The Friend

by Joakim Zander

  *

  They roll past the commercial terminals quickly, through a gate that a security guard opens as soon as he sees the procession of police cars with flashing blue lights and screaming sirens.

  Now they’re on the other side of the airport, in front of a large hangar with vaulted ceilings.

  ‘I thought Säpo and MUST were on the same side?’ Klara says. ‘And I certainly didn’t think that one of the organizations kidnapped citizens?’

  ‘Well,’ Bronzelius says, ‘we both want to keep Sweden safe, if that’s what you mean. But our methods… differ slightly. We’re just cops, like you said. We want to see people arrested and convicted and democracy defended. It sounds silly maybe, but I really do believe in it.’

  ‘A little pompous perhaps,’ she says. ‘But I understand what you mean.’

  ‘MUST likes to work in the shadows,’ Bronzelius continues. ‘Everything is just one long game for them. The exchange of information between countries, shifting alliances. The secrets themselves are the goal, not revealing them. That’s where we differ. I work in the darkness, but I want to bring it into the light. They just want to go further in.’

  ‘What happens when we drive into the hangar?’ Klara says. ‘Who has the right to arrest whom?’

  Bronzelius looks at her with an eyebrow raised. ‘Who has the right to arrest whom?’ he repeats. ‘I thought you were a lawyer, Klara. Who has a monopoly on force within Sweden’s borders?’

  ‘The police,’ she says. ‘But is it really that simple?’

  ‘Is MUST the police?’ Bronzelius asks rhetorically.

  ‘They’re military, I suppose.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Bronzelius says. ‘They can think what they want, but what they’re up to is illegal. I’m with the police. It’s my duty to arrest them for kidnapping if that’s what they’re doing.’

  There’s something reassuring about Bronzelius’s old-school attitude. She sees him hold up a hand and point to the closed-off area in front of them.

  ‘This is where government planes usually land,’ he says. ‘And they’re sending people to be tortured in dictatorships from here.’

  He turns towards her. ‘But we’re fucking done with that.’

  She nods calmly. ‘Yes, we are,’ she says.

  *

  She hears aircraft engines above the sirens. Through the windshield, she sees several armed guards in civilian clothing approaching the police cars and then being waved back to their car.

  Bronzelius rolls down the window and holds up his badge. ‘We have a report of a kidnapping situation,’ he says briefly. ‘Open the gates.’

  The guard barely looks at his badge, staring at Bronzelius with confused, icy blue eyes. ‘There is no kidnapping here,’ he says. ‘However, the security of this nation is depending on this operation. I can’t let you in, and I think you already know that.’

  Without looking away from the guard, Bronzelius lifts his radio to his mouth. ‘Force the gate,’ he says. ‘Now.’

  They drive forward so fast the guard is forced to jump aside. Klara sees other guards streaming in through the gate, uncertain what’s required here or permitted. They finger their weapons, but don’t raise them.

  The doors to the hangar open, and several SWAT vehicles drive in at full speed and police officers jump out with automatic weapons. Armed men like the one at the gate, and with ski masks over their faces, look up in confusion, but in the end they lower their weapons and raise their hands.

  The situation is confusing at first, a chaotic mix of flashing lights, cars, people with guns and a rumbling plane in the middle of it all.

  Klara scans the hangar as she follows Bronzelius out of the car. A man in a black hood is lying on the floor. He was being guarded by two of the men in the hangar, but now there are two police officers at his side, and they’re waving over the EMTs.

  She also sees Jacob lying on the floor with his hands bound behind his back, his face pressed into the concrete, and a police officer leaning over him.

  ‘Is there anyone here who considers themselves responsible for this goddamn circus?’ Bronzelius roars.

  His voice manages to be heard even above the roar of the engines. Klara turns to him. He seems so unimaginably stable, almost like a father figure, in his leather jacket, his jeans, his sturdy boots.

  ‘Can somebody turn off that goddamn plane?’ he roars. ‘Now!’

  It takes a moment, but soon the sound is muffled.

