Roughly four hundred kilometres east as the crow flies, Lars Danielson stared at the phone, wondering if he’d done the right thing. He had, at the outset, decided against contacting Ulla Strand. But the more he reflected on it, the more he pitied her. She knew nothing of Kaare’s fate. And the direction of travel taken by the politicians most likely meant it was unlikely that she’d be told anything any time soon. That’s just completely unacceptable. The lack of information must be pushing her ever closer to a breakdown. He picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table and shook one out while his other hand located a lighter in his pocket. Lars Danielson eased back into his chair, closed his eyes and let the smoke bellow down into his lungs. He convinced himself that he had done the only right thing. Technically, the call could compromise the security of the impending operation. But no one will ever know, he thought and felt good about himself as he took hold of the phone once more:
‘Extension 3612. The State Prosecutor of Copenhagen, department for economic crime, thank you.’
He stubbed out the rest of the cigarette in the crowded ashtray and sat up straight.244
‘Hello Jørgen, it’s Lars. We’ll have to meet soon. I’ve gathered more information on that corporate lawyer, filed in connection with his security clearance as a reserve officer. I promise you a treasure trove, and you won’t be disappointed. You’re guaranteed a lot of media coverage on this case. You just have to promise me that FE is granted full anonymity. That’s my only condition for tipping you off on this. So let’s meet tomorrow at 10 a.m. See you.’
Lars Danielson severed the connection and immediately punched another set of digits.
‘I would like to speak to Michael Bonde on the business section’s editorial staff,’ he said matter-of-factly and belched without covering the phone’s microphone.
Oops. Well, that guy Michael Bonde does not have a reputation for taking undue interest in the identity of his sources or their credibility, so no harm done, he thought with a smile as he waited to be connected. He will crucify Holger Berg without any hesitation. Gone was the irritation he had felt over the past few days, and instead, he felt a simmering optimism. The plan is back on track.
‘Hello, Michael Bonde? I see by today’s paper that you received my package. Didn’t I tell you it was juicy stuff? I promise you it will be a front-page story. Who I am and where I’m calling from is inconsequential. Are you interested in more background material without source provenance, or would you prefer me to hang up?’