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5. Anatoly’s Sticky Patch
Stockholm. The Night of Vyera’s Release.
While Petra has been searching for Tracy Randolf, Jennifer McEwan’s career as Vyera Anatolyevna, the non-consensual ‘professional’ slave is reaching its apogee. She is aboard the Andrei Tupolev, the yacht belonging to Anatoly Kustensky which has cast off its moorings in Stockholm Harbour and is preparing to set sail. It is evening and the sun is low in the sky.
It is time to leave. The Captain gives orders for the boat to let go its moorings. He reverses the engines to pull the yacht away from the Strandvagen Quay and out into the clear water of Stockholm Harbour. (1)
Using engines and rudder, he swings the vessel around in a lazy circle and begins to nose towards the Galaparken shore and then starboard into the deep water channel between Djugarden and Skeppsholmen islands. The harbour is busy with other yachts, ferries and pleasure craft.
The Bridge on the yacht has a forward view but all other viewpoints are covered by look-out cameras. As he glances over his controls and instruments, a monitor screen displays the view over the harbour to port, to starboard and over the stern. A second monitor shows a sequence of shots from each of the cameras that show the activity on the various decks of the boat.
The boat swings to a course of 135 degrees and begins to move south east past the Djugarden Quay. The Captain notices a movement on the deck surveillance monitor. Sveta Kustenskaya and the slave Vyera are in conversation. Actually Sveta is doing the talking and Vyera is merely listening. She does not look very happy!
The Captain takes his eyes from the scene. There's nothing remarkable about it. No doubt Vyera’s performance is falling below expectations. Besides he has plenty of other things to concern him. He re-checks his course, and speed, the proximity to other vessels and their courses.
“Captain?”
Yuri, the ship’s technical officer, draws his attention away from the ship's radar.
“What?”
“On the stern deck. SK and Vyera. Something is going on.”
There is an unmistakable urgency in Yuri’s voice. The Captain looks across at the deck monitor – and gasps. Sveta Kustensky is helping Vyera over the ship’s rail. Vyera does not seem as if she wants to go, but Sveta is obviously determined that she should. Vyera stands unsteadily, her hand in that of her Mistress …
The Captain has only a moment to act. He shouts at one of the crewmen, also on the bridge. “Crewman! Port side! Stern deck! Incident! Yuri, you have the helm!”
In the time taken to issue the command and run across to the port window of the bridge, Sveta has let go of the slave and Vyera has executed a graceful dive away from the ship. She is airborne for a second before she is gone, beneath the waves.
The Captain watches as Sveta takes one of the emergency loud hailers and begins to call to some of the people on shore and waves, as Vyera makes her escape, through the dark waters.
The Captain and Yuri glance at one another, open mouthed. “I heard she had not been well,” begins Yuri until a glance from the Captain stills his voice …
Anatoly has arrived beside his wife on the deck and is watching in horror the receding figure of his slave Vyera as she swims towards the shore. He’s running through a whole series of options in his mind. Launch a zodiac to get her back, turn the Tupolev to run her down, follow Vyera into the water himself. None of them are remotely practical. All he can do is to let the boat continue as though nothing has happened. (2)
The crewman sent by the captain arrives at the companionway and Anatoly stops him with a shake of the head.
Anatoly wants to grab hold of Sveta and shake some sense into her but, seeing how she is staring transfixed by the sight of the girl in the water, he knows this will be of no use. Instead, with a great effort he masters his emotions and gently places an arm over her shoulder.
To the crewman, standing by the companion way to the upper deck, he says, “Go to the bridge and tell the Captain to get us into international waters as fast as he can. Tell him I do not care how much fuel he uses!”
To Sveta he says, quietly and calmly, guiding her away from the rail. “Come on in to dinner. We don’t want to spoil what has been prepared. I’ll serve and we can both clear away. When it comes to it, I suppose you better wash and I’ll dry?” He laughs: washing up and clearing away. Not something he is used to, just as it is a long time since the two of them had to endure the chore of washing up. The incongruity breaks the tension. Sveta’s mood calms. She places her hand in his and together they resume their dinner, ignoring the momentous nature of the evening’s events.
The Crewman reaches the Bridge. “Did you see that?” He is, like the rest of them, completely astonished. “The Boss is there now. He says to maintain course and get into international waters as fast as we can. Oh and don’t worry about diesel!”
With what seems to be conscious effort, the Captain, Yuri and the Crew resume their duties. As the Captain scans his instruments once more, he notices that the AIS beacon is ‘Off’. Maritime regulations say he should switch the beacon on at once, but he stills his instinct. This might be one occasion to overlook the demands of Regulations. The Boss, he thinks, might prefer not to let the whole world know who they are and what their position is. (3)
In the Dining Room, the meal ends. As soon as Sveta has gone to their cabin, Anatoly goes to the office on the boat and sits down to take stock of the situation. His mind has just begun to engage with the problem when a there is a knock at the door. “Boss?”
It’s the captain.
“Well?”
“I just thought you should know. When we left, Yuri forgot to activate the AIS beacon. It’s standard procedure on a boat this size. I’m sorry. There might be repercussions from the Port Authority. So I thought you should know.”
“Which means that the Tupolev would be visible to anyone who cared to look such as a Coastguard and also on radar but we would not be transmitting ID?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“So who would report us?”
“Perhaps other vessels. We passed a Baltic Ferries ship coming in from Helsinki, for example. But in harbour people are busy, maybe no one noticed. ”
“Ah … well thanks for letting me know. When did you realise?”
“As soon as I did a navigational check once we were out of the archipelago. Do you still want me to take the boat to Tallinn?”
“Tallinn? Fuck Tallinn! Go straight to Peter. (4) Get us a berth at the marina so Svetlana Nikitechna and I can disembark and we will go back to Moscow by train. You know that we are one person short?”
“Yes: woman overboard.”
Anatoly responds with a sigh. Woman overboard all right but perhaps fortune really does favour the brave?
