In Afghanistan.
In Iraq.
In every fucking corner of the world where they thought a terrorist might be hiding, or be hidden by someone else.
The pendulum swung the other way for Bruce. This wasn’t how he had thought things would be. There had to be another way to make the world safe, other than letting the blood flow in the narrow channel of the River Tigris.
Or maybe not.
Another plane was on its way to the USA. Flight 573. With Karim Sassi in charge. A man with a secret mission: to crash the plane into the Capitol building, once again using violence against American pride and self-esteem.
No fucking way was it going to to happen again.
But to shoot down a jumbo jet with over four hundred passengers on board… What would they say to the relatives?
‘Sorry, but we had no choice.’
Was that true? Wasn’t there always a choice?
Bruce went through the notes he had made during the course of a working day that already felt long, even though it was still early afternoon. He had been in touch with Säpo in Stockholm and spoken to Eden Lundell. Bruce found it incomprehensible that someone like her could have been appointed head of counter-terrorism in Sweden, but what did he know? Perhaps the Brits hadn’t had the sense to inform their Swedish colleagues about what kind of monster they had taken on.
However, she had had valuable information to pass on to Bruce. Valuable and interesting.
Karim Sassi was not a Muslim.
And there may well be elements that needed to be cleared up in the case of Zakaria Khelifi.
What did the fact that Sassi was not a Muslim actually mean? Everything and nothing. Bruce was one of those who was very clear about the fact that being a Muslim was not synonymous with being a terrorist, and that there were also many terrorists who were not Muslims. But in that case, what was Karim’s interest in Zakaria Khelifi and Tennyson Cottage? He could of course be a particularly committed citizen who had lost his way due to his convictions and was now in the middle of a horrific crime, but there wasn’t much in Karim’s background to suggest that this was a likely scenario.
Bruce picked up a photograph of Sassi. Dark, broad-shouldered, looking straight into the camera with a dazzling smile; he had the same air of assurance, the same certainty of victory as an American football player.
Who are you? Bruce thought. Who are you, and why are you doing this?
His boss interrupted his thoughts with a knock on the door.
‘We have visitors from the Pentagon who would like to speak to us.’
Bruce put down the photograph and followed his boss along the corridor to a Spartan conference room where their visitors were waiting. Two men, one dark-haired and one fair-haired, who introduced themselves with their surname and rank. Bruce didn’t bother trying to remember them. He didn’t really have time for this, and hoped it wouldn’t take long.
And his prayers were answered.
‘We’ve come to talk about Tennyson Cottage,’ said the dark-haired man.
‘We know the CIA have already been here for the same reason,’ his colleague went on, ‘but we have fresh information that we think you should be aware of.’
‘It’s not really fresh information,’ the dark-haired man said. ‘But it is sensitive, and when the CIA came here a few hours ago, we hadn’t decided whether it could be passed on to you.’
‘And now we’ve made up our minds.’
Bruce looked from one to the other, thinking that the whole thing was a joke. If they kept on taking it in turns to speak, there was no way he could take them seriously.
‘What is this information you’ve kept from us?’ Bruce’s boss said, sounding furious.
‘We haven’t kept it from you,’ the dark-haired man said. ‘We’ve simply been cautious with it.’
Bruce linked his hands on the table in order to keep them still.
‘Whatever,’ said his boss.
The fair-haired man looked annoyed, but said nothing. His colleague continued:
‘I don’t know how much the CIA told you about what goes on at Tennyson Cottage. As I said, it’s a sensitive issue, even if everyone knows we have detention facilities in Afghanistan.’
Yes, Bruce thought. Indeed they do.
‘After the second of May everything became even more sensitive, as I’m sure you realise. We evacuated and cleared a number of our facilities. Tennyson Cottage was one of the places we decided to shut down.’
Bruce blinked.
The fair-haired man smiled at his surprise.
‘Pardon me for interrupting,’ Bruce said. ‘But are you sitting here telling us that Tennyson Cottage has been shut down since the second of May?’
The day Osama bin Laden was shot dead by American special forces in Pakistan.
‘That’s right. So you could say that whoever has hijacked Flight 573 doesn’t exactly have up-to-date information.’
Bruce tried to grasp the significance of what the man from the Pentagon was saying. Then something else occurred to him.
‘It’s possible that the Swedes might release Zakaria Khelifi; there is some suggestion that they might have made errors in the investigation that led to the government’s decision to deport him.’
The dark-haired man was picking at a cuticle.
‘So we heard.’
‘And now you tell us that Tennyson Cottage is already closed? That means everything is sorted – both the hijackers’ demands have been met!’
Bruce’s boss cleared his throat.
‘It’s not quite that simple,’ he said.
‘You mean we’d rather shoot down a plane with American citizens on board than reveal that Tennyson Cottage has been shut down?’
‘He means we can’t just announce that Tennyson Cottage no longer exists,’ the dark-haired man said. ‘Above all, we can’t negotiate with terrorists. Just imagine what a precedent that would set. Hijackers would be lining up to get their demands met.’
Bruce just had to protest.
‘But there’ll be an inquiry. This will never blow over. People will keep on asking questions about why it was necessary to sacrifice so many lives rather than negotiate with terrorists.’
The dark-haired man gazed wearily at Bruce.
‘Surely you don’t think we intend to shoot down the plane if there’s an alternative? Of course there will be questions afterwards, and then we’ll be able to put all our cards on the table. Imagine how incredibly calculating we will appear. In a positive way. The message will be very clear: forget about using violence to change the world, because it won’t work. Besides, we have fresh intelligence to take into consideration.’
‘Fresh intelligence? From whom?’ Bruce’s boss wanted to know.
Bruce himself sat in silence, trying to take in what the guy from the Pentagon had said. They would appear calculating. In a positive way. Was he serious?
‘From the same source as before. The Swedes will be informed as soon as they decide to hold a meeting with their German colleagues.’
‘And what is this new intelligence?’ Bruce said.
‘The Germans have received another email stating that Karim Sassi’s mission does not depend on whether or not the hijackers’ demands are met. He is going to crash the plane into the Capitol building regardless of whether they get what they want.’
It couldn’t be true. There was no logic in what Bruce had just heard, none at all.
The fair-haired man clarified: ‘Think about what’s happened today. A jumbo jet takes off from Stockholm, heading for New York. During the time it will take the plane to use up the fuel it has on board, two governments are faced with two equally impossible tasks. Even if we were to agree to their demands, we would never have time to action that agreement in the time available. The Swedes might manage it, but there is no way we could do it.’
‘So we were never meant to succeed?’
The dark-haired man shook his head, his expression grim.