He took out his Nikonos camera and photographed everything in the room that he imagined could be of interest, even instructions and positions.
This was too good to be true. Everything he needed seemed served up on a silver platter.
He put his camera away and kept reading. At the bottom of the page was an overview of the SOSUS installations. Modin guessed that this was a working diagram of how the installation would be positioned. There was a small picture of a device constructed by Oceaneering Technologies Corporation. It was yellow, and looked like a large sledge. It looked as if it could crawl along the seabed.
This must have been what they used to bury the cable. Yes, damn it, the cable. It must be linked to this unit.
He looked on the back, and found a black cable, about an inch thick, which was linked to the bottom box on the rack. He followed it and saw that it ran along the wall, then over to the door he had just entered. The cable went out into the corridor through a hole, which had been drilled next to the doorway. As he followed it, he saw that it led to the underground harbor.
This is a harbor, indeed, he thought when he re-entered the huge chamber—an underground harbor for submarines. The ceiling was at least a hundred feet high. Parts of the pier, which was about a hundred yards long, were covered in tire rubber, which was bent over the edge into the water. Bollards were evenly spaced along the edge. Otherwise, the space was empty; it looked as if it had been inactive for quite some time. He figured this whole facility was intended as a repair dock for damaged submarines or a relay station to smuggle personnel in and out without being seen.
He picked up the cable again on the outer wall near the pier. It ran along the wall at the end where Modin thought he had come in, and disappeared over the edge of the pier into the water.
He went back to where he had left his scuba fins. His shoulders ached from carrying the heavy diving equipment.
Suddenly a steel door slammed somewhere very close by!
Modin could feel his pulse in his Adam’s apple. His heartbeat nearly made it ache. His gaze swept swiftly over the whole area, which was well lit now that he had turned on the light. He could see something some fifty yards away on the pier under a piece of tarp. He hurried in that direction to investigate.
The tarp was dark green. It was wrapped around a piece of equipment that measured about ten by fifteen feet. He loosened the ropes to the cover and lifted up one side. It was a Sea Tractor; he recognized it from the picture he had seen earlier. The machine looked to be in good shape. It was yellow and had several black metal arms that could be controlled hydraulically. On the side was a metal sign, about one foot square. The description read: U.S. Navy Sea Tractor MK 1.
U.S. Navy Sea Tractor MK 1
Voices were closing in. Someone was heading his way!
Modin continued his investigation and found that the arms at the front of the vehicle could grip or cut, and the camera lenses could film and guide equipment. It had two caterpillar tracks. Another small metal plaque read: Undersea Cable Burial.
This had to be the vehicle they used to lay and bury the SOSUS cable. What an incredible find! I must get out of here, up to the surface. Tell the others. Now!
He took a few photos, turned off the lights in the underground bunker, sat on the edge of the pier, and checked his equipment: how much air he had left, the time, and whether all the valves were open. He then put on his scuba fins.
Suddenly a door to the hall opened, spreading light across the pier.
This is the Atlantis of the Cold War, he thought before he put the mask back in front of his eyes, put the regulator in his mouth, inflated the wing on his back, and jumped into the cold water.
The guards caught a glimpse of a shadow disappearing over the edge of the pier—that was all.
CHAPTER 81
On his way back, Modin met Axman just as he had reached the shallower stretch where the carved channel continued under the rock. He made a double okay sign and moved his hands backward and forward to show Axman that something special had occurred.
Axman merely shook his head. He seemed irritated but also relieved to have found him. Fifty-five minutes had passed since Modin had begun his dive. They kept company during the next fifteen minutes while traveling up to the surface.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Axman said once they broke the surface.
Bergman and Nuder were hanging down over the railing of the Hulk. They seemed concerned, Modin thought, and he was moved by that.
“I bet you thought the old man had died, had been washed away, and buried in the seabed. Well, you were wrong.” He grinned as widely as he could.
