Modin jerked awake. What does he mean? Is he a complete moron?
He sat up in his bunk and suddenly had a dizzy spell. He hadn’t felt dizzy for a while, but now when it was time to dive, the dizziness was back. He tried to ignore it. Must be psychosomatic. At the same time, he felt better mentally. The hallucinations and feelings of inadequacy were gone. Bergman’s injection had had the desired effect: It made him more stable and less depressed, and hopefully it would help him to stop drinking. We’ll see about that, Modin thought.
He washed his face with a damp towel and shaved. Partly so that the full-face diving mask for night diving would fit tighter over his upper lip, but also because he was going to see his family again. He wanted to be neat and clean when they were reunited.
Half an hour later, Harrison Bolt, Bergman, Jöran Järv, Modin, and the second-in-command gathered in the planning room. Harrison opened the meeting.
“We are going to surface and let you out onto the deck of the submarine through a hatch. On deck, you will get help with putting on the diving tanks. Then, I thought we’d try something new. It was my idea, so just say if you think it won’t work.”
He looked at each of them, scratched his cheek, and continued. “I want you to sit down on the deck and hold on to the small railing. We will then shut the hatches and sink down to the wreck. We will stop at the level of the upper deck at a depth of approximately 200 feet. After that, you can unlatch and start working. Once you are finished, the same procedure will be used on the way up. We will come up with you holding onto the railing. I will raise the sub slowly in accordance with the diving schedule I receive from Mr. Modin. Have you written down your decompression table?”
“Bergman’s taking care of that,” Modin said, his eyes wide open. He was surprised. Harrison Bolt really was a professional. “Brilliant, Harrison, really. That way we can avoid the cumbersome anchoring maneuvers before the dive, which can take ages. We will also avoid the problem of having to locate the wreck. You’ll do that for us.”
“Yes, indeed. We’ll be doing half the job for you,” said the second-in-command with a straight face.
“Not exactly half,” Jöran said, glaring at him. “But I do agree that it’s a perfect plan. How will we contact you when it’s time to ascend?”
“All you have to do is knock on the hull three times with a flashlight. That’ll be picked up. Besides, there are cameras on deck; we will see you. How long do you intend to stay inside the wreck?”
“Thirty minutes,” Modin said. “Do you have a decompression chamber onboard, in case anything happens?”
“Yes, there’s one for two people. We’ll get it prepared.”
“Fine,” Modin said. “I hope we won’t need it.”
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They went back to the rest area and changed. It would be extremely cold, and they would have to have thermal underwear. Bergman put on a double layer of long johns and cotton undershirts; on top of that, a thin fleece sweater and a thick layer of Thinsulate underwear. You had to keep as warm as possible in water with temperatures close to the freezing point.
He put on a pair of wool socks, threw his dry suit over his arm, and left the cabin. “I’ll go on ahead,” he said to Modin and Jöran, who were still changing.
Bergman was nervous. Even though he would only be acting as safety diver and dive only as far as the port side of the wreck, which was facing upward, nearest the surface and the submarine, this was something quite unique, nonetheless. The mini sub at 470 feet had been a diving challenge two summers ago, but this mission was a psychological Mount Everest. There were remains from some 800 dead people down there. Women, children, old, young, crew members, bartenders, dancers, machine technicians, and the Captain himself. And of course, whatever was left of the Modin family.
Bergman shivered and tried to think about something else. He would be diving down to a mass coffin at 300 feet, to a place where the sacred peace of the grave had been declared.
Is it really right of us to be doing this, he wondered, twisting his hands.
Bergman stopped in one of the narrow corridors of the submarine, leaned against the wall, and breathed deeply.
Will this work? Modin is one of the best divers out there, but will he be able to get inside the wreck in his condition? Will he be coming back? Or is he participating because it’ll give him a chance to reunite with his family. Is this a suicide mission?
There was an endless string of questions. Bergman feared the worst. He had never before had so many negative vibes pending a dive. Alarm bells were going off all over. But he had no choice.
He decided to be on the defensive during the dive. To take it easy and minimize the risks. Stay on the submarine deck at about 200 feet and wait for Modin and Jöran. Not much can go wrong there. I’m not planning to die today. And I sure hope Modin isn’t either.
Jöran and Modin both seemed to handle the stress of the mission by withdrawing into themselves. Bergman functioned differently. He would gladly have had someone to talk to. There was no one. Bergman had to tackle his anxiety alone.
Diving down to the M/S Estonia was sheer madness! And he hadn’t even thought about the radioactivity that could be down there. He just couldn’t handle that. It was bad enough as it was.
He stretched and started to walk toward the hatch near the deck. He was forced to make his way up a narrow stair. One deck up, he met two crew members sitting on a bench, waiting in silence. The two young Americans looked serious when they gave him a thumbs up as he passed.
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Modin dressed slowly, as if it was a ritual. He slipped on his diving underwear like an old suit of armor. He was now the knight who rid the country of evil and treachery. He was going to war and would rescue women and children from mutilation and rape. He, the knight, was the difference between life and death.
