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

This book is a novel based on true events. The author has, in other words, taken the real, the documented, the observed and the recounted as a starting point, and let his imagination take over, fill in, expand.

Certain locations and names have been changed, certain situations have been added, while others have been taken away, and in such cases, any similarities with reality are coincidental.

Hunched over his walking stick, the old man came out of the woods. The road was nothing more than a couple of overgrown tire tracks. He was wearing a pair of black rubber boots bought at Coop Forum in Handen a few weeks earlier, and a dark brown raincoat from Tempo in Fältöversten.

He wasn’t much of a man for buying clothes, he never had been.

The ground was still free from snow, but the frost had the trees and bushes in its iron grip. It was a genuinely cold day at last, and perhaps the snow would arrive that evening.

In the icy woods, where the trees’ dark green needles were the brightest color in an otherwise grayish-brown palette, a black dog appeared up ahead of the man. A Labrador retriever. The dog studied its owner, lowered its nose to the ground and ran off. A few yards later, three more black dogs came running, all the same breed and size. They crossed the track and vanished into the bushes on the other side. The old man followed them. He could hear the rest of the pack behind him, three bitches and a male, wandering back and forth over frozen sprigs of blueberries and thickets of ferns.

They were on their way home.

The man lived in a dark red cottage just south of Landfjärden, roughly halfway between Nynäshamn and Stockholm. Through the thick forest outside his kitchen window, he could see over to the island of Muskö during the winter. It was only a few hundred yards from his gate to the water’s edge, and there were plenty of spots for his dogs to splash about during spring and summer. Labradors were a breed with webbed toes, after all, bred for retrieving things from the water.

The eight adult dogs lived with the man in the main cottage, and the two outhouses were for the litters of puppies. He had been breeding Labradors for almost twenty years, and preferred dogs to people. That was why he lived in the cottage in the woods. Since there was neither mains water nor reliable electricity in the area, he was left to his own devices. His neighbors kept their distance, the closest living in the urban development that started twelve or so miles to the south.

The man had gone to meet the buyers himself during the first few years, but he had always lost his temper when the fat old ladies asked whether the dogs needed a lot of exercise and when the spoiled young kids pulled on the puppies’ ears. And when he lost his temper, he had always raised his voice and slapped away the children’s snotty hands.

It had never been God’s plan for him to be a salesman. These days, he had help. People from other kennels displayed the puppies and young dogs for him, they even looked after the business side of things. And took all the credit, not that the old man cared.

When he returned home from his morning walk, it was just before nine. His cottage consisted of three rooms and one kitchen. Since the dogs always brought half the forest back into the house with them, and the old man had been having back trouble for the past few years, there wasn’t much point in cleaning. He didn’t let the dogs into the kitchen, meaning it was the only room that had some kind of order to it. He turned on the coffee machine.

He was expecting company.

He knew them well enough to be sure they would turn up when he asked them to come. He assumed they were afraid of him, and they wouldn’t be the only ones.

Sami Farhan was first to arrive.

The old man saw him approaching along the path from the main road. The bus from Västerhaninge to Nynäshamn stopped up on the 73, and the cottage wasn’t much more than ten minutes into the woods.

It had been years since Sami had last sparred in the ring, but he still moved like a boxer. Despite his big, heavy body, he was quick and light on his feet, and it took him less than a minute to make his way from the gate up to the house. He was wearing a short gray woolen coat that seemed better suited to the trendy Nytorget on a warm spring day, and he had white sneakers on his feet.

The man let him in. The eight black dogs were so excited by his unexpected visit that they came close to flooring the boxer. Since the man’s second guest clearly hadn’t been on the same bus, they would have to wait another thirty-five minutes. That was the amount of time between departures. The old man grabbed the key to the outhouse from a hook behind the door, and they went out into the yard together.

“How are your brothers, Sami?” the old man asked.

“Why?”

“I saw your older brother Ali a while ago, but it’s a long time since I saw the younger one, Adil, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s his name.”

“Everything OK with him?”

“You’ll have to invite him over and ask him yourself if you’re so interested.”

The man nodded and looked down at the ground. An amused smile played on his lips. Sami’s touchiness where his brothers were concerned was the same as ever.

In the yard between the two outhouses, the old man had a root cellar. It had been built during the fifties. Stone had been laid on stone in the old-fashioned way, and there was moss growing on the roof. After just a few decades, the building looked as old as the woods surrounding it.

Flanked by the eight dogs, the man and Sami stopped at the cellar to fetch food for the puppies. It was where he kept the dogs’ food, the paper towels and toilet paper, and everything else that wouldn’t fit into the larder in the main house. The cellar was much bigger than it looked, blasted into the rocks behind it.

At the very back, shrouded in darkness, the old man had fifty or so boxes stacked on top of one another. Each was filled with banknotes, sorted into plastic pouches. There were notes of all denominations, and the sum total exceeded 300 million kronor.

In all likelihood, the money was on the verge of rotting in the cool, damp cellar.

But the old man wasn’t worried about that. There wasn’t anything in particular he wanted to spend it on, after all.

He asked Sami to carry the dog food, and they went to feed the ever-hungry puppies in silence.

When they returned to the main house, the old man disappeared into his bedroom one floor up, and Sami sat in the kitchen, staring at the water running through the coffee filter for ten long minutes. He had always had trouble sitting still, and without even thinking about it, he impatiently began tapping his foot so vigorously that his entire leg shook. He stared out the window and eventually saw Michel Maloof approaching through the woods. Right then, he also heard footsteps on the stairs; the old man was on his way back down.

Michel Maloof was shorter than Sami. He walked with his shoulders gently hunched, though he also moved quickly and determinedly. He was wearing a pair of boots better suited to the forest, but it was obvious he was freezing. When the old man opened the door, Maloof’s face cracked into its characteristic grin, revealing two rows of teeth that shone bright against his well-groomed black beard.