‘I’ve never even heard of him.’
‘He wrote the poem “Ring out, wild bells” – the one they read out at Skansen every New Year’s Eve.’
Marina shrugged. ‘Is he mixed up in this too?’
Fredrika suppressed a laugh. The first of the day; it would have been nice to let it out.
‘No. He’s been dead for a long time.’ The Säpo officer had one last question.
‘Where can we get hold of Karim’s father?’
‘I haven’t a clue. Neither Karim nor I have heard from him for the last twenty years.’
‘According to the records, he emigrated.’
‘That could well be the case. Nothing that man does would surprise me.’
Marina rested her elbows on the table, demanding everyone’s attention.
‘I didn’t think you were interested in men like Karim. In a way, I’m glad I was wrong.’
Fredrika had no idea what she was talking about, and she could see that her colleague from Säpo was in the same boat.
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘I thought you only went after Islamists, that you assumed all terrorists were Muslims. But that’s not the case.’
The guy from Säpo looked as if didn’t know what to say, how to react.
‘Of course not,’ he managed eventually.
But it was obvious that he didn’t understand what this had to do with Karim Sassi, and Marina went on:
‘I presume you know that Karim was born and raised by two Christian parents who only go to church on Christmas Day?’
Their expressions gave them away, and Marina immediately exploded.
‘I don’t believe it! You looked at my Karim and saw a terrorist, just because he has his father’s name and colouring! You assumed that he was a Muslim, because that would make him fit in better in your imaginary world!’
‘Listen to me,’ the Säpo officer said, trying to turn things around. ‘We haven’t assumed anything, we’re just trying to work out why someone is interested in what happens to Zakaria Khelifi. And unfortunately, your son knows Khelifi, or at least used to know him, and he is flying the plane that has been hijacked by someone whose only contact so far has been through a note left in one of the toilets on board.’
As Fredrika listened, she thought her colleague was both right and wrong. At no point during the investigation had they put a label on the terrorists who were holding four hundred passengers hostage, but they had definitely assumed that there was an Islamic connection.
Because there was a connection in Zakaria Khelifi’s case.
And there was a connection when it came to Tennyson Cottage.
A suspicion was beginning to grow in Fredrika’s mind:
Karim is not the one who’s behind this. At least not alone.
On the other hand, terrorism had so many different faces. Who was to say it couldn’t look like Karim Sassi?
35
17:00
For the first time, Eden Lundell was standing smoking in the shelter down in the basement at Police HQ. A decision had been made to remove all smoking shelters, but for some reason the one in the basement had remained. In the past Eden wouldn’t have dreamt of smoking in there. It would have been beyond tragic. Until today. It was pouring with rain outside, and she wanted to stay away from the main entrance where reporters were hiding out in various vehicles.
She was pleased to find herself alone in the smoking shelter. If anyone had been sitting there when she arrived, she would have asked that person to leave. She needed to be on her own, to light a cigarette and think about everything that had happened during the course of the day.
It had really started the previous day, with the empty bomb threats. Eden still didn’t understand where they fitted into this drama. The next thing was the bomb threat found on a flight heading for the USA. Terrorism had once more raised its head in Sweden, severely shaking the Swedish self-image, which was so pathetic that Eden couldn’t take it seriously.
The image of Sweden as a country that didn’t deserve terrorism. The country that trumpeted its neutrality, yet co-operated on a military basis with both the EU and NATO. The country that thought it could draw on significant reserves of international goodwill, because for decades it had been regarded as pro-Palestinian. The country that regarded itself as a role model for other nations, in every respect. Crap, all of it. Times had changed, and it was necessary to adjust expectations, to accept the reality of the situation.
She glanced at her watch. Damn it, the girls needed picking up from day care. She had no choice, she would have to call Mikael and ask him to abandon his confirmation class. National security must come first.
Decisively, she stubbed out her cigarette on the shiny surface of the ashtray. The latest information from the Americans was that they were going to ask Karim to stay outside US airspace until further notice. That sounded sensible; once he had passed over the US border, anything could happen. A plan of action began to take shape in Eden’s mind. First of all, she wanted to find out what the interviews with Zakaria’s uncle and Karim’s mother had produced, if anything. Then she would turn every single scrap of information in Zakaria’s case inside out. There had to be a link between Zakaria and Tennyson Cottage, she was sure of it. It was there, right in front of them. She could feel it in her whole body. So why couldn’t she see it?
Alex Recht rarely, if ever, felt inadequate, but as he sat in the car with a female Säpo officer on the way to Traneberg to speak to Zakaria Khelifi’s uncle, he could tell that his anxiety over Erik was causing him to lose his edge. He wished he could have conducted this interview with Fredrika instead, but she had gone back to Kungsholmen to write a report for her department. He glanced at the colleague who was driving, and tried to remember her name. Viola? Vivianne?
He got his answer when her mobile rang and she answered.
‘Veronika.’
After a brief conversation, she ended the call.
‘A colleague,’ she said to Alex.
‘Right,’ he said, mostly for the sake of something to say.
