Under Water (Anton Modin Book 3)

by Anders Jallai

  “I knew Gunnar Anderson,” Modin said.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “He told me about the secret spy network in Sweden. What he didn’t tell me was that he was also working for you. Your double agents have ruined the lives of quite a few people in this country. Have you ever considered that fact?”

  “All’s fair in love and war, Mr. Modin. They’ve been paid good money. Very good money.”

  “Nice positions at the national broadcast, TV, and the newspapers?”

  “Oh yes. That’s part of the plan. We need such channels to be able to work. But also politicians, investigators of various sorts, scientists, lawyers, judges. But that’s between you and me.”

  “I thought they were GRU agents. No one understood the extent of U.S. infiltration in Sweden.”

  “Gunnar Anderson was a U.S. citizen,” Harrison Bolt said, for once looking downward.

  “Like Julia?”

  “Yes, like Julia Steerback. They worked for us. We farmed them out to various families, where they grew up. When the time was ripe, they were activated.”

  “That’s why Julia’s brother raped her,” Modin said. “He knew they weren’t really brother and sister! He hated his fake sister. Poor Julia.”

  Harrison Bolt did not reply.

  Modin composed himself for one final question.

  “Why did the M/S Estonia sink?”

  Harrison Bolt looked genuinely surprised. “Exactly for the reasons the investigation commission came up with, I’m afraid,” Bolt said. “The ship smashed itself to pieces in the storm. The ferry had been badly maintained, had inadequately dimensioned locks on the bow, and as icing on the cake, its construction was faulty. The locks on the moveable bow section were too weak for the large waves hammering on them. The waves were about twenty feet high in the storm.” Harrison fell silent, as if thinking carefully about something, then continued: “Some member of the crew could very well have opened that moveable bow section. But that is a shot in the dark, mere speculation. We do not know, but a number of findings point in that direction. Maybe that section was deliberately opened to throw something off the ferry.”

  “Like the submarine’s nuclear reactor?”

  “You know about that. No, not that, we managed to salvage the reactor. It was far too large to take off the ship easily. But there may have been other smuggled items on board. Drugs, perhaps. Rumor has it that these ferries were favorite venues for smuggling rings. Someone could have opened up the bows in the storm, maybe just a fraction. That would be enough for a wave to get underneath and burst the locks. That’s a possibility.”

  “Why would anyone want to throw drugs into the ocean?”

  “Because Swedish Customs had been tipped off about the cargo. It is most likely that they deliberately sailed the vessel to pieces in the storm and that made our lives hell. She wasn’t constructed to go as fast as she did, at least not in those violent seas. I truly don’t know any more and I don’t think anyone else does, either. There is no hole in the wreck, Modin. No large one, at least. Or we’d have seen it.”

  “There is a ban on diving down to the wreck.”

  “Maybe just as well. Accidents happen when things go wrong, Modin. You should know that. You’ve flown planes. A wing can fall off, although it shouldn’t have. A pilot can make a mistake in bad weather although he has been well trained. That’s why accidents occur. Nothing we do can bring the dead back to life. Nothing, Modin. I really am very sorry for your loss.”

  Modin could not help feeling sympathy toward the great admiral. He did have a point.

  “But why did everybody say that the M/S Estonia was sunk by the Russians?

  “Who said so?”

  “The people I met in Estonia for example and Chris Loklinth, the head at Special Ops.”

  “I think they just wanted to blur the truth,” Harrison Bolt said and lowered his head. “It may be disinformation, meant to take the focus off the dangerous cargo onboard while spreading some Russophobia at the same time. That’s the way we used to do it, especially during the Cold War. Make Swedes hate our enemy and like the U.S.”

  CHAPTER 154

  Modin left the submarine last. He was holding his bag of clothes and personal belongings in his hand when he jumped ashore at the cliffs of Black Island. They had left their diving equipment on board. “We’ll pick it up another time,” he said.