At least they had not broadcast their identity and position right from the time the Andrei Tupolev slipped its moorings …
As soon as he was once more alone, Anatoly thinks about his father, the General. What did he used to say? ‘Reconnaissance before planning. Planning before attack. Attack before dawn!’ It’s time for Anatoly to start taking control of the situation.
In Moscow, Igor Mendeleyev is rudely awoken from sleep by his bed-side telephone. He is not used to late night calls nowadays and it takes him several seconds to understand what is happening. He lifts the receiver. “Yes?”
“Igor Ivanovitch?”
“Yes?”
“Anatoly Sergeyevitch”
“Ah, oh? Who?”
“Anatoly Sergeyevitch!”
“Anatoly … Anatoly Sergeyevitch? But?”
“Igor Ivanovitch. I have a crisis to deal with…”
By now Dr Mendeleyev has realized that he is not dreaming and has managed to gather his wits together. When was the last time Anatoly Sergeyevitch called in the middle of the night? Adrenalin begins to run through his veins in response.
“Please, Anatoly Sergeyevitch, tell me.”
“Sveta Nikitechna has released Vyera.”
“What? She did? Where?”
“Stockholm?”
“Stockholm! This is serious Anatoly Sergeyevitch.”
Anatoly stops for a moment. Of course it’s serious. He knows it and Mendeleyev must know that he knows it. He bites back the angry snap that is beckoning. “Serious is not the half of it. We were on the boat, leaving port. Vyera’s husband and parents were sitting on a bench on the quay. Just a very bad coincidence. Vyera saw them and Svetlana Nikitichna saw that something was suddenly wrong with Vyera. I am not sure exactly what happened next but by the time I got out on deck, Vyera had dived overboard on the instructions of Svetlana Nikitichna who had used a loud hailer to attract the attention of Vyera’s family and everyone else in the area.”
At this point Dr Mendeleyev starts to believe he must still be asleep. This story has a nightmarish plausibility but is surely it is the stuff of dreams? Surely he must have misheard?
Anatoly has not finished. “The question is what will Vyera do now? Will she be loyal and keep our confidences or will she betray us? If I have to take radical action time is short. It will be sunrise in two hours.”
By now Mendeleyev is sitting on the side of his bed, fully awake. He fumbles for his spectacles. Problems seem to come into sharper focus if the room is in sharper focus. He knows his advice could spell disaster for others, disaster for Anatoly and possibly disaster for himself.
“I … I … cannot be certain. Seeing her people she knew from her past would be a major trauma. It would upset her conditioning even if she was still in our custody but now she is in such an alien environment … er … Anatoly Sergeyevitch I think in the short term Vyera will remain loyal to the system that has trained her. The long term is another question. She will come under pressure to revert. The pressure of being once more in her old environment and the pressure from her husband and family to tell them what has happened to her … and then there will be the British Authorities. It is imperative that you get her back!”
“I think I know that, thank you, Igor Ivanovitch”
“Quite so, quite so”.
“Your role now is to help us plan our campaign.”
“You said Sveta Nikitechna provoked Vyera to escape? But what about her collar?”
“The collar had malfunctioned and had been removed earlier in the day.”
“Ah! With no collar, Vyera was free to leave. Now I understand Oh dear, oh dear. What bad luck!” A memory stirs in Dr Mendeleyev’s brain, something reported to him by Julia Romanova, an account from Neena. “Actually, Anatoly Sergeyevitch I think we may have a little time in hand.”
“Why?”
“Neena Alexandrovna must have a picture of a radiograph showing her spinal repair and just before your vacation, Neena caught Vyera looking at it. She could have punished Vyera for impertinence but instead, Neena explained to Vyera what it was.”
“So?”
“Well: Neena pointed out to Vyera that she, Vyera, was not the only one who had been forced to accept a radical change in her personal circumstances and it seemed that this chance happening had shifted Vyera’s perspectives away from what she had lost and on to what she now had. It gave her a responsibility to behave in a more adult way and not always to see herself as a victim. It was exactly what we had been working towards of course but in the event, it came about as a quite unexpected stroke of fortune.”
“Ah - so we might have some time in which to plan and execute some remedial action then?”
“Yes, Anatoly Sergeyevitch. We might.”
Anatoly is not much comforted but it’s no worse than he expected.
Anatoly’s next call is difficult. He is calling to speak to ‘old colleagues’, friends in the FSB, friends in places where some of Anatoly’s activities are known and, while not approved of, sanctioned for reasons that are not always clear. (5)
The line buzzes and an alert eager voice answers. “Duty Officer.”
“Anatoly Sergeyevitch Kustensky to speak with Mikhail Barisovitch Antonov”
There is a short pause before the reply. “He is not in the building at present. Is this urgent?”
“I am afraid so.”
“Is this a secure line?”
“Confirmed.”
“Acknowledged. We will call back. I have your number.”
“Confirmed.”
“Thank you.”
Anatoly knows he will not be kept waiting long. However, he still has enough time to contact Yevgeny, who tends to be nocturnal in his habits.
“Yevgeny Petrovitch?”
“Anatoly Sergeyevitch!”
“Are you monitoring Vyera’s parents landline and mobile phones?”
“Of course. I advised Svetlana Nikitechna that they were in Stockholm and she asked me to make sure I maintained surveillance.”
“Has there been any traffic?”
“Actually yes. Two calls made and one returned. All the calls are in English and I have not managed to have a translation carried out.
“Yevgeny Petrovitch: just get it done and get back to me at once, do you hear?”
“Certainly Anatoly Sergeyevitch. Is there …?”
“A problem? Yes there is, so I do not care how you get the text translated but you just go and do it. Neena Alexandrovna speaks good English. Get hold of her wherever she is and get her to do the translation.”
Anatoly has more to say but he is interrupted by the secure telephone ringing. He closes his call to Yevgeny and answers …“Anatoly Sergeyevitch?”
“Tolya! How nice to speak with you. How can I help?”
