Mona

by Dan Sehlberg

  ‘May I ask why I’m here?’

  ‘Because we’re curious about you. Because we don’t understand how you fit in. Because you have a notebook that belongs to our enemies. Because you have pictures of our enemies. Because you have been talking to our enemies. Because you’re helping our enemies. That’s why you’re here. For starters.’

  His thoughts whirled. What pictures? They must have found the pictures he’d bought in Nice. Helping the enemy? They had read his conversation with Salah ad-Din, seen his fawning suggestions for improving the code. What had they done with the notebook? With his computer? With Rachel?’

  ‘Where is Rachel?’

  The man was paging through his papers, and answered without looking up.

  ‘Don’t worry about her. You have enough problems of your own.’

  He left the folder open and looked at him.

  ‘Eric Hugo Söderqvist. What the hell are you up to?’

  There was no point in lying or bullshitting about being a journalist with Aftonbladet. Rachel was one thing, but this was the Mossad. But how could he tell them the truth? His story was completely improbable. On the other hand, what choice did he have? He swallowed, and met David Yassur’s stern gaze.

  ‘I’m trying to save my wife’s life.’

  ‘What’s wrong with your wife?’

  ‘She has a virus.’

  David Yassur didn’t bat an eye. Eric kept going.

  ‘She’s infected with Mona.’

  ‘Mona, as in the computer virus?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Your wife is infected with a computer virus?’ David Yassur shifted position. ‘Explain.’

  ‘I’m a researcher, and my area is something called BCI — Brain Computer Interface.’

  ‘I know what that is.’

  ‘Okay. My specific research is on the development of a new method of communication between the human brain and a computer. Or, more precisely, a method for creating better conditions for this communication. By applying a special gel to the head, we can establish very good contact with the brain, without surgical intervention. In addition to this, my team and I have developed software called Mind Surf that makes it possible to surf the internet with the power of thought.’

  ‘Great, but what does this have to do with your wife?’

  ‘She was one of the first ones to test out the system. She is the director of IT at TBI’s Stockholm office. When she was hooked up to Mind Surf, she visited the bank’s website, which was infected with Mona. The virus was transmitted to the system, and somehow — I don’t know how — it affected her health.’

  ‘Affected her health?’

  ‘She became ill shortly thereafter. She’s currently being treated at a hospital.’

  ‘Which hospital?’

  He didn’t want to expose her. But, once again, it would only take them ten minutes to figure it out.

  ‘Karolinska Hospital in Stockholm.’

  ‘Continue.’

  ‘The doctors at the hospital can’t cure her. They can only verify that she’s getting worse and worse.’

  ‘But how do you know she’s not suffering from something else?’

  ‘She said it herself. And shortly thereafter my main investor, Mats Hagström, got sick as well. His symptoms and the progression of disease were identical to my wife’s. He had tried Mind Surf, too.’

  ‘After the computer had been infected?’

  ‘After the computer had been infected.’

  David Yassur looked at him sceptically.

  ‘No one believed me. I realised she was going to die if nothing drastic was done. I decided to assume that she really was infected with Mona, no matter how crazy it sounded. If there was a virus, there also ought to be an anti-virus — and the person with the anti-virus ought to be the same person who created the virus. I visited a good friend at an evening paper to throw around some ideas. Then, by chance, I learned that there was a source in Nice who wanted to sell information about the terrorists.’

  ‘How had the evening paper gotten hold of the source?’

  ‘By actively going through their contacts.’

  ‘Who was the source?’

  What could he say? Should he expose Cedric Antoine? He wasn’t the actual source.

  ‘It was a police officer with the task force who wanted to earn some extra money. I don’t have his name.’

  ‘We’ll get to the name later. What happened after that?’

  ‘I went to Nice, and bought the information from the police officer.’

  ‘You met him?’

  ‘Not personally. I transferred the money to an account number, and received a bag of information. The bag was hidden at the Marc Chagall museum.’

  ‘Do you still have the account number?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What was in the bag?’

  ‘The notebook and the pictures.’

  ‘And you also hacked into TBI’s network?’

  How could they know that? That must be how they had found him. How could he have been so careless? He had left fingerprints everywhere, whether they were analogue or digital. TBI had traced his trespassing in IT director Isaac Berns’s computer, and had tipped off the Mossad. That was why David Yassur had said that he could have been stopped back in Nice. They must have followed him to Tel Aviv. But how did they know when to strike? How did they know he had established contact? How did they know what he and Salah ad-Din had talked about? Then he thought of the lost suitcase, the powerful handshake, the thin dress, the unlikely knowledge of Ottoman code, the tattoos. He sighed heavily.

  ‘Rachel works for you?’

  David Yassur didn’t answer. Eric’s stomach felt hollow. He felt embarrassed and betrayed. He was a pathetic idiot. What had he been thinking?

  ‘Why did you come to Tel Aviv?’

