If he’d only had the opportunity he would have sent him a personal invitation to Blenke’s dinner, but for cost reasons the number of invitations to persons outside the squad had been kept to an absolute minimum. And considering the locale and the remaining arrangements that the party committee’s majority had voted through against his express wishes, it was surely just as well. Waltin on a Finland boat, thought Wiijnbladh with a shudder.
For all too many of his colleagues it was unfortunately the case that the boundary between a normal party and a conference was fluid. A work conference was a party that your employer was paying for, and the most popular locale for the Stockholm Police Department’s conferences was the boat to Finland, which regrettably-in the midst of the drunkenness, spending, and common immorality that were its essence-provided conference rooms. As a sort of alibi, thought Wiijnbladh, and the sorrow that was always with him could sometimes turn into pure impotence and despair.
Obviously his colleagues had also gone behind his back and made contact with the travel agent in advance. Because the technical squad had already been one of the shipping company’s steady customers for many years, there hadn’t been any problems in negotiating various benefits when it was finally time to celebrate the squad’s boss. Wives, fiancées, live-ins, and regular girlfriends would thus be allowed to come along for free, Blenke himself would have the shipowner’s cabin, the price of both liquid and dry goods had been heavily discounted, and the matter was already decided. A trip with the wife on a Finland boat, thought Wiijnbladh, and the hopelessness he suddenly felt was without limit.
They sailed the week before Christmas. The entire squad, including partners both formal and informal, as well as the birthday boy himself, bringing along his wife and a half dozen close friends; in total a good sixty people, and to start with everything had gone according to the program. First a reception with champagne, which the shipping company had paid for, a few short speeches along with the presentation of gifts. Blenke was very happy with his chain saw, and so far all was well and good.
But then everything reverted to the norm again. First there were free activities until the evening’s celebration dinner, and all too many of the participants, exactly as he’d feared, used that time in the usual unfortunate way and for the usual unfortunate reasons. And when it finally came time for Wiijnbladh’s celebration speech-minutely prepared for several months-the atmosphere was at such high volume that only those sitting closest to him were able to make out what he was saying. After dinner his wife disappeared, as usual and for the usual reasons, as usual unclear where and with whom. And when she returned to their little cabin late that night he-as usual-pretended to be asleep.
I’m going to murder her, thought Wiijnbladh while she, giggling and intoxicated, reeking of alcohol, sweat, and sex, undressed, lay down in her bunk, fell asleep immediately, and started snoring loudly. But then he must have fallen asleep himself, for when he woke up their boat was already at the dock. This he understood from the sounds and voices and the water that had stopped moving against the wall of the cabin where they were lying.
I must see how the weather is, he thought, and as silently as he could he pulled his clothes on and sneaked out on deck. It was overcast and gray and very cold, despite the fact that there was snow in the air. He didn’t feel sorrow any more, just hopelessness and despair. Impotence naturally, because he was the type who couldn’t even manage to kill his own wife. He couldn’t even kill her.
The closer it got to Christmas, the tighter the clouds had massed over Berg’s head. At the final weekly meeting of the year-they usually took a break over Christmas and New Year’s, since everyone was off anyway and nothing in particular was usually going on-he was once again compelled to take up the question of the prime minister’s personal security and his awareness of the issue. Nonexistent awareness of security, thought Berg, but naturally he didn’t say that, and fortunately he’d forgotten how many times he’d kept it to himself.
The old threats against the prime minister remained. The only thing that had happened was that new threats had emerged. The Harvard affair, with attention from the media, seemed to have released a pure spirit of readiness among the country’s ideologues, and a day did not pass without new reports coming in of fresh lunatic recruits to the ranks.
“I’m not going to make things worse than they are,” said Berg with unexpected frankness, “and I’m not trying to maintain that these characters can be compared with the Jackal or other professional terrorists and hired killers”-Berg paused before he continued-“but at the same time let us not forget that the most common attacks against highly placed politicians and other similar persons are actually carried out by the so-called solitary madman. A simple man who works with simple means and unfortunately can attain gruesome results.”
“I have understood that my esteemed boss has declined all security over the holidays,” said the special adviser behind half-closed eyelids and with the usual irritating smile.
“Yes,” said Berg curtly. “He wants to be in peace and celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with his family and a few close friends.”
“The blessed Christmas season,” nodded the special adviser under cover of his half-closed eyelids and his wry grin.
“What worries me most,” continued Berg, who didn’t intend to let himself be sidetracked, “is that he clearly intends to spend almost a week at Harpsund.”
“I know, I know, for grace has even befallen me in the form of a small invitation,” sighed the special adviser.
“Harpsund is a security nightmare,” said Berg, nodding with emphasis at everyone at the table.
“You’re thinking of that cook they have,” said the special adviser. “Yes, she’s really a nightmare. If I actually accept, I’m thinking seriously about bringing my own food.”
“I’m not thinking of the cook,” said Berg, who was not inclined to witticisms. “I’m thinking about one or several assailants, and considering the way things are down there, none of them needs to be particularly well qualified.”
“I actually brought that matter up with my dear boss,” said the special adviser. “That head of personal security you have can be extremely tedious and finally I gave up. So I talked with him, but he simply wants to be left in peace. It’s been a little much lately, if I may say so, and if I should be so indiscreet now as to quote him he doesn’t think that the crime rate in municipal Flen during the approaching holidays constitutes a major problem in his existence, not right now anyway. He just wants to have a few days off, wife and children, peace and quiet, presents and tree, pleasure and enjoyment, no bodyguards, no police whatsoever, not even a little guard in a red Santa suit lurking down by the gate.” The special adviser chuckled with delight.
“I too am hoping for a peaceful holiday,” said Berg seriously.
“Yes, we all are, I guess,” said the minister of justice, sounding unusually engaged. “Personally I’m going to celebrate Christmas with my old mother, and considering that she’s almost a hundred I’ll really have to decline…”