twonines
LIMERICUS
This calls for a much Moore thorough inspection.
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Nordic Peril: The Sequel to Gone Missing in Sweden
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Sweden has been neutral during the cold war! So, they viewed the chessboard from sideward, and not from one of the player's sides!I’ve always wondered why they’ve got the board turned sideways.. Is it a Swedish thing?
But now that Sweden is joining NATO?Sweden has been neutral during the cold war! So, they viewed the chessboard from sideward, and not from one of the player's sides!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
First thing to do now for Sweden is lifting up the chessboard, to check that there are no moles under it!But now that Sweden is joining NATO?
And all they found hidden there was Anna-Lisa/Marina stretched out on a torture rack.First thing to do now for Sweden is lifting up the chessboard, to check that there are no moles under it!
Migoz2
Senator
First thing to do now for Sweden is lifting up the chessboard, to check that there are no moles under it!
But just how closely did they search the players?
https://www.lbc.co.uk/news/chess-ch...-cheat-amid-claims-he-used-anal-beads-to-win/
Chapter 21. Guest Room, Country home of Åke Persson, Thursday, 22 January, 02:34.
Barbara and Gun had been lying naked alongside one another in bed for nearly two hours when Gun suddenly rolled over onto her side and away from their embrace to announce, “Babs, I’m going to get up and get dressed and check around the house to see that all is quiet and secure. You stay here and get some rest, okay?”
Barb sat up and looking down on her lover, purred, “Mmmmm … is that really necessary, Gun? Please stay. Listen to the way the wind is howling out there! I don’t think we’re in any danger at the moment. Absolutely no one in their right mind could possibly be moving about in this storm.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. But I’ll feel better if I do.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here with me?” cooed Barbara, throwing herself over her lover, and smothering her with kisses whike reaching provocatively for her crotch with two slightly-curled fingers extended.
“Babs! You’re insatiable!”
“No more than you are!”
“Babs! Please! I’ve got to go do this.”
“Why? We know that Bill’s in the cellar keeping an eye on Marina, and Min-Ji is in the study spilling out her guts to Åke so that her story gets heard. And we know that help is on its way. Hansson will probably be here by morning. So, stay here! … I want you … NOW!”
Any further protest was smothered by Barbara abruptly throwing herself on top of her lover.
*****************************
Cellar of country home of Åke Persson, Thursday, 22 January, 02:39.
Bill Johnson woke with a start.
“Hey, I’ve got to pee. I need a bathroom!” repeated Marina from where she was perched on the edge of the torture rack with one leg bent awkwardly back to where it was still manacled at the ankle to the foot of the rack.
“Just a minute. I’ll see if I can’t find you a bucket,” he replied sleepily, getting up from the folding chair on which he had been dozing.
“Hurry!”
“Alright … yeah … over here … I knew I had seen one earlier.”
“You’ll need to free my ankle. I can’t do it like this.”
“Okay. I see your point.”
“Thanks. Would you mind turning away?”
“Heh, alright, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen, but why not?”
Bill faced away. He could hear the telltale tinkling noise of the flow of urine hitting the bucket.
“You know,” she said, rising up from her squatting position over the bucket, “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“About what happens when that special-ops team arrives. You do know … I hope … that those guys are pros … ruthless killers … and they’ll be heavily armed and in full assault mode. They’re not going to politely turn up on the front porch and ring the doorbell. It will be all tear-gas, grenades, and assault weapons. And if they take any of you alive, they’re capable of incredible cruelty.”
“Yeah, I’m a pro too. I’ve seen it all.”
“Uhh … can you please find me something I can use to dry myself?”
“Sure, give me a sec to rustle something up. I think I saw a box of tissue somewhere.”
“I’ve also been thinking about what they might do to me. In their eyes I’ll be seen as a failure. Someone who botched the orders she was given to carry out. And in their world failure is unacceptable. I’m likely to suffer the same fate at their hands as the rest of you.”
“Are you offering to switch sides?”
