Hostage (32 page)

No fucking way was it going to to happen again.

But to shoot down a jumbo jet with over four hundred passengers on board . . . What would they say to the relatives?

‘Sorry, but we had no choice.’

Was that true? Wasn’t there always a choice?

Bruce went through the notes he had made during the course of a working day that already felt long, even though it was still early afternoon. He had been in touch with Säpo in Stockholm and
spoken to Eden Lundell. Bruce found it incomprehensible that someone like her could have been appointed head of counter-terrorism in Sweden, but what did he know? Perhaps the Brits hadn’t had
the sense to inform their Swedish colleagues about what kind of monster they had taken on.

However, she had had valuable information to pass on to Bruce. Valuable and interesting.

Karim Sassi was not a Muslim.

And there may well be elements that needed to be cleared up in the case of Zakaria Khelifi.

What did the fact that Sassi was not a Muslim actually mean? Everything and nothing. Bruce was one of those who was very clear about the fact that being a Muslim was not synonymous with being a
terrorist, and that there were also many terrorists who were not Muslims. But in that case, what was Karim’s interest in Zakaria Khelifi and Tennyson Cottage? He could of course be a
particularly committed citizen who had lost his way due to his convictions and was now in the middle of a horrific crime, but there wasn’t much in Karim’s background to suggest that
this was a likely scenario.

Bruce picked up a photograph of Sassi. Dark, broad-shouldered, looking straight into the camera with a dazzling smile; he had the same air of assurance, the same certainty of victory as an
American football player.

Who are you? Bruce thought. Who are you, and why are you doing this?

His boss interrupted his thoughts with a knock on the door.

‘We have visitors from the Pentagon who would like to speak to us.’

Bruce put down the photograph and followed his boss along the corridor to a Spartan conference room where their visitors were waiting. Two men, one dark-haired and one fair-haired, who
introduced themselves with their surname and rank. Bruce didn’t bother trying to remember them. He didn’t really have time for this, and hoped it wouldn’t take long.

And his prayers were answered.

‘We’ve come to talk about Tennyson Cottage,’ said the dark-haired man.

‘We know the CIA have already been here for the same reason,’ his colleague went on, ‘but we have fresh information that we think you should be aware of.’

‘It’s not really fresh information,’ the dark-haired man said. ‘But it is sensitive, and when the CIA came here a few hours ago, we hadn’t decided whether it could
be passed on to you.’

‘And now we’ve made up our minds.’

Bruce looked from one to the other, thinking that the whole thing was a joke. If they kept on taking it in turns to speak, there was no way he could take them seriously.

‘What is this information you’ve kept from us?’ Bruce’s boss said, sounding furious.

‘We haven’t kept it from you,’ the dark-haired man said. ‘We’ve simply been cautious with it.’

Bruce linked his hands on the table in order to keep them still.

‘Whatever,’ said his boss.

The fair-haired man looked annoyed, but said nothing. His colleague continued:

‘I don’t know how much the CIA told you about what goes on at Tennyson Cottage. As I said, it’s a sensitive issue, even if everyone knows we have detention facilities in
Afghanistan.’

Yes, Bruce thought. Indeed they do.

‘After the second of May everything became even more sensitive, as I’m sure you realise. We evacuated and cleared a number of our facilities. Tennyson Cottage was one of the places
we decided to shut down.’

Bruce blinked.

The fair-haired man smiled at his surprise.

‘Pardon me for interrupting,’ Bruce said. ‘But are you sitting here telling us that Tennyson Cottage has been shut down since the second of May?’

The day Osama bin Laden was shot dead by American special forces in Pakistan.

‘That’s right. So you could say that whoever has hijacked Flight 573 doesn’t exactly have up-to-date information.’

Bruce tried to grasp the significance of what the man from the Pentagon was saying. Then something else occurred to him.

‘It’s possible that the Swedes might release Zakaria Khelifi; there is some suggestion that they might have made errors in the investigation that led to the government’s
decision to deport him.’

The dark-haired man was picking at a cuticle.

‘So we heard.’

