Found Wanting

Eusden smiled. ‘It’s a date.’

It was a short taxi-ride from the hotel into the city centre. Koskinen plied Eusden with a tourist commentary as they went. ‘Uspenski Orthodox Cathedral.’ (Eusden gazed up at snow-capped onion domes.) ‘The presidential palace.’ (They passed a colo

‘Very. And I gather Saukko Bank have maintained the tradition.’

‘What… do you mean?’

‘Dealing cleverly with Russia.’

‘Ah, yes, I suppose… you could say that.’

‘Isn’t that why Tolmar Aksden bought them out? To acquire their Russian holdings?’

‘I… do not know. It-’ Koskinen looked round with grateful alacrity as the taxi drew to a halt. ‘Ah, we are here.’ He opened his door and climbed out.

Eusden exited on the offside, checking for traffic as he did so. There was none close behind. The nearest vehicle, another taxi, was still some way off, driving slowly. He glanced towards it as he slammed the door and rounded the boot. The passenger was sitting in the front. His eyes met Eusden’s in an instant of recognition. Then he looked away and said something to the driver, who flicked on his indicator and turned abruptly right.

Eusden heard Koskinen shout to him as he ran towards the side street. Pursuit was futile, he knew, but the knowledge did not stop him. What did was skidding on a patch of ice that had spread around a pipe draining a roof somewhere above him. He hit the pavement with a shoulder-jarring thump that set his head wound throbbing. By the time he had recovered his senses and picked himself up, the taxi was taking another right at the far end of the side street, its brake lamps blinking fuzzily red in the thin grey light.

‘Are you all right, Mr Eusden?’ Koskinen panted as he caught up.

‘Yes. I… thought I recognized the passenger in the taxi.’

‘What taxi?’

‘The one that just…’ Koskinen’s uncomprehending gaze did not encourage fuller explanation. What would he say, after all – what could he say – if Eusden put a name to the face he had glimpsed? The presence of Lars Aksden in Helsinki was disturbing enough. The fact that he had been following them moved beyond disturbing into downright sinister. But what did it mean? What did it portend? All Eusden was sure of in that instant was that Osmo Koskinen would be of no help in finding out. ‘Never mind. I must’ve been mistaken. Let’s go in.’

THIRTY-SIX

Juha Matalainen’s office was a shrine to Fi

Eusden had supposedly spent those minutes perusing the tersely worded confidentiality agreement Matalainen had slid across the flawless surface of his desk for him to sign. The English version was flanked by one in Danish and one in Fi

‘Is there a problem, Mr Eusden?’ Matalainen asked.

‘What?’

‘A problem? With the agreement?’

‘No. I…’ Eusden raised an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry. I just…’ He exerted himself to focus his thoughts. ‘The agreement’s fine. I’m happy to sign it.’ Then some instinct told him not to be too cooperative. ‘I can’t read Danish, of course.’

‘I assure you they are exact translations.’ Matalainen’s gaze narrowed as the point struck home. ‘Surely you can’t read Fi

‘No. I can’t.’

‘But you specified Danish.’

‘I wasn’t talking about these documents. I meant the ones we’ll be collecting later. They’re all in Danish. So, how could I learn anything from them I might reveal later? The agreement caters for an impossible contingency.’

Matalainen smiled thinly. ‘In that case you lose nothing by signing it.’

Eusden returned the smile. ‘Quite so.’ He picked up the proffered pen and signed.

Koskinen added his signature as witness. Matalainen gathered up the trilingual versions of the documents, gave Eusden a copy and stood up, signalling that their meeting was at an end. ‘Näkemiin, Mr Eusden,’ he said, extending a hand and bowing faintly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Matalainen reminds me of my dentist,’ said Koskinen as they descended in the lift.

‘You should change your dentist.’

‘Ah, no. He is very efficient. I just don’t want to go fishing with him. But I always need a drink after visiting him. You want one?’

‘I want several. But one will do.’

Koskinen took him to the Café Engel on Senate Square. Their window table kept the Lutheran cathedral in view, this time front-on across the snow-covered square. Trams rattled by in the street. Early lunchers maintained a jumble of conversation.

‘Kippis,’ said Koskinen, starting on his beer. ‘Your good health, Mr Eusden.’

‘Call me Richard. How long have you worked – did you work – for Mjollnir, Osmo?’

‘Not so long really. They bought me with VFG Timber. But they were good to me. Another company might have… moved me on.’

‘So, Tolmar Aksden’s a good man to work for?’

‘He asks for a lot. He gives a lot.’

‘You got to know him well?’

‘Not well, Richard, no. He has a saying: “Don’t bring your family to work.” He never brought his. Besides, he was most of the time in Copenhagen.’

‘Ever meet his brother Lars?’

‘No. I have heard about him. He paints, I think. But, no, I have never met him.’

‘Would you know him if you saw him?’

Koskinen frowned. Eusden’s line of questioning was begi

‘Have you seen Tolmar during his latest visit to Helsinki?’

‘No. He has been very busy, according to the newspapers. That is all I know now I am retired: what I read in the papers.’

‘And what do you read about him?’

‘Oh, there are some messy politics now he has brought Saukko Bank. They are full of it.’

‘What do they say?’

Koskinen’s smile was more of a wince. He had been drawn into a subject he was clearly uncomfortable with. ‘It looks like not everybody is happy with the scale of Saukko’s Russian investments now the takeover has brought them to their attention. Commercially smart, but politically… sensitive.’ He shrugged and took a swig of beer, then glanced through the window, squinting as if focusing on something in the distance. ‘We Fi

Koskinen rose with a scraping of his chair, and ambled off to the loo, leaving Eusden to dwell once more on the mystery of Lars Aksden’s presence in Helsinki. Should he tell Pernille? The moment of decision was fast approaching. He was also aware he needed to phone in some fresh – or warmed-over – excuse for his no-show at the Foreign Office now a new working week had begun, though his life there felt more like a false memory of someone else’s. In search of distraction, he grabbed an abandoned newspaper from an adjacent table.