CHAPTER 49
John waited about two hundred meters from the house where Lysa had been held, enjoying the anonymity of darkness.
The light of a lopsided moon dominated the heavens.
Crickets filled the silence, throbbing in their own language.
Monica stood beside him. They’d crossed the point of no return. The only path now was forward.
“Will they come?” he asked her.
“No doubt.”
“How will they know where to come?”
“The defector will lead them, and I’ll provide a beacon.”
“Have you always been so ruthless?”
“I like to think of it as organized and efficient, without remorse.”
He chuckled. “I have never heard it described that way before.”
They’d left Lysa in the bathtub. No need to move her. Monica had dealt with the men on station in the house. Two downstairs, one up. Three bullets had taken care of the problem, all three bodies still lying where they fell.
Everything was so upside down.
Back in the 1960s people mainlined acid to make the world weird.
Now the world was weird and people abused drugs to make it normal.
So much had happened. He’d witnessed a lot.
Been a party to a lot. But he’d come to wonder if anything was real anymore.
Lysa’s father, the former king of Sweden, had been an ardent anti-communist, opposed to anything and everything related to the old Soviet Union.
He’d been highly outspoken about the evil of their hostile neighbor.
That was back when Finland walked a fine line, officially embracing neutrality, but also avoiding any rhetoric or policy that could be interpreted as anti-Soviet.
Now Finland was all in with the West, a member of NATO, no ties with Russia.
But it remained high on Moscow’s interest list.
At last year’s Nobel laureate dinner Lysa had an enlightened conversation with the Finnish president, one she’d told him all about, which he’d reported to Monica.
Finland had the longest border with Russia of any NATO or European Union country.
Its level of military preparedness was unequaled in the Western world.
The president that night had felt comfortable in telling her that Finland had begun storing military equipment outside its borders, in both Sweden and Norway.
They’d also finalized more than a thousand agreements with private companies to provide equipment and services in case of war.
The president had said that the nation had stockpiles of at least six months’ worth of major fuels and grains, and enough air shelters for its entire population.
Almost a third of Finland’s adult population were reservists, giving the country about five and a half million soldiers, one of the largest militaries in Europe.
That was precisely the kind of information someone in Lysa’s position could easily obtain without raising a shred of suspicion.
Would Lysa’s father be ashamed of her na?veté? Absolutely. But that old man had been another arrogant misogynist who inherited a title that he did nothing with. Kings possessed no power? That was wrong. Kings had the people, and the people had power. You just needed to know how and when to use it.
As with what just happened to Lysa.
He’d callously watched while his wife was murdered.
Any regrets? Maybe a few. But he’d get over them.
His marriage had ended long ago. The only person unaware of that fact had been his wife.
Further, he could not care less if Sweden made it into NATO.
The Devil’s Bible? Burn it. Who cared? Politics and history held little interest, except when it affected his life or his business.
Which was the case here.
Damn Swedes.
They’d done nothing but antagonize.
The government had already agreed to serve as “host nation” to NATO forces without any official membership, a move that had infuriated Franko.
In response there’d been a growing encroachment by Russian forces toward both Sweden and Finland, including a much-publicized mock air attack on Stockholm by Russian warplanes.
A message? Definitely. Monica had told him that Sweden had also became the target of an internet disinformation campaign aimed at sowing domestic discord, fostering suspicion of NATO, and stanching criticism of Russia.
Many fake news stories were generated. Forged documents circulated.
In response conscription was reinstated by Sweden to bolster the army.
A never-ending cycle of move, then countermove.
Like his own life.
At this point the Americans believed he was being held against his will.
But he would reemerge. The death of his wife?
That would be chalked up to the Russians.
Moscow would deny everything, which would only bolster their guilt in the eyes of the West. And with Lysa dead there would be no worry about what she might say.
That voice had been silenced. No more problems for him or the SVR.
The Swedes? They would pin it all on Moscow but, sadly for them, there would be no proof.
Not a single piece of evidence. And witnesses?
All of the local SVR operatives involved had been killed, as had their help in the house. Monica had seen to that.
No one was left.
Wilhelm would be forced to handle his sister’s demise in the same manner he’d handled John’s supposed treason. Quickly and quietly. Everything should work.
Just one more thing.
Monica tapped her phone and sent a signal to a package she’d left behind at the house, attached to a large external propane tank.
A second later the house exploded.