“He’s talented,” Kim said. “In many ways. But also primitive.” She ran her hand through her hair at the same time as fixing her gaze on the white surface of the road disappearing under the nose of the car. They passed Farsta, a suburb south of Stockholm.
“I really have a lot of feelings for him,” Kim said. “We’d make a good couple. Could run a hotel and serve the Åland island ferry passengers. You two could go diving as much as you want and be able to get the best equipment that money can buy.”
“Nice that you can see a future with Modin,” Bergman said. “I hope the day comes when he realizes that.”
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER 108
MUSKÖ ISLAND, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9
We’ve had kind of an incident,” Jöran said as Kim and Bergman appeared in the doorway. “But it’s not as bad as it looks.”
There were long streaks of blood in the cottage. Jöran was standing by the kitchen counter preparing food. Modin was lying on the couch, one arm folded over his face.
“Is Loklinth…”
“He’s been mutilated. He’s in the dungeon, fast asleep, been administered antibiotics, and a sleeping pill. He’ll survive.”
“And Modin?” Kim said glancing over at him with a look that showed both fear and concern.
“He should be satisfied,” Jöran said. “It’s a long time since I’ve seen anyone take it out worse on his former boss.”
“Modin is insane,” Bergman said. “We could be sent to hell for this. What are we going to do with Loklinth?”
“He’ll have to stay here, in case we need a hostage later in this exchange. I’m sticking with Modin. He thinks he knows what he’s doing. He says this is the only type of language that works with Special Ops: the hard line.”
“Very unpleasant situation,” Bergman said. “The cavalry could be here at any time.”
“Yes, maybe even tonight. Come and sit down at the table. Food’s ready.”
Jöran served up coarse-grained isterband sausage with boiled potatoes and beetroot. They all had water, except for Modin who went and grabbed a premium lager. He was still wearing clothes that were covered in blood: jeans and a white, now blood-streaked T-shirt.
“Did you buy the newspapers?” he said as he sat down.
“They’re on the table,” Bergman said. “There’s a little about the kidnapping, but most of it is crap, as usual.”
Modin grabbed the two tabloids and began to browse through one of them.
Two people found dead in Djursholm this morning. The tenant of the property has vanished. The deceased were Estonian citizens. Police assume that drug cartels are involved.
He put the newspaper away and cut into his sausage. They ate in silence.
“We have to make a move tonight,” Jöran Järv said, pushing away his plate. “Did you get any information about the transport?”
“We’re supposed to text a code,” Bergman said. “They’ll come pick us up. Are we ready?”
“We must be ready,” Jöran said. “We have no other choice at this point. I suggest we start packing the diving equipment when we’ve finished eating and then fill the air tanks. We can do that down in the basement.
“What are we going to do with Kim?” Modin said.
“I’m staying here,” Kim said with an accusatory expression. “I can look after the man you mutilated. He seems to need it.”
“The question is whether you are safe here?”
“Yes, I am. They won’t touch me. I promise. I have more powerful friends than Loklinth and they need me and my business.”
“You do, don’t you.” Modin cast a quick glance at Kim.
He did everything to avoid her.
“Why did you do it?” she said.
“It felt right. I should have killed the bastard. He deserves it.”
“So you’re satisfied?” Kim continued eating.
“I had to know… About the M/S Estonia, her cargo, and why my family was sacrificed for national security. I have my answers and that feels good.”
She looked down at the table while still chewing. However reluctantly, she agreed with him. Loklinth had sacrificed Modin’s family by allowing dangerous cargo on a passenger ferry. He should be punished for that. In a court of law. The fact that he had a point didn’t make Modin any less insane!
CHAPTER 109
STOCKHOLM, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9
Bob Lundin turned off the road from Lidingö toward the athletics stadium in Östermalm, then drove on to Special Ops Headquarters and parked outside the main entrance. He’d been driving from his home in Vaxholm, some 25 miles north of Stockholm City, and was going to meet the Muskö Task Force, as they had code-names the operation, at ten o’clock. He still had a few minutes to spare, so he leaned back, his head on the headrest, and tried to relax and collect his thoughts.
He had put on his field uniform, dark blue pants and a sweater with epaulets, which showed his rank of captain in the Swedish Navy. Lundin had been a skipper in the commandoes and then served for a number of years on the HMS Arholma, the midget minesweeper that was often used by military intelligence. The Arholma had been used during the operation to salvage the DC-3 and the Special Ops dive to the M/S Estonia. Lundin had the background, knowledge, and experience that made him indispensible to Special Ops. He knew too much, even though he was not yet forty years old. It was like a retirement fund. Agents in the field could leave the organization, but if you were one of the leaders at Headquarters, you were entangled in the web of Special Ops for the rest of your life.
He stepped out of his car and went in through the glass doors. He showed his ID to the guard who looked like a teenager, then took the elevator to the fifth floor. He reached another reception desk and was required to show his ID again. The rules had been tightened these last few years.