  ‘I couldn’t interpret the code in the notebook. I was planning to try to get hold of Isaac Berns, to see if he could help me.’

  ‘Why would he listen to you?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe because he’s a good person. Maybe because one of his employees is dying.’

  ‘How do you know Samir Mustaf?’

  ‘I’m guessing he’s the creator of Mona. I would like to meet him, but I’ve never spoken with him.’

  ‘Sure you have.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘Salah ad-Din is Samir Mustaf’s alias.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll repeat the question: how do you know him?’

  ‘When Rachel cracked the code, it gave me information that helped me find a virtual-development environment. There, I found log-in information for a chat room. In the chat room, I made contact with the terrorists.’

  ‘You call them terrorists. Aren’t they freedom fighters? Holy soldiers, fighting for a good thing?’

  ‘No, they’re terrorists. Plain old bandits.’

  ‘And Salah ad-Din?’

  ‘I passed myself off as a supporter. A clever hacker who wanted to join up. All to make contact, come closer, build up trust. I had to — have to — meet them, meet him. All to get hold of the anti-virus.’

  ‘How did you even know there was an anti-virus?’

  ‘I didn’t, but based on what I read in the chat room, I’m sure there is. It goes by the name Nadim.’

  ‘And why would Mustaf give you the anti-virus?’

  ‘No idea. Faith, hope, and charity? Presumably, he wouldn’t give me anything other than a bullet to the neck. But I’ll take the chance. I have nothing to lose.’

  ‘Who is helping you?’

  ‘No one. I’m alone.’

  Eric felt how true that was. He was truly alone, n
ow more than ever. The man across from him was silent, and a long time went by. Here they sat, two men at a small table — alike, and yet so immensely different. Then David Yassur stood up, took the folder, and left. The grey door closed with a click. Eric just sat there.

  When David Yassur returned to the observation room, Paul Clinton was sitting on a chair beside the clerk. The room was stuffy and stale. Through the window, they could see Eric sitting with his head in his hands. Paul was leaning back in his chair, dangerously close to tipping over.

  ‘That was the fishiest story I’ve ever heard. And I’m telling you, I’ve heard a lot of fishy stories.’

  David nodded. ‘Yes, it sure is strange. The question is, how can I present this to Meir?’

  Dan Hertzog from Unit 8200 yanked open the door. David looked at him in anticipation.

  ‘Are you finished with the analyses?’

  ‘No. We’re not done with the notebook. We haven’t even started on the code from the virtual database. It’s going to take days, maybe weeks. We chose to prioritise the chat.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Rachel was right. They’re planning three detonations — two in Jerusalem and one in Tel Aviv.’

  Paul met David’s eyes. Dan went on, ‘We found an entry where they discussed dates, places, and times. It was from user “Sinon” to user “A”. We still don’t know who’s behind these aliases. Sinon suggested that all three attacks occur simultaneously in order to show that the sender is one and the same, an organised enemy.’

  David stood up and walked over to Dan.

  ‘Where will it be?’

  ‘In Jerusalem, at Hebrew University, and at the bus station near Mahane Yehuda market. In Tel Aviv, at the central station, Savidor Merkaz.’

  ‘Oh, God. When?’

  Dan looked first at David and then at Paul.

  ‘Today, at fourteen hundred and fifteen hundred.’

  Paul gasped.

  ‘That’s in less than two hours!’

  David was already on his way out the door. Paul and Dan jogged after him through the long corridor.

  ‘What will we do with the Swede?’

  ‘Forget about him. He’s not going anywhere.’

  David threw a glance at Dan.

  ‘Do you have any more information? Anything that can help the team?’

  ‘We know it’s going to be a delivery truck at the university.’

  ‘And the other two?’

  ‘Suicide belts. We’re not totally sure, but that’s our best guess.’

  They reached the elevators, but as always David kept going into the stairwell, followed closely by Paul and Dan. He took two steps at a time, and Paul was out of breath after the first flight.

  ‘Can we cordon off the areas?’ he panted.

  ‘Sure we can, but then there’s a risk that they’ll detonate somewhere else, anywhere. It’d be best to catch them in the act. It might be possible with surveillance, dogs, and explosive detectors. But it’s dangerous, a long shot. It should be easier with the delivery truck.’

  They emerged into a hectic office scene. David hurried through the room and on into another corridor. Dan and Paul did their best to keep up with him.

  ‘We’re going to the command centre. I have to make sure they’ve organised the team. Dan, I’m assuming you’ve already informed them about the place and time?’

  ‘Twelve minutes ago. The police are leading the operation, with support from us. We’ll take care of the task itself.’

  He stopped talking.

  ‘I’m guessing you don’t need me anymore. I have to go back to the unit.’

  ‘Thanks, Dan. Good work.’

  David and Paul walked down the hall to a white, windowless door. David entered a six-digit code into the keypad on the wall and opened the door. On the other side there were about ten men and women in a large room full of screens, maps, and rows of desks.

