Hostage

by Kristina Ohlsson

  Zakaria dropped his cigarette into the coffee cup. ‘What’s in it for me?’

  ‘That’s something we can discuss, of course. Have you any idea who might be behind this mess?’

  Zakaria shook his head. ‘I haven’t a clue. I don’t know anyone who’s capable of something like this. I don’t move in that kind of circle.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Eden said. ‘We’ve already dealt with all that. You’ve seen our surveillance footage, heard our phone tap material. You know that we know who your friends are.’

  Zakaria stared at Eden, then burst out laughing. But his eyes were full of sorrow.

  ‘You are fucking unbelievable. You sit there with your stupid photograph and leap to conclusions that put every conspiracy theory about Elvis in the shade. You have nothing, nothing that proves I was involved in planning a terrorist attack with Hassan and Ellis.’

  ‘I think I have a great deal,’ Eden said. ‘Not only did you collect that package . . .’

  ‘I’ve told you, I didn’t know what was in it!’

  ‘. . . but your friend Ellis was kind enough to tell us that you were involved.’

  The look Zakaria gave her was poisonous.

  ‘Just think about it,’ Eden said, leaning towards Zakaria. ‘You could make the difference between life and death for several hundred people. If you’re really not like Ellis and Hassan, you shouldn’t have any objections to helping us in our investigation. Who could be behind this?’

  Zakaria scratched his head. He looked tired. When he glanced up and met Eden’s gaze, she felt sorry for him for the first time.

  ‘I don’t know anything about this. Nothing at all.’

  And she believed him.

  Shit.

  She sat still for a little while longer. Her colleague didn’t move either; he seemed to have accepted his role.

  Zakaria took a deep breath. ‘You have to listen to me,’ he said, pleading with her for the first time. ‘I am not involved in any form of terrorism. I know you were able to link my phone to previous investigations, but as I’ve said a hundred times, that phone didn’t belong to me back then.’

  Eden knew that had been his defence, but it didn’t really change anything.

  ‘But you wouldn’t tell us whose phone it was, who you bought it from. And in court, you suddenly said that you didn’t remember the name of the person who sold it to you, or when you bought it. In which case, surely you have to understand that your story isn’t very convincing?’

  Zakaria said nothing.

  ‘I presume you still don’t remember where you got your mobile from?’

  Eden straightened up. Of course he wasn’t going to answer a question like that; it was all lies. Zakaria had no credibility left on this particular point; he had changed his story about the phone so many times that it was impossible to take him seriously, whatever he said.

  Still he didn’t speak; clearly the pleading was over for now.

  ‘No? Okay. You don’t remember, and I don’t have time to guess.’

  Eden got to her feet.

  ‘Whenever you come up with the name of someone you think could be involved in the hijack, just tell the guard and he’ll arrange for one of us to come down and see you.’

  She put the chair back in the corner.

  ‘Thanks for the chat.’

  ‘Thanks for the cigarette.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Eden said, and left the cell, with her colleague trailing behind her.

  24

  13:15

  ‘I thought someone from Säpo was supposed to be coming with us?’ Fredrika said as they were driving along Sankt Eriksgatan towards Torsgatan.

  They were on their way to Solna, where Karim lived.

  ‘Apparently, he’s travelling in his own car,’ Alex replied.

  They headed along Torsgatan towards the Solna Bridge and passed the Northern Station area, which had been transformed into a gigantic building site. There was talk of thousands of new homes and offices, but for most people the final outcome seemed very distant. So far there was no sign of any construction, just a whole lot of dust.

  ‘What’s your impression of Säpo?’

  Fredrika couldn’t help feeling curious. The people she had met at the two meetings she had attended so far had looked much as she had expected: well-dressed and talented. Eden Lundell was different, however; she was too colourful, too obvious. There was nothing discreet about Eden’s appearance, and yet it seemed to Fredrika that she didn’t give away anything of herself.

  ‘They’ve surprised me,’ Alex said. ‘I thought they’d be greyer, more boring.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve had several colleagues who’ve moved across to Säpo over the years, and none of them has looked exactly full of the joys of spring. Admittedly, they’ve all said they were happy in their new post, in spite of the fact that everything was so bloody secretive, but I could tell that things weren’t right somehow. Eventually, one of them got pissed at a party and told me the truth – that he would never have stayed if the money hadn’t been so good. Although he did seem to be doing a particularly boring job, and I’m sure a lot of them enjoy their work. Eden certainly seems to.’

  Fredrika shuddered. A boring job was the worst thing in the world. She also had friends and former colleagues who had moved over to Säpo, and had reached approximately the same conclusion as Alex. Not enough happened at Säpo, however bizarre that might sound, to make it worth applying for a post there.

  Alex slowed down; they had arrived.

  Karim Sassi lived in a house at the end of a terrace. Fredrika noticed that most of the windows lacked curtains, but there were large potted plants in several of them. She could see that the small garden at the front of the house was well cared for, even though autumn had come early and mercilessly killed off everything that was pretty and flourishing in the borders.

