Dark Angel

‘Of course there have been sceptics,’ the governor went on. ‘Anyone who wants to change things will always face opposition. But I think that most people realize what an asset the conference centre is going to be for Gotland.’

She cleared her throat. What she had just said was a vast understatement. The protests against construction had been both numerous and loud. She had been surprised at the force of the opposition. A never-ending flow of complaints had been lodged with the municipality and the county administrative board ever since the plans had been made public. The debate had raged in the local newspapers. Many feared that the scanty tax revenues from Gotland residents would be eaten up by an unnecessary luxury building at the expense of childcare and services for the elderly. Islanders still had fresh memories of other ventures that had ended in disaster. They were apprehensive of another Snäck, the plan to build a hotel and condos just north of the city. The project had gone to pot and cost the district millions. When the construction project went bankrupt, the municipality was forced to sell the whole kit and caboodle to a local entrepreneur for a paltry sum. No one wanted to see that sort of fiasco repeated.

And that didn’t even take into account the opposition that arose because of the location of the conference centre. The monstrosity stood smack in the line of sight from the Gotlanders’ beloved park, Almedalen. To top it all off, the structure blocked the view of the sea.

Environmental activists had staged demonstrations during the entire construction process, chaining themselves to fences surrounding the site. Their protests had caused delays, which in turn had led to cost overruns. Yet in spite of everything, the building was now complete. The governor was relieved that the project had finally been brought to a successful conclusion.

‘At the moment it may be hard to see what the significance of the conference centre will be, but one thing is certain: this is a step in the right direction so that Gotland will be able to grow. And it’s totally in keeping with the favourable development that has taken place on the island over the past few years.’

A delighted murmur and nods of approval from members of the audience.

‘The community college has been growing year by year, and we’re managing to entice more and more students to attend,’ she went on. ‘Our young people no longer need to leave the island to study on the mainland. Many respected teachers have moved here and, in my view, the future looks bright for Gotlanders. Businesses have put their faith in our future and the tourist industry is enjoying an upswing. Last year there were forty thousand more nights spent at our tourist facilities, compared to the previous year. Let’s all rejoice at this development and celebrate our important new asset, which will help to promote Gotland. Let’s all drink a toast! Cheers for the conference centre!’

The governor’s voice wavered and her eyes were shining. There was no mistaking her emotion.

All of the assembled guests raised their glasses.

VIKTOR ALGÅRD OPENED A bottle of Ramlösa mineral water and looked around. So far the dedication celebration had proceeded largely as planned. There really hadn’t been any reason for him to be nervous. He’d organized so many events over the years that by now it was mostly routine. He was Gotland’s very own Bindefeld, the party king. Slightly older, a bit thicker around the middle and without the same network of contacts, but still a local celebrity. Viktor Algård was elegantly attired in a black suit tailored in a fashionably modern style. His lavender silk shirt was handsomely cut, giving him a touch of the dandy. He was past fifty but clearly in excellent shape. Hardly any wrinkles were evident on his open, friendly face except when he laughed, which he did frequently. His hair was still dark and thick. In honour of the occasion, he had combed his long hair back so it reached almost to his shoulders. He had an olive complexion, which he’d inherited from his Tunisian-born father, along with his dark eyes and full lips. In general, he was quite satisfied both with himself and with his appearance.

Now he gazed with pleasure at the building’s hyper-modern banquet hall, which could hold up to a thousand guests.

He took a certain pride in being allowed to arrange a dedication, in being the very first on the scene. He’d spent the past few months meticulously planning this event, fine-tuning all the details down to the very last minute.

He raised his hand to give a wave to the governor, who smiled at him. He could understand why she was so happy. The only disappointment was the blustery wind, which had forced them to hold the welcome ceremony indoors. But what did that matter when the champagne was expensive and the glasses gleaming?