Enemy of the State (Anton Modin Book 2) Read online

  “Julia!” he yelled again, blindly, into the room.

  He continued his search. Julia was lying on the couch, seemingly lifeless. He went up to her and felt her neck; her pulse was there. She forced open her eyes but she was unable to sit up. There was a stench of alcohol.

  “Hi honey,” she said, slurring her words. “What are you doing here? What’s happened to your nose? It’s so big…”

  “Forget my nose. What happened to you? Are you drunk?” Modin said, trying to pick her up.

  “How d’you feel?” he said, looking into her misty, bloodshot eyes. “What happened?” Julia was obviously wasted.

  “So many questions, so few answers,” Julia said with a crooked grin. “My dear, are you here to rescue me. Rescue me to be by your side when the sun is shining and the birds are migrating? Are you?”

  Julia looked at Modin in a way he hadn’t seen before. An absent-minded and bitter face stared back at him. He didn’t like it at all. This was not the Julia he knew; he was looking at Julia’s demons.

  “Hell, I have a terrible headache. Can you hand me a bottle of water?” She glanced at a red tote box on the floor.

  As he reached for the water, Modin could see three empty wine bottles and an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the table. On the floor were pictures of Julia’s family all mixed up and scattered around. He could even see a couple of snapshots of himself as a teenager and of Julia’s brother Christer. He picked up the photos and put them in the shoebox on the table.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said when Julia had finally managed to sit up. Her hair was messed up and Modin figured she’d been lying there since the night before. Her right eye was bruised with blue and yellow patches.

  “My dear brother was here. He’s such a sweetheart.” She ran her hand through her dark hair and tried to pin it back behind her ears. It wouldn’t stay, but flopped out again as she leaned her head against the table.

  “He knows, Modin. I told him everything. He brought one of those journalists from town.”

  “You mean Svensson,” Modin said. “Frigging hell, Julia, why did you tell him?”

  “Svensson, yes, I think that was his name. Hungry for gossip and sensation. They tried to squeeze secrets out of me about the U.S. and signals reconnaissance. Fuck, Modin. I’m in deep shit. Is there anything in the paper?” She fumbled across the table.

  “No names, but I figured you were the source, Julia. Not that many in the municipality of Norrtelje are likely to know anything about U.S. underwater signals monitoring? Others will know it was you, too. What ties do you have to NSA, Julia?”“

  “Oh damn, they’ll come pay me a visit. I’m scared, Modin. You’ve got to help me.” She put her head in her hands.

  “Who’ll pay you a visit? The NSA?”

  “I don’t know who the fuck they’ll send, but this is all top level U.S. national security. I can’t say more.”

  Modin didn’t recognize his childhood friend any more. Julia seemed neurotic and paranoid; it seemed as if something had snapped inside her. What had happened to all her cockiness and self-confidence? He liked it when she let go of her tough mask, but this was scary. Julia had taken a step into new territories. It was too late to worry about what she had messed up. She just wanted to stay alive at all cost. Her body language suggested that she couldn’t deal with this on her own. He had to choose. Her sudden vulnerability made them equals: two lonely ships in the night seeking shelter with to each other.

  “What was your brother doing here? Was he the one who hit you? I’ll get that bastard,” Modin said. “He attacked me the other day. My nose is as soft as a peach. That dear brother of yours is a fucking psychopath.”

  “He’s working for intelligence,” Julia said, clearing her throat while trying to sound sober. “But he isn’t on the right side, I’m afraid. He’s going to end up damaging our country.”

  “What do you mean, damaging Sweden? Is he some kind of spy?”

  “Please look at the photos. Look at that happy family there, then you’ll understand.”

  Modin pulled the shoebox toward him. He pulled out a bunch of snapshots and soon found what she was referring to. It was a black and white picture of an officer in German uniform with a badge Modin was very familiar with. He had already seen it in the Security Service archives.

  “Is that your dad, Julia?”