“Yes, I think I am ….”
*******************
On Route 90, near Kramfors, about 40 kilometers southeast of Sollefteå. Thursday, 22 January. 03:04.
“Shit!” exclaimed Hansson, expressing his sudden exasperation. He and the Chief, with the intern, Annika, behind the wheel had been battling the elements for nearly five hours and had, rather miraculously, made it to what seemed like spitting distance of Sollefteå. But were now stopped dead.
Ahead of them, blocking the road was a vehicle with flashing taillights. A dark heavily bundled-up figure was trudging back to where they had stopped.
Hansson rolled down the passenger-side window of the Saab. The approaching figure came alongside and peered in, shining the beam of a police patrolman’s flashlight on each of their faces.
“Road’s closed to all traffic from here on,” he dutifully informed them. “What In blazes do you folks think you’re doing out driving on a night like this?”
“Police business,” replied Hansson, “You’ll have to let us through.”
“You don’t look like police to me! Police don’t drive around in beat up old Saabs.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Bertil Hansson of the Uppsala Police Authority. In the back seat behind me is my boss, Chief Inspector Lennart Björklund.”
“And I’m Santa Claus! Turn around and go back to wherever you came from before I have you arrested.”
Hansson pulled his police ID from his pocket and held it up to the beam of the flashlight.
“Okay, so you really are police. But you Uppsala boys are out of your bailiwick up here. I still can’t allow you to pass.”
At that moment, Annika suddenly revved the engine, popped the clutch and pulled away from the officer who jumped back in fright. The Saab caught traction and lept forward, slewing from side to side and narrowly slipping past the parked police vehicle blocking the road before vanishing into the whirling snow ahead.
“Holy Shit!” exclaimed Hansson.
“Nice work!” cheered the Chief. “That’s showing them!”
TBC
Barbara and Gun had been lying naked alongside one another in bed for nearly two hours when Gun suddenly rolled over onto her side and away from their embrace to announce, “Babs, I’m going to get up and get dressed and check around the house to see that all is quiet and secure. You stay here and get some rest, okay?”
Barb sat up and looking down on her lover, purred, “Mmmmm … is that really necessary, Gun? Please stay. Listen to the way the wind is howling out there! I don’t think we’re in any danger at the moment. Absolutely no one in their right mind could possibly be moving about in this storm.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. But I’ll feel better if I do.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here with me?” cooed Barbara, throwing herself over her lover, and smothering her with kisses whike reaching provocatively for her crotch with two slightly-curled fingers extended.
“Babs! You’re insatiable!”
“No more than you are!”
“Babs! Please! I’ve got to go do this.”
“Why? We know that Bill’s in the cellar keeping an eye on Marina, and Min-Ji is in the study spilling out her guts to Åke so that her story gets heard. And we know that help is on its way. Hansson will probably be here by morning. So, stay here! … I want you … NOW!”
Any further protest was smothered by Barbara abruptly throwing herself on top of her lover.
*****************************
Cellar of country home of Åke Persson, Thursday, 22 January, 02:39.
Bill Johnson woke with a start.
“Hey, I’ve got to pee. I need a bathroom!” repeated Marina from where she was perched on the edge of the torture rack with one leg bent awkwardly back to where it was still manacled at the ankle to the foot of the rack.
“Just a minute. I’ll see if I can’t find you a bucket,” he replied sleepily, getting up from the folding chair on which he had been dozing.
“Hurry!”
“Alright … yeah … over here … I knew I had seen one earlier.”
“You’ll need to free my ankle. I can’t do it like this.”
“Okay. I see your point.”
“Thanks. Would you mind turning away?”
“Heh, alright, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen, but why not?”
Bill faced away. He could hear the telltale tinkling noise of the flow of urine hitting the bucket.
