Deep State (Anton Modin Book 1)

by Anders Jallai

  Modin pulled the knitted face mask down. His eyes were distinguishable, only a glimmer could be seen through the two holes in the upper part of the mask. He stealthily moved closer to the tunnel entrance.

  Loklinth rubbed the back of his head into the graffiti behind him and came hard, without making any sound. His body jerked a few times. Then he relaxed and remained completely still for a few seconds, before pushing the girl down on the gravel with a hand to her forehead.

  With a couple of resolute steps, Modin entered the tunnel. He turned on the Maglite and aimed it right at Loklinth’s face. Advancing from the other side, also with his flashlight in Loklinth’s face, was Axman.

  “Police! Freeze! Nobody move!”

  Axman was issuing his orders in a forceful and authoritarian voice.

  CHAPTER 55

  FURNESHOLM CASTLE, MONDAY, JULY 28

  It was a couple of minutes past seven in the morning. The radio was on low and tuned to the financial news.

  The sole female chair of the Carlson Board of Directors, Amelia Carlson, was reading the morning paper sitting comfortably in a leather recliner by Chesterfield. She jumped when seeing a picture of Anton Modin on one of the pages in the first section. Probably an old passport photo, she thought. According to the article, Modin had been the instigator in a bar brawl at a restaurant in the Stockholm archipelago, and it had nearly cost him his life. He had fallen into the water, and an unknown man had jumped in and pulled him out of the depths. Following that, and thanks to quick thinking, it had been possible to revive Modin. The article continued with a summary of Modin’s life and accomplishments throughout the years. It finally wrapped up with the words:

  Anton Modin’s personal life seems to have been on a constant downslide for the past few years, as there have been very few occasions to mention his name in connection with any accomplishments.

  Amelia Carlson put down the paper and had another sip of the lukewarm coffee. She looked out the window at the beautiful view over the lake with its stone wave breaker.

  The insulation in the old stone castle was massive and created a feeling of both melancholy and hope mixed with an aura of past greatness and pompous pride. Or maybe it was what they called culture nowadays, she thought. She flipped her cell phone open and pressed the speed dial for Göran Filipson at the Security Service.

  It rang a few times before he picked up.

  “Göran, I just read the morning paper. It seems like our hero has gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble out there in the northern archipelago. Apparently, he almost killed himself last night. Is this something you happen to know anything about?”

  “No, but I know he is working on something very sensitive and highly classified,” Filipson said. “Might have something to do with that.”

  “It does not look that way, I’m afraid. But God knows. Could you please be so kind and make contact to offer assistance? In the meantime, I will nudge an old friend of mine in the restaurant business. Seems like it was at his restaurant, The Rock, where this whole incident played out. He might be able to help. I do not know what Modin is up to, but it is important to us that we keep him on an even keel. We still need him, you know.”

  Amelia Carlson ended the conversation and got up from the recliner. She walked over to a framed document on the opposite wall. It was an old stock certificate issued by Kreuger & Toll. Although they were worthless, she had been collecting these certificates ever since Ivar Kreuger killed himself in a Paris hotel room on March 12, 1932.

  After Stalin reintroduced his reign of terror in the Soviet Union and the Wall Street crash of 1929, Ivar Kreuger did not see a future either for himself or for his conglomerate. He saw the writing on the wall, the impending doom. In the summer of 1930, the New York Stock Exchange had lost 85 percent of its value. Within a few short years, the world had descended from a state of co-existence, understanding, and confidence to the darkest depths of depression, with both Hitler and Stalin preparing for war. The business tycoon, Ivar Kreuger, had been created, erected, maintained, and later used and abused by the KGB and others, until one day he could not take it anymore. His Ponzi scheme was about to be unraveled and he knew his empire was doomed.

  Amelia Carlson could not help thinking back on her own fate, which, with the collapse of the Soviet Union, had taken a turn for the better. But the danger was far from over. Dark clouds were gathering in Russia, unrest and uncertainty was building, similar to the times of Ivar Kreuger. The similarities are too striking and the consequences too grave to be ignored, she thought. We’ve got to do something.

