Fredrika was curious. Phone tapping and surveillance could take an investigation a long way; she had seen it happen in virtually every case she had been involved in during her time with the police. You just had to work out how everything hung together, which wasn’t always easy.
‘What did Zakaria Khelifi say when you asked about his phone contacts?’ she asked. ‘The ones linked to previous investigations?’
‘He said the phone belonged to someone else at the time,’ Eden replied. ‘He said he only bought it in February or March 2011.’
‘Can you disprove that?’ the Secretary of State asked.
‘No, but we don’t need to. He couldn’t tell us exactly when he bought the phone, or who from, or how much he paid. It was obviously something he came up with after the event.’
‘I see,’ said the Minister for Justice, who was keen to move on. ‘So, Zakaria Khelifi was acquitted in court. And now you want us to revoke his residence permit?’
‘Yes. In view of the facts we have presented here today, we are asking you to revoke Zakaria Khelifi’s permanent residence permit so that he can be taken into custody and sent home to Algeria. He has cropped up in three preliminary investigations and operations, he was named by Ellis during interrogation, and he obviously helped the two perpetrators with their preparations.’
The Minister for Justice leaned back in his chair.
‘Are there any obstacles to implementing this course of action, or is it possible for him to go home?’
‘According to the Immigration Court of Appeal, there is no reason why he can’t be deported. The Algerian authorities have not been involved in our work, and they have no reason to seek him out. He is therefore not at risk of torture or the death penalty.’
The Secretary of State joined in the discussion. ‘And what about the reasons why he was given permission to stay here in the first place?’
‘No longer applicable,’ Eden said. ‘The father and brother of his ex-wife died in a road-traffic accident some time ago. We believe that the remaining family members are no longer interested in punishing him.’
Fredrika didn’t say a word. This was a whole new world to her.
‘How does this guy make a living?’ the Minister wanted to know.
‘He’s worked as a youth leader.’
Fredrika remembered how he had been portrayed in the media: the nice guy who worked with young people and had difficulty finding a way into Swedish society. Zakaria Khelifi had learned to speak fluent Swedish, and was in many ways an excellent role model. A youth leader who was helping terrorists at the same time. Fredrika found it difficult to reconcile these two contradictory images.
The legs of the Minister’s chair scraped against the parquet floor as he moved.
‘And what is this going to look like in the media?’ he said. ‘Zakaria Khelifi has just been acquitted on two separate counts in court, and yet both Säpo and the government decide to send him home.’
‘What’s the alternative?’ Eden asked. ‘Let him stay here? Keep him under surveillance? Risk a situation where he becomes an icon for young people in the suburbs with an immigrant background? An icon who could inspire others to join the armed struggle? We can do that, of course. But in that case, both the government and Säpo will be guilty of dereliction of duty, because it is our responsibility to ensure that those who could constitute a security threat do not have the opportunity to establish themselves in this country.’
She shook her head and continued: ‘We can’t risk that kind of domino effect; we have to be clear and make an example of Khelifi. And even if the odd journalist writes a negative article, the message to those who seek to join people like Zakaria Khelifi will be crystal clear: you don’t fuck with Swedish democracy.’
The Minister for Justice appeared to be deep in thought, and Fredrika wondered what Eden’s background was. Her rhetoric was not Swedish, and it looked as if her head of department was embarrassed by the way she had spoken.
Nobody said anything, and suddenly a brief ringtone sliced through the silence.
‘Sorry, I forgot to switch it off,’ Eden said, taking her mobile out of her pocket.
Eden’s colleagues were staring at her. Everyone was expected to turn off their phone.
But Eden didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. Her attention was focused on the phone in her hand; she read the message she had just received, then said:
‘Apparently, there have been a number of bomb threats against targets in Stockholm. One of those targets is Rosenbad.’
Less than a minute later, the meeting was over, and Säpo had disappeared from the room as if by magic.
5 13:35
There was a time when Alex Recht had wanted nothing more than a post within Säpo. But many felt they were called and few were chosen. Year after year, Alex waited for the magical phone call that would change his life, the voice that would say he was wanted and welcome, that he was one of those who would be allowed through the portals.
Eventually, they did call. It was a Sunday, and Alex and Lena were busy repainting the fence. They called, and even though they didn’t say who they were, Alex knew. He was given a time and place for a meeting. He arrived five minutes late and informed them that he wasn’t interested. By that time, he had got to know several people who worked within the organisation, and he thought they looked bored to death by the whole thing. He didn’t actually say that during the meeting, but talked about how much he was enjoying his present post, and how much he wanted to remain in what was referred to as the open side of the police.
‘Well, you can always go back,’ said the Säpo representative.
But Alex wasn’t so sure about that. If he started working for Säpo, there was a risk that he would stay there. And the idea didn’t appeal to him one little bit.
Once you had rejected Säpo, they never came back. Not that he was waiting for it to happen, but as the years went by and Alex gained a reputation as one of Sweden’s leading investigators, he thought they would contact him again. They didn’t. Perhaps they sensed that he still wasn’t interested.
Alex was sitting quietly in his office, thinking hard. Four bomb threats against different targets in inner-city Stockholm. First of all, someone had phoned and said the target was the Royal Library in Humlegården. Then another call came in, this time about the Central Station. Then the Åhlén’s department store. And finally, Rosenbad, the government building, which meant that Säpo were automatically drawn in. According to Alex’s boss, they would be in touch with him as soon as they had completed their own assessment.
The situation required an immediate response. Alex felt instinctively that the whole thing was nothing more than a hoax; someone was bored and had decided to make false bomb threats in order to cause havoc. At the same time, they had to be careful. Sweden couldn’t cope with any more acts of terrorism, and it certainly couldn’t cope with any mistakes on the part of the police.
According to the caller, the first bomb would explode at five o’clock that afternoon, the next at five fifteen, the third at five thirty and the fourth at five forty-five. It wasn’t clear which target would be attacked first, and no reason was given for the threat.
The only thing they knew for certain was that at five o’clock in the afternoon all the targeted locations would be crowded with people.
They had tried to trace the calls, but they had all been made using unregistered pay-as-you-go SIM cards and different mobile phones. The person who called had used some kind of voice distortion, which made Alex raise his eyebrows; it was very unusual, almost ridiculous really. He hadn’t heard such rubbish since the eighties.
He was sure that the same person had made all four calls, even though they had come from different phones, but just to be on the safe side, he requested a rapid analysis of the mast links to see where the calls had been made. They had come in at intervals of less than three minutes, so it ought to be possible to tell if it was the same person who had made all four calls.