The Chosen

by Kristina Ohlsson

  “Correct. Which doesn’t necessarily mean he was lying; it’s entirely possible that he had meetings that were none of my business.”

  But you’re not sure, because otherwise you wouldn’t have called me, would you?

  Peder swallowed.

  Efraim Kiel no longer had an alibi for the period when the boys were abducted.

  The sound of children in the house was a joy. Chatter turning into screams of delight, giggles exploding into laughter, bouncing off the walls. High voices calling out new words that made his face light up.

  “Grandma!”

  “Grandpa!”

  Alex’s son and daughter had both come for Sunday dinner with their families, a surprise that met him in the doorway when he got home from work.

  His head was bursting with random thoughts and speculation about why two children had been shot dead and a third had disappeared. His grandchildren drove those thoughts away for a while. They hurled themselves at him; they were much harder to elude than the adults in his company. He even managed to get through the meal before his mind was once again invaded by what had happened. What it would mean if one of the parents had lied about his alibi.

  The last thing he had done before leaving Police HQ was to put Saul Goldmann under surveillance, just to be on the safe side. If he was the one who had taken Polly Eisenberg, he might lead them to her.

  Diana watched him across the table. She had one of the grandchildren on her knee and was holding the child close. They were not her grandchildren, but she had taken Alex’s family to her heart and made them her own.

  His cell phone rang and he excused himself. Diana’s expression was forgiving as he left the table.

  It was Peder. Alex almost dropped the phone when he realized what he was saying.

  Efraim Kiel didn’t have an alibi.

  “As you know, this is extremely important information,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

  A thank-you was not enough. Follow-up questions came thick and fast. Peder wanted to know what the next step would be and whether he could be of any help.

  But that was where Alex had to draw the line. Peder was not a police officer, and that was that. He could tell that his former colleague was disappointed: Peder’s silence told Alex all he needed to know.

  “Peder, you’re not part of my team. I’m sorry, but that means I can’t let you in on everything we find out.”

  Peder cleared his throat.

  “I know that.”

  Another protracted silence.

  “Was there anything else?” Alex said.

  He tried to keep his tone friendly, but he was eager to call Fredrika in Jerusalem.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I . . .” Peder said, then hesitated.

  Alex held his breath, waiting for him to go on.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m thinking of trying to gain some kind of redress, Alex. I want to come back to the police. I shouldn’t have had to leave.”

  Alex wasn’t so preoccupied that he didn’t have time to say the right thing.

  “That’s good news. I’m really pleased.”

  He meant every word and hoped Peder could hear it in his voice.

  The three grandchildren had gotten down from the table and came charging into the hallway, whirling around his legs like hyperactive butterflies, each trying to shout louder than the others.

  “Peder, I’ll speak to you very soon. Thanks again for your help.”

  Alex withdrew from the children and shut himself in his study so that he could talk to Fredrika in peace. He had only just sat down at his desk when he realized what he was doing.

  Making the same mistake all over again.

  The same mistake but with a new generation.

  How many times, irrespective of whether it was a weekday, a weekend, or a holiday, had he left his family because of work? With empty promises, assuring them that he was going to make just one more phone call, talk to one more person, stay in the office for one more hour? How much had he missed by behaving that way?

  But what was the alternative? Ignore the fact that a little girl had been abducted?

  That was equally impossible, and no less painful.

  Fredrika sounded far away when she answered.

  “Sorry I haven’t called,” she said. “I’ve just gotten back to the hotel. I’ve been in a meeting about the Lion with Isak and his colleagues.”

  Fredrika Bergman was sitting in with the National Crime Unit’s Israeli counterpart. Alex tried to remind himself why Fredrika rather than anyone else had been sent to Jerusalem: because her husband was going there. But that wasn’t the way things had turned out.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “We have a name,” Fredrika said. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t get us anywhere.”

  “Because?”

  He couldn’t suppress the impatience in his voice.

  “There was only one occasion when the Lion had to give a name in order to be allowed to use a computer in one particular store. He said his name was Avital Greenburg.”

  Avital Greenburg.

  Yet another new name.

  Alex felt his heart sink. This was too much to cope with.

  “And did our Israeli colleagues recognize the name?”

  “Yes, they did. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

  More surprises. It seemed there was no end to them.

  “Alex, Avital Greenburg was a man who died many years ago. He became notorious in Israel when he abducted and killed two children at the end of the seventies.”

  Alex didn’t know what to say at first.

  “Well, at least we know that the person who sent the emails was linked to the murders.”

  “It definitely looks that way,” Fredrika said. “The police here are extremely frustrated. They can’t get any further with the Lion. There are no CCTV pictures, and he always paid cash for Internet access.”

  Alex wasn’t surprised; they were dealing with a pro. A person who was fully aware of security issues. A person like Efraim Kiel.

