Chapter 4
Though temporarily absent from the political realm, the returning cabinet members knew very well what had occurred on the world stage during their three and a half month hiatus. Civil war had broken out in Spain and had quickly turned against the rebels, yet the war was still dragging on after months of vicious fighting. The major authoritarian powers of Europe were lending active support to either side while both France and Britain had declined to assist the Republican government. Meanwhile, in the Far East, the Guangxi warlord clique and Xibei San Ma went to war against the Kuomintang, the dominant power in China. The war lasted only a few months- until Guangxi Clique accepted a harsh peace on 23 September - but this conflict coupled with reports of regular skirmishing along the Chinese-Manchurian border illustrated the extent of instability in the region.
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Rickard Sandler gazed at his reflection in a dark shop window in downtown Gävle. He saw his regal figure clothed in a black overcoat and top hap. His left arm supported a small ebon umbrella while he gripped a leather briefcase in his right. He was clad appropriately for it had been precipitating sporadically all day and more storm clouds were approaching with the onset of evening.
Downtown Gävle, late autumn-1936
The flow of commuters along the avenue remained constant even though darkness was drawn rapidly across the sky. The streetlamps suddenly flashed on at seven and still Sandler paced within a narrow strip of snow laced pavement along Katrinagatan…waiting.
Les Collines Blanches-Downtown Gävle
At a quarter past eight, after nearly two hours, a heavy downpour of wet slush began prompting Sandler to duck into an elegant French restaurant on the next block. He ordered a glass of champagne and took a seat near a window were he could watch the corner that he had been waiting at. A bottle of Noble Cuvée was soon placed in front of him. He decided to accompany it with a small quiche and eventually found himself eating a full meal as the twilight hours wore on. The dimly lit establishment gradually emptied itself of diners. At eleven, a young waiter came to the Foreign Minister and announced that the restaurant was closing. Sandler hastily paid the bill and strolled back onto the street.
He lingered for a short time then decided to head for home. It was obvious that the man he was supposed to meet would not show. He ran several blocks along Svenksa gatan, hoping to catch the late-night tram that left Bomhusberg Station at 11:20. The lonely trek through the urban maze progressed steadily and the surroundings became exceedingly quiet with the exception of far off typical metropolitan sounds and the steady clatter of his shoes echoing throughout the concave shape of the narrow streets. Another sound soon joined in as he neared the Gustavus intersection; that of a small humming engine rapidly approaching. Sandler stopped suddenly and looked back. A small automobile with its light’s beaming brightly, hugged the curb as it sped toward him, then jumped onto the sidewalk, swerved left nearly hitting him, before plunging into an abandoned factory complex with a terrifying swiftness. Rickard breathed a sigh of relief at the close call and moved slowly toward the wreckage; it was probably some reckless drunkard he assumed. He crouched cautiously through the punctured wall of the factory and saw the shattered vehicle smoldering beside a large metal tank. He moved forward and looked inside the cracked windows. It was empty! A quick search of the vicinity revealed no body, either living or dead. Sandler hurried to a nearby house were he called the authorities, than returned to the accident-scene, gave his testimony to uniformed police officers and finally left in a state of confused astonishment. It was well past midnight.
The next day Sandler entered the Riksdag to report his failed rendezvous to the prime minister. He found Mr. Hansson preparing for a speech in a room adjacent to the main hall.
“Mr. Prime Minister…”
“Mr. Sandler! How are you?!” he cried happily. “We heard about what happened last night. Luckily Mr. Jaakon warned us of the attempted assassination attempt.”
“Assassination attempt?”
“Yes. But luckily Mr Olof Jaakon warned us about it. Are you alright by the way…”
“What are you talking about?!”
Mr. Hansson’s tone became serious. “A car tried to hit you yesterday and…” he continued slowly, “Mr. Jaakon also warned us of another plot to gun you down at your home. He was prevented from meeting you yesterday because he was convening with Nazi agents in Munich. He received the information from them and than reported it to us as quickly as possible. He deserves much gratitude.”
Sandler became silent.
“I’m sorry about sending you to Gävle. I guess they got wind that you were there. Say, you didn’t know about this did you, that they tried to kill you?"
Sandler shook his head grimly.
