‘What? Who’s threatening to blow up the plane?’
Fatima didn’t answer.
‘Where did you find this?’ Karim asked.
‘In the toilet in first class. When I went to check if there was enough toilet paper.’
‘Have any of the passengers seen it?’
‘I’ve no idea. But I don’t think so – they would have said something.’
Erik spoke up: ‘We’ve just turned off the sign telling them to fasten their seat belts; how many of them would have had time to go to the toilet?’
‘Not very many,’ Fatima whispered.
‘More like none,’ Erik said. ‘Can I see what it says?’
There were only a few lines written on the piece of paper. Erik passed it back to Karim, trying to stop his hand from trembling.
‘How the hell did it get in the toilet?’ he asked.
‘It must have been there when we took off,’ Fatima replied.
‘But who could have put it there?’
‘Perhaps someone was asked to leave it in there. Someone who had access to the plane.’
Erik didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why this particular flight had to be dragged into some kind of bomb threat, and he didn’t understand how the piece of paper had got into the toilet. If they were lucky, the whole thing would turn out to be a really bad joke. If they weren’t, then it was a serious threat, and in that case none of them knew if they would live to see tomorrow.
‘What do we do now, Karim?’ he asked.
Karim read the note again. Or rather he looked at the words, his gaze sweeping across the paper, back and forth.
‘We have to do as they say.’
Erik stared at him.
‘Do as they say?’
‘But that’s impossible,’ Fatima said.
‘And what’s the alternative? It specifically states that they will blow the plane to pieces if we don’t follow their instructions.’
‘How would they know?’ Fatima said.
Absurd. It was absurd. The whole thing. Erik tried to gather his thoughts.
‘If the threat is genuine, and according to security regulations we have to act as if it is, then we ought to follow the instructions,’ he said. ‘Obviously. But we have to call airtraffic control and SAS to ask for help on how to proceed. And we need to tell them what the message says. I mean, it’s clearly not aimed at us.’
The message is not aimed at us, we are the hostages.
For the first time, Erik felt afraid. Something else occurred to him.
‘What if one of the passengers left the note in the toilet?’ he said slowly.
‘Yes?’
‘That means he or she is still on the plane, monitoring our actions.’
Fatima stood there with her arms wrapped around her and leaned – or slumped – against the wall. If she started to cry, Erik would lose all respect for her. But she didn’t.
‘Did you show this to anyone else on the crew?’ Erik asked.
‘No.’
‘Keep it to yourself for the time being,’ Karim said. ‘We’ll call ATC and tell them what’s happened, then we’ll decide how to proceed.’
Fatima straightened up.
‘I’d better get back.’
She left the cockpit and slammed the door shut behind her.
Karim put on his headset and called Arlanda.
‘This is Karim Sassi, the captain on Flight 573. We have received a bomb threat; it was written on a piece of paper and left in one of the toilets on board. The content is as follows: Unless the USA shuts down Tennyson Cottage immediately, this plane will be blown up. The same applies unless the Swedish government revokes its decision to deport a man by the name of Zakaria Khelifi. If the plane attempts to land before these decisions have been made and implemented, it will be blown up. As captain, I am instructed to fly the plane for as long as the fuel lasts. That’s the time the two governments have in which to act. They will determine how this ends. When the fuel runs out, the time runs out.’
11
STOCKHOLM, 09:45
The control tower received the information from flight 573 just after the plane had taken off. It was immediately passed on to the central communications office at the National Bureau of Investigation, RKC, to SAS, and to the Transport Agency. The National Bureau of Investigation was still working on the bomb threats made the previous day, targeting locations in central Stockholm, but the message was given top priority. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Alex Recht was sitting there with a bomb threat on his desk.
He could hardly believe his eyes as he read the memo from RKC.
A Boeing 747 that had taken off from Arlanda twenty minutes ago had received a bomb threat, and was therefore classified as hijacked, indirectly. The captain had contacted air-traffic control and informed them of the situation.
In the light of the previous day’s events, the threat must be taken seriously. Alex had read the morning papers and knew who Zakaria Khelifi was. Apparently, Säpo had taken him into custody and were going to deport him. That was the extent of Alex’s knowledge.
After speaking to his boss, he called Eden Lundell.
‘This Zakaria Khelifi is one of yours, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right.’
Eden had already received a copy of the memo, and was in a meeting with one of her deputies. She promised to call Alex back.
He spent the next few minutes going through the key details of the message. The plane had taken off with plenty of fuel. There were a couple of empty seats in first class, but otherwise it was full. There was a crew of ten, including the captain and co-pilot. When the plane ran out of fuel, time was going to be up for the Swedish and US governments.
Alex could understand the demand that had been made of the Swedish government, but what the hell was Tennyson Cottage? Eden probably knew the answer to that question. During his years in the police force, Alex had dealt with a number of bomb threats aimed at planes on their way to or from Sweden, but they had never turned out to be anything but a hoax.