  “Yes,” she sniffed. “That is my beloved and highly respected father, Helmut Steerback. A former Nazi and a good friend of Hitler’s.”

  “He’s wearing an HVA uniform,” Modin pointed out. “That was East German intelligence. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know. We’re illegal immigrants, Modin. We were smuggled in from the German Democratic Republic while pretending to be German refugees with an anti-Nazi background. But in reality, my father’s mission was to report back to the Stasi. He was a traitor.”

  The kayak harbor at Black Island

  CHAPTER 52

  Julia was crying. Modin went and got a few sheets of paper towels from the kitchen. She blew her nose and continued.

  “My father ran a team of illegals in Sweden, reporting back to East German intelligence. He spied on those who had escaped the GDR, and laid the groundwork for future sabotage. My brother Christer was raised to follow in my father’s footsteps. He killed people. Swedes. Do you understand? He’s a professional assassin.”

  “Who were his targets?”

  “All sorts of people. Enemies of the GDR. My brother belongs to a team of hitmen that works for a number of different authorities here in Sweden. But he’s been turned. So now this devil in disguise is a Neo-Nazi instead of a Communist.”

  “You mean he’s working for Crack of Dawn,” Modin said. “Is that where he belongs, Julia?”

  “Crack of Dawn doesn’t exist any more. Today, they’re guns for hire for Special Ops.”

  Modin grimaced involuntarily when his fingers touched his nose. So that’s how the cookie crumbles, he thought. The pieces of the puzzle were all falling into place. Everything fits with what Modin had learned about the Barbro Team. Julia’s brother and his buddies were a hit squad, working for national security.

  Modin tried to look into Julia’s eyes, but she avoided his gaze. Instead, she put her hands in front of her face and let the tears flow.

  “I’m so sorry, Modin. It wasn’t my intention to let you down. I thought it was all over once I’d returned from Los Angeles. I thought that you and I could find each other out here. It seemed as if fate had brought us together. But nothing is over yet. A black demon continues to ruin my life. I thought I had paid my dues when I went to work for the NSA.”

  “Does the NSA know about your background?”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and hugged her hard. He could feel her warmth.

  “Yes,” she sniffled. “They know and so does Special Ops. You can’t imagine what kind of double dealing is going on, Modin. You have no idea. A network of tentacles.”

  She leaned her moist head against his chest.

  “I don’t give a fuck about any of this, at least for now. All I want to know is if the Americans were behind the assassination of Olof Palme?”

  He cursed himself for having asked so bluntly. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and this was the perfect moment to ask, even though he knew that the truth could crush Julia’s secret.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t know. I don’t think my clearance level was ever high enough.

  “But how did it get so far, Julia?”

  “Times were different. Everyone was paranoid back then, afraid a war would break out at any moment: the Americans, the East Germans, the Soviets, everyone. Everything was a matter of life and death.”

  “Tell me more about SOSUS. Why did it have to be kept so secret?”

  Julia reached for a bottle of water and took a gulp. He waited patiently until she had wiped her mouth.

  “The NSA had put SOSUS down in the Baltic Sea at
various locations in the mid-1970s. Near the island of Gotland, along the coast of northern Sweden, and in the Stockholm archipelago. Then someone leaked all of this to the Russians, who began to search for the SOSUS installations.” She rubbed her face with both hands. “Panic broke out at the NSA and all the way up to White House. Before the Soviets knew, the Americans had had a complete picture of the location of every Soviet submarine.”

  “Were these SOSUS installations actually in Swedish waters?”

  “Yes. Initially without your knowledge. But once the Russians started looking for and found the installations, the NSA was blind, so to speak, for a number of years.”

  “A number of years?”

  “Yes, until Palme’s death. Once Palme was out of the picture, nothing was stopping the U.S. from deploying a new set of SOSUS installations, this time with full cooperation of the Swedish Navy. During the blind years, we would use mobile systems which Swedish intelligence officers would carry with them on board regular recreational boats. It was all terribly hush-hush. The equipment came from a small hi-tech company located to the north of Stockholm in Täby.”