  When Modin saw Julia’s house on the cliff in front of him, he felt sad. It looked abandoned. The windows had been smashed. There was debris flying around in the wind. A piece of garden furniture lay on its side. It was a sorry sight.

  He turned round as the NR-1 backed out toward the open sea with a faint hum. It turned at ninety degrees then sank. All that was still visible was the conning tower. At a distance, this conning tower looked as if it belonged to a larger submarine class.

  Just beyond lay the sharp horizon, and beyond that was a U.S. mini submarine at a depth of 470 feet, sunk by von Arbin and his men way back when. This was still too secret a fact to be told to the Swedish public at large. Sweden had sunk an American mini submarine by accident. The men who were being carried to an ambulance at Black Island on that September night in 1982 had been Navy SEALs. The men in dark coats who supervised the event had been U.S. Embassy personnel and CIA, under the watchful eye of Swedish Special Ops. One of the men was dead and the other was wounded. Supposedly, the wounded died after the first round of interrogation, when in fact, there head been no interrogation. Was he smuggled out of Sweden onboard a U.S. plane? Or was he killed to make sure no survivors could ever tell the tale?

  The Swedish Armed Forces Headquarters Commander, Steffen, was a NATO, not a Soviet agent as Modin had first believed when he read the letter in the dossier, a document that had been in a document case attached to the wrist of one of the crew of the mini submarine out at Singö island. Steffen had orchestrated everything, and stopped the depth charging of American submarines. He ordered the line of mines in the shallows at Singö Island, the Danziger Gatt, and Hårsfjärden Bay to be deactivated in 1982, and thus saved the U.S. submarine. He reported to the CIA in Stockholm. Told them about The Singö incident, and let them take care of the submarine crew.

  Of course, how else could it have happened? Without all those agents working on the inside, we would have caught the U.S. subs in no time, Modin thought. You can bet your life that Navy Commander von Arbin was irritated. The Swedish Conservative Party was upset, as were the Swedish people. Our Prime Minister Olof Palme paid with his life, as did the crew of the DC-3. Wennerström and Bergling, both of whom wanted to expose all this, were treated like spies and received life imprisonment, as opposed to Gunnar Anderson, who received close to eight million USD in rewards for his services. The NATO agents proved to be traitors! They tricked us, and good. But they did save us from the Russians.

  What was the difference between Sweden and Finland, Sweden and Estonia, Sweden and Poland? Who was right? Ronald Reagan and William Casey?

  Modin clutched the handle of his bag. In it were the remains of his family, except for his son, Alexander. He was gone forever.

  A cool wind blew down from the heights and ruffled his hair. The U.S. submarine had time to submerge completely before Modin’s friend Harry Nuder arrived on the Hulk. Spray shot up from the bows of his vessel in the choppy waters. Next to Nuder stood John Axman wearing a blue hood. Modin waved to them, smiling.

  At last, it was over. He could bury his family, at least part of it; he’d have a grave to visit. His legs trembled with exhaustion.

  CHAPTER 155

  GRISSLEHAMN, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 14

  Modin opened his eyes. He saw a ceiling. It was pale white, there were boards, he recognized them. He was back in his cottage, on the upper level. He took his watch from the bedside table. He had been asleep for twelve hours. Kim was in bed next to him.

  He felt happy, even though he was too tired to think what her presence might mean for the future. For now, she was there and it
was good.

  The noise from the garbage truck had woken him up. It picked up and emptied the garbage cans from the end of the property at eleven in the morning every second Sunday. He heard them put the cans down and drive off.

  It was toward the end of the winter, maybe even the beginning of early spring. He could see that through the window, and the birds singing all around him confirmed it.

  It was hot in the bedroom. He had been shivering the night before and turned up the heat to full blast. Now he was sweating.