  ‘Again,’ he says. ‘Who the hell is in charge of what’s going on in here?’

  A woman, just a few years older than Klara, with dark hair and eyes, takes a step forward and is restrained by the police. She looks furious, at her breaking point. ‘What in the hell is this?’ she yells. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’

  Bronzelius walks over to her. ‘So you’re the one who’s responsible here?’ he asks. ‘Who are you, first of all?’

  ‘Myriam Awad,’ she seethes. ‘The Office for Special Acquisition. I suggest that you turn around and leave immediately.’

  If it weren’t for the uniformed police officer standing between them, she would probably launch herself at Bronzelius. There’s no doubt that she would win that fight.

  ‘This is far above your skill set,’ she continues. ‘Calmly back away and call your boss. If you’re lucky, you might still be able to save your fucking mediocre career.’

  Bronzelius looks at her curiously. ‘I’ll be damned,’ he says. ‘They’re just getting younger and younger.’ He turns to the police officer standing next to her. ‘Cuff them all and take them in.’

  ‘You’re gonna regret this,’ Myriam Awad fumes. ‘Of that I’m one hundred per cent sure.’

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Bronzelius sighs. ‘Without a doubt.’

  One after another, the plainclothes agents are handcuffed and led to a police bus, which quietly drives away.

  Klara looks around and sees Jacob standing up, but being held back by two police officers.

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ Jacob screams, pointing to Yassim. ‘He’s almost unconscious!’

  Klara goes over to Jacob and puts a hand on his shoulder, but it’s pushed away by the police.

  ‘He’s wanted by the police, and he’s being arrested,’ the policeman says. ‘We have orders to take him to the detention centre.’

  ‘Klara,’ Jacob says desperately. ‘Where are they taking Yassim?’

  She assumes Yassim must be the man in the black hood she saw being led into an ambulance.

  ‘He’ll receive medical attention,’ she says quietly, looking into Jacob’s eyes. ‘I’ll make sure of it, I promise.’

  He looks at her with something wild and almost crazed in his eyes. ‘What’s going to happen to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jacob,’ she says. ‘I don’t know.’

  The police push him into the back seat of a police car, and Klara turns around and scans the hangar. In all that chaos, she must have missed George. She finds Bronzelius among the uniformed police officers and approaches him.

  ‘Someone is missing,’ she says.

  Bronzelius turns to her with a questioning expression.

  ‘George Lööw,’ she says.

  Bronzelius sends away the transports full of the detained and gives instructions to keep them isolated until further notice. Then he turns to the twenty or so police still there.

  ‘We’re missing somebody,’ he says calmly. ‘Start looking.’

  The police officers spread out across the hangar, starting to search everywhere, inside the airplane, the office, the storage room, the cleaning closet and toilets.

  Finally, Klara is the one who finds him. She’s sitting in the back seat of one of the police cars with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. But she can’t sit still, so she gets up and goes out to the hangar floor to help out. When she peeks into the trunk of a parked, black Volvo she sees him.

  ‘Here!’ she shouts. ‘Here he is!’

  Through the wi
ndow, she can make out George rolled up in the foetal position on his back, the hat he bought at H&M in Malmö still pulled low on his forehead, down over his eyes. ‘George! George!’ she cries, pounding on the window.

  And Bronzelius is beside her, holding her shoulders and pulling her away from the car. One of the police officers motions for an ambulance.

  She hears the heavy car shatter on the concrete as the police beat their way in to George, then she sees only the blinking blue lights and the stretcher and feels arms around her, hears voices saying everything will work out okay, even though she knows that’s not true.

  Nothing ever works out in the end.

  26 November

  Stockholm

  They arrive at Söder Hospital, snow whirling around the car in the yellow lights of the emergency exit. The police car stops behind the ambulance to give the emergency room staff space. There’s already a team in green and white waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

  Klara starts to pull at the car door. She has to get out, get to George’s lifeless body.

