Hostage

by Kristina Ohlsson

  The article had been well written, and Joakim thought it made a good point. If it was so important for phones to be switched off, then surely people would be compelled to check them in. The thought eased his guilty conscience.

  To his surprise, he saw that he had a new message. From his mother. But why? She knew he was on a plane to New York, so why would she send him a message? Or did she assume that he had his phone on?

  Furtively, he turned his back on his neighbour and opened the message. If the phone was on anyway and the message had been received, surely it wouldn’t make any difference if he opened it?

  Quickly, he read through what his mother had written.

  He blinked, shook his head. What the hell . . . had she gone mad?

  He read it again.

  ‘Joakim, I assume both your phones are switched off, but I’m sending this anyway. Dad and I have both come home from work and are following your journey on the internet and on TV. Don’t give up! We love you and know that everything will be all right! Lots of love, Mum.’

  Come home from work? Following your journey?

  Joakim didn’t understand a word of it. Was the message really from his mother, or someone else? He looked at it several times, but there was no doubt.

  He started to laugh. Quietly at first, then louder and louder. Suddenly he grew serious again. This wasn’t funny. What were they playing at? What were they talking about? It sounded as if they thought he was in real danger.

  There must have been some kind of misunderstanding, something on the news about a plane heading for New York, and his parents must have thought it was his flight. For God’s sake, there were several flights a day to New York. Weren’t there?

  Joakim looked around. Everything seemed fine, and the crew hadn’t made any alarming announcements. If their flight was in some kind of trouble, surely they would have said something? They wouldn’t just leave people sitting there, unaware that they were heading towards death?

  A stewardess was just passing his row.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Joakim said.

  She stopped and Joakim leaned forward so that he could see past the smelly man.

  ‘I was just wondering . . . Have there been any problems with this plane?’

  ‘No, absolutely not. You have my word.’

  But she wasn’t smiling the way stewardesses usually do when they speak to passengers.

  ‘Are you afraid of flying, sir?’

  Joakim forced a smile.

  ‘No, no. I just wanted to check.’

  The stewardess moved on, and Joakim felt his cheeks redden. ‘I just wanted to check.’ What a stupid thing to say. Check what? If the plane was expected to crash?

  ‘Listen, plane crashes are incredibly rare,’ the man beside him said. ‘Driving a car or riding a motorbike is much more dangerous.’

  ‘Thanks, I know that,’ Joakim said.

  Once more, he turned away and opened his phone, but there was no coverage. He read his mother’s message over and over again. The tone and the choice of words communicated absolute despair. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. The stewardess who couldn’t bring herself to smile had been lying.

  39

  STOCKHOLM, 18:30

  They had to decide how to proceed. The plane would pass its planned arrival time in just fifteen minutes, and from then on it would be using up its additional fuel supply. Alex Recht sensed an air of indecision when he came back from his meeting with Zakaria Khelifi’s uncle. It bothered him. They had to move on, take decisive action.

  Everyone had gathered for a meeting in Säpo HQ, including Alex’s boss and several other officers from both the National Bureau of Investigation and the Stockholm city police.

  Eden began by talking about the call to the TT news agency, and Säpo’s theory that whoever had tipped off the media about the hijacking was actually involved in some way.

  ‘The call to TT was made from a mobile phone with an unregistered pay-as-you-go SIM card, so that won’t get us anywhere,’ she said. ‘What interests me more, however, is the fact that the person who took the call was initially sceptical as to whether it should be taken seriously.’

  ‘Why?’ Fredrika asked.

  ‘Because the caller sounded like Donald Duck.’

  Hjärpe, Alex’s boss, let out a low whistle. ‘Voice distortion again.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What kind of a clown were they chasing here?

  ‘So that’s another dead end,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Eden said. ‘But at least we know we were right when we guessed that the caller was involved.’

  ‘Why was it so important to inform the media?’ Hjärpe said.

  ‘I would guess that the caller wanted to be sure that the plane was following the instructions in the note, and he or she can only know that if the media are monitoring the story.’

  The calculated execution of the hijacking made Alex go cold all over.

  Eden quickly moved on.

  ‘What is it that’s driven Karim Sassi to hijack the plane he’s actually flying? What’s his motive?’ she said.

  ‘Have we completely ruled out the idea of other perpetrators?’ Alex replied.

  ‘We don’t believe there are others, so we are assuming that Karim had help with his preparations, and that the person or persons concerned are now helping him on the ground. With regard to yesterday’s bomb threats, all we know is that his fingerprints were on one of the phones. Which doesn’t necessarily mean that he made one of the calls.’

  ‘Then again, there are no prints at all on any of the other phones,’ Alex said. ‘And there’s nothing from the tracking to suggest that the calls were made by more than one person. All the threats were made in the same area between Stockholm and Arlanda.’

  ‘Several people could have been travelling in one car,’ Eden said.

  Alex nodded. ‘True.’

  Sebastian, the head of analysis, indicated that he had something to say.

