Someone had mentioned the miasma of intelligence. After only a few hours working with Säpo, Fredrika thought she was beginning to understand what that meant. All those little snippets of information flying around, just waiting to be picked up by a security or intelligence service, which in turn wanted to know whether that particular piece of information could be the one that made the difference, the one that turned a defeat into a success.
‘What do we know about Karim Sassi’s mother?’ Alex said, making Fredrika jump. ‘Apart from the fact that she worked at an Ericsson factory.’
Fredrika opened her bag and took out a sheet of paper that she had been given by a Säpo agent before they left.
‘Born and raised in Kalmar, moved to Stockholm at the age of twenty. Married young, to Karim’s father who then disappeared from the picture. She worked at the Ericsson factory in Kista until 2005, when she remarried and became a housewife in Östermalm.’
‘A social climber,’ Alex said.
‘Looks that way.’
A housewife – who would want to be a housewife? Fredrika couldn’t understand it at all. She had been brought up by a hardworking career woman, and had never even considered the idea of not working. The very idea of putting herself in a situation where she would be dependent on someone else made Fredrika feel ill. Love didn’t mean owning another person, or being owned. Not even the arch-conservative Spencer would come up with such a bizarre notion.
Alex glanced at Fredrika. ‘Don’t look so bloody judgemental,’ he said. ‘You never know why people make the choices they do.’
Kudos to Alex for saying people rather than women. It strengthened his argument, and made Fredrika think along different lines.
‘Karim has no brothers or sisters,’ she said.
‘No step-siblings either?’
‘No.’
‘Grandparents?’
‘His maternal grandparents are dead. I don’t know anything about his paternal grandparents; they don’t live in Sweden.’
Alex parked outside the building where Karim’s mother lived, not far from the Royal Mews. Fredrika got out of the car and inhaled the thin autumn air. She and Spencer used to see each other in secret in Östermalm, over all those years when their relationship had to remain clandestine. Sometimes she missed those days so much that it actually hurt. Their impossible love affair had been like a parallel reality into which Fredrika could disappear when life was difficult or boring. A fun interlude in an everyday existence which often seemed ridiculously dreary and grey. Everything had been so taboo, so forbidden. Not only was Spencer married, he was the same age as her parents, and had been her tutor at the university. Nothing was more attractive than something that went against all the rules.
Fredrika loved to think back to their initial flirting. It had been so innocent; she could never have imagined that anything would come of it. Who would be brave enough to take the first step, dare to be the person who had perhaps misjudged the whole situation? Fredrika thought it was her, but Spencer always said it was him. It didn’t really matter; it was fifteen years ago, and now they were married and had two children together.
Who is going to be my little adventure now? Fredrika wondered.
Alex led the way inside. The lift took them up to Karim Sassi’s mother’s apartment on the fifth floor, and they rang the doorbell.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Säpo?’ Fredrika said, remembering that that was what she had agreed with them when she was given the brief summary about Karim’s mother.
‘They’re on their way,’ Alex replied, just as the door opened.
Karim’s mother, Marina Fager, was quite different from the way Fredrika had pictured her. She was small and thin, unlike her tall, broad-shouldered son. They had called to tell her they were coming, but hadn’t wanted to say why over the phone.
‘We’ll wait until we get there,’ Alex had decided.
But Fredrika could see that Marina Fager already knew why they were there.
‘I spoke to Karim’s wife,’ she said, leading the way into the kitchen where she had coffee waiting for them.
She spread her hands wide; the despair etched on her face was painful to see.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. ‘I really don’t know what to say.’
‘Let’s sit down,’ Alex said.
The kitchen was rustic in style, nothing like all those modern kitchens with shiny worktops and cupboard doors that could be found all over Stockholm. This was a homely kitchen, a kitchen in which to gather friends and family, not a kitchen in which to offer the police a cup of coffee when your son had hijacked a jumbo jet.
‘Säpo called as well,’ Marina said. ‘They wouldn’t tell me anything either; they just said they wanted me to stay at home because they wanted to talk to me.’
Fredrika opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment the doorbell rang. Karim’s mother leapt up from her chair and hurried into the hallway.
‘We should have come together,’ Fredrika said. ‘This looks so disorganised.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Alex said. ‘It’s important that she realises we belong to different organisations with different assignments to complete.’
There it was again. The assignment.
Karim’s mother returned with two Säpo officers. Fredrika recognised one of them; it was the same man who had been there when they made their first visit to Karim’s house. She still didn’t know his name, but presumed he had introduced himself to Marina when she opened the door. The other was a woman Fredrika hadn’t seen before. They said a brief hello, then sat down at the oval kitchen table.
‘How could my Karim end up in a hostage situation?’ Marina said. ‘It just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to him.’
‘We understand that,’ the Säpo officer said. His voice was so calm. Fredrika watched as he almost imperceptibly leaned forward across the table, thus getting closer to Karim’s mother.
‘Have you seen your son lately?’ he asked.
Marina nodded. ‘Of course. We see each other all the time – we’re family, after all.’
‘Have you noticed anything particular recently? For example, would you say that Karim has been stressed, anything like that?’
‘No, I can’t say I have.’
‘He hasn’t withdrawn? Kept himself to himself?’
‘No.’ Marina frowned.‘Why are you asking all these question about Karim? He’s the captain of the plane, not the hijacker.’
As she finished speaking, she caught Alex’s eye across the table. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror.
‘You’re crazy! Karim would never…’
Alex held up his hand to calm her.
‘We’re following up on several leads, but at the moment it does look as if Karim could be involved. We don’t know exactly how or why, and that’s what we’re trying to find out.’
The Säpo officer joined in.
‘Exactly. We’re not certain, but we think that Karim may be mixed up in all this. And if he isn’t, then of course it’s vital that we find out as quickly as possible.’
Karim’s mother nodded; she had settled down a little.
‘Of course.’
‘Zakaria Khelifi,’ Alex said. ‘Do you recognise the name?’
‘Of course I do,’ Marina said sadly. ‘He spent some time with Karim one summer many years ago – 2001 or 2002, I think.’
‘How did they become friends?’
‘I was working at the Ericsson factory in Kista back then, and so was Zakaria’s uncle. He knew I had a son roughly the same age as his nephew, so when Zakaria came over to Sweden that summer, I asked Karim to take him out a few times. I don’t know if I’d call them friends; as far as I know they haven’t been in touch since then.’
‘Do you know what Zakaria is doing these days?’ Alex said.
Maria turned and reached for a newspaper that was lying on the window ledge.
‘Isn’t he the same Zakaria who’s going to be deported?’ she said, pointing to an article on the front page.