Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3)

by Anders Jallai

  He was thinking of Alarik, Evy, and her dad. Why had they betrayed him? For Estonia? National Security? For NATO? The CIA?

  Alarik had clearly said that the Estonia ferry had been sunk by the Russian Military GRU. If that was true, this was it. You don’t fuck with the GRU. Not even he, Anton Modin, was crazy enough to dig deeper there.

  I have to forget the M/S Estonia. What’s the point of rooting around in the dirt of that old piece of Swedish history. There must be more entertaining things to do than to dive down to the wreck of that ferry; a mass grave with over eight hundred corpses. Fuck Estonia!

  “I must leave this rat hole. I need more to drink!”

  CHAPTER 74

  I told the real estate agent I’d decide tomorrow,” Kim said with a piece of food in her mouth. “She’ll hold the apartment until then. What do you think, Bill?”

  “Could I ask how much they want for it?”

  “Ha, ha, I knew you’d ask that one! It’s incredibly expensive, but worth the price.”

  “Which is?”

  “They are asking for five million USD, but the real estate agent thought that I can bargain them down to four and a half.” Kim looked into Bergman’s eyes in a way that made him think she enjoyed embarrassing him.

  “Fuck,” was all that he managed to say.

  He carried on eating his fish while at the same time contemplating what you could do with five million dollars. He noticed that his hands were trembling.

  “I think I’m going to buy it, Bill. I simply cannot stand staying at a hotel any more. I need my own place. A place where I, and I alone, am in charge. I really need it, after all those years with Jonas.” Kim looked down at her fish.

  “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Kim. If you think you will be happy there, go ahead. Do it. I would likely do the same if I had your kind of money. And while you’re at it, give a little to the Salvation Army to silence your conscience.”

  Now it was Bergman’s turn to smile. He rather liked the way those words had come out; it was almost as if Modin had said them.

  “How is Modin?” Kim said, as if she had thought the same.

  “I can’t get ahold of him. I’ve been trying for a week.”

  “Is he on a drinking binge?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Whatever the case may be, I just have to get him back on his feet. We have an assignment to carry out. I really have to get in touch with him.”

  “Have you tried to text him?”

  “Yes, several times. He won’t answer.”

  “What kind of assignment is it?”

  “An important assignment. Even for Modin.”

  “And you won’t tell me more?”

  “Not really. It’s a diving mission. That’s all I can say.”

  “You are going to dive down to the M/S Estonia.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What else would Modin dive for?”

  “There are lots of fascinating wrecks scattered all over the world.”

  “Fuck! It’s the Estonia. I can see it from your face. I knew it would be.” She looked down at her plate again. Her beautiful dark hair fell down.

  “Don’t go through with it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s dangerous, I believe. Jonas kept going on and on about the M/S Estonia. About the scandal if the true nature of the disaster ever were to see the light. He said that no one would ever be diving there and live, as if he knew the nature of the scandal.”

  “And he probably did, if he was CIA, as Modin suggested,” Bergman said, leaning back. “Okay, you’re right; it is the M/S Estonia. That ferry is concealing at least one big secret. And that’s what we’re going to be diving for.”

  “I suppose you realize that the cable project our company was dealing with was a commission from the NSA?”

  “What an amazing coincidence,” Bergman said. “It just so happens that it’s the NSA that has commissioned our dive. Maybe there’s a connection.”

  “But what could that be?” Kim said quietly, as she leaned over toward Bergman. “Who is asking you to dive?”

  “I really have no idea. The U.S. Embassy will be taking care of all the practical arrangements.”

  “Come on. You mean the CIA. Are you and Modin working for the CIA?”

  “It would seem so,” Bergman said, somewhat surprised by Kim’s vehement reaction at the news that the American Embassy was involved. “Do you have anything against the CIA?”

  “Oh, Jonas and I were working with them in the U.S. The Americans interfere with everything, and I mean everything. They think the world is their oyster.”