Could this one be different? Was there a danger that there really was a bomb on board Flight 573? If that was the case, it meant that someone had checked in a bag containing explosives, and was now sitting among the passengers. Unless the bomb had been smuggled into someone else’s luggage, which Alex thought was highly improbable. The most likely scenario was that there was no bomb on board.
Alex’s boss appeared.
‘We have to go down and brief the government. Or rather you, not we,’ Hjärpe said.
‘Nobody’s done that yet?’
‘They know about the bomb threat, but not the details. We wanted to assimilate all the information we had first of all. I’ve called and told them we’re on our way. We need to get a move on – it’s only a matter of time before the press get hold of this.’
Alex got ready to head for the government offices yet again.
‘Who’s providing me with backup? We don’t know anything.’
‘You’re going in with Säpo. Let them do the talking. All we know is what’s in the note.’
‘And what are our recommendations?’
‘That we wait and see what happens. I mean, what are they supposed to do? Just let this Khelifi go?’
Alex and his boss headed for the lifts.
‘Have we been in direct contact with the captain of the plane?’ Alex asked.
A shadow passed over Hjärpe’s face.
‘Not yet. In a situation like this, the captain has a significant level of authority. We can make suggestions, but at the end of the day he’s the one who decides what to do.’
‘I’d advise him to dump the fuel and make an emergency landing.’
Hjärpe muttered something unintelligible, then stood next to Alex in silence as they waited for the lift to arrive. He suddenly placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder.
‘I have to say that I admire your professionalism in this situation. By the time I realised how th
ings stood, I’d already given you the job. If you don’t feel you can handle it, that’s fine – I want you to know that I can easily pass it on to someone else.’
The lift arrived and the doors opened.
‘What are you talking about?’ Alex said as he stepped inside, escaping from Hjärpe’s hand.
His boss looked completely stunned.
‘I thought they’d told you. They said they were going to tell you.’
‘Tell me what? Who was supposed to tell me what?’
Speaking very quietly, Hjärpe uttered the very last words that Alex wanted to hear.
‘Alex, your son is the co-pilot on that plane.’
Without being given any further information, Fredrika Bergman was called to a meeting at the Prime Minister’s office. Representatives from the Justice Department and the Foreign Office would also be there. And the police. Nobody was prepared to say what had happened, but the meeting was urgent and it was essential that Fredrika attend.
Things were more or less back to normal at Rosenbad following the bomb threats, but it was obvious that the previous day had been something different. People were scurrying around all over the place. Everyone seemed to be on the way to somewhere else; no one was sitting at their desk.
The atmosphere in the room where the meeting was to take place was noticeably tense. Fredrika said hello to her colleagues from the Foreign Office and the PM’s office, and looped her handbag over the back of a chair. A light drizzle was still falling outside.
Fredrika looked around and spotted two familiar faces: Eden Lundell from Säpo, and Alex Recht. They were standing side by side, with their heads close together. Did they know one another? Alex noticed Fredrika and nodded to her.
‘Nice to see you again so soon.’
He didn’t mean that. His face was distorted in a grimace; he looked angry and upset.
You can’t keep any secrets from me.
‘Do you know Eden?’
‘Yes, we met yesterday.’
They shook hands, and Fredrika thought that Eden’s grip was one of the firmest she had ever felt. She could smell cigarette smoke today as well. And Eden wasn’t smiling. She looked as if she would really like Fredrika to go away so that she could be alone with Alex.
‘Fredrika and I used to work together,’ Alex explained. ‘She was part of my special investigation team.’
Eden looked surprised.
‘I would never have guessed you were a police officer,’ she said to Fredrika.
‘She’s not,’ Alex replied. ‘She’s a criminologist. And a highly skilled investigator.’
Fredrika blushed. She would never have thought that Alex knew what she had studied at university. Not that he wasn’t interested, but he did have a tendency to mix up different academic disciplines.
Alex’s words softened Eden’s expression.
‘Good to have someone with your background on board right now,’ she said.
The Secretary of State cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps we could make a start?’
They sat down around the table.
‘We have received another bomb threat,’ Eden began. ‘This time the target is a plane that recently took off from Arlanda, heading for New York.’
The silence around the table was palpable.
‘The terms are crystal clear. The hijackers have made two demands that must be met. Meanwhile, the plane is not allowed to land; if it attempts to do so, it will be blown up. In other words, they are saying that there is a bomb on board.’
‘But what is all this?’ the Secretary of State asked, sounding like a child.
‘All we know is that one of the stewardesses found the bomb threat written on a piece of paper in one of the toilets,’ Eden said. ‘How it got there is of course of great interest to all of us, but at the moment we have no information on that point. It could have been put there by one of the passengers, or a member of the crew. The prosecutor has decided to launch a preliminary investigation, and we are currently trying to persuade SAS to provide us with a list of passengers, and of the crew members on board, so that we can compare them with our own databases to see if we find any matches.’
‘So that hasn’t been done yet?’ the Secretary of State said.
