State Secrets

State Secrets

By Jij Berg

Exchange

Their feet were sore, but Jan and Erik did not notice. They were comfortably drunk and distracted by a more pressing matter. The situation was familiar to them: the walking, the urgency, a pattern that repeated itself at dawn every Saturday morning. Today they were not too drunk to ride home. They simply could not find “their” bikes. Erik had also lost his suit jacket, but the breeze was warm and he had a new number in his phone.

At a familiar tree, Jan veered off the path between two bushes and stumbled, planting his face in the soft, damp grass. Swearing silently, he looked back and saw Erik doubled over, clapping his knees.

“I can’t take it anymore. Can’t we just do it here?” Erik laughed.

“Quiet. We need to get out of the camping area first,” Jan hissed, checking for any sign of disturbance inside the tent connected to the rope he had tripped over. The tent was silent. Only the last persistent crickets could be heard.

“I told you we should have gotten properly drunk,” Erik said, smiling as he lowered his voice. He had argued earlier that it was the only way to guarantee a great evening. Despite their attempt at moderation, they were still walking home, still falling over. Jan would never admit that Erik had been right. Instead, he pulled himself upright and headed in the general direction of the bridge, scanning the ground for more ropes. At three in the morning, the sun offered little help. Before long, Erik tripped over a black rope Jan had stepped over without comment. No joy like malice, Jan thought, suppressing a smile.

Eventually they reached the beach of the small bay, aptly nicknamed the Bay of Pee, where campers’ children spent their summer holidays swimming. They unzipped ceremoniously behind a bush and waited for relief. It took a moment. The tension had been building, but the sound of waves helped, and soon the pouring started. Erik sighed deeply.

“Those who think sex is the greatest pleasure…” Jan began.

“…clearly have never taken a piss after two packs of beer,” Erik finished. They chuckled softly.

The bay, barely a hundred meters across, stretched out before them. It was shaped like a sack, with the inlet to their left, toward Denmark. If not for the sharp smell of rotting kelp, it might have been a lake, perfectly still. As they stood there, taking in the few remaining stars to the west and the faint lightening of the sky to the east, a low sputter of a motorboat reached Jan’s ears. He glanced at Erik and received two raised eyebrows in confirmation. Still pouring, they craned their necks and peered over the bushes.

A small dinghy cruised along the tree line on the far side of the bay. It approached a narrow jetty, and a man in a dark blue tracksuit stepped out, carrying an attaché case. He set it down at the edge of the jetty. The boat’s driver, dressed in black, reached into the boat and lifted out an identical case. Without a word, the two exchanged cases. The driver turned the boat around and slipped quietly out of the bay. The man in the tracksuit scanned the shoreline, then left the jetty and disappeared into the trees.

Within a minute, the bay was silent again. Even the pouring had stopped. Sensing the strangeness and weight of what they had just witnessed, his foggy mind scrambling to catch up, Jan stood there with his hand still occupied.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, fumbling with his pants. Erik nodded.

They walked in silence for a mile along the coast until the soft rhythm of the waves was broken by the cry of a seagull.

“I think I recognized the man on the jetty,” Jan muttered, finally feeling sober enough to trust the thought.

“I’m not sure,” Erik said, grimacing as he pulled himself out of his own spiraling questions about whether, or when, to call or text.

“It was the chairman of the municipality, wasn’t it? I’ve seen his picture plenty of times,” Jan said. Less than a year ago, the bribery charges against him had been dropped.

Erik shrugged. Jan had always been drawn to conspiracy theories, and Erik was not about to encourage him. He had real problems. Like the blonde girl he had kissed. She had been cute.

“It was pretty dark, and pretty far away,” Erik replied. Then he added, in a mildly patronizing tone, “The war with the Danes ended two hundred years ago, you know.” Jan might be the sharper mind, but Erik had the edge when it came to history.

Instead of arguing, Jan fell quiet. Too many possibilities crowded his thoughts. Corruption. Military secrets. People like that could make someone like him disappear without effort. Erik tried to keep it casual, but the phone in his pocket felt uncomfortably hot.

“Tell nobody. Promise me,” Jan said.

“I promise. This is shady business, not for workers like us to meddle in. Nothing happened. I saw nothing,” Erik replied, convinced Jan would forget all about it by Monday anyway.

Very cute, Erik thought.

Honeypot

The air already carried a dusty, dry warmth, and it was only seven in the morning when Jan stood waiting for the train. The underground part of the station was open at both ends, a cool concrete tunnel that felt pleasant on a day like this. A small comfort before winter comes. Then I will be standing here freezing my butt off, Jan thought.

The train arrived, on time for once, brakes screaming as it rolled to a stop. Jan boarded and took a seat by the window at one of the tables where four seats faced each other. He stretched his legs onto the empty seat across from him, enjoying the space that vacation season allowed. The rest of the year, he usually had to stand. The commute was short, only twenty-five minutes, and Jan unfolded the Metro newspaper he had picked up from a stand at the station. More ads than news, really, but good enough to pass the time.