Ten men were waiting in the rectangular meeting room facing the barracks outside, ready for their orders. Six of them were from the Special Forces Team at Karlsborg, long distance paratroopers, as he could see from the golden eagles on their uniforms. The other four came from the Security Service Special Team SSA. Among them was Robert. The SSA team was dressed in civvies, wearing dark colored casual clothes and sturdy boots, except for Robert who had not yet changed. He was wearing a brown jacket and a necktie with a paisley pattern. The SSA to which Robert belonged, was the Swedish foreign intelligence equivalent of Military Special Operations DSO.
“Good morning, soldiers!”
“Good morning, Captain,” the group replied in unison.
There wasn’t as much enthusiasm as with recruits, but Lundin didn’t care: old dogs.
Bob Lundin sat down and opened his military green briefcase. He took out a map and spread it on the table. They gathered around him.
“Here,” he said, pointing with his pen. “This is the target, on the western side of Muskö Island. A group of summer cottages that are deserted at this time of year. We are going to break into one of them and neutralize the three people believed to be in there and free the one hostage, who is without a doubt seriously injured, if even still alive. Any questions so far?”
“What kind of resistance can we expect?”
“The worst possible, I’m afraid. Two of the targets were once our own employees—among the very best, actually—and one target is believed to have limited fighting experience.”
“I have a question,” said a dark guy with a distinctive chin, who was nicknamed Fever. Fever had done a four-year-tour in Afghanistan and was now working for the ordinary police force, functioning more or less as a bully.
“Why will we be capturing two of our own people?”
“Because they are rogue. Russian spies, no doubt. Forget I said this, but they are to be captured, dead or alive. We have received the go-ahead from above. The operation will take place tonight.”
Bob Lundin hated lying, but necessity knows no bounds. The Swedish Government had, of course, not approved of killing Modin and his team. But they had to
be stopped at all costs, otherwise the government would collapse. Lundin knew that.
Sometimes you had to intervene and rescue politicians. Who else would do it?
CHAPTER 110
MUSKÖ ISLAND, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9
We will be picked up at 04.10 this morning at the pier,” Bergman said.
He had taken on the administrative responsibility, even though he knew that this wasn’t his strongest side. Jöran Järv was not committed enough, and Modin had disappeared into a world of his own.
Bergman had been looking after Loklinth. Sleeping pills kept him asleep and Bergman didn’t want to wake him. Loklinth would need his rest.
“Modin and Jöran, you must fill the gas for three divers. The diving profile is ninety meters in thirty minutes. That should be enough time to find the secret object in the ferry.”
Bergman smiled with relief as he said this. He knew he would not have to dive. Modin and Järv would do that. He had appointed himself their back-up diver. That felt good.
“Kim, can you stay put and feed the monster while we are away?” Jöran said, referring to Loklinth in the basement.
Kim nodded.
“Be careful. Give him his food, but don’t go into the room. Shove a tray in through the door. He could bite you badly.”
“Give me a weapon and I’ll do what you say.” Kim seemed completely calm. Bergman couldn’t help sneak a look at her perfect proportions. Her beautiful body seemed misplaced in this cottage on the edge of the cliff—on the edge of madness.
“We will need a lookout while we’re loading up, Kim,” he said. “Can you take a round trip to the main road. We have to make sure that we don’t end up being ambushed.”
“I’ll go up there, sure.”
Kim tried to catch Modin’s eyes. She did not succeed. Modin was absorbed with a computer application for gas mixtures.
“See you,” Kim said, and left.
The car started and took off.
Bergman was amazed at the silence in the cottage. Jöran was a fox, Modin knew no fear, but Kim seemed impenetrable. How could she be so unaffected by all of this? She was up to her neck in a crazy operation.
A faint growling rose from the basement. Jöran had started the compressor, which would be humming for the rest of the evening as it filled the tanks with compressed air and the appropriate proportions of helium and oxygen for the depth at which the M/S Estonia lay. The diving preparations were in progress and the room had been turned into a workshop. The task was carried out methodically, but at a fast pace. Modin ripped open cardboard boxes and packages. He pulled out diving suits, thermal underwear, a mask or two, and fins. It was all new, untested equipment. Would that present a problem?
Bergman looked at Modin and Jöran, who had come up from the basement. Modin had not gone diving since the previous fall and was not in his best shape; and he had not been diving with Jöran in many years, not since Järv dove to M/S Estonia for the first time. Did Modin still harbor resentment against Järv? Could Järv be trusted? What was his agenda?
CHAPTER 111
STOCKHOLM, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9
Two black vans swung into the space in front of the Price Xtra household goods store near the northern Stockholm Norra Station. The SSA’s equipment warehouse sat right behind the store.
Robert had signed the contract for the warehouse, or, to be more exact, Robert’s consulting firm held the contract.
Bob Lundin stepped inside once Robert had unlocked the three deadbolts on the steel door. Two tall men with crew cuts stood on guard outside. The warehouse, which was about a thousand square feet, had shelves along the walls and tall metal lockers holding weapons. It looked more like a storage facility for Hells Angels’ equipment rather than a place belonging to the Security Service. Most of the items had been imported directly from abroad without permission.