“Fucking Almighty,” Bergman said, “you’re just not right. Don’t you realize how worried we were? You simply vanished. We thought you’d run out of air and died.”
“Relax. I’m here.”
Bergman helped Modin get into the boat. Axman also climbed aboard.
“Yes!” Modin said and pumped his fist in the air as he climbed down onto the rib boat. “I have just made the discovery of the century, maybe even the millennium. You don’t realize the luck I’ve had. We’ve had. You have no idea. At last, we can get even in the war against Special Ops.”
“Have you found the cable?” Bergman asked.
“The cable? Are you crazy? I found the whole fucking base station, the Front End. The most secret item the biggest signals surveillance organization in the world can muster. The NSA Crown Jewels. The Holy Stones. We have to get out of here. Turn on the outboards.”
He pulled off his scuba fins and mask, put his fingers under the edge of the drysuit and pulled it off over his head. Water ran from him. Bergman pulled back his feet.
“There’s a large submarine base inside the rock of the islet,” Modin continued as he shook the water out of his ears. Nuder started the outboards and Bergman hove the anchor. “A secret base for American nuclear submarines. At least that’s what it looks like. The base station itself was in a room further inside the rock. It even said SOSUS on the label, and sprouted the logo of Western Electric California, USA. That’s where Julia used to work. I’m telling you,” he said, lowering his voice. “She must have known this base was out here.”
“Fuck, I knew we shouldn’t trust her,” Axman said. “We need to talk to her.”
“Let’s take off now, Nuder,” Modin urged. “There are guards down there.”
CHAPTER 82
BLACK ISLAND, FRIDAY, MAY 22
“The press photographer, Åke M, says that on the evening of the murder, at 23:35 (13 minutes after the murder), he heard the following dialog over his CB radio:
– Hello, up there, how are things?
– It’s damned cold.
– Prime Minister shot.
(The Police Trace, in: State Commission Report, page 398)
Nuder carefully pushed up the throttles. He was in the inner archipelago, turning to the right to approach the island from a cove on the northern part of Black Island. He knew the islet from the 1980s, when he had been tasked with transporting people here while it was the property of Defense Radio. He followed the channel as marked on the electronic sea chart and reduced speed until the four-stroke outboard motors were barely audible in the mist.
Nuder could just make out the cliffs on the north side of the islet as the vessel glided forward in neutral. The gears were disengaged and he let the vessel cruise toward the bathing ladder near the sauna. Before he let the Hulk gently hit that ladder, he saw on the echo scanner that the water was around 120 feet deep closest to the cliff.
They jumped out without unloading. Nuder tied the boat to the bathing ladder. The sea was smooth, so he could allow the vessel to rub up against the rocks.
• • •
Per could hear the Hulk approaching. He left his position on the northern side of the cottage and ran to the entrance on the southern side.
“Someone’s coming,” he shouted in through the door. He avoided entering the room. “I can hear severa
l voices. Shall we stop here and fight?”
“No, no. You go, I have to take care of something first,” Christer said as he entered the hall.
Christer Steerback wiped his bayonet carefully on a rag and then put it back in its sheath on his right thigh.
“You go ahead. Take the kayak. We’ll meet up at the pilot station. Wait for me there.”
The three men spread out and rapidly descended the rise back toward the kayaks. The mist had eased somewhat. Christer watched them from the house. He saw them vanish behind a ridge.
He could see it was light already. The sunrise was slowly entering from the northeast.
For one last time, he walked past his sister; she was now lying on her back on the carpet, staring vacantly at the ceiling. He wanted to have her for himself, mourn her quietly for a short while. The rush of satisfaction at seeing her blood, witnessing her last sigh as it trembled in her chest, and knowing that the time of temptation was over, turned into a solemn farewell. He had loved her, as any man loves a woman. It was her fault, he thought; she had seduced him. He didn’t hold a grudge. He was free now. So was she.
