the Chief of Defence as he unintentionally pointed at Danielson with his pipe.
Promptly, he rose from his seat – standing silently while waiting for his adjutant to pack the photos and briefing papers – before stretching his hand towards Commander Brogaard in parting.
‘Lars will follow you down,’ said Jorgen Brogaard and nodded to Lars Danielson, who had already opened the door.
The adjutant shook hands with the two FE employees and darted after the Chief of Defence.
Commander Brogaard waited for Lars Danielson to return, and once the door was closed, he addressed him in an emotional voice:
‘It’s absurd to think that the Foreign Office can solve this. For years, we’ve worked on these situations and have contacts with assets who can help resolve such issues. The pettifogging bureaucrats from the Foreign Office don’t know their arse from their elbow. They had best stick to their cocktail parties and trade delegations and let us handle the dirty work.’
Lars Danielson nodded and took a deep breath as if he was diving in at the deep end.
‘You just carry on with this and report directly to me. Clear?’
Lars Danielson did not need to answer and headed quickly down to his office. After closing the door firmly behind him, he collected a business card from the drawer and dialled the number on the card.
‘Good afternoon. Is Holger Berg in? Danielson. Yes, he knows what this is about.’