Anatoly notices that Mikhail has used the diminutive of his name. It is something Sveta or some other intimate acquaintance might do but in this case, Mikhail is being faintly rude and patronising, He is setting up the pitch for their encounter. He is letting Anatoly know who is boss.
“Mikhail Barisovitch there is a situation.”
“Really?” Mikhail’s response is wary. Anatoly would only be calling if this was a major problem.
“One of my special employees, an English girl, escaped into the arms of her family this evening.”
Mikhail understands exactly what the euphemism ‘special employee’ means. This can only be a ‘situation’ if Anatoly is constrained in some way from dealing with it. “Where did this happen?”
“Stockholm.”
“Ah.” There could be worse locations, Mikhail feels, but it’s hard to think of one right now.
“She was released by Svetlana Nikitechna.”
There a short sucking noise as Mikhail draws in breath through his teeth. He is trying to un-plait this conundrum which comes from a direction that has previously been safe and benign. Perhaps the problem is rooted in the personal rather than the professional? “Svetlana Nikitechna! How is she? And Alana? And little Dimitry?”
“She has not been well. Alana’s pregnancy brought back all sorts of unpleasant memories. About …” Anatoly isn’t sure where this is going.
“About Popova.”
“Yes. Popova. For the first time Sveta was able to tell me herself, but of course events took their toll. She was not being completely rational.” (6)
“I understand. And on impulse she has discharged one of your special employees?”
“Exactly.”
“And this is the Special Employee you recruited from England …what … it must be two years ago now? You asked for access to one of the ground surveillance satellites to monitor he abduction and for electronic surveillance on her and her family in the months leading up to the abduction (Anatoly notices that Mikhail Borisovitch is not mincing his words) and afterwards … so what you propose?”
Mikhail knows that the best approach is always to allow those who present him with problems to suggest their own solution, first of all.
As intended, Mikhail’s itemisation of all the help given to Anatoly to recruit Vyera in the first place considerably increases his discomfort and embarrassment.
“Amongst the options is to bring events to a final conclusion but that would involve four people.”
There is another sound of air sucked through teeth. Mikhail needs little time to consider this. “No,” he says bluntly, “quite simply, no. Anatoly Sergeyevitch, you are valuable to us – to the country but your actions have to take account of the general situation. We are attempting to improve relations with our British friends and of course, our American ‘Partners’ as I believe is the correct phrase nowadays. This is not the time for anything that looks like, how shall I put it? – gangland killings. Another Litvenenko-Lugovoi affair would be, well, unfortunate. There is too much at stake at present. Negotiations with the Americans and the EU for visa-free travel for Russian citizens might be disturbed. This would be just the sort of event to inflame the western media against us and frighten off the western politicians. It would make Dmitry Anatolyevitch’s task so much more difficult. I am sure you would not want that, Anatoly? Hmmm?” (7)
“Of course not. No.”
“Also, I believe you have ‘employed’ Manfred Randolf’s daughter?”
“Yes but I was asked if she might be …”
“Anatoly, it would be a shame if your judgement came into question. If we began to feel that you were not sound? A man can be asked to do all sorts of things but he has always to do what is right, do you not agree?”
“Of course, but I was …”
“… and I have always felt that your ‘special employment opportunities’ were a bit of a one way street? However much the employee or anyone else might wish to reverse the tide of events, events could not be reversed. Dyes, when cast, stay cast. Concrete, when set, stays set. This is exactly the problem you have ‘phoned me about tonight, is it not?”
“Yes, Mikhail Barisovitch. That is exactly correct.”
“So: you will have to get her back and come to some arrangements with her husband and parents. An intriguing problem for you to solve, Anatoly Sergeyevitch. I will be most interested in how you go about it. You will keep us informed, of course?”
“Yes. Absolutely Mikhail Barisovitch. You have my assurance.”
“Well done Anatoly Sergeyevitch. I knew we could rely on you. Well: I will leave matters in your hands. Good night, Anatoly Sergeyevitch!” (8)
International Burglary
Anatoly cannot rest until he has done something practical to resolve the Vyera Crisis. He knows if he was Vyera’s husband that he would get her home as soon as possible and home in this case means the United Kingdom, two time zones and fifteen hundred miles from Moscow.
He calls Yevgeny once more: “Yevgeny Petrovitch? When Igor Vaserionovitch visited Vyera’s home in England on the night of her acquisition, he wiped the memory of her computer to leave no trace of the surveillance programme we had installed? Am I right?”
“Precisely so, Anatoly Sergeyevitch.”
“So at present there is no equipment active inside Vyera’s old home?”
“You are correct, Anatoly Serveyevitch.”
“Yevgeny Petrovitch, find Igor Vaserionovitch wherever he is. If he is in bed, get him up. If he is in bed with a friend, tell him to say good-bye. I want him back in the UK. I want him inside Vyera’s old home installing equipment. I have informed Big Brother who seems to be prepared to maintain surveillance of the telephone and internet traffic in the normal way, so tell Igor Vaserionovitch he is allowed to ask Big Brother for technical advice. I want to know everything which goes on there, every telephone call which is made there and everything that gets written onto the computers. Tell him start immediately!
References:
1. The Stockholm Ports Authority were kind enough to advise us about mooring large private yachts and shipping movements in Stockholm Harbour
2. A Zodiac is a small tender type boat with a rigid hull and an inflatable float http://www.zodiacmarineusa.com/deluxe-tenders/zodiac-yachtline
3. AIS Beacons for shipping
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automatic_Identification_System
4. Tallin and Peter. Tallin is the capital of Estonia, a port city on the eastern shore of the Baltic and ‘Peter’ is the colloquial name Russians use for St Petersburg
5. The Russian Security Services
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_Security_Service
6. The story of Sveta and Popova can be found in Tales From a Far Country, in the chapter ‘The Ambitions of Popova’
7a. Dmitry Anatolyevitch is, in Russia, the conventional and polite way to refer to Dmitry Anatolyevitch Medvedev who, at the time of this incident is President of the Russian Federation. His Prime Minister is one Vladimir Vladimirovitch Putin.