  “Christ Almighty, Julia. It sounds just like what happened with the DC-3. First, the U.S. lost their capabilities when an American spy plane was shot down off the Lithuanian coast in 1950, and with that the signals surveillance in the Baltic Sea stopped. Then, Swedish Defense Radio Intelligence is appointed to fly their DC-3 planes. And here, in this case, first, the Russians sink an American submarine in January 1982 and five Navy SEALs die, and then they let the Swedish Navy do the job with American equipment instead. There are close parallels.”

  “Well, yes, I know that,” Julia said, her head bowed. “We used to talk about it at work. The NSA relied completely on Swedish help. For that reason, we were given the very latest version of the SOSUS equipment in the summer of 1986, and that’s the stuff they have sitting out there now. This equipment could have picked up signals from the Russian Kilo-class of subs when they were trying to sneak out of the Baltic Sea into the Atlantic. They would then cruise up along the Norwegian coast and end up in the Arctic Ocean, where they became a threat to the United States. President Ronald Reagan wanted to stop this submarine route at any price. No unidentified submarine would be sailing around in the Arctic Ocean or the Atlantic. The SOSUS was supposed to ensure that. It was a question of American national security. In other words, protect America against a lightning strike with nuclear weapons.”

  “But how could the Swedish government agree to all of this?” Modin said. “This flew right into the face of the country’s neutrality, and big time. The Social Democrats in Sweden at that time would never had agreed to this.”

  “I don’t think they did.”

  “What are you saying, Julia? That Palme was tricked by some of his cabinet members?”

  “It is possible, isn’t it?” Julia said.

  “Well, I guess Minister of Defense, Anker Turner, would have been a good candidate. He is still working for Special Ops today. Olof Palme fired him when the Palme Commission realized that Turner had been involved with NATO in 1985.”

  “So Palme wanted to stop the cooperation between Defense Radio and the NSA? Is that what you’re suggesting, Modin?”

  “Well, yes. If we assume that, it makes sense if U.S. friendly forces in Sweden were afraid that he would leak information about SOSUS and anti-submarine measures during his trip to Moscow to meet Gorbachev. We didn’t trust Palme. Nobody did. Fuck, Julia. Now I get it.”

  “What the hell are you insinuating?”

  “Swedish Defense Radio and the NSA were a close-knit intelligence community. And you were and are very much part of this whole mess.”

  “There’s nothing lonelier than a secret agent.” She started crying again. “Stop digging into all of this, Modin. No good will come of it. It would be better for the Swedish people to continue living in ignorant bliss, believing that they live in a decent society led by decent politicians.”

  “You mean, the idealistic idea of a neutral and coequal Sweden? Fuck off, will you, Julia.”

  “Call it what you like, peace and quiet, the pleasure of not knowing.” Julia dried her tear-stained eyes.

  “For Pete’s sake, Julia. I’m damned if I’m going to let go of all this. I’d rather die. I have lost everything that is dear to me because of NATO and the KGB. Now it’s my turn to know about all this; how my family died.”

  A sea eagle flew majestically over the islet and Modin took this as a sign. He was on uncharted territory. There was no turning back.

  CHAPTER 53

  Julia was oscillating between fake self-control and real helplessness. Modin had seen such erratic behavior before among his fellow secret operators at Special Ops and had even experienced the phenomenon himself. Working in the shadows could wear you down eventually. Some people couldn’t hack it.

  Modin could see that what Julia was telling him took a toll on her. He would lay off for a little while, but he knew he’d return to the topic later.

  He got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a glass of milk, which he put on the table.

  “Here, drink this.”

  “Thanks.” She drank it all. “Fuck man, I’m hung over.” Julia blew her nose in a paper napkin.

  “How’s your eye? Does it hurt?” Modin asked.

