Hostage (18 page)

Fredrika thought for a moment. On the one hand, everything to do with the hijack seemed very carefully planned, while on the other, there was something impulsive about it.

‘How are things looking in the mass media?’ Eden asked.

‘Terrible. We need to confirm which flight is involved very soon.’

‘I know, I know.’

Fredrika sighed.

‘It’s not that the reports are lacking in detail. Whoever leaked the story seems to have kept nothing back apart from the flight number and departure time. Everything else is out
there – the demands, the fact that the note was taped to the wall in one of the toilets . . .’

Eden stopped what she was doing.

‘What did you say?’

‘I just said the media reports were very detailed.’

‘No, you said the note that was found in the toilet was taped to the wall.’

Fredrika nodded.

‘You don’t understand,’ Eden said. ‘I haven’t heard anyone mention that the note was taped to the wall. Have you?’

Fredrika thought about it, and slowly realised what she had just said.

‘No.’

Eden leapt to her feet and ran past Fredrika.

‘Come on.’ She shot through the open-plan office at lightning speed.

‘Where did you see it?’

‘It’s in several papers.’

Eden found Sebastian and told him what Fredrika had read. He had no idea that the note had allegedly been taped to the toilet wall.

‘Which newspaper had the story first?’ Eden asked.

‘None of them. I think TT carried the news before anyone else.’

‘I’ll call SAS and see if they knew about this.’

Eden took out her mobile and disappeared, leaving Fredrika with Sebastian as he clicked through various newspapers on his computer.

‘Same everywhere,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t make sense.’

Eden came back; Fredrika could tell that she had received worrying news.

‘SAS were just as surprised as we were. They called the plane and received confirmation that the story is true; the stewardess found the note taped to the toilet wall. But at no point in
their communication with the control tower has the crew said anything beyond the fact that it was found in the toilet.’

She fell silent as the import of what she was saying sank in: the only person who knew that the note had been taped to the wall was on board the plane.

‘Which means we know that the person who leaked the story to the media did not work for the police, the government or the airport authority,’ Eden concluded.

‘Are we saying that someone called from the plane and tipped off TT? That can’t be right,’ Sebastian said.

‘I agree, but let’s check it out,’ Eden said. ‘Because if it wasn’t someone on the plane, then it was someone on the ground. Which in turn means that that person is
alarmingly well informed about details they couldn’t possibly know unless they had been in contact with a member of the crew, or were actually involved in putting the note in
place.’

T
here were so many rules that suddenly seemed unimportant. Speed limits, for example. Alex Recht couldn’t ever remember driving as fast as he
did on the way to Solna.

Could this be his hundredth house search? Or more? He wasn’t sure, but one thing he did know was that it was never pleasant, walking into the house of a person he didn’t know and
turning the place upside down. With as little fuss as possible, he went round to see the neighbour he had spoken to earlier and borrowed the key. Later, he would call Karim’s wife and tell
her what they had done so that she wouldn’t think they’d had burglars.

Alex and four officers from Säpo quickly went through the house, carefully and methodically. Wardrobes and chests of drawers, desk and kitchen. All the computers in the house were removed
and would be sent to Kungsholmen, where the technicians were waiting for them. With practised hands Alex worked his way through one room after another. He didn’t know what he was looking for,
just that when he saw it he would know immediately if it felt right.

He was alone in Karim Sassi’s bedroom. He looked under the bed and inside the wardrobes. Nothing. He yanked back the duvet and felt all over the sheets and mattress. Nothing.

‘Have you found anything?’ one of the Säpo officers shouted from downstairs.

‘Not a thing.’

He sat down on the bed. Looked around the room. It was cosy. Not smart or modern, just cosy. Soft colours for the curtains and cushions, toning in with the pale yellow walls. Almost like a
summer cottage. A small number of pictures adorned the walls, and there were several family photos on a shelf.

Alex stood up to take a closer look. He recognised both Karim and his wife. The children were younger than he had thought. He picked up one of the framed photographs and held it for a moment.
Several years ago, he and Fredrika had gone out to a deserted summer house on the island of Ekerö, searching for clues in a case that had proved to be one of the most complex they had ever
faced. Framed family photographs had been a major element in solving the mystery.

Karim Sassi was also a mystery. Alex was becoming more and more convinced that he was a part of the problem rather than the solution, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand what
could have motivated Karim to do what he was doing now.

Alex ran his fingers around the frame. Removed the back and took out the photograph. Nothing; no clues. He grabbed another photograph and repeated the same procedure. No joy. There was no
stopping him now, he had to check every single one. But his efforts were in vain. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he put the photographs back on the shelf where he had found them and went
downstairs.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked one of his colleagues. A police officer was a police officer and always a colleague. Even if he did work for Säpo.

‘We’ve found fuck all.’

Alex glanced over the floor and walls of the living room, his expression grim. There was nothing for them here. Feeling frustrated he went into the hallway, through the kitchen, and ended up
back in the living room.

The family seemed to enjoy reading. Large bookcases ran from floor to ceiling, covering two entire walls. Two officers were busy going through them, checking to see if there was anything useful
behind the long rows of books.

