‘We simply can’t allow that to happen,’ the Finance Minister said. ‘It has to be clear that we did our utmost to handle the situation in a responsible manner.’
By now, the Prime Minister was looking less hesitant. He straightened up, feeling the call of duty, and grew in stature. Muhammed had seen the same thing happen on several occasions, and couldn’t decide whether he thought it was a strength or a weakness.
‘I intend to ask Säpo for definitive evidence within the next couple of hours. If they can’t convince me that it is necessary to deport Zakaria Khelifi, then I will order that decision to be revoked.’
The Foreign Secretary looked less than happy, but didn’t say anything.
Muhammed felt relieved; the Prime Minister had done the right thing.
The question was whether a review of Zakaria’s case would help those who were being held hostage by Karim Sassi.
54 20:15
The Americans were going to shoot down the plane unless Erik Recht managed to take over the controls, which he was now attempting to do, according to Eden’s latest report. Buster Hansson, the General Director of Säpo, shuddered in his office. Why hadn’t they heard from Erik? It shouldn’t be all that difficult to get into the cockpit and deal with Captain Sassi. Knock him out with something or other.
Buster didn’t like to describe people as good or evil. Using such terms meant moving beyond even black and white. To be evil was one-dimensional. There were no mitigating circumstances, no excuses. Therefore, a person who was evil could expect no mercy when they were convicted.
A person who was evil deserved only the worst.
After 9/11, the world had taken a dangerous turn when it became polarised, and people who had never given terrorism a thought had to decide where they stood.
You are with me or against me, you are evil or good.
God only knew what actions that particular game had legitimised.
Images from Abu Ghraib still turned Buster’s stomach. That kind of behaviour just wasn’t acceptable. No enemy in the world should be tackled using such methods. Buster had never turned a blind eye – not once during his entire career. He had demanded order in the ranks, had refused to accept the slightest deviation from the rules and regulations. It was a question of how best to manage people’s trust.
In a democratic society, the idea of a total absence of criminality was a pipe dream. The same was true of international terrorism. Buster had spent a long time trying to understand why it was so difficult for people to accept this. Terrorism was just like any other form of criminality, with the major – and critical – difference that its effects were indiscriminate. Even striking at those who normally felt secure and thought that the worst they could expect in their lifetime was to come home one day and discover that the house had been burgled, which of course could be pretty traumatic.
And that was why you had to be so careful in combating terrorism, because the tolerance of the methods that were acceptable was often far too great.
Buster had heard from the government just a few minutes ago. The Prime Minister and the Minister for Justice wanted what they referred to as definitive evidence in the case of Zakaria Khelifi, and they wanted it before eleven o’clock. They didn’t want to say what it was about over the phone, but Buster understood. Fredrika Bergman had passed on the latest information about Khelifi’s mobile. Why they imagined Säpo had anything further to add was a mystery. And he didn’t understand why the uncertainty with regard to Zakaria’s phone was necessarily a point in his favour. It was as if the government was looking for reasons to change their mind. If that was all they wanted, then Buster had some sympathy with them. They were in an impossible situation.
He decided to call Eden, to discuss what to do about the government demand. It really wasn’t part of the General Director’s remit to involve himself in specific cases, but since Zakaria’s fate had attracted so much attention and had led to such dangerous consequences, it had become a matter for the top brass.
He called her office, but was informed that she wasn’t available.
‘Of course,’ Buster said. ‘She’s in a meeting with the Germans.’
He ended the call, and almost immediately Henrik Theander, head of counter-espionage, appeared.
‘Do you have a minute?’
‘Not really – what’s it about?’
‘Eden and Efraim Kiel, the Mossad agent.’
Buster put down the phone.
‘Yes?’
‘He’s made an approach.’
Buster’s stomach contracted into a cold knot. No, no and no. They didn’t have time for this. Not now. Not when hundreds of people were heading towards their deaths.
‘What kind of approach?’
‘He’s standing outside the building.’
Buster wasn’t sure he understood.
‘Outside what building?’
‘Our building. Police HQ. He’s standing opposite the entrance on Polhemsgatan.’
Throughout his career, Buster had been known for his calm approach, his coolness under pressure, but this time there was too much going on all at once.
‘Right, and what’s he doing there? Is he trying to get in?’
‘No, he’s waiting.’
‘Waiting? Who for?’
‘Eden?’
Buster pictured the scene. Sooner or later, Eden would leave work and head out into the darkness, where the Israeli was waiting for her on the pavement.
‘He’s not exactly being discreet.’
‘No.’
The knot in his stomach grew, spreading upwards into his chest and towards his heart. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Telling the government that they might have got it wrong in the case of Zakaria Khelifi suddenly seemed like a piece of piss. Explaining that they had managed to recruit a Mossad agent to run the counter-terrorism unit would be considerably worse.
‘What do we do now?’ Buster said.
‘The same as Efraim Kiel. We wait.’
55 FLIGHT 573
The man was still lying unconscious on the floor. The passengers appeared to be welded to their seats. Erik Recht was grateful for their silence, although he suspected that it wouldn’t last much longer. Soon they would start asking questions, wanting to know what was going on. What would he say to them? That everything was fine, that it was perfectly normal for the captain to lock his co-pilot out of the cockpit? That the man Erik had just knocked out was someone who definitely deserved such treatment?
He needed to call his father again, explain the situation, tell him what had gone on. Warn him about what could happen now that Karim was alone in the cockpit.
But first of all, he had to think.
The only way into the cockpit was through a security door, built to withstand an attack by hijackers or anyone else who might constitute a threat. Erik couldn’t open the door from the outside; he was dependent on being let in by someone on the inside. Several people had pointed out the weakness in this system, but that was the way things were.
He wouldn’t be able to kick or break down the door. Nor would it be possible to pick the lock. Automatically, his hands went through his pockets, seeking some forgotten object that might help him. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.
‘What’s going on?’
A male voice came from the back of the cabin.
Erik looked around, trying to focus on giving an impression of calm competence. Which was difficult after what had just happened.
A hand shot up. ‘I’m the one who asked.’
Only now did Erik realise that several of the passengers were crying.
A woman a few rows further forward put her fears into words: ‘You have to give us some kind of information. The plane is going to arrive several hours late. And now this. What are you doing?’
She gestured towards the unconscious man and Erik’s bloodstained shirt.