Chapter 1

 

Friday, May 13th, 16:22, Police Authority (Polismyndigheten) Headquarters, Svartbäcksgatan 49, Uppsala, Sweden

 

Sergeant Detective (Kriminalinspektör) Bertil Hansson sighed inwardly as his younger partner, Gun Thorell, sashayed by to toss a case file on his desk.

He waited a good long moment or two before reluctantly removing his feet from the desktop, straightening up in his chair, picking up the file folder, and weighing it thoughtfully in his hands. He wasn't sure whether the sigh and his reticence about opening the file had more to do with the fact that his shift was nearly over and he was eager to go home or the fact that whenever Gun Thorell walked by he found himself mesmerized by the provocative way in which she always swayed her hips coupled with the tight fit of her uniform skirt over her delectable ass. The latter caused him to hope that, come bedtime that evening, his wife might be in a good receptive mood.

Hansson was a veteran officer of Sweden's Central Police District, headquartered in the university town of Uppsala and serving the three counties to the immediate north and west of Stockholm. He was middle-aged ... well into his late forties ... and heavy-set. As of late he had been developing a rather ample girth around his middle ... a matter he was constantly resolving to do something about but never did.

Looking up at the digital clock mounted on the wall above the door to his office and noting that there was still a good half hour before he could leave for the day, he laid the file on his coffee-stained desktop, opened it and began to casually peruse its contents.

It was a missing person case. At first glance, what he regarded as a run-of- the-mill matter ... female academic attends one of those global peace and environment conferences hosted by the University and disappears ... probably hooked up with someone and went off to get herself laid ... happens all the time.

But when he turned to the final page, bordered in red ink, his air of bored casual indifference abruptly changed.

"Oh Shit!" he muttered under his breath, for a red border meant only one thing. The file had either been copied to SÄPO, the Swedish Security Service (Säkerhetspolisen) or worse yet originated there. SÄPO, headquartered in Solna, a suburb of Stockholm, was the special arm of the national police responsible for counter-espionage and counter-terrorism, as well as the protection of dignitaries and notables, both foreign and domestic.

Shoving his chair back, Hansson rose, hastily gathered up the file and headed for the office of his immediate superior, Chief Inspector (Kriminalkommissarie) Lennart Björklund.

"Bertil! What gives? Isn't it about time for you to be on your way home to your wife and kids?" greeted the Chief while looking quizzically at the tense expression clouding his colleague's normally sanguine face. The Chief prided himself on maintaining a warm and often indulgent collegial relationship with the members of his detective squad, and felt a special bond with Hanson whom he had worked closely with for so many years.

"Have you seen this?" Hansson replied, tossing the file on Björklund's desk.

"No ... don't believe so ... fill me in."

"Okay," sighed Hansson, balancing his considerable bulk on his boss's desktop corner and spreading the file open so that Björklund could observe as pages were turned. "It's a missing person case involving an American woman, but for us it's trouble because it's all but certain that SÄPO will be involved. That overbearing crowd of clowns over in Solna, as you well know, will be looking over our shoulders every minute, not to mention meddling in the investigation at every turn."

"Just what we needed! Okay, tell me more. Who is she?"

"Name's Barbara Moore. She's an academic from one of those big state universities in the American Midwest. She's been here in Uppsala this week to attend that big conference on 'Peace and the Environment', but has reportedly gone missing. We know this because she failed to show up at the conference this morning to deliver a paper entitled, 'Women as the key movers in the drive for world peace and environmental sanity', and no one has been able to locate her since. It should be noted that she has a background in our country ... actually speaks Swedish. She spent time here in Uppsala years back as a senior-year high school exchange student, and then stayed on to attend the University."

"Do we have a description?"

"Yes, but rather vague at this point. Average height, slim build, brown hair and eyes, no known unusual features or tattoos."

"Do we have a photo?"

"We don't have a current one but we'll get one soon enough, I'm sure. I'll put Gun Thorell on it right away. But, for now, we do have a couple of photos of her as a student," responded Hansson, extracting from an envelope two color photos showing Barbara Moore wearing a student cap and handing them over to Björklund.

"Definitely a looker, wasn't she?"

"Certainly appears to have been. She's probably in her mid-thirties by now, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's still quite a looker."

"Yes, I can well imagine so. But I must say, Bertil, you've told me nothing remarkable so far ... other than she's a looker. Why in the world would SÄPO have any interest in this?"

"I'm getting to that. It's all here in the red bordered page at the back of the case file. It seems she's the daughter of Hobart G. Moore."

"Not the .....?"

"Right ... the famous and controversial American multi-billionaire ... reportedly one of the world's richest men."

"And, if I'm not mistaken, hasn't he recently gotten himself into politics ... gotten himself elected to the U.S. Senate ... styling himself as a rather outspoken critic of the current American administration ... and isn't he generally regarded as a possible contender for a run at the Presidency?"

"He has and is ... and, knowing that, it's not difficult to imagine why SÄPO is on high alert. We'll probably soon have the Americans breathing down our necks too."

"So, how does having a daughter attending academic conferences on peace and the environment jive with his politics?"

"Let's just say that the daughter's political views are not necessarily aligned with the father's."

"Mmmm ... probably not. Alright. Get everything you can on our Ms. Barbara Moore, and have everyone on our team in here as soon as possible. We'll need all hands on deck. The sooner we locate her and ship her home the better."

"And what if there's been foul play? Let's say, for example, that she's been abducted, held for ransom ... that sort of thing?"

"Don't even go there now. We'll start tonight with the basics ... canvassing hotels, taxis, bars, restaurants, trains, etc. She's got to be out there somewhere and someone has to have seen her. Assemble the team, Bertil. Have everyone report in here by 19:00. Get Gun Thorell cracking right away on securing an up-to-date photo of this Moore woman to show around. No time to waste. We need to get moving on this!"

Closing the file, Hansson nodded affirmatively and withdrew without further word. He returned to his desk, glumly pulled out his cell phone and called his wife to inform her that he'd not be home that evening, and quite probably not that weekend either.