It was Säpo’s job to ensure that Sweden didn’t become a refuge for individuals who could constitute a danger to the country’s security. It was their role to look at the background, contacts and activities of a foreign national – in Sweden or overseas – and to determine if the individual in question could pose a security risk. The most common grounds for suspicion were linked to terrorism, but they could also involve espionage on the part of refugees. The organisation looked to the future; they were concerned not only with who did or did not constitute a threat, but also who might possibly constitute a threat. However they were supposed to know that…
Fredrika couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease. Just a few hours ago, inner-city Stockholm had been paralysed by false bomb threats delivered over the phone. Threats that coincided with the major immigration debate in parliament. Which in turn coincided with the conviction of two young men for preparing to commit an act of terrorism, with severe sentences being handed down.
There is absolutely no way that this has all happened by chance, Fredrika thought.
Every fibre of her being was telling her that something was wrong.
The bomb threats were a smokescreen. Anything else was out of the question. But what could they expect instead?
9 21:35
It was nine thirty by the time Eden Lundell smoked her last cigarette of the day. She had just got home from work and had a quick puff, hidden behind the garage wall. If the neighbours saw her, they would think she’d started drinking in secret, not that she couldn’t stand Mikael going on about how upset he was that she was still smoking.
Just before she left the office she had had a call from Alex Recht, who had heard from one of his subordinates: he had found out where the bomb threats had been made from.
‘All the phones were linked to masts close to Arlanda. The last call was definitely made from inside the airport complex itself.’
Eden walked towards the house. Now they had a location, which meant that the answer to the questions who? and why? couldn’t be far away.
The windows at the front of the house were in darkness when Eden put her key in the lock. She glanced around instinctively before she closed the door behind her, double-locked it and set the alarm. She just couldn’t understand people who didn’t take care of their own home, their own safety.
She heard Mikael’s footsteps coming down the stairs as she was taking off her coat. It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. Shit. She quickly walked towards him, wanting to get away from the treacherous aroma.
She held her breath as he kissed her cheek, but it didn’t quite work. Her hair smelled of smoke as well.
‘Have you been smoking?’
‘Yes.’
No point in lying. Next time she would sit on the step instead of hiding behind the garage. Easier all round.
‘Can’t you pack it in?’
‘No. Any food left?’
‘It’s on the draining board, it just needs heating up.’
She went into the kitchen with Mikael following behind. She avoided looking at him. She was late and she stank of smoke. He was going to tell her that he’d been worried, that she should have called, that she couldn’t keep working so late. That she ought to think of her daughters.
‘You could have called.’
‘I did.’
‘You said you’d be home by seven.’
‘But you knew I had to deal with the bomb threats.’
‘Of course I did. But you must call me, Eden. Keep me informed.’
Must I?
She took out a plate, cutlery and a glass. Mikael had made lasagne. The children’s favourite. And hers. He came and stood beside her, so close that she had to look up and meet his eyes.
‘You can’t carry on like this.’
‘Give me a break, Mikael. I’ve only just started a new job.’
‘You’ve been there for months. You were just the same when you worked for the National Bureau of Investigation.’
She didn’t answer.
‘The girls were asking about you earlier on. Saba was crying. She wants you to be at home sometimes, to say goodnight before they go to sleep. Like other mummies.’
Eden felt the colour rising in her cheeks.
‘Like other mummies? Would we even be having this discussion if I was a man?’
‘Too bloody right we would.’
How many times had she seen Mikael really angry? Not very many. Very few, in fact. And their relationship had even survived the move from Britain to Sweden, and the birth of twins.
But he was angry now. Furious. Almost more furious than the time when… Eden didn’t want to go there. She had sinned once. A serious transgression. If Mikael hadn’t been a priest, she was sure he would have left her.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s some really major stuff going on at work right now, which means I find it bloody hard to tell myself I have to go home early just because a child is crying.’
‘Not a child, Eden. Your child.’
‘Okay, but at the end of the day, from a wider perspective, it’s a very minor matter. The girls have to learn that they’re not the most important thing in the world for everyone.’
She heard Mikael take a deep breath.
‘I don’t think they want everyone’s attention. Yours would be enough.’
She wanted to protest, tell him that the world didn’t work that way, but she was too tired to argue and too hungry to waste any more time on bickering.
In silence she slid the plate of food into the microwave and waited for it to heat up.
‘And how was your day?’ she asked her husband.
‘Good. I had my first meeting with a group preparing for confirmation; they were like all the rest, I suppose. Not very interested on the surface, but deep down they’re very confused.’
A confirmation group. Eden liked hearing about that kind of thing. Mikael’s confirmation group formed a nice counterbalance to her terrorists. He carried on talking as she ate. She didn’t tell him anything about how she had spent her day. She had noticed that Mikael was following the trial on the news, but fortunately he hadn’t asked her any questions. Mikael was a priest; he wouldn’t understand why someone like Zakaria Khelifi had to be deported.
Eden sat at the table with her plate in front of her, chewing and swallowing. Everything had gone smoothly. Zakaria Khelifi had been taken into custody, and in just over a week he would be on his way home to Algeria, escorted by the Swedish police.
Everything was as it should be. Justice had been done.
The house was silent. Diana was asleep, and Alex Recht was alone in his office. The intensity of his working day had made it impossible to sleep; he felt wide awake. Diana’s lovely smile shone out at him from a photograph on his desk.
The children had accepted Diana right away. His daughter had wept when he finally managed to come out with the fact that he had met someone.
‘I’m really, really happy for you,’ she had said.
Alex got a lump in his throat when he remembered her words. And he still felt like crying when he thought about Lena, the mother of his children, the woman with whom he had thought he would spend the rest of his life. But we don’t always get what we want. Things don’t always turn out the way we expect. He knew that now, and he had to fight to stop himself from being destroyed by the fear of losing everything all over again. Lena was still with him. In a photograph with the children. Taken during the last summer of her life.
If you just glanced at the picture, you couldn’t see that anything was wrong. You didn’t notice Lena’s tired eyes, or how much weight she had lost. And you didn’t see the shadow of fear on the face of both his son and daughter. His daughter was smiling as usual, but Alex knew what she looked like when she was happy, and what she looked like when she wasn’t. In the photograph, she looked positively devastated.