Once the guards wave us through the gate, we get our first glimpse of the place.

The outside isn't much to look at.

Just a few temporary buildings, some construction equipment, and a massive pair of metal doors set into the base of the mountain. But the mountain

itself is breathtaking. I've heard Sweden is known for its Scandinavian mountains, but seeing

them in person is an experience in itself. The massive collection of dark, craggy rocks

looms over us as the transport van approaches the double doors.

For one giddy moment, I'm sure the mountain is falling on us, but it's just a trick of the mind.

Being this close makes it appear as if the thing is leaning over, ready to smash us to bits under a hundred million tons of stone.

The snow-covered peak scrapes the clouds as they go by. I imagine that the snow is blood from the clouds,

covering the sharp top of the massive weapon.

Is it bad that I think in such terms?

I don't know.

It's probably all the training I've had, and all the things

I've seen in my time with the foundation. Smiling with one side of my mouth, I lean forward

in my seat to look up at the gouged clouds as we close in on our destination. Pretty soon,

we're too close for me to see the top, and I lean back.

The hell you smiling about Lille?

A bear asks from next to me.

My first time in Europe, said to my colleague, who is ex-special forces,

with the seemingly endless stamina of a compact, energy-efficient man.

His dark hair is cut short,

but his black Fumanchu mustache is a little unruly.

...