  “I’ve got news for you, too,” he said.

  Fredrika listened in silence. When he had finished speaking, she said:

  “If Efraim is behind all this, then Saul and Gideon must understand why it’s happening.”

  “I agree. Which is what we’ve suspected all along: that they’re keeping something from us. But we just can’t work out why.”

  “Perhaps through fear?” Fredrika suggested. “Then again, what have they got to be afraid of? The worst has already happened.”

  Alex nodded to himself.

  “Mona Samson,” he said. “I mentioned her to you earlier. Have you found out whether she’s entered the country?”

  “So far the police haven’t managed to identify her, but they’re still looking.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Alex said. “The police haven’t managed to identify her? Mona Samson can’t be the most common name in Israel. How many people using false names can there be in one inquiry?”

  He could tell that Fredrika was equally frustrated. They had to make progress. Soon. Before it was too late.

  “Saul Goldmann,” she said. “Do we still think he shot his own son?”

  “I’ve seen stranger things over the years,” Alex replied. “But my priority at the moment is that we now have an individual who looks even more suspect since we broke his alibi.”

  Efraim Kiel. Who had vanished without a trace.

  Alex thought out loud.

  “If Efraim is the Lion, why did he email the boys? Why not just pick them up on the street? That’s what I would have done.”

  If I were a killer, which I’m not.

  “Because he knows their parents and realized there was a risk of being recognized,” Fredrika said.

  “Bullshit. Neither of the boys had ever met him, and even if they’d seen him in a photograph—although their parents insist they don’t have any pictures of Kiel—it would be more than ten years
old.”

  He could hear the sound of traffic in the background; Fredrika must have gone outside.

  “I don’t know why he emailed them,” she said. “Possibly because it increased his chances of getting them to go with him voluntarily? Otherwise he would have been forced to take them one at a time, which would have been more difficult. Or it would have taken longer, at least.”

  So many loose ends. Alex thought bitterly that it felt as if they were chasing an entire pride of lions, not just one.

  “This is an endless nightmare scenario,” he said.

  “Do you think so? I don’t agree. This starts and ends with the Goldmann and Eisenberg families. Otherwise other children would have been taken.”

  Fredrika was right, but they still had to get to the bottom of the murders, with or without the cooperation of the parents.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to visit the kibbutz where Saul and Gideon grew up. Hopefully we’ll know more after that.”

  Alex hoped she was right.

  Above all, he wanted Fredrika to find the most mysterious figure in the whole case so far.

  The man known as the Paper Boy.

  A man who the murderer, whoever he might be, must have known about.

  LONDON

  The Paper Boy.

  Known to some as an Israeli myth.

  Known to significantly fewer people as the name of a secret source in a Palestinian village on the West Bank.

  Eden Lundell was trying to digest what she had heard while struggling with the dilemma that she now faced. Because under no circumstances could she pass this information on to Alex Recht or Fredrika Bergman. Intelligence of the most sensitive nature, which would never be admissible in a Swedish court of law. It could never be shared. She had gone to Fred for personal reasons, but now her private life had collided with her professional background, and she had no choice but to stick to the rules of the game.

  Fredrika was in Israel. She wouldn’t get anywhere near the information Eden had been given; the question was whether she and Alex would still be able to solve the case. Eden hoped so, because three people had died, two of them children. Justice must be done.

  In one way or another.

  She and Fred Banks had parted company a few hours earlier. He had looked very tired when she left his house.

  “It’s funny, but I always had a feeling we’d meet again,” he had said as she was leaving, a wry smile lighting up his pale face. He had given her far more than she had ever dared hope for, and for that she would be eternally grateful.

  “It was good to see you,” she said.

  Her voice was suddenly thick, the damp air difficult to breathe.

  “When are you going back to Sweden?”

  “Tomorrow morning. First thing.”

  She hesitated but had to ask the question.

  “If you know any more about the Paper Boy, or if you think you can find out more . . . I’d really appreciate it if you could let me know.”

  His face had darkened, the smile gone in a second.

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  She shook her head.

  “I haven’t told you everything. There has been a series of murders in Stockholm. Three members of a Jewish community, two of them children, and the story of the Paper Boy from Israel has come up in the investigation.”

  Fred looked surprised.

  “And how does that end up on your desk? What’s it got to do with Säpo?”

  “It’s not my case; it’s being investigated by a special team of detectives. But we were consulted because an Israeli citizen who is known to us is on the periphery.”

  Fred opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  “Not Efraim Kiel?”

  “Yes.”

  It was Fred’s turn to shake his head.

  “There’s a big difference between what he did to you and killing children, Eden.”

  “We don’t know if he’s involved. We don’t think so, but there are a number of question marks around his presence in Stockholm, and the fact that it coincides with these murders.”