  “The CIA are paying, and they pay well,” Bergman said. “I need the money. And what’s more, I owe them a favor.”

  “Everyone owes them a favor, Bergman. That’s how they work. The whole fucking world is indebted to the CIA.”

  CHAPTER 75

  DÖBELNSGATAN, STOCKHOLM, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27

  Modin was in one of the few legal strip clubs in the city, the Chat Noir, sitting with a blonde on his knees while sporadically glancing over at the live dance. Two Asian women, thin as rails, were performing an oriental striptease around a stainless steel pole on the sparsely lit stage, clad only in their panties.

  That looks dangerous, Modin thought. Not exactly Olympic gymnastics.

  The two Asian women were trying to turn on a dozen or so sex-starved men who were sitting around the stage, holding up wrinkled twenty kronor bills and shove them into the dancer’s garters when they had a chance. The women would smile at their sponsors and even kiss a lucky one or two of them on the cheek.

  The blonde on Modin’s knees was gorgeous. She sat there wriggling around, pressing herself against his bulging member. He let her carry on, drank his beer, and ordered another.

  “The strongest you have!” The woman on his knees smiled. “And I’ll have a glass of champagne for the lady,” Modin said.

  He had left his AmEx Centurion credit card behind the bar hours ago. He’d been given it by Amelia Carlson of the Carlson Foundation two years earlier, when she had agreed to foot the bill for his dive to the mini submarine stranded on the sea bed in Swedish littoral waters. Somehow, the Carlson Foundation thought that his skills were important enough to extend a huge amount of credit. The small amount of bad conscience connected with spending her money on things other than dives she’d approve of was long gone. He needed the card. It was expensive to be at the top.

  I’ll pay the debt back later, he thought. What counts is the here and now. I have nothing to lose and I’ve done enough for this shit hole of a country.

  He washed down half his drink and burped. Then he kissed his blonde right on the lips. They both had a good laugh and he stuck his nose between her fake breasts and stayed there for several moments. This feels good, this is where I want to die, he thought before getting thirsty again and emerging from the cleft.

  His cellphone rang. He found it after some poking. It was Bergman. He hadn’t answered his calls lately. Modin wanted to be left alone. He thought for a moment and was about to put he phone away again when he changed his mind.

  “Modin, secret agent. What the fuck do you want?”

  The woman on his knees laughed.

  “Hi, this is Bergman. Where are you?”

  “In paradise, my friend, and that’s where I’m going to stay.” He smelled the woman’s hair, buried his face in her curls.

  “Can I come over?”

  “Don’t know. It’s good here.”

  “Modin, please, I have to see you.”

  “If you promise to party with me. No business. Got it?”

  He gave Bergman the address and turned off his cellphone.

  “More drinks! Could we have a little service over here!”

  CHAPTER 76

  Do you realize that this is close to where Olof Palme was assassinated?”

  Modin looked at Bergman, his eyes glassy. “By our own people. A clinical job, I have to s
ay. How the hell did they get away with it? Answer me!”

  Bergman noticed that Modin was over-articulating his speech and yelling. He was drunk.

  “Good planning, I suppose,” Bergman said quietly.

  Bergman did not like the place at all. It stank of the underworld—crime and punishment. This was not Bergman’s stomping ground, and he knew that Modin was sadistically enjoying the fact he had no choice but to come here.

  A woman sat down next to him. He made room for her rather ineptly. Finally, his drink arrived. One large beer and a plain vodka. Modin had ordered.

  “Fuck everything, my friend. We’re going to have a good time. Herr Ober! Over here! Can we have some champagne, please. Crystal will do.”

  “Modin, what happened? Why don’t you answer my calls?”

  “Are you a moron? Or simply stupefied by thinking up advertising slogans all day long?” Modin was in a cruel mood. He knew it himself but couldn’t help it. “Everything has happened. The M/S Estonia sank to the bottom of the sea. The Prime Minister was shot dead. Foreign subs paraded in Swedish waters without permission. The DC-3 plane vanished into thin… water. Shit hits the fan every fucking day of every fucking year. That’s what happened!”

