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

  “It was Christer,” Nuder said as he stared expressionlessly at his full cup of coffee.

  “Who was?”

  “The one running away,” Nuder said after glancing over at Axman, who nodded. “We took care of him. Axman did the only right thing. Julia’s brother is dead, that´s good. He was a murderer. I remember him when he was a teenager in this very village. He was a bastard even then. Had no feelings for other people. Always did exactly as he liked.”

  “You guys killed him?” Modin asked, looking up from the computer.

  “I killed him,” Axman said. “I should have told you right away. It’s just, you were so…” Axman put his head in his hands. “I don’t regret doing it. I did what was right. He murdered Julia.”

  “Easy, Axman,” Nuder said. “You’ll walk. This is a state of war and he was the enemy.”

  “I’m grateful,” Modin said quietly. He was surprised that Axman had committed murder seemingly without hesitation. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d found her on my own,” Modin said.

  “Her own brother!” Bergman said, wiping his eyes with his hand.

  Nuder poured coffee for the three men around the table. Modin, pale and hollow-eyed, was still pressing the keys of the computer. It was not locked and had been on the whole time since Julia’s murder.

  Modin was looking randomly through Julia’s e-mails as if wanting to grasp at every last bit of her that could be found. He couldn’t cope with going down to the bunker. He wanted to remember her as a living being.

  He was looking for clues. Was there anything in that computer that could help them advance? Julia must have known where the SOSUS installation was located, given she worked for the NSA. They would have wanted someone nearby to keep an eye on their jewel, the SOSUS, or Holystone, as its NSA code name was.

  He found an e-mail from Filipson, warning Julia that the Barbro Team was in the vicinity of Black Island. But he found little else of value. She didn’t have many e-mails in her inbox.

  Then Modin looked at her sent messages and promptly found an e-mail she had sent to one Mr. Walker at NSA headquarters in the U.S. some days ago.

  Dear Mister Walker,

  I need to inform you that local divers, led by Mr. Anton Modin, are engaging in a search mission for the NSA SOSUS next week, and are threatening to disclose the existence and location of the system.

  Best regards,

  Julia Steerback

  NSA operator, San Diego, California.

  Modin was stunned. Julia had exposed him to the NSA? He could hardly believe his eyes, but there was the e-mail right in front of him. He tried to find justifying circumstances for Julia’s betrayal. Did someone force her?

  Thoughts whirled in his head. He rubbed his right cheek much harder than intended. A cold draft chilled his back.

  Julia, my dear, you were tangled in a web of intrigue, with both sides having a hold on you, forcing you to do things that clashed with your loyalty to Sweden. Not surprising that you fled to this remote place to be alone.

  He lowered the lid of the laptop, though not enough to shut it off. The e-mail had awakened sleeping dogs.

  CHAPTER 86

  “There are state forces that do not want the murder of Olof Palme to ever be solved.”

  (Olof Palme’s closest friend Harry Schein)

  Modin was surfing the Norrtelje News website:

  Large scale civil defense exercise in Grisslehamn. The whole island will be closed to the general public from 12 o’clock noon on Friday until 6:00 o’clock Saturday morning. Only traffic taking part in the exercise and emergency vehicles will have access across the bridges to the island. According to a spokesman for the Total Defense Service, the exercise will simulate a terrorist attack on sensitive military installations in Grisslehamn. Apologizing for the late notice, the spokesman said he hoped that locals would be sympathetic under the circumstances. “We have had an internal communication problem,” he told Norrtelje News.

  “Look at this,” Modin said and turned the laptop so his friends could see. “Something’s cooking, that’s for sure. They’ve sealed off the whole damned area around Grisslehamn.”

  “Oh fuck,” Bergman said. “Is this for us? I can’t believe it. Can the authorities just act like that in residential areas, during peace time?”

  Bergman got up and gazed out to sea, clearly upset.

  “Special Ops can do whatever they like,” Modin said. “I’ll send them a message, telling them we are willing negotiate.”

  “You can always hope,” Axman said.

