Enemy of the State Page 35

  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.”

  (Wilhelm Agrell, Swedish Professor of Intelligence Analysis,

  in an interview on Swedish Television News, June 22, 1986)

  “What d’you mean you had to flee Black Island?” Anders Glock yelled as he stood in front of the map in the control room under the Skandia House. “That gave them time to regroup in peace and quiet. It’ll be much more difficult to take the island. Where’s Unit Bravo?”

  “The order was to take out the swallow, not Anton Modin. They just followed orders,” Synnerman said. “One man, Major Christer, is still missing. We fear the worst.”

  “You mean the best? The last thing we want is a living witness who can be interrogated. Leave no one behind alive and take no prisoners! Has that order gone out to our people, Synnerman?”

  “For God’s sake, Anders, calm down,” Synnerman said. “Think of your heart. It’s all going to be fine. We’ll attack this evening. On both fronts: on the island and at Modin’s house. There will be no witnesses. Grisslehamn has been sealed off, and if we really have to, we can declare a state of emergency.”

  “Fine. Unit Alfa, Major Carl’s group, is in place at Byholma and is ready for action, “Anders Glock said. “We have a helicopter on full alert and three RIB boats are on their way to join those at the pilot station and Unit Bravo. Albert Svan is leading them. He’s a fine man. A little overweight these days, so we can hardly expect him to be paddling a kayak. There’ll be four men in each boat, fully armed.”

  “Albert Svan? You mean the judge from Långholmen in Stockholm?” Synnerman said. “I thought he’d retired long ago.”

  Answering a message on his cell phone with a quick “I’m coming, old buddy,” Anders Glock left the control center, which was dominated by a detailed map of the Stockholm northern archipelago that marked the units and their plan of attack. Radio equipment and computers completed the picture of a command center buzzing with activity.

  Arriving at the Skandia Bar, Glock spotted Anker Turner on one of the green couches. He was red in the face, drops of sweat were trickling down his left cheek. He had a glass of water in front of him, and was drumming his fingers on his thigh.

  “If everything goes to hell in a hand basket, we’ll be flying to Zurich,” Glock said to Turner as he sat down. “You can tag along if you want. They’ve got decent food down there. You can live in my house.”

  CHAPTER 90

  BLACK ISLAND, FRIDAY, MAY 22

  “We just have to get a message through to the government,” Modin said with more confidence than he really felt.

  They were sitting around the table on Julia’s deck. From there, they could see out in all four directions. Nuder had collected all of their weapons and ammunition into four wooden crates. In the middle lay the Carl Gustaf with two armor-piercing shells in a holder. Such shells could sink a naval vessel.

  “We can’t use our cell phones,” Modin said. “There is no reception. Look.” He raised his cell phone up in the sky. No bars. “I’m sure they’ve closed down the GSM net for this area. Can we use Julia’s e-mail? Is this an alternative, Axman?”

  “No,” Axman said. “We have to assume that Special Ops is monitoring all forms of communication, including Julia’s e-mail. They will reroute the emails, I’m sure of that. Special Ops have access to all Radio Intelligence systems, and you’re right about cell phones. Defense Radio probably closed down the GSM-net in the area. Essentially, we are in a dead zone. We have to outsmart them differently.”

  “So, how do we do that?” Nuder asked.

  “The way I see it, the only solution is for one of us to sneak off in a kayak, get to the mainland, and find a telephone with a landline connection. The closest is in your house, Modin.”

  “Sure, let’s just paddle on over there and waltz right into the place and make a phone call,” Bergman said sarcastically. “Don’t you think they are watching the house?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Axman asked with irritation. “I didn’t think so,” he continued when nobody said anything. “We have to take the risk.”

  “And who will go?” Nuder piped up.

  “I’ll go,” Axman said, fiddling with his diving light.

  “Fine,” Modin said. “I will join you. There’s a great risk we bump into some Crack Of Dawn killers and I’m more used to killing people.”

  Axman looked up and threw a weary look at Modin. Then he got up and gave his MP5 machine gun to Bergman.

  “Here, take this. I wont need it.”

  “No, Axman. Keep the gun,” Modin said.

  Bergman handed the MP5 back to Axman.

  “Let’s try to go over to the Marviken inlet,” Modin said on their way to the kayak harbor. “And then through the woods to my place. It’s not far.” Modin checked his Glock 17 and put it in his jeans at his back.

  “We must try to call someone at the Justice Department,” Axman said at the same time he got the grip of a paddle. Nuder who had followed them, helped with the kajaks.

  “Or we just call Filipson at the Security Service,” Modin said. “I have a secret number. He will recognize my phone number and answer.”

  Nuder gripped Modin’s kajak when Modin was settled.

  “Look out for the helicopters,” Nuder smiled.

  “We’ll be back before it gets dark.”

  “Take care, man.”

  “I will. See you soon.”

  This is our last chance to get the word out, Modin thought as he followed Axman’s kayak.

  • • •

  “Special Ops knows exactly where we are,” Bergman said when Nuder was back at Julia’s house. “The way I see it, they will attack tonight in darkness. And now that Axman and Modin are gone, there are only the two of us. Not the best of odds.”

  “We all agreed on the plan,” Nuder said. “So we’ll follow that plan until further notice. It’s our best chance.”

  And the only one, Bergman thought to himself.

  “I’m not afraid,” Nuder said. “I want to meet these clowns face to face. They tried to kill Modin. They killed Julia and our Prime Minister. Now it is time for them to face a worthy opponent. We can take them on, Bergman. I feel it in here.”

