“So it was Yeltsin who freed Estonia?”
“Yes, Yeltsin,” Modin answered. “They celebrated afterwards by sharing a bottle of Absolut Swedish vodka.” Modin glanced over his shoulder again. “Come on, let’s go upstairs, and change.” He looked at Kim, then glanced deep into his glass and said: “We have to get going.”
Then he emptied his glass.
CHAPTER 50
The trip took them southwest against a shiny orange sky. It was cold. Hoar frost covered plants and the rusty street signs along the side of the road. The meadows, fields, and the trees that lined most of the route, were partly covered in snow. They passed few cars, either old clunkers or brand new luxury cars. Modin steered the 4x4 westwards on Highway 8, the main road out of Tallinn.
“Where are we headed? To the end of the world?”
“Yes, by and large.”
He laughed as he overtook a pinkish moped driven by an old woman in a fur coat. She wobbled slightly, but managed to stay on the shoulder.
“The old Soviet marine base at Paldiski,” he said. “It’s about twenty-five miles southwest of Tallinn.”
“Tell me about Paldiski, Modin.”
“During the Cold War, it was a restricted area. When the Soviets built the base in the 1960s, the locals, farmers and fishermen mostly, were given two weeks to evacuate their village. If they stayed behind, they would have to stay forever. The village was to be sealed off from the outside world and used only for military purposes—that’s how important the place was to the Soviet defense forces. The area was isolated—perfect for them to blast their secret underground submarine harbor out of the rocks. They built a key submarine training facility in the vicinity, too. Future submarine officers and crew could practice on how to run a submarine containing a nuclear reactor.”
Nuclear Submarine Training Center, Paldiski Estonia. Foto Sludge G.
“Is this where all those mini submarines were kept?”
“That’s right. Some in Paldiski, here in Estonia, some in Lithuania, and some in Kaliningrad. The official Soviet naval bases were in Kronstadt, outside Saint Petersburg, and in Baltiysk, a town in near Kaliningrad. NATO knew all about these bases, and so they shuffled equipment for defensive purposes. That is how some of the equipment ended up in Paldiski. Paldiski is not far from Swedish territorial waters. The Stockholm archipelago is basically just over the horizon.”
Modin pointed toward the darkish gray sea that had become visible through the trees. Here the sea had white geese, but was as cold as death. It was just the place where, a few years earlier, the World War III could have started.
• • •
A few hours later, they arrived in Paldiski. Seemingly abandoned residences, seeming stood far apart on both sides of the road. Gray, crumbling concrete walls were covered in obscene graffiti. He saw the word “fuck” on the front of one apartment block. And that was mild.
It was getting dark, and a slight veil of mist concealed the landscape. It seemed as if they had been transported back to the Cold War. Even if there were plans to renovate the buildings in the area that were made uninhabitable by seeping radioactive radon gas from the rocks below, construction had not yet reached this far out from the capital. Here, time had stood still.
When they finally entered the small town itself, they passed a long building in the shape of a submarine on their right. It was some hundred yards long, with a raised part in the middle, resembling the conning tower of a submarine.
That must have been the submarine training school, Modin thought.
In front of the building, they passed a dark Volvo. Modin thought he saw someone sitting in the car.
“That was where the nuclear submarine crews lived, Kim.”
“I didn’t know there had ever been nuclear submarines in the Baltic Sea.”
“There were a number of Golf-II class submarines out here in the 1980s. Paldiski housed the most modern submarine simulator in the Soviet Navy. There were, in fact, two simulators; one old and the other brand new. The simulator from the 1980s was used to train crews for Delta subs, even Typhoon class subs. They are used to this day.”
“Sounds top secret to me,” Kim said. She was beginning to show a serious interest. She wriggled and writhed in her seat, trying to catch a glimpse of every vehicle they passed.