7b. The Litvenenko-Lugovoi affarie. Andrei Litvenenko was a Russian security official who had become critical of the Russian government and moved to Britain. After a meeting with some old colleagues including Andrei Lugovoi, he fell gravely ill and died of radiation poisoning. The Metropolitan Police were able to follow a trail of radiation from the restaurant where the ‘friends’ had met back to the seat occupied by Mr Lugovoi in the British Airways aircraft which had brought him to London. Polonium-210 is an exotic radionuclide not readily available to ordinary people. Mr Lugovoi has not, in the words of the Metropolitan Police, “been available to help us with our enquires.”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Litvinenko
http://www.economist.com/node/9215001
7c. Visa-Free Travel negotiations
http://en.ria.ru/russia/20130604/181499448.html
8. When this story was being written, one of our Reviewers expressed concern about the level of telecommunications and internet surveillance we are suggesting in this and other passages and we were on the point of re-writing this particular theme but then came the Edward Snowden revelations and now it seems all too plausible …
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Snowden
6. Secure Perimeter
Stockholm. The Night of Jennifer’s Return
Whilst Anatoly struggles to recover from the consequences of his wife's actions, Jenny is free and reunited with her husband Joe and her parents, Andrew and Inga. This long-hoped for moment has arrived so unexpectedly and none of them has been fully able to come to grips with what has just happened …
The four of them, Joe, Jenny, Andrew and Inga, take a taxi ride from Strandvagen Quay to the Summer House. It's only forty minutes but they pass mostly in silence, Andrew riding in the front, Jenny wedged between Joe and her mother in the back.
Andrew is awash with emotions. He is full of joy at Jennifer’s unexpected return, something he had steeled himself to accept would never happen and he is proud of her brave escape. To jump from a yacht and swim for shore under the gaze of her abductors - that took nerve.
His pride gives way to anger; anger at what was done to his daughter; anger at what that did to Joe to him and to his wife. Finally Andrew is angry at the idea that, her usefulness at an end, she was thrown overboard, like unwanted rubbish.
Anger is followed by determination; a cool determination to see her safe, to see her delivered home without further incident, to see her kept safe from those who might be tempted to do her harm once more.
He listens with half an ear to Jenny intermittent ramblings. She's talking about her return being some sort of magical gift. She's pleading with Joe not to look at the magic too closely.
He can imagine how Jenny must be feeling. He understands her reaction to her situation. He's seen troops after combat; been with them through it. They're relieved that it's over, still loaded with adrenalin, grateful that they've survived, guilty that they've survived when others have not. All that his squad ever wanted to do was to get back to safety, down a beer or two and sit with their relief and their gratitude and perhaps, their guilt.
He knows, too, that things can't be left as they are for too long any more than he could abandon his soldiers to their own devices. He's already mapping out in his mind what has to happen next. They need to make sure Jenny is safe from whoever took her. They need to get back to England. They need to tell the police what's happened.
He looks up at the taxi's rear view mirror. He can see his daughter curled up against her husband and suddenly he knows that he has to do something. Whoever took her, whoever let her go, might try to take her back. He's suddenly aware that far from this being a release for them all if could be a great source of danger and if Andrew is sure of one thing, he is determined to protect his daughter, his wife, Joe, and himself come to that.
He knows someone has to take charge of events. This is what he has been trained to do. This is his forte. Taking decisive action in difficult and unexpected circumstances.
Once inside the house, Jenny is sent off to the shower by Inga and as Joe tries to collect his wits, Andrew steps outside into the garden. He switches on his mobile and dials …
“British Embassy Stockholm, Duty Officer.”
“Colonel Andrew Palmer speaking. I need help and advice, urgently”
“Yes Sir; How can I assist you?”
“My daughter was abducted in London (well: was she? Andrew does not know exactly, but he wants action and action in the middle of the night is not produced by beating about the bush). She escaped her captors in Stockholm this evening. She will need a passport to get home. She is at our summer house in Stockholm right now.”
“Oh … er I see… er …” This is clearly not something the duty officer comes across very often. “Shouldn’t you call the police?”
“There are a lot of people I should call and I have to start somewhere. We need to get her home and in the circumstances, you are a good start.”
“Erm, the Embassy is closed for the moment – until the morning”
“I am sure it is. We will need emergency travel documents. Jennifer has no documents whatsoever at the moment. What papers would you like us to provide? My wife will try to get them whilst my daughter and I go to the Police”
The duty officer tries to recover control of the conversation. He’s feeling steam-rollered. “Colonel Palmer. When this sort of thing happens, Colonel Palmer, (1) it’s usually tourists who have lost their passports to pickpockets or dropped them in the harbour. There is not much you can provide but come to the Embassy and we will make arrangements. You will need paperwork from the police to confirm the circumstances. This usually is a copy of any statement that has been given about a passport theft, but in this case …. Was your daughter’s disappearance reported to the local UK Police?”
“It was. There was a Scotland Yard investigation.”
“Oh, I see. I’m sure that the Swedish Police will want to contact their opposite numbers in London. I’m very pleased to hear your good news. I hope your daughter recovers from her ordeal. I'll brief the team here. They will be pleased to pick things up with you later in the day, Colonel Palmer.”
The conversation ends. The Duty Officer notes the call in his log. It's certainly an event which will stand out amongst the routine for quite some time! Someone else can pick it up tomorrow.
Andrew’s next call is to the police. He wonders for a moment if it should be best left to a native speaker of Swedish like his wife Inga but on the other hand, he does not wish to provoke any sort of confrontation with Jenny. It's better if he does things himself. He remembers the advice from the veteran TV reporter and globe trotter, Alan Whicker, ‘if you are abroad, speak English; then the other fellow has to understand you. If you try to speak his language, you have to understand him!’ (2) Andrew speaks good Swedish but he takes the advice and calls.
The police station answers. “Hej: Stockholm Polisen Kan jag hjelper ni?” (3)
“Colonel Andrew Palmer speaking. May I speak English?”
