The Chosen (22 page)

Eden looked pensive as she fiddled with her bracelets.

‘If you can’t get hold of him, you might just have to wait until he gets in touch with your former colleague at the Solomon Community,’ she said.

‘You could be right. I’d just like to find out if he’s conducting his own investigation running parallel to ours. And if so, is it on the instructions of his employer in
Israel?’

Eden looked dubious.

‘I find it very difficult to imagine that the Israeli authorities would have any interest in a case like this.’

She tilted her head on one side.

‘But I can ask around, if you like. What’s the name of this man?’

‘Efraim Kiel. Would you like me to spell it for you?’

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. But you didn’t answer my question: is he a suspect? Do you think he’s involved in the murders?’

Her face changed from open to closed so fast that Alex didn’t have time to react.

He needed to think.

Did he believe Kiel was involved?

No.

Besides which, he had an alibi for both murders; he had been at the community centre finishing off the appointment of Peder Rydh. Hadn’t he?

‘No,’ Alex said. ‘But as I said, we’d still like to speak to him.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

Alex felt a wave of relief.

Eden looked as if she was about to leave.

‘One more thing before you go,’ he said.

She waited patiently.

‘There are several loose ends in the case that all lead to Israel. Do you think it would be possible to set up some kind of collaboration with the local police if I sent over someone from
our team?’

‘That depends,’ Eden said. ‘Who were you thinking of sending?’

‘Fredrika Bergman. The thing is, her husband is going out there anyway on Sunday.’

A
t first she had thought he was joking, but apparently he wasn’t. Fredrika Bergman couldn’t believe her ears when Alex outlined his so-called plan. A plan that involved her
travelling to Israel to follow up on various leads over there.

If she wanted to. As Spencer was going anyway.

Otherwise Alex would go himself.

But there wasn’t much time if she was to leave on Sunday. It was only in films that the police hopped on a plane and started conducting an investigation in another country. In reality that
kind of thing was extremely rare, and it never happened without a preliminary discussion with the local police authorities. Alex didn’t really know how it worked.

A collaboration with the Israeli police.

Had they ever done anything like that before? Alex’s boss could recall a few occasions, but there were no established channels to fall back on. Eden Lundell had made it
very clear that she couldn’t provide any contacts in Israel, but she had promised to check out Efraim Kiel for them. Fredrika thought that sounded very useful.

But travelling to Israel with Spencer . . . How was she going to manage that, even if she wanted to?

‘You wouldn’t have to stay long,’ Alex had said. ‘Just a couple of days.’

‘I don’t see how I could do it,’ Fredrika had replied. ‘Who’d look after the children?’

Alex didn’t have an answer to that.

Nonetheless, Fredrika had called her parents as soon as she finished talking to Alex, just to ask if they could possibly have the children.

Her mother sounded worried.

‘But why do you have to go to Israel as well?’

‘It’s work, Mum. Otherwise of course I would have taken the kids.’

Spencer overheard the conversation, and was staring at her when she put down the phone.

‘Pardon me for asking,’ he said. ‘But am I to understand that you’re coming with me on Sunday?’

‘It looks that way. If Mum and Dad will have the kids.’

Spencer smiled, and she knew that he remembered too. The time they had gone to Israel together. Locked themselves in their hotel room and said that Spencer was too ill to attend some of his
conference sessions. When darkness fell they had crept out into the city, away from the prying eyes of his colleagues.

Those were the days.

The decision-making process would take care of itself. If the practical issues could be solved, she was prepared to go.

Her mother rang a little while later; they were happy to look after the children, who at that moment were whirling around the apartment like two small tornadoes, heartily sick of their
mother’s lack of attention. Spencer had spent a great deal of time alone with them over the past few days. She hoped they would be okay; she hardly ever went away and left them.

She grabbed her son as he shot past.

‘Yes, I am coming with you,’ she said firmly to Spencer, ‘but only for a couple of days.’

‘What will you be doing there?’

