The Chosen

AFTERWARDS

The alarm was raised by the neighbour in the apartment opposite. He had been on his way out when he heard a door open – first once, and then again. Curiously, he peered through the spy hole. And saw Mikael Lundell, the priest, standing in the doorway facing a woman.

Who took a gun out of her pocket and shot the priest in the chest.

Without making a sound.

The neighbour edged as far away from the door as possible, then called the police.

Alex Recht was still in his office, so he was informed about the call that had come in minutes earlier from Sankt Eriksplan. Suspected shooting in the stairwell. Could it have anything to do with his case?

‘Why should it?’ he wanted to know, thinking that enough was enough.

‘The residents of the apartment in question are Eden and Mikael Lundell,’ his colleague said. ‘Have those names come up in your inquiry?’

Four minutes later Alex was in a car heading from Kungsholmen to Sankt Eriksplan at speed, blue lights flashing and siren screaming.

Not Eden, he thought. Anyone but Eden.

He called Fredrika.

‘Suspected shooting at Eden Lundell’s apartment on Sankt Eriksplan. Come if you can.’

The apartment door was closed but not locked when they arrived. The stairwell was quickly filled with police officers and a team from the National Task Force, who by chance happened to be on exercise nearby when Eden’s neighbour called the emergency number.

They had their guns at the ready, heavy boots thumping on the hard surface of the stairs.

Alex waited outside, the snow falling on his face and clothes.

He didn’t even feel the cold.

He stood there without moving a muscle.

Until someone shouted that the apartment was clear.

He could come up.

There were two children and a man in what must be the master bedroom. The children were lying in the man’s arms.

Alex Recht, the inspector who thought he had seen it all up to now, dropped his gun on the floor and wept.

His prayer had been heard.

Eden Lundell had not been shot. But her entire family was dead.

Eden arrived.

No one could stop her.

And why should they?

She must be allowed to see with her own eyes.

Because Alex didn’t have the words to tell her.

She was carrying a violin case. She put it down on the floor. It remained there after she had left, when they discovered that one of the children was still alive. The other child was dead. Just like her father.

Eden disappeared.

According to the officers on the street, she might as well have gone up in smoke.

At the same time, Alex realised that the man who had been lying on the bed with the children didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to the man posing with Eden in the photographs on the bedside table.

‘Listen to me, there’s a man missing here!’ he shouted. ‘Eden Lundell’s husband, the priest who was shot. We have to find him! Fast!’

The angels had shown Eden their mercy for a second time tonight, because Mikael Lundell was found in a closet in the hallway, carelessly hidden under a pile of blankets. The CSIs had missed the fact that the bloodstains smeared across the floor led to the closet door. Eden’s husband was tall and well-built; whoever had shot him had only just managed to push him inside.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ the paramedic said. ‘We don’t even know if he’ll survive the journey to the hospital.’

‘Do what you can,’ Alex said.

He hoped the priest had God on his side.

And he wondered why Eden hadn’t said anything.

Because she must have known it wasn’t her husband lying on the bed.

Alex called the morgue where the bodies were being kept overnight.

‘The man who was brought in a little while ago – did he have any ID on him?’

‘I thought you knew who he was.’

‘We were wrong.’

He waited while the technician went off to check what had been found among the man’s belongings.

At that moment Fredrika Bergman walked into the apartment, ashen-faced and with tears in her eyes.

‘Sorry I didn’t get here earlier. I should have realised; I heard the sirens when I was walking home.’

Alex reached out and stroked her arm.

The technician came back.

‘I found a passport,’ she said. ‘He’s not Swedish.’

‘Israeli?’

‘Yes, his name is Efraim Kiel.’

Alex let out a long breath. Slowly he lowered the hand holding the phone.

‘We’ve found Efraim Kiel,’ he said.

Fredrika looked bewildered.

‘What was he doing here?’

Alex shook his head. He knew that Eden had kept a vital piece of the puzzle from him.

He knew that he still didn’t have it.

And that terrified him.

Because now he understood why Eden had refused to go to the hospital with her daughter.

‘Eden knows who did this,’ he said. ‘She’s going to take this city apart if we don’t stop her.’

‘According to the neighbour, it was a woman who shot Eden’s husband,’ Fredrika said.