“Of course” The voice is accented but the delivery is confident. The signs are that they will be able to communicate accurately.
“My daughter was abducted in London two years ago and this evening she escaped from her captors in Stockholm.” There’s an audible intake of breath at the other end of the phone line. “We found her on Djugarden Quay. I think her captors made their escape in a large sea-going motor yacht. We came straight back to our house in Stockholm for safety. I have assumed her captors will not know our address. I have to report this incident.”
The gasp of surprise from the switch-board operator or receptionist or desk-sergeant or whoever he is speaking to tells him that someone else in Stockholm is not accustomed to dealing with abduction escapees. Andrew smiles a tight, determined smile. He is happy to have secured their full attention!
“First I must have details. Your daughter is …”
“Jennifer Karin Palmer.”
“And her age is … ?”
“27 years old.”
“Ah, so she is an adult.”
“When did you find her?”
“At about 9.15 this evening, that’s 21:15 hours”
“And where?”
“We were on Djugarden Quay and she swam to us from the harbour.”
“And she is English?”
“Not quite: she has dual British-Swedish nationality.”
“And your address …”
The brief interrogation establishes that Jennifer disappeared in London, that there was a police investigation and eventually her disappearance was reported to Interpol in the event that the investigation led abroad.
“Colonel Palmer, you are military?”
“Army, retired.”
“So have you a diplomatic connection to the British Embassy?”
“No: my wife and I - and co-incidentally my daughter’s husband - were on holiday here. We have a house.”
“Ah, so you are not with friends or renting a cottage?”
“No.”
“Could you come to see us in Kungsholmen, immediately?” (4)
Andrew pauses. “I do not think so. Jennifer is quite upset and disorientated at the moment. I don't think it would be wise but I would be grateful if your people could come here. My wife and I and Jennifer’s husband could give you more details from our point of view and we could bring Jennifer to see you in the morning. Also, even though I have no reason to believe that her abductors will know where we are, it would be reassuring to have some protection here.”
“I understand. I think it is very unlikely that you are in any danger from your daughter’s abductors, however I can understand your concern. We will send a car to you, to verify details.”
Andrew closes the call and returns inside. Jennifer and Joe are together. There is tension in the air.
Inga says: “I have made coffee. It’s in the sitting room. Perhaps we all need something stronger?”
“Too bloody right we do. Oh, I have contacted the Police and the Embassy. The police are sending people over.”
“Ah. I think I need to disturb the children.”
Andrew understands at once what she means. The murmur of voices that he can’t quite overhear has a hard edge to it …
At 11:45 pm a police car arrives with a male and female officer from the Stockholm County Police. There is a knock at the door. Andrew opens it. The uniforms of the officers are reassuring. Signs that something is being done. Signs that Joe and the Palmers are not dealing with the situation all alone. Signs that Jennifer now has the protection of a well organised and efficient State Organisation.
“Hej.”
“Hej.”
“Herr och Fru Palmer?”
“Ja vi är det ”
“Ville du ringa till polisen om din dotter?”
“Ja vi gjorde. Kommer du. Kommer du. Och det är Josef. Han är Jennifer’s man. Han är Herr McEwan.” (5)
“Joseph speaks some Swedish,” interjects Inga, “but he is not fluent so perhaps we can use English?” Inga makes her request in English so we all are sure of what is being said.
“Of course”, replies Maria Lindahl, the more senior of the two. Joseph is struck by the contrast between her natural grace and attractiveness and the seriousness and aggressiveness of her equipment belt and the Sig Sauer pistol bulging in its holster at her hip. She is followed in by a smaller thick set male officer. He says: “I will go check outside the cottage.” Andrew notices his holster is unclipped. He is prepared for trouble. Some minutes later, he is back and joins them in the family room. Marie looks at him and he at her. “All clear,” he says.
“We need to speak with Jennifer McEwan. She is here?”
“Yes: in the bedroom but she is asleep, just exhausted.” replies Joe.
“But I must confirm that she is here”, replies Lindahl. “I must see her.”
It occurs to Joe that ‘see her’ and ‘conduct a detailed interview’ are not the same.
He says; “Look, Jenny is exhausted. By all means come into the bedroom to verify that there is someone actually there but can we do any interviews in the morning? She seems pretty confused and on edge right now – as well as very tired?”
Lindahl wrestles with indecision for a moment. If there is evidence, the sooner it is acted upon the better the change of arresting any criminal elements, if there should actually be any. On the other hand, if the girl Jennifer really has just escaped from abductors and is sodden with fatigue and asleep, anything she says might not be reliable. There is no acute danger as far as they can tell. The girl’s escape took place three hours ago … she settles for a visual identification of the sleeping girl. “That will be OK for now,” she says.
“Here” says Joe, opening the bedroom door.
Lindahl sees a dark skinned, tattooed, muscular, bare headed girl half covered by a sheet. Her appearance is extraordinary, even if her story wasn’t extraordinary enough. Lindahl leaves her sleeping and heads back to the Family Room.
“So, give me a brief account of what happened.”
Brief, Joe thinks. How can you give a brief account of a nineteen month absence? He tries, “Jennifer disappeared in London on Tuesday 10th November 2009 at about two o’clock in the afternoon…”
“You are very precise?”
“It’s not something you forget, your wife going missing.” Joe’s response is terse.
“No, I can understand. And then?”
“We contacted the police as soon as we realised she was gone.”
“As soon as?”
“After I said good-bye to Jennifer I travelled to Seoul in South Korea with business colleagues and it was several days before I realised that something was wrong. I was on the other side of the world you see, and I couldn’t contact her”
“But what about her parents?” The police officer glances at Inga and Andrew.
“We do not live nearby”, offers Andrew.
“I see. So there was a police investigation in the UK?”
“Yes: I cannot remember the name of the officer in charge of the investigation in London but the Officer responsible in the town where we live was called Inspector Ackroyd. He was the policeman I saw most often.”
“Do you have his number?”