‘No secret compartment?’ Alex joked.

‘No.’

He went over to a section that the others hadn’t got around to yet. He pulled out a few of the books, peered behind them, put them back. He carried on systematically searching the rest of
the shelf in the same way.

Suddenly he noticed a book that was lying on top of a row. It could be no more than a coincidence, but Alex no longer believed in that kind of thing. He picked it up and read the small gold
lettering:

‘
King Arthur – Idylls of the King
by Alfred Lord Tennyson.’

The book weighed next to nothing, and he could feel his hands trembling.

Tennyson.

No way was this a coincidence.

Cautiously, he opened it and flicked through the first few pages. And discovered that someone had cut out a square hole inside the book. The most classic secret compartment of all. Alex looked
with curiosity at what someone had hidden.

A photograph. It was obviously several years old, but Alex recognised both men. One was Karim Sassi, and he was with a man whose picture Alex had seen in the papers.

Zakaria Khelifi.

A small part of Eden Lundell was dubious as she headed back to the custody block to see Zakaria Khelifi, this time with a copy of the photograph that Alex had sent her from his
phone. However, she was mostly sure she was doing the right thing. The fact that Flight 573 was speeding towards destruction simplified a decision that would otherwise have been difficult to
make.

Zakaria was sitting on his bed reading when Eden walked in. She had the photograph in her hand, and no cigarettes this time. She didn’t bother pulling up a chair, but simply placed the
picture on Zakaria’s knee.

‘I can see that the man on the left is you,’ she said. ‘Who’s the other guy?’

Zakaria picked it up and examined it carefully.

‘Where did you find this?’

He sounded bewildered, as if he couldn’t work out what he was looking at.

‘That’s irrelevant,’ Eden said. ‘Answer the question. Who is the man on the right?’

She knew it was Karim Sassi, but she wanted to hear Zakaria say it.

‘It was such a long time ago,’ he said.

He spoke quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture.

‘When was it taken?’

‘It must have been 2002. I was here that summer.’

Eden couldn’t remember hearing that Zakaria had been in Sweden before he entered the country seeking asylum.

‘You were here in 2002?’

Zakaria would have been barely twenty back then.

He nodded.

‘I was granted a visa to visit my uncle. He was working at an Ericsson factory in Kista.’

That could be checked, but Eden had no reason to disbelieve what Zakaria said.

‘How long were you here?’

‘Eight weeks. My parents wanted me to have a different kind of summer holiday that year.’

He passed the picture back to Eden as if he wanted to get rid of it.

‘Who is he?’ she said.

Zakaria picked up the book he had put aside when Eden came in.

‘His name is Karim.’

‘Surname?’

‘Sassi, I think.’

‘How did you meet?’

‘His mother worked at the Ericsson factory too.’

Eden decided to sit down after all.

‘Have you had any contact with this man while you’ve been living in Sweden?’

Zakaria realised that Eden was going nowhere, and closed his book.

‘No, I haven’t seen him since 2002.’

‘And you’re sure of that?’

Zakaria looked annoyed, and opened the book again.

‘Of course I am.’

‘You don’t know what this Karim Sassi is doing nowadays?’

‘No idea. When we met that summer he used to say he wanted to be a pilot, but that’s just the kind of thing you say, isn’t it? I mean, who hasn’t wanted to be a pilot at
some stage?’

Me, Eden thought. I wanted to run a circus.

Mind you, she had been ten years old at the time, not twenty. She was going to become the manager of an enormous circus and take it all over Europe. Her heart suddenly felt hollow. The life she
lived was a long way from the circus.

She handed the picture back to Zakaria.

‘This is really, really important. Zakaria, I have to know: are you absolutely certain that you haven’t seen Karim Sassi since you moved to Sweden?’

She wanted him to say no, to change his mind and start talking. She wanted a breakthrough, and she wanted it now. But Zakaria refused to deliver. He wouldn’t even look at her.

‘I know who I see and who I don’t see. I haven’t seen Karim Sassi since that summer all those years ago.’

A summer when Zakaria had stayed with his uncle, who knew Karim’s mother. That was something they would have to look into, but Eden was worried that it wouldn’t be enough. Time was
passing so quickly, and she could feel the ground trembling beneath her feet. They couldn’t just carry on digging, they had to start taking action. Somehow.

She left Zakaria and went back to the counter-terrorism unit. Karim knew Zakaria. They didn’t really need to know any more. Karim Sassi, the caption of Flight 573, was implicated in the
hijacking.

The worst possible scenario.

But there was more to come. Dennis caught up with her.

‘We’ve found Karim Sassi’s fingerprints on one of the phones,’ he said.

There. They didn’t need any more on Sassi. The fact that he had been involved in the previous day’s bomb threats was now beyond all reasonable doubt. If he had been on the ground,
Eden would have had him brought in for questioning.

But that wasn’t an option.

‘Call the CIA,’ she said. ‘I want to know how far they’ve got.’

T
he 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?’