Dear Anton,
I live in the southeastern part of the country, in Vahtseliina. You have to drive down to Tartu, after that continue along the road to Võru. My father doesn’t have much time left. This may be the very last opportunity for you to talk to him. He wants the truth to be known. I have made arrangements for you to meet a former member of the Estonia crew. He is a friend of our family who lives down here. He saw what happened!
Yours, Evy Ungerson
My telephone number is: + 372 3883345
Modin folded the letter. His heart thumped. He was closing in on the truth. He’d be speaking to a crew member! It had never before been possible to get hold of any of the crew members of the M/S Estonia. The earth seemed to have swallowed them up, or the sea, as if something or someone was preventing them from speaking their mind. Not a single interview had been published in the newspapers in all those years.
One of the few people who had made a statement was Andi Meister, who had been the Estonian Minister of Transport at the time as well as the head of the Estonian Shipwreck Commission. After his resignation in the late 1990s, he wrote a book about the disaster, calling it The Unfinished Logbook. The book dealt with the mysterious disappearance of crew members after being rescued. He did not have any concrete proof, but you could read his doubt between the lines. There were rumors that the Estonian secret police barred any statements on the matter. Why, Modin wondered, why aren’t they aloud to speak?
According to Evy’s letter, he would meet one of the crew members and hear what he had witnessed. He ordered a double whisky and a glass of white wine for Kim. He looked around to see if he recognized anyone.
Everything seemed calm. Yet he couldn’t shake the worry that someone had read the letter, which meant that someone knew where he was about to go. Was he in danger? And what about Evy Ungerson and her father?
Before he tackled the drink, he made a short call to Bergman and left a message.
“Bill, I’m traveling to Vahtseliina tomorrow. That’s in southeast Estonia. Going to meet an M/S Estonia witness. Look after yourself. See you.”
CHAPTER 56
ESTONIA, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 6
Modin stopped the car at a gas station at the edge of a field on a long stretch of deserted road in the middle of nowhere. A street sign told them that they were in the Võru Province. The gas station was new and seemed out of place.
They got out of the car. Modin followed Kim into the convenience store. He asked for directions to Vahtseliina and checked it on the map. Kim bought some lemonade and bottled water. Then she went to the bathroom.
They had been driving all morning, through Tartu, then further south. It was now one o’clock in the afternoon.
“You want something to eat?” Modin asked when she returned. “You look… well, a bit pale.”
She shook her head. He was hungry himself, and so he put a chocolate bar and a banana on the counter, paid with a few Euros, and left with Kim.
“Have you been here before?” Kim asked when they were back on the highway.
“No, but it does look familiar. Must be my imagination. We’re in the Petseri district right now. Half of Petseri is Russian now. But actually, the border is not officially recognized by Estonia. It’s a relic from the Cold War. One of the few things Russia and Estonia could not agree on. One of the other things is how the Russian minority in general would be treated in Estonia.”
“How do you mean?”
“Estonia refused to grant the Russians in the country the right to vote.”
“But isn’t that unjust?”
“Yes, very. But if all those Russians that moved to Estonia during Soviet rule were given the right to vote, Estonia would once again be risking its very sovereignty. That’s how things stand.”
“How do you mean?”
“If you count them all up, ethnic Russians comprise around 25 percent of the population in Estonia, which means that if they were to organize and form a Russian political party, Estonia would risk to fall to Moscow again.”
“I can see that,” Kim said. “But discriminating against 25 percent of the population isn’t right either.”
“There’s no easy solution to that problem. And it’s not an isolated problem, either. The Israelis, for example, cannot give the Palestinians the right to vote without risking Israel’s sovereignty. That is difficult for us Swedes to understand. All we’ve got is the Scanians in Skåne, who are really Danes. But centuries have passed since Sweden invaded the province, so it’s no longer a problem. For all intents and purposes, the Scanians have become Swedes, at least the vast majority of them.” Modin smiled and awaited Kim’s reaction.
“What a problem. The Russians in Estonia today cannot wait several centuries. They want their rights. Can’t Russians become Estonian citizens?”
“Yes, those who want to. All they have to do is learn the language and pass a test. Then they can apply for citizenship. But few of them do. Although, it’s a good life here in Estonia, better than in Russia, at any rate. The economy is growing, the country is independent and has joined the European Union. Most of them will end up adjusting to the status quo, I would imagine.”
“In a hundred years,” Kim said and smiled.
“We shall see.”
CHAPTER 57
Modin noticed a dark car in his rear view mirror. It had been following them since they left the gas station. He had tried slowing down but the car made no attempt to pass them. Modin didn’t want to pull over, because he did not want to reveal to anyone who might be following them that they had been detected. Was all this a set up to get him to Estonia? Was he supposed to be eliminated here, far away from his home?
Modin decided to ignore the car. I’m just being paranoid.
“Modin,” Kim said. He could see in the corner of his eye how she turned toward him. “I don’t quite understand why we are here in Paldiski.” She grabbed hold of his underarm, which was holding the gear stick.
