The Norrlänningars Connection

[Serenierre]

The Norrlänningars Connection
Prologue​

Unforgiving winter winds blew hard at night all across the city of Gothenhagen. The easterly winds brought with them the cold from the depths of the Kadikistani hinterland. But Henrik Sundqvist could hardly tell from his cubicle. High inside the office buildings which rose tall and mighty across the picturesque skyline of the old capital, it was hard to tell night from day. His world was confined to the numerical analysis and statistical figures flashing before him on the screen at his desk. As a graduate of the University of Roskilde's school of finance, Henrik lived for this stuff. The minutiae of it all. How the bank functioned and all those majestic numbers yielded greater success to his home away from home.

But it was not often the case that he found himself perplexed. Something in his figures lately had not been making sense. And while the rest of his department had clocked off as usual, he had stayed back for yet another night. This was his fifth night in a row where he had stayed back late. It was eleven o'clock and he still knew he wouldn't log off until at-least one in the morning.

Even though his department could get busy at times, he knew that he was calling attention to himself. Even his supervisor had peaked in the day before to ask why he was staying back so late. He had managed to offer an reasonable enough explanation. But he could sense that the others in the office were not too pleased to see the new associate linger for so long. But it was so damn interesting!

It was Friday. February the First. And the effect of the string of late nights and full work days was beginning to make itself known. His head was feeling heavy and quite frankly exhausted. In fact his mouth was feeling quite dry. He reached out to grab his water bottle but his fingers felt numb and he couldn't lift his arm. He felt his body go limp and land on the floor with a gentle thud. Unable to move, but he remained alert. He could hear the footsteps shuffling closer towards him. He tried to call out but he voice failed him.

"Is he dead?" a nervous voice asked. Henrik recognized it as his supervisor.

"No, we can't have that happen on premises. Quick, go take his I.D. card off his neck and log him out of the computer. We have five minutes to get him out of here."

Henrik heard the conversation between his supervisor and the mysterious voice with growing horror. What had he stumbled into? He felt scared. It was a primal feeling. Unlike anything else he had felt before. He wanted to cry out: 'Help me!' But his body was completely immobilized. He could do nothing but lay still as these two men grabbed a hold of him and took him out of his cubicle. As they dragged him, he heard the familiar ping of the laptop shutting down.

After that, everything was a blur.

Chapter One​

"Soph, why are you still holed up there? The election is over. That story is cold," Lionel, her editor, said to her over the phone, "You should come back. The Eiffellander story seems to be picking up heat. But I'm sure you already know that"

"I'm chasing a lead here, so don't ask too much." She heard Lionel sigh. "Besides, it's not as if I can't handle both stories. The internet exists, you know."

"Granted," she could sense his impatience, "But what on earth are you working on in that tundra? The only stories there are over that mess of a election and that stuff won't sell more papers for us. It's pointless."

She smiled. That's what you think, dear Lionel, she thought.

He continued: "But I just want you to know that the accountants are not too happy. Jyskerige is not a cheap place!"

"Oh, please! Christophe is spending far more than me. Don't even bother to deny it! I know for a fact. He has a security detail, translators, and all that 'smile tax' you all keep funneling. I am not coming back for now. If anyone says anything, just tell them that I will quit and that really would do wonders for the bottom line, now wouldn't it?"

"Be reasonable."

"I think I am being reasonable."

There was a moment of silence between the two. "You know you're putting me in trouble here. But if the choice is between you burning a hole in the ledger or you leaving the paper. I think it's rather an easy one to make. But promise me you won't tell anyone about this conversation. I can't let it be known that I'm such a weak editor. My own reporter blackmailed me," he chuckled.

"Blackmail? It was merely a negotiation."

After a few more minutes, they hung up and Sophie was sitting in the quietness of the rest-house where she had established her base. She liked the intimacy of living in a smaller establishment. And of-course it was cheaper too. Although, she knew had she still been working for the Associated Press, they would have easily lodged her in one of the swankier places, she was rather more at ease at this place.

While still in bed, she scrolled through her Twatter feed and caught up with the happenings in the world. Read a few of the emails. The usual stuff. Though she did chuckle when she saw the latest statements from Julia Leverkuhn. Apparently, the Eiffellander government had taken especial note of her comments. She made a mental note to address that in one of the podcast interviews she had planned for later in the day. For now, she could mull over the main object of her prolonged stay in the financial capital of Scania.