He breathed in deeply through his nose, stretched his back, and exhaled through his open mouth. It’s time for the decisive battle. He fought against Loklinth, against his demons, and against himself. He would become a man, whole and free again. That was what he hoped, fought, and battled for. It was here and now that his fate would be decided; and his future.
His thoughts were pompous, he realized that, but they gave him the courage and strength to carry on. He got dressed and put on the diving suit; soon he’d descend into the depths and go right inside the M/S Estonia.
He was curious to know what was in that briefcase in cabin 62-30. The only thing he knew for sure was how the operation was to be carried out. As soon as he returned to the submarine, Harrison Bolt would take immediate charge of the briefcase. Once that happened, the secrets would leave Sweden forever. While they belonged to the Americans as well, ultimately they were Sweden’s secrets. Would they never find out what the crown jewels consisted of? What could be so secret and explosive that no resources were spared?
They are risking a good deal, he thought and stepped into his diving boots. The very last thing that went through his mind as he left the cabin was: Loklinth will be furious when he finds out that I have handed the documents to the Yanks. Ha!
CHAPTER 136
SPECIAL OPS HEADQUARTERS, STOCKHOLM, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11
Bob Lundin could find no peace. He paced up and down the Special Ops corridors, being the only one left at the office. Fuck, he hated his coworkers. Especially now that he was the top dog.
Why should I be pulling all the heavy weight while you just leave, drop everything, and go home, maybe get laid or have some quality time with the family, he thought.
He got depressed. Lundin had no real home to return to. He would have a whore or two on his Thailand vacation but a steady relationship was not for him. He would live life free, without worries and responsibilities for others. That is why there are so many gay people working for the intelligence services, or at least there used to be.
His role model was J. Edgar Hoover, who had once been the head of the FBI. Hoover was not a homosexual, at least Lu
ndin didn’t think he was, but it was easy to get that impression about men who only mixed with other men. He thought about his favorite Hemingway book Men Without Women. That collection of short stories contained descriptions of masculine roughness without female interference.
He smiled to himself and released a silent fart into his white underwear. Then he took a stroll to the lunchroom, sat down, stretched his legs, kicked off his shoes, spread his toes, and tried to relax.
Now was the time to get serious. There was no point in getting worked up, quite the opposite.
If the Barbro Team won’t be able to solve the Estonia problem, we’ll be here waiting for Modin, he thought. He’s not going to get away.
Many of the documents onboard M/S Estonia, Modin is going after, cover’s that the Russians kept dumping radioactive waste in the Baltic, to the east of the Swedish island of Gotland, a couple of years after Olof Palme had been assassinated. This was very likely payback for the murder of Olof Palme. Payback for the fact that the Swedish Intelligence had murdered the most valuable Russian asset in Western Europe, Palme. That’s how the Russians operated: primitively, an eye for an eye.
A discrete chime from his inbox announced new mail. He rushed back to his office in his dress socks. The polished hardwood floors were slippery and he had to slow down. He ran his finger over the mouse pad and the message became visible.
Barbro has left Tallinn Harbor. Estimated arrival: 01:45.
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NORTHERN BALTIC SEA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 25
The hatch up to the deck was opened by a crew member in navy blue uniform.
“Please, gentlemen,” he said, and gestured with his hand.
Modin went first, then Jöran, and finally Bergman. Kim was down in the control room watching the whole thing on a monitor after she had hugged all three divers good-bye.
NR-1 Sub console
Modin came with some difficulty out onto the narrow portion of the rear deck of the submarine, which was about 65 feet long. The hatch was immediately behind the conning tower. It was dark, but the sky was full of stars and the moon was reflected in the three-foot waves. How beautiful, Modin thought with some melancholy, almost like in the German submarine movie Das Boot.
The heavy NR-1 submarine lay still. The waves didn’t rock it. Occasionally, a wave would rise and wash over the deck but standing out here made him feel stable and safe. Much more stable than Modin was used to from the more typical smaller diving vessels. This felt like diving from a concrete pier. He put on his diving tanks, fins, and gloves and sat down on the slope where the deck turned into the rounded side of the submarine.
Bergman provided some assistance with putting on his diving tanks. Then he helped Bergman do the same. They would not need to take an extra supply of gas for decompression. The cylinders would remain on the submarine deck. Only two large cylinders would be needed for the dive. Modin had equipped himself with two elongated carabineers as used by mountaineers. He hooked them up to a metal ring in his belt. They would come in handy when bringing up the briefcase from the depths. He even had a lift sack shoved into his leg pocket.
A wave washed over the deck. Modin spat in his diving mask as he looked at Jöran, who was approaching him. He looked composed. Good to have a professional along, Modin thought, and smiled at Jöran. Jöran nodded back as he in turn put on his diving mask. Bergman was having problems getting his diving gloves on. He seemed nervous.
Before putting it on, Modin dried out the mask with his fingertips. He stretched and checked one last time that the valves were open and tested breathing in the regulator. It felt good to avoid having to use extra diving tanks strapped to his belt. They would be in the way penetrating the wreck. Modin put on his gloves and tried to calm down by breathing deeply and slowly.
