Besides the Tuta email account that Klara usually checked for messages from her handler, Viktor Mikhailov, there were certain times of day that she knew to check another account in the drafts folder. Many times, there was nothing there, but the message she had just opened was about to change everything for her.
“Crap,” she said aloud as soon as she realized the drafted message was from the Russian asset who’d been with the person who’d placed the explosive device on Gotland.
“I didn’t know this Chinese guy was bringing the GPS jammer and that other device with him,” he explained. “We weren’t supposed to implant the device until two days before the actual event. I was just putting down indelible chalk marks where we needed to place our equipment. When we had walked several miles away, I heard it go off and knew we had a big problem.”
Klara was absolutely freaking out at this point. She couldn’t even begin to think what to do.
“The Chinese guy is trying to pretend like nothing happened,” her asset continued. “He returned to his housing that I think you set up for him on Gotland.”
She cursed, fighting the urge to slam her fist into the wall.
“Your brothers are proceeding as normal, but if we are detected and there’s no way to escape, we plan to execute our operation, even though it’s early.”
Klara put her head in her hands. Years of planning and preparation had gone into the events of the upcoming weeks. She had been disciplined and careful. And now, if she didn’t play this just right, it could all be thrown away because of one impatient Chinese operative.
Klara flirted with her boyfriend while he made dinner, walking behind him and giving him a hug, and then playfully whispering in his ear.
Lars smiled, turned to her and gave her a kiss. “Not yet, my love. My meal is going to be a masterpiece, and I’m almost done.”
“Oh, all right, spoilsport,” she teased. Klara plopped down in the living room to wait and turned on the news. They were talking about what was happening on Penghu in Asia.
Lars overheard the reporter. “You know, this is kind of a big deal,” he said. “No one knows what’s happening next. “There could be a shooting war between China and Taiwan.”
“That sounds very serious,” Klara remarked.
“It is…” His voice trailed off. “All right, enough of the news. Dinner is ready.”
He placed bowls of fish stew with root vegetables on the table, along with a pan of boiled new potatoes. Although she was definitely playing a role, Klara was grateful that her boyfriend was such an excellent cook.
“It smells amazing, thank you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek as she sat down.
They hadn’t been eating long when Lars got a text message, and all the color drained from his face.
“What’s wrong?” Klara asked.
“Something terrible happened, an explosion of some kind,” Lars explained. “Three of my Home Guard friends were flown to the Visby Hospital. One of them just got out of a pretty major surgery. It’s not clear if he’s going to make it.”
She had never seen Lars quite this upset — he was practically shaking. “I’m going to visit,” he declared, standing.
Klara gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let me come with you,” she offered.
He fought back tears and smiled weakly. “That would be nice, actually.”
“Just let me put the rest of this away, and we’ll head out,” said Klara.
The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallway buzzed faintly overhead, their sterile glow casting long shadows down polished floors. Klara followed Lars past the reception desk and toward the observation wing where the Home Guard soldiers had been admitted.
The place smelled like antiseptic and recycled air. Lars walked quickly, fists clenched, his face pale and tight. Room 212 was just ahead.
Inside, two soldiers were already awake and propped up in their beds, IV drips attached to their arms. Both looked up as Lars entered — then visibly relaxed.
“Lasse!” one of them called, voice hoarse but eager. “Hell, man, you should’ve seen it.”
Lars smiled tightly and crossed the room. “You scared the crap out of us, Niklas. You look like a bomb hit you.”
Niklas gave a weak laugh. “Close enough.”
The other soldier, who Klara recalled was named Jonsson, was watching her with vague recognition. “Hey. Klara, right? From the energy thing? Weren’t you at Lars’s birthday party?” he asked.
“I was,” she said, keeping her tone warm but neutral. “I’m so sorry you’re both here. We heard it was bad.”
