Hostage

by Kristina Ohlsson

  ‘I understand that,’ Eden said. ‘But as we have so little time in this case, I expect you to go back to whoever you are working with, and to request permission to share that information with us. Anything else is unacceptable.’

  The man who had just spoken sank back in his seat. Fredrika felt naive as she realised that the whole thing was nothing more than a charade. They had already decided to pass on all the information they had, as long as they got something in exchange.

  ‘So what about those two passengers you mentioned, the ones whose names had come up in a preliminary investigation?’

  Eden got to her feet; she had probably seen through the Americans’ tactics long before Fredrika.

  ‘It’s obvious we’re not going to get any further with this. Thank you for taking the time to come here.’

  Her manoeuvre rattled the CIA agents.

  ‘Hey, hang on a minute . . .’

  ‘No, you hang on.’

  Fredrika would never have guessed that Eden was capable of shouting the way she did now. A woman who raised her voice could easily come across as hysterical or coarse, but that definitely didn’t apply to Eden, who in spite of her femininity looked mentally stronger than anyone else in the room.

  ‘Four hundred Swedish and American citizens are trapped on a plane with a captain who is very probably involved in a plot that could kill them all. If that’s not enough to secure full co-operation, then I have no fucking intention of sitting here bargaining with you.’

  She remained standing for a full thirty seconds after she had finished speaking, then one of the Americans broke the silence.

  ‘I apologise for the misunderstanding which seems to have arisen. Naturally, we will share with you all the information we can. Perhaps you’d like to sit down again?’

  He waved his hand in a gesture that was more pleading that authoritative.

  Eden sat down. Two strands of hair fell down over her face, but she didn’t bother to brush them aside.

  ‘The information comes from Germany.’

  ‘Germany?’

  Eden couldn’t hide her surprise.

  ‘We received it from the Germans last week.’

  Time stood still in the room. Pink blotches appeared on Eden’s cheeks.

  ‘Last week? Are you saying you knew this was going to happen a week ago? And you didn’t tell us?’

  Now it was the CIA agent’s turn to get angry.

  ‘Of course not! What the fuck are you suggesting? Last week, we were told that a plane would be hijacked, that a bomb threat would be left on a plane that was already in the air. It would take off from a European airport, and there would be American citizens on board. According to the original intelligence, demands would be made only of the US government. Tennyson Cottage was explicitly mentioned. And the captain would be involved, and would be given special instructions.’

  ‘But neither you nor the Germans thought it would be a good idea to pass this on to us or other European security services?’

  Eden sounded shocked.

  ‘Since the whole thing appeared to be directed at American interests, we saw no reason to alert you at that point. Besides which, the hijacking wasn’t supposed to happen until later – November, according to the informer. And the message came via email.’

  ‘Via email?’

  ‘Exactly, and it was anonymous. So as you can understand, it wasn’t given a particularly high priority, either by us or the Germans.’

  ‘Didn’t they try to trace the email?’

  ‘Of course, but it was impossible. They couldn’t identify the IP number of the computer that had been used to send the message.’

  These damned, indispensable computers. Eden couldn’t imagine a world without them, but at the same time she couldn’t help wishing it wasn’t so easy for criminals to use them for their own ends.

  The American sighed wearily.

  ‘To be honest, if Tennyson Cottage hadn’t been mentioned, we wouldn’t have taken any notice of this at all. We can’t focus on every threat that circulates in the miasma of intelligence.’

  Eden nodded in agreement.

  ‘But what about Karim Sassi? You said the email mentioned him too.’

  ‘He wasn’t named, it just said that the pilot would be a part of the plot. When we spoke to the Germans this morning, they said they’d had no further messages from whoever sent the first one.’

  Fredrika assumed that the person who had sent the message must have had considerable insight into the planned hijacking; otherwise, he or she wouldn’t have had such detailed knowledge. However, she and Alex were outside the ongoing discussion, so she didn’t say anything.

  The CIA agent went on:

  ‘There was one more thing.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Apparently, the pilot has been given an order which was not included in the note found on the plane. He must not change course, but must carry on heading for American air space. If or when he is informed that the two governments refuse to meet the demands of the hijackers, he will crash the plane into the Capitol building in Washington, DC.’

  Anything but that, Fredrika thought.

  It was over.

  That was the only conclusion she could reach. There was no way the Americans would allow such a thing to happen if they could prevent it. But how would they do it?

  It was Eden who put the question into words.

  ‘And what plans do you have to avoid that particular scenario?’

  ‘We’ll come back to that at a later stage, if you don’t mind.’

  Later. As if they had all the time in the world.

  Eden tried another question.

  ‘What’s your assessment of the reliability of this information?’

  ‘It’s hard to say, but given the accuracy of so much of the rest of the message, it’s reasonable to assume that this is also on the nail. In any case it would be extremely difficult to refrain from acting on it.’

  Another nod from Eden, but no more questions.

  She made a few rapid notes, then turned to Alex and Fredrika.

