Borderline (9 page)

She brushed her hair away from her face. ‘What do I need to do?’

‘Record the conversation, take notes, write down any specific demands, all instructions and comments. Show you’re taking the situation seriously. Try to establish a code that you can use the next time, so you know you’re talking to the same person. That’s very important. And try to get a specific time for the next call. But you mustn’t promise anything. You mustn’t talk about money. You mustn’t be threatening or confrontational, suspicious or nervous, and you mustn’t start crying.’

She sat down. ‘What are they going to say?’

‘The person who calls will be nervous and intense. He – it’s usually a man – will demand a ridiculous amount of money, which has to be delivered within a very tight timescale. The intention is to throw you off balance and make you agree to demands that you can’t back out of later.’

‘Like the Frenchman’s wife,’ Annika said. ‘What’s the alternative? That you take the call? Have you done this sort of thing before? You said you did that course with the FBI.’

‘I could take it, or Hans or Hans-Erik …’

At that moment the front door flew open and Kalle and Ellen tumbled into the hall.

Halenius nodded to her. ‘Do it.’

She caught them both in her arms, kissing and hugging them. Their cheeks were cold and red, like frozen apples. She pulled off their coats and scarves, asked Ellen where her gloves were, and was told, ‘Gone.’ She rubbed and blew on the little girl’s hands.

‘We’ll be eating after children’s television tonight,’ she said. ‘But first there’s something I want to talk to you both about.’

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Jimmy Halenius had connected the landline to the recording device. He was standing in the living room, balancing the phone, the gadget and Annika’s laptop in his arms, and smiled at the children. The top button of his green shirt was undone and his hair was a mess. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘My name’s Jimmy, and I work with your dad.’

Kalle stiffened and frowned at him suspiciously.

‘Jimmy’s here to help us,’ Annika said, crouching down. ‘You see—’

‘Sorry to interrupt, Annika, but is there anywhere you could take a call without being disturbed?’

She pointed towards her and Thomas’s bedroom. ‘There’s a phone socket under the desk,’ she said, then turned back to the children. Ellen was twirling a lock of hair and cuddling up to her, but Kalle was still stiff and unapproachable.

‘What’s happened to Daddy?’ he asked.

Annika tried to smile. ‘He’s been taken prisoner in Africa.’

Ellen twisted in her arms and stared up at her. ‘In a castle?’ she asked.

Kalle’s eyes were wide with confusion.

‘I don’t know, darling,’ Annika said. ‘We only found out this afternoon. Some men in Africa have taken Daddy and some other people prisoner.’

‘Will he be coming home on Monday?’ Ellen asked.

‘We don’t know,’ Annika said, kissing her daughter’s hair. ‘We don’t know anything, darling. But Jimmy from Daddy’s work is here to help us.’

‘What about the others?’ Ellen said. ‘Aren’t they going to be set free?’

‘Oh, yes, them too. Kalle, come here.’

She reached out to the boy, but he ran past her into his and Ellen’s room. He slammed the door.

The phone rang.

‘I’ll answer!’ Ellen cried, trying to wriggle out of her arms.

‘No!’ Annika shouted, loud and desperate, grabbing the top of her daughter’s arm hard. Tears sprang to the child’s eyes.

The phone sounded again. She heard the bedroom door close.

‘No,’ she said, trying to sound normal again, and letting go of Ellen’s arm. ‘It might be the kidnappers. You and Kalle mustn’t answer the phone for a while.’

Ellen was rubbing her arm. ‘You hurt me.’

The phone rang a third time and the receiver was picked up.

Annika swallowed and stroked the child’s hair. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. But it’s very important that you don’t answer the phone. Do you understand?’

‘But I could talk to the kidnappers,’ Ellen said. ‘I could tell them that they’re silly, and that Daddy has to come home.’

‘No,’ Annika said firmly. ‘Only grown-ups are allowed to talk to them. Do you understand?’

Ellen’s lower lip started to tremble. Annika sighed. She wasn’t making a very good job of this.

Halenius came back into the living room.

Annika stood up and the world spun. ‘What did they say?’ she managed to gasp.

‘It was a woman called Anne Snapphane. She wanted to know if you’d heard anything from Thomas.’

Relief.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I had to talk to someone.’

