GD answered his phone. He didn’t sound all that pleased to hear her voice, in spite of the fact that he was the one who had wanted to speak to her in the first place. Eden had no idea why he was suddenly so hostile, but it didn’t exactly improve matters when she relayed the results of her meeting with the Americans.
‘So the Germans knew about this? If that’s true, it’s totally unacceptable!’
Eden tried to calm him down.
‘It’s overstating the case to say they knew about it. And what would we have done with such a vague email?’ She shook her head.
GD muttered something inaudible, and Eden moved on to a different matter: ‘Did we know that Zakaria Khelifi has a sister here in Sweden?’
GD sounded unsure: ‘I don’t know. Why would it be relevant if he has?’
‘I’m just thinking there could be other things that we’ve missed. We’ve always regarded him as someone who has relatively little in terms of roots in Sweden. And then we find out he has a sister here. And his uncle, whom we already knew about, of course.’
Did she mean what she was saying? She thought so. They shouldn’t have missed the fact that Zakaria had a sister in Sweden. Why hadn’t he mentioned her himself? She wasn’t included in his file with the Immigration Service, and Zakaria had never said a word about her in any of his interviews. The only sisters Eden knew about were the ones who still lived in Algeria. There had to be a reason why Zakaria hadn’t said anything.
‘He probably didn’t want to drag her into his problems,’ GD said. ‘Nothing more sinister than that.’
But Eden’s brain was working overtime by now.
‘It’s more than that. They don’t even appear to have been in touch. Or is she in our phone tap records, and we haven’t realised who she is?’
‘There are always unidentified individuals when we tap someone’s phone.’
‘And the uncle didn’t know he was supposed to keep quiet,’ Eden said, more to herself than GD. ‘He mentioned her as if she was an obvious part of Zakaria’s life.’
‘I think this sounds like something you don’t really need to pursue,’ GD said.
Eden drummed her fingertips on the desk.
‘There’s more,’ she said.
‘What do you mean, more?’
‘More about Zakaria’s case that doesn’t feel good, to say the least.’
She told him what the latest analysis of Zakaria’s phone records had revealed, and not surprisingly he was furious.
‘Do you realise what the hell you’re saying?’
‘Of course I do. And believe me, I’m doing all I can to get to the bottom of Zakaria Khelifi’s case.’
She ended the call with a distinct feeling that she was on the trail of something that had been very well hidden. And that it was Zakaria Khelifi himself who had blocked her chances of finding it.
38 FLIGHT 573
When Joakim was a boy, he used to think that it was possible to walk on the clouds you saw when you looked out of the window on a plane. He would press his nose against the cold glass and dream of stepping outside to play in the soft, white shapes that looked like mountains made of ice cream.
‘But you can’t do that, darling,’ his mother had said when he told her. ‘Clouds are just air. If you tried to walk on them, you’d fall straight through.’
The very thought of plunging to the ground had made Joakim settle down properly in his seat without even glancing at the window. However, now he was an adult he loved to sit and gaze at the clouds. They had been in the air for some hours by now; the advantage was that the distance between him and the bad-tempered girlfriend he had left back home felt immense. Joakim was certain now. When he got back, he was going to finish with her. He didn’t need someone like her in his life. Not when he was moving forward, and all she wanted to do was stay in the same place.
Joakim was restless. The flight time was supposed to be nine hours and fifteen minutes, and he hadn’t slept a wink. The captain had just announced that there would be a delay of several hours because of bad weather. Joakim’s seat was as hard as a park bench, and the man next to him stank of sweat. Joakim fiddled aimlessly with the small TV screen set in the back of the seat in front of him. There wasn’t a single film he hadn’t already seen.
He picked up his rucksack and took out his camera. He scrolled through his photographs, most of which were of no interest at all. Party pictures and photos from his niece’s christening. He switched off the camera and put it back in his bag, then rummaged through the rest of the contents. Hadn’t he brought a book? A guide to the world of jazz in New York – a present from his parents.
He found the book and put it on his knee. He wanted to listen to some music as well. The man next to him started glancing sideways at Joakim, obviously irritated by all this scrabbling in his bag.
You stink and I’m scrabbling. If you put on some deodorant I’ll put down my bag.
After a minute or so, he realised he was searching in vain. He hadn’t brought his MP3-player. He could see it clearly, sitting on the kitchen table. He had intended to bring it, but he must have forgotten. However, he was sure he’d transferred a few playlists to his new phone.
With his book and phone on his knee, Joakim dropped the rucksack back onto the floor. He turned away discreetly so that his neighbour wouldn’t see that his phone was on. Lots of people had music on their phones, but they could usually switch to flight mode. Joakim didn’t know how to do that; however, he had recently read an article about how someone was trying, once and for all, to get to the bottom of how dangerous it was to have a mobile phone switched on during a flight. If it really was such a hazard, then why were people allowed to take a phone on board at all, the writer argued. The safety of the entire plane was left in the hands of individual passengers, with no control over how they handled that responsibility.
The article had been well written, and Joakim thought it made a good point. If it was so important for phones to be switched off, then surely people would be compelled to check them in. The thought eased his guilty conscience.
To his surprise, he saw that he had a new message. From his mother. But why? She knew he was on a plane to New York, so why would she send him a message? Or did she assume that he had his phone on?
Furtively, he turned his back on his neighbour and opened the message. If the phone was on anyway and the message had been received, surely it wouldn’t make any difference if he opened it?
Quickly, he read through what his mother had written.
He blinked, shook his head. What the hell… had she gone mad?
He read it again.
‘Joakim, I assume both your phones are switched off, but I’m sending this anyway. Dad and I have both come home from work and are following your journey on the internet and on TV. Don’t give up! We love you and know that everything will be all right! Lots of love, Mum.’
Come home from work? Following your journey?
Joakim didn’t understand a word of it. Was the message really from his mother, or someone else? He looked at it several times, but there was no doubt.
He started to laugh. Quietly at first, then louder and louder. Suddenly he grew serious again. This wasn’t funny. What were they playing at? What were they talking about? It sounded as if they thought he was in real danger.