“No, I’m not, he and his colleagues said that they were triple agents—in other words false double agents: Communist spies in the West who really spied on the Communists for the West. But that’s not the way I see it. They were all working for the western powers. Why do you think the Berlin Wall crumbled with so little resistance? The West had people on the inside who instigated.”
Modin drew a question mark in the air.
“What is true is false and what is false is true, Modin. That’s how it works in this world of ours—a world of mirrors reflecting the light in all different directions. Mirror images are always reversed.” She fell silent.
“You’re trying to tell me that Swedish Special Ops were collaborating with the Stasi on direct orders from the CIA. Have I got that right, Julia?”
“Yes, however crazy it may sound to you. This was the secret door the CIA needed to the Warsaw Pact.”
“But this would mean,” Modin said, clearing his throat, “that everything can be a mirror image. Suspected KGB spies can, in reality, have been working for MI6 or the CIA. Have I got that right?”
“That’s what’s so complicated about all this. Nothing is what it seems. Think about this one. If someone is a spy working for, let’s say, the KGB, why the hell would they go public in the media and promote Soviet and Russian points of view? That would be committing mental hara-kiri.”
“You’re suggesting that the sound of minks and tourist boats in the Hårsfjärden strait could have been CIA vessels? The KGB works with the upper echelons of right wing movements and fascists, and vice-versa. Lefties can, in reality, belong to the right?”
“Yep,” Julia said. “It’s amateurs, those who are being played as useful idiots, who say and do the obvious. A top agent would do the complete opposite. Lie low or play at being in opposition. That’s how things work in the world of intelligence. That’s why it still works. But it’s a well kept secret and could mean lights out for anyone who knows it.”
“A world of mirrors,” Modin said and disappeared deep into his thoughts. “Men with beards and long hair were CIA and the men in nice suits, KGB.”
He looked out over the sea to the east. A container ship could be seen silhouetted against the horizon near the Finnish border. Right is wrong, wrong is right, the truth is lies and lies are truth. Red is green, green is red. A diplomat he once met came to mind who always wore one red and one green sock. Now Modin knew why.
“I want to know everything, Julia. The SOSUS ties it all together, doesn’t it?”
“You really should go and visit former Prime Minister Ingo Swanson again and ask him straight out,” Julia said. “Interrogate him. I can help you if you want. I’ve been under interrogation-like conditions at the NSA. I know a few tricks you can use.”
Julia said nothing more and snuggled up to him. He liked her breathing close to him, but even more the fact that she trusted him.
• • •
Julia took a shower and freshened up, inside and out. She shoved two fingers down her throat and forced herself to puke up the previous day with eyes closed and in blind faith that the memories of the evening would fade away. She puked until her stomach was turned inside out and all that was left was gall. Her brother’s sick abuse of her body was still fresh in her memory and remained humiliating. Modin’s hands weren’t big enough to cover all the bruises and pretend that they had never happened. No one could. And she could not ask that he ignore the bumps and scratches. If they were going to love and respect each other, they had to find a middle ground between total disclosure and blind trust.
Julia Steerback rubbed in body lotion that smelled of lavender, dried her hair with a blow drier, put on a thin layer of makeup, and got dressed. Then she meditated for five minutes, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom.
Then she was good to go.
CHAPTER 54
Ingo Swanson, Palme’s successor, set up a very controversial investigative commission in 1988.” Julia was yelling in Modin’s ear. The boat trip to Ingo Swanson’s residence was proceeding at a speed of over 40 knots, and it was hard to speak loud enough to be heard above the sound of the wind. They had called Harry Nuder, who came and picked them up at Black Island immediately.
“The commission was supposed to find out what was going on beneath the surface of Swedish waters,” she continued. “There were shock waves about that decision throughout the intelligence world, I can assure you. Both here at home and in the U.S. The commission consisted of State Secretary Hans Dahlgren, Swedish Ambassador to the U.N. Jan Eliasson, and Major General Bengt Wallroth from Military Intelligence. Does that have Special Ops written all over it, or what?”