  ‘I think we ought to talk about a possible motive, which you mentioned just now. What is making Sassi do this? He’s not a practising Muslim, which is very interesting. That takes out any connection with Islamic extremism, which I think we all presumed was behind this, and his motive becomes incomprehensible.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Eden said. ‘I have to admit that this worries me more than anything. Worries is the wrong word, but it bothers me that I don’t understand what’s driving him. No one close to him seems to have noticed any kind of change of personality recently, nor has anyone mentioned a burning social conscience. He has no background as an activist, and he hasn’t even been a member of any voluntary organisation.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Sebastian said. ‘It would have been a different matter if we’d been able to track down a clear commitment to asylum issues, for example; we could have assumed that was why Khelifi’s deportation in particular had provoked him to such an extent.’

  ‘I’m meeting the German liaison officer when we’re done here so that I can find out what they know,’ Eden said. ‘But they’ve already forewarned us that they don’t have anything specific on Karim, just on the hijacking.’

  As Alex listened to Sebastian and Eden, his doubts grew. He couldn’t understand why they thought the situation would change if they could work out Karim’s motives.

  Eden noticed his pensive expression.

  ‘What do you think, Alex?’

  Her voice was different from when she was speaking to Sebastian or Fredrika. Softer, as if she wanted to show that Alex was someone she liked.

  ‘I think it’s going to be bloody difficult to understand Karim’s motives without talking to him,’ he said.

  The words came more quickly than he had expected.

  ‘Talking to him? You mean we should contact the plane and let him know we’re aware of his involvement?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

  In spite of the fact that he
hadn’t really thought things through, he carried on: ‘We’re not getting any further, and the clock is ticking. In just a few hours the plane will either crash or be blown to pieces, if the hijackers are serious. Since it’s in the air, we can’t physically go in. The only thing we can do is to call the cockpit and hope we can reason with Karim, appeal to his good sense.’ Alex paused for effect. ‘Unless of course we want to go for the option we mentioned earlier: contact the co-pilot and ask him to take control of the plane.’

  By this stage, everyone in the room knew that the co-pilot was Alex’s son. But that didn’t matter, because they also knew that he was right.

  ‘What if we speak to Karim and the conversation causes him to panic?’ Eden said. ‘Since we don’t know what’s driving him, we don’t know what values are at stake as far as he’s concerned. Confronting him could put all the crew and passengers in mortal danger.’

  ‘In that case, we have to contact the co-pilot.’

  ‘And if he fails? The effect could end up exactly the same. Karim realises he’s been exposed, and takes drastic measures. What are Erik’s chances of overcoming Karim, in practical terms?’

  Alex pictured Erik in his mind’s eye. As a child. Tall and thin, almost skinny. Passionate, full of ideas about how to make life more exciting. His temperament was more evenly balanced since he had grown up, but he still looked for kicks that brightened the dullness other people simply regarded as everyday life.

  It doesn’t get any more exciting than this, does it, Erik?

  Erik was taller than Alex, but shorter than Karim. And thinner, not nearly as muscular. To be perfectly honest, Alex didn’t think his son would stand a chance against his captain in a fight – unless he could find some kind of weapon to render him harmless.

  ‘I don’t think he’d be able to knock Karim out with his bare hands; he’d need to take him by surprise. Perhaps there’s a fire extinguisher in the cockpit that he could use?’

  Alex’s suggestion aroused a hum of conversation around the table. A fire extinguisher? Impossible. Ridiculous. Eden rapped on the table to quieten everyone down.

  ‘We haven’t got time for chatter,’ she said. ‘Alex has a point; we have to decide how we intend to proceed. The fact is that we have very little chance of bringing the plane down safely with Karim at the controls. The governments are not going to meet the hijackers’ demands, and the fuel will run out very soon. And then only a miracle can save us from total disaster.’

  ‘How can we get hold of the co-pilot without Karim Sassi realising what’s going on? I mean, they’re sitting next to each other,’ said a Säpo investigator Alex didn’t recognise.

  Another burst of murmuring, which irritated Eden.

  ‘We’ll get in touch with the airline again and see what they say. We don’t know enough to make a decision.’

  She looked at a member of her team.

  ‘Call SAS and find out everything we need to know. Can we reach Erik without Karim realising? And, if so, how? I’m still not sure that asking Erik to overpower Karim is the best course of action, but we need to consider it as a last resort, in which case I want to know if it’s actually possible.’

  Fredrika spoke up: ‘The note said there was a bomb on board the plane; what do we think about that now we know Karim is involved?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Eden said.

  ‘According to the note, the plane will be blown up if we attempt to land it or to evacuate those on board. Do we believe that threat if Karim is behind the hijacking?’

  ‘You mean that if Karim is put out of action and Erik lands the plane without the demands being met, will the plane be blown up anyway?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Alex’s heart sank. He hadn’t thought about that.