“It was. Highly classified and dangerous as well,” Modin said. “You have to imagine that these were new, undisciplined crew members who were going to be trained to run a potentially lethal nuclear reactor, the kind used to propel a submarine without a sound and indefinitely. Accidents could happen easily.”
“So, where did the reactor end up once the Russians left Paldiski?”
“That is a good question. That is precisely why I was over here in 1994. The reactor were among the items on Special Op’s wishlist, and Special Ops, my employer back then, had sent me over to buy it. But I don’t remember buying any reactor. So, now I am back to find out if someone else did, and if a nuclear reactor may have been onboard that night the M/S Estonia sank?”
Modin focused on the road, as if he had already said too much.
“What was Special Ops going to do with a nuclear reactor?”
“We hardly needed it, but NATO and the U.S. Navy were very interested. The Delta’s two reactors, similar to those on the Typhoon class of subs, were as good as silent. So silent, in fact, that you couldn’t pick them up as they passed, not even with high end equipment. At the time, they were the world’s most silent submarines. NATO wanted to identify signals that would lead to recognition, so they could examine them like fingerprints—fingerprints of sound. All you can hear from a modern submarine is the reactor in action, unless, that is, someone farts. Do you follow?”
Nuclear reactor OK-650 in Typhoon Class submarines.
“I’m not sure.”
“Every type of submarine has a unique sound profile that makes up the acoustic signature and most of that signature comes from the nuclear reactor onboard.”
“Did they get that far? With the fingerprints, I mean?”
“Don’t know, though I doubt it. That is one of the unsolved mysteries of the cargo being transported on the M/S Estonia. Did the reactor come to the U. S. or is it still on the bottom?”
CHAPTER 51
STOCKHOLM, TUESDAY, JANUARY 5
Bill Bergman, wait please!”
Bergman turned around, his eyes scouting the area along the pavement of the busy Götgatan main road in the southern district, but he just couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from.
He was on his way to a toy store on the hill on Götgatan to exchange a Christmas present. His daughter Astrid had ended up with two identical computer games.
“Over here, Bergman, over here! “ A round head stuck out of a car window.
“I want to talk to you,” the voice said. “It’s about your friend Anton Modin.”
Bergman cautiously walked up to the red Saab 9-5.
“Jump in, I work at Headquarters.” The round head flashed an ID card.
Bergman now recognized the man and jumped into the back seat. The car roared away, tires screeching. They drove toward the Stockholm City, following a smoothly advancing line of traffic.
“Bergman, my name’s Chris Larson.”
Bergman ignored the fact that Loklinth was lying through his teeth about his real name. He recognized him from the blowjob video he himself had shot near the ski jump at Fiskartorpet two years earlier, the summer when he and Modin were diving for the submarine. He had not forgotten the head, round as a soccer ball, with the eyes of a snake. Chris Loklinth was Modin’s Enemy Number One. And therefore Bergman’s too.
“What do you want?” Bergman looked at the driver, a fair-haired, military guy in his forties.
“Your friend Modin has left the country. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”
Loklinth was speaking as if to a child, and this irritated Bergman.
“I didn’t know that he’d traveled abroad
. I thought he was in Grisslehamn.”
“No, he isn’t. He has traveled over to Tallinn with some luxury escort, I would imagine.”
“Well, then you know more than I do. What is it you want?”
“Well, what are Modin and his bimbo doing over there?”
“Are you referring to Mrs. Zetterman,” Bergman said, looking out at the steamers lined up at the quay at Nybroviken.
“That is exactly who I am referring to. An upscale whore, Zetterman’s slut, and now his widow.” Loklinth was hissing uncontrollably and wiped the spit from his mouth onto the sleeve of his coat.
“Would you be so kind as to drive me back. I know nothing at all about this.”
“Are you absolutely sure, my friend?”
“Let me think… Do I want to rat out my friend to you? No, I don’t?” Bergman realized he did not sound as convincing as he had thought. The situation was deteriorating rapidly.
Where were they headed? They swung to the right, toward the Gröna Lund amusement park.
