The Swedish Sex Bomb (LSD, #7)

9. Snatch Of Fury

Snatch Of Fury

"You let me win that last game.", I pant.

Frieda explodes with laughter: "And I thought you let me win the first seven games... I didn't let you win. I'm just tired. Agneta and I used to play almost every day, but that's been a while; I'm not as fit as I used to be. Or perhaps yesterday's dinner and your bottle of Chardonnay slowed me down."

Yesterday's dinner was a success. First, we did the shopping at a small Turkish supermarket, close to the Stockholm Central train station. Then, we went to Agneta's house and her spectacular kitchen. I like to cook, but cooking for just myself isn't half as nice as cooking for two, and we can say the same about eating alone or together. Combine that with my friend Shirley's recipe for Wiener Schnitzel, a macaroni salad for a starter, fresh French carrots and sweet peas as a side dish, ice cream with cranberries for dessert, with a bottle of Chardonnay and Frieda for company, and anyone knows why I wanted to become a spy so much: life can't get any better than this.

But life can get a lot worse the next morning, when the alarm on my spiPhone wakes me up with the promise to play squash against Frieda and not letting her win. Already at the warming-up, I forgot about my original plan to play with my wrong hand. After losing the first three games by 11 – 1, Frieda offered to play with her wrong hand, her right hand, but I stubbornly refused, telling her I was just getting warmed up, and I improved significantly by losing the next four games by 11 – 5, 11 – 3, 11 – 7 and 11 – 6. The final game, though, I won 11 – 8, and somehow it felt like Frieda was cheating.

I puff back: "Rostov! You discovered my secret tactics. Tonight, I'm going to cook lamb chops with a sauce of red wine for you, with basmati rice on the side and German beer to drink with it, and tomorrow I'll take my revenge on this squash court. After that, we're going to visit Kris, the rapist, in jail, and laugh at his ugly face during the entire visiting hour."

Frieda grabs her bag, shows me her back, gives me a wave, and disappears into the lady's dressing room: "I'm looking forward to that."

"The laughing? The revenge on the squash court? Or the German beer and the lamb chops?", I ask.

I'm looking forward to all three of them. And your ponytail. And your backside. And your incredible smile. Rostov. You're an amazing woman, Frieda Larsson. When this mission is over, I will miss you...

"I'll wait for you in the lobby.", I shout.

I take the other door, towards a cold shower. I'm a professional. We have a job to do. I have to make plans. We have one lead left, and it isn't even a strong lead, as it's based on female intuition, but that's the female intuition of both Frieda and Camilla, and it's all we have, so I need to concentrate on ideas and plans to get close to the leaders of the two tribes that force the Swedish electorate to make their choice.

I think back to the choice I made earlier, the choice between my fear Agneta is dead, and my hope she's kept as a sex slave by her kidnapper. There is a third logical explanation. If the government is behind this, they will both have the means and the motive to get Agneta out of the way without killing her. They put criminals in jail, keeping them alive and out of society at the same time. They send black and coloured refugees back to the hell they try to escape from, without killing them, just keeping them out of our elite society, without any responsibility about what will happen to them when they're out of sight. Governments don't kill the people who voted for them. If the government is behind this, Agneta will still be alive and kicking, with three meals, a bed and the right to remain silent.

Suddenly, my own wonderful male spy intuition jumps with joy, dancing a perfect polka with the female intuition of Frieda and Camilla. Agneta might still be alive. Is this wishful thinking? Or is it pure logic? I don't care. It's a lead, it's a chance, and it's all we have, so we should go for it.