  They got out and were walking towards the front door just as another car appeared and parked behind Alex. A tall, dark man got out, raising a hand in greeting.

  ‘No one home?’ he asked.

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Alex replied.

  ‘I can’t see any lights,’ Fredrika said.

  The house was in darkness. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her; why did it always have to be so cold?

  Alex rang the bell, and the shrill sound made them all jump. No one came, and Alex tried again.

  The guy from Säpo shook his head.

  ‘There’s no one in,’ he said. He went down the steps and started peering in through the windows.

  Alex followed him, but Fredrika waited at the bottom of the steps. She was too short to be able to see in properly.

  This was a very pleasant area. Quiet. Plenty of greenery. Spencer, who had spent the whole of his adult life living in houses, had begun to question their decision to live in an apartment in the city centre. The children needed a garden, he said. But Fredrika thought it was more about Spencer’s own needs, about his identity.

  You can’t fool me, my darling.

  Fredrika would rather stick pins in her eyes than live outside the city.

  ‘If you can find a house in the middle of town, then I’ll move,’ she had said.

  They hadn’t really discussed the matter since then.

  Alex and the guy from Säpo had finished inspecting the house. No one was home, it was as simple as that.

  ‘I suppose the kids are in school and the wife is at work,’ Alex concluded.

  But Fredrika had the feeling there was more to it. The house had a deserted air about it, and she wondered if the family had actually gone away.

  ‘Don’t we have a phone number for the wife?’ she asked. ‘We could call her instead.’

  ‘We checked but we couldn’t find anything,’ Alex said. ‘That’s why we had to waste time driving over here. We don’t even have a landline number.’

  As they headed back towards the cars, they saw a young woman with a buggy approaching Karim’s house. She
looked worried, and slowed down before stopping a few yards away.

  Alex went to meet her, and introduced himself and his colleagues. Fredrika thought he had a disarming manner when he spoke to people he didn’t know, whereas she had a tendency to become more rigid, getting stuck in her professional role in a way that failed to inspire trust.

  The woman told them she was a close friend of the Sassi family.

  ‘I live over there,’ she said, pointing. ‘We usually keep an eye on the post when one of us is away; I was just coming to empty their mailbox.’

  So they had gone away. Fredrika felt a stab of disappointment, and she could see that Alex felt the same. Their colleague from Säpo remained expressionless.

  ‘Has something happened?’ the woman asked. ‘With the police being here, I mean.’

  She looked even more worried as she went on.

  ‘Well, I mean of course something’s happened; such a lot seems to have gone on, both yesterday and today. It’s all very upsetting, what with this plane being hijacked and everything.’

  Strangely enough, she didn’t seem to have made a connection between the police’s visit to Karim’s house and the plane she had just mentioned, Fredrika thought. If they were such good friends that they took care of each other’s post, then she must know that Karim was a pilot.

  ‘We need to get hold of Karim’s wife,’ Alex said. ‘It’s nothing serious, we’d just like to ask her one or two questions. I don’t suppose you have her contact details?’

  The neighbour started rummaging in her handbag.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got her mobile number here. She usually keeps her phone switched on even when she’s in Denmark.’

  ‘Denmark?’

  ‘Her parents live there; she was born and raised in Copenhagen.’

  ‘I see. Will she be there for long?’

  ‘They left this morning, and I think they’re staying all week.’

  So they wouldn’t be able to see her face to face for several days, but that didn’t matter; they would have to call her instead.

  We only have hours in any case.

  Fredrik had to remind herself that this investigation had a time limit unlike any other. She pictured the plane as she silently worked out how much fuel was being used up every minute, every hour. How could they possibly fix this in time?

  ‘You haven’t noticed anything unusual in the neighbourhood over the last few days?’ Alex asked casually.

  The woman shook her head.

  ‘No, I can’t say I have.’

  ‘Good,’ Alex said. ‘In that case, I’m sure everything’s fine.’

  He made a note of the mobile number and thanked the woman for her help.

  As they were just about to walk away, she suddenly said, ‘Actually, there was something.’

  It was always the same. There was usually something to remember if you just thought about it.

  ‘Tell me,’ Alex said.

  ‘I don’t know if this is of any interest to you, but when I came over to pick up the key this morning, I saw Karim’s youngest daughter talking to a girl I didn’t recognise.’

  ‘It wasn’t another mother from somewhere around here?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but I have to confess that I can’t really tell you much about what she looked like. She was leaning forward, facing away from me. Karim’s daughter was playing in the front garden, and the door was open. This girl was standing on the pavement, talking to the child over the fence. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if the little girl hadn’t got so upset.’

  Fredrika could see that Alex was digesting what he had heard. Could this have something to do with the investigation, or was it just an unrelated incident?

  ‘Why did she get upset?’

  ‘I don’t know. She suddenly raised her voice – Karim’s daughter, I mean. I didn’t really hear what she said.’

  ‘Was Karim home at the time?’