“I just wanted to go back there,” Modin said, his eyes on the road. “That’s where everything started. And ended. At least for me.”
“That’s so cryptic. Come on, tell me.”
Modin focused on the white line along the middle of the road, then began to think aloud about the events of 1994.
“Sweden was smuggling weapons and other military equipment, helping NATO to drain the former Soviet Union of military technology. We were just a front.”
“We?”
“Special Ops. Military Intelligence. We were meant to get hold of things of value in exchange for NATO dollars. We did the dirty work as usual, and the Americans paid, also as usual.”
“Do you like chocolate?”
“It’s okay.”
“Then open wide. Were you here by yourself?”
“No, Jöran Järv, a colleague, and I were worked together. We had set up a consultants firm in Stockholm as a front. The head of the firm was an eccentric gentleman who lived in a manor. He had contacts at government level. In reality, we were working for Special Ops, and our real boss was Chris Loklinth.”
He passed a truck that was steaming like an old locomotive. He noticed the adverting billboards along the route, lots of them American. The almighty dollar still exerted its influence.
“Why did you do this? Modin. It’s a crime, isn’t it? To smuggle weapons without permit.”
“Yes, for fuck’s sake. Intelligence services the world over do illegal things, Kim,” he said while accepting the square of chocolate. “Smuggling arms from Russia is one of the biggest crimes against Swedish neutrality. And I was part of it.”
“And as a consequence a ferry had to sink?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember everything. It’s so blurry. But that’s why we’re here. We have to find the surviving members of the crew. They will know what happened on the ferry on that dark, stormy night. I need an answer, even if I was involved.”
“You were on that ferry, too, weren’t you?”
�
��Yes. I was asleep in my bunk. I was completely exhausted after several weeks of negotiating with the Russians. That drains your energy.” He glanced at the name on the steering wheel and the chocolate began to melt in his mouth. “I really don’t know what caused the ferry to sink, but I have a hunch that it has something to do with arms smuggling. There must be a link.”
“How much money are we talking about, Modin? I mean, the NATO money you and your colleague had brought along to purchase the Soviet equipment?”
“Around one million dollars. If you add everything up, the whole project involved tens of millions of U.S. dollars. The Department of Special Ops made a huge profit. Everyone involved was promised about ten million each.”
“And who was supposed to foot the bill? Special Ops? Quite good, this chocolate. Here, have the last bit.”
“Thank you. Not even Special Ops could cough up that amount of money. The money came from various weapons manufacturers, all coordinated by Defense Procurement. They, in turn, were given money by the CIA, in the form of false or rigged orders for material.”
“Makes your jaw drop, Modin. And there I was thinking that Jonas and I were the biggest thieves, when really, there’s one sitting right next to me,” she gestured theatrically at Modin, who winced. “An enemy of the people!”
“Oh stop it! It wasn’t the plan to transport the stuff on a passenger ferry. We originally used diplomatic transports via the Swedish Embassy in Moscow. But the Swedish Embassy was eventually threatened by the KGB and refused to cooperate. We had to find a new route out of the country. NATO arranged new contacts with the Estonian military brass.”
“And they thought transporting illegally purchased military equipment on a civilian passenger ferry was a good idea?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, you got your punishment,” Kim said, now looking agitated. “Sorry, Modin, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Modin stared straight ahead. Sure you did, he thought.
CHAPTER 58
They pushed on past Vahtseliina. Modin wanted to go further, right up to the Russian border. He turned on his cellphone to download Google Earth. He handed the phone to Kim and continued to travel along the road, now in a northeasterly direction. They were going toward Meremäe, a village about three miles from the Russian border. They then followed the border up to Vommorski.
Modin swung to the right and followed a winding road eastwards. The landscape consisted of snow-decked fields and the occasional gray log cabin. This was the real Estonian countryside.
Modin stopped the car near a cottage that stood in the middle of an open field.
“We’re very near now, Kim,” he said.
“Near to what? Russia?”
“My father’s farm. Where he was born. Where my grandmother died. It’s less than a mile away. Do you want to see it?”
He jumped back into the car, put it in drive, and the SUV rolled away. Modin whistled a tune.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you, searching for your roots?” Kim stroked his cheek.
“Well, yes. It’s like traveling in time. We are less than a mile from the enemy, and about the same distance from my cradle. This is me, Kim: a mixture of east and west. My father’s farm lies over there in Russia, near the town of Petseri, in the most Christian part of the Baltics: right-wing Christians, you could say, deeply religious orthodox farmers who belonged neither to Estonia or Russia. They were bilingual. It was almost the same as being Saami, a nature people. That’s what I am, Kim: Setumaa Kuningas.”
“What?”
“It’s Estonian and means ‘the King of Petseri’.”
They continued to drive east and came to a very long stretch of road, straight as an arrow. Where the pavement turned into gravel, they stopped at a parking lot. They got out of the car and Modin just stood there, gazing into the distance, eastward.
“Is this where it is?” Kim said.
“I think so. According to the map it is. I set the coordinates back at the hotel. It’s here. We are standing on my land. The land I inherited.”
