Lundin, who was standing next to the adjutant with his back to the wall, rocked on his feet. He had been very busy lately, and his calves were killing him. The Supreme Commander’s adjutant stood perfectly still.
“Now tell me,” the Supreme Commander said, “how did we end up in this mess? Give me a short summary.”
Loklinth drew his hand across his hair, grimaced, stretched his back to ease what Lundin suspected was lumbago.
“Anton Modin,” Loklinth began, “received permission from the government to poke around in the Security Service archives last fall. The pea brains over at the Security Service didn’t even have the good sense to clean up the archive. Whether by accident or design, Modin found the Palme file that deals with the top secret murder investigation. At Special Ops, we have a copy of the same investigation file in a metal box in our archive. That’s the gist of the matter, as I see it, Håkan.”
The Supreme Commander suddenly jerked. Not many people called him Håkan these days, Lundin thought with a smirk. Probably not even his wife and kids.
“Modin is in possession of the dossier,” Loklinth said. “He stole it during the break-in last Tuesday morning. He knows far too much; he has even started his own private investigation into the murder. We need to stop him.”
“How do we know that he has the material?”
“I just know,” Loklinth said and lifted his chin. “He left a little message.”
“So, what’s been going down in the meantime?”
“Not too much, to be honest.” Loklinth clasped his hands together in a strange way. “Modin appears to have found out details about the System 4 outside Understen lighthouse, and possibly about Allied activities in the Baltic Sea during the 1980s. He’s been visiting a woman who lives out on Black Island, which used to be a mainstay of Radio Intelligence. We’ve checked her out. Her name is Julia Steerback; she used to work for Defense Radio Intelligence but for the last few years, she’s been working for the NSA on something that is classified in our systems. In all likelihood, she is still working for them. The fact that we can’t find out about the state of affairs in our own backyard is really fucked up. Here we are in Scandinavia, doing the dirty work for the Yanks, yet whatever they are working on is classified for us.”
“System 4. Thank you Chris, I think I’ve heard enough,” the Supreme Commander said with a troubled expression.
Bob Lundin was laughing inside. He saw Loklinth starting to drum his fingers on the tabletop. He kept his left hand well hidden, as to not to reveal the clipped little finger.
“Anyway,” Loklinth said, “Modin knows so much by now that he will have to be neutralized. He’s a real threat. We are working on a solution in that regard.”
“And the break-in last Tuesday,” the Supreme Commander said. “Do we know what’s missing. Aside from the metal box?”
“Well yes, we know approximately. Not all that much, I would say. Just a few papers, actually.” He swallowed hard, shook his head a few times, then hoisted his pants.
“What’s happening out in Grisslehamn right now?”
“Don’t know. We are deaf at the moment, all we’ve got is satellite surveillance. They’re maintaining total radio silence out there. A few friends are assisting Modin, one is a police officer.”
“So, what is the plan?”
“I’ve mobilized the Barbro Team. They’re divided into two units. Fifteen or so altogether. They’re in the Johannesberg Room underneath the Skandia building. That’s where they used to meet during the 1980s.”
“Thank you, I am aware of that,” the Supreme Commander said. “I thought they’d disbanded.”
“Well, yes, officially. But they’re still available, thank goodness.”
“Who controls them? Not us, I suppose.”
“The Barbro Team doesn’t exist officially. For that reason, their place in the organization is a secret. Håkan my friend, you don’t need to worry about the Barbro Team. As far as you’re concerned, they don’t exist.”
“They don’t? Well, that’s a good thing.”
“We’ve got a helicopter,” Loklinth hurried to get away from the sensitive main issue. “I’ve even asked for kayaks and four RIB boats from the Coastal Rangers. They’re arriving this evening.”
“Have you evacuated the area?”
“That’s not necessary. It’s the middle of the week and still off season. The summer guests tend to turn up on the weekend. By that time, everything will be over.”