Winters in the northern kingdoms was, as could be expected, harsh for any Serenien. The dim sun and the bone-chilling winter winds were quite a world away from the temperate winters of Monserans. Perhaps Villesen had winters somewhat comparable to it. But even then, nothing really quite prepared a person for it. So it did take some effort to pull herself out of bed.

In Gothenhagen, the initial pull had been the messy implosion of the Conservative government. Ever since the oil agreement, interest in the Two Kingdoms had been intense. According to some sources, the Politburo had a direct connection to the Embassy in the city to give the latest news from the primary oil supplier. So, of course, the interest in the election was quite palpable. Even a number of television channels had sent teams to cover it. But, that had been some time ago. Most of the teams and reporters had packed up and left.

But Sophie had stayed. The reason for that was that a friend of hers in one of the Jyskerige news channels had asked her to look into some "chatter" - as they called it - about Serenierre. He hadn't told her anything specific but told her it could be something interesting. In his view, there wasn't much of a market for Serenien specific news in the local market.

While she remained skeptical it would amount to much of anything, it was well worth cultivating some connections locally. One never knew who could help. So, she had stayed back and started digging. What little she had seen seemed promising. But nothing entirely fascinating either. Despite all the bravado in her phone call with Lionel, she was questioning why she had decided to stay so long in Gothenhagen. That too in winter!

After breakfast, Sophie quickly walked over to a cafe where she had a meeting planned with Pernille Holmgaard. As the aide to the former Prime Minister, she was a valuable contact to cultivate. Though her boss might have lost his job, her connections to the inner workings of the Jysker-Ostveg state were undeniable.

"Ah, Madame Holmgaard," she said warmly, "Nice to meet you."

 

[Jydsken-Østveg]

Pernille Holmgaard was a young woman in the field of politics. Although in her late thirties, she did not begin until her thirties. Quite the contrary from most party insiders who begin in the youth party. She had worked in law beforehand, and this gave her a leg up on some competitors who looked to join the Prime Minister’s Office. Over the last five years she’d witnessed mostly everything that transpired with Rasmus Olsen and his Government and so she also came to know the players involved in the inner workings of the party as well.

She had been given a phone call from a childhood friend who worked over at the state television service, TVJYSK1, who had apparently given a tip to a friend of his. She had spoken with him frequently about news from the Government and she trusted him. At least as much as one ever could trust the press when working in government. He told her there was something wrong with some numbers he uncovered, and that he had told a friend to start digging. This friend was now paying her a visit in this old cafe in Northern Gothenhagen. This cafe was quiet, and run by a local business owner. Known for having merely ok coffee, people came mostly for the variety of Danish pastries and cookies. The cafe itself was also in close proximity to the old garrison for the Royal Guard. They still stood at their posts on the streets, but what they actually guarded beyond the symbolic value of them being there was anyone’s guess. They marched occasionally in the light snow, which collected on their black tall fuzzy hats. So much to look at outside the window.

She sat across from Sophie. A woman she knew by appearance due to her frequent commentaries on politics from around the world. They had exchanged pleasantries, took a coffee, some pasteries, and a seat by the window.

“I don’t think you truly understand the depth of how interconnected the banks, politicians, and contractors often are, Sophie.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee. “There are quite a few people who are involved in schemes they should not be, but nobody is willing to say anything because there are quite a few connections to keep them out of trouble. When you come forward and they have everything to fight for, what can you really hope to gain, am I right?”

Pernille took another sip of her coffee and a bite of her strawberry Danish pastry and stared down Sophie. “I’m not sure what kind of information you are looking for entirely, but I know who you are. I think you’ll find this certainly interesting anyway, and mostly because of the rumors that I know. I won’t tell you heresay though.” Pernille paused sipping her coffee further and getting halfway through her pastry. “If you consider the results of the last elections, my boss Rasmus Olsen lost the Government and the control of the Conservative Party to a man named Oskar Ståhlberg. He’s a man which attended an oil meeting in Pelasgia, and has a lot of connections in business. He was also in the cabinet for the last government, but more importantly he’s a rich guy who thinks he can get away with anything. He has connections with several banks. You’ll need to check them out. You also need to look into his friends and associates at the Defense Ministry.”

She finished her coffee and took a last bite of her pastry. “I can’t tell you anything more, thanks for fika. You can reach me through our mutual acquaintance.”

 

[Serenierre]

(3)
Meeting Pernille Holmgaard, Sophie was left with the distinct impression that the Conservative Party had been torn to shreds in the Olsen versus Stahlberg tussle. While the rendezvous at the cafe had been brief, Holmgaard had spoken with a certain guarded virulence, which was rather expressive for the generally reserved temperament of the Scanians.

