Erik had never felt so alone as when the emergency doctor’s voice disappeared.
‘In that case, there’s nothing else we can do,’ Lydia said.
Unlike Erik, she hadn’t shed a tear all day; she was standing in the middle of the cockpit, pale and stiff.
‘I’ll tell the others,’ she said. ‘How long do we have left?’
Erik looked at the clock, but found it difficult to focus. His vision was blurred, and he was ashamed of his own weakness.
‘I don’t know – two minutes at the most.’
Lydia left the cockpit, and Erik was alone with Karim. He allowed the plane to lose height, as if he was going to land, and wondered whether he ought to tell the passengers what had happened. Or what was going to happen. That he couldn’t wait any longer, that he had to try to land, otherwise they would crash into the sea. That they were going to die anyway, because the Americans were so afraid of terrorists that they would rather shoot down a plane carrying their own citizens than risk making the wrong judgement call in favour of the hijackers.
Erik closed his eyes. He wouldn’t call his father; they had already said everything there was to say. The only person he wanted to speak to was Claudia, but he couldn’t get hold of her.
He leaned back against the headrest.
I’m coming to join you, Mum.
Someone rang the cockpit doorbell. Erik blinked, glanced at the camera and let Lydia in. Her voice was so shrill that at first he couldn’t make out what she was saying.
‘He’s awake, Erik! He’s awake!’
But it was too late. There was no time left. The information he had received from the Americans was unequivocaclass="underline" the order to bring down the plane had already been given. Erik felt a terror so powerful that it almost ejected him from his seat. His roar must have been heard right through the plane.
‘Listen to me, for fuck’s sake! He’s conscious!’
He didn’t stop shouting, he just kept on repeating the same words over and over again, louder and louder.
Lydia and a colleague dragged the man into the cockpit. He was weak, hanging limply in their arms. But Erik looked at his eyes, and they showed a strength and resolve; if he could just get to the microphone, he would be able to speak to his fellow Americans.
The man on the other end of the line was also shouting to make himself heard.
‘So where is he then? If he’s conscious, why can’t we talk to him?’
When Erik paused for breath, he could hear the racket in the background on the American side. It sounded as if at least a dozen people were standing there, yelling at one another.
The American reached him.
It didn’t make any difference, Erik realised, If the order had already been given, they would all die before a new decision could be made.
The man was slumped on the floor, but he reached out and Erik gave him the microphone.
‘This is Kevin Davis speaking. I can confirm that Captain Sassi is no longer in control of this aircraft. If that’s not enough, I demand that you put me through to the Pentagon so that I can confirm my identity.’
That was when Erik spotted them on the right. Two planes. Strike aircraft, without a doubt.
An airborne death squad.
Erik gave up.
Kevin Davis was still talking, but Erik knew that it didn’t matter. His words had reached the Americans too late. There was no time to divert the strike aircraft.
Or was there?
Kevin Davis was silent now, listening to the person on the other end. Then he spoke to someone else, introducing himself once again. Erik saw his face suddenly relax.
Erik quickly turned to look at the two planes. They were still in position.
Kevin Davis tapped his arm. Erik looked at him.
And Davis said the magic words:
‘We have permission to land.’
Erik didn’t react.
‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Get us down, for fuck’s sake!’
Only then did Erik understand. As if in a trance, he turned his full attention to the task ahead.
Landing the plane.
Bringing the passengers and crew to safety.
Erik headed towards Dulles airport, where he had been told to land. There was just enough fuel, but there was no margin for error.
The strike aircraft accompanied him every step of the way.
And when the wheels of Flight 573 touched down at long last, the planes soared away into the sky and disappeared into the darkness.
WEDNESDAY, 12 OCTOBER 2011
69 STOCKHOLM, 00:11
It was the longest night of the autumn. At least, that was how Eden Lundell would remember it. She would also think of it as the night when the past made a fresh attempt to catch up with her.
She assumed that she would win, as usual.
They were receiving bulletins from the Americans at intervals of less than a minute. First of all, the plane was going to be shot down. Then came a message that Erik had called to say that the man he had knocked out with a wine bottle had finally regained consciousness.
Then nothing.
Midnight came and went.
After seconds so long they felt like months, another call came through. At one minute past midnight. Kevin Davis had been able to confirm that what Erik said was true. Captain Karim Sassi was seriously injured and was no longer in command. One minute later, they were given permission to land at Dulles airport, and, as soon as the plane touched down, Bruce called Eden.
To her surprise she was shaking with rage as she listened to what he had to say.
‘They could have died,’ she said. ‘Do you understand what you’ve done?’
‘They could,’ Bruce replied. ‘But they didn’t, and I think we would prefer to focus on that.’
Eden didn’t waste time arguing; she slammed down the phone and turned to Alex.
‘They’ve landed. They’re all fine.’
Alex’s shoulders dropped and his face lost the strained expression he had been wearing all day.
The battle for his son’s survival was over.
‘Thank God,’ he said.
Fredrika was sitting next to him; she was equally relieved, and placed a hand over his.
It had been so close.
So horribly close.
There had been so little time left when Erik landed the plane. The fuel levels were so low that he had been prepared for an emergency landing with the engines shut down.
Bruce had called the touchdown ‘impressive’.
Eden still thought of it as extremely dangerous.
‘What happens now?’ Fredrika said.
Eden looked at the phone and tried to remember all the information Bruce had spewed out during his call.
‘There were no other planes on the tarmac when Flight 573 came down. The emergency services were waiting for them on the runway. The media were banned, but of course they realised what was going on. The Americans are issuing a press release, and they will be holding a short press conference, where they will answer the most important questions.’
She shrugged.
‘And the government?’ Fredrika said. ‘Our government, I mean.’
‘They were contacted at the same time as us. I’ll get in touch as soon as we’re done here.’
‘Me too,’ Fredrika said.
Alex got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and ring my family,’ he said.
Eden, Fredrika and Sebastian stayed put. Bruce called again.
‘Karim Sassi is in bad shape, but he’s going to make it,’ he said. ‘The stewardess stabbed him in the neck with a fork.’
Eden could see it in her mind’s eye. The fork penetrating his flesh, the blood spurting out. She felt nothing. Karim Sassi had endangered the lives of hundreds of people. If she hadn’t been so keen to find out what had driven him to do such a thing, Eden would have been quite happy to see him die.
‘And Kevin Davis, the guy Erik knocked out?’
‘He’ll be fine too. He’s got a severe concussion; he’ll have to spend a few days in hospital, and I think he’ll be off sick for a while. He seems to have some problems with his vision and his memory.’