The rain had finally eased, but the blustery cold evening was not exactly conducive to an evening stroll on the ramparts around Kastellet. The lousy weather enveloped the city in darkness, and apart from the illuminated Citadel Church, the old red buildings were unusually dark. In one, however, a blueish glow emitting from a window revealed that not everyone had yet gone home. It was Lars Danielson’s office, and he had just turned the TV on for the ten o’clock news. He sat with lights dimmed as he watched the Prime Minister’s press briefing from the Ministry of the State. The parliamentary vote had entered its final few days. The room was filled with reporters from Denmark as well as from abroad, and the press conference had taken an unexpected turn as another story highjacked the agenda. TV-Avisen’s Christiansborg reporter described the press conference as surprising, then cut quickly to a full-length shot of the Prime Minister. Clearly pleased with himself, he explained the development in the polls:
‘Now, one must never be complacent and rely on opinion polls. But I have confidence that we and the Coalition Party continue to sit comfortably ahead by a clear margin. The opposition has, in fact, lost seats since the last poll. I am convinced that this reflects 453satisfaction amongst the electorate with our policies. The voters are not stupid. They know that when it comes to handling the interests of our citizens, this government’s policies are the right ones.’
TV-Avisen’s reporter, Anja Vibe-Holm, sat on the front row and took advantage of a momentary pause, shooting up a hand.
‘You say that the government is best placed to handle Danish citizens’ interests. Does this mean we have deployed our military to assist the Russian effort? I refer, of course, to the Kaare Strand affair,’ she said in a tone designed to subdue any accusation.
The Prime Minister was openly frustrated with being interrupted, especially with a topic that was not on the agenda. Mildly irritated, he glanced to his press secretary but to no avail – he was at the back of the room. It was clear that the Prime Minister had not prepared for this, and he started flicking through his papers, playing for time:
‘Due to the nature of the matter, I cannot possibly comment on the details of the issue. I can only say that we have complete faith that the Russian authorities are doing everything in their power to assist the Danish government in our efforts to resolve the situation. We haven’t received anything new on Kaare Strand in the past twenty-four hours. But it is important to emphasise that we in the government have done our utmost. Cooperating on the war against terror unites our two countries in this tragic incident,’ the Prime Minister declared solemnly.
The Prime Minister had barely finished his answer before journalists threw their hands into the air, like trees in the forest, and posed questions with competing loud voices.
‘What has the government done to ensure the safety of 454Kaare Strand…?’ ‘Is he being sacrificed in this election campaign…?’ ‘Will the government withdraw Danish troops from Afghanistan…?’
The feature cut back to TV Avisen’s political reporter, who analysed the affair’s implications: how it affected the election campaign and the opposition’s potential for putting pressure on the government as the voters headed for the polls.
‘The government has done its utmost; bullshit!’ said Lars Danielson to himself as he reached over to switch off the TV.
At that very moment, the telephone rang, and he turned to pick it up while grabbing his cigarettes.
‘Hello. Yes, of course, Holger! Let me talk to him… Welcome to Bornholm, Kaare. I’m sure you’re anxious to speak to Ulla, but I’m afraid I must ask you to wait a couple of hours. By then, all of tomorrow’s newspapers will have gone to print, and we can ensure we get maximum publicity when you make yourself known early tomorrow morning down at the Polish ferry terminal.’ He dragged heavily on his cigarette as he continued: ‘You never know whether someone will get wind of the story if you ring her now. There’s a search and rescue helicopter ready in Rønne tonight. That will take you to Holmen here in Copenhagen Harbour, and we have a room for you in Nyboder. But pop into my office. I’ll be waiting for you. It’s in Kastellet, yes. Holger knows where it is.’
A smile crept across Lars Danielson’s face as he replaced the receiver. He lit another cigarette from the stub of the last one, admiring his reflection in the window as he exhaled.
I’ve bloody pulled it off! Like a puppet master, he had deftly solved an international crisis by finding a solution the politicians were unwilling to provide. He picked up the phone once more 455and dialled another number. This time the phone rang just a few hundred metres away.
‘It’s me. Mission completed, and they will both be in my office within the next couple of hours. You might want to come by and say hello if you have nothing better to do. After all, you have the most at stake in this matter.’
The Chief of Defence put the mobile phone down and sipped his glass of port as he turned to his wife.