“We do, of course, know that you had visitors on Christmas Eve. And very prominent visitors to boot.”
Bergman swallowed. He felt his face flushing, but decided to maintain his cool, the mask of indifference. How much did they know? He began to worry about his daughter. Her toys, for fuck’s sake!
“We know everything, and would strongly advise you not to try to pull wool over our eyes.”
The car had reached the Beckholmen islet and they swung into the old dry dock Gustav V.
The car came to a halt just by the stone pier facing the Stadsgården part of the city.
“It was here that Anton Modin drove over the edge, Bergman. It must have been a very chilly experience,” Loklinth said and flapped his arms to warm himself up. “Besides, Bergman, diving is a cold pastime in winter, and a dangerous one. One small slip and you die. You might get caught in the wreck, or you might not find your way back to the diving platform. Lots of things can go wrong.”
Bergman did not reply. He looked away and toward the amusement park. He could see the top of the Free Fall.
“Let me take you back now, Bill Bergman, before your daughter and wife will start missing you. Astrid has really grown big, and beautiful. Is it Högalid School she attends?”
“Leave my family out of this! They have nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with what?” Loklinth said and sounded like big daddy again. “Tell me what they don’t have anything to do with.” He scratched the side of his ball-shaped head with his finger.
It was so round that it positively irritated Bergman.
“Fuck off. I didn’t know that Modin was in Tallinn.”
The driver started the car and they rolled slowly across the gravel toward the main island of Djurgården. Bergman looked over his shoulder at where Modin had run over the edge just over a year ago, or, to be more exact, had been pushed over the edge by Loklinth’s cohorts. He shivered at the thought and realized he needed to pee.
Loklinth won’t give up until Modin is dead, Bergman thought.
CHAPTER 52
PALDISKI, TUESDAY, JANUARY 5
“On September 20, 1994, Russian specialists started to dismantle the second submarine reactor in the Paldiski submarine training facility. On September 27, the same day the M/S Estonia started on its last voyage, the radioactive material from the reactor was loaded on board in railroad cars.”
(The Hole, Drew Watson, page 195)
Modin stopped the car on the crest of the hill and turned off the engine. The V8 sighed, then fell silent. They sat there listening for a while. The sea could be heard faintly through the metal bodywork of the vehicle. Modin was in the best of moods. He was back in Paldiski where everything had begun, and he had company. Kim’s presence was comforting and secure. He had always preferred to be alone, but it felt completely natural to have Kim by his side. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Long hair, high cheekbones, a straight nose. Her beauty was in stark contrast to the gloomy naval base. Kim radiated warmth in these cold, dark surroundings. She was no real substitute for his family, but she filled part of the void. No doubt about that. He had moved on. A little.
He opened the car door, stepped out onto the wet gravel, and felt the cold wind. He turned his face into the wind, opened his mouth, and breathed in the fresh air. It felt good. Kim stayed in the car.
Modin walked toward the water’s edge. He picked up a pebble; it was covered in ice. Here, only a few miles from Tallinn, lay the solution to the mystery of the M/S Estonia. He looked south along the line of rocks. The submarine pier sat in semi-darkness. That is where the crews would disembark during the cold war, Modin thought. They had no idea where they were. They had embarked in Leningrad and had traveled by submarine out to Paldiski along the coast in the greatest of secrecy, far away from home, and quite involuntarily. They would be taken to the submarine training facility and the simulator, where they would conduct their training as Cold War knights, the soldiers who would determine who would win the war. The more skillful and brave they became, the greater the possibility that the Soviet nation, including the Balts, would survive if the Cold War should heat up and turn into outright battle. Even Modin was aware that, if NATO had won the battle in the 1980s, the Balts would have lost. They would have died or been affected by radiation sickness from nuclear weapons deployed by NATO. His grandmother and his cousins would have been bombed to smithereens and he would have taken part in this inferno, even if only as a secret soldier.
