Klara and Bronzelius are sitting in the car outside the terminal, and she takes out the computer and shows him what’s on it. He turns pale.
‘Can we get an interpreter here now?’ he screams to a uniformed police officer, who immediately runs off.
They finally find a young police officer fluent in Arabic, and he squeezes into the back seat next to Klara. Not exactly an interpreter, but at least someone who can confirm what Klara already knows. The officer’s eyes widen as he takes in what’s in front of him, and he summarizes it quickly for Bronzelius. Translates the information in the documents, the coordinated terrorist attacks on four European cities.
Bronzelius leans back in his seat and stares straight up at the ceiling. ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he says. ‘It’s insane.’
‘What should we do?’ Klara says.
Bronzelius turns to her and stares straight into her eyes. ‘I’m gonna have to take care of this gigantic mess.’
Then he gets out his phone, and it seems to take only a couple of minutes before an armada of police vehicles appear around them.
A police officer in civilian clothes opens Klara’s door and tears the computer from her hands. Another police officer tries to force her out of the car.
‘No,’ Bronzelius says. ‘She’s riding with me, and she should in no way be considered a suspect in connection with this.’
Then he jumps out of the car and confers with the uniformed police officers. All she hears is something about a ‘kidnapping’ and ‘possible hostage situation’, and then they leave.
‘I didn’t mention to my colleagues that we are probably chasing rogue government officials here,’ he tells Klara when he gets back into the car. ‘Better to have this sorted out before my bosses get any other instructions or understand what’s going on. People with a higher pay grade than me can figure out the legal details later. No time to lose.’
*
They roll past the commercial terminals quickly, through a gate that a security guard opens as soon as he sees the procession of police cars with flashing blue lights and screaming sirens.
Now they’re on the other side of the airport, in front of a large hangar with vaulted ceilings.
‘I thought Säpo and MUST were on the same side?’ Klara says. ‘And I certainly didn’t think that one of the organizations kidnapped citizens?’
‘Well,’ Bronzelius says, ‘we both want to keep Sweden safe, if that’s what you mean. But our methods… differ slightly. We’re just cops, like you said. We want to see people arrested and convicted and democracy defended. It sounds silly maybe, but I really do believe in it.’
‘A little pompous perhaps,’ she says. ‘But I understand what you mean.’
‘MUST likes to work in the shadows,’ Bronzelius continues. ‘Everything is just one long game for them. The exchange of information between countries, shifting alliances. The secrets themselves are the goal, not revealing them. That’s where we differ. I work in the darkness, but I want to bring it into the light. They just want to go further in.’
‘What happens when we drive into the hangar?’ Klara says. ‘Who has the right to arrest whom?’
Bronzelius looks at her with an eyebrow raised. ‘Who has the right to arrest whom?’ he repeats. ‘I thought you were a lawyer, Klara. Who has a monopoly on force within Sweden’s borders?’
‘The police,’ she says. ‘But is it really that simple?’
‘Is MUST the police?’ Bronzelius asks rhetorically.
‘They’re military, I suppose.’
‘Exactly,’ Bronzelius says. ‘They can think what they want, but what they’re up to is illegal. I’m with the police. It’s my duty to arrest them for kidnapping if that’s what they’re doing.’
There’s something reassuring about Bronzelius’s old-school attitude. She sees him hold up a hand and point to the closed-off area in front of them.
‘This is where government planes usually land,’ he says. ‘And they’re sending people to be tortured in dictatorships from here.’
He turns towards her. ‘But we’re fucking done with that.’
She nods calmly. ‘Yes, we are,’ she says.
*
She hears aircraft engines above the sirens. Through the windshield, she sees several armed guards in civilian clothing approaching the police cars and then being waved back to their car.
Bronzelius rolls down the window and holds up his badge. ‘We have a report of a kidnapping situation,’ he says briefly. ‘Open the gates.’
The guard barely looks at his badge, staring at Bronzelius with confused, icy blue eyes. ‘There is no kidnapping here,’ he says. ‘However, the security of this nation is depending on this operation. I can’t let you in, and I think you already know that.’
Without looking away from the guard, Bronzelius lifts his radio to his mouth. ‘Force the gate,’ he says. ‘Now.’
They drive forward so fast the guard is forced to jump aside. Klara sees other guards streaming in through the gate, uncertain what’s required here or permitted. They finger their weapons, but don’t raise them.
The doors to the hangar open, and several SWAT vehicles drive in at full speed and police officers jump out with automatic weapons. Armed men like the one at the gate, and with ski masks over their faces, look up in confusion, but in the end they lower their weapons and raise their hands.
