Yesterday, we had enough for one day. After leaving Maj Wahlöö in the professional hands of Liza (and after paying for the damage with my LSD credit card), we went home. 'Home' is Agneta's house to cook and eat, and after that, 'home' is the Kepler Clinic for Frieda and the hotel for me. My suggestion to drive to Malmö right away and spend the night in a hotel caused a panic attack in Frieda's system. For the last eight months, she's been a patient. She's doing great during the day, in the light, but at night, the darkness returns to her soul. She needs the safety of her room in the clinic. No problem. We get up early and go the next day.
According to Maj, the Angels chose their headquarters in Malmö for escape reasons: it's close to Denmark. Many people there have a boat. It's almost impossible to check on everyone.
We find the address easily. There's nothing but an empty parking space in front of the door; they don't seem to have a lot of visitors. Zlatangatan 9 is a concrete wall, four metres high, with one solid door in the middle. No bell. Just a camera eye in the centre of the door. On the post, there is a small square with black and white dots. It's a code, similar to a QR code, but it doesn't have the blocks in the two left corners and the upper right corner. With my spiPhone, I take a photo and send it to #2, The Nerd, Europe's Number One magician in the dark art of deciphering secret codes and scrambled messages. Which will take time.
To kill that time, I speak magic words to Frieda: "Let's have coffee. You said the south of Sweden is famous for its pastry. I want proof."
"Hunger, hunger, hunger, breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, tea. All you think about is food. You'll grow fat before you reach thirty."
"No, I won't. I'm like Swedish people: I burn all those calories with my daily activities. This morning, I started the day with an hour of squash, only losing 6 – 2 this time. Then I drove six hours in an antique Saab with only two short breaks for petrol and bathroom. My stomach tells me it's time for coffee. If I listen carefully, my stomach screams it's time for lunch, but we won't have time for lunch because my guts tell me The Nerd will have this riddle solved in a twinkle of an eye. If your sister Agneta is held captive here, we have no time to lose."
Wherever you go, in Sweden the coffee is always good, but this bakery, a little further in the street, with the promising name Pernilla's Pastry Pantry, has so many little treasures to go with it. I'm seriously thinking of aborting today's mission and try them all.
They are called Fika. I try a Lussekatt, a Mazarin with almond paste, a Semla, a Punchrulle, a Gräddbulle, a Vaniljhjärta that's filled with aromatic vanilla custard, a Kanelbulle, a Chokladbiskvi, a Hallongrotta and an Araksboll. My Swedish vocabulary gets an energy boost in this bakery. We don't have time to have lunch here, but if we handle this mission fast, we can come back and have tea.
The Nerd doesn't give me the time to finish even my small selection. His message consists of a text and an attached document: «The code is a common PDF417 2D barcode with 4 bars in a 17-module structure. It's used often, mainly in the USA, for postage, driver's licences, boarding passes and state ID cards. This one contains the link to a website that consists of one single page, with an instruction and a warning, both in Swedish. See attached for the translation in English. The door will open when you say the password, but there's no info about what that password might be».
I read the text from the attached file aloud to Frieda: "You can go in, but you can't get out. There are three doors, the doors of durin'. The first door will open when you speak the password. Behind it, you enter The Garden. We hid two paintball guns and six bullets there. You'll need them to survive The Patio, the playground behind the second door.
» The Patio is defended by five C.H.A.O.S. guardians, each armed with a paintball gun with a thousand bullets. You can't use their guns, they're fingerprint protected, with their bullets stored in a closed container. An unknown percentage of those bullets contain a Led Zeppelin, buying you a free Stairway to Heaven. Accidents happen and dead men tell no tales.
» You'll need at least one bullet to open the third door, which gives access to The Office where the charismatic leaders of our organization will welcome you.
» The final lines are some kind of a poem. It refers to the motto of the organization:
» The world is changed.
I feel it in the water.
I feel it in the earth.
I smell it in the air.
Much that once was…
…is lost.
For none now live who remember it.
» And there's a note from The Nerd: in the original text, this final snippet was written in English."