  She walked past a couple of expensive paintings by Russian artists, before ripping out her cell phone again. This time she dialed an unlisted number at the Navy Command.

  CHAPTER 56

  STOCKHOLM, LILL-JANS FOREST, MONDAY, JULY 28

  The Blowfish was hysterical as Bill Bergman dragged her out of the tunnel. Although she repeatedly kept spitting he did not turn his face, but just waited for her to calm down. When she was done, he calmly pointed out the way to the bus stop at Stockholm University about a mile to the north. But before she was allowed to leave, Axman had her show some identification. Turned out she was fifteen, after all. They would not be able to arraign the head of the most secretive institution in Sweden on allegations of having sex with a minor. Fifteen was the legal age for sex in Sweden, so, from a formal standpoint, Loklinth had not broken any laws. Neither had he been seen giving her any money in return for her favors.

  While they let the girl go, they had Loklinth strip down. In a lame protest, he wanted to keep on his underwear, but Modin just growled at him: “We’ve seen it all. And recorded it, too”

  They led Loklinth on a straight line down to the water’s edge of the lake right beneath the ski jump. Modin was aiming for the wooden landing dock, slightly to the right. Harry Nuder took the lead with his hunting rifle in ready position. Immediately after, Nuder followed Loklinth, who was stark naked with a hood over his head and his hands cuffed behind his back. He was stumbling over sharp rocks, which mercilessly cut into his pale, narrow feet. Modin, with a firm grip of Loklinth’s left upper arm, made sure he stayed on course.

  This was a Golgotha procession. He could no longer hear the girl. Was she dead? Loklinth wondered as he was stumbling in the dark. The pain in his feet as he stepped on twigs and rocks told him that they were still on dry land, but his fear was to be pushed over the edge of a cliff or into a sink hole. He experienced a strange mix of sexual excitement and mortal fear.

  He reckoned that there were at least three men. He also figured that it was no coincidence they had nabbed just him of all people. He ransacked his brain trying to understand how they had been able to get to him. He had always taken precautionary steps trying to make sure he left no traces. A man in his position could not be careful enough. But somewhere, somehow, something had gone terribly wrong.

  He felt grass wet from dew under his soles and was brusquely pushed to move forward.

  The evening had cooled off, but there was still a fair amount of moisture in the air. Suddenly, he could feel that the ground was sloping and he registered proximity to a large body of water. He did not like it.

  “Prepare to die, Loklinth,” a familiar voice said. He recognized it all too well.

  “Is that you, Modin?” There was no response.

  “I recognize your voice, Anton. Come on guys,” Loklinth said, “we need to work together. We are all on the same team. It is all about protecting the jobs and the standards we all enjoy. We all want to protect and maintain Sweden as a progressive and successful nation, can’t you guys see that?”

  “You murder dogs, and you are a pedophile and a traitor,” another voice said.

  Loklinth felt a lump in his chest from sheer, naked fear. His time was up. He mustered all his strength to keep his calm, but his stomach revolted, his rectal muscular functions involuntarily failed and he soiled himself. Oh my God! Do not let this be happening. Let it be a bad dream! But
the reality was quickly confirmed as his kidnappers commented on him smelling like a heap of shit.

  They walked out on the landing dock. A firm hand on Loklinth’s shoulder stopped him just about midway. Someone brusquely turned him around and ripped the hood off his head.

  The man right in front of him immediately shoved the barrel of a rifle in his mouth. It had a bitter taste of iron, black powder, and now blood. Every push of the barrel was like a lightning bolt in his head and shoved him closer to the edge of the landing dock.

  “Suck on this one, you fucking bastard,” hissed the man with the rifle. “You killed my dogs and now you are going to pay for it.”

  The barrel screwed further into his mouth triggering his choking reflexes. He was slurring as he tried to speak. He licked the very weapon that was going to kill him.

