The Swimmer by Joakim Zander Read Free Book Online Page B

International Crisis Group on Avenue Louise,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Leave as soon as you can. Take the metro from Louise to Arts-Loi. Change to the metro toward Gare Central. Walk around inside the station until you’ve shaken off your shadows. Take the train back a couple of stops and change trains at the Gare du Midi. Keep an eye out all the time, okay?’
    Mahmoud froze.
    ‘We know each other from Karlsborg, right? Is that why you’ve contacted me?’
    ‘Put the battery back in when you reach Gare du Midi and call this number for more instructions. Okay?’
    Mahmoud strained to identify the voice. But there was nothing there to grab onto.
    ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But what is this about? What do you want to tell me? Is this a joke or what?’
    ‘This is not a joke. Follow my instructions. I need your help. What do you have to lose?’
    ‘All right,’ Mahmoud said. ‘I can get out of here in an hour at the earliest.’
    ‘Okay. Remove the battery and don’t tell anyone about this. I’m serious. You’re probably being followed. This is not a joke.’
    With a click, the voice disappeared. Mahmoud saw himself in the mirror above the sink. What was that feeling he had in his chest? Doubt? Nervousness?
    Anticipation, he decided. What did he have to lose?

9
December 19, 2013
    Brussels, Belgium
    The man with the crew cut waiting for him in the entrance of Merchant & Taylor’s looked about five years older than George and was buff in a way that made George’s squash matches and halfhearted workouts at the gym seem laughable. Despite his nondescript suit and the white shirt he wore without a tie, he looked like he was destined for water or high altitude rather than lobbies, hallways, and offices. He was sleek and smooth, Teflon-coated for maximum speed. Like Matt Damon in the Bourne films, George thought enviously. Damn, the bastard must really work out.
    ‘Mr Brown?’ George said and extended his hand.
    ‘That’s correct. You can call me Josh,’ the man replied, baring his chalk white American teeth in a quick smile.
    ‘And my name is George.’
    The handshake was firm. They held each other’s hands for slightly too long, sizing each other up. George let go first and guided his guest toward the elevators.
    ‘Reiper explained the situation,’ Josh stated more than asked.
    ‘Yes.’ George pressed the elevator button. ‘You have documents that need to be translated. For some reason you’re paying double the rate for me to forget about these documents immediately.’
    Josh’s smile wasn’t unlike Reiper’s. Indulgent, as if he possessed knowledge that made him irreplaceable. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
    ‘I don’t know anything about payment. That’s Reiper’s area. My job is to ensure that these papers don’t leave the room. Nothing personal, but this is sensitive. Let’s just put it that way.’
    They left the elevator. George’s handmade shoes clattered against the hardwood floor, no doubt made from an endangered species of tree. Josh’s rubber soles were almost soundless.
    ‘I’ll have to ask you to lock the door,’ Josh said when they entered the room.
    ‘Oh, sure,’ George said, and obeyed somewhat hesitantly.
    Josh took out what looked like an older model of a black iPod from the navy laptop bag slung over his shoulder. With his eyes fixed on the screen, he walked quickly around the room. The outcome seemed to be satisfactory, because he put the device away and sat down in one of the leather chairs.
    George considered asking what the hell was going on but didn’t want to appear even more at a loss than he already was. Instead, he sat down on his side of the desk and waited for Josh to take the initiative.
    ‘Here,’ Josh said, and took a small black laptop and green paper folder from his bag.
    ‘The documents in this folder need to be translated. You type it into this computer, nowhere else, okay? It doesn’t need to be perfect. We’re looking for the big