Frieda's silence gives me the chance to go back to the counter for a second plate of Fika. If we can't find the password, I might even have the chance to try them all. Swedish pastry is spectacular. There's a live jazz album by Benny Goodman with the title «Swedish Pastry». When music is humanity's best invention ever, Swedish pastry is music.
"It's literature.", Frieda says.
I turn around: "No, it's just pastry. But it's amongst the best pastries I've tried in my life."
"I'm not talking about what you put into your mouth. I'm talking about what came out of your mouth. The poem. It has nothing to do with the organization. It's a riddle. It's meant to find the password. Read it again. Listen to the tone. Notice the old-skool language. «For none now live…» Would any terrorist use words like that? «The world is changed.» You and I would say «The world has changed» but they use a literary expression. I'm sure they didn't invent those words all by themselves. It must be something from Shakespeare or Charles Dickens or Dylan Thomas or…"
She's right.
It's a riddle.
And The Nerd couldn't crack it.
Quickly, I google the text: "Literature? How about the opening lines of a film? These words are the first lines of «The Lord Of The Rings, part 1 – The Fellowship of the Ring». So it is their motto after all: they see themselves as the good hobbits, who fight to save the world from the dark Lord Sauron of Democracy and his Orcs of Parliament."
Frieda grabs my hand: "That other line? Dead men tell no tales? That's «Pirates of the Caribbean, part five». These guys are film lovers. I bet the password has to do with a film about angels. C.H.A.O.S. stands for Charismatic Hospitality Angels, right? The text says something about a Stairway to Heaven. Can't you think of a film about angels with a password, or a word you need if you want to enter Heaven?"
It's an idea.
I already have my spiPhone in my hand.
All I have to do is dial #555 and ask.
When the phone rings on the other side, I explain to Frieda: "I know something about films, but there's one man in Europe who knows everything about films. The good news is… he's my best friend. Rostov! How are you? … No, sorry, I have no time for that now. I'm on a mission to save the most beautiful woman in Sweden and we have a deadline here. I need your help. We need to enter the headquarters of CHAOS, the Charismatic Hospitality Angels Of Sweden. They are the terrorists who kidnapped the sister of the girl next to me. The problem is: they protected their front door with a password."
I activate the speaker of my spiPhone, so Frieda and Rostov can hear each other.
"Hi, Rostov. I'm Frieda."
"Hi, Frieda. Can you help me with something? There's this woman, her name is Katja, and I ask her every day if she wants to marry me, and she keeps saying «no», and I'm not very good at understanding women, but you are a woman, so perhaps you can explain if she's just playing hard-to-get or if there's really no chance she'll change her mind?"
"This Katja. Is she beautiful?"
"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and she's smart, and she's a secret agent with an interesting life and a job that pays well."
"And you? Are you beautiful too?"
"Everyone says I look like Matt Damon. I'm a little taller, though. I'm a banker, which seems boring, but I'm really fun to be with. Ask Lux."
"Who's Lux?"
"My friend, the one who's sitting next to you."
"He told me his name was Benny."
"That's not important. I want to know if I have a chance with Katja."
"You ask her to marry you every day? And you look like Matt Damon? And you make her laugh? Don't worry, Rostov. A man like you is hard to find. If you don't give up, she'll give in."
"And how long do I have to wait for that magical moment?"
"Is she worth waiting for?"
"Oh, you bet she is. She kissed me once, and if she tells me to wait fifty years for a second kiss, I'll start counting the days. A kiss from Katja means more than most marriages."
"So there you have your answer. She's not playing hard-to-get. She just needs time to think about it. Okay? Getting married is a big decision for a girl, you know. Now it's your turn. A film about angels and charismatic hospitality that contains a password."
Rostov stays quiet for a few seconds.
I add the little info we have: "We have a reference to Stairway to Heaven and Led Zeppelin, and we have a piece of text: The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost."
"Those are the opening lines of «Lord of the Rings, part 1». There's this scene where the fellowship of the ring needs to cross the mines of Moria. They stand before the Doors of Durin and have to say the Elvish word for Friend, «Mellon», to open the door."
I look at the text again: "The Doors of Durin? The text starts like this: «There are three doors, the doors of during»… No, it says «durin'», with an apostrophe."