  ‘Wait,’ says the police officer in the front seat. ‘You don’t want to disturb them now. Let them do their job first.’

  She knows he’s right, knows it’s futile, knows the door is locked, still she can’t stop pulling on it. Can’t stop trying to prick this bubble, end this nightmare.

  *

  The young police officer stays with her in the waiting room even though his shift is over.

  ‘I can’t leave you here alone,’ he says. ‘Not after everything you’ve been through.’

  She turns to him and stares into his dark eyes, at his short black beard. He looks Iranian, or Middle Eastern – she hadn’t noticed before, hadn’t noticed anything. Except George, and now nothing else matters any more.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says.

  Then a doctor is standing in front of them, just inside the door. She’s in her fifties, dark hair in braids, looks like she hasn’t slept for a week, with dry, deep bags beneath her eyes.

  ‘Are you with the patient who arrived in the ambulance about half an hour ago?’ she asks, still standing in the doorway.

  Klara nods, her voice no longer works. The lump in her throat feels so large nothing will ever get by it again.

  ‘We don’t have a name for him,’ the doctor says. ‘Do you know who he is?’

  Klara nods again, but it is as if she has lost her voice and she can’t even get George’s name out.

  ‘George Lööw,’ the policeman says in a calm voice. ‘His name is George Lööw. How serious are his injuries?’

  The doctor shakes her head slowly, as if she’s not sure she heard correctly. ‘Injuries?’ she says. ‘Doesn’t have any that I know of. He’s unconscious, definitely. But we think he’s been drugged or anaesthetized. All of his vitals are completely normal. We’ve sent him up to a hospital room and we’re waiting for him to wake up.’

  *

  Klara sits down on a chair beside George’s bed and looks at him. At his smooth, calm face and ruffled blonde hair which she brushes away from his cool forehead. It’s over now. She feels a relief bordering on euphoria but at the same time the new possibilities scare her. What will happen when he wakes up?

  ‘He gave you a good scare.’

  She jumps and turns around. Bronzelius is leaning against the doorframe. Behind him, she catches a glimpse of the two uniformed police officers who showed up as soon as they moved George to this ward. Klara doesn’t know if they’re here to protect or guard them.

  ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘God, what a day. What a bunch of fucking days.’

  Bronzelius enters the room and sits down on a chair next to her.

  ‘Do you have time to be here?’ she asks. ‘Don’t you have people to interview and try to figure out what the hell this is all about?’

  ‘We are already making the arrests,’ he says calmly. ‘Everyone in the Swedish cell you had on your computer has been arrested. We have most of the London, Brussels and Rome cells, too.’

  Enormous relief washes over her. ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘The English found the same plans in London when they made their crackdown, so at least one courier was able to smuggle the information into Europe. It seems like they’d realized that Yassim was a traitor and the plans in Brussels were abandoned after what happened there. They were still planning to carry out the attacks in London and Rome, but in the morning instead of waiting for the evening.’

  ‘It’s so insane,’ Klara says. ‘It would have been a bloodbath. Oh, Jesus.’

  ‘Almost too much to fathom,’ Bronzelius says. ‘After Paris? So fucking awful.’

  ‘What happens now?’ Klara says, looking at him. ‘Where do we stand in all this?’

  ‘First of all,’ he begins, ‘your friend will be released.’ He sighs. ‘Unfortunately. Lord knows she made life tough for us this summer and autumn.’

  ‘Gabi?’ Klara says.

  ‘Yes,’ he says, falling silent for a while. ‘All the information we had was generated by Myriam Awad’s team, and she received it from the Russians. MUST apparently recruited Jacob Seger in Beirut, but he was a bit too independent for them.’

  Klara nods and smiles. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Love is inconvenient.’

  ‘The real mystery is Yassim,’ Bronzelius says. ‘He’s just a few wards away from here. He’s the real reason I’m here. Felt like the natural place to start, to interview him. And I’m sure he has quite a story to tell. He was recruited by Korolov in Beirut when his family was murdered. Then he infiltrated ISIS and became a courier. He even informed the Russians about what was going to happen in Paris…’

  ‘Do you believe that?’ Klara says.