They looked at one another, both well aware of who that woman must be.

‘Mona Samson,’ Alex said.

He immediately sent a patrol to the office on Torsgatan and her apartment on Hantverkargatan.

‘She won’t be there,’ Fredrika said.

‘I don’t think so either,’ Alex said gloomily; he still didn’t understand what had happened. If Gideon was the killer who had taken the boys, did that mean Mona Samson was his partner? The person who had lain on the roof and tried to shoot Polly Eisenberg? Who was still missing…

Alex pressed both hands to his head.

‘I’m going mad,’ he said. ‘What the hell is all this about?’

Fredrika looked at the blood on the sheets.

‘It’s as if this doesn’t concern us at all,’ she said. ‘As if the players in this game are following their own rules, with their own referee and linesmen.’

‘I can’t accept that. I want to know what happened.’

‘So do I, but who’s going to tell us?’

‘Eden,’ Alex said.

‘Do you really think she knows? If she does, then surely she would have been able to prevent this.’

Alex spread his hands in a gesture of resignation.

He felt like crying, but managed to hold it together.

‘Where do we think Mona Samson might be? She can’t have got very far,’ Fredrika said.

Alex forced himself to think.

Where would someone like Mona Samson go?

‘She’s on her way out of the country,’ he said, unexpectedly sure of himself.

‘By plane?’

‘Yes.’

He ran out of the apartment, sent a patrol car straight to the airport. Fredrika followed him.

‘Alex, we have to be prepared for the possibility that we might not find her. We know her name isn’t Mona Samson, for a start.’

‘We’ve got a sketch. We’ll put that out.’

Fredrika had seen the sketch, and knew it was worthless. So did Alex.

‘We have to find her,’ he said. ‘We have to.’

They looked at one another, both at a loss. They reached a silent mutual agreement: they didn’t want to wait in Eden’s apartment.

To the relief of the CSIs, they left the building and went and sat in one of the patrol cars which was parked up with its engine idling.

Alex thought about what Peder Rydh had said: that they were looking for two perpetrators who couldn’t agree; who had fallen out.

He told Fredrika as she leaned back against the headrest, utterly exhausted.

‘So what we saw here tonight is the result of two killers who couldn’t agree?’

She sounded dubious.

‘I don’t know what we saw here tonight,’ Alex said. ‘How does Eden fit into all this? Why did her daughters have to die?’

‘Because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? This is such a mess; I can’t see a single clear thread that runs through the whole case.’

‘You think it’s a coincidence?’ Alex said, gazing out of the window. ‘That there was no logical reason for the murderer to come to Eden’s apartment? There just happened to be some kind of confrontation?’

It was his turn to sound hesitant now.

Fredrika pulled off her hat, dotted with snow crystals.

‘I think we missed Efraim Kiel’s part in all this,’ she said. ‘Given what I learned on my visit to Israel, I’m wondering if the Israelis know more than they’re letting on, and if Efraim Kiel was on some kind of mission over here.’

‘You mean the Israeli police might have asked him to look into the murders, as he was here anyway?’

She nodded.

‘Something along those lines. That would explain why he was so interested and why he asked so many questions. And why he’s been avoiding the Swedish police; since all those involved have an intelligence-related background, he wanted to run his own race.’

She threw down her hat.

‘I’m not saying that’s definitely the case,’ she went on. ‘It’s just an idea, and it could explain things.’

Alex shifted in his seat, feeling a fresh surge of energy.

‘I think it’s a bloody good idea,’ he said.

For the first time a coherent picture was slowly beginning to emerge. Eden had said that Säpo had its own reasons for keeping Efraim under surveillance. Could that have led him to Eden’s apartment? Had Mona Samson followed him there?

That must be what happened.

He was just about to share his thoughts with Fredrika when a colleague yanked the car door open and shouted:

‘A woman’s just been killed on Odenplan. She stepped out in front of a car – there was nothing the driver could do. We think it’s Mona Samson. In fact we know it is; she had a gun fitted with a silencer in her pocket, and several Samson Security AB business cards. Plus her appearance matches the sketch.’

Alex didn’t know what to feel; every emotion drained away, leaving him empty.

‘So she’s gone,’ Fredrika said.