‘Have you told anyone else?’

She shook her head.

‘What sort of mobile phone have you got?’

She pointed at the coffee-table, where both mobiles were lined up beside each other.

Halenius picked up her personal phone. ‘This makes your recording equipment look almost modern. Impressive.’

‘Don’t make fun of my Ericsson,’ she said, taking it from him.

When she’d got home from Washington she had been given a magnificent new mobile, which, to judge by her colleagues’ enthusiasm, could tap-dance, do the ironing and win the Olympic long jump. And maybe it was brilliant if you wanted to create dance music or film forest fires, but as a phone it was hopeless. She hardly ever managed to answer it when it rang because she managed to nudge the wrong part of the screen and the call was cut off; sending a text was so fiddly it took half the day. She’d kept hold of her Ericsson, which was so ancient that it was still called Ericsson rather than Sony, but it was a nuisance having to charge two mobiles, and she kept hoping iPhone was about to go bankrupt, which was unlikely, if you considered the amount of free advertising her own paper alone produced in its delight at every new product.

Halenius picked up the shiny new mobile. ‘Which one does Thomas usually call?’

‘My private one.’

‘Not your work phone?’

‘I don’t think he’s got the number.’

Halenius nodded. ‘Excellent. So we know we won’t be getting the call on that phone.’

He went back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

* * *

The BBC put the news on its website just after six p.m., local time. Reuters issued a short, general report a few minutes later. The identities and nationalities of the kidnapped delegates weren’t released, just that they had been taking part in a security conference in Nairobi. The editorial management team of the
Evening Post
was sitting in a handover meeting, which might explain why the news seemed to pass them by at first, but Schyman knew better.

No one ever cared about news from Africa. The continent was a black hole on the news map, except when it came to famine, misery, piracy, Aids, civil war and mad dictators, which weren’t among the issues the
Evening Post
covered.

Assuming no Swedes were caught up in anything, of course. Or other Scandinavians, possibly, like those Norwegians who were sentenced to death in Congo or the Danish family whose yacht was seized by pirates.

Anders Schyman found the report because he had set out to look for it. He had held back from mentioning Thomas’s disappearance at the meeting, and was planning to wait and see what happened internationally first. Reuters were reporting that a group calling itself Fiqh Jihad had taken seven European delegates hostage, and had issued a non-specific political statement in connection with the kidnapping. The message had been conveyed in Kinyarwanda, and was hosted by a server in the Somali capital, Mogadishu. Readers were referred to the BBC, which had a link to the shaky video from the kidnappers.

Anders Schyman clicked the link and held his breath.

A man in basic military uniform with a scarf wrapped round his head appeared on the screen. The background was out of focus, dark red. He looked about thirty and was staring at a point just to the left of the camera, presumably reading his message. The BBC had subtitled his words in English, which Schyman appreciated (his Kinyarwanda wasn’t what it should have been).

The man spoke slowly, his voice strangely high and clear.

‘Fiqh Jihad has taken seven EU delegates hostage as punishment for the evil and ignorance of the Western world. In spite of all the weapons and resources surrounding the EU, the Lion of Islam managed to seize these infidel dogs. Our demands are simple: open the borders to Europe. Share the world’s resources. Abolish punitive import tariffs. Freedom for Africa! Death to the European capitalists! Allah is great!’

The video ended. Thirty-eight seconds, including a shaky introduction and a black final frame.

This isn’t going to be a picnic, Schyman thought, and headed out to the newsdesk.

* * *

The phone didn’t ring.

It didn’t ring and didn’t ring and didn’t ring.

Annika was walking round the living room, biting her nails until her teeth hurt.

Schyman had emailed to tell her that Reuters and the BBC had released the news of the kidnapping, without mentioning any identities or nationalities. The
Evening Post
would be the only paper the next day with the news that the Swedish delegate was one of the hostages.

Patrik had texted to ask if she wanted to do a sob-story in the print edition. Ideally he’d like a picture of her and the kids surrounded by stuffed toys, with tears in their eyes, and the suggested headlines ‘DADDY’S BEEN KIDNAPPED BY TERRORISTS’ or ‘DADDY, COME HOME!’ She had replied, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

Berit had emailed to ask if there was anything, anything at all, she could do to help.

