Hostage

by Kristina Ohlsson

  Alex smiled at her. ‘Unfortunately I don’t think all the discretion in the world will do any good. There’s going to be a hell of a fuss.’

  ‘That can’t be helped.’

  Sebastian raised his hand to indicate that he had something to say.

  ‘Yes?’ Eden said.

  ‘You don’t think this could be a diversionary tactic?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘At nine thirty tomorrow morning, parliament will open the most controversial debate of the year. And we have just decided to dedicate all our resources to investigating no less than four bomb threats targeting completely different locations.’

  Rain was hammering against the window pane behind Eden, but she hardly noticed it. How could she have missed something so obvious?

  ‘Parliament,’ Alex said. ‘It’s not my call, but don’t you think they should cancel the debate? Or at least postpone it until we know what this is all about?’

  Sebastian placed a hand on Eden’s arm.

  ‘I agree. An hour ago, we said that we didn’t think tomorrow’s debate merited increased security arrangements, but now our assessment has changed. That means the debate should be cancelled or postponed.’

  Eden moved her arm away.

  ‘That’s GD’s decision. All we can do is supply the information and make decisions.’

  Säpo’s General Director was always known within the organisation as GD. Everyone knew his name was Buster, but he was only ever referred to as GD.

  ‘Of course.’

  Eden glanced at the clock. Time was passing much too quickly. She wished she could put her finger on the hands and stop them from moving.

  The decision to evacuate the four targeted locations was made just fifteen minutes later by the commanding officer of the Stockholm city police, together with the general director of Säpo. The city police would handle the practical arrangements and ensure that the buildings were emptied. Alex could feel his pulse rate increasing as he ran back to his office along the corridor.

  Peder Rydh would have loved this, he thought. And Fredrika would have been the one reminding us to stop and think.

  The four bomb threats overshadowed every other news item. The journalists had a hundred questions, but the police had no answers. In the shadow of the tumult that followed the evacuation of the four locations, there was a brief interval during which the police were able to evacuate the parliament building as well, and search the whole place with sniffer dogs. Just after four o’clock, the press caught up with the story, and parliament was besieged with reporters.

  The big question was whether to advise the postponement of the debate. Eden Lundell was right; it wasn’t her decision. It was an issue for other branches of Säpo to consider, and Alex assumed that it would then be up to the director to make a recommendation. But what did Alex know – after all, he had once turned down the opportunity to work within the country’s most secret security service. They had no evidence whatsoever to suggest that the threat was actually directed at parliament, even though it was tempting to jump to that conclusion.

  Alex couldn’t stop thinking about Eden Lundell. He had heard her name before, but they had never met. How was that possible? How could she have been working for the National Bureau of Investigation for several years without their bumping into one another?

  Eden was not a police officer, but she had gone through the formal leadership programme, and had far better qualifications than most. It was clear that she had no objection to getting her hands dirty. She wasn’t the classic desk jockey who avoided the practical aspects of the job and buried themselves in admin. Eden Lundell had real presence, and Alex caught himself thinking that he would really like to work with her.

  He went straight up to his office, picked up his jacket and went out again. He didn’t want to sit there wondering what was going on, he wanted to be on the spot. His boss looked surprised when Alex called by and said that he was on his way to parliament. It wasn’t about the need to control things, it was simply a desire to be in the thick of the action. And to try to understand what was going on.

  One of the squad cars was parked on Polhemsgatan. Alex unlocked the door and climbed in. It was pouring down, and he got soaked even though he hurried.

  As he glanced in the rear-view mirror, he saw Eden scurry past; she ran across Polhemsgatan to a car parked a little way down the street. Was she going to parliament as well? If so, she could travel with Alex. But Eden was fast. She was already in the car and had started the engine. Alex didn’t move. Perhaps she wasn’t going to parliament at all, but to another meeting.

  When Eden drove away, Alex was still sitting behind the wheel. They were the ones who had assumed that parliament was a target for the person who had made the threats. They were the ones who had created this sense of confusion. As he turned the key, he couldn’t help wondering if that had in fact been the aim: to cause havoc.

  7

  16:03

  It was obvious that the bomb threats had frightened people. Fredrika Bergman and her colleagues in the Justice Department who had offices in Rosenbad were evacuated along with everyone else. Fredrika slipped her documents into her bag and was given a temporary workstation in the Foreign Office building on Fredsgatan, where she would continue to work on Zakaria Khelifi’s case. She was acutely aware of the anxiety engendered by the threats, and spoke to several of her colleagues on the phone. No one had heard anything new, no one had any idea what it was all about.

  She felt restless as she turned her attention to Khelifi’s case. She made one call after another, getting in touch with the Immigration Board, the Immigration Supreme Court and the police. There was nothing to add as far as Khelifi was concerned. He would have to leave the country. Zakaria Khelifi would serve as an example of what happened if you challenged democracy and an open society. As the idiot who had just made four separate bomb threats had done.