It was interesting, she thought to herself as she walked towards the subway, that the foremost aide to the booted Prime Minister would pin a flaming arrow on his foe. It seemed rather like a messy political feud. Hardly the sort of thing to interest an international correspondent or, in truth, her readership in Serenierre. So, while pleased with the contact, she was slightly miffed at her friend for having put her on this trail. This was entirely a local story.

Though, as she was walking, her mind kept returning to bits of the conversation. Tearing apart each sentence. She knew that Stahlberg had been defense minister in the old government. His name had been mentioned on and off in the international press, usually on account of the delegations he led to military expos and on official visits. In fact, he had visited Villesen last year as well, although it had not been anything major. A cursory web-search had been enough to show that that particular visit had been a short half day trip for Stahlberg. Hardly anything to write about.

"Hej," she said, calling him, "You free? Just got done with P.H. Call me ASAP."

Though, the more she thought it, she did wonder: what have the defense ministry folks been up to under Stahlberg? She hoped her friend would help, since obviously, he had a better idea. So far, all Sophie had to show for her extended stay in Gothenhagen were a few leads and not much else.

(4)
To rise early had been a habit instilled in Hervé since his days in the military. So, without fail, he would be awake long before dawn. In those quiet early hours, the Commissar would find himself alone in his study at home, catching up on the news or on some of the papers from the Commissariat for War.

That morning, however, he had decided to stay in bed. Battling a cold, he had even called in sick from his ministerial duties. Instead, his aides had dropped off the papers which required his attention at his home.

Still in his night-suit, he was reading the latest reports from the eastern fleet, which had secretly been put on high alert on account of the tensions in the Retalian Sea. The narrow sea lanes there had long been the source of great stress to him. After all, the Peninsular provinces were especially exposed and the Eiffello-Retalian superstate was a grave risk. In his own mind, he knew that despite the bellicose tone, at the end of the day Trier would simply prefer the status quo. But the tensions served the military well.

After the war in Occitania, the press had done a great job in focusing intensely on the rebuilding campaign taking place there. But Hervé knew just how dicey the war had been and how the victory had been simply a fluke. Although, he wouldn't dare admit such a thing. Though, often, he felt the entire situation was a farce. At times, when he felt the government was flagging behind in the polls, Elisabeth had a canny way of fanning the regional issues to send the nation into hysteria. It was a cheap tactic. But it certainly worked.

 

[Serenierre]

(5)
"Hej, Karl," she called her friend, "I just wanted to thank you for your help the other day."
"I told you, its gold."
"Looking at the documents," she flipped a few pages over, "Which by the way is excellent research from your end... uh... yeah looking at these, this is certainly gold. I can definitely work with this."
"Keep them safe though. There's only one set."
"I will. Okay I have to go now. I'll call you when I land." She hung up and started packing her suitcase.

Sophie had been in Gothenhagen for almost two months. It had driven her editor at the Villesen Report insane and her own contributions to the publication had dipped. But the research she had been engaged in had required her full attention. Several names had popped up which she had tried to investigate but had led to further names. But one name popped up a few times, BRUNO. She had used some of her local connections to do some digging too but nothing had really turned up. It was a mess at the moment but she had seen enough to know that there was some substance to the rumors circulating in Gothenhagen of some mysterious impropriety involving Serenierre.

As she sat in the lobby, waiting for the flight to start boarding, many thoughts crossed her mind. But then suddenly, a man came up to her. He seemed in a hurry and pointed up at the gate.

"Villesen bound?" he asked. She nodded.

He sat opposite her on the empty row of seats. He smiled. "Oh, I know you. You're that reporter." He was a Serenien man. She returned a smile and nodded. Her silence compelled him to continue: "Why is someone like you here? I'd have thought you'd be in Occitania or something."

"I was in Occitania but everyone needs a break."

"That is true." He kept silent for a while and she went back to her phone, checking her messages. Before he spoke again.

"I believe you have been looking for me."

She looked up, expecting some pathetic cringe-worthy pickup line. "Please, I don't have time-"

He cut her short: "I believe you have been asking for Bruno. Well here I am. "

She looked at him for a moment. "Well, then Bruno," she said without missing a beat, "Nice to meet you. How did you know I'd be here?"

He smirked, "It doesn't take a genius these days," his gaze momentarily flickered over to her phone.

