Hostage (36 page)

‘When were we supposed to hear about Jerker Gustavsson?’ Dennis wanted to know.

Fredrika glanced anxiously at her mobile.

‘It depends how quickly he can get hold of his list of clients to check whose name he has against Zakaria’s mobile number. If he needs to go back to his workshop, then we’re
going to lose valuable time.’

Sebastian looked around. ‘If no one has anything else to raise, then I suggest we bring the meeting to a close.’

One of the analysts raised his hand.

‘We’re working through lists from the relevant pay stations around Stockholm to see if we get a match on a car leaving the city and heading for the airport in the hours before the
bomb threats were made yesterday, but it’s a long shot. Even if we find that a known criminal or suspect drove out towards Arlanda, it doesn’t prove that that person made the calls. And
as you know we can’t get any further with the phones that were used.’

Fredrika thought about the much discussed congestion charge and the infrastructure that had been created in order to introduce it. There were pay stations around the entire inner city, where
motorists were photographed and scanned so that information about movement in and out of the city could be stored, and to determine who was liable for the charge. A huge number of cars must head
for Arlanda every single day.

‘When do you expect to finish?’

‘Hopefully, within the next few hours.’

‘I don’t expect a match with a name we already know, but it has to be done,’ Sebastian said.

Of course. Everything had to be checked, every snippet of information examined in detail. Fredrika felt a fresh surge of impatience; why couldn’t they get a breakthrough in this nightmare
situation?

Because it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.

The meeting came to an end, and Fredrika stayed behind with Alex, Dennis and Sebastian.

‘Okay, so you’re going to speak to Zakaria’s girlfriend, and you’re staying here,’ Dennis said, nodding at Fredrika and Alex respectively.

Fredrika accompanied Dennis. At last, they were going to interview Zakaria’s girlfriend, Maria. The conversation probably wouldn’t change a thing, but she still wanted to see where
it might lead. Because there was something missing. Her body was crying out with exhaustion, making her feel slow and heavy.

The conviction that something had escaped them floated before her like a mirage. Who was Karim’s associate? Could it be Zakaria’s sister Sofi?

And why would a person do what Karim Sassi was apparently doing right now?

Fredrika could come up with only two reasons. Either he was acting out of conviction, or under duress.

But how could such a thing happen? How could someone force another person to carry four hundred passengers to their death?

Her mobile rang; it was one of the investigators who had gone to speak to Jerker Gustavsson.

‘We were in luck,’ he said. ‘Gustavsson had his list of clients on his mobile, so he was able to search for the number.’

Fredrika held her breath.

‘And who did it belong to?’

‘Last summer, he spoke to someone called Zakaria on that number, but before that the phone belonged to a client by the name of Adam Mortaji.’

And so yet another name was added to the investigation.

A
dam Mortaji.

They had no idea who he was, where he came from, or if he still lived in Sweden. It took just a few minutes to establish that Adam Mortaji, just like Zakaria’s sister, didn’t exist
in any Swedish records.

‘Contact all our partner organisations right away,’ Eden said. ‘I want to know who this guy is, and fast.’

They could ask Zakaria, of course, but that would probably be a pointless waste of time. If he had refused to tell them about Mortaji under interrogation and during the court proceedings, it was
foolish to believe that he would suddenly start talking.

Fredrika sat down with Dennis and his investigator, to draw up a plan of action for their interview with Zakaria’s girlfriend, Maria.

To their surprise, she was already in Police HQ when they called her. She was in reception, asking to be allowed to speak to Zakaria. When she was informed that this was unfortunately out of the
question, she simply sat down on one of the benches in front of the tall windows and stated that she had no intention of moving until someone took her to see him. When Fredrika and the Säpo
investigator found her, she had been sitting there for half an hour.

‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen Zakaria,’ she said when they had introduced themselves and explained why they wanted to talk to her.

Her expression was grim, just like Fredrika’s had been on the day when Spencer called her from Uppsala and told her he was being held by the police.