The situation is confusing at first, a chaotic mix of flashing lights, cars, people with guns and a rumbling plane in the middle of it all.
Klara scans the hangar as she follows Bronzelius out of the car. A man in a black hood is lying on the floor. He was being guarded by two of the men in the hangar, but now there are two police officers at his side, and they’re waving over the EMTs.
She also sees Jacob lying on the floor with his hands bound behind his back, his face pressed into the concrete, and a police officer leaning over him.
‘Is there anyone here who considers themselves responsible for this goddamn circus?’ Bronzelius roars.
His voice manages to be heard even above the roar of the engines. Klara turns to him. He seems so unimaginably stable, almost like a father figure, in his leather jacket, his jeans, his sturdy boots.
‘Can somebody turn off that goddamn plane?’ he roars. ‘Now!’
It takes a moment, but soon the sound is muffled.
‘Again,’ he says. ‘Who the hell is in charge of what’s going on in here?’
A woman, just a few years older than Klara, with dark hair and eyes, takes a step forward and is restrained by the police. She looks furious, at her breaking point. ‘What in the hell is this?’ she yells. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’
Bronzelius walks over to her. ‘So you’re the one who’s responsible here?’ he asks. ‘Who are you, first of all?’
‘Myriam Awad,’ she seethes. ‘The Office for Special Acquisition. I suggest that you turn around and leave immediately.’
If it weren’t for the uniformed police officer standing between them, she would probably launch herself at Bronzelius. There’s no doubt that she would win that fight.
‘This is far above your skill set,’ she continues. ‘Calmly back away and call your boss. If you’re lucky, you might still be able to save your fucking mediocre career.’
Bronzelius looks at her curiously. ‘I’ll be damned,’ he says. ‘They’re just getting younger and younger.’ He turns to the police officer standing next to her. ‘Cuff them all and take them in.’
‘You’re gonna regret this,’ Myriam Awad fumes. ‘Of that I’m one hundred per cent sure.’
‘Without a doubt,’ Bronzelius sighs. ‘Without a doubt.’
One after another, the plainclothes agents are handcuffed and led to a police bus, which quietly drives away.
Klara looks around and sees Jacob standing up, but being held back by two police officers.
‘Where are you taking him?’ Jacob screams, pointing to Yassim. ‘He’s almost unconscious!’
Klara goes over to Jacob and puts a hand on his shoulder, but it’s pushed away by the police.
‘He’s wanted by the police, and he’s being arrested,’ the policeman says. ‘We have orders to take him to the detention centre.’
‘Klara,’ Jacob says desperately. ‘Where are they taking Yassim?’
She assumes Yassim must be the man in the black hood she saw being led into an ambulance.
‘He’ll receive medical attention,’ she says quietly, looking into Jacob’s eyes. ‘I’ll make sure of it, I promise.’
He looks at her with something wild and almost crazed in his eyes. ‘What’s going to happen to him?’
‘I don’t know, Jacob,’ she says. ‘I don’t know.’
The police push him into the back seat of a police car, and Klara turns around and scans the hangar. In all that chaos, she must have missed George. She finds Bronzelius among the uniformed police officers and approaches him.
‘Someone is missing,’ she says.
Bronzelius turns to her with a questioning expression.
‘George Lööw,’ she says.
Bronzelius sends away the transports full of the detained and gives instructions to keep them isolated until further notice. Then he turns to the twenty or so police still there.
‘We’re missing somebody,’ he says calmly. ‘Start looking.’
The police officers spread out across the hangar, starting to search everywhere, inside the airplane, the office, the storage room, the cleaning closet and toilets.
Finally, Klara is the one who finds him. She’s sitting in the back seat of one of the police cars with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. But she can’t sit still, so she gets up and goes out to the hangar floor to help out. When she peeks into the trunk of a parked, black Volvo she sees him.
‘Here!’ she shouts. ‘Here he is!’
Through the window, she can make out George rolled up in the foetal position on his back, the hat he bought at H&M in Malmö still pulled low on his forehead, down over his eyes. ‘George! George!’ she cries, pounding on the window.
And Bronzelius is beside her, holding her shoulders and pulling her away from the car. One of the police officers motions for an ambulance.
She hears the heavy car shatter on the concrete as the police beat their way in to George, then she sees only the blinking blue lights and the stretcher and feels arms around her, hears voices saying everything will work out okay, even though she knows that’s not true.
Nothing ever works out in the end.