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

The helicopter comes in low. The sound is deafening, but Sami experiences it as pure joy. Euphoria. The white machine seems to almost glide in above the treetops, toward where they’re standing.

Slowly, the pilot attempts to find the right position above the three lights. For a few seconds, the helicopter is completely still, hanging freely in the air, but then he lowers the machine to the ground. The wind makes the trees rustle and the bushes lie flat.

Sami and Ezra pull on their balaclavas.

Neither plans to let the pilot see their faces.

Jack Kluger lands, kills the engine and the rotor blades come to a halt. Maloof jumps out of the helicopter. He hugs Nordgren and Sami, but they don’t say much to one another. There’ll be time for that later.

Each of them is aware that the clock has started ticking. It’s not unlikely that someone has seen or heard the helicopter, either on the way down from Norrtälje or on a radar screen somewhere.

While Maloof, Nordgren and Ezra run into the woods to grab the equipment and load it on board, Jack Kluger moves around the helicopter, showing Sami the minimal storage space. There’ll barely be room for a single mailbag. They’ll have to use the main cabin instead.

Maloof and Nordgren fasten the ladders to the landing skids using cable ties. It’s much easier than they had thought it would be, the short ladder isn’t too short and the long ladder not too long. While they do that, Sami and Ezra load the rest of the gear into the cabin.

When the helicopter takes off a few minutes later, things are cramped. They plan to abandon a lot of what they brought with them in Västberga, leaving room for the bags of money.

Nordgren and Sami are in the seats behind Kluger and Maloof. The pounding inside the cabin is loud and rhythmic. It’s almost ten past five in the morning when they feel the power of the liftoff and the helicopter swings up into the air. The movement feels at once incredibly light and unbelievably heavy.

Kluger puts the machine into a sharp turn, and the dark contours of the woods by the university are heading straight toward them from one side until he straightens up again. Beneath their feet, the silent black expanse of Haga Park spreads out. To the north, Solna glitters like a small town, and to the south, the Wenner-Gren Center towers over the buildings around it, a reminder that Stockholm is a low-lying city. The red and white lights of the cars on Uppsalavägen are like drops of water rolling along a viaduct.

Sami, Maloof and Nordgren struggle into their bulletproof vests in silence, pulling on black plastic masks on top of their balaclavas. Before they climbed on board, both had taped up any openings in their clothes, around their gloves and shoes, to make sure they don’t leave any DNA behind.

Nordgren pulls on his cap. The equipment makes them less mobile, but they have no idea what might be awaiting them inside the building. The explosives are a risk. That’s the reason they’re wearing headlamps. If the electricity cuts out for any reason, they’ll need lights of their own to be able to move freely.

Kluger turns across the water. At high speed, and flying low, he follows the line of the highway south, past the Essinge Islands, where the beautiful houses are bathed in darkness at the top of the rocks, cars parked tightly along the narrow streets. The cloud cover breaks, the winds are strong at that height this morning. But lower down, it’s no more than a few miles per hour.

Nordgren checks the explosives, cables, batteries and soda cans in his backpack once more. He has the detonators in one of the pockets on his vest.

Sami checks his gun.

Maloof glances at his watch. They have plenty of time, the question is whether they’re moving too quickly. Will Zoran Petrovic make it? Should he ask him to send a text once he arrives, just to stay on the safe side? Maloof isn’t sure. And then his thoughts drift to Alexandra Svensson, who would be shocked if she could see him right now, in his black balaclava. He doesn’t feel guilty at not having told her everything about himself; leaving out certain details isn’t the same as lying. He has two different lives, and he wonders whether they could merge into one. Could Alexandra, he wonders as thin veils of cloud sweep by like anxious ghosts outside the helicopter, become a permanent part of his life? Could he imagine her sitting in the kitchen at his mom and dad’s house in Fittja, actually enjoying herself there? He hopes so. If everything goes to plan over the next hour or so, he’ll be able to be more open about himself in the future, once the money is clean and life is simpler. Maloof nods imperceptibly. That’s what he has been longing for, to make life more simple.

They float through the sky. From time to time, the helicopter lurches suddenly, and it comes as a surprise every time. An unexpected gust as they’re landing would flip this little steel bubble, Sami thinks. He knows it won’t happen, he’s gone through the statistics, flying a helicopter is relatively safe. But the sudden lurches mean he can’t relax; it feels as though they’re at the end of a rubber band that someone keeps erratically pulling on.

His thoughts turn to John, to how much he would be laughing through the pockets of air that occasionally make them bounce sideways.

Sami doesn’t fantasize about what will be awaiting them when they arrive. He knows what he has to do, from the second the helicopter lands on the roof in Västberga until the moment they climb into the cars that will take them away from Norsborg. His own run-throughs and preparations over the past week have been so frequent and intense that, in a way, it almost feels as though he has done this before, like the robbery has already taken place.

Instead, as he stares down at the lights on the highway, the headlights rushing toward Södertälje like a string of white pearls, his thoughts are on his two families; his parents and siblings, Karin and the boys. Deep down, he knows that he can’t win over both of them. What he will be able to tell his brothers tomorrow would win back their respect and recognition, but it’s also the very same thing that could cause Karin to pack up the kids and leave him.

It’s a catch-22. If he can never tell anyone where the money came from, then how will his brothers ever know that it was more than just words, more than empty promises? And if he tells the truth, if the rumors about who was responsible for this robbery spread across town, then how will he explain to Karin that he had no choice, for their sake?

The helicopter suddenly veers to the right, and Sami falls to one side. It’s the wake-up call he needs. He empties his mind. Ignore all that, all those thoughts and speculations. He’s here now, and it’s time to get to work.

5:02 a.m.

Zoran Petrovic veers off from the highway. He drives down the exit ramp at just over ninety miles an hour. In the rearview mirror, he can see that the police car has moved considerably closer. Petrovic turns off the radio and hears the police siren.

He doesn’t have a plan.

He’s improvising.

The exit takes him onto a small country road leading into a forest. He slams on the brakes just before he reaches a crossroads and throws himself out of the BMW. The police car is still several hundred feet away, and the sound of its sudden braking cuts through the darkness.

Petrovic runs around the car to the edge of the road. He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his trousers and drops them to the ground, along with his underwear. As the police pull up behind him, he squats down.

He’s not pretending. He loudly tries to take a real shit.

The police jump out of their car. One of them is holding a flashlight, and he shines it straight at the crouching Yugoslavian.