  Fredrika couldn’t settle. Why did she never enjoy her job? Why did she constantly wish she was somewhere else, doing something different? There had been times when she had thought she would never find job satisfaction in her life. The pursuit of happiness had subsided since the birth of her children. They assuaged her hunger in a way that felt secure, enabling her to grow as a person. She ran her finger over the photograph of her son. So like his father. She hoped that Spencer would live for many years to come, so that the child wouldn’t lose his father when he was too young.

  Thinking about Spencer’s age often made her feel stressed, so she made an effort and focused on the computer. She read several articles about the bomb threats that had paralysed the whole of inner-city Stockholm in less than an hour.

  His name cropped up in the middle of one piece. Alex Recht.

  Detective Inspector Alex Recht was not prepared to comment on the National Bureau of Investigation’s view of the bomb threats that have been received, but he stated that all necessary measures have been taken, and that the Stockholm city police and Säpo are working closely together.

  A longing that Fredrika had been unaware of suddenly sprang to life. Alex Recht was one of the best bosses she had ever had, far superior to any other team leader she had known.

  Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached out and picked up her mobile. Alex answered at the third ring.

  ‘Things are pretty difficult right now, Fredrika.’

  ‘I realise that. I just wanted to . . .’

  What did she want? What had she been thinking when she called him? Nothing at all.

  ‘You wanted some information about the bomb threats?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her voice was so weak, his so decisive.

  ‘I don’t really know what to say. It’s a bit chaotic around here at the moment. Bombs all over the city, for God’s sake.’

  The line crackled; it sounded as if he was outdoors, in a windy spot somewhere. She looked out of the window. The usual weather for this time of year: rain. And yet, just hearing his voice made h
er feel safe. If Alex was dealing with the bomb threats, then things were bound to turn out okay.

  ‘And what about parliament?’

  ‘We can’t be sure yet, but it’s possible that someone might have made the threats in order to keep us busy elsewhere while they attack the parliament building.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Exactly. If that’s the plan, then I have to say we’re facing a dangerous scenario.’

  Fredrika looked at her screen.

  ‘This will be grist to the mill of the anti-foreigner brigade – the debate has just been cancelled.’

  ‘It hasn’t been cancelled,’ Alex said. ‘But it might be postponed. The Speaker was furious when Säpo spoke to him. He insisted the debate must go ahead tomorrow, at any price. The cost of cancelling would be incalculable.’

  The Speaker was best known for two things: his quick temper and his warmth. Fredrika didn’t know anyone who disliked him, regardless of which party they belonged to.

  ‘I have to go,’ Alex said.

  ‘Call me if . . . anything happens. Or if . . .’

  She heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

  ‘Are you missing us? The police, I mean?’

  Was she?

  ‘No, no, I’m really happy here in the Justice Department. Up to my ears in papers and reports. Just what I like.’

  ‘I thought we’d decided that you were like the rest of us, someone who wanted to be out in the field.’

  When she didn’t reply, Alex said, ‘Take care of yourself; I’ll speak to you soon.’

  He ended the call, and Fredrika put down her phone. It was ten to five. The first bomb would soon explode.

  The rain made Eden Lundell’s hair curl and extinguished her cigarette. Bloody weather. She threw away the cigarette and walked into the foyer of the parliament building.

  ‘I’m sorry, you can’t come in here,’ said the uniformed police officer on the door.

  Eden took out her ID and he stepped aside. The other officers followed her with their eyes as she swept past. Sebastian had looked at her as if she was crazy when she told him where she was going.

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he said. ‘You’re not expected to go out on this kind of thing.’

  He meant well, and his tone of voice was the one Eden had noticed other parents using when they talked to their children. She herself had always spoken to her children the same way she spoke to everyone else – as if they were adults.

  ‘I couldn’t care less what people expect.’

  Sebastian started to look annoyed.

  ‘If you’re going out, you should at least have someone with you. One of my analysts, for example.’

  Eden had been unable to hide her contempt for his suggestion.

  ‘You mean one of your so-called Arabists?’

  She could have bitten her tongue, but the words were already out. And Sebastian, who of course was loyal to his colleagues, had hit the roof.

  ‘You have absolutely no right to say such a thing! I really don’t know . . .’

  ‘Correct,’ Eden said, raising her voice. ‘You don’t know anything. And that really doesn’t matter, Sebastian. But in that case, you have to let those of us with the necessary experience go out and do the job properly. I have to know what I’m talking about when I see GD later.’

  It had been an unnecessary confrontation. Eden worked well with Sebastian, and yet she had felt it necessary to trample all over him and his analysts. So-called Arabists. By that she meant those who started their CV with the claim that they had studied Arabic for several years, and yet were incapable of running a simple meeting with Arab speakers without the assistance of an interpreter. That had nothing to do with their analytical skills, of course. Generally speaking, Sebastian’s team were highly qualified. By no means all of them had studied Arabic, and those who had didn’t do so in order to learn to communicate in the language. Shit. She would definitely have to apologise later. If Sebastian took the matter further, it would look bad.