Quickly, I scroll down, to the original text in Swedish that The Nerd used for the translation. I don't know the Swedish words, but some words, not just the final lines, are in English, like the Led Zeppelin, the Stairway to Heaven and… 'the Doors of Durin', with an apostrophe before and after them. In the hurry of translating, The Nerd missed the first apostrophe and assumed the second one was spoken English for the word «during», making it look like centuries before someone will pass those doors…
"We're on the right path. The Doors of Durin are in the text. But elves are not angels, and a mine isn't exactly famous for its hospitality or its charismatic leaders.", I say.
Rostov knows his classics by heart: "When Gandalf has spoken the word «Mellon» and the doors open, the next words come from Gimli: «Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone!» And Elves are like Angels, and if you'd make a list of the most charismatic leaders in history, Aragon will definitely be in the top ten. Did I ever disappoint you with finding secret passwords?"
I get up and say: "Rostov, you're a genius. I promise to call you back to tell you the end of this story. And if I don't call back… there's no happy ending."
Rostov grins: "And I'll call you back when my story with Katja has a happy ending, Mellon."
Like a good spy, I always pay the check when I order, to avoid wasting time when I have to leave. I wrap my remaining pastries in a paper napkin and put them in my coat pocket. Five minutes later, we're back at the front door of CHAOS. Frieda gets the honour of speaking Friend and with a click, the door opens.
"Behind that door, your sister waits for you."
"Behind that door, your future wife waits for you."
"We'll have to rescue her first. According to their website, these Angels have prepared a few surprises for us. Is it a death trap? A suicide rap?"
"Five armed guards."
"Don't worry. I have a plan. If we can find all the paintball bullets and at least one of the guns, we have a reasonable chance."
"Are you going to tell me the plan?"
"Are we going to risk two lives? Only one of us might enter. This isn't a video game in which you can start over again when you lose your life. This is serious. We can get killed."
Frieda lifts an eyebrow: "Do you want me to go in alone?"
"Of course not. I promised to protect you. It would be safer if you stay behind. I can enter alone."
"It wouldn't be safer for you, and it would lower the chance of getting Agneta out of there. Either we go together or we don't go at all."
"You don't want to think about it?", I ask.
"I thought about it long enough. We better get in while we're young. The goal of our life is not to wait for our death. Spies like us, we're born to run."
"This might be hell."
"You'd promised to stay with me, even if I'd go to hell and back again. This is hell. I'm not afraid; someone gave me a courage transfusion. I've killed demons before. I'm going in. Are you coming?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world.", I grin.
When I step inside, an alarm goes off and a metallic voice says: "Warning. No metal allowed in this area. No liquids allowed in this area. No smoking allowed in this area."
I have no choice: my backpack stays behind, with my guns, my tools, my disguise kit and… my spiPhone. I lock it in the boot of the Saab. What do I do with the car key? Shall I take the risk that it's small enough for the metal detector? I decide to throw it over the concrete wall and pick it up on the other side.
Is that an idea for smuggling in my Makarov and my Beretta too? I reject the idea almost immediately: those people use paintball guns against us. They are not killers. They just like to play games.
And, of course, I've already locked the guns away in the Saab and thrown the key to the other side of the wall, so…
My next brilliant idea is to put something between the door and the post. If it doesn't close, we'll have an escape route. Useless. We enter a small concrete space with a heavy metal door on the other side, which only opens when the first door is closed. Stupidity doesn't live here. Once we are in, we can't go out anymore, as the invitation promised.
The Garden is a space of about forty by forty metres, surrounded by a four-metre-high concrete wall with barbed wire, probably protected with electricity. I see a green with a golf putt in the centre, a pond, trees and bushes on the sides, with beds of flowers everywhere.
"Is this Hell? It looks like Paradise.", Frieda says.
I hold her back and don't say anything. There might be traps. The text on the website warned about accidents. That didn't refer to The Patio only.
"Do you play?" Frieda holds up a Nine Iron golf club and three balls. Before us on the ground, I see a tee. Somebody wants us to make a hole-in-one on this Par 1 of twenty metres. Landmines? Booby traps?
