The old man was definitely Evald, the man from the Foreign Ministry who knew everything. And the woman was certainly his daughter Evy; Modin’s contact. But Adam didn’t quite fit in.
“Nice coffee,” Modin said in English and tried to slow down his thoughts.
The weather forecast was on the radio in the kitchen, and it was odd to hear it in Estonian. He understood every word. And he would have understood the three locals as well, were they to start talking among themselves. But they didn’t. Their attention was focused on the visitors.
Kim praised the rolls and the coffee and received a second helping. She poured in milk and added sugar. Evy seemed to like that. The wordless smiles of the women thawed the atmosphere in the room.
Modin didn’t feel comfortable. He placed his soles flat on the floor. He calculated how many feet it was to the front door. He saw another door in the kitchen. It led to the backyard, which was surrounded by bushes. The room had one window facing the road, two facing a slope to the east.
He felt tense. He couldn’t help it. Was this a set up?
CHAPTER 60
VAHTSELIINA, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 6
Finally, Evald turned toward Modin.
“The shipwreck had to do with the cargo,” he said in a high and brittle voice.
“Do you know what they had on board the night of the accident?”
“Not in detail. But there were radioactive substances involved. Maybe weapons.”
Modin noticed the old man had a dried piece of snot in one of his nostrils. Modin couldn’t help staring at it.
“Was the cargo radioactive?” Modin asked for clarification.
“Yes, it was.”
Modin looked pleadingly into the eyes of the old man. How could he know?
“How do you know?”
“We received an unofficial radioactivity warning before we set off. For the staff involved. That wasn’t the first time such a transport took place. I think the military was running the whole show, but there were also civilian people and vehicles.”
Modin said nothing. Filipson had told him the same story back in Grisslehamn. What the man had just said presumably concerned the same cargo: the radioactive reactor from the submarine training facility. It was onboard! Modin decided not to reveal his own part in the smuggling activities. He didn’t trust these people.
“Someone blew up the ship,” Adam Alarik said when he finally started talking. “The surge from the explosion rippled through the entire hull. People started to scream. I’m sure it was the Russian Military GRU. There was a large hole in the port side of the ship, several yards across. They wanted to stop the transport of the cargo. Russia wanted to damage independent Estonia. It had been exactly fifty years since the Russians invaded Estonia in 1944. To the day! They had lost Estonia again, and didn’t like it one bit. The Russians are evil.”
Adam Alarik had worked up some deep-seated anger. Modin decided to listen rather than ask questions. He was not entirely convinced of Alarik’s motives; the crooked look in his eye made Modin uneasy.
He nodded to the other Estonian and continued:
“No one dares to say this. That’s how it is in Estonia. Everyone is scared. We all fear losing our lives. They wanted to teach us a lesson, so they blew up the ship. They sank the Estonia on purpose, killed all these people to make a point.”
Alarik pointed with his hand, then buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Modin had always suspected as much, but to hear someone say this aloud still hit him hard. He had known, or should have known, at least. But he had never admitted to himself what he could no longer deny: that he himself had played a part in the story. While the thought remained unreal, it was the truth. The dirty NATO money in his grocery bag had bought the radioactive reactor that ended up on the M/S Estonia, putting everyone on board in harm’s way. Loklinth’s careless decision to transport the nuclear weapons on a passenger ferry and the Russians’ desire to teach Estonia and the West a lesson had sunk the ship. Now the reactor lay at the bottom of the sea, emitting radiation.
“Was it because of the scare tactics of the Russian GRU that the Mayday call went out too late?” he asked, his eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, the radio operator was forbidden from sending a Mayday call, but he sent one anyway. It was too late, though, much too late.”
CHAPTER 61
Modin could feel something was happening. He heard footsteps outside the house.
Fuck we are being ambushed!
The window of the living room shattered. A tear gas grenade landed on the floor. The gas billowed out and filled the room within a few seconds. It was shock tactics: stinging, suffocation.
Instinctively, Modin threw himself under the table. He pulled his sweater up over his face. He could hardly breathe.
The front door was busted down. They were attacking! Army or police?
Modin lay still on the floor. The others were also still, paralyzed. But soon they began to cough and wiggle like worms.
Five men in black entered. The old man in the wheelchair had been knocked out. He looked dead. They pushed him aside like an old rug.
Modin got up slowly, his hands behind his neck. Someone pulled down his hand abruptly and put handcuffs on him behind his back. His eyes felt as if they would explode. He tried to hold his breath to avoid breathing the gas. It was hard to see what happened. He saw Kim stretch her arms high up in the air. She was led out, coughing hard.
Modin was pushed out through the door. He fell on the steps and ended up face down in the snow. He saw Kim was kneeling, outside in the yard. The men pointed their guns at them. Two vans skidded into the yard and stopped in front of the house. The doors flung open. Someone dragged him into the van to his right. He felt a stabbing sensation in his thigh, then nothing more.
