The Rabbit Hunter

On a grey autumn day in 2003, then Foreign Minister Anna Lindh was out shopping with a friend when she was attacked by a man who stabbed her in the arms and chest.

The Foreign Minister had no bodyguard with her, no personal protection. She was badly wounded and died in the operating room.

Sweden was different back then. It was a country where politicians still believed they had the right to proclaim socialist ideals of international decency.

‘The woman who was being used by the Foreign Minister,’ Saga goes on, looking the Prime Minister in the eye. ‘She heard a fragment of conversation which leads us to believe that this is the first in a number of planned murders.’

‘Murders? What sort of damn murders?’ the Prime Minister asks, raising his voice.

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The Prime Minister’s Volvo rolls across Djurgårdsbrunn’s narrow stone bridge, then turns left alongside the canal. The grit on the road crunches beneath the tyres. Two ducks wade into the water and swim away from the shore.

‘The killer mentioned Ratjen as some sort of key figure,’ Verner says.

‘Ratjen?’ the Prime Minister repeats questioningly.

‘We believe we might have identified him. His name is Salim Ratjen, and he’s serving a long prison sentence for narcotics offences,’ Saga explains, leaning forward to free her damp back from her leather bodysuit.

‘We see strong links between last night’s events and a Sheikh Ayad al-Jahiz, who leads a terrorist group in Syria,’ Verner adds.

‘These are the only images we have of Ayad al-Jahiz,’ Saga says, holding up her phone.

A short film clip shows a man with a pleasant, mature face. He has a grey-flecked beard and glasses. He is looking into the camera as he speaks. It sounds like he’s addressing a group of attentive schoolchildren.

‘He has drops of blood on his glasses,’ the Prime Minister whispers.

Sheikh Ayad al-Jahiz concludes his short speech and throws his arms out in a benevolent gesture.

‘What was he saying?’

‘He said … “We have dragged unbelievers behind trucks and troop carriers until the ropes came loose … Our task now is to find the leaders who support the bombing and shoot them until their faces are gone”,’ Saga replies.

The Prime Minister’s hand is shaking as he wipes his mouth.

They drive across another bridge and up towards the marina.

‘The security service at Hall Prison recorded a call that Salim Ratjen made to an unregistered mobile phone,’ Verner says. ‘They discuss three big celebrations in Arabic. The first party coincides with the date the Foreign Minister was killed … the second is supposed to take place on Wednesday, and the third on October seventh.’

‘Dear God,’ the Prime Minister mutters.

‘We have four days,’ Verner says.

Branches brush the roof of the car as they turn abruptly and start to head back towards the Kaknäs Tower.

‘Why the hell weren’t you keeping this Ratjen under closer surveillance?’ the Prime Minister asks, pulling a paper napkin from the box in the car door.

‘He has no previous connections to any terrorist networks,’ Verner replies.

‘So he was radicalised in prison,’ the Prime Minister says, wiping his neck.

‘That’s what we believe.’

The rain is getting heavier and the driver turns on the windshield-wipers. The blades sweep the tiny droplets from the glass.

‘And you think that I might be … one of these celebrations?’

‘We have to consider that possibility,’ Saga replies.

‘So you’re sitting here telling me that someone might murder me on Wednesday,’ the Prime Minister says, unable to conceal his agitation.

‘We need to get Ratjen to talk … we need to know what his plans are before it’s too late,’ Verner replies.

‘So what the hell are you waiting for?’

‘We don’t believe Salim Ratjen can be questioned in a conventional way,’ Saga tries to explain. ‘He didn’t respond when he was questioned five years ago, and didn’t say a single word during his trial.’

‘You have ways and means – don’t you?’

‘Breaking someone down can take many months,’ she replies.

‘I have a fairly important job,’ the Prime Minister says as he scrunches up the napkin. ‘I’m married, I have two children, and …’

‘We’re very sorry about this,’ Verner says.

‘This is the first time you’ve really been needed – so don’t tell me there’s nothing you can do.’

‘Ask me what we should do,’ Saga says.

The Prime Minister looks at her in surprise, then loosens his tie slightly.

‘What should we do?’ he repeats.

‘Tell the driver to stop the car and get out.’

They’ve reached Loudden, and the gloomy oil depot. The long spine of the pier is almost invisible in the grey rain.

Although the Prime Minister still looks uncertain, he leans forward and talks to the driver.

It’s raining harder, a chill rain that splashes the puddles. The Security Police driver stops right in front of one of the oil tanks.

The driver gets out and stands a couple of metres from the car. The rain darkens his pale beige uniform jacket in a matter of seconds.

‘So what should we do?’ the Prime Minister asks once more, looking at Saga.

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Work is over for the day in Unit T of the high-security prison at Kumla, and fifteen inmates are jostling for space in the cramped gym.