"I've never hit a golf ball in my life.", I confess.
"Not even mini golf?"
"I know how to drive a Mini and I know how to drive a Golf, but I don't know the difference between a driver and a putter on a golf course. I've always considered golf as a game for old men who used to play tennis but grew too lazy to pick up the balls. And you?"
"My dad is a manager and I study management. We have a family membership at the Stockholm Golf Club. My handicap is less than the distance from here to that putt, and I have three balls to try. There's no wind. The green is flat as a pool table. I've putted holes that were more difficult than this one… but I've also missed lots of easier putts. Shall I give it a shot?"
With one of my guns, I would hit that putt two out of three, but with a golf club?
"How about if I walk to that flag, you throw me the ball, and I drop it into the hole?", I suggest.
"Aren't you afraid of booby traps? At least, we can try to putt the first two balls without any risk."
Smart thinking. The more time I pass with Frieda, the more I admire her.
"You're right. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"Nothing. Just step back and pray."
I say a little prayer, and two more when Frieda takes her time to warm up and concentrate. There goes the first shot. The height is alright. The speed is okay. But the ball passes along the left side by about fifteen centimetres distance from the hole, and stops half a metre further, close to a bed of roses.
"Good shot. With a marker like this, I'm sure the next one's going in.", I analyse.
Frieda places the second ball on the tee and takes her position for the swing. At that moment, a shadow comes down and a big albatross lands on the green, close to the golf ball. The poor bird disappears in an explosion.
"Rostov! This place is booby-trapped. What are we going to do?", I shout.
"Hit the next ball better than the first one. My sister's life is at stake. I can't let her down."
I say twice as many little prayers and twice as fast this time. It seems to help. The height is right, the ball goes straight towards the target butttt… The speed isn't high enough, the ball will not make it to the putt and become an obstacle for the final shot. We can't have that. I blow as hard as I can. Pffff. Don't stop. Pffff. Keep on rolling. Pffff. Wishful thinking. Pffff. Thirty centimetres more. Pffff. Fifteen. Pffff. Five. Pffff. It stops. I take an Araksboll from my pocket and throw it as hard as I can. TOC!
"Booby traps deactivated. You can enter The Garden now.", Big Brother announces. Next to the speaker, a metal box opens. Inside, we find two paintball guns. But no bullets.
"We have to search the garden. Let's start with the flower beds. Paint. Colours. Flowers. Bingo." I lift my hand to warn Frieda, as she walks behind me. Six coloured paintball bullets lie close to each other between the purple and yellow crocuses, bright and shiny like a nest of Easter eggs. The problem is the rattlesnake that's protecting them.
"What do we do now?", I ask. The snake answers by preparing its attack.
"I've never seen such a snake. Is it a protected animal, on the border of extinction?", Frieda asks.
"It's an American rattlesnake. Its venom is deadly. Once bitten, never shy again…"
"So it's a rather common species? Not protected? And an illegal alien from the USA too?"
Tsjak.
Frieda's Nine Iron hits the snake's head with deadly precision. The head gets separated from the rest of the snake and sails over the concrete wall. Home run, good for six essential points.
I look at Frieda with admiration: "You are one amazing woman, Miss Larsson. If Eva was more like you, humanity would still live in Paradise."
"You can stay in this Garden of Eden as long as you like, but I'm going through that door over there. My sister needs rescuing."
Frieda doesn't waste a second. She walks to the door and opens it. Behind it, there's another small room, with a second door, just like the one we came through when we entered The Garden. Only this time, the second door has a window, with wire-protected glass. On the other side, the amusement park rises, bold and dark.
The Patio has about the same dimensions as The Garden, forty metres wide and probably forty metres deep, although we can't see the other side because of all the random placed pieces of brick walls, as high as the wall that surrounds The Patio, some of them two metres wide, others up to ten metres, forming perfect places for an enemy to hide and ambush.
Frieda puts her hand on the doorknob, but I stop her: "Don't you want to hear my plan first? On the other side of that door, five armed guards are waiting for us. They know every stone of this maze, while we've never been here. We have one bullet to 'kill' each one of them. If we miss even one, we can't open the door on the other side. And the biggest problem is that those guards will shoot at us with bullets that might have a lead centre. Those men can kill us."
