everyone how gifted he is. Not Tolmar Aksden. This paper calls him Den Usynlige Mand : the Invisible Man. Everyone admires him. But also everyone . . . distrusts him.’
‘Do they?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Eusden. Just like you and your friend. What was that about last night? Mr Hewitson mentioned his grandfather . . . and Lars Aksden’s arrest in Roskilde. You and Mr Hewitson . . . know something. And I . . .’ Burgaard’s head twitched in a slight but palpable nervous convulsion. This was clearly the stage of their encounter he had been steeling himself for. ‘I would be grateful if you told me what it is.’
Eusden took a sip of coffee to camouflage a tactical pause, then smiled and said, ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because I know things you don’t.’
‘Maybe we know it all.’
‘No. If you did, you wouldn’t have challenged Michael. And also . . . you wouldn’t have agreed to meet me this morning.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes. I think it is.’ Burgaard’s calculations were sound, even though he projected little confidence in them. ‘I propose . . . a trade.’
Another pause; another sip. ‘Propose away.’
‘I guess you’ve come to Århus because Lars is here. Near here, I mean. He has been ever since the . . . incident . . . in Roskilde. You’ve come to see him, haven’t you?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I want to be with you when you do.’
‘And you propose to buy your ringside seat with . . . information.’
‘Yes.’ Burgaard nodded. ‘A lot of information.’
Tolmar Aksden was born at the family farm, Aksdenhøj, in 1939. He trained as an engineer, but worked on the farm for some years before setting up Mjollnir in the early 1970s. Mjollnir’s ostensible business was plant hire, but from the very start, according to Burgaard, it seemed to be more of a general investment vehicle. Aksden began buying up disused industrial land in the Århus area and regenerating it as housing complexes and high-tech business parks. He was always one step ahead of the economic trend. By the 1980s he had taken over a shipyard and an electronics factory, which both appeared defunct but were transformed under Mjollnir into leaders in the fields of containerization and micro-processing. In the 1990s came the big leap for the company: acquisition of a Swedish hotel chain, a large Norwegian fish-farming operation and a Finnish timber producer. Mjollnir’s headquarters moved to Copenhagen and its reign as a pan-Scandinavian economic powerhouse began. Burgaard emphasized the shock element in this development. Aksden kept such a low profile that his competitors never saw him coming. His far-sightedness was envied, his ruthlessness feared. He was considered by many to be positively un-Danish in this regard, although ignorance of his true personality and the rarity of his sightings in public ensured criticism gave way to awe at his achievements and a certain mystique that attached itself to the Invisible Man of the Nordic business world.
His family life was similarly low-key. He married Pernille Madsen, a Mjollnir employee nineteen years his junior, when he was forty-two. Their only child, Michael, was born in 1983. They had subsequently divorced. His sister, Elsa, married a neighbouring landowner in Jutland, and seldom stirred from rural obscurity. His brother, Lars, was the odd one out, cultivating a larger-than-life image as an artist, womanizer and dabbler in politics. As a young man, he had participated in the establishment of the Christiania hippy commune in Copenhagen and had sedulously maintained his anti-Establishment credentials ever since. About the only thing he had in common with Tolmar was that they were both divorced.
In Norse mythology, Mjollnir was Thor’s magical hammer, an instrument of destruction and creation. Tolmar Aksden had chosen the name for his company well. He had specialized in eliminating competitors and turning their failures into his successes. Nor was he
‘Do they?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Eusden. Just like you and your friend. What was that about last night? Mr Hewitson mentioned his grandfather . . . and Lars Aksden’s arrest in Roskilde. You and Mr Hewitson . . . know something. And I . . .’ Burgaard’s head twitched in a slight but palpable nervous convulsion. This was clearly the stage of their encounter he had been steeling himself for. ‘I would be grateful if you told me what it is.’
Eusden took a sip of coffee to camouflage a tactical pause, then smiled and said, ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because I know things you don’t.’
‘Maybe we know it all.’
‘No. If you did, you wouldn’t have challenged Michael. And also . . . you wouldn’t have agreed to meet me this morning.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes. I think it is.’ Burgaard’s calculations were sound, even though he projected little confidence in them. ‘I propose . . . a trade.’
Another pause; another sip. ‘Propose away.’
‘I guess you’ve come to Århus because Lars is here. Near here, I mean. He has been ever since the . . . incident . . . in Roskilde. You’ve come to see him, haven’t you?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I want to be with you when you do.’
‘And you propose to buy your ringside seat with . . . information.’
‘Yes.’ Burgaard nodded. ‘A lot of information.’
Tolmar Aksden was born at the family farm, Aksdenhøj, in 1939. He trained as an engineer, but worked on the farm for some years before setting up Mjollnir in the early 1970s. Mjollnir’s ostensible business was plant hire, but from the very start, according to Burgaard, it seemed to be more of a general investment vehicle. Aksden began buying up disused industrial land in the Århus area and regenerating it as housing complexes and high-tech business parks. He was always one step ahead of the economic trend. By the 1980s he had taken over a shipyard and an electronics factory, which both appeared defunct but were transformed under Mjollnir into leaders in the fields of containerization and micro-processing. In the 1990s came the big leap for the company: acquisition of a Swedish hotel chain, a large Norwegian fish-farming operation and a Finnish timber producer. Mjollnir’s headquarters moved to Copenhagen and its reign as a pan-Scandinavian economic powerhouse began. Burgaard emphasized the shock element in this development. Aksden kept such a low profile that his competitors never saw him coming. His far-sightedness was envied, his ruthlessness feared. He was considered by many to be positively un-Danish in this regard, although ignorance of his true personality and the rarity of his sightings in public ensured criticism gave way to awe at his achievements and a certain mystique that attached itself to the Invisible Man of the Nordic business world.
His family life was similarly low-key. He married Pernille Madsen, a Mjollnir employee nineteen years his junior, when he was forty-two. Their only child, Michael, was born in 1983. They had subsequently divorced. His sister, Elsa, married a neighbouring landowner in Jutland, and seldom stirred from rural obscurity. His brother, Lars, was the odd one out, cultivating a larger-than-life image as an artist, womanizer and dabbler in politics. As a young man, he had participated in the establishment of the Christiania hippy commune in Copenhagen and had sedulously maintained his anti-Establishment credentials ever since. About the only thing he had in common with Tolmar was that they were both divorced.
In Norse mythology, Mjollnir was Thor’s magical hammer, an instrument of destruction and creation. Tolmar Aksden had chosen the name for his company well. He had specialized in eliminating competitors and turning their failures into his successes. Nor was he
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