Arctic Wargame - Страница 16

“But Horsens is less than an hour away.”

“I keep telling her it’s not that far, but she’s so stubborn. Our kids are in good schools and all their friends live here, she says. As if children in Horsens are ignorant and unsociable—”

“Hey, guys,” one of the officers in the back said, interrupting them. “Check out the Opel, just pulled in from the left. Two people in the car.”

The team leader turned his head around to inspect the vehicle. The silver Opel Vectra was unremarkable but gaining on them. One of the officers involuntarily placed his hand over his holster.

“Is it going to pass us?” asked the team leader.

“I’m not sure, but it’s getting really close.”

The team leader checked his pistol, as the driver steered closer to the side of the road. This provided the Opel sufficient room to pass. The distance also gave the team an extra second to avert a crash. The driver kept checking his rear-view and left side mirrors, keeping both hands on the steering wheel, ready for any last second maneuver.

The Opel crossed over the white median dividing the lanes and accelerated. The team leader stared at the dark tinted windows of the sedan, trying to make out the features of the strawberry blonde woman in the passenger’s seat sporting black sunglasses. Once both vehicles were neck and neck, the Opel lost its haste. The team leader saw something shining behind the passenger’s window as the woman began to unroll the glass.

He pulled out his pistol. The driver clenched the steering wheel, gearing up to drive into the bushes along the road, if the shining object turned out to be a gun. But the sight of a brass badge, which the woman held in her right hand, signaled the escort team was not under attack. The team leader squinted, but the letters engraved on the badge were too small. The shield shape of the badge did not resemble any official symbol familiar to him.

“What does the badge say?” the team leader asked the driver.

“Her arm’s shaking, but it looks like a MP badge.”

“The Opel’s unmarked,” one of the officers said. “And who asked for the MP’s support?”

“What’s she saying?” asked the other officer. “Is she telling us to pull over?”

The team leader had interpreted the woman’s finger jab as a pull over signal too. But he was not willing to take orders from unidentified individuals, military police or not. An unexpected stop would endanger everyone’s life, including the detainee’s. The unmarked car had contacted the escort team without any warning, use of radio or sirens, in breach of police procedures. The team leader reached for the radio to inform the Viborg police about the situation in progress and turned to the driver to tell him to keep driving. The sunlight hit the woman’s badge just right, and the team leader could read the inscription circling a golden crown and three lions: Politiets Efterretningstjeneste.

“The Intelligence Service?” he asked. “What’s the Service doing tailing us?” He frowned and decided to stop the van.

The Danish Security and Intelligence Service was part of the police force, forming Department G of the Danish National Police. Technically, they were the escort team’s colleagues.

“Let’s see what they want,” the team leader said quietly. “Maybe it’s a secret emergency, and that’s why they couldn’t radio it. They’re probably from the Århus department.”

The driver flipped on the turn signal light. He drove into Heibergs Alle road and found an empty stall in the parking lot, awaiting the arrival of the Opel.

“Keep your guard up,” the team leader reminded everyone. “We’re not sure they’re really from the Service. Even if they are, we still don’t know their motives for this stop.”

Sargon was as alarmed as his guards. The woman’s badge was unknown to him, and so were the identities of the people in the car. He had a gut feeling this story was just not going to end well.

* * *

The Opel entered the parking lot and rolled to a complete stop in front of the van under the watchful eyes of the escort team. The driver and his passenger came out of the car at the exact same time and strutted toward the van in quick steps. The woman was wearing a chocolate-brown suede jacket, a beige blouse, and a brown cashmere scarf. Her long slender legs were wrapped in black, skinny-fit denim, some designer’s brand the team leader recognized, with a tongue-twister Italian name. The man had a navy blue, tweed jacket and matching pants, complemented by a black woolen sweater. The team leader noticed a large, leather banded watch around the man’s left hand. I’m sure they’re both wearing guns, but they’re hiding them very well.

The woman lifted her sunglasses over her hair as soon as they stopped in front of the van, revealing her almond-shaped blue eyes. The man waited until the team leader rolled down his window. At that time, he folded and placed his shades in his inside jacket pocket, before his small brown eyes gave the man a piercing glance.

