‘I presume you’re still not prepared to tell me what you’re up to,’ GD said, the irritation clear in his voice.
‘I’ll be back at work by lunchtime tomorrow.’
‘Marvellous,’ GD said dryly. ‘But that’s not why I called. We’ve made some progress during your absence.’
‘Progress?’
‘We think we’ve found the person who is following Efraim Kiel.’
‘How?’
‘The surveillance team kept one car outside the Diplomat in the faint hope that we weren’t the only ones he had managed to shake off. And it seems as if their strategy worked perfectly. They identified an individual who was hanging around in the vicinity of the hotel for long periods at a time.’
‘Did they get any pictures?’
‘They’re here in front of me.’
Eden’s heart was pounding. She thought about the links to Israel, about Efraim’s team operating on the West Bank: a team with which he had obviously parted company, because he had then moved on to trying to recruit agents in London.
‘What does he look like? Can you send me a photo?’
‘You can see the photos when you get back. But I will tell you that it’s not a man. The person who is following Efraim Kiel is a woman.’
It wasn’t hard to spot her. He sensed her presence as soon as he picked up her last message from reception. He knew she couldn’t be far away. He had left the hotel by the same route as he had come in, slipped through the streets behind the building, then cautiously made his way back to Strandvägen. The Säpo car was still there. And a short distance away, at a bus stop, stood a figure who didn’t get on any of the buses that pulled up.
To think that she had grown so careless.
It was Efraim Kiel who had trained her, spent countless hours working with her. Provided her with all the knowledge and skills necessary to survive her mission.
Now she was behaving as if she had forgotten every single thing. Or as if she simply didn’t care. He took it for granted that Säpo had also seen her. Eventually she must have realised that she was making a fool of herself. As she walked away she lacked the energy he had been used to. Her head was bowed, hands shoved in her pockets.
Following her had been trickier than he had expected, because of course the car door opened and one of the Säpo goons set off after her as well. Efraim had found it difficult to shadow the Säpo guy without the other man in the car spotting him. If he could just keep his distance, he should be okay.
And so they had moved through the city, the woman first, the Säpo guy in the middle, and Efraim on the other side of the road. An unconscious troika with the unsuspecting woman as its leader. She led them down towards the central station, then along Vasagatan. At first Efraim had thought they were heading for his new hotel, which would have been most unfortunate, but the woman continued toward Torsgatan. The trail ended when she disappeared through the doorway of one of the newly built apartment blocks on the left hand side.
When the Säpo agent gave up and walked away, Efraim crossed over. Read the names of the residents, wondered which one might be hers. Going inside and ringing one doorbell after another was out of the question.
Always stay out of sight; never be noticed.
It wasn’t until he was standing under the shower back in his hotel room that he understood which name she had chosen.
The realisation hit him like a thunderbolt. His hands felt numb as he turned off the water, dried himself and went into the bedroom.
Now he knew what she was calling herself.
She had taken the name of the man who was so strong that he could tear a lion to pieces.
Samson.
ISRAEL
The lion was everywhere, its image on manhole covers and flags, on ceramic ornaments and pieces of jewellery.
‘The lion is the symbol of Jerusalem,’ Isak Ben-Zwi explained when Fredrika asked him about it. ‘There are early references to the lion’s significance for the city in what Christians refer to as the Old Testament, and the symbol of the lion played a major role when we were a part of the Ottoman Empire.’
They had left the American Colony in the eastern part of Jerusalem for a late evening walk. Isak led her down Nablus Road to the Damascus Gate, set in the magnificent wall that encircled the Old City. The wall was lit up, shining against the dark sky, beautiful and uncompromising.
‘During the day the Old City is a gigantic market place,’ Isak said. ‘We can come down tomorrow if you like; nothing is open now.’
Even though Fredrika had visited Jerusalem before, she really wanted to go to the market again. If she had time.
Tomorrow she was due to visit the kibbutzim; theoretically she would be able to go home in the evening.
‘Did you find out any more about the Paper Boy?’ she asked Isak. ‘You said you were going to do an online search in Hebrew.’
He didn’t reply. Was she imagining it, or was his expression less amiable than it had been earlier?
‘This way,’ he said. ‘I will show you the Old City by night.’
He took her hand and led her down the stone steps towards the dark opening of the Damascus Gate. She presumed he was being a gentleman, but the gesture felt much too intimate. Discreetly she withdrew her hand, holding the strap of her shoulder bag instead.
Isak looked at her. He was clearly annoyed, much to her surprise.
So much for being a gentleman. It had been an invitation. And she had turned him down.
The Old City was both dark and deserted. The long, narrow alleyways were normally packed with traders, but now there were only endless dark walls with huge metal doors protecting the goods behind them.
‘They arrive first thing in the morning,’ Isak explained. ‘Open the doors and set out their wares. Earlier in the year when we had a lot more tourists it was almost impossible to walk along here.’
Fredrika could easily picture the scene, in spite of the fact that it was so quiet now. A scruffy cat padded silently by, and Fredrika gave a start. She would never have ventured down here alone.
They turned left into the Via Dolorosa, walked along the road where Jesus had allegedly carried his cross, although in the opposite direction. At the end of the narrow thoroughfare the Lion Gate stood before them.
‘This is where our soldiers entered during the Six Day War,’ Isak said. ‘And raised the Israeli flag over Temple Mount.’
His voice was suffused with pride and warmth. He was far too young to have been around back then, but Fredrika guessed that older members of his family might well have fought in the war.
Or wars.
Because there had been so many more wars in the territory that had been known as Israel since 1948. I wonder if there will ever be peace here, she thought.
She felt slightly ashamed, and instead focused on the symbol of the lion, trying to understand how it fitted into the investigation: why someone calling himself the Lion had emailed Jewish children in Stockholm; emailed and possibly murdered them.
They walked back up the Via Dolorosa.
In silence.
Until Isak suddenly stopped. Fredrika stopped too, on her guard. She wondered what the hell she was doing between two silent walls of stone with a man she didn’t know.
‘I’ve given you almost an hour,’ he said.
His voice was perfectly calm, but his expression was dark and aggressive. He moved a step closer.
‘An hour. And still you haven’t told me.’
Told me? What did he want her to say?
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ she said.
She backed away until she was pressed against the yellowish-white wall, with Isak far too close.
‘I think you do,’ he said. Still utterly calm.
The fear he aroused in her made her angry.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m going back to the hotel right now.’