“And the press? Are they under control?” the Supreme Commander said.
Bob Lundin noticed that the Supreme Commander was rather anxious. He wiped the sweat off his forehead now and then, and even loosened his tie. He was trapped. The operation was unstoppable, and the Supreme Commander knew it.
This is going to be interesting. After the weekend, there could well be job vacancies in the department. Lundin was pleased and rocked slightly on the soles of his shoes to ease the pressure. His calf began to cramp up.
“We’ve cut off, or, to be more precise, Defense Radio Intelligence will cut off all communication when we ask them to do so. No one will be able to make a phone call from the island or get onto the Internet.” Loklinth had regained a little of the self-control he had lost when the disappearance of the metal box was discussed. “We will turn Grisslehamn and its surroundings into a white area with regard to communications. There may even be road blocks, if things begin to leak out. The home guard from the village of Älmsta will take care of that. They can raise the bridges within half an hour, if given the signal.”
“I see.”
“We’ve thought of everything, Håkan. You don’t have to worry.”
The Supreme Commander gestured to his adjutant, who immediately left. Then he turned to Loklinth while wiping his upper lip on a napkin.
“I want you to take them alive,” he said, “and without any press coverage. Modin may have obtained life insurance, and until we know how high the premium is, we must let him live. It is a matter of national security.”
“Why the fuck should we do that?”
“Because Modin might have disclosed his life insurance to others or hidden documents in some foreign nation,” the Supreme Commander said and stared into Loklinth’s watery eyes.
Lundin thought they looked distinctly snakelike.
“Modin is a threat, alive or dead, Håkan. But I am listening to what you’re saying. We’ll do what we can to spare him, but I can’t promise anything. This is, after all, a military operation.”
Lundin’s calves were really aching now. He put his hand into his pants pocket and turned off the voice record function of his cell phone.
CHAPTER 73
STOCKHOLM, SKANDIA BAR, THURSDAY, MAY 21
“Since the late 1950s, NATO and the western intelligence services, the CIA from the U.S. and MI6 from the UK, have cooperated with Sweden. In the early 1960s, NATO member states set up an intelligence service with the goal of working politically. […] This grouping cooperated, using the NATO headquarters outside Oslo as their base, created a number of networks led by people who had a reassuring civil disguise as employees of Swedish companies or their own small firms. […] They were often recruited from among reserve officers within such companies, and they were regarded as reliable and willing to work in the interests of the western world.”
The DC-3 and Swedish Security Policy, Cecilia Steen)
President and CEO Anders Glock brushed his graying hair back across his left temple while focusing his thoughts on the meeting in the Skandia Bar. He was still the head of the most secret part of Swedish Defense, the Action Team Crack of Dawn. Back in the 1980s, the team had carried the official responsibility for safeguarding Swedish industry, various government authorities, and especially sensitive sites such as nuclear power stations, ports, and historically important locations such as the Royal Castle. Crack of Dawn operations had been on hold since the mid-1990s, but could be reactivated at any time, should an emergency arise. Glock hims
elf and General Synnerman had made sure of that. Just in case. And now a just-in-case scenario had arisen.
He cleared his throat, opened the door and walked up to the podium, where Synnerman and Turner were standing in the shadows, whispering.
There were twelve men altogether in the room. Glock caught sight of Christer Steerback.
Christer seemed proud of himself. He represented Sweden. Sure, he had had a checkered career, and Glock knew that, but after the Olof Palme murder, he had clearly demonstrated which side he was on. He´s the right stuff, and would therefore receive the honor of leading the operation against the scum in Grisslehamn.
Glock had just come from a short moment of prayer and contemplation. His voice had the thundering quality of a preacher.