“You know,” she said, rising up from her squatting position over the bucket, “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“About what happens when that special-ops team arrives. You do know … I hope … that those guys are pros … ruthless killers … and they’ll be heavily armed and in full assault mode. They’re not going to politely turn up on the front porch and ring the doorbell. It will be all tear-gas, grenades, and assault weapons. And if they take any of you alive, they’re capable of incredible cruelty.”
“Yeah, I’m a pro too. I’ve seen it all.”
“Uhh … can you please find me something I can use to dry myself?”
“Sure, give me a sec to rustle something up. I think I saw a box of tissue somewhere.”
“I’ve also been thinking about what they might do to me. In their eyes I’ll be seen as a failure. Someone who botched the orders she was given to carry out. And in their world failure is unacceptable. I’m likely to suffer the same fate at their hands as the rest of you.”
“Are you offering to switch sides?”
“Yes, I think I am ….”
*******************
On Route 90, near Kramfors, about 40 kilometers southeast of Sollefteå. Thursday, 22 January. 03:04.
“Shit!” exclaimed Hansson, expressing his sudden exasperation. He and the Chief, with the intern, Annika, behind the wheel had been battling the elements for nearly five hours and had, rather miraculously, made it to what seemed like spitting distance of Sollefteå. But were now stopped dead.
Ahead of them, blocking the road was a vehicle with flashing taillights. A dark heavily bundled-up figure was trudging back to where they had stopped.
Hansson rolled down the passenger-side window of the Saab. The approaching figure came alongside and peered in, shining the beam of a police patrolman’s flashlight on each of their faces.
“Road’s closed to all traffic from here on,” he dutifully informed them. “What In blazes do you folks think you’re doing out driving on a night like this?”
“Police business,” replied Hansson, “You’ll have to let us through.”
“You don’t look like police to me! Police don’t drive around in beat up old Saabs.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Bertil Hansson of the Uppsala Police Authority. In the back seat behind me is my boss, Chief Inspector Lennart Björklund.”
“And I’m Santa Claus! Turn around and go back to wherever you came from before I have you arrested.”
Hansson pulled his police ID from his pocket and held it up to the beam of the flashlight.
“Okay, so you really are police. But you Uppsala boys are out of your bailiwick up here. I still can’t allow you to pass.”
At that moment, Annika suddenly revved the engine, popped the clutch and pulled away from the officer who jumped back in fright. The Saab caught traction and lept forward, slewing from side to side and narrowly slipping past the parked police vehicle blocking the road before vanishing into the whirling snow ahead.
“Holy Shit!” exclaimed Hansson.
“Nice work!” cheered the Chief. “That’s showing them!”
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Guard duty and patrols always require at least two : one in front, one to cover tthe back. And always with knowledge of HQ, or the guard/patrol may be mistaken for enemy!
In stead of going solo outside, they better would make arrangements for their security.
In stead of going solo outside, they better would make arrangements for their security.
Now we have 'Bulldozer Annika' too! Let's hope they don't get stuck in the snow!
twonines
LIMERICUS
She sounds like the sort of girl who will either save the day or be a candidate for a session at that whipping post.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
A good whipping post offers a place for four : Barb, Gun, Chang and Annika!
When it comes so far, our day will defintely be saved!
Old Geseliius never imagined back when he had that post erected over a hundred years ago that it would still be stirring imaginations today.A good whipping post offers a place for four : Barb, Gun, Chang and Annika!
Those two things are not exclusive.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Chapter 22. Guest room, Hotell Appleberg, Storgatan 51, Sollefteå, Sweden. Thursday, 22 January 05:49.
“Alright. Everybody up. The snowstorm appears to be letting up!” announced Arne Skogman from his post at the window.
Unwilling to share a twin-size hotel bed with any of the special-ops team he was saddled with escorting to the Persson estate, he had spent the entire night sitting by the window, keeping an eye on the progress of the storm. Now that travel might be possible, he was eager to get going and have the whole affair over with as quickly as possible.
“Are you sure? Looks awfully dark out there.” observed the team leader, who had crawled out of bed and come over to peer out through the frost-etched window pane.