  “Look at this,” Modin said, showing them the e-mail that Julia had sent to the NSA. “What do you think? Will they show up?”

  “Oh, definitely,” Axman said. “We’ll have the NSA and the U.S. Navy here within the week. They’re going to protect their equipment at any cost. Just imagine if this goes to court. I doubt it is legal to place a foreign military installation in Swedish waters. If anyone sues the state, everything will come to light and they will have to prove that the installation is in accordance with the Swedish constitution. Then the courts will confiscate the equipment until the case is done. Maybe Defense Radio will even rip out the equipment themselves. Millions down the drain. No, they won’t let this happen. They’ll be here.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So, what does this mean for us?” Bergman asked.

  “Well,” Modin started, but couldn’t go on. I am no longer in control of the situation, he thought. Julia’s murder is proof of that, and my companions know it. Modin exhaled through his nostrils. He rubbed his arm in an attempt to concentrate. All we can do is retreat forward. Attack is the best form of defense.

  “Are you ready to fight, Modin?” John Axman was staring right at him. He was scared. He had killed someone, and the realization of it finally hit him; you could see that.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Modin said. “We have to wish for the best. We still have the box, you know. We have to believe that Special Ops wants to negotiate. Let’s put our trust in that.”

  “We’re in a mantrap, Modin,” Axman said. “We have no allies, except maybe the Swedish people as a whole, but they won’t back us up until we show them what we have: proof of why Palme was murdered and who did it.”

  “That’s precisely what we’ll threaten to do—go public. And that’s why Special Ops will negotiate with us.”

  “Do you really think we can pull this off?” Bergman said.

  “Yes, absolutely,” Modin replayed. “We will exchange Palme’s murderer for the secret metal box and the SOSUS installation. That’s a good deal from their point of view. I know these guys.”

  “You do realize what you’re saying, Modin? If we can blackmail them into handing over the murderers, we are more useful dead than alive. Special Ops and the Barbro Team are going to do their utmost to silence us, and they will be getting support from NATO and the CIA. Not a shadow of a doubt about that.” Axman rested his head in his hands. “This is all fucked up. We don’t stand a chance.”

  “And that is why they are not going to get hold of us, dead or alive,” Nuder said. “Come on, we have to go get ready.”

  CHAPTER 87

  SPECIAL OPS HEADQUARTERS, STOCKHOLM, FRIDAY, MAY 22

  We’ve received a message from the CIA on our encrypted line.”

  Bob Lundin rushed into Loklinth’s office. His clothes didn’t smell fresh. His eyes were not clear. But the tension of the situation kept him alert. His hand did not tremble as he handed the sheet of paper to his boss. “The U.S. Navy wants to enter the Baltic Sea. They need us to give the go-ahead for operations in Area 4, from midnight tonight until eight on Monday, May 25th. Loklinth, this means a Los Angeles-class sub with nuclear missiles aboard is on its way into our waters.”

  “What in…,” Loklinth said and spilled his morning coffee over some documents at his table. “Did you say Los Angeles-class? Nothing like this has been here since Putin took charge of the Kremlin. What do they wan
t?”

  “‘Underwater work’ they say. What does that mean?”

  “Haven’t got a clue.”

  “Area 4, isn’t that around the Understen lighthouse near Grisslehamn?”

  “Yes, for fuck’s sake, it is. That’s where System 4 is.”

  He opened his desk drawer and poked around a pile of papers until he finally found what he was looking for: a map of how NATO had divided up the northern part of the Baltic Sea.

  “Area 4 is the Sea of Åland, north of Arholma Island. Are they going for the SOSUS? Fuck. Just imagine if the Russians get wind of this. What if Modin discloses the existence of System 4. Then all hell breaks loose.”

  He scratched his head. Dandruff rained down. Lundin wasn’t sure whether the grunt Loklinth let out was because of his scratching or the message.

