‘I don’t know. She suddenly raised her voice – Karim’s daughter, I mean. I didn’t really hear what she said.’
‘Was Karim home at the time?’
‘No, he’d already left for work.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Karim’s daughter ran back inside, and the girl walked away.’
Fredrika pictured the scene. The child in the garden and the girl on the street. The child running indoors, the girl walking away. Perhaps the child had annoyed the girl? Thrown something at her as she was passing by?
A non-event that had no place in the investigation.
The frustration was growing. Nothing would be more dangerous than if they started wasting time chasing ghosts.
25 13:16
Buster Hansson, the General Director of Säpo, had two problems. The first involved the unfortunate plane hijacking, of course, which looked as though it was going to be a much more long-drawn out saga than he had first thought. And the second problem involved Eden Lundell.
Eden Lundell.
What a bloody name. Apparently, Eden was a common Jewish girl’s name, but Buster had never heard it before. The woman was as pretty as a picture, but she had a style and an attitude that had already started to get on Buster’s nerves.
There had been some doubt about whether it was possible to appoint a Jewess as the head of counter-terrorism in Sweden. What signals would it send out when they were working with other countries’ security services, particularly when it came to the Middle East? It had been decided at an early stage that Eden would attend as few meetings as possible. After all, she was the head of the unit, and as such would not normally be involved in working parties. Of course it was impossible to keep Eden away from international contacts altogether. For example, within the CTG, the EU’s intelligence group on counter-terrorism, Eden had to play her part. Within the EU her background was less of an issue; the French might possibly raise an eyebrow, but Buster couldn’t have cared less about that.
What he did care about was the fact that the head of MI5 had requested a meeting with Buster in order to discuss one of his ‘latest recruits’. He had called Buster personally, and had said little over the phone. Eden’s name had not been mentioned during the conversation, but Buster was still convinced that she was the person his British colleague wanted to talk about.
The call from MI5 had been surprising in more ways than one. First of all, that kind of direct contact at the highest level was unusual, and secondly it had been made very clear that the information the head of MI5 intended to pass on to Buster must be kept within as limited a circle as possible, and that he therefore didn’t want anyone else at their meeting. Thirdly, he had asked for their conversation to be off the record.
Admittedly, Buster hadn’t been head of Säpo for very long, but he found it difficult to imagine that this kind of arrangement was normal. He glanced at his watch; it was almost time. He had asked his secretary to make room in his diary for a ‘special activity’, and had booked one of the less popular conference rooms. Buster Hansson leaned back on his chair. He didn’t like the sound of this. Not one little bit.
Fifteen minutes after the agreed time, the head of MI5 called from his mobile.
‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘Where can we meet?’
Buster took the lift down to the ground floor to meet his visitor at the entrance to Polhemsgatan 30. A former general director of Säpo had taken the initiative and commissioned the construction of a new HQ, which would be ready in 2013. It was much needed. The organisation had outgrown its current accommodation long ago. The move would bring a fresh start, and would be worthy of a national security service.
Buster led the head of MI5 to the dullest and most discreet conference room. Ugly but functional. His colleague looked around.
‘I don’t think I’ve been in here before,’ he said.
I don’t suppose you have, Buster thought.
‘Coffee? Tea? Or would you prefer water?’
Buster’s wife had always said he wasn’t a good host, and she was probably right. He couldn’t find any biscuits in the small pantry adjoining the conference room; his visitor said yes to coffee and no to everything else.
They sat down facing one another. Buster wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, but his counterpart didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He looked a little unsure of himself, as if he was having last minute doubts about the wisdom of requesting this meeting.
‘You’ve been busy lately,’ he said eventually.
‘You could say that,’ Buster replied. ‘But things have turned out well.’
‘I must congratulate you on the recent convictions; I had a feeling that Operation Paradise would be a great success. Just as several other European operations were at the same time.’
‘Thanks.’
The Englishman finished his coffee and pushed away his cup.
‘Eden Lundell,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Your latest recruit. A real shooting star, and another reason to offer my congratulations.’
For some reason, this comment didn’t seem quite as sincere as the first, but Buster chose not to say anything.
‘As I’m sure you know, Eden worked for us for a number of years.’
‘I’m aware of that. I also recall that we contacted you to ask for references. You had nothing but positive things to say about her.’
‘Absolutely,’ the head of MI5 agreed. ‘Eden was one of the very best; she could have gone far with us if she’d stayed.’
‘But she chose to move to Sweden with her husband,’ Buster said.
He knew Eden’s story by heart. She was married to Mikael Lundell, a pastor who had worked for the Swedish church in London. That was how they had got to know one another and become a couple. Mikael’s post in London was temporary; sooner or later he would have to return home to Sweden. It made no difference to Eden; she had been born in Stockholm to a British mother who was also Jewish. Her father was Swedish and a Christian, at least on paper. If Buster remembered rightly, he had converted when he moved to Tel Aviv with Eden’s mother. The family had lived in Stockholm first of all, then London. They had moved to Israel some years ago.
‘A wise decision,’ the head of MI5 said, referring to Eden’s move to Stockholm with Mikael. ‘She’s not the kind of woman who could cope with a long-distance relationship.’
Buster had no idea whether that was true or not. His impression of Eden was that she was driven and full of grit and determination.
‘But there were also other reasons why Eden left the UK,’ the head of MI5 said.
‘Oh?’
‘She was fired.’
The Englishman’s expression was inscrutable.
‘I’m sorry?’ Buster said.
‘She was fired.’
The anger came from nowhere. Who the hell did this British toffee-nosed snob think he was, asking for an informal meeting then coming out with information that Buster should have been given several months ago?
‘We discovered by chance that she had been in contact with one of Mossad’s non-declared information officers in London. At first, we thought she had been the subject of a recruitment attempt, but then we realised that they knew one another. Once we started mapping her activities, we also realised that she had been in touch with another Mossad operative. And then of course there were all those trips to Israel.’
Buster had a drink of water. He swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say.
‘But her parents live in Israel.’
‘Correct. But we followed her once, and she met up with her parents on only one occasion, over dinner. The rest of the time she was on her own or with Israelis we were unable to identify.’
‘Perhaps they were just friends of hers?’ Buster could hear how unconvincing that sounded. ‘So you fired her because you thought she was a double agent – you thought she was working for Mossad?’ he added.