  ‘Thank you, I think that concludes the part of the meeting that involves you.’

  She spoke in English to ensure that their American guests understood. Alex and Fredrika immediately got to their feet, like schoolchildren, thanked everyone for allowing them to attend, and left the room.

  ‘What a strange world they operate in,’ Alex said when they were back in the corridor leading to Police HQ.

  Fredrika couldn’t help but agree. People in dark suits travelling all over the globe to exchange fragmented information that would then be put together to form a whole, and would eventually make the world a safer place. If everything worked as it should. Which it rarely seemed to do.

  ‘I don’t think they put all their cards on the table,’ she said.

  ‘Me neither. I suppose that’s part of the strategy, keeping a spare card up your sleeve in case you end up having to negotiate.’

  ‘But what’s the point in this case?’ Fredrika wondered. ‘I can’t see that they have anything whatsoever to gain by behaving like that, when we’re facing a situation that for obvious reasons has to be resolved within the next few hours.’

  She glanced at Alex and saw that his face had lost its colour.

  ‘It will all work out,’ she said, placing a hand on his back.

  Although there are no guarantees – there never are.

  He stopped at the door leading to the National Bureau of Investigation’s offices.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose Erik as well. First Lena and now Erik – I just couldn’t bear it.’

  She stood behind him, frozen in mid-movement. There was nothing she could say, but she tried anyway.

  ‘We’ll bring the plane down safely, Alex.’

  ‘But how? We have to contact Erik, get him to take over. My God, if Karim is even considering crashing straight into the Capitol, he’s even crazier than any of us thought.’

&
nbsp; ‘Don’t think like that. You have to believe this will all work out. We’ll do what you said and contact Erik. But not right now. Not in the middle of the investigation.’

  Alex turned around.

  ‘Fredrika, it’s a matter of hours. What are we supposed to investigate that could buy us more time?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but we keep on finding out new things that move us forward. Go and talk to Karim’s mother. Ask her about the book you found and Karim’s relationship with Khelifi. Then maybe we can get in touch with Erik.’

  But how are we going to do that? she asked herself. Erik was sitting less than three feet away from Karim; how could they speak to him without Karim knowing? And how could Erik take command of the plane? Was he supposed to kill Karim with his bare hands?

  Alex didn’t say anything; he simply yanked open the door and trudged along to his office.

  ‘Are you coming with me to see Karim’s mother?’ he asked Fredrika.

  ‘I don’t know; I really ought to stay here so that the government office can get hold of me if necessary.’

  ‘What the hell for? They can reach you on your mobile just as easily.’

  ‘I thought someone from Säpo was supposed to be going with you?’

  ‘I couldn’t give a shit,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll call them before we go and tell them we’re on our way. If they want to come they can use their own car.’

  Fredrika went into her temporary office and picked up her jacket. It was becoming increasingly difficult to dispute the view that Karim Sassi was part of the terrorist plot behind the bomb threat to Flight 573. What Fredrika couldn’t work out was why.

  Why would a man like Karim Sassi get behind the controls of a plane full of passengers and head straight for disaster? And what did he have to do with Zakaria Khelifi and a place called Tennyson Cottage?

  There had to be a connection somewhere that they hadn’t yet found.

  And there had to be someone who could tell them where they should look.

  32

  16:15

  Eden Lundell was more worried than she was prepared to admit. How could they have ended up in a situation like this? Everything would have been so much easier if only they had had an opponent to negotiate with, to reason with. And Zakaria Khelifi appeared to be oblivious to everything that had happened.

  GD had told her that the groundwork had already been done when she took over an operation connected with several other cases of preparing to commit an act of terrorism all over Europe. They had broken up a terrorist cell in Stockholm, thus preventing a major attack that would have claimed many lives. The evidence was secured and the suspects were arrested. The prosecutor had no doubt that convictions would follow, and he was quite right.

  Except in the case of Zakaria Khelifi, and now Eden was starting to wonder what exactly was going on there. Just before she went to meet the Americans, Sebastian had spoken to her. They had gone through the lists of calls once again, and it looked as if Zakaria could well be telling the truth when he said that the phone had belonged to someone else. The contacts were largely different during the period when Zakaria insisted the phone had not been his; Sebastian had even found a date which constituted a kind of dividing line.

  ‘If the phone did belong to someone else, then we can at least assume that they knew one another. They have several mutual acquaintances,’ he said.

  This business of the phone had been difficult right from the start. Zakaria used several mobiles: one for work, one personal, one that belonged to his girlfriend.

  Eden wanted to re-examine all their previous assumptions about Zakaria, simply to reassure herself that the case against him was solid. The evidence against him had been rather more sparse, and of course this became all too clear when the verdicts were delivered. If they had got it wrong, then Eden wanted to know before the day was over. By which she meant before midnight.

  But right now she was sitting in a meeting with the CIA. She had intended to ask them some questions about Tennyson Cottage, but that could wait. First of all, she wanted to hear more about the German connection, then she would bring up Zakaria Khelifi once more.