“Bengt Wallroth was the head of Special Ops back then,” Modin said. “And Hans Dahlgren was one of Prime Minister Swanson’s closest associates. What a mess, man.”
“Not really, Modin. All of this makes perfect sense in a world of mirrors.”
Julia pulled some hair away from her face and crouched down behind the windshield of the Hulk. “Special Ops kept the whole inquiry under wraps from the outside world. I wonder if Ingo Swanson was even aware of all this?”
“Oh, of course,” Modin said. He couldn’t help being impressed by Julia’s knowledge. He held on to the rope tightly because the Hulk bounced over a few breakers, as Harry Nuder was steering the craft toward the point of a cliff.
Harry Nuder’s rye blonde hair danced in the wind. He was wearing an orange life jacket and a smile from ear to ear. Nuder loved to be on the sea, that much Modin knew for sure about his childhood friend. “Here you live for real,” is what he used to say. “When out at sea, I feel like someone with a purpose in life. Not so much when I’m on land,” he would sometimes add. There was no contempt in his gaze, no envy or suspicion. Ever. He merely was who he was, and he accepted others like that, too.
Harry Nuder was a bachelor. He had tried to find a female companion on a number of occasions by placing classified ads in the newspaper, but he had failed every time. The women would fall for him, his presence, his wild and rugged personality, and his warm embrace. But when things got down to the wire, the relationship would fall to pieces. He wanted to be free and live out by the sea. Bringing him into the city would turn him into a Crocodile Dundee. The best thing for Harry Nuder was to remain a lone adventurer.
“So, Julia, what conclusions did they come to? The submarine inquiry, I mean,” Modin yelled into the headwind.
“The same old conclusions. They scaled down the thirteen cases of submarine intrusions to only a couple, or maybe three, and claimed that the nationality of the submarines could not be determined.”
“It does rather resemble the inquiry that was conducted in the beginning of the 2000s,” Modin shouted back. “Incredibly vague, no clear message. A cover-up.”
They rounded the small peninsula and there it was: Swanson’s pier and the Singö boathouse.
By this time, Julia had puked twice.
• • •
“Hello, anybody home?” Modin called through the door of the large wooden house, and then stepped inside without waiting for an answer. Julia and Nuder stayed in the background. A bumblebee was buzzing in the house. Swanson was nowhere to be found. Modin went further toward the bedroom he knew to be on the left all the way in the back. As he passed the shoe rack in the hall, he grabbed an empty cloth shoe bag hanging on a hook and tucked it up his sweater.
In the bedroom, he could see an old man wearing a gray checked shirt lying on top of the covers. He was lying somewhat hunched up with his back to the door.
“Hi there! Are you sleeping?” Modin said.
The old man turned over slowly. His hair, or what was left of it, was ruffled and damp, dark and shiny. The grayish-blue eyes opened slowly as he emerged from a deep sleep.
“Modin,” Swanson said.
“Yes.” He watched Swanson a while before continuing: “I’ve brought a woman with me who wants to talk to you. Julia Steerback, from the NSA.”
“From the NSA?” Swanson seemed confused. “What do you want? I need to rest. I’m an old man.”
Swanson looks scared, Modin thought, but he showed no compassion.
“Get up and come with me,” Modin said.
He forced Swanson up to a sitting position and took hold of his bony upper arm. Swanson barely managed to get his feet into his brown slippers, tripping as Modin led him out of the room with a firm hand.
“Take it easy, remember, after all, I used to be the Prime Minister.” He walked, bowed by old age at the mid-section, into the living room, where Julia and Nuder were waiting on the couch.
“Do you want some coffee?” Swanson offered with a shaky voice. “I can make some.”
“Don’t need any coffee,” Modin said. “Sit down.” He pushed the old man down onto a pin chair by the coffee table.
“So what do you want? I’m old and weak; I’ll be dead soon. Leave me alone.”
“We’re here to make sure you can die in peace, old man,” Julia said.