Though temporarily absent from the political realm, the returning cabinet members knew very well what had occurred on the world stage during their three and a half month hiatus. Civil war had broken out in Spain and had quickly turned against the rebels, yet the war was still dragging on after months of vicious fighting. The major authoritarian powers of Europe were lending active support to either side while both France and Britain had declined to assist the Republican government. Meanwhile, in the Far East, the Guangxi warlord clique and Xibei San Ma went to war against the Kuomintang, the dominant power in China. The war lasted only a few months- until Guangxi Clique accepted a harsh peace on 23 September - but this conflict coupled with reports of regular skirmishing along the Chinese-Manchurian border illustrated the extent of instability in the region.
------------------------------------------------------
Rickard Sandler gazed at his reflection in a dark shop window in downtown Gävle. He saw his regal figure clothed in a black overcoat and top hap. His left arm supported a small ebon umbrella while he gripped a leather briefcase in his right. He was clad appropriately for it had been precipitating sporadically all day and more storm clouds were approaching with the onset of evening.
Downtown Gävle, late autumn-1936
The flow of commuters along the avenue remained constant even though darkness was drawn rapidly across the sky. The streetlamps suddenly flashed on at seven and still Sandler paced within a narrow strip of snow laced pavement along Katrinagatan…waiting.
Les Collines Blanches-Downtown Gävle
At a quarter past eight, after nearly two hours, a heavy downpour of wet slush began prompting Sandler to duck into an elegant French restaurant on the next block. He ordered a glass of champagne and took a seat near a window were he could watch the corner that he had been waiting at. A bottle of Noble Cuvée was soon placed in front of him. He decided to accompany it with a small quiche and eventually found himself eating a full meal as the twilight hours wore on. The dimly lit establishment gradually emptied itself of diners. At eleven, a young waiter came to the Foreign Minister and announced that the restaurant was closing. Sandler hastily paid the bill and strolled back onto the street.
He lingered for a short time then decided to head for home. It was obvious that the man he was supposed to meet would not show. He ran several blocks along Svenksa gatan, hoping to catch the late-night tram that left Bomhusberg Station at 11:20. The lonely trek through the urban maze progressed steadily and the surroundings became exceedingly quiet with the exception of far off typical metropolitan sounds and the steady clatter of his shoes echoing throughout the concave shape of the narrow streets. Another sound soon joined in as he neared the Gustavus intersection; that of a small humming engine rapidly approaching. Sandler stopped suddenly and looked back. A small automobile with its light’s beaming brightly, hugged the curb as it sped toward him, then jumped onto the sidewalk, swerved left nearly hitting him, before plunging into an abandoned factory complex with a terrifying swiftness. Rickard breathed a sigh of relief at the close call and moved slowly toward the wreckage; it was probably some reckless drunkard he assumed. He crouched cautiously through the punctured wall of the factory and saw the shattered vehicle smoldering beside a large metal tank. He moved forward and looked inside the cracked windows. It was empty! A quick search of the vicinity revealed no body, either living or dead. Sandler hurried to a nearby house were he called the authorities, than returned to the accident-scene, gave his testimony to uniformed police officers and finally left in a state of confused astonishment. It was well past midnight.
The next day Sandler entered the Riksdag to report his failed rendezvous to the prime minister. He found Mr. Hansson preparing for a speech in a room adjacent to the main hall.
“Mr. Prime Minister…”
“Mr. Sandler! How are you?!” he cried happily. “We heard about what happened last night. Luckily Mr. Jaakon warned us of the attempted assassination attempt.”
“Assassination attempt?”
“Yes. But luckily Mr Olof Jaakon warned us about it. Are you alright by the way…”
“What are you talking about?!”
Mr. Hansson’s tone became serious. “A car tried to hit you yesterday and…” he continued slowly, “Mr. Jaakon also warned us of another plot to gun you down at your home. He was prevented from meeting you yesterday because he was convening with Nazi agents in Munich. He received the information from them and than reported it to us as quickly as possible. He deserves much gratitude.”
Sandler became silent.
“I’m sorry about sending you to Gävle. I guess they got wind that you were there. Say, you didn’t know about this did you, that they tried to kill you?"
Sandler shook his head grimly.
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