She felt restless as she turned her attention to Khelifi’s case. She made one call after another, getting in touch with the Immigration Board, the Immigration Supreme Court and the police. There was nothing to add as far as Khelifi was concerned. He would have to leave the country. Zakaria Khelifi would serve as an example of what happened if you challenged democracy and an open society. As the idiot who had just made four separate bomb threats had done.
Fredrika couldn’t settle. Why did she never enjoy her job? Why did she constantly wish she was somewhere else, doing something different? There had been times when she had thought she would never find job satisfaction in her life. The pursuit of happiness had subsided since the birth of her children. They assuaged her hunger in a way that felt secure, enabling her to grow as a person. She ran her finger over the photograph of her son. So like his father. She hoped that Spencer would live for many years to come, so that the child wouldn’t lose his father when he was too young.
Thinking about Spencer’s age often made her feel stressed, so she made an effort and focused on the computer. She read several articles about the bomb threats that had paralysed the whole of inner-city Stockholm in less than an hour.
His name cropped up in the middle of one piece. Alex Recht.
Detective Inspector Alex Recht was not prepared to comment on the National Bureau of Investigation’s view of the bomb threats that have been received, but he stated that all necessary measures have been taken, and that the Stockholm city police and Säpo are working closely together.
A longing that Fredrika had been unaware of suddenly sprang to life. Alex Recht was one of the best bosses she had ever had, far superior to any other team leader she had known.
Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached out and picked up her mobile. Alex answered at the third ring.
‘Things are pretty difficult right now, Fredrika.’
‘I realise that. I just wanted to…’
What did she want? What had she been thinking when she called him? Nothing at all.
‘You wanted some information about the bomb threats?’
‘Yes.’
Her voice was so weak, his so decisive.
‘I don’t really know what to say. It’s a bit chaotic around here at the moment. Bombs all over the city, for God’s sake.’
The line crackled; it sounded as if he was outdoors, in a windy spot somewhere. She looked out of the window. The usual weather for this time of year: rain. And yet, just hearing his voice made her feel safe. If Alex was dealing with the bomb threats, then things were bound to turn out okay.
‘And what about parliament?’
‘We can’t be sure yet, but it’s possible that someone might have made the threats in order to keep us busy elsewhere while they attack the parliament building.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Exactly. If that’s the plan, then I have to say we’re facing a dangerous scenario.’
Fredrika looked at her screen.
‘This will be grist to the mill of the anti-foreigner brigade – the debate has just been cancelled.’
‘It hasn’t been cancelled,’ Alex said. ‘But it might be postponed. The Speaker was furious when Säpo spoke to him. He insisted the debate must go ahead tomorrow, at any price. The cost of cancelling would be incalculable.’
The Speaker was best known for two things: his quick temper and his warmth. Fredrika didn’t know anyone who disliked him, regardless of which party they belonged to.
‘I have to go,’ Alex said.
‘Call me if… anything happens. Or if…’
She heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.
‘Are you missing us? The police, I mean?’
Was she?
‘No, no, I’m really happy here in the Justice Department. Up to my ears in papers and reports. Just what I like.’
‘I thought we’d decided that you were like the rest of us, someone who wanted to be out in the field.’
When she didn’t reply, Alex said, ‘Take care of yourself; I’ll speak to you soon.’
He ended the call, and Fredrika put down her phone. It was ten to five. The first bomb would soon explode.
The rain made Eden Lundell’s hair curl and extinguished her cigarette. Bloody weather. She threw away the cigarette and walked into the foyer of the parliament building.
‘I’m sorry, you can’t come in here,’ said the uniformed police officer on the door.
Eden took out her ID and he stepped aside. The other officers followed her with their eyes as she swept past. Sebastian had looked at her as if she was crazy when she told him where she was going.
‘You’re the boss,’ he said. ‘You’re not expected to go out on this kind of thing.’
He meant well, and his tone of voice was the one Eden had noticed other parents using when they talked to their children. She herself had always spoken to her children the same way she spoke to everyone else – as if they were adults.
‘I couldn’t care less what people expect.’
Sebastian started to look annoyed.
‘If you’re going out, you should at least have someone with you. One of my analysts, for example.’
Eden had been unable to hide her contempt for his suggestion.
‘You mean one of your so-called Arabists?’
She could have bitten her tongue, but the words were already out. And Sebastian, who of course was loyal to his colleagues, had hit the roof.
‘You have absolutely no right to say such a thing! I really don’t know…’
‘Correct,’ Eden said, raising her voice. ‘You don’t know anything. And that really doesn’t matter, Sebastian. But in that case, you have to let those of us with the necessary experience go out and do the job properly. I have to know what I’m talking about when I see GD later.’
It had been an unnecessary confrontation. Eden worked well with Sebastian, and yet she had felt it necessary to trample all over him and his analysts. So-called Arabists. By that she meant those who started their CV with the claim that they had studied Arabic for several years, and yet were incapable of running a simple meeting with Arab speakers without the assistance of an interpreter. That had nothing to do with their analytical skills, of course. Generally speaking, Sebastian’s team were highly qualified. By no means all of them had studied Arabic, and those who had didn’t do so in order to learn to communicate in the language. Shit. She would definitely have to apologise later. If Sebastian took the matter further, it would look bad.
The argument went out of her mind. She had to focus on parliament now.
It struck her that the Swedish parliament was housed in a very boring building. Not like their British or French counterparts.
Or the Israeli parliament.
The Knesset in Jerusalem was a joy in its simplicity, a reminder of how young the Israeli state was, and yet what a long history it had. If her husband Mikael had got his way, he and Eden would have moved there along with her parents. But Eden couldn’t think of anywhere she would be less happy to bring up her children, and that clinched the argument. If the Jewish member of the family didn’t want to emigrate, then everyone else stayed at home too.
She soon spotted Alex. He was talking to a man whom Eden assumed was a police officer. Alex raised a hand in greeting when he saw her.
‘So you couldn’t stay away either?’ she said.
Alex looked embarrassed.
‘I like to keep an eye on things.’
‘Me too. Have they found anything?’
‘Nothing. But they’ve only just started.’
Eden gazed around. Police everywhere. No doubt the situation was exactly the same at the Central Station and the Royal Library. And at Åhlén’s and Rosenbad.
It was a strange choice of locations.
Mikael called, wanting to know where she was.
‘What’s going on?’ he said.
The priest calling his private source for advice. The thought appealed to Eden.