  Once again he reminded her of what he had already said:

  “You are not to pass on what I told you, not under any circumstances whatsoever.”

  “Of course not.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out, although I don’t know how. I’ll call you if I get anywhere.”

  “It would be particularly helpful to know who else was part of Efraim’s team, the one that was operating on the West Bank.”

  Fred let out a bark of laughter.

  “You’re crazy. Why do you want to know that?”

  “Because there are several leads, all pointing back to Israel. And someone is watching Efraim in Stockholm. Someone other than Säpo.”

  Fred grew serious.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said. “It sounds as if there’s something major going on over there.”

  I know. And it frightens me.

  She raised a hand in farewell.

  “I’ll be in touch. And thanks again for your help.”

  He waved back, and she turned and walked away. Once upon a time they would have hugged, but those days were long gone.

  Maybe in the future, she thought when she was back in her hotel room. Maybe it would be possible to heal the past. Her relationship with MI5 was beyond repair, but she and Fred could fix things. If they tried.

  It would make Mikael happy, anyway; he still talked about Fred, said how much he missed him.

  He had always been better than Eden at putting his thoughts and feelings into words. She was a permanent meltdown of suppressed needs and reactions, while he was like fireworks, an explosion of emotions. That was both the strength and the weakness within their relationship.

  She called home to say good night. Mikael sounded pleased to hear her voice and talked enthusiastically about what he and the girls had been up to. She listened but told him nothing about what she had done. That was how it always was, and Mikael didn’t mind. Nor did she mention that she had managed to find time to go and buy a violin for Dani; that would be a surprise.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said.

  “See you.”

  For a second she was seized by a bottomless panic.

  Dear God, please don’t let me have misjudged Efraim Kiel completely.

  Waking nightmares were always worse than those that came when she was asleep. She had just decided to go for an evening stroll to settle her nerves when her boss rang from Stockholm.

  “I presume you’re still not prepared to tell me what you’re up to,” GD said, the irritation clear in his voice.

  “I’ll be back at work by lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “Marvelous,” GD said dryly. “But that’s not why I called. We’ve made some progress during your absence.”

  “Progress?”

  “We think we’ve found the person who is following Efraim Kiel.”

  “How?”

  “The surveillance team kept one car outside the Diplomat in the faint hope that we weren’t the only ones he had managed to shake off. And it seems as if their strategy worked perfectly. They identified an individual who was hanging around in the vicinity of the hotel for long periods at a time.”

  “Did they get any pictures?”

  “They’re here in front of me.”

  Eden’s heart was pounding. She thought about the links to Israel, about Efraim’s team operating on the West Bank: a team with which he had obviously parted company, because he had then moved on to trying to recruit agents in London.

  “What does he look like? Can you send me a photo?”

  “You can see the photos when you get back. But I will tell you that it’s not a man. The person who is following Efraim Kiel is a woman.”

  It wasn’t hard to spot her. He sensed her presence as soon as he picked up her last message from reception. He knew she couldn’t be far away. He had left the hotel by the same route as he had
come in, slipped through the streets behind the building, then cautiously made his way back to Strandvägen. The Säpo car was still there. And a short distance away, at a bus stop, stood a figure who didn’t get on any of the buses that pulled up.

  To think that she had grown so careless.

  It was Efraim Kiel who had trained her, spent countless hours working with her. Provided her with all the knowledge and skills necessary to survive her mission.

  Now she was behaving as if she had forgotten every single thing. Or as if she simply didn’t care. He took it for granted that Säpo had also seen her. Eventually she must have felt that she was making a fool of herself. As she walked away she lacked the energy he had been used to. Her head was bowed, her hands shoved in her pockets.

  Following her had been trickier than he had expected, because of course the car door opened and one of the Säpo goons set off after her as well. Efraim had found it difficult to shadow the Säpo guy without the other man in the car spotting him. If he could just keep his distance, he should be okay.

  And so they had moved through the city, the woman first, the Säpo guy in the middle, and Efraim on the other side of the road. An unconscious troika with the unsuspecting woman as its leader. She led them down toward the central station, then along Vasagatan. At first Efraim had thought they were heading for his new hotel, which would have been most unfortunate, but the woman continued toward Torsgatan. The trail ended when she disappeared through the doorway of one of the newly built apartment blocks on the left-hand side.

  When the Säpo agent gave up and walked away, Efraim crossed over. Read the names of the residents, wondered which one might be hers. Going inside and ringing one doorbell after another was out of the question.

  Always stay out of sight; never be noticed.

  It wasn’t until he was standing under the shower back in his hotel room that he understood which name she had chosen.

  The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. His hands felt numb as he turned off the water, dried himself, and went into the bedroom.

  Now he knew what she was calling herself.

  She had taken the name of the man who was so strong that he could tear a lion to pieces.