Jan Bundgaard stubbed out his sixth cigarette of the day and glanced at the clock. 12:30 p.m. Blimey, he thought, scratching his head. It had been a rough night in Nyhavn, and his skull still felt like someone was working on it with a jackhammer. And today, of all days, is the day the editor-in-chief woke me up. He closed his eyes and remembered how the exasperating ringtone had got him out of bed. The conversation was vividly etched on his mind.
‘Jan, did you see the news last night?’ The report on that Jaeger. He’s been held hostage for weeks now. It’s your kind of story. Get to the bottom of it. Find an angle. The PM clearly doesn’t want to comment on the matter. There must be something that the government isn’t telling us. Not a word about his whereabouts either. It’s too much of a coincidence that the guy returned home from Afghanistan as a hero only to be kidnapped. Find an angle.’
Bundgaard had gulped down a couple of Panadols as he tried to find that angle. But his brain just wouldn’t play ball. He looked down at his notepad and realised he’d got nowhere. He retreated to his kitchen and made yet another cup of Nescafé. He could not stomach solid foods just yet. He moved the pile of old newspapers from the kitchen chair; he thought of getting his act together and 275throwing them into the communal dumpster in the backyard but then his eye caught the front page of the paper on top. Absentmindedly, he stopped stirring the coffee and grabbed the paper from the pile. Slowly, he unfolded it, focusing on the headline:
The article was based on a report from the ISAF force in Afghanistan and was supplemented by an interview with the Danish Foreign Secretary. Jan Bundgaard skim-read the article. He thought there might be something here and took the paper with him into the living room as he slurped his scalding coffee. Having read the article for the third time, he felt sure he had found an angle. That soldier has just been to Afghanistan, and hadn’t he received a medal for confiscating a large shipment of opium? Confidence spread, like an engine sputtering into life. Soon all cylinders were firing, and he was excitedly jotting down keywords. Points to be elaborated on and questions he had to find answers to. After half an hour, he could see the outlines of an article, and his head had finally left the hangover behind. Satisfied, he put away the pad and reread the article. He could not put his finger on it, but something kept going round in his subconscious. Something wasn’t quite right. Something was missing. All of a sudden, the pieces came together: ‘Crikey! I almost missed it,’ he said out loud as he grabbed his mobile phone and enthusiastically punched in a number.
‘Hanne, it’s me; Jan. Josefsen has put me on the story of that kidnapped Jaeger soldier. Can you please check something for me? Search Reuters and see if the Foreign Secretary has made any statements. And also, check if he’s said anything about combating 276narcotics since the election campaign was announced. And whether the Prime Minister has said anything on the subject. Thank you.’
Pensively, he placed the mobile phone on the table. I bet none of them has said anything on the subject since this article, he thought, and reached out for his notepad. Swiftly, he leafed through his notes, crumpled the densely scrawled pages in his fist and started over. Time evaporated like dew in the morning sun, until he was interrupted by Hanne’s call from the editorial office that confirmed his suspicions. When he finally had the skeleton for the story, he leaned back on his couch and allowed a smug grin to spread. He had found his angle. Or rather, he had found the angle. As the paper’s former political editor, his daily work had been the corridors of Parliament. Over time, that meant that he had developed an instinct for the intricate rules of Danish politics. An ability to smell a rat on Christiansborg a mile off. Plots and conspiracies are complex beyond people’s wildest imaginings, or those of House of Cards, for that matter. It was as if the grand setting of Christiansborg, with its underground passages and hallways that still echoed with the political furores of the past, was somehow a setting that encouraged scheming. And he was no longer in doubt. This had all the indicators of a political agenda: someone was trying to keep something out of the public eye.
He could not yet see the details clearly. But digging out political stories was like skiing in a blizzard; he knew the piste was there, and even though the visibility ahead was poor, he just had to trust his intuition, and he would make his way to the finish line. The Prime Minister was famous, or rather infamous, for treating everyone with the utmost arrogance, even other Cabinet members. And 277it was well-known that the PM and the Foreign Secretary were not on friendly terms. These were all pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle. The interview with the Foreign Secretary in the article, and the Prime Minister’s stubborn endorsement of the American rhetoric on the war on terror forged a link between international drug lords, organised crime, and terrorism. And all these pieces could fit with the kidnapping, making the government’s lack of comment on Kaare Strand remarkable. In light of the election campaign, the silence was deafening. The two of them hardly see eye to eye on these topics, and the Jaeger connection to Afghanistan and the country’s opium production highlights this disagreement. The kidnapping and the government’s silence cannot possibly be a coincidence, Bundgaard thought as he lit yet another cigarette. He let the smoke filter deep into his lungs as he picked up the mobile phone, dialling the paper’s editorial office.
‘Hi, it’s Jan. Could you give me the Foreign Secretary’s number, please?’
He ended the call and quickly punched the number, dialled, and after a short wait, he was surprised to be through directly to the Foreign Secretary.
‘Ugh, Jan Bundgaard, journalist at Dagbladet. You might not recall me, but I was for many years our political correspondent,’ he said, trying to sound casual.
‘Yes, I remember you and have read some of your articles. Particularly when you worked here at Borgen. You often had an interesting angle to your stories. What can I do for you?’ the Foreign Secretary replied in a friendly voice.
‘I just have a few questions concerning a recent article on the production of narcotics in Afghanistan,’ Jan Bundgaard cautiously 278said and carried on: ‘And then a few questions about that Jaeger, Kaare Strand. I assume the Foreign Office is involved in this matter?’
A resounding silence followed, and after a few seconds, Jan Bundgaard tried to rekindle the dialogue:
‘I mean, it would only be natural for the Foreign Office to handle such a situation, right?’
‘I follow your reasoning, but I’m afraid I can’t really help you. Aside from directing your attention to the Gospel of Matthew, perhaps, Chapter 7, verses 7–8,’ the Foreign Secretary replied in a measured tone.
‘Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 7, verse 7–8?’ spluttered Bundgaard.
‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t have more to add. But it was nice talking to you. Feel free to call again if there’s something I can help you with.’
Jan Bundgaard sat for what felt like ages staring at the mobile. What the hell did he mean by that? he thought and chose a redial of one of the last numbers on the phone.
‘Hanne, me again. Can you please look something up for me? No, BT still hasn’t got my ADSL connection back up. You need to look up the Gospel of Matthew for me. Chapter 7, verses 7–8, please. I’ll wait…’ he said, dragging deeply on his cigarette until he heard Hanne’s voice back on the line.
‘I’ve found the Gospel of Matthew Chapter 7, verses 7–8. What do you need that for? OK, it goes as follows: “Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and you will find. Knock, and it shall be opened to you. For whoever asks, receives, and whoever seeks, finds. And whoever knocks, it is opened to them.” And it just continues like that. Is that what you need?’279
‘Thanks a million, you’re a hero!’ replied Jan Bundgaard in a joyful manner while a smile crept across his lips.
Seek, and you will find. Seek, and you will find.