‘No, but this time I don’t have any logical arguments to back up what I want to say. I’ve read Säpo’s statement and I was there when they went through everything, but now this has happened… Suddenly it all feels very flimsy. What if we’re wrong?’
Alex could picture her so clearly, with that anxious expression, the depth of emotion in those eyes.
‘Hang on, you’re new to this job,’ he said. ‘There must be someone else who’s familiar with the case and can decide whether it’s flimsy or not?’
‘Of course. Several of my colleagues have read through the notes, and I haven’t heard a reaction from anyone else. They assume that Säpo know what they’re talking about, that they wouldn’t take a step like this unless it was essential.’
‘And you don’t feel the same about Säpo?’
‘Of course I do. I’m just saying that now we’re in this situation, I’m not sure if I really believe the judgement stands up.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
Alex thought there was a brief second’s hesitation before Fredrika spoke, but he could have been wrong.
‘What I’m trying to say is that it’s not out of the question that a misjudgement might have been made in the case of Zakaria Khelifi. In which case, it’s not impossible that someone out there knows he’s innocent, and is doing everything they can to make sure he can stay here.’
‘Even if that means risking the lives of four hundred people?’
‘I think so,’ Fredrika said. ‘After all, desperation has driven people to do far worse things, wouldn’t you say?’
She regretted her words as soon as she put down the phone. Alex must think she was crazy, that she sympathised with the terrorists. At the same time, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t pass on her doubts in time.
Because I think there is something wrong with the Zakaria Khelifi case.
Fredrika knew what she would have done if she had still been with the police. She would have rushed out into the autumn chill and started talking to those around Zakaria Khelifi. Tried to gauge their mood, to assess how the people around him reacted to the accusations of involvement in terrorism. But Fredrika didn’t work for the police any more; instead, she was sitting behind a desk in the Justice Department.
‘You’re so incredibly successful,’ a friend had said to her just a few days earlier. ‘The Justice Department – have you any idea how many people would give anything for a job like that?’
Why would anyone want her job? All she did was push paper around. It was a job that made no difference whatsoever to one single person on this earth. Apart from Zakaria Khelifi, perhaps.
For what must have been the twentieth time that morning, Fredrika pulled out his file. She summarised Säpo’s information to herself. He, or rather his telephone number, had cropped up during a preliminary investigation back in 2009. Then he came up in the operation following the death threats against prominent figures in France. And finally, he came up again in the investigation during which he was arrested and charged. There was now proof that he had helped the perpetrators to collect packages containing substances that they had later used to produce a bomb. Furthermore, Säpo added that Zakaria Khelifi had been identified by Ellis, one of the perpetrators, as a person who had assisted them.
Fredrika went over the issue again and again. She would be attending a briefing with the Minister for Justice very soon. Did she have any objections that she could raise during the meeting?
Not really.
What should she say? The same as she had said to Alex – that she had a feeling something was wrong? It would be stupid to imagine that the Minister for Justice would be impressed by such a feeble argument. There was sufficient evidence to regard Zakaria Khelifi as a security threat. If it had been any other crime apart from terrorism, she wouldn’t have hesitated for a second when it came to his guilt. And if she wanted to raise the issue of how security matters were handled as a matter of principle, she would have to wait for a better opportunity.
Alex was right; she was behaving neither rationally nor professionally. Who was she to start questioning procedures that had doubtless been in place for decades? If everyone else thought the rules were in order and that Zakaria Khelifi’s case had been assessed correctly, then why should she start asking questions?
Säpo’s work seemed very familiar, yet at the same time it was a million miles from the police work Fredrika had been involved in as part of Alex’s team. Säpo dealt with cases where only a small number were ever convicted, but far more were suspects. They often had information that couldn’t be brought up in a public forum, which made it difficult to move forward in certain instances. How frustrating must that be on a daily basis?
Fredrika decided it was time to back off. She wasn’t getting anywhere. If she wanted to raise the issue, she had to come up with new information. God knows how she was going to do that.
Once she had made the decision, she felt much calmer. The meeting with the Minister took place shortly afterwards.
‘I’ve spoken to the PM,’ Muhammed Haddad said. ‘We’re in agreement; we refuse to meet the hijackers’ demands. If we do, we’ll end up with one bomb threat for every single person we decide to deport, and we can’t have that. However, we are wondering how we’re going to communicate with the hijackers to inform them of our standpoint.’
‘That’s a matter for the police,’ the Secretary of State said.
‘I realise that, but we have to bear in mind that the threat was left on the plane, and therefore it was up to the crew to deal with it. The hijackers did not choose to contact the police directly, which suggests that we might be able to work out a communication strategy of our own. They might even be expecting it.’
‘What did the Americans say?’ Fredrika asked.
‘They went crazy, of course,’ said the Secretary of State, who had evidently been involved in the discussion. ‘The Foreign Office is dealing with communications, but they expect support from us with ongoing updates. We have spoken to both the State Department and the Department of Homeland Security, and they in turn have spoken to just about everybody you can think of – the CIA, FBI, NSA, the lot. Säpo are dealing with those contacts from the Swedish side, by the way.’
It was obvious that the Secretary of State was enjoying being in the centre of things. Fredrika was sure he got a hard-on just from saying CIA. Pathetic.
She glanced at her watch. The plane had been in the air for less than two hours. There was still plenty of fuel in the tank.
The Minister for Justice was very clear. The government had no intention of revising its decision on the deportation of Zakaria Khelifi. Hearing him speak made Fredrika feel safe. Muhammed Haddad was known for his calm approach and his intelligence but, above all, he was not remotely interested in individual glory. If he thought the government had made a mistake in revoking Khelifi’s residence permit, he wouldn’t hesitate to admit that he had been wrong.
But Zakaria Khelifi was only half the solution. The hijackers had also asked for the closure of a detention facility known as Tennyson Cottage. A so-called secret jail.
The chances of the Americans shutting down a place like that in order to meet the demands of a hijacker were non-existent.
15 WASHINGTON, DC, 05:02
At 09:30 Swedish time, a jumbo jet had taken off from Arlanda airport in Stockholm. Half an hour later, the pilot had called the control tower and informed them that a bomb threat had been found in one of the plane’s toilets. The message that landed on Bruce Johnson’s desk didn’t contain a great deal of information, but it was more than enough.
The plane’s final destination was New York.
There were American citizens on board.
And the threat was addressed directly to the United States government.