The warehouse smelled of weapon grease. It was startlingly cold due to the poor insulation of the wooden walls.
Robert entered the office space off to the side and turned on the computer.
Lundin walked around and inspected in the boxes and crates. Loklinth had been the one to maintain contact with the Security Services SSA. But Loklinth was a man of the past, and Bob Lundin would make sure it stayed that way. It was high time for a change of guards at the office.
Lundin found smoke grenades, shotgun shells, machine gun magazines, telephone network maps, hand grenades, machine guns, old sooty AK-4s, bayonets, metal-piercing ammunition, gas grenade launchers, gas spray canisters, maps of telecommunications companies, and frequency hopping walkie-talkies. Even a machine gun built into a brief case. In short: everything to ensure the security of the state.
That is exactly what this mission is all about, Lundin thought. These guys seem to be on top of things!
Robert had brought up a satellite image of Muskö Island and the surrounding area on the computer. He was pointing at the screen as Bob Lundin entered. Lundin was impressed. Not even Special Ops had access to such detailed images.
“It needs updating. I can have a word with the U.S. Embassy and see whether you can have one,” Robert said, pleased with himself.
Lundin cursed his old stick-in-the-mud boss. He and the whole department were years behind when it came to technology. That had to change.
In the images, which were updated every thirty seconds, you could see the smoke from the chimneys and footprints in the snow.
“Perfect. Can you also see things at night?”
“The resolution is just as good, but it’s all in black and white.”
“Then we’ve got them. Can you receive this image wirelessly in your car?”
“Of course,” Robert said, burping pizza.
“What do we need?”
“Grenade launchers and some smoke grenades. We have more than enough machine guns; we are not going to be attacking the Soviet Union.” Robert went around and pointed at the various crates as a short-haired well-built man followed in his footsteps. “Don’t forget the walkie-talkies.”
The men put the equipment in thick latex bags and carried them out to the cars. A family with children was passing outside. The children were laughing and eating popcorn while their father was carrying plastic bags from the discount store nearby.
If they only knew who was protecting them, Lundin thought and jumped into the black van.
CHAPTER 112
MUSKÖ ISLAND, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9
Darkness fell over the southern Stockholm archipelago. There was a full moon in the dark blue sky, and it was shining onto the blistering white snow, reflecting the light against the few evergreens in the garden.
Modin followed hare tracks with his eyes. He was struggling to see in the dark and noticed that the hare had not been able to make up its mind. Can you survive by eating only snow? he wondered and returned to the matter at hand.
He saw Bergman sitting at the kitchen table, putting together the diving regulators and checking the o-rings at the same time. A fiddly job but part of Bergman’s expertise—small things. Jöran was down in the basement. He came up every now and then to have a coffee and a roll, but then vanished again.
Modin was focusing on the plan for the dive. He was consulting a sea chart and studying underwater sketches of the M/S Estonia that he had found on the Internet. He would have liked to have better blueprints, as these were very superficial. He looked for his own cabin, and finally found it. His heart was racing. The feeling of unease that had been effectively muffled for a while now returned. He thought about his family. Were they still in there? What did they look like, would he find their bags and other personal belongings? His daughter’s teddy bear, maybe?
He rubbed his face and struggled to keep his concentration. Things were moving forward!
“Don’t forget to charge the flashlights,” he said to Bergman.
Kim came back and sat down next to Modin. She put her arm round his shoulders, tried to catch his eye, but failed again.
“What are
you thinking about?” she asked gently. “Your family?” She leaned forward so he could not avoid looking at her.
“Yes.”
“It’ll soon be over,” Kim said. “After all this, we can go to Grisslehamn, just you and me. Help me find a plot of land there. I will build a big house and start living again. Spring will be here soon.” She stroked his back and he allowed her to do so.
“You’re not safe here,” Modin said. “Special Ops are coming and they’re dangerous. Everything that happens from now on will play out in secrecy, as far as they are concerned. As a rule, Special Forces Operations spare no witnesses. Believe me. I’ve taken part in such things.”
“We will see,” Kim said.
“Promise me you will leave as soon as we have left.”
“Okay, as long as you come and pick me up once all this is over. I’ve bought an apartment on Strandvägen. You’re going to love it.”
“You buy a lot of stuff.”
“I like going shopping. Make sure you survive all this, my love.”
• • •
A nuclear submarine belonging to the U.S. Navy was waiting at the underwater abyss near the Landsort trench, just outside of Swedish territorial waters. It descended slowly and came to rest at a depth of 900 feet. At the same time, the engines of the coastal corvettes started at the Muskö Naval Base. On board were trusted staff, Swedish officers with secret green passes, people cleared by NATO.
CHAPTER 113
STOCKHOLM, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10
Drive to the naval academy at Berga,” Robert said to the driver in the black van, a young guy with a neck like a bull.
Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3) Page 27