  Before he got out of bed, he decided it was high time to empty the children’s room. He would do so before the end of the day. The kids’ room was on the same floor as his bedroom, but at the other end of the hallway. They were home, at least Ellinor was, and they didn’t need a room any more. Ellinor would receive a new place, in the grounds at the back of the house. That felt good. Maybe not as good as he had imagined, but good anyway. He could find peace, knowing where they were. He suppressed his thoughts about Alexander. He was still lying somewhere onboard the wreck, and Modin decided to accept that fact. Things were, in any case, a lot better than before. He wanted peace. Peace of mind and soul.

  “What are you thinking about?” Kim said.

  “I’m thinking that it’s over at last. Now I can clean up the house and move on.”

  “How does that feel?”

  “Good, I think. It feels different. I don’t know. Time will tell.”

  “Yes, I hope you’ll get your peace and quiet,” Kim said and looked a trifle tense.

  “What is it?” Modin said, stroking her upper arm.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She smiled, but he could sense unease.

  Modin put on his bathrobe and went downstairs. Kim followed. They were going to have bacon and eggs for breakfast. Modin had a craving for it.

  They met Miss Mona on the stairs, her tail erect. She rubbed herself past both their legs, purring like a bathroom ventilator. Modin picked her up and hugged her.

  “I’ve missed you, Mona. More than you can imagine.”

  The cat had been alone for almost a week. He could smell that from the cat litter when he entered the kitchen. At the same time, he wondered what Bergman would tell Ewa. She would not be happy!

  “It’s over, Mona. Now you and I will be spending some time together. What about buying some fresh herring today? Or do you want to go fishing?”

  Miss Mona seemed to understand and jumped out of Modin’s grasp, onto the floor right in front of the refrigerator. She was hungry.

  It was a great breakfast. They listened to the local radio station as they cleared the table. Kim was herself again. They were still chatting and laughing when a red Saab turned into the driveway.

  CHAPTER 156

  Good morning,” Göran Filipson said and stepped into the house. “Where have you two been?” He was smiling.

  “You know as well as I do.”

  “I do indeed.” He took off his coat and hung it on a hook in the hall.

  “Have you found Loklinth?”

  “He’s in hospital in Danderyd. He’ll be there for a while, but he’ll pull through. Apparently an unprovoked attack when he was in some shadier parts of town. He had cuts and bruises all over his body.”

  Modin said nothing. He wondered what game Filipson was playing. He seemed unusually happy. Modin had never seen him so perky. Filipson patted the cat, greeted Kim, and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

  “What’s going to happen?” Modin said.

  “Nothing,”

  Filipson grabbed a sugar cube from the pantry shelf. “At least if I still have a say, and I have. Loklinth will recover. He won’t be coming back to his old job, not within the military, at any rate. I have the word of the Minister of Defense on that. I guess he’ll take early retirement. Did you know that he lost another finger? Poor guy.”

  “Will Bob Lundin be taking over?”

  “I don’t know. They may recruit from the outside, in order to get some new blood and modernize military intelligence. That could be good. And necessary.”

  Filipson fell silent and turned to Kim. He looked her up and down from head to foot. She pulled her bathrobe tighter around her.

  “Yes?” she said, although Filipson had said nothing to her.

  “Yes, Kim, what are we going to do with you?” There was silence for a few moments, then Filipson continued. “You’ve lost your husband. But then again, you weren’t exactly a match made in heaven, right?”

  Kim blushed. Filipson stayed quiet.

  “How much do you know?”

  “I know that you and Jonas were not a loving couple. Not really. You got married on the orders of… Well, Kim, on whose orders did you get married? Tell me.”

  Filipson paused again, as if to give her time for the words to sink in and for her to recover from his attack.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Kim turned white as a sheet. Modin wondered whether he should join the conversation, but held back. Something wasn’t right.

  “You let the assassins into the hotel room, Kim. I traced the communications on Christmas Eve. You were the insider, weren’t you?”

  “I did not kill Jonas.” She looked at Modin with an insane stare. “I promise.”

  “You let them in. I know that, Kim. That is accessory to murder. I’m on your side, but you have to tell me everything.”

  “I can’t!” Kim said almost in falsetto.