CHAPTER 62
Modin blinked. A sharp light shone into his eyes. He saw the wooden ceiling high above him through his tears. It looked like the ceiling of a large barn. He smelled hay. Light seeped in through the cracks in the walls. He cautiously turned his head. He could see no one, and he could not bring himself to call out. Was Kim here, too? He was lying on a table tied up with ropes. He tried to free his hands. That hurt. He felt sick. His eyes still stung from the tear gas.
Where the hell am I?
A large wooden door opened with a clatter. Daylight flooded in. The door was soon closed again. A group of people surrounded him, but all Modin could make out were their shadows. He smelled a faint scent of perfume. That actually smelled good. Someone stepped up behind him, but he couldn’t see anything, because someone was pointing a flashlight at his eyes again.
Modin grimaced and blinked. Fuck, get me out of here!
“Mr. Modin, I presume,” someone said. A woman?
“Yes,” Modin muttered.
“You’ve come home.”
Modin didn’t reply. Yes, it was a woman, and she was being sarcastic. She laughed, talked with someone else. He could not make out what they were saying. She shone the flashlight back into his eyes.
“What do you think of your native country, Mr. Modin? Are you longing to come back. Your father is dead. As is your uncle. They’re all dead. The only ones left are Russians; a younger generation of Russians, of course. They don’t understand. You have come to a new country, a Western country that has joined NATO. Your nostalgic Estonia, your parents told you about—it no longer exists.” The woman spoke English with a faint Swedish accent, but she sounded like a Disney character, and he had to make an effort to understand what she was saying.
“My name is Barbro. I think you know who I am. Unfortunately, I cannot show myself. Officially, I do not exist.”
“The Barbro Team?” Modin said, and tried to look at her; the light still in his face.
“Quite right, Barbro and Anders. We are in Estonia now. It is here we can do good things.”
“Who is Anders?”
“Anders is back in Sweden. He is taking charge of Jon
as Zetterman’s crumbling empire. To make sure that little slut is not going to work the empire into the ground. Anders will be taking over and he will do it well.”
“You mean Anders Glock, Bofors?”
“So you know him?”
“He will never take over Zetterman’s business.”
“We will see about that.”
“Are Jonas Zetterman’s companies mixed up with Stay Behind?” Modin said.
“Yes, you could say that. They are part of Sweden’s shadow government. The shadow government wields power. Without us, Modin, the whole world would have collapsed ages ago. Just look at the Internet. Sheer anarchy. We must stop it. Think of all the immorality and criminality that takes place in the cyber world. A cozy nest for ADHD anarchists and other lunatics.”
Modin said nothing and closed his eyes. He decided to remain passive, see what they had in store for him, if they planned to torture or even kill him. Barbro was capable of anything. That much he was certain of.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You will see. But first we have to talk. I have been following you at a distance. Your investigations have gone too far. You must realize that the Estonia ferry disaster is still classified information. You are breaking both Swedish and Estonian law by poking around and interviewing the people involved.”
“Oh, put a sock in it,” Modin said.
“It is you that will put a sock in it, Modin! You should be ashamed of yourself!” The woman hit Modin’s rib cage hard with a cane. It hurt like hell. She managed to hit his breastbone and he had to grasp for air. In his pain, he heard footsteps recede, vanish for a moment, just to come back again.
“Modin, you have worked in the intelligence community long enough to know the score. What we are doing in the shadows is necessary. We fine tune. Chop off the peaks and the valleys. We regulate the balance of power throughout the world. Yugoslavia, Iraq, North Korea, Iran. What would have happened otherwise?”
“You are anti-democratic,” Modin said, then immediately regretted it, anticipating another blow from the cane. He couldn’t even finish the thought before it hit him.
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Who trained you? Loklinth? He’s no good. Now I will take over instead.” Barbro came closer and stroked his cheek. “My beloved Modin, there’s so much you just don’t understand. Let Mom tell you.” She put her hand over his eyes and kissed his forehead and a whiff of perfume filled his nose.
“Just think. We’ve not had a world war for over 65 years. This is the longest period of peace in the history of the world. Longer even than the period of peace during the Freedom Age in Europe in the 18th century. President Truman created the CIA in 1949 to do exactly that: maintain peace. We are continuing the tradition for the sake of mankind. We are the guardians of peace on earth. That’s why we’re here in Estonia. In case everything goes south. We are not only defending Estonia, but all of Northern Europe, Modin. Just imagine if there was a sudden revolution in Russia, which holds the highest concentration of nuclear weapons in the world. What do you think would happen? Just think about it!”
She caned him again, this time on his kneecaps.
Fuck, it hurts. He opened his eyes and tried to get a glimpse of the evil woman but could only see shadows.
“Why do I have to punish you all the time, you little bastard?” She ran her hand along Modin’s thigh.
“I can agree that a world government would be a good thing,” Modin said. “It’s even a brilliant idea. There is only one problem.”
“And what is that?” she asked, as if the Disney character’s voice had broken.
“Who will control the truth? Who will control you? Who will benefit from the network? Who will become rich? Who will be ruined? Those are questions that are not allowed to be asked, are they?” Modin expected another whip from the cane. It didn’t come.
