Chapter 3
3
Five minutes later, I was in the parlor with Dario and Niccolo. All of us hunched grimly over my cell, which lay on Dario’s desk.
As we listened to the dial tone, Niccolo asked me in Italian, “You’re sure you can trust this guy p>
“With my life p>
Niccolo wasn’t convinced. “I’m not – ”
“Lars vouches for him,” Dario interrupted. “That’s good enough for me p>
Niccolo didn’t look happy, but the finality in Dario’s voice settled the matter.
Suddenly a stoner’s voice erupted in Swedish over the speakerphone.
“Laaaaaars! Hur går det, brorsan?! Jag har inte hört från dig sedan – ”
Laaaars! How’s it goin’, Brother?! I haven’t heard from you since –
I interrupted him in English. “Hey, Gunnar, I’d love to chat, but some bad shit went down and I need your help. I’m here with some business associates who don’t speak Swedish. Can you – ”
“For sure, my dude, for sure!” Gunnar answered cheerfully in heavily accented English. “Hello, Lars’s friends p>
Then he gave a guffaw that suggested he’d smoked a bowl in the last few minutes.
Niccolo gave me a look both incredulous and irritated.
THIS is the guy you’re entrusting Massimo’s safety to p>
I ignored Niccolo and said to Gunnar, “For reasons I’m sure you can understand, they’d like to remain anonymous, so they won’t be talking p>
“Okay, my dude – copy that!” he said, using military lingo for ‘received and heard.’ “What’s up p>
“I need to identify some guys in some photos. Can I text you the pictures p>
“For sure, my brother p>
“Just to warn you, they’re dead p>
“Ohhhh, so it’s like THAT! Just kidding – no problem. Send ‘em over p>
As I sent him the photos, Gunnar chattered on. “Hey, so, are these ‘associates’ those guys you were talking about last time I saw you? The Italian dudes p>
Niccolo stared at me again with increased agitation.
“Gunnar,” I warned.
“Right, right – anonymous. Gotcha.” I could almost see him giving me an exaggerated wink on the other end of the line. “Oh, the photos just came in – lemme see – ohhhhhh. Oh yeah. Not good, my dude. Not good p>
“What are you thinking p>
“99 percent sure they’re Wagner p>
Shit.
Wagner was a paramilitary organization for hire.
Mercenaries.
They had been fighting in Ukraine on behalf of Russia, and leaving huge numbers of war crimes in their wake – but they’d recently started freelancing after the leader of their organization got himself blown up after making Vladimir Putin look bad.
“I was worried they might be,” I said glumly. “What makes you so sure, other than they look Russian p>
“See those two tattoos on the bald guy’s neck? They’re mostly covered up, so you might have to zoom in p>
One tattoo looked like the tip of an upward-pointing arrow. The other was the upper half of a diamond-shaped square.
“I see them p>
“I’d bet you good money those are runes – Tiwaz and Othala. Wagner dudes are freaks for Norse mythology, like a cult of Odin or some shit. They put those runes all over their vehicles and weapons in Ukraine for good luck p>
I saw the confusion on Dario and Niccolo’s faces. They were both fluent in English, but the ‘Tiwaz and Othala’ stuff lay beyond their normal vocabulary. Not to mention that Gunnar’s Swedish accent was probably borderline incomprehensible to them.
“I’ll explain later,” I reassured them, then turned back to the phone. “Can you do your thing and confirm your suspicions p>
‘Do your thing’ was shorthand for ‘can you verify it through the various intelligence agencies.’ After Gunnar left Special Forces, he’d become a freelance consultant for Swedish military contractors – which meant he was dialed in. If any civilian could track down a bunch of international mercenaries, he could.
“Oh yeah. If these guys are in the system, I’ll find ‘em. Did YOU tangle with ‘em, or – ”
“Another one of my associates did. I just want to know what he’s dealing with. And the quicker you can confirm, the better p>
“Alright, I’ll get on it and text you soon as I know somethin’. But when shit settles down, we gotta catch up, brother p>
“Definitely. Thanks, Gunnar p>
“No problem – peace out, my dude p>
I hung up the phone.
“‘My dude’?” Niccolo asked.
“Don’t start,” I warned him.