“My name’s Magnus Torbjorn. I’m a Special Agent with the Politiets Efterretningstjeneste. This is my colleague, Agent Valgerda Hassing.”

Valgerda flashed her badge to the escort team. Magnus did not bother, since both the team leader and the driver were busy examining hers. Instead, he nodded at the two officers in the back, who were nervously staring at him. Then, he found Sargon’s face and nailed him with an intimidating smirk.

“I’m Inspector Bruin Roby, in charge of taking a detainee back to his cell. Your intervention has threatened the safety of my men and of the detainee.” Convinced of its authenticity, Bruin handed Valgerda her badge.

“Inspector, I believe we’re starting with a wrong impression,” Valgerda’s voice rang out soft and smooth. “We don’t intend, in any way, to interfere with your assignment.”

“Well, your actions indicate a strong interest in my detainee.” Bruin toned down the roughness in his voice.

“True. We need to have a chat with Mr. Beyda.”

Sargon’s face froze, in apparent recognition of his last name. Magnus was still staring at him, like a starving cat drooling underneath the canary’s cage.

“Of course.” Bruin nodded. “You can talk to him upon our arrival at Horsens Pen. And, if I may add, with Mr. Beyda’s consent and in the presence of his defense counselor.”

Bruin’s reply distracted Magnus from his prey. His look told Sargon he was not off the hook, but at least he could breathe easier for a few moments.

“Inspector Roby.” Magnus held Bruin’s black eyes long enough to have his full attention. Then, he dropped his gaze to the officer’s badge on the inspector’s chest. “Since you seem to be an expert in our rules of engagement, I’m sure you’re familiar with the structure of our national security. Anything that falls under the jurisdiction of the Service, like terrorism in this case, takes precedence over daily routines of the local police.”

“You don’t have to remind me of my job, Special Agent.” Bruin frowned and his voice resumed its earlier gruffness. “And of our work relationship with the Service. May I see a court order that allows you to interrogate my detainee?”

Magnus smiled politely and tapped his jacket’s outside pockets, as if to remind himself where he had placed the court warrant. Finding what he was searching for, he produced a BlackBerry and handed it to Bruin, who stared bemused at the palm-size device. They’ve started to hand out court orders electronically?

“The judge’s number is on speed dial.” Magnus encouraged Bruin to pick up the phone.

Valgerda contributed a big smile to contribute to Bruin’s persuasion. “All you’ve got to do is dial 7.”

Bruin hesitated. Are they bluffing or has Judge Handel really authorized this interrogation, illegal as it is? Bruin turned to the driver, but he just shrugged.

“The judge has already given us the go ahead,” Valgerda said, “but if you must check…”

Bruin looked at the BlackBerry again and sighed. I don’t think they’re bluffing. “Fine,” he conceded with a grunt, “but only five minutes. And we’re supervising the interrogation.” Setting those terms translated into a small victory for Bruin. He did not want to appear beaten in front of his men.

* * *

Bruin stepped outside the van, followed by the driver. The two officers opened the doors and brought Sargon out. Bruin’s head gesture ordered Sargon to walk in front of them. They stopped about thirty feet away from a white pickup, the only other car in the parking lot.

“Not here.” Magnus shook his head and looked across Gammel Århusvej, the street separating the parking lot from park land alongside Lake Søndersø. “We’ll talk by the water. More privacy.”

Bruin shrugged and took Sargon by his arm, leading him to the curb. Magnus stepped closer and coughed, in order to attract Bruin’s attention rather than to clear his throat. “Inspector, I’ll take over from here. You’ll supervise from a distance.”

Bruin opened his mouth to protest against such an idea. He wanted to listen to the secret agents grilling of Sargon, not babysitting while they played in the park. But before he could utter a single word, Bruin realized their conversation had to remain secret. Magnus and Valgerda would use the judge or some other jurisdiction trick to force him into obedience.

“We’ll bring him back in five,” Valgerda said, following Magnus, who already was shoving Sargon ahead of him.