On the front page, a photo of the Turning Torso rose bright white against the summer sky, the tallest building in Malmö, set to open the following month according to the article. In the lower corner of the page, a quote and a photo caught his eye. The chairman of the municipality. A brief shiver ran through Jan before he turned the page and skimmed the international section. Clashes in Afghanistan. Instability in Sudan. Tension in Palestine. Nothing new. There was an article about the threat of terror after the bombings in London, alongside a small advertisement from AiP Media urging vigilance against threats in Sweden. It listed both an email address and a website. How modern, Jan thought.

For a moment, he considered looking it up later. Then he remembered the agreement. They were supposed to forget about it. Jan turned to the sports section instead, only to feel the familiar disappointment of seeing the home team trailing in the national soccer league when they should have been leading. Life was full of disappointments.

It was not until Wednesday evening, while Jan was eating dinner, that Erik called.

“How’s the grinding going?” Erik asked.

“Not bad. Someone has to make sure you get our university allowance, slacker,” Jan replied through a mouthful of food.

“Just the way I like it,” Erik laughed.

“What do you have planned for us this weekend?” Jan asked.

“Good stuff. Party at a mansion by the beach in Lomma on Saturday,” Erik said. Jan let out a low whistle.

“Oh, fancy. Not exactly the kind of party where two schmucks like you and me would be invited,” Jan said dryly.

“Definitely not,” Erik agreed. They both understood.

“How do you find these things? Your sister again?” Jan asked.

“Yeah. All her university friends are upper-class snobs. She will be there, of course,” Erik said.

“You mind if I hit on her?” Jan tried again, for what felt like the tenth time.

Erik grunted. “There will be plenty of good-looking girls. I bet even some catering staff.”

“After a stressful evening, they just need to blow off some steam,” Jan said with a smug chuckle.

“You always aim low,” Erik teased, briefly thinking about the blonde girl. He still had not called her. Not yet.

“And I always score,” Jan shot back. “What’s the weather supposed to be like?”

“Perfect. See you at the station at eight?” Erik asked.

“Eight on Saturday. See you there,” Jan said.

The Party

Knowing the crowd, Erik wore a dark red jacket over a plain white shirt, paired with cool, comfortable linen pants. He finished the look with white leather shoes. Dressed this sharply, his confidence was sky-high. When they met at the central station, Erik noticed Jan in his usual, more polished style: a jacket with suit pants, practical and slightly too formal for a garden party. He also noticed the bike Jan had acquired was in rough shape. That, however, was easy to fix. The station offered plenty of alternatives, and Erik had magic hands when it came to combination locks.

The small delay of securing a new ride did not matter. They were heading north, and a light breeze from the southwest pushed them along. Once they left the city behind, a coastal bike path carried them straight toward the smaller suburb where mansion after mansion lined the shore. They stopped a couple of times for a swig from Jan’s pocket bottle, and Jan had probably taken a few extra while riding. By the time the path cut through a stretch of loose beach sand, he was dangerously close to wiping out. After dumping the bikes into a hedge, they looked out over the sea, the beach curving along the bay all the way to the nuclear plant that rose on the horizon.

“It doesn’t even smell like seaweed,” Erik said.

“They probably have machines to remove it. Rich people can’t be bothered with rotting seaweed,” Jan replied.

They continued along the beach walk until they heard the appealing clink of glasses and the bright sound of women laughing. The seaside of the estate was blocked by a massive hedge, sealing it off from public view. There was a small iron gate, but it was obvious this was not the discreet entrance they needed. Erik had spotted a narrow path leading up to the street above, so they backtracked until they found it and approached from the road instead.

As they neared the house, luxury cars lined the street, one finer than the next. Porsches, Bentleys, Jaguars. Erik had struck gold. The front of the mansion opened onto a broad driveway where several vans were parked, a low stone staircase led up to the main entrance. Off to the left, a smaller gate opened into the garden.

Erik and Jan paused at the corner of the estate, watching for the right moment to slip in. It took less than thirty seconds. The gate swung open and a catering worker stepped out, trying to hold the heavy door with her foot while grabbing a couple of bags from the ground beside it. Erik hurried over and took the door for her, smiling as if he belonged there. Jan followed close behind, hovering a half step back.

“Thank you,” she said with a quick smile, then hurried toward one of the vans.

“You’re welcome,” Erik replied, and he and Jan slipped inside.

Catch you later, cutie, Jan thought, smiling.

The garden was vast, a perfectly trimmed lawn sloping gently down toward the sea. The house stretched all the way to the shoreline, with a porch along its side offering a sweeping view of both the water and the garden below. To the left, a large outdoor bar was staffed by three bartenders. At the center of the lawn, a long table overflowed with bite-sized food, dominated by a sangria bowl the size of a shallow bathtub. Guests were scattered everywhere, talking and laughing in small clusters, some standing on the porch, others leaning casually against the railing.

