Tunnel Rat

Chapter 276: Old Secrets and Buried Bones

Chapter 276: Old Secrets and Buried Bones

Kiruna prison in Sweden was a cold place, located 180 miles north of the actual city of Kiruna, which itself was 200 miles above the Arctic Circle. The prison was near the borders of Finland and Norway and had been built as a joint project between the three countries during a remarkable time of cooperation. Rebuilt and updated many times, its reputation grew over the last two centuries until it was known as the toughest prison in any of the three countries. It currently housed only 36 prisoners, down from over 200 a century before. The Ultra-High-Security prison wasn't a place where prisoners were sent to be reformed. The chance of any of them being released was next to zero. The prison's only purpose was to keep them behind bars and away from the rest of humanity until they died.

Escapes and break-outs had been attempted, but none were successful. Four people had technically 'escaped' but died of exposure as they tried to find food and shelter while avoiding being recaptured. Visitors were kept to a minimum, as was all communication with the outside world. So, it was a great surprise to one of the most notorious prisoners when he was told that he would have a visitor. His cell door opened and slid back, and the open hallway beckoned. It had been a long time since anyone had been allowed to visit him, and he'd almost forgotten the protocols. First, he stripped off all his clothing and walked into a steel room where he was scanned for weapons or abnormalities and allowed to exit from the other side and put on a new set of orange prison clothes, identical to the other set. After that, he was allowed into the meeting room, where he could see a man seated on the other side of the six-inch thick reinforced glass wall. Microphones and speakers carried their voices to each other. They would have no contact with each other, even to the air they breathed on separate sides of the barrier.

Karl "Big Swede" Ahlgren sat in the steel chair bolted to the floor. It held his 400-plus pounds with ease. The decades had been harsh to him as he neared seventy, etching lines in his face and turning his beard and hair to silver, but nothing had diminished his size and strength. Nor his reputation for sudden violence. Karl didn't get angry when someone taunted or tested him on the few times he was put in the yard with the other three dozen prisoners. He just grinned and lashed out suddenly with a huge fist or foot, crushing bones and ending fights quickly. It had to be quick before the stun gas was deployed, or the guards shot him with tranquilizer darts. There was always someone who wanted to test the old monster, mostly because they weren't getting out of prison either and had grown bored and suicidal. There was no penalty for these fights other than solitary for Karl and the infirmary for his challenger. And Karl didn't mind. He didn't want to talk to the other prisoners.

Ironically, Karl had hurt more people since being put in prison than he had in the sixty years before. He was huge and intimidating, but what won him the respect of the people working with him was his intellect, meticulous planning, and loyalty to his partners. His heists were works of art, carried out only after each phase was tested and practiced. He hated leaving clues about who had committed the crime and only recruited people for his teams who could follow orders and keep their mouths shut. No one was ever killed or even seriously injured by his crimes. Except, of course, for the loss of valuable items. The insurance companies and banks weren't happy about things, either.

He found working with others to be tricky and full of arguments. When tempers flared, if logic didn't sway someone, his strength and size came in handy. But it was the threat of what he could do, rather than actual violence, that worked best for him. His reputation for mayhem came from his lack of hesitation. When it was time for violence, he reacted instantaneously, making up his mind and committing to the act without second thoughts. A small show of force was usually enough to calm people down and let him get back to work. He had worked with Victor and Andrei Seimovich many times, just as he had worked with their father in his youth. He was never part of their family and, at best, a trusted ally. He liked it that way. He came and went as needed and ran his own crews, planning his own jobs. That gave him time off to spend with his family and kept him out of the constant power struggle of the Russian and Ukrainian families.

His passion in life was his perfectly executed plans, but his love for his family overshadowed that. His wife, Freyja, had given him six children. Those children had married and given him many grandchildren. The last had been little Astrid, with golden hair bright as the sun. Her mother, Sonja, had married a man who broke her heart and left her. Karl let him go at her behest without breaking his heart or other parts of him. He was still the father of his granddaughter, and life could bring people back together. Reconciliation would happen quicker if the man didn't have memories of Karl's fists breaking his bones. When the accident occurred, Sonja and Astrid lived with Freyja and him in their large house. His wife had taken four-year-old Astrid shopping in Helsingborg for a new dress. They'd gone early in the morning, wishing to be home in time for a family dinner. That dinner never happened.

