Claudia loved to talk about their first meeting. He had been so shy, she said. So gangly and immature. Not the kind of guy you wanted to go to bed with, but more of a young boy; she had wanted to stroke his cheek and whisper: ‘Your day will come.’ Erik didn’t understand it at all, but he realised that Claudia’s perception of him must have changed pretty quickly, because not many weeks had passed between the first time they saw each other and the first night they spent together.
The memory gave Erik a warm glow. They had had a son, made a life together. He would never accept that all this could be taken away from him. Not now, not ever. One day, they would all die, but as long as Erik had something to say about it, that day would not come until they were old.
Suddenly he was aware that he was being watched. A young man was staring at him. Erik reflexively checked what he was wearing, and tried to remember what Fatima had said his name was.
‘Joakim?’ he said, getting up from the bar stool.
The young man nodded, and they shook hands. Erik explained that he was the co-pilot, and said that unfortunately the captain was unable to come out and speak to him in person. As if that was an option they had considered.
Erik looked around; they were still alone in the bar with Lydia, so he decided they might as well stay there for a chat.
‘I believe you’ve heard about our problems.’
Joakim nodded. His arms were tightly folded across his chest, and his face was pale and tense.
‘I realise everything must seem very worrying, but I can assure you that we are doing all we can to ensure a positive outcome.’
Joakim didn’t look convinced.
Erik went on: ‘It’s true that we have received a bomb threat, but we have no idea whether it’s genuine or not. What we do know is that all baggage on board has gone through rigorous security checks, and that it’s virtually impossible to bring a bomb onto the plane.’
‘But can you take that risk? Assume it’s a hoax?’
‘Of course not. We’re not taking any risks; we are following the hijackers’ instructions and working with the police.’
Joakim’s shoulders dropped slightly.
‘You’ve spoken to the police?’
‘Absolutely – several times.’
But unfortunately, the captain refuses to listen to what they say. The captain is a fucking lunatic who intends to keep the plane on the periphery of US airspace instead of looking for an alternative place to land.
Erik reached out and placed a firm hand on Joakim’s shoulder.
‘It would be a disaster if the other passengers found out what’s happened,’ he said. ‘It’s vital that as crew members we can devote all our energy to resolving this situation. If we fail, the consequences could be very serious for all of us. Do you understand?’
Joakim understood. He understood far more than Erik had put into words.
‘I won’t say a word to anyone.’
‘Thank you,’ Erik said. ‘I hope that includes your family.’
He didn’t want individual passengers starting to send reports back home.
Joakim looked hesitant.
‘If all this takes too long, then I’m going to text my mum. She has the right to hear from me if I… If we…’
If we’re going to die.
Erik couldn’t argue with that.
Joakim sighed. ‘Although my phone doesn’t seem to be working any more.’
Thank God for that, Erik thought.
‘How late are we going to be?’
There was no answer to that, and Erik knew that Joakim realised that. If the plane crashed, they would never arrive.
They shook hands and Joakim went back to his seat, while Erik quickly moved into first class.
He hoped to God he would succeed, otherwise he had no idea what to do next.
There were three empty seats. Erik tried to think strategically. Even if he spoke quietly, there was still a risk that those sitting nearby would hear what he was saying on the phone, and that would be stupid. Therefore, it would be best if those sitting closest to him didn’t understand Swedish.
Eventually, he decided on a seat by the window, where the passengers both in front and beside him looked like Asian businessmen.
Erik nodded to the man next to him as he slipped into the seat. Nobody took much notice of him, in spite of his uniform. However, he could see that Lydia was watching him. He ignored her.
The telephone felt awkward in his hand, and he carefully followed the instructions to obtain an outside line from the plane. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead as he keyed in Alex’s number. Then he pressed the phone to his ear and waited as it rang out.
When Erik eventually heard Alex’s voice, he felt tears pouring down his cheeks, much to his surprise.
‘Dad, it’s me,’ he whispered.
46 STOCKHOLM, 19:55
The battle was no longer against the clock, but against those who were withholding information that could put everything right. Zakaria Khelifi’s uncle wasn’t difficult to get hold of, but Fredrika Bergman suspected that it would be considerably more difficult to get him to co-operate. His voice sounded weary, and for a moment she felt guilty for hassling him.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you; my name is Fredrika Bergman, and I’m with the police.’
Was she? Hardly. Not right now. But the truth was too complicated. If she called and said she was a liaison officer between the cabinet office and the police, the man wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about, and she would have to waste time explaining.
She reminded herself that she must get in touch with her boss at the Justice Department to follow up on the report she had sent him. She thought about the final sentence she had added before sending it via encryption software:
‘There may well be reasons to question yesterday’s decision on the case of Zakaria Khelifi.’
She had been unable to bring herself to send the document without that addition. And before it was too late, she intended to follow it up with further supporting documentation in which she would spell out the circumstances that weakened the case against Zakaria, if such information emerged. Which Fredrika believed it would.
‘What’s this about?’ Zakaria’s uncle said. ‘I’ve already spoken to the police.’
‘I know that,’ Fredrika said. ‘And I’m very sorry that we need to contact you again. But it’s about Zakaria, and it’s urgent.’
‘Has something happened to him?’
The question came so quickly that Fredrika realised that Zakaria’s uncle, and no doubt many of Zakaria’s relatives, must be worried that something bad would happen to him.
‘No, no, he’s fine.’
Was he? She had no idea. He might be dying of fear in his cell, facing the inescapable fact that he would be forced to return to his homeland.
‘However, we are wondering about something you mentioned to my colleagues when they came to see you this afternoon,’ she said.
‘Oh?’ Moussa Khelifi’s voice was full of suspicion.
‘You said that Zakaria has a sister.’
‘He has several sisters,’ Moussa said curtly.
‘But how many of them live in Sweden?’
She heard a sigh at the other end of the line.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Possibly nothing,’ Fredrika said, trying to hide the fact that the police were now interested in the sister who had suddenly cropped up in their investigation. ‘We’d just like to know her name.’
And where we can get hold of her.