Hostage (14 page)

Bruce stopped in mid-movement.

‘What’s this about?’

‘The commanding officer on board Flight 573, Karim Sassi.’

‘What about him?’

‘We believe he’s working with the terrorists who have threatened the plane.’

A
s this was the first time the Minister for Justice himself had contacted Fredrika directly, she hurried along to his office. She had seen the news
reports on the internet, and she was scared. The whole story was out there. She still hadn’t heard from Alex about how the attempt at an emergency landing had gone. Was it even a possibility
now that the whole world was following developments minute by minute? Who knew who was hiding among the sea of people? Perhaps this was exactly what the hijackers wanted – for the media to
start reporting so that they would have an insight into what was going on.

Spencer called.

‘Has the world gone mad?’

‘It seems that way, doesn’t it?’

‘When do you think you’ll be home tonight?’

‘I’ve no idea. I mean, I’m not with the police any more, so it shouldn’t be too late.’

‘Shall I pick the kids up from nursery anyway?’

‘That would be great.’

Kids at nursery, a ring on her finger, how quickly had that happened? Not a day went by without Fredrika thinking about it. Spencer didn’t seem at all inclined to such musings.

‘I thought we could have an Indian takeaway,’ he said.

‘Sounds like a good idea. Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you later.’

Fredrika said hello to the Minister’s secretary and knocked on Muhammed Haddad’s door. Her boss was already sitting at the conference table with Haddad.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly. Please sit down,’ the Minister said. ‘I don’t think I need to explain how frustrating and alarming I find this whole
situation.’

Indeed he didn’t.

‘Apart from the fact that it’s extremely worrying to know that four hundred Swedish and American citizens are trapped on board an SAS plane at thirty thousand feet, it concerns me
that those of us still on the ground are having difficulty in co-ordinating our efforts.’

Fredrika listened without knowing where this conversation was heading.

‘It has come to my attention that we are having some problems with our American colleagues, who want to take and give nothing in return, and I also feel that our interaction with the
police could be improved. We have several hours of intensive work ahead of us, whatever happens, and to be honest I’m not happy that we’re communicating with the police and Säpo
only via the telephone and isolated meetings.’

The Minister for Justice turned to Fredrika.

‘I want someone on the spot with the police, someone who can act as liaison officer between the government and the police, and who can report directly to the press secretary and government
officials. And to me, obviously. What would you say if I asked you to be that person?’

Fredrika blinked.

‘Me?’

‘You were handpicked from the applicants for your current post to deal with security matters here at the Justice Department, among other things. You know the police set-up inside out. I
can’t think of a more suitable candidate for the role. Your background gives you a legitimacy that none of the rest of us would have.’

‘And Säpo?’

‘I’ll make sure that you have access to the areas and information you need. What do you say?’

There wasn’t one iota of hesitation in Fredrika’s mind.

‘I say yes.’

And that was it. Fredrika Bergman was – temporarily – on her way back to the police.

With a feeling that she had stepped back in time two years, Fredrik walked into Alex’s office less than an hour later. It wasn’t the same office, but it was the
same Alex.

‘Back again,’ he said.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

She remained standing. Her handbag slid off her shoulder and she heard it land on the floor with a thud.

‘Sit down,’ Alex said. ‘Säpo and I have just discussed the allocation of the most urgent tasks; we’ve worked out what they’re going to do and what the National
Bureau of Investigation will do. I’m heading out to try to get hold of Karim Sassi’s family, along with an investigator from Säpo. Do you want to come?’

Fredrika was confused.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’m here to go out and about with you.’

‘So why are you here?’ Alex sounded annoyed.

‘Well, I’m supposed to act as a kind of liaison officer, make sure the communication channels between the police and the government office are kept open so that we don’t end up
out of the loop. It’s important that we’re updated on a regular basis.’

‘So what are you going to do? Just sit here?’

She swallowed. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Alex looked pleased.

‘I just need to call in and see where Säpo are up to,’ Fredrika added.

‘I’ve just come from there – I can give you the latest,’ Alex said.

Fredrika got up and followed Alex out of the room, the sight of his broad back making her feel safe. The corridor on which the National Bureau of Investigation was located looked just like every
other corridor in Police HQ, and it smelled the same too. Coffee. Always coffee.

‘Does it feel good to be back?’

‘Alex, I’m not back. I’m just here because of the hijacking.’

He didn’t say anything – he didn’t need to. She could tell exactly what he was thinking: that she was fooling herself and everyone around her. That she belonged in the
police.

God knows where I belong, Fredrika thought. Everywhere and nowhere.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by memories of the year in New York. Endless days spent pushing her son’s buggy up and down the streets of Manhattan, thinking she was the luckiest woman in
the world. It had been good for them to get away. Spencer had had the chance to grow, to heal after everything that had gone wrong. He was only a few years away from retirement age, but he had made
it clear to both Fredrika and his superiors that he intended to carry on working. For a long time.

The underground car park was just the same; several storeys deep, the air full of cold and exhaust fumes. She didn’t like being down there, and got in the car as quickly as she could. Alex
explained why they were going to speak to Karim’s family, and the colour drained from Fredrika’s face.

‘Hang on a minute – are you telling me you think the captain is involved in this whole business?’

‘We don’t think anything and we know virtually nothing,’ Alex replied. ‘But from what we’ve seen, Karim Sassi has been in contact with one of the mobile phones that
was used to make the bomb threats in Stockholm yesterday. And that’s why we want to talk to his family, find out whether they noticed if he seemed tense or was behaving oddly before this
trip.’

‘Can’t you ask him straight out? Over the phone?’

Alex manoeuvred the car out of the cramped car park.