“This is Sweden in winter! You’ve been here for at least a couple days. Surely you’ve noticed by now that it doesn’t get light here until late in the morning.” snapped Skogman, not bothering to make even the slightest effort to temper the irritation he felt.
“Alright, let’s get moving then,” growled the team leader, turning his back on Skogman, who watched as the other two team members rose in unison, as though they were a pair of automatons and went quietly about gathering up their kits.
Minutes later they were all down in the hotel lobby, waiting silently while Skogman roused the clerk on duty in order to check out.
And then it was out onto the streets.
“Our car! It’s gone!” exclaimed the team leader, looking around in bewilderment.
“Nah, it’s right where we left it, buried under that pile of snow over there. We’re going to have to dig it out,” replied Skogman.
“With what? We have no shovels!”
“Nope, we’ll have to dig it out with our hands. No time to waste. Let’s get started.”
********************************
On Route 90, about 10 kilometers northwest of Sollefteå. Thursday, 22 January. 07:14.
“I think we’re nearly there at last,” announced Hansson, his eyes on the GPS location imagery displayed on the screen of his phone. They had been making good progress since crossing the Ångermanälven bridge at Sollefteå. A plow had been by earlier and had cleared a narrow lane.
“About time!” snorted the Chief from the back seat. “It seems like forever since we set off on this crazy escapade.”
“Roughly eight hours ago now,” said Annika. “Good thing we stopped for petrol back in Hudiksvall.”
“You’ve been great driving all the way like you have,” praised Hansson, flashing her an admiring sideways look and thinking again of how much, in profile, she reminded him of a young Gun. But it wasn’t just her looks. Annika’d been at the wheel ever since they’d left Uppsala, guiding his old Saab with skill and determination through some of the worst driving conditions imaginable. Gun might have done exactly the same.
“I’m starving, I think we should have stopped and looked for something to eat when we passed through Sollefteå,” bellyached the Chief.
“We’re not far from Persson’s place now. I believe it’s the next turnoff,” replied Hansson. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get food once we get there.”
“Something coming up fast behind us!” reported Annika,” her eyes on the rear view mirror. “Really fast! Damned fool!”
“Look out!” cried the Chief, turning to glance out the rear window, his face illuminated in the glare of fast approaching headlights,
“Shit!” gasped Annika, wrenching the wheel hard to the right and sending the Saab into a gut-wrenching tailspin that ended with its nose buried deep in the snow-filled roadside ditch only inches from a huge boulder.
“Damned fool!” repeated Hansson, wiping a smear of blood with his forearm from his forehead where it had slammed on impact into the Saab’s windshield.
“Anyone get the make and model,” growled the Chief.
“Black Volvo SUV, late model, likely an XC90, license plate ‘DLH 27S’,” responded Annika authoritatively.
“How the hell did you have time to get all that?” said Hansson incredulously.
“And look!” she cried. “It’s turning off the highway up ahead. Isn’t that where you were expecting to find the turnoff to Persson’s property?”
“Yes, I’d better try calling Gun!”
*************************
Ärna/Uppsala Air Base, 22 January, 07:20.
Ragnar Olsson paced furiously back and forth across the floor of the Air Force operations room. He was nearly beside himself with frustration and rage. The Air Force noncom on duty watched warily, wishing his superior would arrive before things got any more out of hand.
Olson had arrived an hour earlier, accompanied by two SÄPO men. All three were decked out in full combat gear. In the eyes of the enlisted man, Olsson was both a frightening and ludicrous figure, with his pair of pearl-handled revolvers holstered ‘Patton-style’ at his hips.
Olsson was agitated and furious for two reasons.
First, he had been bewildered on arrival to learn that his order from SÄPO HQ to have a helicopter waiting for him at the air base had somehow been canceled. No one at SÄPO had the authority to countermand his orders! In addition, the noncom seated forlornly behind the operation room desk had insisted that without specific orders from his commanding officer he lacked the authorization necessary to meet Olsson’s insistent demands that a helicopter be readied and a pilot found immediately. And to top it off … the noncom’s commanding officer had turned out to be very difficult to reach … something about him being dragged from a bed with a woman of the night.