After that they drove in silence. Through Kungsholmen, out onto the Traneberg Bridge. The view from up there was always magnificent, always stunningly beautiful. Stockholm was the loveliest capital city in the whole world. Alex’s own mobile rang, and he felt a warm glow in his chest when he saw that it was Diana.
‘Have you heard any more about Erik?’
Her voice was thick with worry. She had lost a child herself, a daughter. If anyone knew what torment it was to lose a person you had created, it was Diana.
But we’re not there yet.
‘No,’ Alex replied. ‘But we’re working on it.’
They were ‘working on it’. The time was almost five thirty, the plane was seventy-five minutes away from its destination, and the police were still saying they were trying to find a way to avert a disaster. But how? How were they going to do that?
He could hear her breathing at the other end of the line, and wondered what would have become of him if he hadn’t met her. He had thought it would be impossible for him to love again, and had been surprised by how easy it actually was. When Diana opened her arms to him, it was as if his frozen heart thawed, and gave him back the will to live.
The car stopped; they had arrived.
‘I’ll call you later,’ Alex said. He slipped the phone into his pocket and followed Veronika up the stairs to the apartment in which Zakaria Khelifi’s uncle lived.
The uncle had been interviewed by the press, and had made no secret of the fact that he was appalled by the way his nephew’s case had been handled. Alex understood perfectly; he would have felt the same if he had been a relative. But he certainly didn’t feel that way as a law enforcement officer.
They hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but nor had they expected Zakaria Khelifi’s uncle to be so openly hostile. Moussa Khelifi had lived in Sweden for over thirty years, and spoke Swedish with an almost imperceptible accent.
<
br /> ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded. ‘I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to turn up on my doorstep!’
‘We think you might be able to help us,’ Veronika said. ‘And Zakaria.’
Moussa remained standing in the doorway; he didn’t look as if he had any intention of letting them in.
‘I came to you,’ he said to Veronika. ‘Do you remember? I came to Säpo during the trial and asked to speak to you.’
‘I remember. I also remember that two of our officers came down and listened to you. They gave you our phone number, and you called us later on.’
‘And what did I say?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t on duty that day.’
‘I said that Zakaria was innocent,’ Moussa said, his eyes suspiciously shiny. ‘I begged you to rethink, to let Zakaria go. But you refused to lift a finger to help him.’
Alex wasn’t familiar with Zakaria Khelifi’s case; he didn’t know why Säpo considered him to be so important. But he thought he knew something about the relatives of those who had fallen foul of the law.
‘Moussa,’ he said. ‘The situation has changed. You must have seen the news – someone has hijacked a plane and is demanding Zakaria’s release.’
‘Of course I’ve seen it, but it’s nothing to do with me. Nothing at all.’
Alex took a tentative step forward.
‘Could we possibly come inside for a little while? It seems a bit silly to be discussing this on the landing.’
A second passed, then another. Moussa Khelifi stepped back and let them in.
‘You can’t stay long,’ he said.
‘We won’t,’ Alex reassured him.
Moussa showed them into the living room. Alex swallowed hard when he saw the pictures on the walls, the ceramic bowls on display. Diana would have paid a fortune for them.
Veronika and Alex sat down on the sofa, while Moussa perched on a stool. It was too small, and made him look like a giant.
‘Where were you working in the summer of 2002?’ Veronika asked.
‘At an Ericsson factory in Kista. I worked there until they shut it down.’
‘Do you remember a Karim Sassi?’
Moussa frowned. At first, Alex thought he was going to say no, but eventually he said slowly:
‘Sassi . . . yes, I do remember him. He was the son of one of my colleagues – Marina.’
‘Did Zakaria ever meet him?’
Moussa thought back.
‘Zakaria spent a summer with me here in Sweden before he started university. I think it could well have been in 2002. I don’t have any children, and I was afraid he would feel lonely when he came over, so I asked Marina if they could hook up – Zakaria and her Karim.’
‘Did they spend much time together?’
‘No, as far as I know they only met up now and again. Zakaria didn’t speak Swedish, and although his English wasn’t bad, it was nowhere near as good as Karim’s. In Zakaria’s family, I think it’s only his sister who is really gifted when it comes to languages. She learned Swedish quicker than I did.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Why are you asking questions about Zakaria and Karim?’
‘Unfortunately, we can’t tell you that at the moment, but . . .’
Moussa spread his arms in a gesture of resignation.
‘I could never do your job,’ he said, looking Veronika in the eye. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of what you do? Going to visit people you don’t even know and humiliating yourself by asking stupid questions?’
His words took Veronika’s breath away, and she didn’t know what to say.
‘We all have different jobs to do,’ Alex said quietly.
‘And mine is to take care of Zakaria’s interests,’ Moussa said. ‘I don’t care why you’re interested in him and Karim. If you don’t have any more questions, I’d like you to leave.’
‘Do you know if they met up after 2002?’ Veronika asked.
‘I don’t think so. I would probably have heard about it if they had.’
Moussa showed them out. Their meeting had lasted only a few minutes, but he was anxious to get rid of them.
