‘But a small number have been released?’
‘A very small number. Just two, to be precise.’
‘I thought you said that around fifty detainees had been held in Tennyson Cottage, and that forty-five had been moved on to other institutions?’
Green was fiddling with the pen he was holding in one hand.
‘We lost a couple. Quite unintentionally, I can assure you. But that’s what happened. One of them had a heart attack. Another suffered from epilepsy. I mean, we had no way of knowing that. They found him dead one morning. It was a fucking tragedy – that guy had a hell of lot to tell us.’
Bruce felt sick as he watched the pen in Green’s hands. It was as if he couldn’t bear to sit still. And as if the words spilling out of him meant jack shit to him.
‘The ones who were actually released – could they have talked about Tennyson Cottage?’
‘One of them actually did. There is an article – just one article – on the internet where the place is mentioned by name. The father of one of the guys turned to the media to cry his eyes out over the damage that had been done to his son. Their names were protected in the article, but of course we realised who they were.’
Green grinned at his colleagues and they grinned back. Bruce knew they had no choice. You didn’t go against someone like Green, not unless you were prepared to ditch your entire career.
‘Where was he from, this guy who spoke to the press?’
Bruce had seen the piece, but couldn’t remember any details.
‘He didn’t speak to them himself, it was his father. He was from Morocco; he’d travelled a long way to attend training camps in Pakistan.’
‘But he had no connection with Sweden or Khelifi?’
‘Not as far as we know.’
Bruce thought for a moment. Zakaria Khelifi also came from North Africa, but it was a tenuous link. Khelifi was Algerian, the other guy was Moroccan. Why should they know one another?
‘Listen to me,’ Green said, attempting to look trustworthy. ‘Of course it’s up to you how you choose to allocate your time, but if I were you I’d drop this idea of trying to find a connection between Zakaria Khelifi and Tennyson Cottage. Khelifi has never set foot in the place, and nor has anyone he knows. Whoever wrote that note has simply bundled together two things that have nothing to do with one another.’
‘In which case, it’s still interesting that the person in question chose to focus on Tennyson Cottage, which is practically unknown.’
‘Exactly. And we’re working flat out on that angle, believe me. As I explained, there are very few people who have something to say about Tennyson Cottage, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to flush out whoever decided to use it in that note.’
‘Of course, it could just be someone who had read the article,’ Bruce said. ‘And got real mad.’
Green shook his head decisively.
‘Have you seen it? Tennyson Cottage is only mentioned in passing. The stupid fucker who wrote it had no idea what a scoop he had, right there in front of his nose.’
Green had a point. Bruce’s interpretation of the piece had been exactly the same. Tennyson Cottage was mentioned, but nothing more. It wasn’t enough to motivate a reaction like this. Unless of course, the threat was 90 per cent about Khelifi, with Tennyson Cottage as the icing on the top. In that case, the article could well have provided the perfect inspiration.
‘We don’t know what’s more important to the hijacker,’ he said to Green. ‘Tennyson Cottage or Khelifi.’
‘No, we don’t,’ Green replied.
Then the conversation was over. Green had nothing else to say, and Bruce had no more questions. He wanted the names of those who had been held in Tennyson Cottage, but Green was only prepared to give him the two who had been released. That would have to do for now.
‘By the way, what happened to the other guy who was released?’ Bruce said. ‘The one who didn’t feature in the newspaper article?’
‘You could say he’s living a quiet life. Don’t you worry about him.’
Bruce gathered up his things and got ready to leave the room. But none of the CIA agents on the other side of the table moved.
‘Now that we’ve finished talking about Tennyson Cottage, we can discuss another matter that has come to our attention,’ Green said.
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.’
22 STOCKHOLM, 12:15
As 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.’