  “What could it be about?” Lundin asked to put an end to the grunting. “Do they know what’s been going on here? Does it have to do with Modin and his dive for the SOSUS?” Lundin was sure that’s why they were here, but he wasn’t sure whether he should be happy about that. If Modin talked and said the wrong thing to the wrong people, heads would roll. Then Loklinth’s days as the head of Special Ops were numbered, he was sure of that.

  Loklinth jumped up tipping his chair over and went over to the windows facing the courtyard.

  “The Modin problem must be solved before he thinks of opening the box. The SOSUS is bad enough, but the secret box is… catastrophe. Modin can’t be allowed to find out about the secret Palme investigation,” Loklinth said. “Or if he already knows, he can’t be allowed to talk.”

  “Have you taken the necessary precautions, Chris?” Lundin said, talking slowly.

  “Me? Why do I get the blame for everything? I don’t have any plans for such a contingency. That, for fuck’s sake, is why we sent those operatives out there to get him. We’re going to kill him! No loose ends. Get it, Lundin!?”

  Loklinth rested his forehead on his hands, with his elbows propped up on the deep window niche. “We should inform the government,” he then said.

  “No,” Lundin said coldly. “That would put an end to the operation. They’ll chicken out, as usual. And Modin will win. Do you want that, Chris?”

  “You’re right, I suppose. Let’s hope that Glock’s boys are good at what they are supposed to do. Albert Svan and his closest allies have joined them. They’re going for Modin at his cottage. Everything will work out fine. If we’re lucky they’ll also find the box. If not, it’ll be our heads that roll.”

  Your head, not mine, Lundin thought to himself. It’ll be you who will dangle on Gallows Hill just like Anckarström in 1792 when he murdered King Gustav III.

  “What’s the state of affairs down in the Skandia Bar?” Loklinth asked with a trembling voice.

  “Operation Swallow has been executed successfully. The woman has been rendered harmless. All operatives have left Black Island by now, and three of the four have returned. One man, the leader of the operation, Christer Steerback, is still missing.”

  “Fuck! You always have to count on a few losses,” Loklinth said through taut lips. “God help us…”

  Bob Lundin looked at his boss. Loklinth was on a steeply inclined surface—downwards. Lundin was sorry for him, but in the end, he was not surprised; this had to happen, sooner or later.

  “A group of men did reconnaissance around Modin’s summer house during the night,” he said showing nothing of his inner thoughts. “They are ready for action.”

  “Fine, Bob. We have to make damned sure that this office is in no way associated with the Barbro Team. Promise me that. Not under any circumstances. If the whole operation ends up a mess, the blame will rest on their shoulders. They’re a breakaway cell, quite beyond the control of the authorities. Lunatics acting on their own initiative. That is the official line we will assume. And don’t you forget it.”

  Loklinth scratched his crotch as he walked back to his desk. He began browsing through a pile of papers. Then, Lundin noticed, he secretly smelled his fingers.

  CHAPTER 88

  NORTHERN STOCKHOLM ARCHIPELAGO, FRIDAY, MAY 22

  Time was of the essence. Modin had to get hold of the Minister of Justice or the Secretary of State, but he had no idea how. They were still maintaining telephone silence on the islet so nobody could locate them. He had to come up with something, and quick. How can I get in touch with the government without Special Ops finding out?

  “We’ve got to expect an attack this evening,” Modin said. “Both from the sea and from the mainland, maybe even from the air. Nuder, can you take control of defensive deployment. See what there is on the island and present a plan within a couple of hours.”

  None of them had been in a situation remotely like this before. Although usually he enjoyed extreme situations, this was simply different. Modin was responsible for his friends’ welfare. Bergman had a daughter, and Axman wanted to see his boyfriend again instead of dying out here on the rocky stump of an islet. Nuder had ended up in this war more or less by coincidence. It was doubtful that he had planned on risking his life on this project.

  But it was too late for regrets. They were stuck on Black Island, and had to handle the situation one way or another. Therefore, Axman and Nuder set off to stake out the island, while Modin and Bergman remained in the cottage and covered the windows with sheets from Julia’s bathroom.