‘Yes,’ their colleague replied.

‘Good.’

There was nothing more to say.

Fredrika and Alex simply sat there in the car, waiting for life to begin again.

During the first week in February, a little girl came wandering into the Swedish embassy in Helsinki. She was crying so hard that at first it was difficult to work out what she was saying, but eventually they managed to get her name.

Polly Eisenberg.

She had been driven to a street nearby and told which way to go.

Nobody knew who had dropped her off, including the child.

Nor did she know where she had been.

Carmen Eisenberg had been sitting in her apartment overwhelmed by apathy, having lost both her husband and children within a week; Polly’s return brought her back to life.

Gideon’s parents came to Stockholm to collect their son’s body. He was laid to rest in the country he had left ten years earlier. Carmen and Polly were there too; Polly wore a pretty dress and played with her doll. Her mother sat beside her, pale and silent. She didn’t move a muscle throughout the entire ceremony.

Slowly the truth emerged, until eventually the only thing missing was the murder weapon.

Through Gideon Eisenberg’s employer, they learned that he had had two meetings with the woman known as Mona Samson. The meetings had taken place a few months earlier, and as far as the employer knew, had not led to any definite collaboration.

At least not on a professional basis.

When the police went through Gideon’s computer and personal diary, it turned out that he had met Mona on numerous occasions afterwards. In bars and restaurants. Outside working hours.

‘Gideon had a lot to apologise to his wife for when he died,’ Fredrika Bergman said acidly. ‘He was cheating on her.’

‘So Mona was having relationships with both Saul and Gideon,’ Alex said. ‘Can we draw that conclusion?’

Fredrika thought so. ‘Perhaps she and Gideon wanted us to think that Saul was the perpetrator. And we almost fell for it; if we hadn’t managed to discredit Gideon’s alibi, we would never have believed Saul’s story.’

Two Israeli passports were found on Mona Samson, one in the name of Mona Samson, the other Nadia Tahir. They didn’t know why she had two passports, and the Israelis couldn’t – or wouldn’t – explain it. Around her neck she wore a pendant with the inscription ‘Benjamin’s mum’. They had no idea what that meant either.

They also found out that Gideon had been on a business trip to Israel during the week when Abraham and Simon were exchanging emails with the Lion.

‘He was responsible for the email correspondence,’ Fredrika said. ‘He came up with the Lion, probably to distract attention from himself in a subsequent police investigation. I don’t suppose we’ll ever find out who picked up the boys on their way to their tennis coaching session; it could have been Gideon, or it could have been Mona Samson.’

The whole idea was sick, but it was logical in spite of that. It bothered Fredrika that both Gideon and Mona were dead; she couldn’t shake off the feeling that they hadn’t managed to reveal the whole truth about the murder of the two boys.

Another thing that bothered both Fredrika and Alex was Mona Samson’s role in the murders. The secretary at the Solomon Community was shown a picture of her, and confirmed that it was Mona who had delivered the chrysanthemum in a bag with a face on it. What had driven Mona to help Gideon? Could it really be just because she loved him?

‘I don’t understand what made her go up on that roof and try to shoot Polly Eisenberg,’ Fredrika said.

‘There’s so much we don’t understand,’ Alex said. ‘We don’t even know for certain that it was her. Gideon wasn’t very tall, remember. It could have been him up there; maybe Mona changed her mind and tried to save Polly. Someone must have taken her to Finland, after all.’

But Fredrika wasn’t happy. Regardless of whether or not Mona Samson had tried to kill Polly Eisenberg, she had shot Efraim Kiel and Eden’s husband and children. No one would commit crimes like that without a personal motive. Unfortunately, Polly didn’t remember anything about the person who had abducted her.

And so the quest for information continued. They tried turning the thumbscrews on the only person they had left.

Saul Goldmann.

But he consistently refused to talk about his past, about how he knew Efraim Kiel, about the work they had done, and what had happened to make him and Gideon leave Israel. He swore that he would have helped them if only he could have done so; he said that he was sure all this had no connection to his years in the military. Fredrika got the feeling that he was partly telling the truth, and that this was causing him considerable pain.

