The Swimmer by Joakim Zander

picture. We’ll get back to you if we have any questions. Is it okay if I make myself a coffee?’
    He pointed toward the machine next to the small fridge.
    George nodded, lifted the folder from the table, and opened it. The first thing that struck him was that all references to names had been crossed out in black marker. At the top right corner of the first page someone, Josh himself perhaps, had worked hard at crossing out a square area. George quickly flipped through the folder.
    The first document had been created by the Swedish Security Service and consisted of a brief personal report.
    George stopped and looked straight into the air. Säpo, Sweden’s secret police. The square that had been crossed out in the top right-hand corner was almost certainly a classified stamp. It was a dizzying feeling to have classified documents in front of him. This was espionage. Pure and simple.
    There was no other way to look at it. Whoever had released these documents to Reiper and his cronies was guilty of espionage. Inconceivable. George didn’t want to think about what kind of crime he was committing by even holding these papers. But at the same time, it was intoxicating.
    The first document contained what seemed to be a startlingly detailed description of an Arab guy from one of those deeply depressing housing projects outside of Stockholm. A picture of the ten-story building was enclosed. George had never understood how people could live like that. It looked like a Soviet nightmare.
    The person the document described was the oldest of three brothers. He was raised by a single father who’d fled to Sweden from Lebanon after his wife died in what was apparently an Israeli bombing raid in the early 1980s. It seemed that the writer of the report had interviewed this person’s teachers and maybe even his friends, and then translated the results into gratingly bureaucratic Swedish. ‘Scores at the top of his class.’ ‘Conveys strong desire and drive to rise from his current living situation.’ ‘Unusually strong motivation.’ ‘Excellent language abilities. Speaks and writes fluently in Swedish, Arabic, and English.’ ‘Politically interested, but not active.’
    A longer segment dealt with the man’s religion: ‘Secularized Muslim without a strong connection to radical elements or to the local mosque’ was the conclusion.
    Under the title ‘Recreation and Social Life’ the writer had made an effort to show that the person mostly found his friends through sports. Running and basketball, it seemed.
    But his teammates were designated ‘acquaintances’, and the person was described as ‘introverted, though paradoxically exhibiting strong and developed leadership skills’. The report ended with the section title ‘Overall Assessment’, under which the person was considered to be ‘particularly suited’ for ‘special service’. George had no idea what that meant. But his job was to translate this shit into English, not to understand it.
    The second document was longer, over thirty pages, and according to its date only a few days old. The first page of the report was entitled ‘Reasons for Special Supervision’. The text was short: ‘Credible information from foreign intelligence agencies claims that the subject is affiliated with subversive elements in Iraq and/or Afghanistan, see dossier SÄK/R/00058349.’
    The pages that followed summarized the subject’s current situation in life. Law degree. Formerly the chairman of the Foreign Policy Association. Ph.D. student at the Faculty of Law. The courses he had taught. Pictures of a house with his apartment window circled in red. Basketball at the Student Health Center twice a week. A serious romantic relationship with a Klara Walldéen, which ended a few years ago. That name wasn’t crossed out.
    George stood up from his chair and walked over to the coffee machine. He inserted a black capsule and pressed the green button.
    ‘Klara Walldéen,’ he said quietly