  Modin was slurring his words. Bergman had never seen his friend in such bad shape, not even at The Rock in Grisslehamn. He was willing to forgive his cruelty.

  “What happened in Estonia, Anton?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’ve finished this bottle. Here, have some.” He poured a large glass for Bergman. “Would the ladies like some, or shall we go and fuck right away?” Modin spilled some of his drink and started to laugh. “Bergman, when I’m drunk, I’m happiest. Isn’t that just crazy? Why should anyone have to be unhappy?”

  “Take it easy, Modin. We’re going diving soon.”

  “Forget it. I’m done diving. At least into water.” He buried his head between the blonde’s silicon breasts.

  “No you’re not. I’m serious. We’re going to dive down to the M/S Estonia.”

  Modin pulled back his head abruptly and stopped talking. He stared at Bergman as if he had said something he shouldn’t.

  Bergman felt the tension building. Modin didn’t even seem to be able to focus his eyes. And was it such a good idea that the woman were listening to this conversation?

  “Dive to the M/S Estonia? What the fuck for?” Modin asked. “Only I have a task to fulfill down there. Nobody else. You can fuck your M/S Estonia, Bergman. I’ll kill you man.”

  Modin spat out his words and people from nearby tables looked up. Some Japanese diplomats to their right wiggled uncomfortably.

  “Keep your voice down, Modin,” Bergman said. “You remember Astrid. The fact that she was returned safely. The people who helped us, who helped me, want their favor returned.”

  “Ha! Favor? They owe us. They owe Julia, Olof Palme, my wife, my children. Fucking bastards!”

  He pushed the blonde off his knees and she slid down next to him onto the red plush couch like a rag doll. But she managed to balance her champagne glass without spilling a drop.

  “Modin, listen!” Bergman was desperate. “You’ve got to help me with this. Hell, you owe me.”

  Modin lowered his head in silent acknowledgment. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I love you, Bergman. The problem is, I just can’t keep my hands away from the booze.” Modin leaned against Bergman and put his arms around his neck. Then he started to cry on his shoulder. “We have to kill Chris Loklinth, Bergman. Promise me you’ll help me to do that. If you do that for me, I’ll go diving for you.”

  CHAPTER 77

  GÖTGATAN, STOCKHOLM, THURSDAY, JANUARY 28

  Bergman was rinsing his whole head under the kitchen faucet. He drank gallons of cold water. What a terrible hangover. Modin was still fast asleep.

  They had arrived home at around four in the morning, and not very discreetly either. Modin had been singing old Estonian lullabies on the stairs and Bergman had tried to hum along as best he could. After lots nightcaps and little serious talk, they fell asleep on the couch and in an armchair lounger in Modin’s small living room.

  Bergman did not actually remember what they talked about. Everything… diving, women, murder. That much remained clear to him. Modin had been dead serious about eliminating Loklinth. He was drunk and crazy.

  It will all be forgotten by today, Bergman thought as he opened the fridge door.

  Modin woke up with a start. “What are you doing?” His hoarse voice came from the couch.

  “I thought I’d get my revenge on you by making bacon and eggs,” Bergman said.

  “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll puke on the floor.”

  Bergman took out the eggs, turned on the hot plate, and started to set the kitchen table. He put silverware on each side of the table and placed glasses next to them.

  “There is ice cold juice in there.”

  “Forget that, I need alcohol, not fruit.”

  “Come on, now.”

  Bergman poured the juice and put two slices of bread in the toaster.

  “We have to take you to a doctor, Modin. To find out what’s causing you to drink. I’ve seen you drink before, but not quite with such abandon. Something isn’t right.”

  “No kidding. I’m finished, dying, a dried up has-been. That’s why things are not right. I want to die happy.”

  “In the arms of a whore?”