  ‘We normally lead international operations from this room. Today, it will have to do as a communications centre for local operations as well.’

  David went up to a large man with a ponytail who was standing and looking at an iPad.

  ‘Frank, what’s your status?’

  The man looked up and nodded.

  ‘We’ve effectively got a green light — just a few minor details left. The police have to get all the cameras at the central station working; they’ve been down for a few days for maintenance. But our team is ready and synched up with the police. Support, Search, and Analysis are already on their way to the target.’

  David seemed to relax a bit. He placed his hand on Frank Harel’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ve got this, right?’

  The man went back to his iPad.

  ‘B’ezrat Hashem. With God’s help.’

  Paul had grabbed two coffee mugs, and handed one to David. They were standing in the middle of the room, looking at the large map of Tel Aviv. A diode was blinking near the central station. Paul turned to David.

  ‘What if he’s telling the truth? What if he really did trick Hezbollah? That would be fucking amazing.’

  David snorted.

  ‘You’re saying that he managed to trace them and actually establish contact, all by himself and with no training whatsoever?’

  Paul nodded.

  ‘Exactly. Maybe for the very reason that he isn’t one of us. His Google profile, his real name, his track record — everything checks out. Add the fact that he knew the Ottoman code, that he found the chat room, and, above all, that he was able to give advice about extremely advanced programming … it’s an unlikely combination. But maybe he really did manage to pique Samir Mustaf’s interest. If it’s true, he would be useful. We could use him to find them.’

  ‘But do you realise what you’re saying? This would mean that the rest of his story is true — that his wife was infected with a computer virus. A computer virus!’

  Paul sipped his coffee.

  ‘I don’t believe that, but maybe he believes it. That would be enough. I’m sure his wife just has the flu, but he’d got it in his head that she was infected with Mona, and that was enough for him to get involved with this circus. Remember, he showed the chat to Rachel. And he told her about the attacks. We also know he tried to call Isaac Berns.’

  David shook his head.

  ‘I think he’s lying, but we’ll have to find out about that later. Right now, we have three suicide bombers to deal with.’

  It was twenty-five minutes past one.

  Eric had lain down on the cot again. The conversation with David Yassur had shaken him up. The gravity of the situation had washed over him like ice-cold water, and with it came all the catastrophic consequences he could imagine. He had been so close: he had established contact with Samir Mustaf, and there really was an anti-virus. But now he had missed his chance. There was no way he could contact Salah ad-Din, so Hanna would not receive the anti-virus. Maybe it had never been possible, but he had clung to hope. Really, the whole idea was absurd. Even if Hanna and Mats Hagström had become ill because of Mona, the chance that a digital anti-virus would cure them was non-existent. And here he was, in a small cell without his phone, passport, watch, or wallet. He was a prisoner, as closed off from the world as Hanna was in her bed at Karolinska. Would they sentence him for crimes of terror and lock him up for good? He felt a nearly desperate need to talk to Jens or Thomas Wethje — someone normal in Sweden, who could give him his sense of reality back. Why the hell had he thought he could play the hero? He held his breath for a long time, looking at the ceiling. How could Rachel have lied so effortlessly? But who was he to judge? He had totally lost himself in a mess of lies and dreams. Now it had all gone to hell. Completely to hell.

  Jerusalem, Israel

  The earpiece crackled, and Larry Lav
on waited tensely for Micha Begin’s voice.

  ‘It was negative. Repeat, negative.’

  Shit. They had picked up two different people, but neither was the right one. He had been sure of this last one. He thought he had seen the bomb-sniffing dog react. The suspect had been wearing a jacket that was much too thick, and he had seemed nervous. Larry swept the crowd once more with his eyes. Most of the people were standing and waiting for the bus, looking more and more impatient. It was already fifteen minutes late. It was common for suicide bombers to wait for the bus to enter the station, or to climb on board before they detonated their payload. For that reason, Larry’s team had decided keep the bus away. Mahane Yehuda was right by the market, and it was full of people.

  Larry cast another frustrated glance at his watch. It was three minutes past two — just twelve minutes left. He saw several of the plainclothes police, two of them with dogs, moving among the people in line. A redheaded plainclothes officer was walking around with a scanner, which looked like a short bicycle pump, that reacted to explosives. He wondered how it was going for the other two teams. Had they captured their targets? If a truck full of explosives blew up at the university, they would hear it from here. There’d been no explosion so far.

  His earpiece crackled again.

  ‘Come in, Larry. Contact at three o’clock.’

  He squinted at the outer edge of the bus stop and caught sight of Micha, along with one of the local police officers and a dog. They were standing behind a short, dark-skinned man wearing a red athletic jacket. Larry quickly started moving in their direction.

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘The dog is stiff with excitement. Should we call the scanner over, or chance it and take him?’ Larry thought quickly. The man was standing amidst a large number of passengers. If this was the wrong person, his team’s actions would alert the true bomber. If they were right, but if they gave the bomber time to hit the trigger, there would be many victims.