Modin felt his memory slowly returning.
• • •
Paldiski, 1994: His family sat in the car. He was busy negotiating with Russian military intelligence officers from the GRU and the commander of the Paldiski region.
“You will get big money for a big secret,” Modin said as he offered American dollars in exchange for the secret nuclear reactor. “Very big money! You can have a new life in Russia. A good life.”
Was this his memory or his imagination? He was able to see it, clearer and clearer in his mind, and for the first time in years. He was holding a plastic grocery bag full of banknotes. One hundred thousand dollars for the most secret item the Soviet Navy happened to possess, a submarine reactor for the Typhoon and Delta-class vessels. It felt liberating to go through the events in his memory. Was I involved in all this?
The Russians had seemed excited at the prospect. They saw their future guaranteed by dollars. With American, money they could stay in Estonia or move to the West. The time of the noble knights of the sea was over, and a long period of peace was waiting to receive them. This was their last opportunity to benefit from their lifelong career in the Soviet Navy. If they didn’t sell the reactor, someone else would. The Soviet Union was in free fall, and this was a serious business prospect. Sweden and the U.S. were friends; at least that is how it felt on that night in the fall of 1994 when the deal was struck.
CHAPTER 53
Modin, where are you?” Kim came shuffling down the slope. “A car is approaching. I’m scared.”
“Where?”
“Over there.” She pointed landwards. She was shaking slightly and he took her in his arms. “Come on. Time to drive back to the hotel. It’s nasty out here.”
He took her hand and led her up the slope.
When they arrived at the top, panting, he too saw the car. It was that same dark Volvo he’d seen earlier.
• • •
Chris Loklinth dropped off Bergman on Götgatan Street in the southern district of Stockholm.
Bergman put on his cap. He was freezing and had forgotten the errand he was going to run. He walked home.
Modin was in danger. He could sense it. He pulled out his cellphone. Bergman was sure that Modin would not be using his usual cell, but some prepaid card or other with mobile access from which he would pick up e-mails and GPS maps. He always carried it with him on secret missions. Therefore he looked for Modin’s Skype number. He would try to call Modin via the Internet.
<
br /> Was it too late to warn him?
CHAPTER 54
They jumped into the car and locked the doors, Modin was about to start the car when his cell phone buzzed. He removed his gloves and pulled the phone out of his inside pocket. He saw it was Bergman’s number.
“Modin, where are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. What do you want?”
“I’ve run into Loklinth. They believe you’re in Tallinn. Are you?”
“Is that what he said?”
“Yes, and he threatened me. He took me out to Beckholmen, the site of your accident last year, and outright threatened me. Us, actually. Mentioned how dangerous a dive could be. You’ve got to be careful. Are you alone?”
“Yes,” Modin lied, and saw that Kim was leaning her head back on the neckrest.
“I think you better come home. It’s not worth the risk. Anything can happen to you in Estonia. They can get to you if you are too curious.”
Modin ended the conversation and started the engine. He put it in drive and rolled slowly toward the road. The dark blue car had vanished.
“Who was that?” Kim asked.
“A friend of mine, Bill Bergman. My best friend, in fact. You’ll meet him one day.”
Modin did not mention the warning he had just received and the fact that Special Ops knew that he was in Estonia. He didn’t want to worry Kim. She seemed stressed as it was—she was quieter than usual and kept pulling at a finger so her joints cracked. He hadn’t noticed her doing that before.
He saw the submarine simulator building flash by, now on their left. He was looking forward to a large cold whiskey in the hotel bar.
Fuck Loklinth. He is a smart guy. I will have to adjust to the fact, or solve the problem in some other way.
CHAPTER 55
TALLINN, TUESDAY, JANUARY 5
A letter was waiting for him at reception.
Modin accepted it and went to the hotel bar to read it. The letter looked rather thumbed, as if someone had opened it, then resealed it again.
Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3) Page 15