“There is a crisis out in the northern Stockholm archipelago. You are called upon. Listen carefully to me, gentlemen. You are the best we’ve got in this country. Sweden depends on you.” He paused for dramatic effect before continuing in a lower voice. “Anton Modin had God on his side out at Beckholmen last fall. But his luck has run out. God is on our side now. He has heard our prayers. We shall wipe out Anton Modin, once and for all. He is about to expose the deepest secrets of this nation; he is about to reveal Deep State, and the way we rule the country.” His voice reared. “That is not acceptable. In the name of God and the King, I therefore command you to implement this mission: the termination of evil.”
Glock raised both his arms and shut his eyes. “You are Swedes, but you are also citizens of the world, and it is your duty to rescue our world from evil. From those that wish to annihilate God and our faith, our existential base here on this earth.”
He opened his eyes again. The group of paramilitaries did not move a muscle, their eyes misty, as if gazing into a bright future.
“You are the best men we have. A huge responsibility rests on your shoulders. I know that you are going to succeed. The enemy is weak and without faith. Victory is certain.” Glock inhaled deeply through his nose. “The general by my side here will be issuing your orders,” he said, looking back over his right shoulder at former executive of Crack of Dawn, General Synnerman. He was old, his back bent, but he still had a look of steel. “I am at your service if you need spiritual guidance or just a human being to talk to. I know that you are uneasy. So are all men about to go to war. But you are fighting a righteous battle, and you have God on your side. Never forget that.”
General Synnerman took a few short steps forward. He looked at Glock who motioned with his hand, indicating ‘you can take over’.
“As usual, we will only use your Christian names. That is an order. Have you understood?” Synnerman began.
“Yes, General!” came the unanimous reply, which echoed against the thick concrete walls.
“Major Christer, you will be in command of Unit Bravo. Tomorrow you will receive reinforcements so that you are a full unit. Unit Alfa will be led by Major Carl.”
Synnerman nodded at a large man with a round face and dark eyes. In his civilian life, Carl Osterman was a police officer in Stockholm.
“I now need Major Christer’s group Bravo to leave the room.”
Five men walked out. Once the door was closed, he opened the sealed orders.
“Welcome,” Synnerman said to those who were left.
“The reason I am dividing you into two units is to diminish the risk of leaks. The seven of you have been chosen for a very dangerous and sensitive operation. You know the sea and are good marksmen. If there is anyone here who thinks this assessment is not accurate, now is the time to come forward. It will be too late afterwards. Anyone?”
He looked out across the room, over his half-moon glasses. What he saw made him glow inside. He wondered if Chris Loklinth at Special Ops had access to equally fine men.
“Your orders are as follows. We have an incident in the northern Stockholm archipelago at GPS position North 60.07.000 East 018.48.000. Please make a note of those coordinates.”
The men took out their cell phones and keyed in the position in the GPS menu.
“Major Carl will take his unit to the area of operation at 23:00 hours today. You will take up position to the west of Byholm, at a suitable distance. Tonight you will survey the area and report to me tomorrow, May 22nd, at 08:00 hours at the latest. A helicopter is on stand-by less than five minutes from you, should an emergency arise. We have our own emergency medical response teams at a location, which will remain secret for now. Any questions?”
There was silence in the room, apart from the clicking of cell phone keys.
“Okay, and remember, this is a military operation. Things can go wrong. I need and expect you to maintain the highest possible level of discretion. In simple terms, this means you will not use public transport or public medical facilities, and communication with civilians are strictly prohibited. Is that clear?”
“Yes, General!”
Meanwhile, in the neighboring room Christer Steerback’s unit was briefed on a top secret plan involving a murder.
CHAPTER 74
GRISSLEHAMN, THURSDAY, MAY 21, 11 P.M.
The sun was well below the trees. A seabird, a cormorant, was active in the inlet searching for food, underwater more than above. The bird seemed stressed when it emerged from the water, only to immediately dive down again, as if suggesting that something was going on in the inlet.
Such a species of bird can stay underwater for long periods at a time, Axman thought as he got ready for them to dive.