This must be the first time that a Swedish diver has gone wreck-diving from a U.S. submarine, he thought and gave the ready signal to Jöran and Bergman. They returned the signal. He then signaled to the submarine crew to close the hatch. The heavy lid closed with a clunk followed by a sucking noise. They were alone on top of the black steel hull of the NR-1.
One last time, Modin looked out over the sea to the east, where the moonlight was glittering seductively on the waves. He recognized the view; he had seen it from the hull of the M/S Estonia, on that fateful night of September 28 1994.
He gave the thumbs down signal. It was time to dive.
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The water rose gently over their legs, torso, and finally their heads. They were on their way down to the lower depths. He could follow the moon through the flickering water as the submarine descended relatively fast. He had to grab his nose to even out the pressure in his ears.
Bergman switched on his diving light first. Unnecessarily early, Modin thought. When the diving lights were switched on, you lost the beautiful green surface light. Visibility through the water was excellent for at least thirty yards. Rumors of poor visibility around the wreck were clearly exaggerated. It depended on how much sludge you stirred up down there. You had to treat the old woman with respect. She deserved it.
They passed the 100-foot mark. Modin thought he could see light coming from below, but that was merely an illusion. He knew that.
Once they had left the faint light of the surface behind, it seemed as if they were entering something black, cold, and deadly. There was no vegetation. He saw no fish. It was only dark and silent. The sense of sinking down into the realm of death became more pronounced once they had descended further than 150 feet.
Modin thought of his son, Alexander. It was as if he was talking to him. Alexander was crying out to him from deep below.
Dad!
“I’m here now,” Modin said to himself. “I’m coming to get you. Forgive me for neglecting you and Ellinor. The years have passed. But you can trust me. I’m coming for you now.”
He started to shake. What the hell am I doing? Is this really going to work? Is it right to return to the dead, to disturb the peace of their final resting place, open up old wounds?
The scars had not healed, and for that reason it was right and necessary, he thought. He wanted to have another shot at what went wrong in 1994, when he asked his family to stay in the cabin while he went to see what was happening up on deck. Once he had left, there had been no return. He would make good for it after 16 years of pain, nightmares, and anxiety. He was going to check out the explosion hole in the bow of the ferry, so he’d finally know why the ship sank so fast. Faster then he could have imagined.
This was going to be his first mission. The briefcase was second.
One hundred and sixty feet. There was a beeping sound in his diving computer. They would soon be able to make out the wreck. He shone his flashlight straight downward, then forward, and for a moment he thought he could make out an orange lifeboat.
CHAPTER 139
SPECIAL OPS HEADQUARTERS, STOCKHOLM, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11
Bob Lundin’s inbox gave a chime. He had been lost in daydreams, far away in Asia, in a bar in Phuket. He had a small Thai woman on his knee and a Singha beer in his hand. I want her, was the last thing he was thinking when the email arrived. The one he had been waiting for.
Activity picked up at Echo Sierra. 130-foot long sonar picture on the radar. Could be a small submarine.
Oh my God, Lundin thought. This is not what we expected. A submarine? Who could it be? The Russians? Has Modin allied himself with Moscow? It could be a radar malfunction or a bad observation.
He got up and went over to the satellite live feed monitors in the next room. He could see the ferry from Tallinn was well on her way into the Bay of Finland. Racing in front of it was a small, fast moving boat. Probably the Barbro Team. They were almost there.
The wreck-site was marked with a red circle on the electronic chart. The sea-lane for the Estonia ferry went to the north of the wreck. There was no activity at the wreck site of the Estonia on the screens.
Are there already divers on the Estoni
a?
CHAPTER 140
NORTHERN BALTIC SEA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11
It’s a lifeboat from the M/S Estonia!
Modin recognizes the orange tarp.
We’ve arrived, Modin thinks and he notices how Bergman and Jöran are starting to turn over, moving from a sitting position to lying on their stomachs.
Three beams of light play on the side of the huge wreck. The submarine slows down some twenty feet from the hull. Modin looks at his diving computer. It says 200 feet and he has the wreck in sight just in front of his fins. The submarine has come down perfectly.
He can see rows of portholes on the side of the wreck. All of them seem intact. There is compact darkness behind each one of them and nothing can be seen through the glass.
Modin notices a piece of clothing, looks like a jacket, swaying in the slight current flowing from bow to stern. The jacket is stuck in the crane to one of the lifeboats. It’s a light blue jacket, which looks surprisingly intact, despite 16 years on the bottom.
Suddenly the wreck is lit up. Modin jumps. Harrison Bolt has switched on one of the submarine’s searchlights. It exposes a large part of the ferry. Modin can almost make out the bow of the vessel somewhere far in the distance. All is quiet, almost peaceful.
Modin swims over the lit-up port side of the ship. The Estonia is resting on its starboard side. He grabs the deck with his rubber-gloved hand; it’s covered with a thin layer of sludge. He draws a sign of the cross on the white metal. Then he swims over to the other side, toward the deck side. It is easy to find, as it is fully lit up and visibility is great. He is looking for the hole they know is somewhere in the side of the hull; a hole where he can enter. According to Jöran, a metal plate was broken loose there during an unauthorized diving mission some years earlier.
Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3) Page 32