“Yes: here.” Joe brings up ‘contacts’ on his phone and offers it to the policewoman.
“We have had no contact with Jennifer at all: no sightings, telephone calls, emails - nothing until this evening.”
“Tell me what happened this evening.”
“We had been out to dinner at the Blau Porten restaurant on Djugarden. (6) We walked down the quay. We were sitting on a bench …”
“Watching the world go by,” adds Andrew.
“We heard someone calling us on a loud hailer.”
“Calling you?”
“That’s right. There was woman waving at us from a large yacht which was sailing by, She was pointing to someone in the water. I thought the boat might have just missed running down whoever it was and so we waited for the person to swim to shore.”
“Ah, so you know the people on the boat?”
“Absolutely not! None of us know anyone with a boat like that.”
“But they know you? Someone called to you from the boat, so they must know you …”
“Well, I suppose so but …”
Joe falters in his account. Inga takes up the thread. “You see none of us knows anyone who owns a yacht.” I work at university,” replies Inga “and University employees do not earn enough money to buy big yachts.”
“I am – was - a career soldier”, adds Andrew, “No one in the British Army earns that sort of money either and I just do not know anyone who does.”
“Mr McEwan?”
“I am an engineer. Some of our clients may well be able to live at that level but I do not personally know any who do.”
“So the woman on the boat knows you but you do not know her?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I see. What did she say?”
Well, what did she say? The voice was so unexpected, distorted by the loud hailer, reflecting off the water, mixed with the other harbour sounds. Did the voice actually call their names?
“I … I think I heard my name replies Joe after several moments but … but I really can’t be sure.”
“Can you describe the boat?”
“Well, it was large … white or maybe cream.”
“Was it all one colour or was the hull different to the rest of it?”
“Actually we were looking into the sunset,” points out Andrew. “Everything was dark – in silhouette. The boat had a stern flag but our attention was all on the person in the water. When I looked back to the boat there was another boat in the way so I can’t be sure about the flag.”
Lindahl makes a decision. She will have to speak to Fru McEwan immediately.
She straightens up to face the Palmers and the woman’s husband.
“I am sorry, she says but I must now speak to Fru McEwan. If there are international implications to this incident, the investigation will be taken over by the National Investigation Bureau (7) and I will have to contact their Officer on Duty as soon as I can establish all the facts. Fru Palmer, please come with me as a chaperone.” With that, this very determined self-assured police woman lead the way to Jennifer’s bedroom to rouse her and make further enquires.
Neena is shaking me by my shoulder. I must have over slept. I open my eyes immediately. The room lights are on. I spring out of bed and kneel. My head bowed.
“Prostetye mnye pazhalsta, Gaspazha” (8)
Of course this will not spare me the punishment I deserve. I know that I shall have to pay for my lack of self-discipline.
There is a hand on my shoulder, It’s a sign I must look at Neena and receive her judgement on my laziness. I can’t understand how I could have been so careless as to sleep in! For goodness sake, I go to bed when I am told. There is just time to wash and clean my teeth and then the lights in my cell fade down and I am left alone in the darkness, Sleep - and my dreams – are all I have left to enjoy all on my own.
I open my eyes and stare for a moment as Neena’s feet. What is she wearing? I can see a pair of ‘sensible’ work boots and thick dark blue trousers.
I look up, to meet her eyes, - and see a uniform I do not recognize. There is the face of a woman I have never seen before looking down at me. She has a gun in a holster on her belt. She steps back.
"Ar det Fru Mak-you-an?" she says in Swedish.
“Nyet”, I reply, “Menye zavoot Vyera Anatolyevna” (8b)
The woman looks at me quizzically. Just behind her, over her shoulder I see – I see my mother's face! I must be dreaming! Yet I can’t be dreaming because I can feel the hard floor beneath my knees and I feel cold in the room. What is she doing at the Dacha? Sleep evaporates from my mind. Mummy speaks to me.
"Jennifer," she says. "This is Maria. She wants to ask you questions."
Mummy is not speaking Russian, but although the language is strange, it is strangely familiar. Like a long lost friend, I can understand it and even reply.
Maria holds out her hand. I take it tentatively and tentatively, I stand up.
The woman – Maria - motions me to sit back down on the bed. That seems like an instruction. I know how to deal with instructions, so I sit.
Maria says, "Tell me who you are?"
“Menye zavoot Vyera Anatolyevna Kuznetsova’” (8c)
"What?"
I glance at Mummy , who looks as if she is going to cry. I think hard. The woman Maria asked me who I was. Surely … I try another name. "Jag heter Jennifer Karin Palmer," I say, speaking like the woman Maria does. (9)
She looks like … like a policewoman. Is that what she is? The thought crosses my mind that I have been rescued. But how can you be rescued from where you live and from people who love you? Neena loves me. Gaspazha Svetlana Nikitechna loves me … so where has Mummy come from and this Policewoman?
"Do you know where you are?" she says.
I slowly shake my head. I cannot be at Dacha Kustensky after all. Then it dawns! I am at the Summer House, on Drevikken! How on earth have I got here?
I say, "Is this the Summer House? At Drevikken?"
"What do you think?" asks Maria slowly, watching how I respond.
"Yes, that is where I think I am – it’s just – I cannot think how I got here!"
"Where should you be?"
"At the Dacha," I reply.
"Where is that, the Dacha?" asks Maria.
Well : what a question. Where is the Dacha? Near Moscow, but I know that is not the answer she wants. I am about to say more when the thought comes to me that I have not been given permission to speak about the Dacha and about what I do there and about the Family there. If I have not been given permission to speak, well there is nothing I can say.
"I am sorry, I cannot tell you."
"Why not?"
"I have not been given permission."
"Do you need permission?"
"Of course! I am only a …" I stop. I am telling them about what I do. I have not been given permission to speak to people outside the family about what I do. "I am afraid I cannot tell you."
"I see," says Maria, but the look in her face tells a different story. She begins again: "Tell me once more who you are."
