Initially, I was speechless. This was a totally unexpected and dramatic development that added a shocking new dimension to the case.
Then I asked in one and the same sentence if they had planned when they would arrest him, and how many people knew about it.
‘I think that only myself and a handful of people at the police security service were involved and knew about this – and now, of course, you do too. The police security service had been following Fredriksen for some months, but the operation was still top secret. I was only informed on Friday, because they had planned to arrest him in connection with a meeting that Fredriksen had arranged with his Soviet contact on Sunday evening.’
I said nothing as my brain worked overtime. Then I asked what the motive was, and my boss promptly carried on.
‘His motive is unclear. Politically he was, of course, conservative, and financial gain is not a likely motive for such a wealthy man. But in the past year, Fredriksen has had some suspicious meetings with representatives from the Soviet Embassy here in Oslo. The police security service believe they have sufficient evidence that he has handed over confidential information, and possibly also secret documents that he had access to through his work with the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs. The hope was to catch him red-handed with the documents. It would then have been the most notorious Norwegian spy case since the war.’
Coming from my boss, these were strong words. And what was more, they were perhaps not strong enough. I reflected on my meeting with the Centre Party secretary general only an hour before, and tried to imagine what he might have said.
‘It would also be one of the greatest political scandals. And it could not only delay, but, in the worst case, sabotage the demarcation agreement with the Soviet Union and that would be a mighty blow for the Centre Party and the anti-EEC campaign. So there are plenty of people who would rather Fredriksen was murdered than arrested.’
My boss nodded. ‘I would not like to say whether motives of that sort might have influenced certain parties in the police security service. But the timing was highly controversial, in terms of both the agreement with the Soviets and the EEC referendum. The news that a leading spokesman for the no campaign was guilty of treason in favour of the Soviet Union could have had serious consequences.’
It was all too easy to agree with this. I mentioned the earlier incident outside with the man in the hat. Without mentioning my own fear, obviously, I said that this was now a mystery within the mystery that gave good grounds for concern. Then I said something that I had not thought of before: that it was possible that the man in the hat was working for the police security service.
It looked as though my boss, like me, was not convinced that the answer was no. He stared at me for a few moments. Then he dialled a telephone number from memory, and when the call was answered, he said: ‘It’s me. There has been a dramatic development in the case we were talking about on Friday. I think that we two and Detective Inspector Kristiansen should perhaps have a chat. You remember DI Kristiansen?’
After a short answer, my boss then said: ‘Good, we are on our way’, and put down the receiver.
‘Asle Bryne remembers you and has asked both of us to go over there as soon as possible,’ he said as he stood up.
I got to my feet without protest. I remembered Asle Bryne, the head of the police security service, well from my previous visits to Victoria Terrace, and was grateful that my boss was going to be there. Although it did not make the matter any less serious.
VI
It had been a year and a half since my last visit and the head of the police security service’s office had not changed one bit. Asle Bryne was sitting behind his desk with a pipe in his mouth. He gave a brief nod, but made no attempt to shake hands.
‘So,’ he said, then disappeared behind a small cloud of smoke.
I looked at my boss, who started by saying that this conversation must be kept strictly between us.
I nodded quickly, but did not see any reaction from Asle Bryne.
My boss obviously did not expect to get one. He gave a brief and to-the-point account of the latest developments, including the eyewitness and the murder of Fredriksen’s daughter. He concluded diplomatically by saying that there was in all likelihood no link to Fredriksen’s contact with the Soviet Embassy, but the possibility could not be ruled out. There was therefore a need now to ask Bryne some questions in connection with the murder investigation.
‘I see,’ was all Asle Bryne said, and then he looked at me.
I was not sure whether he filled his pipe with more tobacco on purpose or not, but the net result was that it was even harder for me to see his facial expressions through the smoke.
I felt like I had been left out in the thin, cold air. The journey from hearing the sensational news that Fredriksen was suspected of being a spy to the office of the head of the police security service had been so short that I had barely had time to think.
I tried to feel my way forwards and asked if Fredriksen had had direct contact with the Soviet ambassador.
It was a bad start. My boss rolled his eyes, and Bryne looked even less sympathetic when he spoke.
‘Obviously the ambassador himself is never directly involved in things like this, that would be far too compromising in the event it was discovered. At various times and places, Fredriksen had contact with three different, lower-ranking diplomats this year. The pattern was suspicious – they met as if by chance at different times and places where they were unlikely to be seen. And we have found information that can only come from closed meetings of the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs in various Russian sources after these meetings, without me being able to go into any detail. So we know that someone or other, either the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Standing Committee, has passed on confidential documents that could threaten national security. We do not know for certain that it was Fredriksen, but it seems natural to assume there is a link.’
I found the answer somewhat vague, but doubted that any question to follow this up would make it any clearer. So I fired a double question instead: if any of Fredriksen’s contacts had been younger women, and what they thought might be his motive for espionage.
‘No, as far as we know, he has only met with male diplomats. We have of course considered the possibility of sexual liaisons, but have no indication that that was the case. Nor have we seen evidence of any monetary transactions. His motive is one of the mysteries that it may be very hard to establish now that Fredriksen is dead. As the case stands, there seems to be no better solution than to let it die quietly along with the spy, and thank our lucky stars that the leak was stopped before it could cause even greater damage.’
Asle Bryne blew out another little cloud of smoke. He did not look in the slightest bit glad about this or, indeed, anything else. To a certain extent I could understand him. If Fredriksen really had been a spy, his death had denied the police security service a considerable and much-needed boost.
‘Was the arrest imminent at the time of his death?’ I asked, trying to be more friendly.
Bryne’s clean-shaven chin moved up and down inside the cloud of smoke. ‘Within less than twenty-four hours. How we knew that, I cannot say. We knew that Fredriksen was due to meet one of his Soviet contacts on Sunday afternoon. We hoped and believed that he would have documents with him, and were of the view that we had enough on him to make him confess when caught in such a compromising situation.’