Secondly, Olsson had been trying to reach Chief Björklund by phone for over two hours. But the Chief’s phone had gone unanswered, forcing Bulldozer to leave repeated voice mail messages. Moreover, no one at Police Authority headquarters in Uppsala had even the faintest idea as to Björklund’s whereabouts.
Finally, on his most recent call to Uppsala HQ, someone there had suggested that he might try calling Detective Sergeant Hansson’s number.
He was now dialing that number as he paced.
“Hansson,” responded a voice.
“Ragnar Olsson here, Bertil. I’ve been trying to reach your Chief, but can’t get him to answer.”
“Oh, he’s here with me. I think he turned his phone off to save on battery.”
“Where is ‘here’?”
“At the moment … half-buried in a snow-filled ditch.”
“What the fuck!”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“We set off for Sollefteå last night by car an hour or so before midnight. We nearly made it to Persson’s place, but some damned fool passed us at speed and forced us into the ditch.”
“You were supposed to wait for my call!”
“Yeah. We decided not to wait. Are you on your way now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, come as soon as you can. We’re near Persson’s place and will be going in on foot from here. I just made contact by phone with Gun Thorell a few minutes ago. They’re okay, but believe they are very much in danger. There could be serious trouble here and it could come at any time now that the storm is letting up.”
TBC
“Alright. Everybody up. The snowstorm appears to be letting up!” announced Arne Skogman from his post at the window.
Unwilling to share a twin-size hotel bed with any of the special-ops team he was saddled with escorting to the Persson estate, he had spent the entire night sitting by the window, keeping an eye on the progress of the storm. Now that travel might be possible, he was eager to get going and have the whole affair over with as quickly as possible.
“Are you sure? Looks awfully dark out there.” observed the team leader, who had crawled out of bed and come over to peer out through the frost-etched window pane.
“This is Sweden in winter! You’ve been here for at least a couple days. Surely you’ve noticed by now that it doesn’t get light here until late in the morning.” snapped Skogman, not bothering to make even the slightest effort to temper the irritation he felt.
“Alright, let’s get moving then,” growled the team leader, turning his back on Skogman, who watched as the other two team members rose in unison, as though they were a pair of automatons and went quietly about gathering up their kits.
Minutes later they were all down in the hotel lobby, waiting silently while Skogman roused the clerk on duty in order to check out.
And then it was out onto the streets.
“Our car! It’s gone!” exclaimed the team leader, looking around in bewilderment.
“Nah, it’s right where we left it, buried under that pile of snow over there. We’re going to have to dig it out,” replied Skogman.
“With what? We have no shovels!”
“Nope, we’ll have to dig it out with our hands. No time to waste. Let’s get started.”
********************************
On Route 90, about 10 kilometers northwest of Sollefteå. Thursday, 22 January. 07:14.
“I think we’re nearly there at last,” announced Hansson, his eyes on the GPS location imagery displayed on the screen of his phone. They had been making good progress since crossing the Ångermanälven bridge at Sollefteå. A plow had been by earlier and had cleared a narrow lane.
“About time!” snorted the Chief from the back seat. “It seems like forever since we set off on this crazy escapade.”
“Roughly eight hours ago now,” said Annika. “Good thing we stopped for petrol back in Hudiksvall.”
“You’ve been great driving all the way like you have,” praised Hansson, flashing her an admiring sideways look and thinking again of how much, in profile, she reminded him of a young Gun. But it wasn’t just her looks. Annika’d been at the wheel ever since they’d left Uppsala, guiding his old Saab with skill and determination through some of the worst driving conditions imaginable. Gun might have done exactly the same.
“I’m starving, I think we should have stopped and looked for something to eat when we passed through Sollefteå,” bellyached the Chief.
“We’re not far from Persson’s place now. I believe it’s the next turnoff,” replied Hansson. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get food once we get there.”