"And you're the professional, so you go in alone and shoot them all while I wait behind this door? Forget it, Benny. We're in this together. Give me one of those guns. You'll need me in there to have your back."
I put three bullets in each gun and give them both to Frieda: "The plan, my dear, is exactly that: we go in together. You stay behind my back, with your own back as close to the wall as you can, your hands with the guns under my arms, so I can take all the bullets for you while you have time to kill the killers, one shot at a time. We go in together, but only one of us has to leave to set your sister free."
Frieda says nothing. She looks through the window, trying to find out where the five snipers are hiding. Finally, she says: "I don't like it, Benny. Agneta won't be happy if the man of her dreams gets killed because he wants to protect her sister."
"And if I showed up with your dead body in my arms, would she marry me? I protect you and you shoot. It's our best chance. You've had the training; you've killed your fears and you've shot your demons. Let those guys come close, and can take them out."
And when I die here in these streets today, it will be in an everlasting embrace with an amazing woman, giving my life, so she and her sister can survive, with all the madness in my soul, I think, but I don't say that, of course, because I have to concentrate on wishful thinking about how to survive a game of Russian roulette against a hostile army of trained killers.
"You're crazy."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. They will kill you."
"I'd give my life to lift you up. This is our best chance. I'm prepared to take the risk."
"You are crazy. You can't even imagine I might have a better plan."
"Do you?"
Frieda answers with a radiant smile. She gives one of the two guns to me and sticks the other one under her belt. Then she opens the door, leans against the closest brick wall, and folds her hands.
I grin: "Frieda Larsson, you are an amazing woman."
* * *
One minute later, we stand before the door on the other side of The Patio, the door that gives access to The Office. We're watched by five 'dead' armed guards with a lot of paint between their eyes, on the visor of their helmets.
"The honour is all yours, dear."
Frieda sticks the barrel in the lock, fires her last bullet and… after a little push, the door swings open. On the other side, we're welcomed with modest applause: "Bravo. Nobody has ever come this far. How did you do it?"
The Office? The Pub or The Waterhole would have been a better name. A bar, a pool table, a dartboard, a TV showing a football match, a smokescreen of cheap tobacco, with four fat fellows, sporting long beards, playing cards at a small table in the corner.
When your opponent plays at home, he has an advantage that gives hor up to twenty-five percent more chance of winning. The best tactic for the visitors is to take (and keep) the initiative, which I do: "Pleased to meet you. I'm a man of wealth and taste. You can call me Benny. And this beautiful young woman beside me is Miss Frieda Larsson, the younger sister of the woman you kidnapped not so long ago. And you are?"
The white-haired man, the one who asked how we did it, answers, although he's not polite enough to stand up and shake hands with us: "You can call me Merlin. I'm the King of CHAOS, the Charismatic Hospitality Angels Of Sweden. These are my captains: Gandalf, Voldemort and Gargamel."
"Gargamel?", Frieda asks.
I explain: "Gargamel is a character in the comics of Peyo. He's the wizard who wants to make soup of the Smurfs. All four have picked the name of a wizard, probably because they want to be politicians and, like wizards, they would make all that tax money disappear magically, without giving anything back. Childish behaviour, but that could be expected: their wizard names come from children's books."
Frieda asks: "Is King Arthur's wizard Merlin from a children's book? Or is he from an ancient Anglo-Saxon legend?"
I grin: "Merlin is a TV series for children. The King of CHAOS doesn't read books; he doesn't need knowledge to know anything better."
"The Lord of the Rings isn't a children's book; it's literature.", Gandalf, the grey, interrupts.
Voldemort, the bald, also criticises my literary critique: "Harry Potter is literature too. J.K. Rowling is the best-selling female writer and her books are among the most popular of all time."
Gargamel, the black wizard, wants the final word: "And Peyo is nominated for next year's Nobel Prize for Children's Literature."
My confident body language dominates the scene: "I'm not here to write critiques. I'm here to bring solutions."
Merlin throws his cards on the table: "We already have solutions."