‘No. But we’re expecting a quick turnaround. We’re also working on the specific demands made in the note. One is directed at the US government, and calls for the closure of Tennyson Cottage.’
‘What’s that?’ Fredrika asked.
‘An American detention facility in Afghanistan,’ Eden explained. ‘It’s relatively unknown, so it’s not at all clear how the person who made the threat could be familiar with the place. We have already made contact with our American colleagues. It’s important that we’re all on the same page in our dealings with the American side. I assume you’ll take care of communications with the political leadership over there?’
‘Yes,’ the cabinet secretary from the Foreign Office replied.
‘Good.’
Eden turned to Fredrika and the Secretary of State.
‘There is a further demand, this time aimed at the Swedish government. It concerns the matter we discussed during yesterday’s meeting: Zakaria Khelifi.’
The Secretary of State folded his arms; Fredrika had noticed that he often did this when he felt under pressure.
‘Whoever made the threat is calling for his immediate release, and for the restoration of his residence permit.’
The atmosphere in the room was oppressive.
‘Had you been expecting this?’ the Secretary of State asked, much to Fredrika’s surprise.
‘No, of course not,’ Eden said, unable to hide her irritation. ‘And I must add that we don’t know if this is another hoax.’
‘Hard to say, isn’t it?’ the cabinet secretary said.
Eden’s eyes narrowed.
‘I don’t think this kind of discussion is particularly helpful.’
‘True,’ the Secretary of State said. ‘So what’s our next move?’
‘My suggestion is that we start talking to our respective American colleagues. Säpo will also try to establish direct contact with the captain of the plane in order to find out what his intentions are. Personally, I would prefer to see him go for an emergency landing as soon as possible, but bearing in mind the way in which the threat is expressed, and that we still don’t know if it’s genuine, or if one of the perpetrators is on board, I daren’t make that recommendation at the moment.’
‘How much time do we have?’ the Secretary of State asked.
Fredrika saw Eden and Alex exchange glances. Alex looked deeply distressed.
Eden explained what the note had said about how much time the two governments had to meet their demands: when the fuel ran out, their time was up.
‘Oh, my God,’ the cabinet secretary said, covering his mouth with his hand.
‘I must point out once again that we don’t know whether this is a threat we need to take seriously, but I can say that Säpo are extremely concerned,’ Eden said.
Fredrika hesitated for a moment, then asked a question.
‘You didn’t say how long we’ve got. How long will the fuel last?’
Eden bit her lip.
‘We have just over thirteen hours, starting from now. Then the plane will crash, unless it’s allowed to land.’
12
10:45
Tennyson Cottage. A dark corner of the earth where dubious activities took place.
Eden Lundell hadn’t wanted to say too much about it during the meeting, but she knew exactly what it was. An American so-called secret detention facility in Afghanistan, close to the Pakistani border. Notorious to those who had been there, unknown to everyone else. The turnover of inmates was low. Most of those who ended up there were suspected terrorists who had been captured in Pakistan, and who were then moved on through the system after a period in Tennyson Cottage. In the past, they had been flown to Guantánamo, but now they were taken to other facilities. The America
ns had never confirmed it, but Eden suspected that there had been fatalities among the inmates.
Eden hadn’t had anything to do with Tennyson Cottage herself, but she had heard the name mentioned when she was working in London.
They gathered in one of the larger operational meeting rooms: Eden, Sebastian, whom she still hadn’t apologised to, and a number of investigators and analysts. A total of twelve people were seated around the table. Only one of them wasn’t wearing a black suit, and that was Eden. She was wearing a blue pinstripe suit by Hugo Boss. As she often said to Mikael, ‘Authority doesn’t come for free.’
And Mikael would usually reply, ‘Particularly when it stinks of smoke.’
Eden had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. One day, she would make her husband happy by stubbing out her very last cigarette. But not today.
When everyone had settled down, Eden opened the meeting. She didn’t waste any time, but got straight down to what she considered to be the key question as far as Säpo was concerned.
‘Why has Zakaria Khelifi come up in this context? Who would do such a thing with the aim of helping him? Is it his current girlfriend? A friend? A group of activists?’
‘Or a terrorist group,’ someone said.
‘Or a terrorist group,’ Eden repeated. ‘And secondly, why is Tennyson Cottage mentioned? What’s the connection with Khelifi?’
‘Does there have to be a connection?’ Sebastian asked. ‘It could be someone who just wants to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.’
‘True,’ Eden said, grateful for Sebastian’s contribution. ‘That could of course be the case. But then the question remains: how does this person know about Tennyson Cottage? I mean, it’s not particularly well known.’
One of the investigators raised his hand.
‘I think you can find it if you do an Internet search. Well, I know you can. I just tried it myself.’
‘I did the same thing,’ Sebastian said. ‘But there weren’t many matches – less than a handful. It doesn’t seem like a place you would just come across unless you knew what you were looking for.’
‘Which takes us back to square one,’ Eden said. ‘How did the person or persons who made the threat know about Tennyson Cottage?’
Hostage Page 6