  The argument went out of her mind. She had to focus on parliament now.

  It struck her that the Swedish parliament was housed in a very boring building. Not like their British or French counterparts.

  Or the Israeli parliament.

  The Knesset in Jerusalem was a joy in its simplicity, a reminder of how young the Israeli state was, and yet what a long history it had. If her husband Mikael had got his way, he and Eden would have moved there along with her parents. But Eden couldn’t think of anywhere she would be less happy to bring up her children, and that clinched the argument. If the Jewish member of the family didn’t want to emigrate, then everyone else stayed at home too.

  She soon spotted Alex. He was talking to a man whom Eden assumed was a police officer. Alex raised a hand in greeting when he saw her.

  ‘So you couldn’t stay away either?’ she said.

  Alex looked embarrassed.

  ‘I like to keep an eye on things.’

  ‘Me too. Have they found anything?’

  ‘Nothing. But they’ve only just started.’

  Eden gazed around. Police everywhere. No doubt the situation was exactly the same at the Central Station and the Royal Library. And at Åhlén’s and Rosenbad.

  It was a strange choice of locations.

  Mikael called, wanting to know where she was.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said.

  The priest calling his private source for advice. The thought appealed to Eden.

  ‘We don’t know,’ she said, turning away from Alex.

  ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘What? No, no. Mikael, this is really nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Are you sure? I’ve been watching the news. It’s crazy out there.’

  Eden didn’t know what he was talking about. She told him she had to go, and ended the call.

  ‘My husband,’ she said briefly to Alex, who hadn’t asked who the call was from.

  ‘Is he a police officer too?’

  ‘A priest.’

  Alex looked as if he was about to burst out laughing, but he managed to control himself.

  ‘I know,’ Eden said. ‘I don’t look like someone who’s married to a priest.’

  She tugged at her wet hair, trying to make it lie down. A uniformed officer came over to them.

  ‘There are huge numbers of people out on the streets.’

  So that was what Mikael had meant.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Well, there are all the people we’ve turned out of the various locations, plus the rubberneckers who’ve come to see what’s going on.’

  Eden could feel her frustration growing. Four bomb threats, plus the evacuation of parliament just to be on the safe side. One word passed through her mind: idiotic. This was an idiotic exercise.

  ‘This is nothing,’ she said firmly to Alex. ‘It’s a bluff. The bomb threats, parliament, the whole thing. This is just someone who wants to wind us up. Cause havoc. And take a look around. It’s hard to say that he or she hasn’t succeeded.’

  Alex scratched his head.

  ‘It’s too soon to be sure that it’s just a bluff. We need to hold our nerve.’

  Eden looked at her watch.

  ‘It’s gone five o’clock, and evidently no bomb has gone off so far. Nothing is going to happen at five fifteen or five thirty either,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ Alex replied.

  If Eden was right, Stockholm would still be intact when the hands on the clock had passed five forty-five.

  8

  19:10

  The crisis came and went. By six o’clock, no bombs had gone off, and as far as parliament was concerned, Säpo were continuing to search the building, but didn’t expect to find anything. The Speaker announced that the debate on immigration and integration would take place as planned the following morning.

  The Central Station and Åhlén’s department store opened their doors to the public just after
seven and, at about the same time, it was decided that employees at the Royal Library and Rosenbad could return to their offices if they needed to make up the working hours they had lost.

  Fredrika Bergman stayed on in the Foreign Office building on Fredsgatan after the end of the working day; she didn’t want to go home until the issue of the bomb threats was resolved.

  Then suddenly the danger was past. The story of the mysterious bomb threats lived on in news bulletins all over the country, but nowhere else. Fredrika picked up her jacket and bag and went home.

  That night she lay awake in the darkened bedroom, gazing at Spencer.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked without lifting his head from the pillow.

  ‘Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.’

  She sensed a smile on his face.

  ‘Aha.’

  Was he looking older these days? She edged closer. Sometimes she thought she could see new lines and wrinkles on his face every day, and that made her panic. She didn’t want Spencer to age any more quickly than he had done over the past few years. He was twenty-five years older than her; she couldn’t bear it if the gap grew any wider.

  She caressed his forehead, saw him close his eyes. He would fall asleep at any moment, as he always did when they had made love even though it was very late. There had been a time in their lives when their relationship couldn’t be exposed to the light of day; they had been able to meet only in the evenings and at night. In those days it was never too late for sex, and they were never too tired.

  But now . . .

  After two children and a period of turbulence caused by Spencer’s separation from his wife, plus the chaos that followed when he was falsely accused of raping a student, things were very different. Most of the time they were both perfectly happy sitting side by side on the sofa and falling asleep in front of some mindless TV programme.

  It was hard to admit it but, unfortunately, Spencer wasn’t the only one who had aged. For example, Fredrika couldn’t remember the last time she had been really drunk. Was it at a deadly boring reception that one of Spencer’s colleagues had given in New York? She couldn’t remember.