“Something coming up fast behind us!” reported Annika,” her eyes on the rear view mirror. “Really fast! Damned fool!”
“Look out!” cried the Chief, turning to glance out the rear window, his face illuminated in the glare of fast approaching headlights,
“Shit!” gasped Annika, wrenching the wheel hard to the right and sending the Saab into a gut-wrenching tailspin that ended with its nose buried deep in the snow-filled roadside ditch only inches from a huge boulder.
“Damned fool!” repeated Hansson, wiping a smear of blood with his forearm from his forehead where it had slammed on impact into the Saab’s windshield.
“Anyone get the make and model,” growled the Chief.
“Black Volvo SUV, late model, likely an XC90, license plate ‘DLH 27S’,” responded Annika authoritatively.
“How the hell did you have time to get all that?” said Hansson incredulously.
“And look!” she cried. “It’s turning off the highway up ahead. Isn’t that where you were expecting to find the turnoff to Persson’s property?”
“Yes, I’d better try calling Gun!”
*************************
Ärna/Uppsala Air Base, 22 January, 07:20.
Ragnar Olsson paced furiously back and forth across the floor of the Air Force operations room. He was nearly beside himself with frustration and rage. The Air Force noncom on duty watched warily, wishing his superior would arrive before things got any more out of hand.
Olson had arrived an hour earlier, accompanied by two SÄPO men. All three were decked out in full combat gear. In the eyes of the enlisted man, Olsson was both a frightening and ludicrous figure, with his pair of pearl-handled revolvers holstered ‘Patton-style’ at his hips.
Olsson was agitated and furious for two reasons.
First, he had been bewildered on arrival to learn that his order from SÄPO HQ to have a helicopter waiting for him at the air base had somehow been canceled. No one at SÄPO had the authority to countermand his orders! In addition, the noncom seated forlornly behind the operation room desk had insisted that without specific orders from his commanding officer he lacked the authorization necessary to meet Olsson’s insistent demands that a helicopter be readied and a pilot found immediately. And to top it off … the noncom’s commanding officer had turned out to be very difficult to reach … something about him being dragged from a bed with a woman of the night.
Secondly, Olsson had been trying to reach Chief Björklund by phone for over two hours. But the Chief’s phone had gone unanswered, forcing Bulldozer to leave repeated voice mail messages. Moreover, no one at Police Authority headquarters in Uppsala had even the faintest idea as to Björklund’s whereabouts.
Finally, on his most recent call to Uppsala HQ, someone there had suggested that he might try calling Detective Sergeant Hansson’s number.
He was now dialing that number as he paced.
“Hansson,” responded a voice.
“Ragnar Olsson here, Bertil. I’ve been trying to reach your Chief, but can’t get him to answer.”
“Oh, he’s here with me. I think he turned his phone off to save on battery.”
“Where is ‘here’?”
“At the moment … half-buried in a snow-filled ditch.”
“What the fuck!”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“We set off for Sollefteå last night by car an hour or so before midnight. We nearly made it to Persson’s place, but some damned fool passed us at speed and forced us into the ditch.”
“You were supposed to wait for my call!”
“Yeah. We decided not to wait. Are you on your way now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, come as soon as you can. We’re near Persson’s place and will be going in on foot from here. I just made contact by phone with Gun Thorell a few minutes ago. They’re okay, but believe they are very much in danger. There could be serious trouble here and it could come at any time now that the storm is letting up.”
TBC
M
montycrusto
Guest
You know how to write a good thriller!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Wow, an entirely Barb free episode, and it was still a cracking read. I can definitely feel an Annika spin-off coming on, she seems like 'some-girl'! And the best name for a Swedish military man, like the vikings of old, is ... Ragnar - great choice,
Keep 'em coming. Barb, I'm loving reading this tale with my coffee and croissants each morning!
Keep 'em coming. Barb, I'm loving reading this tale with my coffee and croissants each morning!