Hostage

72

She could still recall the lighting in the room where her fate had been decided, and she realised that she was going to get away with it. The light itself was almost a shade of blue. The man sitting opposite her, evidently an agent with the federal prosecution service, followed her gaze as she looked up at the ceiling, and shook his head.

‘You’re not the only one who finds it unpleasant,’ he said.

She gave him a disarming smile.

‘It’s fine.’

He laughed.

‘It’s pretty miserable working in a place where even the lighting is crap.’

She laughed too.

His expression became serious once more.

‘So, Lydia, you want to go home, preferably within the next few days.’

‘Yes – tomorrow if possible.’

‘Naturally, we have no intention of standing in your way. You’ve been enormously helpful, and we trust you to come back for the trial. Your evidence will be very important.’

She nodded firmly.

‘Of course, I’ll help you in any way I can.’

The agent made a few notes on the papers in front of him, then he put down the pen and looked her straight in the eye.

‘If no one else has done so yet, I must thank you on behalf of the United States government. You and your colleagues showed great courage in a very difficult situation.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, although that didn’t feel like the right thing to say at all.

‘I hope this terrible episode won’t make you look for a new career. Individuals like Karim Sassi are few and far between, thank goodness.’

‘No – I love my job, and I intend to carry on flying.’

Weak, pathetic people. That stupid bastard Karim couldn’t take the pressure. He was going to get us shot down by some shabby fucking American missiles, and I had no intention of dying that way. Even though I was definitely prepared to die.

‘Amazing,’ the agent said, and she could see tiny beads of sweat forming on his fleshy upper lip.

She tried to curb his enthusiasm.

‘I don’t believe I’m any different from my colleagues. We all intend to carry on flying.’

Ten minutes later, she was standing on the pavement outside the prosecutor’s office, breathing in the cool autumn air. All the relevant documents had been signed, and she would be leaving the USA the next day.

For a while, she had thought she’d had it. They had released her name and photograph to the press, but the picture was several years old, and Sofi knew that even if she bore some resemblance to the girl in the photo, it would never occur to anyone that it could be her.

Apart from Zakaria, their uncle, and Zakaria’s girlfriend Maria. And they would keep quiet until the day they died.

It was love that had brought Sofi to Europe in the first place. She married a man who had a residence permit in Germany, and at first, she had thought she was in love with him. Until she met Adam. She had waited just long enough for the authorities not to regard her marriage as a sham, then she had wanted to file for divorce.

But Adam said no.

It would be easier for both of them if the bond between them remained a secret, and she agreed with him.

By this time, he had shown her the right path. She had been so blind before she met him, allowing so many injustices to go unchallenged. But not any longer. In Adam’s company, her hatred towards the USA and every other country engaged in the so-called war on terror grew and grew. A war that apparently legitimised any insanity whatsoever.

It wasn’t right.

They had been well aware of the risks they were taking, and had acted accordingly. Her marriage broke down; that was inevitable. However, the structure of her relationship with Adam didn’t change. They didn’t start seeing each other more frequently, and when they did meet, it was as discreetly as possible. When Adam was finally arrested, they knew they had done the right thing. No police officers came banging on Sofi’s door, no one wondered whether she might have been involved in the crimes of which Adam was accused. He was never charged. Twice they picked him up; twice they had to let him go.

The third time was during his trip to Pakistan.

Sofi hated recalling the uncertainty, the fear.

Why hadn’t she gone with him?

No one knew where he was, no one knew what had happened. And there was no one she could ask.

Then one day he came home, but by then the Americans had already broken him.

It was Sofi who in turn had shown Zakaria the right path. Since she had acquired a residence permit in Germany using false documents and was known there as Lydia, she didn’t tell anyone she had a brother in Sweden. Zakaria did the same; hardly anyone knew his sister in Germany, who came to visit him from time to time. Sofi didn’t know how much he had told Maria, but she did know that Maria was loyal, and that was enough.

At first, Zakaria had been unsure; he had taken plenty of time to make up his mind. In the end, he had agreed, of course. Sofi had come up with so many persuasive arguments. Something had to be done; they couldn’t just stand there watching. They had to act, make a stand. And they had quickly discovered that they were not alone in their struggle. They found support in both Germany and Sweden. Sofi would be eternally grateful to the person who had helped her by calling the TT news agency. Calling from the plane was out of the question, so she had needed back-up.

They had also helped to take Adam to Sweden when he returned from Pakistan. He needed rest, peace and quiet. But Adam got neither. Zakaria kept his distance, didn’t want to be seen anywhere near him if either he or Adam were wanted by the police, and all Sofi heard was that Adam was getting worse and worse. One day, he went back to Germany, then travelled home to his parents.

If only she’d got there in time. If only she’d been able to speak to him.

She had made her decision at Adam’s funeral.

It was lucky that she happened to be an air stewardess; she had virtually unlimited opportunities to travel. There was absolutely no reason for the security services to question her movements around the world.

She could speak Swedish, so it wasn’t difficult to get a job with SAS, the Swedish airline. The conditions weren’t good, but it was the same everywhere. It wasn’t a permanent job, but that wasn’t what she needed anyway. She appreciated the fact that she was flexible and could fly out of several different cities.

She had bumped into Karim Sassi purely by chance one day. She had made a point of remembering his name after that disastrous flight to Rabat, when he had landed in Munich for no good reason. After that the plan had almost written itself. She made sure she was on several flights with Karim, and when she wasn’t working, she spent her time alone in the apartment that Maria had helped her to rent.

Although she had been so careful, Sofi was still surprised that she had got away with what she had done. At least for the time being. She thanked her god that everything had gone so well. She had managed to get to Karim’s house after he had left for the airport and persuaded his daughter to say a few words to her daddy on the phone, to convince him that his family were being held hostage. Then she had made it to Arlanda in time to get on the same flight. Thank goodness Erik Recht had been just as late as her; Karim hadn’t said a word about her poor timekeeping. He had had plenty of other things to think about by that stage.

She wouldn’t be coming back to the USA for the trial. No way. Sooner or later the authorities would realise, or begin to suspect, how everything hung together.

It didn’t really matter.

The mission was accomplished. Zakaria had been released the day after the hijacking, and apparently, Tennyson Cottage had been shut down months ago.

Sofi had resigned from her job with SAS and returned to Germany, where she had dismantled her life in less than a week. A friend had promised to take care of her post.

Now she was on safe ground, waiting for what would happen next. She was convinced that it was only a matter of time before they worked out who she was, but by then she would be far away.

Zakaria had emailed her from a secret address that they had long ago agreed to use only in emergencies.

‘We need to lie low for a while,’ he had written. ‘Our next contribution to the campaign will have to wait.’

Sofi was happy to wait.

She had all the time in the world.

They both did.