Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [51]
‘Sit down,’ he said, looking back at the room and indicating a chair.
She sat down, feeling extremely uncomfortable.
‘I’ve read your outline about Ragnwald,’ Anders Schyman said. ‘I see what you meant when you said it wasn’t an article, just an idea.’
Annika crossed her arms and legs. Then, realizing she was adopting an extremely defensive position, she tried to relax, straightening her arms and legs instead.
‘And I’m not convinced by the article you wrote about Benny Ekland. It was speculative to an extent that felt rather unfortunate.’
She could no longer resist the temptation to fold her arms.
‘How do you mean?’
Schyman leaned back, his shirt coming loose above his navel.
‘I think you’re applying the term terrorism with pretty broad strokes these days,’ he said. ‘Not all criminals are terrorists, and not all violence is terrorism. We have to keep a bit of distance and relevance in our journalism, not give in to sensationalism and always use the most powerful words. We’ll have to use those words for real events, probably sooner than we imagine . . .’
She heard herself let out a deep sigh, and threw her arms out. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Don’t preach to me about press ethics.’
He clenched his jaw so hard that a vein started to throb in his neck.
‘I’m not preaching, I just want to point out—’
‘I thought you supported me in my role as an independent reporter,’ Annika said, leaning forward, feeling the blood rush to her head. ‘That you trusted my judgement about what’s important.’
‘Annika, believe me, I do, but—’
‘There’s something here, I can feel it. This guy had stumbled across something he shouldn’t have.’
‘If you’ll just let me finish, I’d like to stress that I support you completely in your role, but in spite of that I am also legally responsible for what gets published, so I take the decisions about whether or not we should identify people as terrorists. That’s why I’m explaining my position to you, to save you making a load of trips and doing masses of work for nothing.’
Annika had stopped in the middle of a gesture, almost standing, leaning across the editor-in-chief’s desk, mouth open, her face livid. In the silence left by his words the thoughts were racing through her head, trying to find solutions and explanations.
‘It’s Spike,’ she said. ‘Has Spike said something about my trips?’
Schyman sighed and stood up. ‘Not at all. I’m just pointing out that this business with terrorism and terrorists has started to take up a great deal of your time.’
‘Well, perhaps they’ve been fairly important subjects in recent years.’
Annika sat down, and Schyman walked around her chair and over to the conference table.
‘I’d just like you to consider whether there might be some other reason why you should be particularly interested in these things.’
‘What do you mean?’
Schyman sighed again, running his fingers over the tubes containing the graphs.
‘That I’m identifying myself with the terrorists, is that what you mean? That I’ve killed someone myself, and that makes my brain conjure up compulsive killers where there aren’t any? Or do you mean the tunnel, the dynamite the Bomber tied me up to? Has that made me so crazy that I’m seeing Bombers behind every bush?’
Anders Schyman raised both hands in a placatory, soothing way. ‘Annika,’ he said, ‘I don’t know. All I can say is that this story is really peculiar. I can’t run a story about a Ragnwald who might be dead and buried, or a gardener in Moscow, or a diver for the coastguards, or whatever the hell he might be, because this is serious stuff, serious allegations.’
‘Ragnwald is his codename, he isn’t identified anywhere.’
‘Maybe he’s better known as Ragnwald than his real name. We just don’t know, do we?’
She didn’t answer, feeling her teeth grind as she stared into the curtains that hid the embassy compound.
‘Besides,’ he said, ‘common sense suggests that the idea behind your article isn