“Good question. No one is keeping us in check. But there are enough of us in the field for it to work, nevertheless. It will all even out in the end, the way we see it. Today, the confederates of the USA are making big money in Afghanistan, tomorrow Sweden will be. Do you remember the Bofors consortium and the smuggling of weapons to the Middle East in the 1980s? We made a pretty penny on that. That was good for Sweden. What would the Social Democrats have been without us? Everything evens itself out in the end. But you have to participate.”
“There are always losers. Look at the Muslims, what are they getting out of all this?”
“Ah, well, Modin. There are many rich Arabs, you can’t deny that fact. Just look at Dubai or Qatar. You’re either with us or against us. Many government leaders have said that over the years, and it’s true. Just imagine getting home to your family to relax on a Friday night, Modin. You are stopped at the door by the guardians of the state. They take you away and lock you up for twenty years without a trial. You are not allowed to see your children for twenty years. They cry as they see their dad taken away, and at school they get to hear that their dad is a traitor.” Barbro fell silent and hit the table next to Modin rhythmically. “This happens in China, Russia, Iran today, but not in Sweden. Do not take your liberty for granted, Modin. Don’t do that!”
Barbro hit the table so hard that the cane broke in pieces.
CHAPTER 63
The light was turned off. The footsteps receded. A door clicked shut. It was quiet in the barn. As quiet as a tomb. Modin’s mind raced. Where the hell am I? Where is Kim? The Barbro team killed Olof Palme; do they now want to kill us? I have to get out of here. I want to get home.
In his mind, Modin went through all the things he should have said to Barbro, but had not had the guts to do so. He was sure they were going to kill him sooner or later. He just did not understand why they had kept him alive thus far.
He was standing in the way of a New World Order: the Deep State. He did not take his freedom for granted, the old hag should not believe that. He had never done so. He was infuriated over the things the Deep State had taken from him. Yes, he should be able to come home to a family on a Friday after work! But they were gone forever. He was on his own, had nothing to lose. That’s why he was dangerous. They had to kill him before he’d discloses the whole network: the puppet show of the world.
He felt the ropes around his wrists and ankles being loosened. He slowly raised his head and looked up. He had not seen them enter.
He sat up and put his feet on the ground. Someone grabbed his arms and he was pushed out through the entrance. Out there, another pair of strong hands grabbed hold of him and he was led up a dark incline covered in frozen mud. He was pushed into the back seat of a van. The door was slammed closed and he lay down on the seat, exhausted. He realized that he had been drugged. His thoughts floated freely, as if on an LSD trip. He thought about his children in the wreck of the M/S Estonia, and what was left of them. He was horrified when they came flying toward him, laughing, grinning.
He was tossed back and forth as the vehicle drove along bumpy winding roads. Then the vehicle stopped abruptly. How long had they been driving?
“We are going to let you go,” the dim shadow sitting in the front seat said in a deep voice. “You can take your car. The girl’s in it. We expect you to leave the country tomorrow. Every Estonian you chose to contact from now on will die. You will not find truth here. In Estonia, we stick together. Our nation is too small for us to do anything else. The Russians are just around the corner and we are careful to preserve our newly won freedom. We have to coexist. The M/S Estonia was sunk by the Russians. That’s the way it was. Try to understand. What is past, is past. We are looking forward now. Toward the future. Go home with your woman and never return, Anton Modin. See ei ole sinu maa enam.”
He was pushed out of the car, the door slammed shut.
He could hear the echo in his head: See ei ole sinu maa enam. Loud and clear: This is no longer your nation.
CHAPTER 64
STOCKHOLM, SATURDAY, JANUARY 9
Modin felt dreadful when he woke
up in his apartment in Stockholm. They had returned from Tallinn the previous day. He dropped Kim off at the hotel and drove straight to his apartment on Götgatan in the southern district of Stockholm. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. His body didn’t have as much as a scratch, but mentally, he had been run over by a ten-ton truck. He had been thrown out of his father’s homeland. He was no longer welcome. What a slap in the face! He slept for almost twenty-four hours straight.
Modin scratched his arm, as if that would help him figure out which way to turn. He desperately needed a drink!
He got to his feet, hobbled over to the cabinet, grabbed a bottle of bourbon, filled half a glass with the brown liquid, and plopped down on the couch. His hands were trembling. He knocked back half of the contents of the glass in one gulp. It tasted good and seemed to ease his anxiety. He thought so, anyway. Then he gulped down the other half and felt the warmth spreading through his body all the way down to his toes. The pressure was off, at least for the moment. It was like a rail or banister that prevented him from plunging down into the abyss, or from driving into oncoming traffic. A temporary life vest.
He poured another glass. He thought of Alexander, Ellinor, and Monica. They were out there somewhere? Stuck in the eternal darkness of the deep sea.
Suddenly he remembered that all this had happened because of him and no one else. The Russians sunk the vessel because of the military cargo. He himself had had his hand in buying this military cargo. He had taken his family on this trip, left them in the cabin, and saved himself.
He started to cry. The tears ran down his cheeks. He was shivering, shaking, his teeth clattering. He threw the glass at the wall, where it shattered, and yelled at the top of his voice:
“What the fuck have I done!?”
CHAPTER 65
Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3) Page 17