Kim went over to a yellow sign that read: Russian border. No trespassing. She turned toward him with a sad look on her face. “Are all the farm buildings in Russia?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll never get them back. You won’t even be able to go and have a look, will you?”
“We can’t cross the border. If we do, the border guards will arrest us.”
Modin walked right up to the sign to the left of the road. The road continued over the fields, then vanished behind a hill. Along the middle of the field ran a barbed wire fence, which cut off not only the road, but the whole landscape as well. The fence was sturdy and high. No doubt, cameras were monitoring the entire area.
“They certainly seem keen on keeping people out of paradise,” Kim said.
“It’s like the Berlin Wall. That was supposedly built to protect the East Germans from West German refugees, when really it was built to keep the East Germans in. Talk about Cold War hysteria. This fence should be demolished, for everyone’s sake. Fuck them!”
“Come on, let’s go back. I just get sad here, Anton.”
She put her arm around Modin’s hips and leaned her head on his shoulder. It looked as if there were tears in her eyes.
“Back in Sweden, people take freedom for granted. As if it has always existed and always will. But this is reality. A divided world. A barbed wire fence, high as a three-story building, running straight through the middle of paradise, my paradise, or, at least, that of my family.”
He kicked a small rock. It flew a long way, before vanishing into a ditch at the side of the road.
“By the way, my uncle still lives on the other side of the border, over the hill. He married a Russian woman. My father told me shortly before he died. I didn’t even know I had an uncle.”
“Come on, Anton Modin, King of Setumaa, let’s go. You won’t find happiness here.”
CHAPTER 59
Modin drove back to the main road. He was heading for Jeedasküla and was sure of the point of the compass.
At a blue road sign announcing Vahtseliina, he slowed down, crossed a river, and entered a small village that strongly reminded him of the 1950s. He stopped at a crossroads and asked a little girl who was sitting on her red bicycle at the side of the road. Modin was told that Jeedasküla, where Evy Ungerson lived, was just down the road.
They drove off. Modin didn’t dare use his cellphone or GPS, now that they were so close to their destination. If the Estonian military managed to trace his prepaid subscription, they would find out where he was going.
A worn hand-made sign pointed to the right. Modin turned into a gravel track that lead to a farm, one of the largest they had seen along the road. He stopped his SUV and turned off the engine.
When he opened the door, he caught a whiff of smoke from a wood stove. That was a pleasant smell he associated with cold weather and the countryside. There was more snow here than in northern Estonia; the whole yard was covered by at least one foot. It was a few degrees below freezing and he pulled up the hood of his jacket against the cold.
The main building lay straight ahead. He gave Kim a sign to accompany him as he walked up to the door. He saw a yellow pee hole in the snow—in these parts, people peed outdoors, even in the winter. Or was it the dog?
The snow near the steps was partly covered in straw. It was slippery and easy to trip and fall.
An old man looked out through a gauze drape. A woman in her forties opened the door. She had a modern hairdo, was tall and blond, and her eyes were enlarged by her Coke bottle thick round glasses.
“Tere, Anton Modin,” she greeted him in Estonian as her serious eyes gazed at the couple. She stepped aside and gestured them to enter.
Modin bowed his head and stepped inside. He greeted the woman, as did Kim. The woman introduced herself as Evy Ungerson and took their jackets.
The man Modin had seen through the window was older and graye
r than he had imagined and sat in a wheelchair. Modin assumed he was the man who had worked for the Estonian Foreign Ministry.
Modin nodded to the old man, whose face was rigid from a stroke. His mouth was half-open, emitting a feeble hissing sound. But his eyes were lively and the crease between them made him resemble a hawk.
Evy wheeled him to a wooden table with a surface that had been worn smooth, and gestured for Modin to sit down, too. Then she went to the kitchen and returned almost immediately with a tray stacked with cookies, bread rolls, and empty coffee cups on small saucers decorated with flowers. Kim sat down next to Modin and pulled in her feet under the chair. She took his hand.
Evy put a cup in front of the man in the wheelchair and stroked his sleeve. She seemed to be consoling him.
“This is my father, Evald,” she said. “He understands English, but you’ll have to speak loudly.”
Modin moved his chair closer. He was just about to say something to the man, when another tall gentleman, this one roughly Modin’s age, emerged through the kitchen door. He was wearing a worn-out white shirt, cotton pants, and soft shoes.
“This is Adam Alarik,” Evy said. “He was one of the sailors on board the ferry the night it sank. Sit down, Adam.”
Adam looked at Modin, then at Kim. He seemed to be suspiciously passive and took his time fetching a chair. He wanted to tell his story, and that is why he was there, but he started by asking them about the journey to the farm.
Modin returned the small talk and politely asked a few questions about the house, how long they had lived there, and other trivial things without really getting a handle on the two; the old man in the wheelchair, who said nothing, and Adam, the former sailor on the M/S Estonia. Were they connected? How?
Adam was a little over forty, had long hair, and exuded a strange vibe. A bit of a hippie, maybe a drug addict or alcoholic, Modin thought. Something about this didn’t seem entirely convincing.
Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3) Page 16