Three girls immediately caught Jan’s attention. A tall brunette stood beside Erik’s sister, and on her other side was a short blonde. Jan nudged Erik in the ribs.

“There’s your sister,” Jan said, nodding toward them.

Erik followed his gaze and instantly recognized the blonde.

“The short one is Sandra, the girl I met last weekend. The tall one is one of her university friends. She’s a journalist, I think. Or studying to be one. I’m not sure,” Erik said quietly, tilting his head toward Jan.

“Damn, she’s beautiful,” Jan said, deliberately vague about which one he meant.

“Very,” Erik agreed, already thinking of Sandra.

“You go for the short one. I’ll create a distraction. But first, I need to inspect the buffet,” Jan said with a grin.

Jan headed for the sangria bowl, leaving Erik alone at the edge of the garden, watching Sandra. She started along the porch, then descended a short set of steps into the lawn. Erik tracked her movement. Where is she going? Even the way she walks is beautiful. Graceful. Halfway down the slope toward the bar, she flicked a quick glance in his direction.

She’s seen me. Now what?

Thoughts rushed through Erik’s mind. If she stops at the bar, I’ll wait a moment and then follow, like I’m just getting a drink. She ordered a gin and tonic and stood sipping it while gazing out over the bay, her back turned to him. As Erik began timing his approach, she drained the last third of the glass in one go, set it down, and turned.

She walked straight toward him.

A dozen casual greetings flashed through Erik’s head, but every one of them felt tired and forced.

“You didn’t call?” Sandra said, fixing him with her blue eyes. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“I was… I mean, I wanted to…” Erik stumbled, feeling his face burn. He knew he was turning red.

“Do you even remember my name, Erik?” she asked, her tone neutral, without a trace of anger.

“Sandra. I even remember your number. It’s 555-732 391 42,” he said. Great. Now she’ll think you’re a creep.

“You’re so cute,” Sandra said, smiling as she stepped a little closer.

Cute. I’d rather be handsome. Men are supposed to be handsome, not cute. What do I even say to that? You’re cute too? Not as cute as you? You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen?

She took another step, close enough that he could feel her presence.

“Kiss me, you fool,” she said.

Erik did exactly as he was told.

It took a long moment before Sandra finally let him go. By then, Erik’s legs felt like overcooked spaghetti.

“Let’s take a walk,” Sandra said.

Erik moved to her side and took her hand. They crossed the lawn at a quick pace and slipped out through a small iron gate onto the beach path.

From the porch, Jan discreetly watched the remaining two girls while sipping his second sangria. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erik and Sandra leaving together. About time, my friend, Jan thought, smiling. Slightly unsteady, he made his way up the slope and climbed the steps to the porch, moving slowly along the railing and looking down at the party below.

He had not even reached the pair when Erik’s sister called out.

“Jan! Come over here. It’s been so long since I last saw you. Look at you, handsome as ever,” she said, beaming.

“I do what I can,” Jan replied, winking as he leaned against the railing to steady himself.

“I miss having you over at our place with Erik. How about lunch tomorrow?” she asked.

“Why not? If we’re lucky, Erik will be busy and we can have lunch just the two of us,” Jan said, giving her a sly look. Maria said nothing, but she glanced down shyly.

I’ve got her, Jan thought, smiling.

“And who’s your friend?” Jan asked, turning toward the other woman.

Up close, she seemed even taller, perhaps one eighty-five, wearing nothing but simple slippers.

“This is Sara. She’s a friend from university,” Maria said.

“I hear you’re a journalist,” Jan said.

“Oh, you know things,” Sara replied, mildly surprised, her attention briefly caught by a man passing behind them who gave her a lingering look.

“As a matter of fact, I do. But I can’t tell you here,” Jan said, lowering his voice. “Let’s talk about it over a drink,” he added, gesturing toward the stairs.

Both women followed him as the man brushed past.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

At the top of the staircase, he caught up with Jan, stumbled slightly, and sent him tumbling down the steps. Jan almost grabbed the railing halfway down, but missed it and struck his head against the stones edging the flower bed below. Maria froze, her face draining of color. The sharp crack turned her stomach.

“You killed him,” Sara whispered.

The man bent down, grabbed Jan under the arms, and looked up at the women with a smile. That smile would stay with Maria, not because it was fake, but because it was not.

“No worries. He’s just knocked out. I’ll get him to my car,” the man said, already dragging Jan toward the front of the house.

Sara hurried down the steps and offered to help.

“No worries. I’ve got him,” the man said, brushing her off.

Maria remained on the porch, unable to move. She watched Jan hang limp in the man’s grip. Somehow, she knew he was already dead. Sara followed as the man nodded toward a black car parked conveniently in the driveway. She opened the passenger door. The man lifted Jan inside and strapped him in with quick efficiency. The large BMW pulled away without a sound as Sara returned to Maria’s side.

In the weeks that followed, Erik tried calling Jan. After a few days, the number stopped connecting altogether. He never even told his wife that on the night they finally got together, his friend disappeared.