I try a slightly different name, which I find somewhere in memory, like finding clothes you have not worn for a long time. Familiar and unfamiliar, both at once. "Jennifer Karin McEwan," I say.
"Where do you live?"
I am really getting into the way of this now. I know the answer! "In England of course. In Warwick."
"Do you live alone?"
"No! I live with my husband, Joseph." I glance at Mummy. She looks so much happier mow – relieved. Funny – this must be another level of service. Learning how to please my parents and the man I used to live with, before I became slave to Gaspadeen and Gaspazha.
Without warning. I am engulfed with tiredness. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I yawn widely and say, "I am sorry. Can we talk again in the morning?"
Maria leans forwards and rubs my shoulder. She looks puzzled but her words are kind. "Of course," she says. "Sleep now little one!"
Officers Lindahl and Carlsson are sitting in the police car reviewing the statements they have collected. The time is now 01:30. Their orders are to keep watch on the Palmers cottage and to bring Jennifer and Joseph to Kungsholmen in the morning for the definitive interviews.
“Well, what did you think of all that?” asks Carlsson. “Voices in the harbour, large unidentifiable yachts, a woman who disappears in London swims ashore in Stockholm. How long do you think it would take, to swim from London to Stockholm? Less than nineteen months?”
Lindahl chuckles at Carlsson’s summary of events. It’s an astonishing story, no mistake about that. It invites scepticism but Lindahl has heard stranger tales. Fantasists would have concocted an even more unlikely story. The girl would have to appear from a flying saucer perhaps, or she would have dived from the King’s very own yacht. Actually the King had been implicated in some racy and rather unsavoury events lately, so perhaps that isn’t as unlikely as it seems? (10)
“Well,” Lindahl says after some several seconds reflection: “well, there are things we can actually check. Kungsholmen can try to contact the British police to see if Jennifer McEwan really is a missing person and we can speak with the Harbour Control people. They should know about the movements of sea going boats and yachts yesterday …”
Joe and I are walking back from swimming in the lake. The water was cold but in the morning air, I feel warm now. I am naked again. It is reassuring. I prefer nakedness. It means I have nothing to hide from anyone. I have not seen Joe naked in ever-so-long. There have been naked men - Andrei for example - but then I was at work. I was expected to perform on them. One way or another, to give pleasure. Sucking Andrei. Fucking Andrei. Pleasuring the others I was given to. Actually, now I come to think of it, there were not many. More girls than boys. Perhaps I am not quite ready for that level of service yet? Have I been sent back to Joe for some kind of higher level training? But in that case, he would have to be working for Gaspadeen and Gaspazha …
It’s too painful to think about this. I set it to one side and look at Joe. We walk slowly back along the jetty, towards the summer house. He is half a step in front of me and I see … he is tattooed! All over his back … well … but Joseph was not marked anywhere and this man has a large dramatic tattoo all over his back and his cock! It has been ringed. Right through the meatus!
Perhaps this man is not Joseph at all? Then he turns to me. The familiar half smile and the way he raises his right eyebrow … surely it must be him?
He says nothing but holds my hand. First one, then both.
“Are you really Joe?”
“What?”
“Izveneetye pazhalsta no vwee Eosef?” (11)
“I am sorry Jenny, what was that? You will have to speak English. You know my Swedish is not as good as it should be.”
He slowly bows his head forward and kisses my wet scalp. Tender. Gentle.
“You are pierced and tattooed.”
“Yes.”
“But Joseph McEwan does not have any body art. I do not think he approves.”
“I know. Perhaps he didn't but he does now. He was an idiot. So he tried to find out about the girl he had lost by doing some of the things she had done.”
“Oh … did you?”
“I went to see Ros Buchanan” (12)
“Who?’
“Ros Buchanan. She works with Jonathan. He tattooed you, Jenny. Don’t you remember?”
There is anxiety and incomprehension in the man’s voice. Yes: I remember Ros Buchanan. She is very pretty in a very up-front spikey sort of way. Suddenly I feel a sting of jealousy. She - Ros - has seen Joe naked. She has seen him with his kit off. Marked his skin. Handled his cock. My cock! But wait a moment - I do not have possessions any more. I am a slave. So why shouldn’t she work on this man? After all, this man here, he is not mine, is he? But I do like his cock ring. It could do to be a bit thicker. Better aesthetics … and his tattoo … is wonderful.
“So what does it say?”
“What?”
“Your tattoo?”
“Oh, er … well … it was something Ros Buchanan put together to talk about … I mean to signify … I mean to draw out the story of me trying to find you.”
“Trying to find me?”
“Yes.”
“So how does it say that?”
“Well, there is a cross to say how much I love you and to say that I will go anywhere and do anything to find you.”
“Oh … what about the funny animals.”
“They are called zoomorphs … they represent the things I will need: wisdom, courage and faithfulness.”
“Oh …” and I snuggle close to this man, who will do any brave thing to find me. But he has not found me, I have been sent to him. By my new Owners. And the person who lives inside this body: Vyera or perhaps it is Jennifer now. Will he be able to find her?
As we climb back to the Summer House, I am in front of this heroic man and I glance back at him and my gaze falls down to his prick proudly sporting its ring. The cold of the water has shrivelled his flesh and the ring is even more prominent now. Brazen. I find my mouth beginning to water. It seems the slut has come with me. I begin to think about the ring. A heavier gauge. A bigger diameter. Larger. A nice thick leather lead clipped onto it. A lead in my hands. The man being led away by me, for me to play with. My mouth is watering much more and I have to swallow. A man to play with. All mine!
Stockholm Police Headquarters occupies a large slab sided glass and concrete building in Kungsholmen. It looks more like an office block than a main police station. It fits the image of Sweden as a fresh, modern, forward- thinking country, where rules of society are understood and obeyed. The image is of somewhere that people pull together instead of going their own way; where crime is more likely to be an affliction to be remedied by therapy, rather than the evidence of some on-going battle between the forces of good and evil. The Stockholm Police however, know better than that. They are not distracted by cliches. They have their feet firmly on the ground …
Jennifer is sitting on her own, in a small bright windowless room. She is facing a lady detective in a white polo shirt. There’s a tape recorder and the detective’s male colleague.
