Hostage

by Kristina Ohlsson

  It must be half an hour since the Pentagon had instructed their man on board, and Bruce was waiting in his office, unable to settle. The man should have managed to get into the cockpit by this stage. The chances of not finding a stewardess who was willing to help him were infinitesimal, so what could have happened?

  Bruce went over to his boss’s office.

  ‘We ought to inform the Swedes,’ he said.

  ‘We wait. It’s better to call them with a success story when it’s all over.’

  ‘They ought to have the same information as us,’ Bruce insisted.

  ‘Why? Neither of us has any real chance of influencing the situation on board. It’s hardly likely that they’ve set up a parallel operation that could jeopardise ours.’

  Bruce didn’t agree, however.

  ‘They were talking about trying to get hold of the co-pilot, to see if he could take over the plane.’

  ‘But surely, if something like that was under way, they would have informed us?’

  Bruce said nothing. If Washington wasn’t keeping Stockholm up to speed, then why should they assume that the reverse was true?

  ‘Okay, you’re right,’ Bruce’s boss said when he realised what Bruce was thinking.‘Contact Stockholm and give them an update.’

  Bruce felt relieved. He had a feeling that poor communication had cost them valuable time, and possibly put the entire operation at risk. There was just one more thing he wanted to discuss with his boss.

  ‘Karim Sassi?’ he said.

  ‘Something of an enigma.’

  ‘What’s his motivation? He’s not a Muslim. Admittedly, he had a photograph of Zakaria Khelifi in his house, but no one has been able to confirm that the two men are close, or even move in the same circles. And why the hell did he decide to include Tennyson Cottage in his note?’

  Bruce’s boss signalled to him to come into his office and close the door.

  ‘Someone must be lying,’ he said. ‘There has to be a connection between Zakaria Khelifi, Tennyson Cottage, and Karim Sassi.’

  Bruce had been thinking exactly the same thing.

  ‘Why aren’t they prepared to tell us anything?’ he said, referring to the Pentagon and the CIA. ‘They’re risking the lives of hundreds of people.’

  ‘I think they’re keeping quiet because they’re hoping it won’t be necessary to reveal whatever it might be. There’s something so sensitive about Tennyson Cottage that they’ve chosen to play their cards like this instead of doing the right thing.’

  ‘People will ask questions,’ Bruce said. ‘They must realise that themselves; the newspapers are already crying out for more information. Regardless of whether we manage to rescue the plane or not, there will be consequences. And whatever they are hiding now is bound to come out. It’s inevitable.’

  Bruce’s boss stroked his chin.

  ‘I agree, and I’m sure the CIA realise that too. But I don’t really understand what their problem is. Tennyson Cottage was shut down when bin Laden was killed; it no longer exists. The fact that we have so-called secret detention facilities is hardly something people are unaware of; in fact, it feels like old news.’

  ‘So there must be some other component in this case that makes Tennyson Cottage particularly sensitive,’ Bruce said.

  His boss hesitated.

  ‘Or there isn’t, and the situation is even worse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean there’s a hypothetical chance that the reason no one is prepared to speak openly about the connection between Zakaria Khelifi and Tennyson Cottage could be that no one knows what it is. That it doesn’t exist.’

  ‘How likely is that?’ Bruce said dubiously.

  ‘Not very. But it could be an explanation for what we have chosen to interpret as deliberate silence. They don’t know what the link is between the two demands. Which means they don’t know who they’re up against.’

  Bruce realised his boss was right. There could be an even worse scenario than the idea that someone knew the truth and was keeping quiet about it. The thought that no one knew the truth.

  53

  STOCKHOLM, 20:15

  Being Prime Minister had never been easy, but Muhammed Haddad, the Minister for Justice, wondered if it had ever been more difficult than right now. The government had gathered for a crisis meeting less than an hour after Muhammed had sounded the alarm by informing the PM that he had received information from Fredrika Bergman suggesting that there could well be grounds for tearing up Zakaria Khelifi’s deportation order. Not everyone could attend at such short notice, but the PM insisted that the meeting should go ahead anyway.

  ‘We have to undertake a thorough analysis of the situation before we make a decision,’ he said. ‘There are countless factors that complicate matters. It’s important that we reach a decision which is right not only at this moment, but in the long term.’

  ‘I agree,’ the Foreign Secretary said. ‘And I must express my concern with regard to how a reversal in the case of Zakaria Khelifi would be perceived by the public. This has been a high profile affair right from the start, as we were well aware. None of us was surprised when the fact that he had been taken into custody was leaked to the press, and we knew questions would be asked. But I don’t think any of us could have foreseen what happened next – the hijacking of an entire jumbo jet.’

  ‘What are you afraid of with regard to our co-operation with other countries?’ Muhammed asked.

  He didn’t like the woman; he often found it hard to follow her thought processes, and believed she reached the wrong conclusions in many cases. This didn’t look as if it was going to be any different.