  “Who were the other two? Shall we start there? If you help me, Kim, I promise I’ll help you. This could be my very last crime against the Swedish constitution and it could benefit you. You’ve got to put all your cards on the table.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Modin said. “Are you trying to suggest that Kim was an accomplice to her husband’s murder?”

  “He wasn’t her real husband, was he, Kim? Tell Modin. He’s got the right to know.”

  “You don’t understand. You’re men. I was forced to do what I did. They’ve got my dad.”

  “Is your dad still alive?”

  “Yes, in Russia. He was a KGB operative before the Berlin Wall fell. Now he’s old and a prisoner in a small village somewhere in Siberia. He will stay alive as long as I cooperate. He helped the CIA in the 1980s, like so many others in Soviet intelligence. They took me instead of him. I was eight years old when I was separated from my parents.” Tears were running down her cheeks as she told her story. “I grew up in a Swedish family. A family of illegals, like me. We are Russians with a Swedish identity. Sleepers. When I received my mission, I had no choice.”

  “Are you Russian, Kim?” Modin’s jaw dropped. He felt he’d been betrayed. Kim was a Russian spy!

  “I had no choice, Modin. It was either Jonas or my family. That has nothing to do with what has gone on between us.”

  “You inherited Jonas’s money,” Modin said. “Fuck, Kim. How could you?”

  “Jonas was an asshole,” Kim said. “He was working for the CIA. He, too, was a traitor. And he was my pimp. That much you know already. I hated him. You understand that, Modin?”

  “I understand,” Filipson said. “That’s why you’re getting a second chance from Sweden, or, rather, from me. Thus far, I’m the only one who knows. Who were the other two at the hotel?”

  “Albert Svan. He’s my stepfather. I grew up at his house on Långholmen. The other one was a Bulgarian hit man. He has long left the country. I don’t even know his real name.”

  “Who actually killed Jonas?”

  “Albert Svan.”

  “And that is the truth? Can you swear to it, Kim?”

  “Yes. I had no idea that it was going to be so messy. It was horrible. No one deserves to die that way. They wanted to scare people, is what they said to me, send a message. It was important to stop the Baltic cable project. That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you, Kim. And I really mean it. We’re going to arrest Albert Svan. We’ll have to let the Bulgarian go free, otherwise it will leak out
that it was a foreign intelligence operation. The Swedish Government does not want to upset relations with Russia, now that things are getting better. We are going to have to work things out through diplomatic channels, I’m afraid, and that can prove to be to your advantage, Kim.”

  “Solving a murder by using diplomatic channels,” Modin said, and clutched his forehead. Then he continued: “Do what the fuck you like, as long as you don’t involve me. And you, Kim, you need to get out of my house before lunch!”

  Kim turned to Modin. He could see her tears and turned his head away. He had trusted her, had revealed his innermost thoughts to her, and now she turned out to be nothing but a common honey trap.

  How could he have been so fucking stupid?

  “You have committed murder, too, Modin,” Filipson said. “What’s the difference?”

  “There’s a great difference!” Modin yelled. “I don’t kill Swedes.”

  “Don’t you?” Filipson said. He gave Modin a severe look. “She has done exactly the same as you have. You helped assassinate a group of Swedish Stay Behind paramilitaries last summer. You shot down a helicopter with a Swedish crew. And you and Jöran murdered two Estonian fathers one week ago at Loklinth’s house. You are no better than Kim, Modin. You just don’t want to accept the fact. You both commit murder in the interests of the state. It’s just that you do it for two different states.”

  “She’s working for the Russians!” Modin said.

  “So?”

  “There is a difference.”

  “Is there?” Filipson said, emphasizing his words. “There is no more Iron Curtain, Modin, no more East or West. We are trading with Russia more than ever before. Is there really a difference between you and Kim?”

  “I saved my father,” Kim said. “You’d do the same.”

  Modin went into the hall, threw his jacket over his bathrobe, and left the house. The door slammed shut and the glass in the closet doors rang.