  ‘You said that a German identified Karim.’

  ‘No, we said that an email had been sent to the German intelligence service.’

  Same difference. There was a connection with Germany, and that country had cropped up several times on Zakaria’s phone during the period when it might not have been his.

  ‘Do you think that the group behind this, or elements of that group, could be in Germany?’

  ‘We don’t know. But obviously, Germany is of interest under the circumstances, even if we can’t see a direct link to the rest of the case at this stage.’

  Eden told them about Zakaria’s German contacts; the CIA agents listened and made notes.

  ‘I’ll get in touch with the Germans straight after this meeting,’ Eden said.

  ‘Of course. Unless they get hold of you first. Now that the hijacking is public knowledge, they will probably want to talk to you about the email.’

  Eden thought so too. One of the Americans summarised:

  ‘So an unknown person has stated that Karim is involved in the hijacking. Karim has met Zakaria Khelifi in the past. Zakaria Khelifi has been in contact with individuals in Germany.’

  Eden moved on:

  ‘And Tennyson Cottage? How does that fit into all this?’

  It happened so fast that she almost missed it, but she just noticed the men on the other side of the table exchange glances before replying.

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘No? No one with a link to Sweden – or Germany – has been held there?’

  ‘No.’

  Closed faces told Eden that she wasn’t going to get any further with Tennyson Cottage.

  ‘Tell us more about Zakaria Khelifi,’ one of the Americans said.

  But Eden had reached her limit when it came to things she was prepared to discuss with the CIA. Karim Sassi was obviously of interest to both sides, but if they weren’t going to talk about Tennyson Cottage, then Eden wasn’t going to talk about Zakaria. Then she remembered that she had one more card to play.

  ‘I mentioned that we found a photograph of Zakaria Khelifi and Karim Sassi at Karim’s house.’

  The men opposite straightened up, eager to listen carefully to what she had to say.

  ‘Did I tell you that we found it inside a book by Alfred Lord Tennyson?’

  That hit the mark. The Americans were lost for words, and that was all Eden needed to know. She definitely had something they wanted.

  ‘But I’m sure that’s just a bizarre coincidence, isn’t it?’

  The fish was hooked; all she had to do was reel it in.

  ‘I doubt it,’ one of the Americans said.

  ‘Really?’

  She played it cool, leaning back on her chair with her legs crossed. She might have been imagining things, but she thought her questions about Tennyson were making them nervous.

  What is it you’re not telling me?

  ‘I swear we have nothing that explains why Tennyson Cottage has cropped up in the middle of this mess.’

  She didn’t believe him. Once, and only once, Eden had failed to expose a liar when she was standing face to face with him. It had been an expensive mistake, and one she would not be making again. Ever.

  ‘You don’t have anything on Karim Sassi that you’re keeping quiet about? Something that explains his interest in Tennyson?’

  ‘No, no and no again. What about you? Did you find anything related to Tennyson Cottage?’

  ‘No.’

  She would have lied if necessary. She was a better player than them. One of the best in her field, in fact. Her boss back in the UK had told her that this particular quality would take her further than any other.

  He had been right. It had saved her marriage, among other things.

  Have you met someone else, Eden? Have you?

  You’re the only one for me, Mi
kael. I swear.

  They had reached an impasse. If the CIA wanted to know more, Eden would be happy to meet them at any time of the day or night, as long as they promised to share information of their own. She thought she had made her point, loud and clear.

  She brought the meeting to an end and took out her phone to call someone to escort her guests out of the building. But first she turned to her American colleagues.

  ‘I need lists of personal details,’ she said.

  ‘What lists?’

  ‘Lists of those who have been held in Tennyson Cottage. I want to run them against our Swedish records to see if I can find a link to Khelifi.’

  She knew they would refuse, but wanted to ask the question anyway.

  ‘You must realise that’s an unreasonable request.’

  ‘Then at least I want the names of those who’ve been released – surely there must be a few?’

  ‘Once again, you have to trust us. There is no link between Khelifi and Tennyson Cottage.’

  Eden didn’t reply. It was obvious that there had to be some common denominator between Khelifi and Tennyson. The only question was whether they would find it in time to avert a catastrophe. Someone was sitting on the truth, and that person had to start talking. Time was running out fast.

  33

  16:18

  The media coverage was fragmented. It was as if the journalists didn’t know what to focus on. The previous day’s bomb threats. The hijacking. Or the parliamentary debate on immigration and integration. Buster Hansson, General Director of Säpo, couldn’t help thinking that if it hadn’t been for the guilty verdicts in the terrorist cases, along with everything else that had happened in the last two days, the debate wouldn’t have attracted half as much attention. He had avoided watching the live broadcast from the chamber. The far right had a following wind. They were becoming increasingly daring in the way they spoke and in the position they adopted, and were making increasingly bold demands when it came to the reduction, if not the complete cessation, of immigration. And then of course they referred to the acts of terrorism that had shaken Scandinavia, and asked: ‘Is this the way we want things to be?’