Ah, she thought, they had bugged her. She had been on the right track but they had waited to contact her. No matter who these mysterious "they" were.

"Well, I was here for two months, why have you chosen to reach out now? Just as I am about to leave."

"So that things stay fresh for you." He stood up. "I believe there's a cafe nearby. We could both do with some coffee. Your flight doesn't leave for another half hour."

She stood up. Sophie was careful to not let her hand luggage out of sight. The documents were all there. It had to be protected at all costs. As she walked to the cafe, she noted that there were others around and she wasn't in any danger.

"So, what do you want to tell me?" she asked.

 

[Jydsken-Østveg]

“Birger, I think there is a problem. Nothing here adds up.” It was a peculiar thing to announce upon ones arrival into a room. Birger took the bait, “What doesn’t add up?”

“Well you see, I’ve been doing some auditing work for the Finance Ministry and I’ve stumbled onto some strange errors. There should be a certain amount of money here, but it’s not there.”

Birger rubbed his head. “What do you mean its not there, and where is there? Have we done something?” The woman in front of him shook her head, “No I don’t think we’ve done it, but there are irregularities in some of the bank numbers.”

“What are the irregularities?”

—“I don’t know entirely. It’s at Norrlännningars and its not that I know what’s going on, but there are some red flags on the transactions... well... not formally, but I think they look odd. Payments being given regularly to shell companies in small amounts?”

Birger sighed, “Wait, what? How are these red flags? ...No, just investigate it. We cannot have Rigsdollars go missing on our watch. I give you permission to figure everything out on these irregularities. I don’t want to hear about it until you know what’s really going on. If you run into any red tape, let me know.” She nodded, and walked out of the room.

 

[Serenierre]

(7.)
Villages in the province of Vaujours were beautiful. Picturesque and almost frozen in time. The stone cottages and old taverns. Life moved at a different pace there. The fertile earth of the vast plains fed the nation and fields of golden wheat and green fields stretched for as far as the eye could see. In a bus, travelling through the constituency, Hervé Bettancourt was busy campaigning. While victory was assured, Elisabeth had told all her deputies to not get complacent and dutifully all of them had shipped out from their comfortable Villesen offices to their rather more humble establishments in the districts they represented in the Commissariat.

In all honesty, Hervé didn't mind visiting the district - as long as he didn't have to stay for too long. The people in Vaujours were very much to his liking in some respects. No pretensions. No nonsense. Quite unlike the affectations of the Villesenois.

But, as he was bussed from one village to the next, he couldn't help but feel slightly unsettled. Perhaps, it was his conscience, or perhaps it was his paranoia. He didn't know. He just knew that for the first time, he felt oddly nervous being out there in front of the public. It was strange. He was a commissar. A senior one. And yet, he felt vulnerable.

"Sir," his assistant had said to him after a bad speech a few villages before, "Perhaps you need to take some wine to steady your nerves." He had laughed at the suggestion. He was no amateaur. He had done this before, he had said. But in his heart, he knew, something was different.

(8)
Sophie was in Ardeche. The mood in the eastern city was beyond jubilant. For the first time in years, the fishermen were venturing further and further into the Retalian Sea, and returning in turn with massive quantities of deep sea fish, which had until then been denied to them by the aggressive claims of the Retalian Grand Duchy. All over, as the taxi drove into town from the airport, posters of Bernard Lavosnier and Elisabeth Martinique greeted her.

She phoned Lionel. "I'm here. Thanks for not skimping on the ticket. Oh, right, you didn't send me here. But thank God, the airline upgraded me when they realised I was onboard."

"Did you just call me for that?" Her editor sighed. "You know newspapers are different from those flashy TV news people."

"True, true," She laughed. "I just wanted to say. Martinique is going to win here."

The taxi driver spoke up from the front: "Damn right!"

Sophie darted him a look and continued to ignore him. She continued, "I think Rousseau has given up defending here. I see no posters, nothing." She leaned closer to the window to scan the billboards for any sign of the conservative leader's advertising.

"Everyone knows that Sophie," Lionel said. "I hope you're still working on that article. I need something tangible to show to the Board. Your Gothenhagen adventure really burnt a hole in our accounts."

"I'm on it, Lionel. When it comes out, you can bet on it, your little publication will never be the same."

"Should I be scared?" He laughed.

"Oh, mon ami." Sophie sighed. "Always." After a pause. "I will have it on your desk, first thing after the election." They hung up and she looked out of the window. Lost in thought.