  ‘No, he’d already left for work.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Karim’s daughter ran back inside, and the girl walked away.’

  Fredrika pictured the scene. The child in the garden and the girl on the street. The child running indoors, the girl walking away. Perhaps the child had annoyed the girl? Thrown something at her as she was passing by?

  A non-event that had no place in the investigation.

  The frustration was growing. Nothing would be more dangerous than if they started wasting time chasing ghosts.

  25

  13:16

  Buster Hansson, the General Director of Säpo, had two problems. The first involved the unfortunate plane hijacking, of course, which looked as though it was going to be a much more long-drawn out saga than he had first thought. And the second problem involved Eden Lundell.

  Eden Lundell.

  What a bloody name. Apparently, Eden was a common Jewish girl’s name, but Buster had never heard it before. The woman was as pretty as a picture, but she had a style and an attitude that had already started to get on Buster’s nerves.

  There had been some doubt about whether it was possible to appoint a Jewess as the head of counter-terrorism in Sweden. What signals would it send out when they were working with other countries’ security services, particularly when it came to the Middle East? It had been decided at an early stage that Eden would attend as few meetings as possible. After all, she was the head of the unit, and as such would not normally be involved in working parties. Of course it was impossible to keep Eden away from international contacts altogether. For example, within the CTG, the EU’s intelligence group on counter-terrorism, Eden had to play her part. Within the EU her background was less of an issue; the French might possibly raise an eyebrow, but Buster couldn’t have cared less about that.

  What he did care about was the fact that the head of MI5 had requested a meeting with Buster in order to discuss one of his ‘latest recruits’. He had called Buster personally, and had said little over the phone. Eden’s name had not been mentioned during the conversation, but Buster was still convinced that she was the person his British colleague wanted to talk about.

  The call from MI5 had been surprising in more ways than one. First of all, that kind of direct contact at the highest level was unusual, and secondly it had been made very clear that the information the head of MI5 intended to pass on to Buster must be kept within as limited a circle as possible, and that he therefore didn’t want anyone else at their meeting. Thirdly, he had asked for their conversation to be off the record.

  Admittedly, Buster hadn’t been head of Säpo for very long, but he found it difficult to imagine that this kind of arrangement was normal. He glanced at his watch; it was almost time. He had asked his secretary to make room in his diary for a ‘special activity’, and had booked one of the less popular conference rooms. Buster Hansson leaned back on his chair. He didn’t like the sound of this. Not one little bit.

  Fifteen minutes after the agreed time, the head of MI5 called from his mobile.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘Where can we meet?’

  Buster took the lift down to the ground floor to meet his visitor at the entrance to Polhemsgatan 30. A former general director of Säpo had taken the initiative and commissioned the construction of a new HQ, which would be ready in 2013. It was much needed. The organisation had outgrown its current accommodation long ago. The move would bring a fresh start, and would be worthy of a national security service.

  Buster led the head of MI5 to the dullest and most discreet conference room. Ugly but functional. His colleague looked around.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve been in here before,’ he said.

  I don’t suppose you have, Buster thought.

  ‘Coffee? Tea? Or would you prefer water?’

  Buster’s wife had always said he wasn’t a good host, and she was probably right. He couldn’t find any biscuits in the small pantry adjoining the conference room; his visitor said yes to coffee and no to everything else.

  They
sat down facing one another. Buster wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, but his counterpart didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He looked a little unsure of himself, as if he was having last minute doubts about the wisdom of requesting this meeting.

  ‘You’ve been busy lately,’ he said eventually.

  ‘You could say that,’ Buster replied. ‘But things have turned out well.’

  ‘I must congratulate you on the recent convictions; I had a feeling that Operation Paradise would be a great success. Just as several other European operations were at the same time.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The Englishman finished his coffee and pushed away his cup.

  ‘Eden Lundell,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your latest recruit. A real shooting star, and another reason to offer my congratulations.’

  For some reason, this comment didn’t seem quite as sincere as the first, but Buster chose not to say anything.

  ‘As I’m sure you know, Eden worked for us for a number of years.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. I also recall that we contacted you to ask for references. You had nothing but positive things to say about her.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ the head of MI5 agreed. ‘Eden was one of the very best; she could have gone far with us if she’d stayed.’

  ‘But she chose to move to Sweden with her husband,’ Buster said.

  He knew Eden’s story by heart. She was married to Mikael Lundell, a pastor who had worked for the Swedish church in London. That was how they had got to know one another and become a couple. Mikael’s post in London was temporary; sooner or later he would have to return home to Sweden. It made no difference to Eden; she had been born in Stockholm to a British mother who was also Jewish. Her father was Swedish and a Christian, at least on paper. If Buster remembered rightly, he had converted when he moved to Tel Aviv with Eden’s mother. The family had lived in Stockholm first of all, then London. They had moved to Israel some years ago.

  ‘A wise decision,’ the head of MI5 said, referring to Eden’s move to Stockholm with Mikael. ‘She’s not the kind of woman who could cope with a long-distance relationship.’