‘Can you get this translated?’ she said, showing him the tattoo.
Sebastian opened a drawer and took out a magnifying glass. Eden burst out laughing.
‘Bloody hell, Sebastian – you keep a magnifying glass in your drawer? Does that improve your analytical skills?’
Sebastian gave her a wry smile.
‘Watch it, Eden.’
She remembered the discussion when she had referred to his colleagues as so-called Arabists, and tried to assume a serious expression. It didn’t last long; she was soon laughing again. The magnifying glass was covered in greasy fingerprints, and looked like something that had been stolen from a museum.
‘Come with me,’ Sebastian said.
With the picture in one hand and the magnifying glass in the other, and Eden following on behind, he went over to one of his colleagues.
‘Can you read this?’ he said, handing her the picture.
The girl screwed up her eyes and peered at it.
‘It’s a bit small.’
Sebastian gave her the magnifying glass, and she smiled.
Eden coughed into the crook of her arm to suppress another giggle. Who would have thought a laugh could be so liberating.
‘It doesn’t say anything in particular,’ the analyst said, and Eden’s high spirits turned to disappointment.
Of course it didn’t; why had she thought otherwise?
‘But surely it must say something?’ Sebastian said.
‘It’s just a name. It could be his girlfriend or his sister. Hard to tell – there’s only a forename.’
Sebastian was equally disappointed.
‘Okay, thanks for your help,’ he said. ‘So what’s the name of this girlfriend or sister?’
‘Sofi.’
63 FLIGHT 573
She was woken by an excruciating pain. At first, she couldn’t remember where she was, or what had happened. She cautiously moved her arms and legs, but stopped immediately. The source of the agony was in her head. The smallest movement made her want to scream. The pain came in waves; the only way to keep it under control was to lie absolutely still.
Fatima blinked. Once, twice.
The floor was hard against her cheek. Hard and cold. And there was a constant banging sound all around her. She closed her eyes. She had to think, try to remember.
Slowly, the memories began to surface.
She was still on board the plane. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious, but she realised they were still in the air.
More memories.
Erik Recht had got up and left the cockpit. She recalled Erik’s face and the message in his eyes before he walked out:
‘Make sure you stay here until I come back.’
The next recollection was from the toilet, where she and Erik had locked themselves in so that they wouldn’t be disturbed. Erik had been agitated, talking loudly about Karim’s odd behaviour. She had stuck up for Karim, hadn’t wanted to hear such nonsense – how could Karim possibly be involved in the hijacking?
And now she was lying on the floor of the cockpit, knocked down by the same man she had defended just hours earlier.
The realisation of the dilemma in which she found herself almost took her breath away. She was terrified. She was still in the cockpit, which must mean that Karim was there too.
Please, God, don’t let him notice that I’ve come round.
When had he hit her? The details were unclear, but she thought her problems had begun when Erik rang the bell, wanting to be let back in.
‘Leave him out there,’ Karim had said.
And then, when he saw first surprise and then resistance in her face, when he saw her reach for the button that would open the door, he had leapt to his feet and grabbed hold of her.
‘For fuck’s sake, don’t you understand what I’m saying? I don’t want him in here – if you let him in, we’re all going to die.’
Fatima remembered what she had seen when she looked Karim in the eye, trembling with shock:
Despair.
Unmistakable despair in those beautiful dark eyes.
‘But what’s happened?’ she had said, wanting to try to understand what lay behind his irrational determination to keep Erik locked out of the cockpit.
He hadn’t replied. At the same time, Erik started hammering on the door, and she knew he must have realised what was going on.
Karim had no intention of letting him back in.
She didn’t know how long Karim had held onto her. It had felt like an eternity, and suddenly Erik had stopped banging on the door. For a brief moment, she had thought the danger was over, that Karim was going to let her go.
Not that she knew where she would have gone.
And he had in fact let go of her, told her to sit down on the floor. She had done as he said, because by now she understood that something had gone terribly wrong.
Karim had moved towards the door and, at first, she had believed he was going to open it. When he turned around, he was clutching the fire extinguisher. She heard him say something she couldn’t remember, then he lifted the extinguisher and…
It was as if her head had suddenly been reminded that it was hurt, and she forced herself to squeeze her eyes tight shut to stop the hot tears spilling over and giving her away.
Shit, there was no way she could fix this on her own.
The tears were caused by the pain, which felt like needles piercing her eyeballs. She didn’t have time to cry. She didn’t want to cry.
But what was that noise, drowning out all the normal racket of an aircraft?
The door. Erik was out there again. Or had he been there all the time?
Fatima gave a start as Karim yelled:
‘Stop it, for fuck’s sake, just stop it! You’re not coming back in, you hear me?’
There it was again, the echo of despair. It was unmistakable; she was absolutely certain she was right. Something was terribly wrong. Something more than the fact that the plane had been hijacked.
Karim, what have you done?
Eventually, she had to open her eyes a fraction in order to work out where she was in relation to Karim. The light was blinding, and she instinctively closed them again.
Fatima tried again, and this time it was easier.
She was lying behind the seats, not far from the door. Karim was sitting with his back to her, his shirt sticking to his skin with perspiration. He was sweating as if he had just completed a ten-mile run. He was raking his hands through his hair, repeating over and over again:
‘I can’t cope with this, for fuck’s sake. Stop banging on the fucking door. Please, please let this be over soon.’
She tried raising her head. It went better than she had expected. The fire extinguisher was next to Karim. She couldn’t think of any other weapon within reach.
She would have just one chance, she knew that. If she reached for the extinguisher, she had to be certain that she could get to her feet in the next movement and bring it down on Karim’s head. If he had time to react, she was screwed. He was far stronger than her in purely physical terms. One chance. That was all she would get. And it would be over in seconds.
Fatima waited a little while longer. Erik carried on hammering on the door. Surely it had to give way soon? Should she wait?
No. It was a security door, designed for exactly this kind of situation. It was built to withstand extreme pressure from the outside, in order to protect the crew, and thus the passengers. Which meant there was a problem if the threat was on the wrong side of the door.
She sensed that Karim was about to do something really stupid, something that wasn’t part of the plan. The noise from the door was obviously distracting him, which was good. She had to try to gather her strength.
Then an alternative course of action occurred to her.
The button that would unlock the door – could she reach that instead? Erik would be inside in no time.
By now, Karim had his hands over his ears, and his head was drooping.
It was now or never.