She pursed her lips and glanced towards the bedroom. Jimmy Halenius had disappeared in there with his briefcase while she and the children had eaten meatballs and macaroni bake with ketchup. They had sat on either side of the wall, him solving international kidnappings and her feeding the kids.

Could he really sort this out?

She wandered into the kitchen, and heard Halenius talking in the bedroom.

Dinner had been cleared away, the table wiped, the floor swept. The dishwasher was rumbling quietly. The children had changed into their pyjamas and brushed their teeth.

Annika sucked at a bleeding cuticle and went into their room. ‘Shall we play a game?’

Kalle brightened. ‘Monopoly!’

‘That would take a bit too long. Dominoes? Ellen, do you want to play?’

Kalle dug out the box, sat on the floor and methodically laid out the pieces, one by one, upside down. ‘We take five each, don’t we?’

‘Five each,’ Annika confirmed.

She looked at the children as they selected their dominoes and lined them up. They’d be able to manage without Thomas. Somehow they would cope.

‘Come on, Mummy,’ Kalle said.

She sank on to the floor and picked five dominoes.

‘I’ve got double five,’ Kalle said.

‘You’re probably highest then,’ Annika said.

Kalle put down his double five and Ellen had her go.

Annika felt as if she was about to start crying.

‘It’s your turn, Mummy.’

She put a domino down and the children groaned. ‘You’re doing it wrong, Mummy …’

The game took for ever.

And the phone didn’t ring and didn’t ring and didn’t ring.

Jimmy Halenius came out into the living room and stood in front of the television. ‘Can I watch the news?’

‘Of course,’ Annika said.

‘How long is he going to be here?’ Kalle whispered, glaring at the under-secretary of state.

‘I don’t really know,’ Annika said. ‘That depends on what the kidnappers say, if they ever actually call.’

‘Why can’t you talk to them?’ he asked.

Annika pulled him closer to her – he actually let her. He curled up into a ball in her arms and put his hand in her hair. ‘I daren’t,’ she whispered. ‘I’m scared of them. Jimmy’s spoken to lots of bad guys before. He’ll be much better at it than me.’

Kalle’s eyes showed a new awareness: grown-ups could feel small and scared.

‘Well, it’s time for the two of you to go to bed, and tomorrow it’s Friday. Would you like to go and see one of your grandmothers this weekend?’

Kalle hid his face against her shoulder. ‘Boring,’ he muttered.

‘I like Scruff,’ Ellen said.

Scruff was Doris’s fat cocker spaniel.

My darling sunbeam, Annika thought. For you the glass is always half full.

‘I’m going to talk to Grandma Doris and Grandma Barbro this evening,’ Annika said, ‘so I’ll ask if we can go and see them.’

‘Are you going to talk about Daddy?’ Kalle asked.

‘The news about him will be in the paper tomorrow,’ Annika said, ‘so it’s probably best if I tell them tonight.’

‘Otherwise they might keel over,’ Kalle said, and Annika actually laughed. She pulled her son even closer, breathing in his smell.

‘Yep,’ she said, ‘you could well be right. Right! Into bed now!’

And, remarkably, the children crept into bed and were asleep in moments.

Annika turned off the lamp in their window, then went back to the living room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

‘They feel safe with you,’ Jimmy Halenius said.

‘I’ve known them quite a while,’ Annika said, sinking down on the sofa next to him. ‘Has there been anything on the news?’

‘Nope,’ Halenius said. ‘Do you reckon they even read the report from Reuters?’

Annika shrugged. ‘They get thousands of messages from the news agencies each day. Most of them are of no interest to the wider world, but they’re always important to someone.’ She looked at him. ‘How common is this really, kidnapping and so on?’

He stretched and rubbed his eyes. ‘There aren’t any reliable statistics. It mainly occurs in countries with weak policing, a non-existent justice system and plenty of corruption. In Africa it’s most common in Nigeria and Somalia – they’re in the global top ten. Don’t suppose you’ve got a sandwich or something?’

She blushed and stood up. ‘Of course, sorry. I forgot you hadn’t eaten. Would you like macaroni and meatballs warmed up in the microwave?’ She felt she had to ask. Thomas didn’t eat that sort of thing, unless the meatballs were hand-rolled from elk mince and the macaroni scented with truffle.