“I thought it was a little theatrical too. I’m on my way there now. If you want to meet me … well, I could be your escort.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

In 1626 Sweden was at the height of the Stormaktstiden, or more commonly, “The Great Power Period,” and it was the year in which King Gustavus Adolphus, engaged in a fourth consecutive war with the tireless Poles, commissioned his navy to construct the most fearsome and heavily armed warship the world had ever seen. A thousand oak trees were cut to provide timber for her hull, and fifty twenty-four-pound guns were ordered cast to be incorporated onto the mighty ship’s high deck. Every quarter of the vessel was to be sculpted with ornamentation, striking designs to intimidate enemies and glorify the prowess of the king. The result, two years later, was the Vasa.

On August 10, 1628, Sweden’s symbol of strength set sail on her maiden voyage. Her reign of terror, meant to last decades, was in fact measured in minutes. Under the first puff of wind ever to strike her sails, the top-heavy ship capsized and sank less than a mile from port. It was a trauma felt not only by the Swedish navy, but in the collective psyche of a nation. Vasa, for all her might and potential, was indelibly registered as a symbol of what might have been.

Nearly four hundred years later, on a crisp October morning, Arne Sanderson stood outside the Vasa Museum with his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his worn overcoat. He eyed the parking lot stretched out before him, much as Gustavus Adolphus had likely once regarded the harbor, and thought, I do believe we’ve got this all wrong.

The cavernous building behind him held the salvaged remains of the great ship, and the morning shift of visitors was already queuing up for guided tours. In front of Sanderson, framed by a slate gray autumn sky, was a nearly empty parking lot, and at the far end he saw a police evidence van and two squad cars. A half dozen officers in sterile gear were busy combing the tarmac. In a burst of enthusiasm someone had cordoned off the entire parking lot as a crime scene, causing Sanderson to wonder—given recent events—how much yellow tape the department kept in stock.

“Morning, Inspector.”

Sanderson turned and saw Blix. “Good morning, Gunnar.”

“Glad you could make it.”

“So am I. And please don’t ask me how I’m feeling—I’m getting tired of that question.”

“Done.”

Blix began walking toward the police contingent and Sanderson fell in beside him.

“Anything new on the investigation?” Sanderson asked.

“Our finest minds are working on it.”

Sanderson looked up and saw the wry smile.