29
WASHINGTON, DC, 08:45
The sun was shining down on the capital city that was regarded as one of the most influential in the world. Bruce Johnson took Green from the CIA along with him and went to see his boss, who had finally deigned to turn up. The chief looked less than pleased to see Green, but Bruce took no notice. They had to discuss the information that had been passed on to Bruce just hours ago, turning the whole investigation on its head before it had even got under way properly. There were indications that Captain Karim Sassi, the commander of Flight 573, was working with the terrorists. It couldn’t get much worse.
Bruce had been completely floored as he tried to understand what the captain’s involvement might mean. He loathed Green for spending so long sitting in the meeting before coming out with the information that so fundamentally upended every other theory they had been working on. Why hadn’t Green told him about Sassi as soon as he walked through the door, for fuck’s sake?
‘So Karim Sassi is working with the terrorists?’ the chief said, having found it extremely difficult to assimilate the information the first time he heard it.
‘According to our sources, that seems to be the case. Karim Sassi is part of the group that implemented this plan, and personally placed the note containing the bomb threat on the plane. And Sassi has been given a supplementary order that is not stated in the note,’ Green said.
‘Which is?’
‘If the Swedish and American governments do not accede to the hijackers’ demands, Sassi will crash the plane into the Capitol building. Here in Washington.’
Bruce’s mouth went dry. He could see that the chief had lost his composure for a moment.
‘Therefore, it is pointless to try to work out who is behind this mess, which the Swedes seem to believe is the way forward. It won’t make any difference. The key player is sitting at the controls, and he’s not going to land that plane unless he hears that the hijackers’ demands have been met. Which isn’t going to happen, as we know.’
Where had they got this information from?
‘Why hasn’t the FBI been told this?’
‘We’re telling you now. And it changes things, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘To say the least. But I’m asking you again – why didn’t you pass this on before?’
It was Green’s turn to look annoyed.
‘Because there was no reason to do so.’
But Bruce’s boss had more questions, and Bruce knew that he was worried. This new information meant that Flight 573 was no longer regarded as part of an armed attack on the United States, and therefore became entirely the responsibility of the CIA and the US Department of Defense.
The FBI would be marginalised.
‘What’s your plan of action?’ Bruce’s boss asked Green.
‘It’s very simple. The plane will not be allowed to land on US soil under any circumstances. When it gets close to US airspace we will contact the captain and tell him to change course. If he fails to comply, we will ask our supreme commander to approve the necessary measures.’
The supreme commander was the President of the United States.
‘You’re escalating the issue to the White House? Why?’
‘I’m happy to answer that question, but this stays between us until further notice. We will inform the Swedes as and when necessary.’
He paused and waited for Bruce’s boss to accept this condition, which he did.
The Swedes would be kept out of the picture for the time being.
‘Okay,’ Green said. ‘We’re elevating this to the White House so that we can do what was not done on 9/11. We have to prevent another attack on American interests.’
Bruce’s boss looked puzzled.
‘And how are you going to do that?’ he said in a voice that exuded weariness.
Green didn’t reply at first.
Nor did he need to, because in the silence that followed, Bruce realised how the CIA were planning to deal with Flight 573.
‘It’s never going to arrive, is it?’ he said.
Green’s face took on the determined expression Bruce had seen so often in those who regarded their desk job as a theatre of war.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘It will never reach either Washington or New York. Not if the President does what we want, and believe me, he will.’
30
FLIGHT 573
They were flying across Canada now. Earlier, they had passed over Iceland and Greenland. Erik Recht had always wanted to visit Iceland, to bathe in its warm springs and ride Icelandic horses. Claudia would love it. She always enjoyed travelling abroad, discovering the world.
They still had so much to see.
The story of their hijacked plane had evidently been leaked to the media; the police had informed them of this fact. That changed things. Attempting an emergency landing no longer seemed like such a good idea now that the press were following the plane’s journey to New York. That was another thing Erik had tried to bring up with Karim: they ought to change course, stay away from US airspace. The Americans had a different view on the best way to deal with terrorists. There was a serious risk that the plane would get an extremely brutal reception if they ended up within the jurisdiction of the American authorities.
Erik excused himself and left the cockpit to go to the toilet. He had to get away from Karim for a while, try to gather his thoughts in peace. He also wanted to try to get hold of his father, ask for advice. Without Karim overhearing the conversation.
Outside the cockpit, he ran straight into Fatima, the stewardess who had found the note.
‘We have a problem,’ she said, moving towards the door to indicate that she wanted to discuss the matter in the cockpit.
‘We have a number of problems,’ Erik said, gently putting his hand under her arm. ‘Come with me.’
The toilets in first class were empty. Erik hesitated for a second, then opened one of the doors and went inside, pulling Fatima along with him. She looked as if she was about to protest, but then gave in.
‘What’s this about?’ she said when Erik had closed and locked the door.
