“Yes, yes, yes,” said Vidrik, forcing out a cough. “War. When I’m back from Copenhagen—”
“No,” interjected Kalakia, shaking his head. “You stay here and wait for my orders.”
“What?” said Vidrik, contorting his face in disbelief. “I have the situation under control. Who else is going to figur—”
“You have done more than enough for now,” interjected Kalakia again.
“But..”
“Go home and wait for orders.”
Kalakia went over to the door and looked impatiently at the visibly stunned Vidrik. Vidrik stayed in his position momentarily then slowly joined Kalakia at the front. He gazed longingly at Kalakia, urging him to change his mind. The door opened. Kalakia ushered him through. Vidrik then shifted his gaze toward Frederich, and his face stiffened, his eyes sharpened.
“Goodbye, Vidrik,” said Kalakia.
Vidrik stood in his place outside, his attention completely fixed on Frederich. The door slid shut.
“Right,” said Kalakia, rolling his shoulders and appearing relaxed again. “Let us discuss your first assignment.”
29
His name was Christian Haargersen. He lived waterside on Havnegade Promenade, where his rent was three months overdue. Recently he had resigned from his diplomat job a mere seven months before his ten-year anniversary. The six-page report provided by League Intel had a headshot clipped to the corner along with a regular photo, which showed Haargersen and a young female companion sitting close together at a football game, the woman wearing an F.C. Copenhagen team shirt with a thick jacket over it and Haargersen dressed in a grey suit and trench coat.
The forty-six-year-old Haargersen was a chubby man with leathery, sun-stained skin, a thick head of blonde hair and a natural squint. In the photo he was leaning back with his arm stretched protectively over his companion’s seat and looking smugly at the camera while the surrounding spectators were focussed on the game. The woman was sitting up with perfect posture and staring into the camera with a childish grin on her face. It was clear from the photo that Haargersen had no interest for football. He had come because of her. Ladies man. Never married. Worked for the Danish government until his recent resignation. Now he was still living waterside, but his circumstances had changed considerably.
Frederich sat between the trees along the water’s edge in Freetown Christiania, the vehicle-free, graffiti-covered Anarchist commune in the centre of Copenhagen, while Haargersen was slouched in an old outdoor chair on the other bank. Haargersen had been biting his nails and staring into the water for a good hour. Frederich had to double and then triple check the photo to be sure it was him. Compared to the confident ladies man in the picture, Haargersen now looked aged and depressed in his bargain basement shorts and t-shirt.
Haargersen’s shanty had been crudely built out of wood and iron sheets. In the yard along the water there was a tyre-swing hanging from a tree and a wild collection of plants and bushes which merged into the surrounding forest. Haargersen’s place was modest compared to the other dwellings in the commune, although many of them looked to have been built using recycled and old material. Haargersen had gone off the grid without leaving the city, yet Frederich still tipped his hat to League Intel for managing to track him down so quickly. Frederich remembered too well how they identified him in Neukölln after only a two-minute exchange in front of the kebab store.
Frederich saw two options. He could break into the shanty at night and wake Haargersen up for his interrogation, or he could shadow Haargersen’s movements outside of Christiania and hope that Haargersen met with someone of significance. He had already ruled out the second option. Haargersen was perfectly positioned where he was. Outside the commune there would be too many variables to deal with, and Frederich could not afford to lose his target.
He also had other reasons to close out the mission quickly. He looked down at his jittery fingers and tried to breathe through the panic. Instead, it spread throughout his body. His palms and armpits grew sweatier. He closed his eyes and again saw the sniper collapsed onto the snow with his head bloodied. He found himself back in the Alps among the dead bodies on the reddened snow. The groans of the wounded gnawed at him, and there was nothing he could do to stop hearing them. The horrified stares of Scheffler and the recruits were unflinching. Why is this happening now? His legs then began shaking, and he knew he would need something to put his mind at ease.
He took out the cannabis cigarette he had purchased on Pusher Street in the main town. ‘Silver Haze,’ the dealer had called it while insisting it would allow Frederich to stay clear-headed during the effects. Frederich lit it up and took a long, deep drag and held it inside for a few seconds before exhaling. After a short delay, his skin began tingling and a calming energy descended on him like a warm blanket. The trees suddenly came alive, and the shimmers along the water started glowing. It was a foolish move, he admitted, but also a calculated one. He would have far more trouble focussing as long as the flashbacks were still playing out.
The drugs had the desired effect. As his body melted, so did the paranoia and visions. The weather was mild and sunny, the breeze slight and cool, and Haargersen was still biting his nails. Frederich lifted his head and took joy in his surroundings, feeling at one with the nature around him and bathing in a welcome feeling of calm. And for the first time in a long time, Ida crossed his mind.
Just as the sun was preparing to set, Haargersen shook himself out of his daydream and forced Frederich to come alive. He rushed inside his shanty then reemerged after a few minutes and marched toward the footpath with clear purpose. Frederich scrambled to pick up his rucksack, which had
