‘Someone came round yesterday morning and asked to borrow the car. And I can promise you that the person in question had nothing to do with the hijacking.’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not enough for us; we have to eliminate that possibility for ourselves,’ Dennis said.
‘Yes, you seem to be good at that.’
Alex thought Dennis was about to erupt again, but it didn’t happen.
‘Start talking,’ he said instead.
‘It was only hours before you picked up Zakaria. The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it. And… she was standing there. She asked if she could borrow the car until Thursday. There’s nothing odd about that – we’ve lent her the car several times in the past.’
‘Who, Maria? Who was it who wanted to borrow the car?’ Dennis couldn’t hide his impatience.
‘She’s got nothing to do with any of this.’
‘Who was it?’
This was something Alex had never understood, throughout the whole of his career. People who kept quiet even though everything was already lost. Why didn’t they simply put their cards on the table, take responsibility for their actions? How could they justify such a course of action to themselves? How could they decide to be the difference between right and wrong, between life and death?
In the end, she gave up, after one last shot.
‘I want to see Zakaria.’
She was crying, which wasn’t good. Not now they were so close.
‘That’s not possible,’ Dennis said. ‘But I promise we won’t keep him away from you for one second longer than necessary.’
It was true, and it was obvious that he wouldn’t lie about something like that. Maria could see it too. She wiped away a solitary tear as it trickled down her cheek.
‘It was Zakaria’s sister, Sofi.’
62 23:00
His hair was short and unevenly cut, his face emaciated, exhausted. Eden Lundell was sitting at her computer looking at the picture of Adam Mortaji that the CIA had sent over.
So this was what he looked like. The man who had almost cost Zakaria his entire future, and who was evidently so important that he was worth risking his life for. Or perhaps he was important to Sofi, and therefore to Zakaria?
Or was Zakaria lying to protect himself, regardless of who the phone had belonged to in the past?
How was she going to find out?
Someone had clearly thought that Adam Mortaji was privy to vital information, and had taken him to a remote part of the world where he had probably been subjected to torture in order to make him talk.
God knows what he had said.
Personally, Eden would have started talking right away if anyone had tortured her. Particularly if they did something to her teeth. She would confess to anything, anything at all if they did that.
The murder of Olof Palme.
Lockerbie.
Anything, just as long as they stopped.
Eden printed off a copy of the picture and went to see Dennis.
‘May I introduce Adam Mortaji, the guy who used to own Zakaria’s phone.’
Dennis took the picture.
‘Nice one – where did you get hold of this?’
Eden perched on the edge of Dennis’s desk.
‘From our American friends. And he’s not only the guy who used to own Zakaria’s phone. He’s also the link between Zakaria and Tennyson Cottage.’
She relayed what the Americans had told her to Dennis, who was briefly lost for words. Then he exploded.
‘They knew right from the fucking start that there was a guy in Sweden who’d been in Tennyson Cottage, and they didn’t tell us?’
‘I don’t think they were lying. I think they believed he lived in Germany, and didn’t have any connections with Sweden.’
‘But surely the Germans must have known who he was?’
‘I’m sure they did. But that doesn’t mean they followed his every move. It’s not exactly difficult to travel from Germany to Sweden without any of the authorities taking any notice. And if I’m reading the call lists correctly, he’s spent a lot of time in Sweden, both before and after his internment.’
Dennis pulled up the lists on his computer.
He looked at Eden with admiration.
‘A lot of things seem to be falling into place,’ he said.
‘There’s also a great deal that worries me,’ Eden said. ‘We know that Sofi has been in contact with Adam Mortaji, and I think that could partly explain why Zakaria wasn’t prepared to give us his name. But it concerns me that Sofi has kept such a low profile throughout Zakaria’s trial, and that she has never, ever come forward. I think she must have her own reasons for behaving in that way.’
Dennis ran a finger over the picture of Adam Mortaji. God knows what he had endured during his time at Tennyson Cottage.
‘Is Zakaria’s sister the brains behind everything that’s happened?’
‘It’s possible, don’t you think?’ Eden said.
‘And I’m sure Adam Mortaji has been a great help to her.’
Eden bit her lower lip.
‘That’s the thing,’ she said. ‘Mortaji died in June.’
Dennis was clearly shocked.
‘He’s dead?’
‘He killed himself. The Americans didn’t say why, but I’m guessing it had something to do with his imprisonment.’
‘Which could explain the demand that Tennyson Cottage specifically should be shut down.’
Eden nodded.
‘What I still don’t understand is how Karim Sassi fits into all this.’
Eden knew that her tone was a little too matter-of-fact, but she had neither the time nor the energy to become personally involved in the tragic stories that were unfolding. There was a limit to how much misery a person could absorb in one day.
Dennis shook his head slowly.
‘Me neither,’ he said.
He looked at the sheet of paper in Eden’s hand.
‘More surprises?’
Eden looked at the printout. It was the article about Adam Mortaji that she had found on the Internet after a thorough search. She passed it to Dennis.
‘Mortaji isn’t mentioned by name,’ he said after a moment.
‘No. His father was afraid for both himself and his son, and chose to remain anonymous. But of course the Americans realised who he was.’
‘And you said he died in June?’
‘Yes. Apparently, Mortaji left Europe in May, and returned to Morocco. He died soon afterwards. His father was terribly upset that his son’s girlfriend didn’t get there in time.’
‘In time for what?’
‘You can read it for yourself,’ she said. ‘But if I remember rightly, the girlfriend was on her way to Mortaji’s parents to be reunited with her lover, but for some reason she was delayed, and didn’t arrive until the day after he died.’
She shrugged.
‘It’s a very sad story, but right now we need to get this picture out as quickly as possible. Send it to the Germans, and distribute it to our own staff. I want to know everything there is to know about Adam Mortaji.’
She swallowed hard. Wanting to know everything was something they often wished for but rarely achieved.
The nasal voice of her British boss echoed in the back of her mind: Go, Eden, for God’s sake, just go.
Memories from a time gone by, a time she didn’t want to think about.
‘I’ll give the picture to one of our operatives,’ she said, reaching out to take it from Dennis.
‘Hang on,’ he said, looking more closely at the image.
He pointed to Mortaji’s chest, which was partly visible because he was wearing a vest.
‘He’s got a tattoo there,’ he said.
Eden looked. Dennis was right; she hadn’t noticed it.
‘What does it say?’
‘I’ve no idea; something in Arabic, I think.’
‘I’ll ask Sebastian,’ Eden said.
She found the head of analysis at his desk.