These ridiculous little toilets. Erik had tried to have sex on a plane only once, when he and Claudia flew to Sweden for the first time. He had been so nervous about going home that when Claudia had giggled and suggested that they should try joining the mile-high club, he had immediately got to his feet and headed for the toilets, with Claudia trailing along behind him. The cubicle was tiny and smelly, and it took almost ten minutes before they found a position that worked. By that time the stewardess had noticed that the toilet had been engaged for some time, and started knocking on the door. It had been really bad sex, but an entertaining experience on the whole. And it had made Erik considerably less nervous.
Fatima was not Claudia. They were far too close together inside the cubicle. Erik thought about climbing onto the toilet seat, but then he would bang his head on the ceiling. Instead, they remained standing by the washbasin, chest to chest.
‘You first,’ Erik said.
‘Several crew members have noticed that some of the passengers are fiddling with their mobile phones. When we point out that they’re not allowed to make calls or use the Internet on board, they say they’re just listening to music. But of course we already know that many passengers simply disregard those rules, and they’re doing the same thing today.’
‘So you’re afraid one of them will use their phone and find out what’s happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not a problem, you know that. At thirty thousand feet, the phones connect to a hundred networks at the same time, which is why they don’t work.’
Admittedly, there was always a margin of error in that particular argument, as Erik well knew. There would be chaos if the news that the plane had been hijacked spread among the passengers. On the other hand, Erik was convinced that the flight was going to be considerably longer than the passengers were expecting, so they were going to h
ave to make some kind of announcement anyway in order to explain the delay. And inform everyone that they might not arrive at all. He made a decision.
‘Keep moving up and down the aisles, keep having a go at people. Remind them of the regulations, tell them it’s dangerous to have their phones switched on.’
Fatima looked uneasy.
‘We’ll deal with that problem if and when it arises,’ Erik said.
‘Okay. But you said we had a number of problems?’
Yes, Erik thought. Our captain has gone crazy.
He searched for the words that would best express what he was thinking.
‘Have you noticed anything odd about Karim?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Then again, I’ve hardly spoken to him since we took off. We bumped into one another outside the toilets just before we started boarding the passengers; he seemed a bit stressed, but he was perfectly pleasant.’
Erik raised his eyebrows.
‘You bumped into him outside the toilets? Before we let the passengers on board?’
‘Yes, what’s strange about that? I expect he’s like everyone else – he has to go to the toilet now and again.’
Erik couldn’t hold back any longer.
‘Was it the same toilet where you found the note containing the bomb threat?’
He had to stop himself from shaking Fatima.
‘What the hell are you suggesting?’
Fatima moved back a step, away from Erik, and bumped into the door. She put her hand on the lock.
‘I’m not suggesting anything – just answer the question.’
He had frightened her, and that wasn’t good. But he had to know, because during the past hour, Erik had become increasingly convinced that Karim could be involved in what had happened. He had to know whether Karim was the person who had left that note in the toilet.
‘I don’t know.’
He could see that she was telling the truth.
‘I just assumed he’d been to the toilet, since that was where we met. I don’t know which one it was, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t seriously believe that Karim, of all people, would be a part of all this? He’s a good person, Erik!’
Erik leaned back against the wall. He was so bloody tired. Already.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know. But he’s not himself. He’s not behaving rationally, he’s making the wrong decisions.’
Fatima moved a step closer to Erik; she was no longer so afraid of him.
‘For God’s sake, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he has anything to do with the hijacking! Something could have happened at home, or whatever. Something that’s stressing him out, making him anxious, and this terrible situation just makes him feel worse.’
Erik heard what she said, but her words had no effect.
‘We know one another, Karim and I,’ he said. ‘We hang out together. Our families spend time together. And I know there’s something else on his mind.’
Fatima reached out and stroked Erik’s arm.
‘In that case, you need to talk to him. Tell him there’s no room for personal problems, if he can’t see that for himself. Talk to him. Tell him what’s on your mind.’
Tell him what’s on your mind. How would that work? If Karim was involved, he was hardly going to want to discuss it with Erik.
In fact, several things were bothering Erik.
‘He requested extra fuel before we took off. What if he did that because he knew what was going to happen, knew we were going to need more flying hours?’
‘You mean he made up the fact that there’s going to be bad weather in New York? Oh, come on, Erik!’
Erik felt a sudden spurt of anger.
‘Of course he didn’t fucking make it up, we get weather reports! What concerns me is the amount of extra fuel he asked for. Five extra flying hours is far more than we usually request.’
Fatima knew that too, but she simply shook her head. ‘You’re imagining things,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’
‘I’m going to call my father,’ Erik said. ‘From one of the empty seats in first class – I can use the phone in the armrest. He’s a police officer, and apparently he’s working on the hijacking.’
Fatima grabbed his arm.