She got to her feet, approached, and stood behind him. Modin could see how Swanson attempted to turn his head to make eye contact with her. It didn’t work. She stood just outside his realm of vision.
“You will tell us why you agreed to install the SOSUS system at Understen lighthouse in the summer of 1986. Was it to protect your summer house, Ingo Swanson?”
Modin was surprised at Julia’s stone cold interrogation technique.
“Listen closely, Swanson,” she said. “You’re only going to get this one opportunity to set things straight. Otherwise your honor will have been dragged in the dirt and you will die in shame.”
Julia had assumed full control of the conversation. Swanson was too scared or too stunned to react.
“Your children and grandchildren will avoid mentioning your name, and will be even less likely to visit your grave, which will be covered with dandelions and weeds. Do you understand, Mister Prime Minister?”
Swanson stared at the floor. He looked as if he was dying there and then. It was obvious he wanted to escape from this life to a place where no one asked questions about his time in politics.
“Set things straight? Ha! I did my best,” he said sulkily. “For Sweden.”
“Why did you allow SOSUS to be installed in Swedish waters only months after your predecessor had been murdered? Why, Swanson?”
“I’m not going to answer that question,” he said, clearing his throat. He had a coughing attack.
Julia extended her right arm behind his back toward Modin. Modin took the shoe bag out from underneath his sweater and handed it to Julia who swiftly slipped it over Swanson’s head when he had finished coughing and gasped for air.
“Yes, you will answer that question, and many more. It’s easier if you don’t see what’s going on. Concentrate. Why did you give the NSA permission to install the SOSUS system in Swedish waters, Prime Minister?”
CHAPTER 55
“In Palme’s inner circle, speculations were raised (this is in the fall of 1985) quite openly about his mental health and whether it would be possible to get him to resign temporarily.”
(When the Wind Changed, Kjell Östberg)
Modin went into the kitchen and followed the interrogation without seeing what was going on in the living room. He searched through the cabinets.
“Please take this frigging thing off, I’m suffocating. It was…” he heard Swanson say. “I didn’t have as much say in the matter as you think. It was a question of national security. I had my experts in the field and I listened to them.”
“Who were these experts? Wallroth from Special Ops and Hans Dahlgren, the State Secretary?”
“Yes,” mumbled Swanson from inside the bag.
Modin returned and stood behind Julia.
“Did they help get rid of Olof Palme, as well? Was he becoming unreliable and difficult to deal with? Was that what it was?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to call the Security Service.”
“You can do that when we’re done here. But I don’t think you’ll get any assistance from them. You and your friends tried to put the blame for the murder on the Security Service. Do you remember that, Prime Minister?”
“Oh, stop now for the love of God. I’m suffocating. I’ve got asthma.”
Modin had a pale yellow plastic jug of water in his hands. He could see that Swanson was scared shitless. The shoe bag over his head was shaking. Modin looked at Harry Nuder, but he did not reveal his feelings or thoughts. Nuder was sitting with his arms crossed, watching Modin getting more and more upset with the evasive Swanson.
There was no room for mercy at this moment. Swanson was the politician who knew what had happened. It was his damned fucking responsibility to answer the questions. Both Modin and Julia were in danger and they needed Swanson’s answers for their own and their friends’ protection. They simply had to know or get killed by the Barbro Team. There was no other way.
Modin gave a slight nod and Julia continued interrogating Swanson.
“Who was Olof Palme actually working for? Tell me!”
“For Sweden,” Swanson said with irony in his voice.
Modin poured about a third of the contents of the water jug over the shoe bag and Swanson. The old man went into shock. He squirmed and yelled. Julia held him down.
“No, stop for fuck’s sake. I’ll tell you everything.” He coughed several times.
Modin put the container on the floor. The old man could not avoid hearing this. From the splash of the water he knew that the jug was still half full.
“Please take the bag off now, for God’s sake.”
Julia loosened the drawstring and ripped the bag off Swanson’s head. “We’re all ears,” she said.