  “That was a mistake. I never ordered anyone to kill animals. I never do.”

  The man did not listen. He gave the barrel an extra hard shove. Loklinth felt the taste of blood as the corner of his mouth ripped, and blood was streaming down his chin, down onto his neck. Tears were building up, stinging his eyes.

  “Did I forget to mention you should open wide, huh?” the man with the rifle said at the same time he gave it another extra hard push.

  Loklinth was about to choke. His mouth was a gory mess of flesh and blood. The pain made him want to roar and he had to gather all his strength to keep it together. He could not back up any further or he would fall into the water.

  He was at the very end of the landing dock when he tried to turn his head. But the barrel of the rifle hooked into the corner of his mouth. The man maintained a firm grip of the rifle, but somehow at the same time managed to get a pair of heavy-duty nippers out of the utility bag over his shoulder. The pliers quickly flashed in front of Loklinth’s watery eyes. Then the rifle was pulled out of his mouth.

  With a perfect takedown, the tall man twisted Loklinth around and got him to his knees. He had no means of moving, not a chance. Then he grabbed a firm hold of Loklinth’s left hand, which was strapped to the right one, and forcefully extended his little finger.

  “No, oh my God! Please no!”

  An intense icy wave of pain shot from his left hand up to his brain and back again. The sound was even worse. Crushing bones. He felt warm blood running between his fingers while his throat let out a gasping short sniffle. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  The tall man hit him.

  “No more now, please. No more.”

  The man shoved the severed finger into Loklinth’s wide open mouth and pressed his chin upwards to force it closed. He threw the black hood out into the murky water.

  “Swallow you fucking bastard!” he yelled. “Swallow!”

  He swallowed. The finger slid down his throat and into his stomach. Loklinth collapsed against the wooden surface of the landing dock. The sweat pouring over his entire upper body had a cooling effect in the light summer’s breeze.

  “Now you have nine fingers left,” the tall guy said with his mouth close to his ear. “Remember that. One down, nine to go.” The tall guy added in a much softer voice, almost as if he was talking to a child or a dog.

  “Yes,” Loklinth said. Was it over? Was it finally over?

  Bill Bergman had a hard time keeping the camcorder steady. He was terrified. He had not known that what he had just witnessed would take place. The others had planned this all without him. Nuder was insane!

  Do they know? Is this a trap Modin has set to figure out whose side I am on? Probably not. It’s just imagination; my bad conscience.

  “Let’s release him,” Bergman said. “It’s enough. He’s had enough.”

  Modin looked at Bergman for a moment, and seemed about to say something, but then just turned around, approached Loklinth, and dragged him up on his feet. With an open hand he slapped him hard in the face several times just to make sure he was not going to drift into unconsciousness. Loklinth mumbled something unintelligible. Modin took at piece of rope from his pocket and tied Loklinth’s ankles together. Loklinth was making small jumps in place just trying to maintain his balance. Modin looked deeply into his eyes, then turned him around and inspected the knot tying his two now blood-soaked hands together. He pushed Loklinth toward the edge of the landing dock. Loklinth was jumping back and forth and the whites of his eyes were glossy from death fear.

  “Please Modin, we have to cooperate,” he croaked.

  Modin pushed Loklinth over the edge while at the same time he glanced at Bergman, in search of some sort of reaction. Loklinth sank like a stone into the dark water.

  Bergman was breathing heavily.

  “Are we really going to kill him, Modin? No!”

  “Take it easy,” Modin said, preventing Bergman from jumping in after Loklinth.

  Bergman pictured his daughter in front of him, how she was kneeling in front of a man who brutally abused her, calling out for her daddy. Daddy had involuntarily, just by being a daring idiot, put a bounty on her head! Bergman forced himself to breathe deeply and contain himself so as not to interfere.

  Thin layers of mist were dancing over the water. The surface was dark and the depths were impenetrable. As far as Bergman could tell, it was dead quiet down there, not a single movement. A minute went by. Bergman started to shiver. He glanced quickly at Modin who did not reveal any emotion. Modin had tuned out completely. This was a side of Modin he had never seen before—a scary side.