‘I’m disappointed,’ he said when they were standing in the hallway. ‘In you and in Sweden. I didn’t think this could happen. Not in Sweden. What if something happens to Zakaria when he’s sent back to Algeria?’
There was nothing more to say. Neither Alex nor Veronika made any attempt to explain that Zakaria was judged to be a security risk, a threat to the country, and that was why he had to go home. Nor did they comment on the fact that the threat level to Zakaria had actually been assessed; the conclusion was that it was possible for him to return to Algeria. It was part of Moussa’s role as his uncle to believe that Zakaria was innocent. It couldn’t be helped that Alex and Veronika had a different agenda; that was just the way things were.
They thanked Moussa for sparing the time to talk to them, and went back to the car. Alex looked up at the dark, threatening sky. Something Moussa had said was niggling away at the back of his mind, but he didn’t remember what it was until they were back at Kungsholmen.
‘Did we know that Zakaria Khelifi has a sister who lives in Sweden?’ he said.
Veronika thought for a moment.
‘I didn’t take any notice when he mentioned her but, to be honest, I don’t know Zakaria’s case all that well.’
Alex grabbed his phone and called Eden.
‘Did you know that Zakaria has a sister?’
‘I think he has several sisters,’ Eden replied.
‘I mean a sister who lives in Sweden.’
Eden didn’t say anything for a moment.
‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Alex put his phone away.
It seemed as if they were being fed fresh information all the time, but however hard they looked, they couldn’t find anything that would move the investigation forward.
36
FLIGHT 573
When Erik Recht’s mother died, Erik had found his father crying in his study. At first he hadn’t known what to do, whether he was expected to turn around and walk away, or whether his father wanted some company. He had hesitated for such a long time that he eventually decided he had to make his presence felt, which he achieved by clearing his throat.
‘Are you okay, Dad?’ he had said.
And Alex had replied, ‘Everything’s fine.’
And that was the end of that. Erik had left his father alone with his grief. The distance between them had never seemed greater.
We can’t reach one another, Erik had thought. Not even now.
Claudia had been unimpressed when Erik told her what had happened. The responsibility was Erik’s, she had said. If Alex was crying, then it was up to Erik to console him. You couldn’t just leave an old man in such a state.
Old.
That was what she had said, and that was how Alex could be perceived. Old and tired. However, the ageing process had been slowed down somewhat by Diana, who was so dynamic and attractive that Erik couldn’t for the life of him understand what she saw in his father.
Perhaps she liked his air of authority, because he certainly had that in spades. Sitting next to Karim on the plane, Erik wished he had just a fraction of his father’s impressive presence. He felt small in comparison to Karim, not just in physical terms but also when it came to power.
Karim had the upper hand. In every way. And Erik didn’t really understand where that impression came from. It wasn’t just that Karim was the captain, and thus ultimately responsible for what happened to the plane; Erik had a nasty feeling that Karim also had additional information, that he knew better than anyone how this flight was going to end.
The police had called them again, as had the airline. Karim refused to listen to either of them. He was going to follow the hijackers’ instructions, and that was that. But then they were contacted by the US authorities, and this time he did listen. They were ordered to remain outside US airspace until further notice,
and Karim agreed. At least for the time being.
‘What do we do when we reach New York?’ Erik asked.
Karim didn’t look at him when he answered. ‘Let’s hope the Swedish and US governments have met the hijackers’ demands by then so that we can land.’
Erik suddenly found it difficult to breathe. ‘In that case, we won’t be following their rules,’ he said.
Karim glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘According to the hijackers, the two governments have the same amount of time to act as it will take us to use up our fuel. And that’s longer than it will take for us to reach our destination.’
Karim looked almost relieved. ‘Oh, I see. I’ve already thought of that. When I’m approaching Washington, I’ll start circling until we run out of time. Then I’ll request permission to land, as long as they’ve met the hijackers’ demands.’
Erik’s heart started racing. ‘New York,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You said Washington. But we’re on our way to New York.’
The air was so thick in the cockpit now that it was almost impossible to breathe.
‘Sorry, my mistake,’ Karim said. ‘I meant New York.’
No, you didn’t.
Tiny, glistening beads of sweat broke out on Karim’s forehead.
Erik’s voice was hoarse with tension.
‘For fuck’s sake, Karim, we have to be able to talk to one another. What the hell is going on here?’
Karim fell silent once more, and Erik just wanted to punch him.
‘I’m not having this,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, but let me make one thing perfectly clear: I will not allow you to jeopardise the safety of our passengers.’
Erik got to his feet; a glance at Karim revealed that he had not reacted to Erik’s outburst. Had he even been listening?
Erik quickly moved over to the cockpit door and grabbed the handle. He would call his father and ask his advice. Then he would get Karim out of the way and land the bloody plane himself.
Just as he was about to open the door, he looked over at Karim again. He was staring at the blue sky ahead, as straight as a fir tree. Suddenly, Erik knew that he was just waiting for Erik to step out of the cockpit.
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