I throw my answer on top: "We crushed your guards, and your booby traps didn't stop us, so you better start worrying. But I'm a reasonable man and I'm prepared to give you a chance. If you convince me that your solutions are good for Sweden, I will give you a valuable reward without asking for anything in return. But if you fail, you'll answer MY question."
"HA!", all four wizards say.
"Is that a «yes»?"
Merlin likes a good game against a weak opponent: "We outweigh you, we outnumber you, and we outsmart you. You won't stand a chance."
Frieda steps forward and lifts her nose: "You outsmell us, that's all. A woman like me counts for ten, and in his pocket, my friend Benny has the perfect argument to convince you. Give it to them, Benny…"
With horror on my face, I look Frieda in the eye: "You can't be serious. I can give them all my money, our car, my three guns, even my life if I need to, but… This?"
I take the paper napkin with my Swedish Fika treasures out of my pocket and look at them with puppy eyes: "Would you, gentlemen, accept my little gift as a sign of trust? They are freshly baked, still warm from the oven."
Merlin stands up and paces towards us, with both hands stretched out before him, the right hand to shake and the left hand to take: "Dear friends. We're so happy to see you. Welcome to our modest waterhole. We hope you like Swedish beer because that's all we have right now; our traiteur from Paris and our champagne supplier from Reims fell in love with each other, and now they are on a horny homosexual honeymoon together."
We accept the cold beer and take our seats at the table for a cosy chat with our new best friends.
"How did you get past our Praetorian Guards?", Gandalf asks.
"Easy. Frieda lifted me. I climbed onto the brick wall, gave her a hand, and pulled her up. Your men are only trained for two-dimensional games. They look in front of them, cover their companions at their sides, and check behind their backs, but they never thought of looking up. The FBI, the Frieda and Benny Intelligence, plays on a higher level than the ones who invented this game."
Frieda reminds me we have a mission: "We're not here to play games. We have questions."
"Fire away.", Merlin says.
I open the ball with an easy service: "If the Liberal Party wins the elections, they will reorganize healthcare: they want to close all the ineffective and expensive little hospitals and concentrate on central service. They want to help more people for less money. How do you feel about those plans?"
Gandalf returns with a volley from the baseline: "That's simple. People don't get better service when they have to travel to the other side of the country where they will find an impersonal huge health machine, full of doctors and nurses they don't know. The Liberal Party is talking bullshit. Those Liberal plans are ridiculous."
Love – Fifteen.
My second service comes from the other side: "If the Socialist Party wins the elections, they will reorganize healthcare: they want to close all the impersonal factories of healthcare, full of robot doctors and computer nurdses, and concentrate on personal local service. They want to help more people for less money. How do you feel about those plans?"
With an effortless backhand, Voldemort returns my ball, out of reach for me, no matter how hard I try: "That's even more simple: Small hospitals won't get the technology and the expertise they'll need to give people the best healthcare. The quality can only be guaranteed if we concentrate healthcare in specialised centres, at strategic places like the big cities of our country. Those Socialist plans are ridiculous."
Love – Thirty.
I don't give up. I go back to the right side of the field for my third service: "The Liberal Party claims that healthcare for the older generations is too expensive. The taxpayers can't afford it anymore. They suggest urgent budget cuts and refuse to let our old folks die of hunger. They want to lower the pensions and put all the elderly together in special homes with full service and the extra benefit of social contact with other people of the same age. How do you feel about those plans?"
Gargamel sees me coming up to the net. With a shattering laugh, he lobs the ball over my head, so all I can do is watch how it bounces just before the baseline: "Old folks live for one thing: their children and their grandchildren. You can't deport those people to some faraway camps where they will be held prisoner, just because society is too greedy to pay back what the old generation did for their children. Those Liberal plans aren't only ridiculous, they are also completely unacceptable."
Love – Forty.
Things start to look tricky. I'm facing a match point. The four ice men grin in their beards. They are prepared, they are fit, they are professionals who know what they're doing, and I'm just a simple amateur in a field of sports I'm not familiar with.