  ‘In that case we’re back to what we talked about this morning,’ Eden said. ‘What are the chances that someone managed to smuggle a bomb onto the plane?’

  ‘If the captain himself is part of the plot, then perhaps it’s more likely?’ someone suggested.

  ‘Hardly. The crew have to go through the same security checks as the passengers.’

  Eden shook her head. ‘I refuse to make a final decision under these circumstances. I want to speak to the Germans first, see if they’ve found out any more. And then I want to talk to our American colleagues; I want to know exactly how they’re intending to deal with the plane if or when time runs out. Only then will I consider getting in touch with Karim and asking about his plans.’

  She had hardly finished speaking when the door flew open and a young woman Alex had never seen before came rushing in.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Eden, but GD asked me to tell you that you’ve been called to a meeting at Rosenbad immediately.’

  ‘Rosenbad? Tell GD he’ll have to go himself; I’m needed here.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll accept that. It’s to do with the Americans; apparently, they’ve contacted the Foreign Office through their ambassador and informed the Swedish government what they intend to do with the hijacked plane.’

  ‘Why do we have to go to Rosenbad to discuss that?’ Eden said. ‘Wouldn’t it be just as easy for the Americans to come here and talk us through their plans?’

  ‘GD was very clear,’ the woman said. ‘He wants you to go with him, right now.’

  Eden got to her feet.

  ‘In that case this meeting is closed. I should be back within the hour.’

  Alex stayed in his seat, like everyone else. His stomach was knotted with fear. The Americans had gone directly to the government rather than Säpo. That couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

  40

  18:50

  Here we go again, Eden thought. Another meeting with the cabinet office, this time at Rosenbad. It was dark outside, and a weary drizzle was falling as they drove the short distance from Police HQ to Tegeluddsbacken. There were only the two of them in the car, which felt strange to Eden.

  ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

  GD stared at her. ‘In the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Too bloody right I mind. If you’re going to smoke, you can do it outdoors.’

  Eden slid the packet of cigarettes back into her pocket.

  ‘Pardon me for asking, but do you usually smoke when you’re driving?’ GD asked.

  ‘It has been known.’

  She was too old to be reprimanded about how she took care of her health and her body, and made it clear that she wasn’t interested in the conversation by staring out of the window. Why was GD behind the wheel, anyway? She was a better driver than him. All those visits to Israel and the years she had spent in London had made her the driver she was today. If you didn’t put your foot down a fraction of a second after the traffic lights turned green in Tel Aviv, you were in trouble, because someone was guaranteed to drive straight into the back of your car.

  Suddenly, Eden couldn’t see very well. Three years had passed since her last visit to Israel. Three years of slow recovery and trying to find a sense of balance in her everyday life again. Almost everything had fallen apart back then. Things that couldn’t be fixed, things she would have to carry with her for many years in the future. Had it been worth it? Could she have done it all differently?

  Of course she could. There was often more than one way of dealing with a catastrophe. Her mother had once said that a person had three ways of handling things: you could go with your heart, your head or your stomach. When Eden was in her twenties, she had added sexuality to the list, but she hadn’t told her mother. And it wasn’t her heart, her head or her stomach that had sent her to the hot streets of Tel Aviv that first time. Nor all the times that followed.

  The memories frightened her, and she squeezed the cigarette packet in her pocket. The interior of the car shrank; it was too small. Eden stretched her legs, tensed her muscles. They were only minutes away from Rosenbad; she told herself to keep calm. When GD stopped the car, she flung the door open and got out. It wasn’t until she had lit her cigarette
and taken the first drag that she realised how grim GD had looked from the minute they had set off. He hadn’t said a word after his comment on her smoking. She could see and feel him watching her, looking her up and down. What was his problem?

  GD strode past her, glancing at the cigarette with disapproval.

  ‘You do know that any kind of dependency is a potential weakness in our line of work?’ he said.

  Eden couldn’t work out whether or not he was joking.

  ‘I don’t think nicotine addiction is usually a problem,’ she said. ‘Besides. I’m not addicted. I’m in full control.’

  ‘Really?’ GD looked sceptical.

  ‘Of course. I can stop whenever I want to.’

  She dropped the cigarette and watched it go out on the rain-soaked gravel.

  There wasn’t much room behind Fredrika Bergman’s desk as Alex sat down beside her.

  ‘We need to take a closer look at Zakaria Khelifi’s case,’ she said.

  Alex hesitated, then said, ‘You think he’s innocent?’

  Now it was Fredrika’s turn to hesitate. She looked around. There were still a lot of people working at their desks in the open-plan office, and several of them were sitting quite close to her.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, heading resolutely for the kitchen. Fortunately, it was empty. ‘I want to examine those phone records more closely. I absolutely believe that Sebastian’s team know what they’re doing, but there could be information there that would help us find out if the phone really did belong to Zakaria during the relevant period.’

  Alex poured himself a cup of coffee. Fredrika had always thought he had lovely hands, but that was yet another thing he would never know.