Swanson coughed and gasped. “Yes, yes, okay. Last time we talked about the Palme Doctrine. It prescribed cooperation in both directions, with the East and the West; we were supposed to stick with the golden middle way. Palme went even further. Each party in the Cold War believed he was on their side.”
“Was he a double agent?” Julia interrupted abruptly. “Or merely an opportunist and a turncoat?”
“Neither. He was an idealist. He really was. He belonged to the West, but he could be really stubborn. He was going to save the world, and no one was going to stop him. Olof was so naïve. The Third World and all of that, you know. We tried to keep him on track but it became worse as the years went on. It was his sickness, I imagine.”
“What sickness?” Julia asked. “Expand on that.”
“He was manic-depressive. We were informed about his diagnosis, but were under strict orders not to make it public. During the manic phase, manic-depressives do things they later regret. The shit hit the fan after the Harvard Affair. He thought he was finished as a politician.”
“Explain!”
“He could see that both the Soviet Union and his left wing allies had called his bluff. How many lefties would put so much effort into getting their offspring into a conservative school like Harvard in a conservative country, like the U.S.A. He had made a fool of himself. We knew that. Even he realized it in the end. But by that time it was too late.”
Swanson paused.
“Essentially, Palme was a center-right politician although his sympathies were to the left, which manifested itself in his drive for justice and solidarity with the poor and downtrodden.”
“Cut the crap,” Julia said. “What was really going on? What did they have on him? Why did he go so far as to allow an American base—which the SOSUS was, in effect—on sovereign Swedish territory?”
“He didn’t. Palme didn’t know. That was the whole trick. The Military and NATO knew Palme never would have approved a NSA intelligence station on Swedish territory.”
“Be more specific,” Julia said. “Otherwise you’ll get the bag over your head again.”
“Please no,” Swanson begged. “I’ll tell you what you want to hear. He was in the way, that’s all.”
“Peace. Without SOSUS, NATO would have lost the northern flank in Europe. Do you understand?”
“So they killed him?”
“Yes, or I don’t know. Someone did.”
Ingo Swanson leaned his big head a long way back and took a deep breath before continuing.
“General Synnerman and the head of Special Ops told us that the Yanks needed to install SOSUS to safeguard the balance of power in Europe, and that it therefore involved Swedish national security, too.
But Olof got the idea, from where I don’t know, that Scandinavia should become a nuclear weapon-free zone. He began to waver about the nuclear umbrella the Americans were offering,” Swanson coughed and shivered. But he was on a roll and continued.
“He no longer believed in first strike capability. He thought that this tough line was a straight road to the end of the world, as he put it. I told you, he was an idealist. No one was listening more closely than the Russians, of course, and the peace movement. They supported Olof’s efforts wholeheartedly, and that is what scared NATO. NATO was aware that the Russians had dug their channels and canals from Murmansk to Leningrad and were quite capable of moving sections of their strategic nuclear fleet to the Baltic Sea by that route. That would have posed a threat to Western Europe.”
“Did Special Ops and NATO murder Olof Palme together?”
“No idea. I didn’t even know it was coming. Special Ops hinted they would solve the problem, but I never imagined that they would resort to such drastic measures. It came as a shock to many of us. It was a question of the international balance of power, and therefore above and beyond Sweden’s immediate realm of power. It was a political assassination, I’m sure, but I have no idea where the decision was made.”
“New World Order,” Modin added quietly.
“How d’you mean?”
“I was only thinking aloud, Prime Minister,” Modin said.
“You are saying that the cabinet didn’t know?” Julia said. “There must have been people who knew.”
“That’s very possible. The pro-U.S. wing of the cabinet might have known. If Palme had turned to the Soviets to help get rid of the SOSUS installations, peace in Europe would have been seriously threatened. Special Ops was convinced that Palme was a security risk. He had proof, or so he claimed. We all feared war back then, nuclear war. To us, this was a Scandinavian Cuban Missile Crisis. We did what had to be done. Palme’s death saved the lives of several hundred million other people..”
Enemy of the State (Anton Modin Book 2) Page 24