Fredrika suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She still sometimes woke in the night, her heart contracting with fear. She didn’t know how Spencer felt about it these days. They never
discussed the matter; they simply left it in the past where it belonged.

‘You can’t see Zakaria at the moment,’ the Säpo investigator said. ‘But you can help him by helping us.’

‘I’ve already spoken to you; I’ve explained all these apparent inconsistencies. He was never a part of the terrorist plot against Stockholm – how many times do I have to
tell you?’

How did she know? Fredrika took a deep breath. How could you ever be sure of something like that? The short answer is because you know the person you love.

But love could be irrational as well as blind.

You never know for sure, you really don’t.

‘We’d like to talk to you about Zakaria’s sister,’ Fredrika said. She couldn’t stop herself from acting as if she actually was a police officer.

‘About Sofi?’ Maria’s anger was replaced by surprise.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps we could go somewhere else and have a chat?’

Zakaria’s girlfriend gave the suggestion some thought, then she said: ‘No. I’m fine here.’

Fredrika and her colleague exchanged glances, then without a word they sat down on either side of Maria.

‘Do you know where we can get hold of Sofi?’ Fredrika asked.

‘No.’

It was impossible to tell if she was lying, but Fredrika thought she probably was.

‘This is important,’ the investigator said. ‘We need to speak to her as a matter of urgency.’

‘What about?’

‘We can’t go into that right now,’ Fredrika said.

The truth was that she didn’t know exactly why they wanted to speak to Sofi; perhaps because she was the only person close to Zakaria that they hadn’t yet interviewed. Perhaps that
was the very thing that made her interesting.

‘But it would help Zakaria, as I’ve already said,’ the Säpo investigator reiterated; Fredrika thought there was a hint of pleading in his voice.

She decided to try a different tack.

‘Maybe Sofi doesn’t live in Stockholm?’

Maria looked tired as she picked at a fingernail.

‘She lives a different kind of life from me and Zakaria,’ she said eventually. ‘Sometimes she’s here and she comes to see us, the rest of the time she’s all over
the place.’

‘Have you seen her recently?’ Fredrika asked.

Maria stiffened.

‘No,’ she said, and, this time, Fredrika could see that she was lying.

‘Does she usually stay with you when she’s around?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘But she has other friends in Stockholm too?’

‘Not many.’

‘Does she speak Swedish?

More hesitation.

‘Yes, she’s one of the most talented linguists I know.’

‘What other languages does she speak?’ the investigator asked.

Good question.

‘English, French and German. And Arabic, of course.’

And there it was again. Another connection with Germany.

‘German?’

Fredrika tried not to sound too interested; she didn’t want Maria to realise how important this could be.

‘Yes.’

‘How come Sofi speaks German?’

At that point, Maria refused to answer, obviously aware that the situation had slipped from her grasp, in spite of her efforts to prevent that from happening.

‘That’s where she lives, isn’t it?’ Fredrika said.

Zakaria’s girlfriend nodded. ‘That’s where she has her apartment and her base. In Berlin.’

‘Have you been over to visit her?’ Fredrika asked.

‘Only a couple of times.’

So, Zakaria had a sister who lived in Germany. The country from which the information about the hijacking had come. The country with which Adam Mortaji, who had previously owned Zakaria’s
mobile phone, had close links.

The net was closing in. And now, Fredrika had even more questions for Maria.

‘Karim Sassi?’ she said, even though she knew that someone had already spoken to Maria about him. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I’ve already answered that question.’

‘I know, but now I’m asking you again.’

‘In that case, my answer is the same as before. I have no recollection of ever meeting someone by that name. Nor do I have any recollection of Zakaria ever mentioning someone called Karim
Sassi.’

Fredrika believed her. With a thousand simultaneous thoughts whirling around in her brain, she tried to piece together the various fragments of information. Germany kept on coming up, over and
over again, but they had been unable to find a link with either Zakaria or Karim. The link was only through Zakaria’s phone, and only during the period when it had belonged to Adam
Mortaji.