  Bronzelius shrugs. ‘It’s the only thing that makes any sense if you consider what happened to the rest of you. It explains why the Russians were after you, right? They got Gabriella arrested so that she wouldn’t get hold of the information Jacob had. But they hadn’t reckoned on you and George. And Myriam’s wild bunch.’

  ‘But why didn’t they work with you?’ Klara says. ‘Why did they go their own way?’

  ‘You have to remember they thought Yassim was a terrorist,’ he says. ‘And best case, Jacob was naive; at worst, an accomplice. And it got out of hand. They lost control and direction. Apparently they intended to send at least Yassim to Egypt.’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Their spycraft looks a little different than my mediocre cop work, or whatever it is she called it. But there are still rules that even they are supposed to follow. At the same time, it’s not entirely unproblematic to storm in like we did. There will be quite a bit to untangle. But the terror attacks have been averted. People have been arrested throughout Europe. This ended up being quite a success, even if the road here was messy. Especially for you and your friends.’

  ‘Sorry I was so angry with you before,’ Klara says. ‘I was still furious from this summer.’

  Bronzelius smiles at her. ‘No problem. I’ve been through considerably worse. And no matter how it ends up, it was good we got hold of that little cell of Myriam’s. Who knows how many people they’ve sent to be interrogated in Egypt or Yemen or God knows where? But it’s over now, I can promise you that.’

  ‘The rule of law has been restored,’ Klara says. ‘Who would have thought we’d do it together a couple of months ago?’

  He smiles again. ‘It was goddamn good luck that you showed up,’ he says. ‘Otherwise, the Russians would have taken Jacob in Brussels and we’d be a few hours away from one of the worst terrorist attacks in European history.’

  Klara turns to the bed again and sees George starting to move his head. She stands up. Bronzelius does as well.

  ‘You’re no longer suspects,’ he says. ‘Just so you know. The police are just here for some added security. I’ll have to interview you, so don’t leave Stockholm before I have the chance to do that, okay. But otherwise I can only say: thank you.’

  ‘And Yassim?’ she says.

&n
bsp; ‘Who knows?’ he says. ‘We’ll interview him too and try to figure out his story. It’s not likely that the Russians will want him back after this.’ He falls silent and looks out through the window.

  ‘So what will happen to him?’ Klara asks quietly.

  Bronzelius shrugs and turns to her again. ‘If we can’t prove he’s committed any crime then he’ll be deported,’ he says.

  Klara nods. ‘Without him, we never would have been able to do this,’ she says. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair,’ he says.

  Klara hesitates for a moment and then takes a step towards him and gives him a hug. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘For listening to me, even after all that happened this summer.’

  ‘Klara?’ she hears a faint voice coming from the bed. ‘Where the hell am I now?’

  Bronzelius pats her on the shoulder. ‘Take care of him,’ he says. ‘Talk to you later.’

  She turns around and leans down over George, kisses him on the cheek.

  ‘You’re with me,’ she whispers.

  26 November

  Stockholm

  It’s still dark when Klara exits the Rådhuset subway station on Kungsholmen. She’s freezing in the frosty morning air and clutches the coffees she bought at Pressbyrån tightly in both hands. She takes a right on Bergsgatan, towards the police station and Kronoberg jail.

  It’s strange that she’s not more tired – she only slept for an hour, curled up in the hospital bed next to George. A nurse offered to let her sleep in another room, but leaving George felt impossible. They lay with their faces so close their noses touched, so close that their lips almost touched, and George told her everything that happened to him, Jacob and Yassim.

  ‘But why did they drug you?’ she asked. ‘The other two were conscious.’

  ‘I didn’t have anything they needed,’ George replied. ‘I think I was just ballast for them. I don’t remember anything from that hangar you’re talking about. Perhaps they didn’t want me to know what they were doing with Yassim and Jacob. To avoid any witnesses.’