But this ain't over until it's over. As long as I'm playing, I have a chance. Instead of smashing as hard as I can, I give an unexpected effect to my fourth and final service: "The Socialist Party claims we should double the taxes so we can give the older generation the quality of life they deserve. With so many old people and such a small working-class majority, the best solution is to let the rich pay higher taxes, on their income and their possessions. How do you feel about those plans?"
This time it's Merlin who returns, confident, with a double-handed forehand, sure about the winner, in the corner where I didn't expect it: "The rich create all the work in our country. The rich pay all the taxes in our country. And the rich get NOTHING in return, except the punishment to pay more and more and more, every time the Socialist Party invents another trick to win the elections. These plans aren't just ridiculous and unacceptable, they are fatal for our economy, our job market and our entire society. Are we done?"
Love game?
No.
Of course not.
This is a mixed double.
I left that side of the field unattended because I trust my partner, Frieda, who covers my back. Her hair is fire, her eyes spit fire, and fire runs through her veins. All that fire concentrates on the tip of her tongue that slaughters the four ice men with rock-hard smashes.
"You criticise every initiative of every leader. Did you forget they are democratically chosen by the majority of this country? You feel wonderful about yourself. Why? All you do is sit, smoke, and talk, in this dirty bat cave, playing cards and drinking beer. You don't have even one solution. It's wrong to talk about what's wrong. It's right to talk about how to make it right. You should be ashamed of yourself. (Fifteen – Forty)
» If you're true Charismatic Hospitality Angels, you don't hide yourself, terrifying the country with violent terrorist acts of deadly criticism, killing every initiative even before it has a chance to prove itself. There's a war going on. Two selfish parties fight to get all the power without knowing what to do with it. Show yourself and take care of the victims, the neglected, those who can't afford the price fight. Stand up and show politics how it should be done.
» Why does the large majority of our society suffer? Ignorance. But you don't know about that. You lock yourself inside a fortress, well protected against the fresh ideas from a younger generation. You believe in Revolution, while Evolution is a much healthier and more effective solution. Education is the answer to all our problems, gentlemen. Instead of Tabloidtidningen and the poker face of your opponent, you should read books. If you don't learn, my ice-cold friends, nothing will change except the name of the leader. (Thirty – Forty)
» We're here to teach you a lesson. This Macker, this newcomer, will show you an alternative route, a good road to a better future. You are against democracy. Sir Winston Churchill agreed with you. He said that democracy is a terrible system. Its only virtue is that it's better than all the other known systems. How about it if I give you something better? How do you feel about Agneta's Angels?
» Our oldest generation worked their entire lives to build our houses and our schools, our railways, our motorways, the farms that grow our food. Your generation builds casinos and brothels, so you can play games and screw around. You're so busy entertaining yourself that you forget your responsibility towards those who took care of you when you were a child.
» Many people can't afford healthcare or a study. Schools, hospitals and homes for the elderly are screaming for more helping hands, but there's no money to hire them. Many voters want a job. You can't expect those people and organizations to solve these problems. If you leave it to the government, you know it won't be solved, and if you leave it to the private sector, you know they'll suck the money out and make the problems worse. If you want a job well done, you need to do it yourself.
» Agneta had all the ideas. Public services have many jobs available, but they need people who learn and work without costs. Volunteers. Call them Agneta's Angels and pay them in hours. When an Angel works voluntarily for society, she'll get a credit for every hour. She can use that credit to buy the public services she needs. If she can't afford to go to University, an Angel can work hours in the local hospital, evenings and night shifts, and get hours of class back. If you can't afford healthcare insurance, you accept a job in a home for the elderly and pay your medical attention with your worked hours. You can get hours of free public transport in return for the hours you teach your own children at school. Elderly folks can babysit for the social services they need. The unemployed might learn an occupation and end up with a paid job. Companies prefer hiring one of Agneta's Angels over someone who sits at home all day. You can use your Angel credit also for the home of your old mother or the nursery of your child. An hour is an hour. If you talk with managers of half-empty football stadiums, cinemas and theatres, they might donate free tickets to local Angels, as a priceless motivation and a reward for their altruism. Once you think in this direction, up, the list of ideas is endless.
