A Death in Sweden by Kevin Wignall

look at his computer?”
    “How will you know the password?”
    He looked at it and said, “I doubt he used one, for the same reason the door wasn’t locked.”
    “Maybe you’re right.” She hesitated a moment and said, “It’s strange to think, he imagined he’d be back here later that day, that he’d pick up where he left off. Though I guess that’s true for all of the ones who died on the bus.”
    He nodded, conscious that a handful of the people he knew had also set out one day or other in the last few months and never returned. It could equally happen to him one day soon, and it was perhaps even more poignant that Dan would leave no great half-finished project.
    She walked along to one of the additional doors at the far end of the room and Dan booted up the computer. As he’d suspected, there was no password, and he brought up Redford’s Internet history easily enough.
    That was where he encountered his first surprise. Redford had been on a Baltimore news website looking at a story that covered Mike Naismith’s hit-and-run death.
    That was the only one of the recent deaths to occur before the bus crash, but it could only have been a few days before. It was astonishing that Redford could have made the link so quickly, because Dan guessed the only reason he would have been interested in Mike Naismith’s death was if he’d believed there was a connection with Bill Brabham.
    Was someone tipping him off? That was one possibility, that he’d still had contacts, still had a steady drip-feed of information from his former life. Dan doubted it though, doubted that someone so determined to disappear would have left a thread running through the maze. More plausible somehow, was the prospect that Redford had simply been good at this, the top of his game, master of all this information.
    Inger came back out of the door, making for the other that faced it, but said, “Kitchen, bathroom, two small rooms with bunks, but the bedrooms are unused. This place is pretty big.” She opened the other door and stepped inside, and Dan heard her say, “Wow.”
    He pushed away from the desk, realizing as he did that Redford hadn’t quite been the master of all this information, in that he clearly hadn’t yet found the thing he’d needed to bring Brabham down. That was key, because there was a good chance it was the same thing Dan needed to safeguard his own future.
    When he stepped into the room, Inger was still standing motionless, just looking out at the stacks of shelves. It was bigger than the main room, “the office” as Dan already thought of it, and had probably been designed as the storage room for the people hiding out down here.
    Redford had also used it as a storage room, but for someone looking at starting Armageddon rather than surviving it. There was a lot of weaponry in there, of almost every conceivable type, including some heavy-duty explosives. But there was also an incredible amount of electronic equipment, from small components right up to pieces of machinery that Dan couldn’t even begin to identify.
    Dan said, “I don’t know what he was planning, but it would have been something to behold.”
    Inger still hadn’t moved, but said now, “How did he get hold of all this stuff without anyone noticing? How did he get it here?”
    The logistics of it weren’t so hard to imagine. It was an enormous amount of kit, but he could have easily brought it in little by little over a couple of months and no one would have thought anything of it, even if there’d been anyone to see him unloading his SUV.
    More interesting was what the sophistication of both the weaponry and the electronics said about Redford. They’d suspected it already, of course, not least because of the interest shown by Brabham’s people, but this was certainly a more definitive declaration of that truth.
    “He was one of us,” said Dan. “This guy was clearly one hell of a specialist. He knew how to get hold of stuff, knew what he