“Yes,” said Berg, clicking a new picture from the slide projector he had brought in. “We’re starting to approach the heart of the matter, as the saying goes. As you see from the charts, the volume of threats directed at the government and persons in its vicinity has increased violently since the change of administration at the last election.”
At this point the special adviser had chuckled, not said anything, but chuckled in that very unnerving way. Should I wait him out? thought Berg.
“The number of threats we’ve captured against the government and its affiliates has increased by more than one thousand percent since the change of government. Under the previous lot, we used to get a few hundred per year, but now it’s a few thousand.”
“That’s just terrible,” said the minister of justice. “I received a letter bomb myself about a year ago.”
“That case is included here, as you no doubt know,” said Berg confidently, “and we have good hope of finding the perpetrators. We know they belong to a neo-Nazi group on the extreme right-wing fringe.”
“It’s really nice that they’re still on that fringe,” said the special adviser. “You say ‘bomb,’ ” he continued, looking at Berg. “Are we talking about that package with three fireworks in it, where some mentally challenged young man with pyrotechnic inclinations pasted match-striking surfaces on the fuse?”
“Our technicians were not that shaken up,” Berg agreed. “And that’s the good side of things. The volume has increased dramatically, as you see, but when we observe the various individual cases the picture begins to change. It’s almost exclusively a matter of communications by telephone or various types of mailings, mostly letters; in a purely judicial sense it’s most often a question of insults and slander than pure threats. The most common individual communication that we receive, for example, claims that our prime minister is a Russian spy.”
“But that’s shocking,” said the minister.
“Stay calm,” said the special adviser, leaning forward and patting the minister on the arm. “I’ve got my eyes on that little scoundrel.”
“But, but,” persisted the minister, pulling his arm away. “I’m not so amused by all these threats and my wi-yes, my partner… actually became quite upset when she heard about my letter bomb.”
“Obviously,” said the special adviser jovially. “But wasn’t that a different partner? Than the one you have now, I mean.” Now he was laughing so that his fat belly bounced.
“Yes, you can joke,” said the minister. “Tell me, Berg,” he continued, nodding amiably. “What kind of people are these, who get mixed up in such things?”
“All possible types if we’re talking occupations and social groups,” said Berg. “And obviously there is a significant overrepresentation of persons with psychiatric problems, but we have everything from counts and barons and doctors and executives to common laborers, students, the unemployed, people on disability, and mental patients. Many are immigrants too, it should be pointed out, but almost all in that subcategory seem to have acted more out of personal dissatisfaction than any extreme political ideology.”
“Police officers,” said the special adviser. “Police officers and military personnel, the ones you described to us a few weeks ago. How is it with them?”
“What I am accounting for today are almost exclusively reported cases. With or without a known perpetrator. So the persons included in my earlier account, where we ourselves sniffed out the information, are not part of these statistics.” Berg nodded thoughtfully before he continued. “But certainly there are also police officers and military personnel in our material on reported cases. Here, for example, there is a detective chief inspector with the Stockholm police who called the prime minister’s chancellery on his service phone and conveyed threats against the prime minister to his secretary. Still in service, by the way, case closed when the crime couldn’t be confirmed against his denials.”
Berg cleared his throat and continued.
“We have a half dozen officers-the highest ranking is a lieutenant colonel with a ranger unit-who have uttered, to say the least, inappropriate viewpoints about the government and its work as well as individual members of the government in the presence of draftees and subordinate personnel. In brief, quite a few,” concluded Berg.
“Am I unjust if I say that the material about reported cases consists mainly of rubbish, but that at the same time you are sitting on other data that perhaps indicates a more qualified menace and with presumptive perpetrators of a quite different, and higher, quality?” The special adviser looked expectantly at Berg.
“No,” said Berg. “I guess I concur unreservedly with your description. That is how I myself and my coworkers view the situation.”
What is going on? thought Berg. I don’t even need to say it myself. He’s the one who is saying it for me.
After the meeting he met Waltin. First he complimented him for his excellent support and then briefly gave his view on how the whole thing had turned out.
“It was a good meeting,” said Berg. “I got a definite sense that we’re finally starting to transmit on the same wavelength.”
Waltin nodded. He looked satisfied, but not in any way that appeared exaggerated or suspicious, just satisfied. I’ve probably been mistaken, thought Berg. What I need is a week’s vacation.
Waltin of course had no idea of the suspicions that had been moving around in Berg’s head lately, and even if he had he wouldn’t have been overly concerned. There were other things stirring in Waltin’s head. One that was stirring more and more often was that dark little thing with the boyish body and that small, small, firm rear, which just now was sitting in a small, small chair in the section for internal surveillance. Before her big, big computer. At first he had thought about finding out how old she was, but on further reflection he had decided not to. That would ruin the enjoyment, thought Waltin. She looked as though she were in high school, despite the fact that she must have turned twenty-five, and that was good enough.
Lately he had looked in on her and her coworkers more and more often, and that puritanical upper-class fairy Hamilton, who was still working directly under him, had only gotten surlier and surlier. I guess I’ll have to live with that, thought Waltin, and he grinned exactly like a wolf whose fantasies were only getting better and better. This time she had been sitting alone too, so he had avoided wasting a lot of unnecessary time setting up smokescreens and conversing with her male coworkers.
“How nice that you came,” she said. “I need help. There’s something I have to ask you.”
“I’m listening,” said Waltin. He assumed a semi-profile and a manly yet easy smile as he unobtrusively moved his chair closer to hers. Little Jeanette, age seventeen, thought Waltin while his well-tailored crotch tightened a little.
“We’ve received a few tips that I’m not really sure about,” she said, wrinkling her brow.
Delightful, thought Waltin, that little wrinkle in her forehead as she bit on the pen she was holding in her little hand. Imagine if she had a lisp too, he thought. Then he might even have considered taking responsibility for his actions.
“Tell me,” said Waltin, crossing his right leg over his left while loosening the knot of his tie.