A Humvee traveling over 130 kilometers per hour failed to make the corner it was attempting and crashed into the shop. Three people working in the shop were critically injured. Freyja was killed immediately, and Astrid was crushed underneath the car, sustaining horrific injuries. The driver survived due to the sturdiness of the vehicle and the airbag that was deployed. He could have walked away with minor injuries if he hadn't been under the influence of alcohol and drugs. He made it out of the vehicle and sat down, staring at the carnage he'd wrought and smiling as the drugs in his system turned it all into a psychedelic dream. The driver, Edvin Jorgstadt, was taken to the hospital and treated for his injuries and the drugs. He was taken briefly to jail two days later, where his bail was paid by his father, Alex Jorgstadt, a Vice President of Alchemarx. Edvin's lawyers claimed he had been at a late-night party for a friend where he had a few drinks but became upset when something was slipped into his drink, and he began experiencing hallucinations. He reached his vehicle, set the autopilot to take him home, and woke up after the crash. The blame was placed on the autopilot, the failure of the AI that obviously erred in not correcting the problems with the autopilot's course and speed, and the bar the party had been held at.

The trial was brief. The bar admitted that the drug, a legal one, had been at the party, and they should have monitored the use of it better. Technodyne, the maker of the Humvee, objected strenuously that their product was at fault but failed to send a lawyer to testify in court and was given a small fine. A report from the AI monitoring the traffic of auto-driven cars was automatically provided to both the Defense and the Prosecution. The attorneys for the defense brought forth arguments against the use of an AI as a witness. The Prosecution allowed the challenge. Edvin walked out of the courthouse to a press conference where he thanked his attorneys for their stellar job seeing justice done, denounced auto-driven cars, and hugged his father beside him. The head prosecutor made a short speech about doing their best in a tough and emotional situation, but that every man deserved a fair trial.

More would have been said, but at that point, Karl knocked aside two of the security detail and brought a metal truncheon down on the prosecutor's head, and as guns were pulled, grabbed Edwin by the throat and killed his father with another swing of his weapon. As shots rang out, he turned and used Edvin as a shield, shouting, "Death to the Murderers. Death to the maimers of children." He began walking toward the men, firing guns, taking wounds, and swinging his truncheon. Edvin died of a massive amount of gunshot wounds. Karl survived. He'd been unsure if he could make it to the three people he needed to kill and had worn body armor that stopped most of his wounds. He complained to his doctors about that he'd expected to die and blamed the armor and the poor shooting of the security guards.

Like Edvin, Karl was first taken to a hospital but stayed there for six months before he was fit to stand trial. He knew he wouldn't win; he simply wanted a chance to talk and present his own evidence. It was shown that the bar owner received several large payments from Alex Jorgstadt. These were explained as payment for the party but were ten times the payment charged by the establishment. The report from the AI was again blocked from being presented, but Karl had seen it. The autopilot hadn't been engaged. The payments between Alchemarx and Technodyne couldn't be shown, but Karl knew what had happened. Payments of this sort were common, and the heads of large corporations rarely went to jail. This protection extended to their heirs. Money could buy a lot, even prosecutors. Karl knew he was going to jail. That didn't matter to him. What mattered was that someone needed to pay for the killing of his wife and for his granddaughter losing both legs and her left arm. His family had argued with him, but in his heart, he was dead already, so what did it matter? In the years since he realized he'd been stupid. There were other ways to get revenge, but he'd been impatient.

The man in front of him was dressed oddly. A lawyer would be in their universal suit and tie. This man was young and wore warm and practical boots and comfortable clothes that kept him warm in the chill air of the prison. He had a folder with him and a stack of papers. He seemed at ease and unhurried. "Good day, Mr. Ahlgren; thank you for meeting with me."

Karl laughed and spread his arms wide. "As you can see, I have little else to do, and it's better to listen to whatever you have to say than argue with the guards and deal with their wrath. They are quite the professionals. They ask, and you do what they say, or they shoot you with a dart and drag you where they want you to be. I respect them, even if I don't like them. But seriously, you are wasting your time. Others have also wasted their time, asking me about things I won't discuss. I know there is no way I am getting out of here. I will die in the cold."