The four of them had teamed up in twos—Modin and Axman and Bergman and Nuder—so that only one team would be sleeping at a time, while the other would keep watch.
Axman was gazing out from the glassed-in porch. He wasn’t too happy. First of all, there was a war against Special Ops he sure as hell didn’t need, and then he was about to go on a dive that did not seem well planned at all.
Modin wanted to dive around the eastern side of the Understen lighthouse and find the SOSUS cable that had to be connected to the lighthouse islet. “It needs power,” he had said. Seemed plausible, but it wasn’t a sure thing at all.
Axman had suggested that they should sail over to Julia and pick her brains for more details, but both Modin and Nuder wanted everyone to remain within the perimeter. Too dangerous to go traipsing around. Axman agreed, actually, and had ordered telephone and Internet silence to be maintained for fear of wiretapping.
Perhaps it was a good ting that they didn’t involve Julia any more than necessary. Axman wasn’t sure that they could trust her. He was sure she knew a hell of a lot more than she had revealed to Modin, and this gave her an aura of inaccessibility. Her gaze halted for just that bit too long for you to be able to laugh it off. It was hard to figure her out. No, he didn’t trust her.
At the same time, Axman wondered if she was safe out there on Black Island. Her brother knew she had leaked information to Modin. Was Julia in danger? Or was it the other way round? Was she putting them in harm’s way? He tried to shake off his sense of foreboding.
Axman scratched his neck. His heart was racing. To his relief, the cormorant had now come up to the surface gasping for air. Dusk was settling and he would soon be on guard duty along with Modin, who was still sleeping. He was not able to sleep. He was worried. About Julia on Black Island and about his friends here at Modin’s house. He would have preferred to go outside, but was forbidden from doing so when it was dark. Those were Modin’s orders, and he’d listen to them. If you managed to survive as an operator at Special Ops for ten years without any serious injuries, then you were either cowardly or smart. Modin was certainly the latter.
“Is it time yet?” Modin said, emerging from upstairs, rubbing his eyes vigorously, still drowsy with sleep.
“Forty-five minutes to go. I can’t seem to fall asleep. Too much adrenalin.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Modin said. “I’ll start the machine.”
“Yes, sure.”
A little while later, Modin came back and sat o
n the couch. He placed two steaming mugs on the coffee table. There were four tea lights burning in a blue dish, creating the only source of light. Axman had lit them earlier.
“May as well sit here so we’re as far away from the windows as possible,” he said. “How are you, Axman? You seem deep in thought.”
“I have a bad feeling about all this. Do we know what we’re getting ourselves into?”
Modin leaned forward and took a sip of his hot coffee.
“No we don’t,” he said, leaning back once he had swallowed. “We’ll just have to trust that we can defend ourselves if the need arises. We’ve been in similar confrontations before, haven’t we?”
“You maybe,” Axman said lowered his head. “This time we’re up against military. That makes a big difference. They could send hundreds of men to stop us. Is there no one else we can ask for help?”
“Well, it would have to be the Rooskies,” Modin said, laughing. “No, we’re on our own. We will have to defend ourselves until we have documented the SOSUS equipment. As soon as we have proof and can blow this thing sky high, we can threaten to go to the media. But only then.”
“The metal box, what about that?” Axman said. “Can we use it?”
“I don’t know. If I open the box and break the seals, there is no turning back. Then we are a legitimate target—and we will go to jail for disclosing military top secret documents. As long as we don’t touch it, we possess a trump card we can use against Loklinth.”
“But doesn’t that presuppose that they know it’s us?”
“They know, Axman. I know they know.”
“Fuck, Modin.”
“I know, man.”
“So that means the box has to remain unopened,” Axman said, his forehead creased.
“That’s how it is. In order to keep its magic and us alive.”
“You don’t think we should send some of the documents to the press. Just in case…”
“In case we die, you mean?”
Enemy of the State (Anton Modin Book 2) Page 30
