The missile arrived by taxi in the golden rays of the afternoon sun. The driver collected the book-sized package from the seat next to him and headed for the glass doors of the tall concrete building. The female receptionist smiled politely as she signed for the receipt. The small package had no addressee or return address, and the only text on the brown wrapping paper was in a black felt-tip pen:
The receptionist read the line twice and looked up in bewilderment, but by then, the taxi driver had already left, so she called the editorial office. Shortly after, a young woman emerged smiling from one of the elevators. The receptionist recognised her as one of the editorial interns. She, too, examined the puzzling flat parcel, shrugged her shoulders, walked back to the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. As she left the elevator, she made a beeline through the editorial offices; none of the journalists 259behind the flickering computer screens even as much as looked up – they were getting close to the deadline for the evening news. The intern stopped at the corner office, waited to be invited in, but eventually just opened the door and entered as the executive news editor clearly was engrossed in something on his screen. The news editor looked hurriedly at the package, tore off the brown wrapping paper and revealed a single videotape with no markings. He retrieved the brown paper from his wastepaper basket and smoothed it to read the handwritten message. Kaare Strand, where have I heard that name, he thought, as he struggled to place it.
‘Give it to Anja, and let her work out what this is about,’ he said as he tried to smile amiably, but it came across as strained; he quickly immersed himself again in the preliminary rundown of the evening’s news report.
Anja Vibe-Holm was one of DR-News’s most experienced female journalists, and she immediately examined the videotape while the intern stood by, curiously. None the wiser, she decided to slide the tape into the VHS machine. Following an initial flickering of static noise, the video of Kaare Strand emerged on the screen. She felt a knot in her stomach and suppressed a gasp as she watched the screen, in horror. She’d only ever seen this on CNN or Al Jazeera, and the terrifying images made her nauseous. She completely forgot that the intern was still standing next to her. Eventually, she turned towards the young girl, white-faced with fear.
‘Sit down. Shocking, right?’ Anja Vibe-Holm said in a whisper and reached out for the phone.
She punched the extension number of the editor, and while she waited, she felt her pulse hammering through her veins. The news value of the video was exhilarating.260
‘Hi, it’s Anja. I need five minutes tonight for a breaking news feature on Kaare Strand – that Special Forces guy from Afghanistan, you know. The one I interviewed at the press conference. He’s been kidnapped, goddammit! It will be a hell of a story, not least in the middle of an election campaign. Come down and watch the tape.’
Her mind was racing as she searched for an angle that would maximise the effect of the story and turned suddenly to the intern:
‘Get me the number for the Prime Minister’s secretary, please.’
When the intern returned with a yellow Post-it note shortly after, she grabbed it and immediately punched in the number.
‘My name is Anja Vibe-Holm; I’m calling from DR-News. I do realise that the Prime Minister is busy with his campaign, but no, thank you, I don’t want to leave a message. I’m certain he would be very interested in what I want to talk to him about,’ she said, undeterred.
The other end of the line went silent, and she wondered if the secretary had hung up.
‘Hello, are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m still here. I’m afraid the Prime Minister is in a meeting, but let me put you through to his press secretary. One moment, please,’ the secretary said apprehensively.
Anja Vibe-Holm had no time to object, and suddenly she was patched through.
‘Hans Jørgen, and your name is?’
Anja Vibe-Holm recognised the press secretary’s voice and quickly scribbled a few notes on her pad to ensure everything would be covered.
‘Anja Vibe-Holm from DR-News; I’d like to ask the Prime 261Minister a few questions about Kaare Strand. The Special Forces soldier has been kidnapped. I take it that the PM is fully updated on the situation.’
‘Ah… Kaare Strand… ugh… well, you see… ugh. How much do you know about that story?’ the press secretary answered, playing for time.
‘Well, obviously, I know all about Kaare Strand and the narcotics haul in Afghanistan, but now I’ve received a videotape from his kidnappers,’ she said with a deliberate air of superiority, and she could sense that her words kicked the legs from under him.
‘Videotape, I see… but… ugh, that’s a story we cannot comment on; yet. For that matter, neither the Prime Minister nor the Foreign Secretary can comment on it yet, so no need to call anyone else.’
Anja Vibe-Holm didn’t reply but allowed a smile to grow. She had him on the defensive.
‘And I take it you understand that making this public won’t help Kaare Strand’s situation?’
‘Are you suggesting that DR should withhold news on order from the government?’ she said snarkily.
‘No… ugh… no, I suppose I can’t force you to do that. I’m merely trying to make you understand that this story should not be published, not right now at least,’ the press secretary replied humbly.
‘Is that because there’s an electoral campaign running at the moment?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous – if that’s your idea of dialogue, I really don’t have anything further to add!’
Anja Vibe-Holm held the receiver momentarily after the press 262secretary had cut the line. This story is definitely an issue for the government, she thought with satisfaction and turned to the news editor as he entered the room.
‘The government says no comment, so we’ll just run it and clarify that we’ve confronted the PM about the tape… and that he clearly knew what it contained. Here, let me show you…’