"Don't worry about talking, Mr. Ahlgren; the world doesn't need to know your secrets. All of those will be known soon. You're probably a little behind the times since they don't give you data net access. An old friend of yours is in custody and about to talk to Interpol. You remember Victor Seimovich, don't you? He's anxious to cut a deal, which takes away the value of what you know."

Karl laughed. "Victor will tell you nothing. Don't try that shit with me. He'll be out soon, and everything will be swept under the rug. He knows too much and is too rich. Deals will be cut for him, just like all the other rich bastards. The only difference between Victor and the asshole that killed my wife is that Victor doesn't try to hide that he's a bad guy. Oh, and his head is in one piece."

"My, you are behind on things. Victor lost a great deal of his money recently. His bank accounts and holdings were raided. Then, his hidden money was taken part of the Syllabus scandal. He had a little bit left in odd accounts but too many enemies. He fled to the place that made him the best deal and was in the protective custody of the US Justice Department. He was staying with his grand-niece; I'm sure he mentioned Belinda to you. She's also in a wheelchair, like your granddaughter, Astrid."

"Shut up about Astrid, or I will find a way to kill you." Karl had a theory that if he applied force at the correct angle, he could rip the metal chair from the floor. That would give him a bludgeon to use on the thick, reinforced glass. The question was how many swings he would get before stopping him. Probably not enough, but he might test the theory if this man was rude again.

The man held up his hands, "My apologies. Let me show you a few things." He began to take out newspaper clippings and articles and tape them to the glass. Karl tried to ignore them, but he'd always liked to read, and he got very few books offered to him now. He shrugged and began reading. The man was most likely telling the truth. Victor was broke and on the run. Some of the papers were internal reports from the USJD."

"Ah, so even the mighty Victor has been brought low. But what does that have to do with me?"

"Well, Victor made a mistake and left the US. He attempted to kidnap his grand-niece and flee to a country that would ask fewer questions about how he used her money. Her inheritance would become available soon, and he hoped she'd give him a small gift. She inherited all of Andre's money through Ekaterina, and her father was also wealthy. Old money, and lots of it. Enough to get Victor back in business. But she was smart enough to evade his schemes. Victor landed and was immediately caught along with three people wanted for bio-terrorism who worked for him. It's very bad for Victor. The doctors have flipped on him, and if he's going to dig himself out, he's going to need to give up some old secrets."

The Swede crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "This has nothing to do with me. Go talk to Victor."

The man taped up more information. "It does affect you. Victor is willing to talk about the death and burial of a missing Mossad agent. When he does, that will implicate you in the murder. I'm sure that doesn't bother you, but wasn't your eldest son also there that night?"

Karl stared at the man, saying nothing.

"So, by Victor talking first, he edges closer to getting out of jail, but your son will certainly be detained for questioning in his part of it. I was wondering if perhaps you might want to give us the information first and save your son and his family the heartache and troubles of having another person go to prison."

"My son is a good boy. He traveled with me, but I kept his hands clean. He had nothing to do with anything! If what you say happened, he was not there! He was too young to play cards with that group and drink late into the night. He was sleeping in his room on the upper floor!"

"I believe you. I talked to Elias, and he told me he knew nothing of that night and was sleeping upstairs the whole time. But that isn't what Victor is going to say. The more people he implicates, the better the deal is for him."

"And you think I will talk and possibly implicate my own son!!"

The man stared at Karl and looked older somehow. "No. I think you would die first. But no one wants your son. The Israelis would obviously want any names but will settle for bringing their agent home. This is about Victor and cutting away his support. You tell us first where the body is. The case will be closed. Victor will have nothing to give. It's a good deal."

"Maybe, for you."

The man looked casually around the room. "He's also going to tell them about the lost package in Brussels."

Karl stood up and yelled. "He would not dare! He is a dead man if he does that. That package was a mistake! No one wanted to be involved after and would not have stolen it had they known what it truly was, but everyone thought it was something to keep 'just in case.' They were all idiots. He would never talk. There is nothing to talk about!"

"And yet, I have here a transcript of his talk with Interpol, where they want to know the whereabouts of a stolen nuclear weapon. And he's working on his deal to be released when he gives it over."

