Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

The Nuclear Power Inspectorate, she wrote.

What else? Pharmaceuticals.

The National Board of Health and Welfare, she wrote.

Electronic products. Weapons.

Weapons? Yes, the arms export was the foreign trade minister's responsibility.

The War Materiel Inspectorate, she wrote, and then looked at her list. These were the ones she could think of; there had to be lots of other departments that she didn't know of.

What is there to think about? she said to herself, and looked up the Trade Council.

The information officer wasn't available; some other woman took the call.

'We're not a public authority. You can't get any documents from us,' she said curtly.

'Are you sure? Do you think you could ask the information officer to call me later?' Annika gave her name and number.

'I'll give him the message, but he'll give you the same answer.'

Jerk, Annika thought.

Instead she looked up the Nuclear Power Inspectorate and noted that they were located at 90 Klarabergsviadukten. They were closed until 12:30. She couldn't find the War Materiel Inspectorate, so she called directory assistance.

'They've changed names to the National Inspectorate of Strategic Products,' the operator informed her.

The registrar there was out to lunch. Annika sighed, put the pen down, and leaned back on the couch.

She might as well have something to eat.

***

Number 90 Klarabergsviadukten was a relatively new glass complex on the Kungsholm side of the bridge. Annika stood outside the entrance and read the list of companies and organizations housed there: the AMU Group; the National Environmental Protection Agency; the Nuclear Power Inspectorate; the Inspectorate of Strategic Products- ISP.

I can kill two birds with one stone, Annika thought.

She rang the bell for the Nuclear Power Inspectorate but got no reply. Instead she pushed the bell for the inspectorate with a new name, ISP.

'Block A, fifth floor,' a hesitant voice said in the loudspeaker.

She stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor and saw herself in numerous versions in a hall of burnished steel mirrors. There was only the one door, for the ISP. She pushed the bell.

'Who are you here to see?' The blond woman who opened the door was friendly but reserved.

Annika looked around. It seemed to be a small and informal outfit with corridors leading in two directions. There was no reception desk, and the woman who had opened the door apparently occupied the room nearest to the door.

'My name is Annika Bengtzon,' Annika said nervously. 'I'd like to have a look at an official document.'

The woman looked concerned. 'Almost ninety percent of our documents are classified,' she said apologetically. 'But you can always make a request, and we'll investigate whether we can hand over the document.'

Annika sighed quietly. Sure. She could have figured that out for herself.

'Do you have a registrar here?'

'Yes.' The woman pointed down the corridor. 'She's down that way, the second door from the end.'

'I don't suppose you have an archive here, do you?'Annika prepared to leave.

'Oh, yes, we do.'

Annika stopped. 'So travel-expenses invoices that are five, six weeks old- do you keep them here?'

'Yes, though not in the archive. I deal with the invoices. I keep them in my office so we can balance the books. I'm the one who books all trips. There are quite a lot of them, actually, as the ISP takes part in a number of international meetings.'

Annika looked at the woman closely. 'Are the invoices secret?'

'No. They are part of the ten percent that we do hand out.'

'How often do cabinet ministers take part in these meetings?'

'To the extent that any cabinet ministers take part on behalf of the inspectorate, it's usually the Ministry for Foreign Affairs who picks up the tab.'

'And what if the minister for foreign trade goes?'

'Well, then it's the Ministry for Foreign Affairs that pays.'

'But he falls under the Ministry of Industry, Employment, and Communications.'

'Oh, right. Well, then the invoice should be sent there.'

'Would it always?'

The woman suddenly became more reticent. 'Not quite always.'

Annika swallowed. 'I was wondering if you received any invoices from Christer Lundgren from the twenty- seventh and twenty-eighth of July this year.'

The woman gave Annika a searching look. 'Yes, as a matter of fact we did get one.'

Annika blinked. 'Could I have a look at it?'

The woman licked her lips. 'I think I'd have to talk to my boss first.' She backed into her office.

'Why? You told me that travel-expenses invoices were official documents.'

'Yes, but this one was special.'

Annika could hear her pulse thunder in her ears. 'In what way?'

The woman hesitated. 'Listen. When the invoices from a cabinet minister turn up on your desk, especially without any warning, it's a surprise.'

'What did you do?'

The woman sighed. 'I took it to my boss. He called someone at the ministry and got it cleared. I paid it about a week ago.'

Annika swallowed, her mouth was completely dry. 'Could I get photocopies of the receipts and tickets?'

'I really have to ask my boss first.' The woman vanished into her office. A few moments later she came out and hurried down the corridor. Thirty seconds later she came back and handed Annika a sheaf of photocopies.

'Here you go.' She smiled.

Annika's fingers were trembling as she accepted the documents. 'Where did he go?' She leafed through the papers.

'He flew Estonian Air to Tallinn on the night of the twenty-seventh and chartered a private plane back the same night. It landed at Barkarby. The plane was Estonian. Would you like the amount converted into Swedish kronor?'

'Thanks, I'm fine.'

Annika stared down at the photocopied credit card slip in her hand. It had arrived at the inspectorate already on Monday the thirtieth of July. The minister had charged the cost of the plane to his government credit card. She had expected to see the same sprawling signature as on the slip from Studio 69, but this was round and childish.

'Thank you so much.' Annika smiled at the woman. 'You've no idea how much this means to me.'

'Don't mention it.'

***

Her feet were beating down on the asphalt but she couldn't feel them. They were bouncing on air. She laughed giddily as she skipped along.

What a cheapskate! He had to invoice someone for his expenses right away.

She floated homeward to Hantverkargatan- she'd been right! The minister had gone away and wouldn't for the life of him say why.

The so-and-so, she thought. He's done for now.

The telephone was ringing when she opened the front door. She sprinted for it and answered all out of