‘And now you tell us that Tennyson Cottage is already closed? That means everything is sorted – both the hijackers’ demands have been met!’

Bruce’s boss cleared his throat.

‘It’s not quite that simple,’ he said.

‘You mean we’d rather shoot down a plane with American citizens on board than reveal that Tennyson Cottage has been shut down?’

‘He means we can’t just announce that Tennyson Cottage no longer exists,’ the dark-haired man said. ‘Above all, we can’t negotiate with terrorists. Just imagine
what a precedent that would set. Hijackers would be lining up to get their demands met.’

Bruce just had to protest.

‘But there’ll be an inquiry. This will never blow over. People will keep on asking questions about why it was necessary to sacrifice so many lives rather than negotiate with
terrorists.’

The dark-haired man gazed wearily at Bruce.

‘Surely you don’t think we intend to shoot down the plane if there’s an alternative? Of course there will be questions afterwards, and then we’ll be able to put all our
cards on the table. Imagine how incredibly calculating we will appear. In a positive way. The message will be very clear: forget about using violence to change the world, because it won’t
work. Besides, we have fresh intelligence to take into consideration.’

‘Fresh intelligence? From whom?’ Bruce’s boss wanted to know.

Bruce himself sat in silence, trying to take in what the guy from the Pentagon had said. They would appear calculating. In a positive way. Was he serious?

‘From the same source as before. The Swedes will be informed as soon as they decide to hold a meeting with their German colleagues.’

‘And what is this new intelligence?’ Bruce said.

‘The Germans have received another email stating that Karim Sassi’s mission does not depend on whether or not the hijackers’ demands are met. He is going to crash the plane
into the Capitol building
regardless
of whether they get what they want.’

It couldn’t be true. There was no logic in what Bruce had just heard, none at all.

The fair-haired man clarified: ‘Think about what’s happened today. A jumbo jet takes off from Stockholm, heading for New York. During the time it will take the plane to use up the
fuel it has on board, two governments are faced with two equally impossible tasks. Even if we were to agree to their demands, we would never have time to action that agreement in the time
available. The Swedes might manage it, but there is no way we could do it.’

‘So we were never meant to succeed?’

The dark-haired man shook his head, his expression grim.

‘No.’

‘But now . . .’

‘Now we have a very strange situation, because, yes, if the Swedes release Khelifi, then theoretically we could achieve the impossible, and meet the hijackers’ demands at short
notice. But the probability that the hijackers would accept that what we say is true is ridiculously low.’

‘So Sassi would crash the plane anyway?’

‘That’s our assessment of the situation, which is why we have decided not to release the information that Tennyson Cottage has been shut down.’

The sweat was pouring down Bruce’s back.

‘So what’s the alternative?’

Because surely we can’t shoot down the plane?

‘We land the plane.’

‘You land the plane?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘And who exactly do you mean by “we”?’ Bruce said.

‘By “we”, I mean one of our colleagues who happens to be on board Flight 573. His background means that he would be able to land the plane with a certain amount of support, if
he can just take over the controls.’

Bruce couldn’t believe his ears.

‘You have a pilot on board?’ his boss said.

‘Yes. But he belongs to one of our secret units, which makes the whole thing a little delicate. And he’s travelling in a private capacity; he’s been visiting friends in
Stockholm.’

‘Does he know what’s going on?’ Bruce asked.

‘Sassi has made an announcement to the passengers, saying that their arrival will be delayed by several hours because of problems on the ground in the USA. Apparently, he said something
about communication issues at the airport, which was when our colleague pricked up his ears and contacted us to ask if we could check out the situation. Needless to say, we then told him what was
happening.’

Crazy.
This was a crazy story. From start to finish.

‘How did he contact you?’

‘He’s travelling first class, so he used the phone in the arm rest. He also has a mobile that works from time to time, though not very often.’

‘But why drag someone else into this? There’s a co-pilot sitting next to Captain Sassi; he’s perfectly capable of landing the plane, if he can just get Sassi out of the way,
which shouldn’t be particularly difficult.’