‘And risk a situation where he feels pressurised, and does something really stupid? We don’t actually know if he is involved. But if he is, then I don’t like the idea of
discussing it over the phone.’

He was right, of course. It was a nightmare for all concerned if Karim was part of the plan. If the terrorists had the pilot on their side, then they didn’t need bombs.

‘If the worst comes to the worst,’ Fredrika said slowly. ‘If we find out that Karim really is a part of what’s going on . . .’

She fell silent.

‘Yes?’

‘What then? Could you call Erik and ask him to take over the controls, if that’s the case?’

She could see that the same thought had occurred to Alex.

‘I don’t know. If we do end up facing that situation, I’m afraid they would take me off the case. After what happened with Peder.’

Fredrika knew exactly what he meant. Peder’s actions two years ago when he shot dead the man who had murdered his brother had led to a major internal investigation. There had been endless
discussions about what could have been done differently. How could the tragedy have been avoided? Because it was a tragedy, there was no other way of looking at it. Peder had lost his job, and the
police had lost a valued colleague. Fredrika hadn’t given much thought to what the world had lost through Peder’s crime; from what she had heard, the man he had shot would be missed by
no one.

Unlike everyone on board Flight 573.

Going to Karim Sassi’s house seemed like a good idea. What, if anything, had this married father with young children got himself into? What was he hiding, this man who carried the
responsibility for the lives of over four hundred people?

No crime could be planned and carried out without a single person realising what was going on.

If Karim was mixed up in the hijack, they would soon know about it.

T
hey couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to go over to the cells and talk to Zakaria Khelifi. Eden Lundell knew he had been told that
an entire jumbo jet had been hijacked in his honour.

She hated the fact that a plane was under threat rather than a terrestrial target. The situation was slipping through her fingers, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to change that. And
the time she had at her disposal was disappearing fast.

The press hadn’t revealed exactly which flight was involved, which meant that virtually every single individual with a relative who was currently on board a plane was calling the police to
find out if the person they knew was at risk. Eden just couldn’t understand how responsible adults could behave in that way. The newspapers had made it absolutely clear that the hijacked
plane was on its way to the USA, so why would someone whose relative was on the way to Lanzarote call the police?

Sebastian had gently suggested that she should be a little more self-critical. They had decided against confirming the story in the mass media, which had led to increased speculation.

‘We have to give them something,’ he said.

‘Like what?’

‘Anything at all. Confirm that there has been a threat, at least. That it definitely involves a flight to the USA and nowhere else. We don’t have to be any more specific than
that.’

The police and Foreign Office switchboards were jammed. Eden had refused to release the passenger lists, which meant that those who called didn’t get an answer to their questions. It
wouldn’t work for long, but it would have to do for the time being.

Eden wanted to question Khelifi herself, or Zakaria as she usually thought of him, and there were several people who objected to that particular suggestion. Her own head of department was very
clear about what a stupid idea it was.

‘Eden, someone in your position doesn’t conduct an interrogation.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since always. You need to leave this to one of Dennis’s team.’

Eden informed Dennis, the head of investigation, that she would be happy to take one of his team along with her, but that she absolutely intended to be there. She heard her boss sigh behind her
as she left his office.

But Eden didn’t care. She knew when she wanted something, and she knew how to get it. Alex Recht and Fredrika Bergman had just gone to talk to Karim Sassi’s family, and Säpo
were going to speak to Zakaria Khelifi at the same time; after all, he was the protagonist in the drama.

Eden couldn’t help thinking about Fredrika. She had seen the way Alex looked at her, and thought she could sense something akin to desire. It wasn’t necessarily sexual; it could just
as easily be material or intellectual, and Eden felt that Alex’s desire tended towards the intellectual. Strange. She couldn’t understand why Fredrika and Alex worked so well together
when they were so different.

One of the investigators met her in the custody block. Eden wanted to interview Zakaria in his cell. Shake him up a bit.

A guard led them to the cell and unlocked the heavy door. Khelifi sat up on his bed as soon as Eden walked in, with the investigator following two steps behind.

Eden made the introductions and pulled up a chair. She sat down and left her colleague standing; he would soon realise that he was surplus to requirements in any case.

She could see that Zakaria was wondering why she was there. High-ranking officials from Säpo were rarely, if ever, involved in interviews, but Eden wasn’t like everyone else.

‘I would like answers to a few questions,’ she began. ‘You have very little to gain by failing to co-operate. Okay?’

Zakaria was pale, and the green T-shirt he was wearing made him look seasick. His expression was the same one she had seen on the faces of so many others in his situation. Provoked. Angry.
Unavoidable emotions for someone who had seen his life’s work smashed to pieces.

‘I’ve got nothing to do with the plane that’s been hijacked.’ Eden took out her cigarettes.

‘Would you like one?’

She saw her colleague open his mouth and close it again. Zakaria hesitated for a second, then took a cigarette. Eden didn’t hesitate at all. She took one for herself then lit both.

‘Let me explain,’ she said, discreetly blowing smoke over her shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter whether you’re involved in the hijack or not; you might still know
something that’s important to us.’

Zakaria shuffled backwards on his bed, puffing greedily on his cigarette. He tapped the ash into an empty coffee cup, and Eden automatically did the same.

‘I’m going to die if you send me back to Algeria,’ he said.

There was no hint of a plea in his voice. His words were a statement, a simple transfer of information.

‘Our assessment of the situation is different,’ Eden said.

Zakaria leaned his head against the wall.

‘In that case, you’re crazy.’

Eden was sitting with her legs crossed as usual. The cigarette felt as familiar between her fingers as the weight of her handbag over her shoulder.

‘We’ll take the responsibility for our decision,’ she said.

‘To protect national security?’

‘Something like that.’

She stubbed out her cigarette.