  “My whole face aches. My brother is such a swine. He always hits me to get me to do as he says. Not a surprise, given this is what our father did to him. Christer would get a beating for the slightest misstep. Christer really hated our dad, but now he has become just as big a monster. “

  “Is it true that he raped you?”

  “I’d rather not talk about that.”

  “This will be the last time he ever hits you. The very last time, Julia.”

  “Who can stop him? You?” She looked into Modin’s eyes, somewhat appalled by his nose. “No one stops Christer. He is a professional.” She laughed almost hysterically. “My father always said that our family wasn’t like others. He used to tell us that we had a big secret to protect, and that we needed to guard it carefully. I never understood what made us different. Not until I became older and understood politics. But I was always scared of bringing friends home. Do you remember? You were never allowed to visit us at home.”

  “We used to think there was something weird about you all. Especially Christer,” Modin said. “There was something sinister in his eyes, and his dark gaze and temper tantrums seemed scary. He was so unpredictable.”

  “We were often visited by a gentleman from Germany. Later I found out he was from the East German Embassy. Dad and the visitor would take long walks together, to watch seabirds out at Skatudden, they told us. But really they planned my dad’s operations in Sweden out there. We always seemed to have lots of money after these visits. Dad used to buy something nice from the shops.”

  “When were you sucked into all this?”

  “Much later, after I had started to work for national television. Dad would ask questions about my colleagues, the names of the producers, where they lived and so on.”

  “Like Cats Falk?” Modin asked without thinking.

  “I don’t want to talk about that! I really don’t!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, startling Modin.

  “But you’ll have to, Julia. For your own sake. You have to rid yourself of your demons. Cats Falk will always haunt you, will keep coming up from the depths, and beat you black and blue. You have to tell your side of the story. We’ve got to clear up this shit, Julia, once and for all. Cats has a mother.”

  “I know,” she said, still sniffing. She turned toward the front door. There was no one there. “Cats stumbled onto something very sensitive that involved both East Germany and the U.S. There were lots of Stasi double agents who were secretly working for both the CIA and MI6. They arranged shipments of arms to Iran on the orders of the CIA. Deliveries were made from factories all over Europe. Bofors was involved here in Sweden. Even Special Ops had a dog in
this race. They made sure that deliveries went smoothly and quietly. Old rusty ships sailed from Lake Vänern near Bofors and then continued on to the port of Rostock in East Germany. For a while, such vessels with weapons, ammunition, and technology were sailing weekly. Payments to the Stasi and offering them a piece of the pie ensured that the shipments stayed secret. The Stasi made a lot of money by smuggling, but even the people at Special Ops here in Sweden were somehow in on the deal. One man especially had a nose for business.”

  “Who?”

  “Anders Glock—a Freemason, a Catholic, and an illegal arms dealer with very good connections to the Security Service and Special Ops. There were others, but he was the top dog, at least here in Sweden. It was an international cartel with links abroad, to Manuel Noriega in Panama, for example, as well as Italy, among other countries. Stay Behind, called Gladio in Italy, and the CIA were both neck deep in this.”

  “That would explain quite a lot,” Modin said. “The fact that large amounts of money were involved. How come you know all this, Julia. This is deep secretive stuff.”

  “My father. He was a top dog at the Stasi. He didn’t like the drugs and arms dealing with the third world. Like many others at the end of the Cold War, he got disillusioned. It all got just too messy.”

  “And Cats stumbled upon all of this?” Modin said.

  “Yes, she did, and someone went ahead and leaked it, which led to her death. She knew too much. What she knew could have hurt people all the way to the top.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If people had found out about the smuggling of technology and weapons, things would have become difficult for both the Stasi and Military Intelligence Special Ops. Former DSO head Birger Elmér and the East German intelligence chief, Markus Wolf, knew one another personally. They did business together. Markus Wolf could have been compromised by the West.”

  “You’re kidding,” Modin said.