“Tell me your story”, begins Anna Thomassen, the detective.
Jennifer draws breath … and stops.
Tell her story? How can she? She is a slave and a slave must be loyal to her Owners. What can she say and remain loyal to them?
“Err … well … I am Jennifer McEwan.”
“Mmmmm. Do you like Sweden?”
Jennifer smiles broadly. "Yes: very much. My mother is Swedish. I have been here lots and lots of times. We have relatives.”
“Have you been staying with relatives recently?”
“Er … no.”
“When did you arrive?”
“Last we …”
“Last week?”
“Yes.”
“From UK?”
“Er … no”
‘Mmmm? You know that nowadays, the Immigration and Border people have to keep a check on foreigners coming into the country.”
“Yes,” agrees Jennifer, weakly. She looks down.
The detective notices the downward look. There is something significant this girl does not want to say about how she came to Sweden. The detective has read the Interpol notification about the disappearance of Jennifer McEwan. Now it seems, here she is. Reluctant to say how she came to be in Sweden in the first place. Like a little abscess, the crime has pushed up a swelling which the detective has found. She lifts her scalpel and draws the blade across the centre, to release the poison of wrong doing, but once lanced, will the abscess drain?
“You were going to tell me how you came to be here?”
Jennifer, half smiles, exhales, looks down and her eyes begin to water. How can she possible answer the question and stay loyal?
“I am sorry, I can’t remember.”
“Ah, well that is a shame because it is against the law for people to enter Sweden illegally. If you cannot tell me, I will have to arrest you. You will have to stay in custody here until you can remember.”
Custody. Prison. Of course Jenny has been I prison for so many months now. What was it Neena explained to her? Explained between cane strokes given to reward her for trying to escape?
‘Slaves remain in custody’
Did it matter if her custodians were the Swedish Authorities or her Owners?
Actually, she had entered the country properly. She had come as Vyera Anatol’yevna Kuznetsova, because that was who she is, but could she admit that to the police woman and stay loyal to her owners?
The detective is speaking again: “Perhaps I should give you some time to think things over. On your own. Here?”
From somewhere deep inside Jennifer’s brain, a fact presents itself to her conscious mind. A fact which has quietly slumbered for so long now. It awakes and shambles into the light.
“Er .. do you need permission to come to Sweden if you are Swedish?”
“Pardon?”
“If you are a citizen of Sweden? Can you ever enter the country illegally? If this country is your home …”
“If you are Swedish, Sweden is your home and you are always welcome.”
“I am Swedish as well as English. I took out dual citizenship when I was twenty one!”
“Ah …”
“So can I go back home now?”
“To Stockholm?”
“Yes.”
“Karin” (the detective chooses Jennifer’s second name, her Swedish name) “we are very anxious to know if a crime has been committed. It is the duty of citizens of Sweden to help the police to deal with criminals.”
“I … er … I entered Sweden correctly and I know of no crime committed in Sweden.”
“I see. So where is your Swedish passport?”
“Er … I do not know.”
“Lost?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must apply for a new one.”
“Yes.”
“Karin: think carefully. There is a girl called Jennifer Karin McEwan who is also a British Citizen. She disappeared in London on Tuesday 10th November 2009. Her husband and parents were very worried about her. If you know what happened, you must tell me.”
“Can I just go home now?”
“I will have to speak with you again. I also want you to speak to a colleague of mine and our doctor must see you.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Then you may go but do not leave Stockholm without letting me know. Here is my card. If you do, I will have you found and arrested. Do you understand?”
J
ennifer rises from her seat. She is blushing and perspiring and her voice is unsteady. She has not told the truth as she knows it. The Detective Anna Thomassen knows it. Jennifer knows the detective knows it - but she is free to leave the building, after she has seen their doctor. She has been rescued by her Swedish citizenship. Her Owners are still safe. For now.
References:
1. The Duty Officer has been trained. Using someone’s name is a good way to interrupt their flow and get your own chance to speak.
2. Alan Whicker. Legendary British TV reporter and man-of-the-world. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Whickerý
3. “Stockholm Police. Can I help you?”
4. Kungsholmen. The HQ of the Stockholm County Police. The County Police would handle ‘routine’ police work but if a crime fell into particular categories, such as people trafficking or involve crimes which cross international borders, the Swedish National Investigation Bureau will take over the case.
www.polisen.se
5. The conversation in Swedish:
‘Hello’
‘Hello’.
‘Mr and Mrs Palmer?’
‘Yes. That’s us
‘Did you ring the Police about your daughter?’
‘Yes, we did. Come in. Come in - and this is Joseph. He is Jennifer’s husband. He is Mr McEwan’
6. The Blau Porten Restaurant in Djugarden:
www.blaporten.com
7. The Swedish National Investigation Bureau:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swedish_Police_Service
8. Jenny’s conversation in Russian:
‘Porstetye mnye pazhalsta, Gaspazha’. Forgive me please. Mistress
‘Nyet, Menye zavoot Vyera Anatolyevna’. No, my name is Vyera Anatolyevna
‘Menye zavoot Vyera Anatolyevna Kuznetsova’. I am Vyera Anatolyevna Kuznetsova
9. Jenny’s conversation is Swedish:
‘I am called Jenifer Karin McEwan’.
10. The King of Sweden has been keeping some bad company, wonderfully captured in a newspaper cartoon. The King is drawn as a playing card, the Joker. In his hands are other cards, face downwards. The caption reads, ‘Time for cards on the table?’ Basically: girls, gambling and unsavoury Balkan types.
11. ‘Izveneetye pazhalsta no vwee Eosef? “Excuse me please, but are you Joseph?”
12. Ros Buchanan first appears in our earlier book Such Sweet Sorrow, Chapter 6, Ink Inc. & Chapter 15, Marked Man.
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