  “Modin,” Bergman said, holding a couple of sheets under his left arm. “The fact that Olof Palme died because someone thought of him as an enemy of the state is beyond any doubt, even if I don’t agree with the conclusions the murderers came to.”

  “You mean that he really was a enemy of the state?” Modin said.

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “I know what you’re driving at,” Modin stated, covering the kitchen window toward the north. “Olof Palme was maybe not the man we thought he was, that is to say, he was not a dedicated and single-minded socialist and man of the people. But politics rarely are what they seem to be. No one at the top follows the party program to the letter, neither in Sweden nor anywhere else.”

  “I hate to admit it,” Bergman said. “But you have a point, provided that Nils Nilson was telling the truth. Olof Palme was an enigma.”

  Bergman was still annoyed by the fact that Modin had suggested that Palme had been a CIA asset.

  “You don’t seem to have a problem dragging Palme’s good name in the dirt,” Bergman said as he helped Modin attach the sheets in the kitchen with a tacker.

  “He was always in the public eye,” Modin said looking at Bergman. He knew Bergman had been a fan of Palme and his idealism. “Palme will continue to be analyzed for many years to come. Some will praise him, others will criticize him—now wine, now water—as with any great leader.” Modin dropped a fork in the sink. “The truth about Olof Palme must come out so that we can find and convict his murderers. The missing link is the motive for the murder, Bergman.”

  “But where are you going with all this?”

  “I don’t know. At first I wanted to criticize him, I think, but now that we have found out that Sweden cooperated with the U.S., things are a good deal more complicated. The future will show who Palme really was.”

  He picked up another sheet and went into Julia’s bedroom.

  “Do you seriously think that we’re going to find out who held the revolver that night on Sveavägen Street?” Bergman shouted from the kitchen.

  “Time is short. The murder will be taken off the statute books in February 2011, unless the period is extended.”

  “I’d just love to know who killed him and how it was all set up. If I’m going to die tonight, I don’t want to die not knowing that.”

  “Nobody is going to die tonight, Bill,” Modin shouted back, less convinced than he wanted to be. “I don’t know any of the answers to your questions, but they probably are in the metal box.”

  “Let’s go and look,” Bergman said.

  “First we have to defense o
urselves,” Modin said. “Then we’ll go look.”

  Bergman had finished covering the kitchen window and brought more sheets to Modin, who was still in the bedroom.

  “Do you figure that Special Ops was directly involved in the murder? Was he murdered by members of the very intelligence agency he himself had set up?”

  Modin nodded. Once they were done in the bedroom, they went back to the kitchen area, where Bergman sat down at the table.

  “It makes me sick just to think of it,” he said.

  “Olof Palme became too big for his own good.”

  Modin looked out of the bedroom window. There were no ships around. He could vaguely see the Åland Isles, like a vision on the horizon. It was one of those few days in the outer archipelago when there was a combination of no wind, sunshine, and warmth. The sea wind that tended to be strong on summer afternoons was nothing but a weak spring breeze. The warmth crept under the their skins and kept Modin and Bergman alert.

  “What do you suggest we do?” Bergman said.

  “We have life insurance. I just have to relay the information to the right level of command—to the top. I have to tell the right person about the SOSUS and the box, then the Barbro Team will be taken out of the picture. But it’s not easy under time pressure. I have to do it before the Barbro Team strikes; and I’m pretty sure they’ll strike tonight.”

  • • •

  At roughly the same time as Modin and Bergman were having their conversation, a message came through secret channels at Special Ops in Stockholm. The message relayed the information that a U.S. submarine had set sail from its Devonport base in southwest England and was heading eastward toward the Baltic Sea.

  CHAPTER 89

  STOCKHOLM CITY, SKANDIA BAR, FRIDAY, MAY 22

  “The murderer should be sought among right wing military personnel and police officers. There is probably a patriotic motive behind the deed. They believe they are saving Sweden. A group regarding itself as being solely responsible for the security of the nation. They believe they are performing a major service to national security by taking out Olof Palme. A murder in the service of one’s native country is unpleasant and would shake Sweden to its foundations.”