  It started to rain. The drops created a ripple on the otherwise even, almost mirror-like surface of the lake.

  After a minute and a half, Loklinth surfaced in a cascade of water. He was violently gasping for air, with eyes wide open and filled with fear. He had managed to loosen the rope tied around his hands. With a guttural roar he was spitting blood and mucus, while with only his arms free, he was trying to swim for the edge of the landing dock. Loklinth reached the far side of the dock without as much as a drop of movement from the four men.

  I have to get out of here, Loklinth thought. They can kill me if they want. But I am not drowning in front of those bastards!

  He extended his arms so that his elbows came to rest on the edge of the dock. He was totally exhausted. At least they had not cut all of his fingers off. Gathering the last of his strength, he heaved himself up onto the landing dock and rolled over on his back. They were not there anymore. Loklinth remained on his back. The rain was hammering against his face and his bare genitals. With nine fingers intact, he became hyper aware of reality, which suddenly seemed a lot more real than before. Slippery soft wood tiles underneath him. Touching his skin. He opened his eyes and looked at the dark sky. The tears washed away all the pain, humiliation, and fear he had just experienced.

  He was alive. That was the only thought in his head. He was still alive. And that was all that mattered.

  CHAPTER 57

  NORTHERN STOCKHOLM, TUESDAY, JULY 29

  John Axman said he had to check on something and left the breakfast table.

  He logged into a secure server using an anonymous IP-address. From there he went to hotmail.com and created a new account under the alias lilljans-forrest@hotmail.com. He composed a new email and pasted the text from one of the emails he had skimmed off Loklinth’s private network. He addressed it to loklinth.dso@forsvarsmakten.se and hit the send button.

  Congratulations on the mission involving the daughter of the diver’s friend. Many thanks for a job well done.

  Yours sincerely, C Loklinth.

  The original email was dated July 15 and addressed to albert.svan@hotmail.com. Axman and Modin had discussed the original e-mail days earlier and decided to wait with any possible action until after their mission against Loklinth.

  “Modin, come look at this,” Axman said.

  Modin leaned over him and read the email.

  “So you sent it to Loklinth, as we discussed?”

  “Yes, I did. But I don’t think Loklinth is the only one we should confront with this. You know as wel
l as I do that they are talking about Bergman’s daughter Astrid.” Axman was visibly impatient. “How long do you want to wait for a traitor to confess? Bergman literally has our lives in his hands. We have to confront him. He witnessed what we did to Loklinth! Hell, he was right there. He can sink us with what he knows. I don’t care if he is acting under duress. We can’t trust him.”

  “We don’t know that. Let it be,” Modin said and went back to the breakfast table.

  Axman was furious. The success of the mission depended on mutual trust between them. He was convinced that they couldn’t trust Bergman and that he’d be selling them out eventually. But that seemed to be just fine with Modin. Hah! Modin is probably used to working with double agents, Axman thought. It’s a way of life for these people. Well, not for me.

  Axman rejoined the breakfast table. He made an effort not to meet Modin’s eyes.

  Nuder, Bergman, and Modin had spent the night taking turns sleeping on Axman’s floor and couches. Axman noted they all seemed excited and full of newfound confidence. Nuder, especially, was in an extraordinarily good mood, wanting to take the whole world in his arms while truly enjoying a splendid morning.

  The true power of vindication, Axman thought. Never underestimate that feeling. Retribution for two family members, now buried in Nuder’s backyard in Grisslehamn, had been a necessity for Nuder’s healing process.

  Axman had been impressed by Nuder’s ice cold performance the night before. He had methodically carried out his tasks with a complete lack of emotions or empathy.

  The ability to switch off all emotions distinguished the professional from the layman. Harry Nuder had acted like a true professional. Axman compared it to his own lack of emotional involvement when he, in his own profession, had to comb through computers belonging to a pedophile ring. Tune out your emotions or your soul will burn to a crisp.