  ‘I was just coming to that, if you’ll allow me to finish.’ She looked irritated. ‘If we revise our decision in Zakaria’s case, and if we do it against the backdrop of an ongoing hijacking that the whole world knows about, we risk being perceived as either incompetent or weak. Therefore, others will ask themselves whether it takes a critical situation to enable us to see clearly and make sound decisions, or they will wonder whether we’ve changed our minds because we daren’t stand up to terrorists.’

  ‘We have received new information,’ Muhammed said. ‘We have to make that very clear. The basic situation has changed, and in accordance with democratic principles, we have to review the case.’

  The Foreign Secretary was having none of it. She tugged at the scarf around her neck and fiddled with one of her dangling earrings. Muhammed had been surprised when he realised that there were men – quite a lot of men, in fact – who found her attractive. To him she was nothing more than a frigid prima donna.

  ‘The timing is very bad. It’s very difficult to see how we can change our position in Zakaria’s case without being perceived as unreliable. I have been in touch with the US government, and they have made it very clear that they have no intention of bowing to the demands of the terrorists with regard to the closure of Tennyson Cottage. And they expect us to follow the same line.’

  ‘The problem is that it does actually look as if we might have reason to revise our decision with regard to Zakaria’s deportation, irrespective of the hijacking,’ the Prime Minister said. ‘And if we are going to reverse our decision, then we ought to do it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, but now. Otherwise it will look as if we sacrificed the lives of four hundred passengers for no reason.’

  ‘We could actually wait a few days,’ the Foreign Secretary said. ‘Say that we’d only just received the new information. I mean, nobody would know we got it today.’

  Muhammed couldn’t stop himself from speaking up.

  ‘That’s not only immoral, it’s actually dangerous,’ he said.

  ‘I agree,’ the PM said, looking appalled. ‘We can’t do that.’

  ‘In that case, the question is whether we ought to revise our decision,’ the Foreign Secretary said. ‘To be honest, I’m not convinced that it’s necessary just because Säpo have carried out a new analysis of certain telephone records.
And if I’ve understood correctly, it’s not actually Säpo who have raised the issue with us, but Fredrika Bergman.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Muhammed said. ‘Fredrika did indeed raise the issue, which is entirely in keeping with her role as liaison officer. She is our ear to the ground within the police, and she passes on whatever we need to know. As far as I’m concerned, there is no problem with the fact that the information has come from her rather than Säpo.’

  ‘I agree with you on that point,’ the PM said. ‘However, I must admit that I have the same reservations as the Foreign Secretary. Is the information Fredrika Bergman has given us about the phone enough to warrant a review of our decision? After all, we still have the fact that Zakaria Khelifi collected the package, and was named by Ellis as a collaborator. If we change our minds because of such a small point, it feels as if we made the wrong decision in the first place, and in that case I think we need to review our procedures when it comes to security issues.’

  ‘You could well be right,’ Muhammed said. ‘But that issue is less urgent. Right now, we have to focus on Zakaria and make sure he gets a fair assessment. As far as our American colleagues are concerned, I accept that the situation is complicated, but the same applies: we need to inform them in the clearest possible terms that our decision to release Zakaria is not a question of kow-towing to the terrorists, but a logical consequence of other circumstances.’

  The Foreign Secretary let out a brief laugh. ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘They’ll never accept that explanation.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ Muhammed said, ‘Sweden has been loyal in other issues that are important to them. We don’t owe our loyalty to the USA when it comes to the hijacking, but to our own people. Besides which, as I said before, any decision in Zakaria’s case must be seen as independent of the hijacking. Otherwise we will be in the wrong whatever we do.’

  ‘Which is exactly what makes this so bloody difficult,’ the PM said.

  The strain was etched on his face, which in turn affected Muhammed, who addressed the others around the table. ‘What do the rest of you think?’

  Several ministers immediately expressed similar concerns.

  ‘If it comes out at a later date that we put American interests above our own during this crisis, then I agree with Muhammed – we will need to resign with immediate effect and call a new election,’ the Minister for Democracy said.

  ‘We simply can’t allow that to happen,’ the Finance Minister said. ‘It has to be clear that we did our utmost to handle the situation in a responsible manner.’

  By now, the Prime Minister was looking less hesitant. He straightened up, feeling the call of duty, and grew in stature. Muhammed had seen the same thing happen on several occasions, and couldn’t decide whether he thought it was a strength or a weakness.

  ‘I intend to ask Säpo for definitive evidence within the next couple of hours. If they can’t convince me that it is necessary to deport Zakaria Khelifi, then I will order that decision to be revoked.’

  The Foreign Secretary looked less than happy, but didn’t say anything.

  Muhammed felt relieved; the Prime Minister had done the right thing.

  The question was whether a review of Zakaria’s case would help those who were being held hostage by Karim Sassi.

  54

  20:15

  The Americans were going to shoot down the plane unless Erik Recht managed to take over the controls, which he was now attempting to do, according to Eden’s latest report. Buster Hansson, the General Director of Säpo, shuddered in his office. Why hadn’t they heard from Erik? It shouldn’t be all that difficult to get into the cockpit and deal with Captain Sassi. Knock him out with something or other.