You have found peace, he thought. An end has come to betrayal and falsehood, cheating with other men, other nations. You’ve been saved at last. Called home by God. Brought to the realm of eternity. To a place greater than life itself.
He made the sign of the cross, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.
A moment later, he turned round and swiftly left the room and the cottage. Once outdoors, he watched the area around the sauna for a few moments to figure who had arrived at the islet.
He recognized Modin: his angular, well trained body, the somewhat hunched walk; he was like a wild animal. Modin had three others with him. He could see that they were armed with MP5’s. Fuck!
He decided to stay put as long as he dared in order to cover his own men’s retreat. He knew that if they caught sight of the kayaks, they would immediately go after them and easily catch them in the RIB, and the whole operation would be spoiled in no time. Their order was to kill Julia, not to fight Modin. Modin would soon find Julia and start searching the island. He needed a hiding place where he could both conceal himself and feel safe. He snuck down the cliff, down toward Julia’s kayak harbor.
CHAPTER 83
Bergman went ashore first. Nuder was next. He soon caught up and passed him, but kept looking back. He seemed hesitant. Something was wrong. Bergman had respect for Nuder’s natural instincts, brought up on an island as he was, always close to nature. He could hear from the birds if something was not right. At that moment, Bergman noticed that the birds on the islet, normally noisy at this time of early morning, were unusually quiet.
We’re not the only ones on this island, Bergman thought.
When Modin, Axman, and Bergman arrived at the cottage, Nuder was already inside. The lights were on in various rooms.
“Oh Jesus Christ Almighty!” Nuder yelled from inside.
Modin and Axman held their MP5’s at waist height and rushed in. Bergman stood on the porch trying to get a 360 degree view of the surroundings. He saw a silhouette disappearing over the ridge down toward the kayak harbor. He let go of the silhouette and went inside.
Axman and Modin were kneeling next to a woman Bergman assumed was Julia. She was lying on her back. Her throat had been slit; no doubt about that. There was blood everywhere. A pool of it had formed on the floor. Nuder was slumped in a lounger.
“She can’t have been dead long,” Modin said, fighting back the tears. He was holding her head on his knee. Axman seemed sincerely shocked. His face was as white as a sheet.
Modin was rocking back and forth with Julia’s head still on his knee. She was dead. That much was clear. There was nothing they could do for her. They had arrived just a few minutes too late.
“Who did this?” he said almost whispering.
“Someone is going to pay dearly for this,” Axman said and seemed more determined than Bergman remembered him ever to be in the past. The gentle Axman was gone; he looked more like a wild beast in search of prey.
“I saw someone out there! He was heading toward the kayak harbor,” Bergman said.
“Come on,” Axman said to Nuder.
They exchanged brief glances, then left the cottage.
• • •
Major Christer Steerback was just about to climb into Julia’s small and narrow kajak when he saw two armed men running over the ridge. One of them tripped and fell.
“Stop!” the other one yelled in the distance.
Christer Steerback got into the kayak and sat down with some difficulties. He felt the metal edge scrape a wound on the outside of his leg.
“Fucking kayak,” he hissed.
He got hold of the paddle and fumbled around.
The man rushing down the slope had the sly movements of a cat, he thought. The uneven ground did not seem to slow him down one bit. The man threw down his sub-machine gun and dove into the water. Steerback caught a glimpse of his pale young face, the turn of the body, and his smooth movements.
“Fucking Christ!”
Christer Steerback grabbed his paddle and tried to get the kayak up to speed. The paddle felt wrong; the kayak felt as if it was standing still while the paddle merely made long gashes in the surface. Foam was spurting backward, in the direction of the swimmer who was fast approaching, unstoppable.
Christer Steerback felt the swimmer take hold of the stern of the kayak. He turned round and tried to hit him with the paddle. He couldn’t—he was too fat, he was stuck. Christer Steerback saw it coming a split second before it happened. The swimmer turned the stern; the kayak capsized.