‘Do you know a man called Adam Mortaji?’ Fredrika said.

There
.

A reaction so strong that Fredrika thought she would have picked up on it even if she had had her eyes closed and her hands covering her ears.

The words struck Maria like a slap in the face.

‘No.’

‘You’re lying,’ Fredrika said.

Maria’s face went bright red, and it looked as if she had tears in her eyes. Her mouth was compressed into a straight line, and she didn’t say a word.

Not one word.

Who was this man who provoked such a determined silence?

Fredrika changed tack.

‘Do you know if Zakaria ever bought a phone from Sofi, or was given a phone by her?’

Maria stared at her.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘How did he get hold of the phone he’s using now?’ the investigator said.

‘I’ve no idea. Before that he mostly used his work mobile. And my phone, of course.’

She looked exhausted.

Fredrika decided to take another look at the list of calls. They were onto something, she was sure of it.

‘Do you have a number for Sofi?’ she said.

One last shot.

To her surprise, Maria reached into her pocket and took out her mobile.

‘I think so.’

Then she read out a number.

‘This is the only one I have. It’s Sofi’s phone in Germany, but it’s an old number – she doesn’t use it any more. And I haven’t got the new one; Zakaria
and Sofi usually Skype one another these days.’

Fredrika saw Maria smile for the first time. She thought she had disappointed them with an old number.

On the contrary.

They ended the interview and went back to Säpo’s offices. Fredrika headed straight for Sebastian and asked him to bring up the list of calls. It took them less than two minutes to
find Sofi’s number. During the period when the mobile had probably belonged to Adam Mortaji, it had been in regular contact with Sofi’s phone in Germany.

‘Mortaji,’ Fredrika said to Sebastian. ‘We have to find out who he is. He’s important.’

‘I thought that if the phone really had belonged to someone else, it would have been the sister; I thought he was protecting her,’ Sebastian said.

‘Me too. But it obviously belonged to someone who had been in touch with her.’

‘Why did the contact with Sofi stop when Zakaria acquired the phone?’

‘First of all, Maria said that Sofi had changed her number, and secondly, they usually communicated via Skype. We also know that Zakaria was in the habit of using several phones at the
same time.’

The stress came flooding back, ruled by forces as implacable as those that govern the movement of the tide.

Four hundred people at thirty thousand feet.

A man who was due to be deported, suppressing the only piece of information that could save him.

A captain taking his passengers and crew to their deaths while refusing to say why he was doing so.

A secret detention facility that no one was prepared to talk about.

The almost tangible silence from all directions was driving Fredrika mad. So many secrets, so little time, so many victims.

But now they had something to work on: Adam Mortaji, who presumably also knew Zakaria’s sister Sofi.

The only question was how they were going to find either of them.

T
here was nothing worse than silence.

Alex Recht hadn’t let go of his mobile for a second. But it didn’t ring. Not once. Hours had passed since he spoke to Erik.

What the hell had happened?

In despair, he went along to Eden’s office, where he found her working on the computer.

‘We have to do something,’ he said. ‘I think we ought to contact the plane. Confront Karim, tell him we know everything.’

Eden stopped typing.

‘Sit down, Alex.’

He perched on one of the chairs next to her desk.

‘I can’t bear it.’

He whispered the words, but she heard him. ‘I understand.’

There was a cup of coffee on her desk, and she wrapped one hand around it. She had large hands for a woman.

‘But we can’t make a unilateral decision to contact Karim. We have to speak to our American colleagues first.’

‘Your,’ Alex said.

‘Sorry?’

‘You said we have to speak to our American colleagues. But I don’t have any American colleagues; that applies only to Säpo.’

Eden took a sip of her coffee, then put down the cup. It was blue, with white characters painted on it. Hebrew, Alex thought.

‘I bought it in Israel,’ Eden said.