  Buster didn’t like to describe people as good or evil. Using such terms meant moving beyond even black and white. To be evil was one-dimensional. There were no mitigating circumstances, no excuses. Therefore, a person who was evil could expect no mercy when they were convicted.

  A person who was evil deserved only the worst.

  After 9/11, the world had taken a dangerous turn when it became polarised, and people who had never given terrorism a thought had to decide where they stood.

  You are with me or against me, you are evil or good.

  God only knew what actions that particular game had legitimised.

  Images from Abu Ghraib still turned Buster’s stomach. That kind of behaviour just wasn’t acceptable. No enemy in the world should be tackled using such methods. Buster had never turned a blind eye – not once during his entire career. He had demanded order in the ranks, had refused to accept the slightest deviation from the rules and regulations. It was a question of how best to manage people’s trust.

  In a democratic society, the idea of a total absence of criminality was a pipe dream. The same was true of international terrorism. Buster had spent a long time trying to understand why it was so difficult for people to accept this. Terrorism was just like any other form of criminality, with the major – and critical – difference that its effects were indiscriminate. Even striking at those who normally felt secure and thought that the worst they could expect in their lifetime was to come home one day and discover that the house had been burgled, which of course could be pretty traumatic.

  And that was why you had to be so careful in combating terrorism, because the tolerance of the methods that were acceptable was often far too great.

  Buster had heard from the government just a few minutes ago. The Prime Minister and the Minister for Justice wanted what they referred to as definitive evidence in the case of Zakaria Khelifi, and they wanted it before eleven o’clock. They didn’t want to say what it was about over the phone, but Buster understood. Fredrika Bergman had passed on the latest information about Khelifi’s mobile. Why they imagined Säpo had anything further to add was a mystery. And he didn’t understand why the uncertainty with regard to Zakaria’s phone was necessarily a point in his favour. It was as if the government was looking for reasons to change their mind. If that was all they wanted, then Buster had some sympathy with them. They were in an impossible situation.

  He decided to call Eden, to discuss what to do about the government demand. It really wasn’t part of the General Director’s remit to involve himself in specific cases, but since Zakaria’s fate had attracted so much attention and had led to such dangerous consequences, it had become a matter for the top brass.

  He called her office, but was informed that she wasn’t available.

  ‘Of course,’ Buster said. ‘She’s in a meeting with the Germans.’

  He ended the call, and almost immediately Henrik Theander, head of counter-espionage, appeared.

  ‘Do you have a minute?’

  ‘Not really – what’s it about?’

  ‘Eden and Efraim Kiel, the Mossad agent.’

  Buster put down the phone.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He’s made an approach.’

  Buster’s stomach contracted into a cold knot. No, no and no. They didn’t have time for this. Not now. Not when hundreds of people were heading towards their deaths.

  ‘What kind of approach?’

  ‘He’s standing outside the building.’

  Buster wasn’t sure he understood.

  ‘Outside what building?’

  ‘Our building. Police HQ. He’s standing opposite the entrance on Polhemsgatan.’

  Throughout his career, Buster had been known for his calm approach, his coolness under pressure, but this time there was too much going on all at once.

  ‘Right, and what’s he doing there? Is he trying to get in?’

  ‘No, he’s waiting.’

  ‘Waiting? Who for?’

  ‘Eden?’

  Buster pictured the scene. Sooner or later, Eden would leave work and head out into the darkness, where the Israeli was waiting for her on the pavement.

  ‘He’s not exactly being discreet.’

  ‘No.’

  The knot in his stomach grew,
spreading upwards into his chest and towards his heart. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Telling the government that they might have got it wrong in the case of Zakaria Khelifi suddenly seemed like a piece of piss. Explaining that they had managed to recruit a Mossad agent to run the counter-terrorism unit would be considerably worse.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Buster said.

  ‘The same as Efraim Kiel. We wait.’

  55

  FLIGHT 573

  The man was still lying unconscious on the floor. The passengers appeared to be welded to their seats. Erik Recht was grateful for their silence, although he suspected that it wouldn’t last much longer. Soon they would start asking questions, wanting to know what was going on. What would he say to them? That everything was fine, that it was perfectly normal for the captain to lock his co-pilot out of the cockpit? That the man Erik had just knocked out was someone who definitely deserved such treatment?

  He needed to call his father again, explain the situation, tell him what had gone on. Warn him about what could happen now that Karim was alone in the cockpit.

  But first of all, he had to think.

  The only way into the cockpit was through a security door, built to withstand an attack by hijackers or anyone else who might constitute a threat. Erik couldn’t open the door from the outside; he was dependent on being let in by someone on the inside. Several people had pointed out the weakness in this system, but that was the way things were.

  He wouldn’t be able to kick or break down the door. Nor would it be possible to pick the lock. Automatically, his hands went through his pockets, seeking some forgotten object that might help him. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  A male voice came from the back of the cabin.

  Erik looked around, trying to focus on giving an impression of calm competence. Which was difficult after what had just happened.

  A hand shot up. ‘I’m the one who asked.’

  Only now did Erik realise that several of the passengers were crying.