“What the hell!”
It was as if he had been shot in the head. He lost the paddle and his breath. Cold water filled his mouth and ears. His heart was pounding out its black beats.
The kayak shook in the water. Furiously, like a caught fish.
Nuder stopped running and watched at the edge of the water. He wasn’t needed. Axman was determinedly holding the kayak upside-down. Nuder could see that Axman had no intention of righting it again. He had murder in his eyes. Finally, the writhing and shaking ceased. Nuder saw how Axman continued to hold the kayak in an overturned position, then, a short while later, he pushed it out into the sound between Black Island and Grisslehamn. It glided silently away through the water. There was no life on the craft.
The paddle bobbing in the water was the only remaining sign of what had happened. Axman had drowned the man without the slightest hesitation. When Axman finally turned toward him, he still looked as determined as he had up there in the cottage. Finally, Nuder said: “Come on, let’s go up and join the others.”
He took Axman by the arm and led him up out of the cold water.
CHAPTER 84
Sven Aspling was the Party Secretary of the Social Democratic Party during the 1950s and is presumed to have been the person through whom the Swedish government liaised with William Colby of the CIA. According to Colby, the two of them laid out the strategy for Stay Behind and, in Sweden, Crack of Dawn. Sven Aspling later became one of the leaders of Stay Behind. From 1981 to 1985, he was a member of the Swedish Parliamentary War Delegation, which is part of Stay Behind. The last person to talk with Olof Palme before he left home on the night of his murder was Sven Aspling in a telephone conversation.
(Summarized from:
Honorable Men – My Life in the CIA, William Colby,
as well as the Swedish state investigation into the Palme murder)
Modin had been sitting with Julia’s head on his knees since Nuder and Axman left. His clothes were soaked in blood. There were streaks of Julia’s blood in his face. Bergman had to pull Modin away from Julia’s body by force.
Fucking hell, Bergman thought. Based on the way Modin had talked about Julia, Bergman knew that she had meant something to him. How would he cope with yet another major loss?
Nuder carried Julia out of the room and down to the archive in the bunk
er under the hill. They laid her on the table without covering her face. She looked like a goddess with her straight features, her chalk white complexion, and her high cheekbones framed by her chestnut brown hair.
“Julia shall lie in state for her last night on the island,” Nuder said when returning. “Anyone who wants to sit with her a while can do so.”
“Is this Loklinth’s work?”
“Yes,” was all that Modin managed to say.
“In the name of national security,” Bergman said, remembering Nuder’s murdered dogs the previous summer.
“Modin,” Nuder said solemnly in his deep and tranquil voice. “We’ll get that bastard. No further victims for the sake of national security.”
Nuder stood, his legs apart, hands curled into fists, eyes glowing. Modin nodded, strengthened and consoled by the fact that his companions were with him all the way.
Bergman felt his heart racing in his chest and his face flush. He was one of them now. He had never before felt so determined. They were alone in their struggle against Crack of Dawn and Chris Loklinth. They could die or disappear, and no one would know what had happened to them should they be overpowered. He was shivering with the cold now.
Not even Modin can get us out of this one, he thought. He felt sorrow and fury, mixed with happiness and togetherness. His inner rage confused him, yet it was their common bond.
He went up to Modin and gave him a hug, then to Axman, who had pulled a change of clothing out of his backpack, and finally to Nuder, and gave a bear hug around his waist. He couldn’t reach any higher.
“Come on, guys,” was all that he could say.
CHAPTER 85
BLACK ISLAND, FRIDAY, MAY 22, 7 A.M.
Modin was sitting at Julia’s computer. Bergman, Axman, and Nuder were sitting around Julia’s square kitchen table. They were struggling to force down a little breakfast. The coffee and toast smelled good. The sun was shining on the butter dish through the small kitchen window.
Enemy of the State (Anton Modin Book 2) Page 33