‘You’re going to ring your father and tell him you think the captain of the plane is involved in the bomb threat? Erik, do you realise what you’re saying? You’ll be putting Karim in a really difficult position, if you do that. You’ll be putting all of us in a really difficult position. Dangerous, in fact.’
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he was being too hasty. The toilet suddenly felt very small; he had to get out of there.
‘Speak to Karim first,’ Fatima said. ‘Then you can decide whether you still want to call your father.’
Erik thought for a moment, then made his decision. He would do as she said.
31
STOCKHOLM, 15:45
The hours were passing quickly. Too quickly. And so far they had no idea how they were going to prevent the disaster that was moving closer and closer by the minute. By this stage no one really believed that the problem would be solved before the plane reached New York. Instead, they were all thanking the weather gods for the predicted storm, and Karim Sassi’s decision to request extra fuel. Fredrika Bergman wondered what he would have done if it hadn’t been for the grim forecast. Would he still have asked for more fuel, or would he have simply taken off with only enough for the estimated flight time?
Fredrika, Alex and Eden were on their way to a Säpo conference room where they were due to meet CIA agents. Fredrika had several male friends who would have sold their own children for the opportunity of meeting someone who worked for the CIA, but she wasn’t quite so easily impressed. The current image of the organisation was far too tainted by the reports of outrages which had followed in the wake of the war on terror.
The Americans were already waiting. Inconspicuous men whom Fredrika would barely have noticed on the street. On closer inspection, they all looked very much alike. Same height, same hair colour, same haircut. When they shook hands, she noticed that they did so with the same level of firmness. Strong, but not so firm that it became unpleasant.
Eden hadn’t been very keen on the idea of allowing Fredrika and Alex to attend the meeting, on the basis that they would be discussing sensitive intelligence. The Americans might feel inhibited if outsiders came along. It was decided that Fredrika and Alex would be there for the first part of the meeting while Karim Sassi was under consideration. Then they would have to leave, because Eden and the CIA agents would be moving on to another matter that Eden wasn’t prepared to go into.
They had only just sat down when one of the CIA agents said, ‘Good to put a face to the name, Eden. Up to now, we’ve only spoken on the phone.’
Eden smiled and said that it was good to meet him too.
‘Didn’t you used to work in the UK? For the British Intelligence Service?’
Eden’s smile became rather strained, but she didn’t react as strongly as Fredrika might have done.
‘That’s right.’
‘I think we spoke back then too.’
‘Perhaps we did.’
‘We’re very familiar with your name, let me tell you.’
It could have been meant as a compliment, but Fredrika could see that it wasn’t. She noticed that Eden had reached the same conclusion. Slowly she put down her notepad and stared at the man who had spoken to her.
It looked as if she was trying to tell him something. Not now.
Eden won, because one of the other Americans took over and thanked Säpo for calling the meeting. They were all curious to hear what the Swedish investigation had come up with so far.
‘We’re happy to share everything we have, but with the proviso that the exchange is mutual, of course.’
‘No problem.’
After two seconds Fredrika realised that there was nothing straightforward about this transaction. Intelligence w
as a world of its own. Nowhere else was it so true that knowledge was power. And knowledge was something to be bargained over.
However, Eden refused to play second fiddle, and the discussions were tough. Gradually she revealed what they knew about Karim Sassi, while at the same time she tried to milk the Americans for the information they had.
The CIA were very interested in Sassi.
‘Have you spoken to his mother and Zakaria Khelifi’s uncle about the time when Khelifi knew Sassi back in 2002?’ they asked Eden after she had told them about her interview with Zakaria.
‘Not yet.’
Fredrika knew that they had got hold of both of them, and would be questioning them after the meeting with the CIA.
‘Is Karim Sassi the only person on the plane that came up as a match on your database?’
To Fredrika’s surprise, Eden said, ‘No.’
Fredrika could see that this was news to Alex as well.
‘Just before we came down here, I was told that we had a match on two other names,’ Eden said.
‘Passengers or crew?’
‘Passengers. Two Swedish citizens who figured in an investigation a few years ago. We’ve heard nothing of them since, and the case is closed. Therefore, we don’t regard these matches as being of interest.’
‘We’d like to know what the investigation was about, and we’d also like the names of the two passengers.’
‘No,’ Eden said.
‘No?’
‘Tell me what you have instead.’
The CIA agents looked at each other, and the one on the far right started talking.
‘We also believe that Karim Sassi is the person on board who could be linked to the hijacking.’
‘And how did you reach that conclusion?’
‘Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that.’
‘You have information that suggests Karim Sassi is a terrorist, but you can’t tell me where it came from?’
‘That’s the problem. It’s not our own information, which means there are issues when it comes to passing it on.’
The third-country rule. A security service must be certain that any information it decided to share would not be passed on. Although she didn’t have any proof, Fredrika suspected there were many occasions on which this rule was disregarded.
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