Karl was pacing. "Bad, bad. He betrays so many people. People who are hiding something they were told to hide and don't know what it is!"

"Not if you talk to us first, Karl. Sit down, talk to me. Let me tell you what I think can happen."

Karl sat back down after a minute. "Talk."

"I'm not with law enforcement. I'm a private negotiator hired by an anonymous party with only one goal: Keeping Victor Seimovich in jail and making him pay for his crimes. I've been working on things from the other side. You give us the grave's location and the missing bomb, which will fall under the whistle-blower rules. Your name won't be made public. Your son or anyone else will be forgotten. Whoever has the bomb will be forgotten. Victor will stay in jail, the world will be a safer place, and there will be two things I can offer that make this a better deal for you."

"For me? Can you get me some books to read?"

"Better. I have unearthed quite a bit about your case, which hinges on the trial of Edvin Jorgstadt. Evidence was suppressed in both trials. Further, you have served ten years of your sentence, and a case can be made for 'temporary insanity.' Now that you've come to your senses, you wouldn't do that again, would you?"

That brought a smile to Karl's face. "Of course not. I would pay two annoying Sicilians to stalk those I wanted dead and grind them to sausage, keeping my hands clean."

The man across from him shook his head. "Or maybe you could say, 'I don't know what happened; it was the anger and the loss. I was crazed and unthinking. I feel such remorse for my actions. Something like that."

"Sure, I can do that. But this is a farce; I'm not leaving this place."

"This paper says otherwise." An agreement was placed on the glass, and Karl read it.

"This is real? It must be unless you are good enough to forge the official seals. I give you what you want, and you agree to move me to a jail near my home where my family can visit and, in one year, release me with monitoring and parole. But what is this part about treatment for Astrid?"

"There have been advances in science, Karl. One of the main labs, Rhebus, is successfully cloning missing limbs. In addition to moving you to jail in your hometown, Rhebus will be paid to provide your granddaughter with replacement limbs that work as well as her old ones. She'll be done with treatment about the same time you'll finish your sentence and be released for in-home monitoring."

"And how do I know any of this paper, or your words, to be the truth? How do I know you aren't throwing miracles before me, hoping the 'Big Stupid Swede' jumps at them?"

"You don't. So sit here while I talk to the nice people in the next room and twist some arms."

Karl sat and thought for a minute. "Go and talk. Here is what I want: Data net access. I understand it must be read only for two hours. That will let me catch up with current events and your miracle technology. Give me a list of places to go. Then, the contract and spell everything out fully. There is no trust in these situations. And I know this won't be fast. I want one book a week until my release. The first three should be War and Peace, Ulysses, and Atlas Shrugged."

That brought a surprised look on the other man's face. "You want to read Atlas Shrugged? Really?"

Karl smiled. "If I am ever going to get through it, it will be while I am bored and in prison, with nothing else to do. Even then, I have my doubts."

The next day, after a long night of negotiations, Karl was escorted back to his cell with a well-worn copy of War and Peace. The information had finally satisfied him. His family lawyer had been flown up to go over the proceedings. Someone was moving pieces on the great board to keep Victor Seimovich in jail. They didn't care about him at all, and his case had gained some light in a sweeping investigation into corruption in the courts five years ago. That alone wouldn't have helped him go free, but it had helped now. He would never be truly free, but he would eventually be able to go home, see his grandchildren and children, and die in his own bed. That was enough. Once he had decided, and the gates of his memory were opened (and most importantly, given whistleblower status), he gave them five other things Victor might try to bargain with. The authorities were smiling by the time he told them the last story.

Best of all, he was taken to a new cell. It wasn't much better than his old one, but it did have a larger bed and hot water in the shower. It wasn't a reward, simply a precaution. Word would get out. Somehow, the inmates would know he was leaving. That wasn't allowed. He'd be dead five minutes after walking into the yard. He began the book, taking his time. He'd heard the first chapters were the worst, with dozens of names to remember, but he had lots of time. The only thing he regretted about the deal was that he wouldn't get to see Victor's face as each door to freedom slammed in front of him. It pleased him that he was helping someone else get revenge on the rich bastard.