‘That’s true, but how do we get in touch with the co-pilot without Sassi finding out what’s going on?’

The dark-haired man folded his arms.

‘We believe the best option is for our man on the plane to speak to one of the stewardesses and ask her to help him get into the cockpit, where he can quickly deal with Sassi.’

It slowly became clear to Bruce what kind of operative was sitting on that plane. One who was trained to ‘deal with’ other people without hesitation.

‘So he approaches a stewardess, shows her some kind of ID, then gives her whatever information is necessary to get her to make some excuse to go into the cockpit?’

‘Exactly. Because in this situation it is unlikely that Sassi will allow anyone apart from his crew through that door.’

Bruce understood the plan more clearly now, and thought it might well succeed.

‘What happens if there’s a bomb on board?’ his boss said.

‘There isn’t,’ the dark-haired man stated. ‘Not possible. The bomb threat was made purely to draw attention away from Sassi.’

‘When will your colleague act?’ Bruce said.

The man from the Pentagon looked at his watch.

‘We should be hearing from him at any minute.’

Bruce looked down at his hands.

Zakaria Khelifi might be released.

Tennyson Cottage had already been shut down.

And soon Flight 573 would be in the hands of the Pentagon.

As long as their operative managed to get into the cockpit.

T
hey gathered around Fredrika Bergman’s desk. They had a name for Zakaria’s sister, but that was all. And the interview with Ellis, who
had been convicted of terrorism offences and had named Zakaria as a collaborator, had lasted less than ten minutes. He wouldn’t say a word about why he had retracted his statement.

‘Who can help us?’ Eden said.

Her fingers beat an impatient tattoo against the hard surface of the desk, and Fredrika suppressed an urge to ask her to stop.

‘Have you spoken to the Germans yet?’ Sebastian asked.

‘I’ve got a meeting with them in fifteen minutes. They’ve been waiting for this for quite some time. I’d like you to come with me.’

‘Okay.’

‘I can speak to Zakaria’s girlfriend,’ Fredrika suggested, keen to find herself a job before Eden came up with something else. ‘About his sister.’

‘Indeed you can,’ Eden agreed. ‘But you’re not employed by the police any longer, so you need to take one of the investigating officers with you. We’re running out
of time now, so if you could do that as soon as possible . . .’

They’d been running out of time all day; Fredrika didn’t understand why Eden had said ‘now’. The pressure had never eased.

‘Why is Ellis refusing to talk?’ Sebastian said to Eden.

‘You tell me.’

‘Could he have been threatened?’

‘If so, it must have happened while he was in isolation in the custody block, which suggests that the answer to your question is no.’

Sebastian stroked his beard.

‘In that case, it seems even more strange that he named Khelifi in the first place.’

‘He could have changed his mind without having been threatened,’ Eden said. ‘I’ve read through the transcripts; he didn’t hesitate for a second when he informed on
Zakaria Khelifi.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean.’ Sebastian sounded frustrated. ‘None of us had any doubt that he was telling the truth. And he provided a lot of detail – names,
events, times, again without any hesitation.’

Fredrika listened to their discussion, not knowing what to say. There could be hundreds of reasons why a person would wrongly accuse an acquaintance of being involved in a crime, but
considerably fewer reasons why he would then retract such an accusation. A threat was of course a possibility, but in that case how had it been communicated to Ellis?

They would never know.

‘Have you told the Justice Department about the phone records?’ Eden asked.

‘Yes, and they were worried to say the least,’ Fredrika replied. ‘They said they’d call me within the hour.’

‘They’re intending to review the deportation order? Before we even know for sure whether he’s lying or telling the truth?’

‘I don’t think so, but if we don’t manage to establish the facts as far as the phone is concerned within the next few hours, they will probably feel compelled to give him the
benefit of the doubt.’

Eden snorted.

‘And what if we find out tomorrow that it was his phone all along? Will they expect us to pick him up again? Because that’s not happening.’

Sebastian spoke up: ‘There’s a great deal we don’t know at the moment; let’s just take one thing at a time.’