‘Working on the case. We can’t find all the answers we need here in Stockholm.’

Alex could sort out all the practicalities. It was Friday evening, the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath. On Saturday everything would be closed, and it would be impossible to get hold of anyone,
or at least anyone in authority. And then it would be Sunday, the day they were supposed to be travelling. Alex would have to get things moving so that Fredrika could set to work straight
away; she didn’t have time to sit around waiting when she got there.

With her son balanced on one hip, she made a start on dinner. Spencer worked beside her in silence, preparing a salad as she fried the meat. The potatoes were already in the oven, and the wine
was breathing.

Isak chortled as the meat began to sizzle. Fredrika kissed his forehead, thinking that he was like his daddy, and that he ought to be proud of that.

Thoughts of the investigation were threatening to overwhelm her. Alex had unrealistic expectations of what she was going to be able to achieve. He wanted a more detailed description of who
the Paper Boy was. Fredrika had searched online for the mysterious boy, but had found nothing. She had even asked Spencer, since he was a professor of literature, but he had had nothing to
contribute.

Alex also wanted to know more about why the Eisenberg and Goldmann families had left Israel. Success depended on whether Fredrika managed to track down any relatives, and she felt as if the project was doomed from the start. Why should they agree
to speak to her, even if she did find them?

The last thing Alex wanted her to follow up was the only one that seemed achievable: to visit the places from which the Lion had emailed, and to ask if she could look at any customer records
they might have.

If they could just find out who the Lion was, Fredrika thought they would have made significant progress.

W
hen he fired her, Eden Lundell’s British boss had mentioned what he regarded as her finest quality: an uncanny ability to spot connections that anyone else would have missed.

‘Don’t imagine that I believe for one second that you didn’t realise who Efraim Kiel was,’ he had roared, slamming his fist down on the desk. ‘You knew perfectly
well that you were fucking Mossad and taking a huge risk.’

He had been both right and wrong. Eden certainly had a unique talent when it came to drawing conclusions far beyond the obvious, but on one occasion it had let her down, and that was when she
embarked upon a relationship with Efraim Kiel. A man who was once again haunting her and turning her life upside down.

Eden was a gifted strategist, but she was also a very good poker player. She hadn’t even blinked when Alex mentioned Efraim Kiel’s name. He had unconsciously confirmed what she had
suspected – that there was a link between Efraim’s stay in Stockholm and the murders in the Solomon Community. Alex had said that he didn’t suspect Efraim, and nor did Eden. But
somehow Efraim knew more than seemed reasonable about what had happened, and Eden wanted to know how and why.

As expected, Mikael was furious when Eden walked in and announced that she was off to London the following morning.

‘
Tomorrow?
It’s the weekend, Eden. That means you spend time with your family; we do stuff together.’

Eden looked at her daughters, who were watching wide-eyed as their parents argued. They saw this kind of thing far too often, which wasn’t good. The knowledge that she was damaging them
was painful, and it made her feel sad. And exhausted.

It’s for your sake I’m doing this, she wanted to say.

Because as long as Efraim Kiel was on her mind, she would have no peace.

There were times when she wondered if she had been right to tell Mikael what had happened. It wasn’t the fact that she had told him per se; she had had no choice. However, she wasn’t
sure she had told him enough.

She had told Mikael only that she had met someone else. That it had to do with work, which was why they had to leave London.

She had admitted that she had fallen for this other man, started a relationship with him.

And ended it after a very short time.

Which wasn’t true. Her affair with Efraim had lasted, on and off, for two years, which told her two things she found very difficult to cope with: that she had really wanted him, and that
Mossad had really wanted her.

Two years was a long time to run a recruitment operation. They had got nothing from her. She had no idea how frustrated that made them, but she could hazard a guess.

Dani crept over to Eden and wrapped her arms around one leg. Eden stroked her curly hair, which had surprised so many members of both her family and Mikael’s. A trick of nature, Eden always said if anyone mentioned it.