  “Why not? My parents are dead. So are my kids. Everybody’s stone cold dead, Bergman. My wife… my lovely loving wife.”

  “I know Modin. But you’ve got to get a grip. We’re going diving, whatever happens. And you are coming with us, even if only to hold the anchor rope.”

  “We’ll have to see,” Modin said, and began to spread butter on his toast and add orange preserve. “We’ve partied like this before, Bill. Before things became so damned complicated. It was fun. You remember? We could party for days on end. Life was a game then.”

  “I’m glad you’re thinking positively, Modin. Life’s still a game. It’s just that we’re looking at it from a different perspective.”

  “You mean, like, from underneath?”

  “Modin, I’ve met an old acquaintance of yours. His name is Jöran Järv.”

  “Järv?” Modin said and jumped. “He’s a fucking asshole. What did you want from him?”

  “You worked together once for Special Ops, didn’t you?”

  “Everything that has to do with Special Ops is over for me, except for Loklinth, that is. I’m going to kill him. I’m determined. That’ll be the last thing I do before I end up in paradise with ten strippers.”

  “Oh, knock it off. What have you got against Jöran Järv. He’s the diver we need. The diver I need.”

  “If you take on Järv, I’m dropping out. And that’s maybe just as well. Let Järv and Axman go diving.”

  “We have to dive down to the M/S Estonia, Modin. I can understand that this is tough for you. That is why I want Jöran Järv to be part of the team.”

  “Jöran Järv and Special Ops let me down. They dove down to the ferry without telling me. Although they knew how badly I wanted to dive. At a time when I needed them the most, they went behind my back. Jöran Järv is dead to me.”

  “Get over it already. This was sixteen years ago. All they did was follow orders. You would have done the same.”

  “Time is of no consequence. It still feels like yesterday to me. And there comes a time when doing the right thing means disobeying orders. Jöran is dead to me. Period.”

  “At the time, maybe you were the wrong person to go diving down there. You were far too involved emotionally. You would have died on that dive.”

  “Don’t you get it, Bill? I wanted to die down there!”

  Bergman didn’t respond for a while, as if contemplating whether he should walk out right there and then, once and for all, done with Modin’s abuse. “Of course I get it. Always did. I cannot imagine what you’ve been going through ever since you lost your family, but
I can imagine that it is enough to finish off the best of us. But you can rise above this. You must. Your wife and kids don’t want you to die. It won’t bring them back.”

  “Don’t you dare mention my family. How the hell would you know what they want?”

  “Because I know that they loved you. And because they loved you, they would never want you to give up.” Bergman looked up and into Modin’s eyes. “I don’t want you to give up.”

  Modin turned away.

  “Järv is finished with Special Ops. Just like you. He’s working for a private security company now. He wants to meet with you. Can you please make an exception, Modin? Let bygones be bygones, for my sake. Can’t you forgive someone, just this once?”

  “I don’t want to forgive and forget. I want revenge. Imagine, Bergman, going to Special Ops with an AK4 and cutting down the lot of them. Blowing Loklinth’s skull to pieces so that nothing is left but a bloody mush. Ra ta ta ta ta ta taa.”

  Modin’s cellphone beeped, announcing a text message. He took his phone out of his pocket with some difficulty and silently read the message. He blushed, and then slumped face down over the breakfast table.

  Bergman reached for the cellphone and read:

  You should forget diving, Anton Modin. You are not only a risk to yourself, but to your friends as well. What can an alcoholic do at sea anyway? You will suffer the same fate as the son you left behind in the cabin.

  CHAPTER 78

  STOCKHOLM, THURSDAY, JANUARY 28

  Where are the girls who worked here yesterday, Jokso?”

  “Coming soon. They are getting into their outfits.”

  “Fine,” Chris Loklinth said. “Could you please get me a beer?”

  “Sure Chief. You want one, too?” Jokso turned his attention to Bob Lundin, who was standing behind Loklinth’s chromed bar stool.