Jonas Bonnier - The Helicopter Heist - A Novel Based on True Events

Work at the loading docks often finished early in the afternoon ahead of the weekend, and the offices there were already empty. Thurn drove slowly past the deserted buildings and then slowed down further as she approached the G4S building at the corner of Vretensborgsvägen. Work there went on seven days a week, but even cash depots were quiet on Friday afternoons.

Thurn glanced out of the side window. The six-story building was like a fortress on the inside, and the cash depot’s vault was in a completely different league from the Panaxia safe in Bromma.

No, Thurn thought, it was reasonable to assume that this wasn’t the building the robbers were planning to attack. Besides, Thurn could practically see all the way to the police station on Västbergavägen. Given the choice, Panaxia was better in every respect.

She drove on.

Rather than doing a U-turn, she turned right at Vretensborgsvägen. She sped up and was just about to take another right onto Drivhjulsvägen, looping the block and continuing north, back toward the highway, when she glanced in her rearview mirror.

She slammed on the brakes.

It was sheer luck that there were no cars behind her.

From where she was sitting, she could see the G4S building from behind. It had to be built into a hillside, or at least a steep slope.

From this side, it looked like the building had four stories.

Hans Carlbrink, the head of the National Task Force, was the type of officer who made the general population hesitate before calling the police. His career path had been through the military, which was also where his references and attitude toward the world came from. His sense of discipline was stronger than his sense of justice, and if you wanted to emphasize his positive sides, you might say that he radiated some kind of equality. He was equally arrogant toward victims and perpetrators, civilians and police officers, men and women.

Caroline Thurn and Mats Berggren drove out to Solna, where Carlbrink’s men were stationed and the police helicopter was now safe behind walls and barbed wire. It was late in the afternoon on Saturday, September 12. Carlbrink gave the tall, fit Thurn an appreciative glance and then turned to Berggren and stared at his considerable stomach with a look of disgust. He showed his visitors into a windowless room to one side of the canteen, a room that gave Thurn the feeling that it was being used in an attempt to demonstrate how tough the conditions were for the Task Force.

“Three more days,” said Carlbrink.

They were in agreement that it was a frustrating and unusual experience to be counting down the days. The reason for not just bringing Petrovic in, thereby preventing the robbery, was that the information they had was already a month old. Plenty could have changed, and Thurn spared a thought for the technicians who spent all day, every day listening to the slippery Montenegrin refuse to give himself away. What exactly did they have on him?

All the same, Thurn couldn’t deny that the excitement rose with every day that passed. Her colleagues from National Crime nodded in understanding whenever they passed her office, and with just three days to go, all those involved could feel their hearts beating that little bit quicker. Even the minister for foreign affairs had been in touch for an update.

They sat down at a tired old conference table.

Thurn got straight to the point and explained what she had discovered the previous evening. That the G4S depot in Västberga was also, if you chose to look at it from a certain angle, a four-story building.

“But G4S isn’t planning a move on Tuesday,” Berggren butted in.

His usual whininess had increased in this new environment. He felt uncomfortable under Carlbrink’s elitist gaze, and he hated the uncertainty that Thurn had introduced into the equation.

“We don’t know that,” said Thurn. “I haven’t asked them.”

“Come on, it’d be pretty unlikely?”

Thurn agreed.

“My point is that we can’t rule out Västberga. And my question, Hans, is whether we should station some of your men out in Västberga and some out in Bromma?”

Carlbrink nodded. That was perfectly doable.

“I’ve heard there’ll be around twenty people?” he said.

“Involved in the preparations,” Thurn replied. “I doubt there’ll be twenty people there during the actual robbery.”

“It’s not a problem,” Carlbrink said, smiling as though he were eating something tasty. “Let them come. Twenty or thirty. We could probably handle it. My suggestion is that we make sure to have enough men and equipment to be able to take down a helicopter in both Västberga and Bromma. But that we leave the majority wherever you feel it’s more likely to happen.”

“Which is Bromma anyway, right Caroline?” asked Berggren.

Thurn looked unsure.

“If you’d asked me yesterday,” she said, “I would’ve been sure. But now I don’t know anymore.”

Niklas Nordgren was struggling to concentrate. He was sitting on the stool by his desk in the hobby room, and through the wall, he could hear the TV news from the living room. Rather than soldering the phone case in front of him, he was listening to the host’s serious voice reporting on the death of the American actor Patrick Swayze.

He wasn’t worried about Annika coming in and seeing what he was doing. The wall between their worlds, between a normal and a criminal life, may have been thin, but it was thick enough. Annika would never open the door to his hobby room without knocking first. And if her thoughts were elsewhere and she did happen to come in without warning, she wouldn’t understand what he was doing. She wouldn’t recognize the explosive putty he was pushing into the cell phones he was busy priming.

How many times had she threatened him? She would leave him the minute he broke their agreement. She had waited long enough, their relationship wouldn’t survive another stint in prison. Sometimes, he still got the feeling—and it happened increasingly often—that she was actually just looking for an excuse.

But it wasn’t the fear of her leaving him that was making it hard for Nordgren to concentrate that evening.

Eventually, he put down the soldering iron and unplugged it at the wall. He went over to the window. The light on top of the Kaknäs tower was blinking away on the other side of the water. He stood there, the dark night in front of him, and allowed himself to get lost in the moment.

From the minute the helicopter landed on the roof, no more than fifteen minutes could pass before it took off again. That was how long it would take for the G4S security staff to mobilize, for the police to organize themselves and make rational decisions.

Considering how close the police station was, he would have preferred it if they had been able to do it in ten minutes.

Getting out of the helicopter, smashing the skylight, putting the ladders into place and climbing into the building would take at least two to three minutes.

Breaking through the bulletproof glass would take two to three minutes.

Getting through the security door would take two to three minutes.

Filling the bags with money wouldn’t take any less than two to three minutes.

Hauling the bags of money back onto the roof wouldn’t take any less than two to three minutes.

And then their time would be up.

There was no room for error; they would have to work quickly and without any surprises. Their biggest problem would be if the staff in Counting caused any trouble. Obviously it would be best if the premises were emptied before the security door was blown open, but that type of thing was hard to take for granted.

If the staff were still inside when they made it in, their plans would fall apart. Gathering them together and making sure they stayed calm wouldn’t be a problem; Nordgren was sure of that, it wasn’t a risk. But it would take time.