» We don't choose between big high-tech hospitals and small, local healthcare centres: we keep them both, as both are important for every one of us. If there's no money for the service, we work for free, and we'll get free service in return. First, you do society a favour, and then society pays you back. If you need favours from society, society should give you a chance to work for them.
» Agneta's Angels need a computer wizard, someone who can build a website, a virtual place where helpful hands can shake hands with those who need a hand. Those Angels need a space in The Cloud, so the world can see what Swedish people are capable of, loving each other and taking care of each other. Stop wasting your time and your resources, playing games and drinking beer. If you're a man, you stand up and fight for your country and its people. Dedicate your life to saving other lives. This Angel system isn't based on money. It's based on love. It's based on trust, respect and commitment. The doctor cures the baker, and the baker feeds the doctor. Your job is to take the initiative. You should teach Malmö, and then Skåne, and then Sweden, and then the world, to take responsibility for each other, together. (Deuce)
» All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.
» As long as you stay here, doing nothing, Mister Wizard, you work for the government. You do what they tell you. Your stupid ideas of violence and criticism help those Liberals and Socialists to go on with their own backward ideas of Freedom and Equality. If you're the real Charismatic Hospitality Angels of Sweden, you get up and act. Doing something for others takes courage. Benny and I had to show shiploads of courage to get in here. Do you prefer the life of a coward who watches the news? Or do you prefer the life of a hero who makes the news?
» You could change your life to better suit my mood. Open your heart, make it real, or else forget about it. (Advantage, Frieda Larsson)
» The biggest coward is the one who kidnapped my sister, a wonderful woman who wanted to give Sweden all these ideas, the only one capable of getting this country out of the mess you and your parliamentary friends drown us in. One of you, or all of you, kidnapped my sister Agneta. The two political leaders of Swedish democracy, your biggest enemy, gave the order. I want her back. Now. Release her. Or I release all the devils I have inside me and you have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how terrible my nightmares are!"
(Game, Set and Match. Macker-road beats Bore in the most sensational match since the Wimbledon final in 1980)
I show my admiration with a standing ovation: "Miss Frieda Larsson, you are an amazing woman. I'm so glad you're on my side and not against me."
Merlin stands up and shakes hands with Frieda, to congratulate her on her smashing victory: "I'd like to choose your side too, Miss Larsson. We have a lot in common. I would like to adopt your style of playing. Will you be so kind and teach us?"
Gandalf, Voldemort and Gargamel stand up too, and follow their leader's example: "We're sorry." - "You're right." - "We're glad you came here." - "Would you like another beer?"
"We want Agneta. Nothing else.", Frieda says.
I add: "We know from well-informed sources that the government has at least one man in your organization who works for them. Mrs Maj Wahlöö gave the order and Mr Per Sjöwall was her accomplice. We will use that information against them. The winner of the upcoming elections will support your Charismatic Hospitality Angels initiative, the plan Frieda just explained to you. If you show the world your good deeds in the future, we'll forget about the crimes you were guilty of in the past. But you have to give us Agneta. Now."
Merlin sits down and empties his bottle of beer, swallowing with difficulty: "I'm the one who keeps in contact with Maj and Per. At first, I followed their instructions, but then I found it hard to be just a puppet on a string; I convinced my captains that doing nothing would be the only thing we could do. They all accepted the new policy. We didn't execute the order. We didn't kidnap Miss Agneta Larsson."
Something in my head snaps like the strings on a broken tennis racket on the head of an umpire who calls a ball out while it's obvious there was chalk dust everywhere.
"You didn't kidnap Agneta? Then… Who did?"
Merlin lowers his head: "I don't know. I swear. If I did know, I would do everything to help you find her. She's an amazing woman. She was born to run for President. I would vote for her. All four of us would vote for her. No doubt about that. She would be the perfect leader of Sweden. We'd all love to see her on TV daily. I mean… To hear her sexy voice, watching her fantastic tits, that awesome ass, that long blond hair, those hot red lips, those amazing eyes…"
Frieda and I look at each other: it's time to go. We have a long trip back, and we're wasting our time here with four cavemen who have not even one interesting topic of conversation.