There was some light in the darkness: Peder Rydh had gone to the Labour Court, and was trying to get his job back. It looked as if he was likely to succeed. Alex and Fredrika didn’t often discuss it, but they were both hoping he would rejoin the team.

Fredrika was finding it difficult to sleep. The death of Eden Lundell’s daughter, and the boys who had died out on Lovön, gave her no peace.

The silence from the Israelis was deafening. The official line was that from their point of view, the matter had been resolved. The perpetrators were dead, and would claim no more victims. That was the important thing.

In the centre of everything that had happened stood Eden Lundell.

Fredrika couldn’t help feeling that she knew more than she was prepared to say. When questioned, she had said that she had met Efraim in London a few times, but that he had been no more than a passing acquaintance. She had no idea why he had died in her apartment, along with one of her daughters.

Her other daughter survived. So did her husband.

Fredrika knew that the family had moved abroad; perhaps that would help the healing process.

‘She seemed so worn down when we interviewed her,’ Fredrika said.

Alex glanced away, mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear.

On the evening when she walked away from the crime scene, they had found her at the hospital, by her daughter’s side. She had stayed there until the child regained consciousness.

Fredrika had seen Eden once more before the family moved away. They had met on Kungsholmsgatan. Eden was pale and gaunt, but calm. Almost serene.

And that was what eventually saved Fredrika Bergman’s nights: the fact that Eden, who had come so close to losing everything, seemed to be one of the few who knew why.

There were days when she didn’t cry. Days when they went on short outings, her daughter played, and her husband wasn’t tired or in pain. But those days were few and far between. As a rule she had to make do with brief periods of peace of mind. The nights were long and silent, the days equally long and light. She had begun to grow accustomed to a fragmented daily rhythm. When it came down to it, she could get by on just a few hours’ sleep at a time.

Israel had been Mikael’s idea, and this time Eden had said yes. They didn’t know how long they would stay.

Until they were whole again.

Until they could cope with everyday life.

Mikael said very little. Asked too few questions. Eden thought she would go under if she wasn’t given the opportunity to unburden herself.

When she brought it up and wanted to talk about what had happened, Mikael shook his head, withdrew into himself, said they could discuss it some other time. She told the police, and her parents, no more than necessary. The only person who pinned her down was her boss at Säpo.

‘This game stops right now,’ GD said. ‘You tell me what you know.’

But Eden kept her counsel.

‘You have to believe me when I tell you it’s over,’ she said. ‘There will be no further consequences.’

‘What the hell was Efraim Kiel doing in your apartment? You must realise that I can’t simply overlook such a thing, not when I know your history.’

She had gazed at GD for a long time.

‘How do you know I was telling the truth when I said that Efraim and I had an affair? How do you know I didn’t allow him to recruit me? How do you know I’m not exactly what you thought I was in the first place – a Mossad double agent?’

GD had looked at her sorrowfully.

‘I just know, Eden.’

At which point she had burst into tears yet again.

She had offered to resign, but GD had suggested she take a year’s leave, with immediate effect.

Dani was laid to rest the following week. If Eden so much as brushed against the memory of her daughter’s funeral, she broke down and wept for hours, particularly during the night. Sometimes she had to bury her face in the pillow in order to smother the scream that was trying to get out. The grief never loosened its grip, refused to release her.

Eden thought she understood what had gone on. The press wrote about Gideon Eisenberg and the woman who had been his lover. They made much of his past and his childhood experiences. But Eden knew better. The attack on her children confirmed that she had been right all along. The murders that had devastated the Solomon Community were related to the events on the West Bank all those years ago. The only thing she couldn’t work out was who Mona Samson was, and why she had followed Efraim to Eden’s apartment.

Eden could not leave these questions unanswered. On her second day in Israel she made contact with Mossad. She explained her business in one sentence, and was given an appointment to meet the man who had been Efraim Kiel’s boss.

‘I want to know why Mona Samson wanted Gideon Eisenberg and Saul Goldmann’s children dead,’ she said.

‘You’re asking for information that I am not at liberty to give you,’ he said. ‘You must realise that, even though I obviously have the greatest sympathy for you and your family in view of the tragedy that has befallen you, and the pain it has caused you. I really am very sorry for your loss.’

Eden had never been so close to killing another human being.

‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t go to the press with the whole thing,’ she said. ‘Or to my employers in Sweden.’

The man thought it over. For a long time.

‘You’re playing a dangerous game,’ he said eventually. ‘And I will allow you to win. But everything I tell you stays between us. I have a question for you first of all: what was the connection between Efraim Kiel and your children?’

Eden accepted his rules without hesitation.

‘He was their father,’ she said.

She could see that the answer was unexpected, in spite of the fact that it should have been obvious, given the circumstances.

‘I understand. Did Efraim know that?’

‘I answered your question. Now you answer mine.’

Efraim’s former boss gave a wry smile, then told Eden what she had already heard from Fred Banks in London. It was only when he reached the end of the story that she found out who Mona Samson was.

‘Mona Samson, or Nadia Tahir to give her her real name, was the Paper Boy,’ he said. ‘The source Efraim ran in the Palestinian village on the West Bank. And it was her son who died in the explosion.’

He spread his hands wide.

‘It’s a terrible story from start to finish. Gideon and Saul left Israel after that, which was a sign of weakness, if you ask me. But I suppose everyone makes their own judgement.’

Eden wasn’t interested in making a judgement. She was trying to feel something after what she had just learned, but she couldn’t. The fact that the woman who had murdered Eden’s daughter had lost her child herself was of no importance.

‘How come she was carrying Israeli passports?’ she asked.

‘That was down to Efraim. Her life would have been in danger if she had stayed on the West Bank after the deaths of her husband and son; she was at considerable risk of being exposed as a source. We offered her the chance to disappear in another country, but she wanted to stay in Israel, so she was granted Israeli citizenship. It was no big deal; her father was an Israeli, after all. A year ago she contacted us and asked for a new identity; she said she thought she was being followed. It was then that she became Mona Samson.’

‘Do you think Efraim was involved in the murders?’

The man’s expression hardened.

‘Of course not. Nadia was behind all this, and she persuaded Gideon to go along with her by exploiting the terrible experiences he had been through as a child. I can guarantee that he didn’t know what her real motive was: to avenge the death of her son. Efraim was the only one who had met her; Saul and Gideon had no idea who she was, what the Paper Boy looked like.’

‘So the fact that Efraim was in Stockholm when this all kicked off – that was pure coincidence?’

He nodded.

Eden thanked him for his help, and got to her feet. The man she had come to see also stood up.

‘We’d still really like you to join us, Eden,’ he said. ‘Any time.’

She didn’t answer; she just turned and left.

Mikael was still signed off so that he could recover from the bullet wound. Saba was the one who had healed the fastest, although she often asked about her sister Dani. Time and time again they explained that she was gone.

‘She’s not coming back. Ever,’ Eden said, feeling as if she was about to fall apart.

How many times could one heart break?

An infinite number of times.

Tears poured down her face without her even noticing. When she was driving the car. When she was out shopping. When she was watching TV. When she was cooking.

She exercised as frequently as she could, often twice a day. Physical exertion and pain became a balsam for her soul.

‘You have to forgive yourself,’ was the last thing GD had said to her. ‘You couldn’t possibly have foreseen this.’

But that was exactly what she had done, and still she had failed to act decisively enough. If only she had explained to Mikael why they had to get out of the apartment, why they weren’t safe there. She also hated herself for the misjudgement she had made when she first walked in; she had simply assumed that Mikael must be dead, since Efraim was lying on the bed with the children.

Mikael was haunted by the same demons. He blamed himself because he hadn’t done what Eden said. Their anguish grew into a monster that threatened to destroy everything they had left. It was as if they were caught in a raging torrent, and neither of them had the strength to stay afloat.

They were being carried away from all their routines, away from one another.

Until the day when Eden realised she was pregnant, and saw a light flicker in Mikael’s eyes. A faint light, but it was there.

And she knew that she couldn’t wait for him any longer. He had to know what she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him for five long years.

She told him one night when they were both lying awake. Her voice was no more than a whisper, and she couldn’t look at him as the words left her mouth.

‘You’re not Dani and Saba’s father.’

Her whole body was shaking.

She could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks, seeping into her hair.

Mikael lay there motionless.

On his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, he reached out and took her hand in his.

‘I’ve always known that,’ he said.