‘Are you going away?’ Dani said.

‘I’ll be back on Sunday.’

‘Is that a long time?’

‘It’s hardly any time at all, sweetheart.’

Dani smiled. She was much easier to cheer up than Mikael; easier to talk round.

Eden freed herself from her daughter’s iron grip and went into the kitchen.

‘This is important, Mikael,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you any more than that, but I’m asking you to trust me. I wouldn’t do this if there was any
alternative.’

He stared at her, his eyes burning with anger. His hair was loose for once, long and dark, falling to his shoulders. His hair had been utterly fantastic when Eden first met him: a priest, over
six feet tall, with long hair and a beard. His confirmation students called him Jesus, which Eden thought was a very appropriate nickname.

‘Please, Mikael,’ she said, reaching out and placing a hand on his chest, pleading for understanding in a way that was unusual for her.

‘Is there really no one else who can go?’ he said.

He was beginning to crumble; he hated arguments.

‘Not on this particular trip, no. I’m the only one who can do what needs to be done.’

All of a sudden she felt fragile. She couldn’t cope with a row, not right now. It was too hard, too exhausting. What bothered her most was the fact that he was right, of course. It
wasn’t fair to mess up a weekend with a trip to London. So Eden did something that was even more rare than pleading. She offered a compromise.

‘I’ve been thinking about that holiday you mentioned. In March?’

A spark appeared in Mikael’s eyes, but was immediately extinguished by doubt. Justifiably so. She tried again.

‘You were right and I was wrong. If we settle on a date now, of course I can prioritise and book some time off.’

‘Seriously? You’ve thought about the holiday, and you can take some time off?’

The first part was a lie – she hadn’t thought about the holiday at all. But the second part was true; of course she could take some time off, if she wanted to.

‘Yep. Where would you like to go?’

Mikael didn’t react as she had expected at all. Instead he placed his big hands on her cheeks, and in his eyes she could see nothing but fear.

‘Eden, you have to tell me what’s happened.’

Shaken by his reaction, she backed away. He stepped forward.

‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing’s happened.’

That was one of the reasons why she was so keen to go. Because the fact that nothing had happened was not enough. It was equally important to ensure that nothing was going to happen.

She knew who she was going to see: a man who had been involved in the sensitive operation which MI5 must have carried out against her when they realised she was in an intimate relationship with
a Mossad agent. A man who had to tell her everything he knew, so that she would have sufficient knowledge to free herself from Efraim Kiel once and for all.

If she didn’t win this final battle against Efraim, she would pay the highest price of all.

T
he film was called
Katinka
’
s Party
; images of something that Efraim Kiel assumed was supposed to be a Swedish idyll flickered on the cinema screen. All the
actors were speaking Swedish. Efraim didn’t understand a word, which amused him.

He had made a point of leaving the hotel by the main entrance so that his Säpo shadows couldn’t possibly miss him. They had caught a tram to Sergels torg, then walked to
Hötorget. Efraim grinned to himself, wondering what the Swedish security service would make of the fact that he had gone to the cinema to watch a Swedish film.

He sank down in the soft seat and allowed his thoughts to run free. It was still early; he would call Peder Rydh as soon as the film was over. He wanted to know if anything new had come up;
something that might explain how that paper bag had turned up at the Solomon school.

He hadn’t received any more messages, but that gave him no peace of mind. There was something frantic about his pursuer, something that suggested a lack of patience, and for that reason
Efraim had been expecting further attempts to contact him. The silence frightened him. It would be unfortunate if this was the preliminary to an escalation; as long as Efraim didn’t know
who was after him, he was at a disadvantage. And that was never a good thing.

His superiors in Israel had raised no objections when he said he was staying on in Sweden for a few more days. Complications with the recruitment process, he had told them. Peder Rydh needed to
be supervised for a little while, assessed. They bought his explanation lock, stock and barrel back in Jerusalem; Efraim was a trusted colleague who was allowed to plan his own overseas trips as he
saw fit.