  Harry Nuder made a fist and banged his chest hard. His crucifix, which he wore on a small chain around his neck, jumped and sparkled like a flash of lightning. “Come on, Bergman, let’s give them what they deserve. Then we’ll go after Loklinth.”

  This is what Nuder really wants, Bergman thought. Revenge. He has been harboring hatred in his chest ever since Special Ops slaughtered his dogs last summer. He will beat the shit out of them out of pure rage.

  “Hell, Nuder,” Bergman said. “You scare the shit out of me. We’re going to die here, don’t you get that? That’s the price of your conviction. I have a daughter who needs me. I don’t want to die.”

  “So what are you saying? You want to give up? Wave the white flag? You think the Barbro Team will accept that and put down their weapons?”

  “No, I know they won’t, and no, I don’t want to give up. My loyalty to Modin goes far deeper than that—you should know that,” Bergman said, surprised at his own conviction. “I am just not sure that this time his quest for truth is worth the price we’ll pay.”

  “We are not going to die,” Nuder said. “We will mix a good dose of conviction with skill and good planning. Our goal is not to be like the last Samurai. He was a stupid bastard.”

  They laughed, first cautiously, then louder and finally hystericall
y.

  CHAPTER 91

  GRISSLEHAMN, FRIDAY, MAY 22

  “Axman, come here quick,” Modin whispered from the corner of his house. Axman joined from the small tree grove situated about 30 yards away.

  “The woods are probably crawling with soldiers. At least some of them are surrounding us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard some twigs crack in that direction.” Modin pointed westward toward the inlet behind his house.

  “You think they’re coming?” Axman asked, still short of breath after their fast sprint across Modin’s yard. He and Modin hid the kajaks at the Marviken inlet and waited for the sunset before they slowly moved toward Modin’s house through the dense forest.

  “Sooner or later they will come,” Modin answered in a low voice. “The first place they will come and secure is here.”

  Modin dug in his pocket for his keys, found them and opened the door. They both went in and closed the door behind them.

  Axman peeked out through the window. “You better hurry up. I think I saw something in the woods behind your sea cottage.”

  Modin took the phone from the coffee table and dialed Filipson’s number. He could feel his heartbeat through his neck. “Please answer now, will you.”

  Darkness was falling. He saw the inlet with some difficulty. In half an hour it will be dark and we are toast, he thought as Filipson finally answered.

  “Yes, hello.”

  “Hi, it’s me. We are in my house in Grisslehamn.”

  “Hi, my friend. What’s up?”

  “We need help. Call the Minister of Defense and tell her what’s going on over here. Our lives at stake, I’m afraid. The Barbro Team is all over my place and I fear they are not here to share a glass of wine with me.”

  Modin gave Filipson a short recap of the situation and Filipson promised to do what he could. Before they ended the conversation, Modin said:

  “We will try go back to Black Island and defend ourselves over there. We are only four men and we’re running out of time. Crack of Dawn is already here. You better hurry up.”

  “Okay, can you hold out until tomorrow morning?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t,” Modin said and hung up.

  “Fuck, Axman. We have to get out of here.”

  “I think it’s too late. Look.”

  Axman pointed out through the window to the lawn. Soldiers were moving in. It looked like one patrol, in camouflage suits.

  “Fast, Axman. Go up to the second floor and cover me from there with your MP5.”

  “Where are you going?” Axman said.

  “I’ll try to get behind them. If there’s only one patrol, we have a chance.” Modin took out his Glock 17 and checked the magazine. On the way out, he stopped at the sea cottage, picked up an emergency flare, and put it in his pocket.

  He had given Axman the order to start firing on his signal whatever it would be.

  Modin could hear the soldiers some 30 yards to his right. If they were right and it was only one team, he had to deal with six or seven men.

  They were aiming for his house. Perhaps their plan to sandwich them would actually work.

  Darkness was coming and he had problems seeing his own house some 70 yards away. Modin could see that Axman had opened the window. He was ready!

  Modin took out his emergency flare, lit it, and threw it toward the team of soldiers in front of him.

  “Come on assholes!” he screamed as loud as he could.

  Suddenly the area was lit up in a bright red light and smoke covered the woods. The pine trees became black silhouettes. Modin could see human movement among the trees. At the same time the soldiers in front of him turned around and aimed at Modin who threw himself behind a big tree stump for cover. Axman started to fire from the house. The soldiers were taken by surprise. They came running toward Modin, through the red smoke like shadows out of the past. Some of them fired at Modin, others returned Axman’s fire.

  Modin shot them one by one from a close distance—less than 15 yards. At the same time, Axman took out at three of them from his position in the house.

  The firing stopped.

  An eerie silence followed. The darkness of the woods became threatening. A few cranes could be heard further away, gradually piercing the tense silence. Modin could make out the distant rush of the sea. But no sound from the woods.

  Did they all die? Modin squirmed uncomfortably. Axman slowly showed up in the window. He had his MP5 ready with his eyes focused on the woods to the west.

  “Fuck, that was too easy,” Modin said to himself as he was investigating the wounds of the fallen soldier closest to him. He had been hit in the chest and was coughing blood. Modin took the man’s rifle, a AK4, released the magazine, and threw it away.

  This man did not look like Swedish military. He was paramilitary for sure. He wore a camouflage uniform and a gray knitted cap, but no bulletproof vest, and the AK4, a Swedish version of the Heckler & Koch G3, was from the 1980s.

  Fuck, these men are classic!

  The man in front of him was soon going to die. Modin couldn’t do anything about it.

  Soon other troops would arrive. They had to get out of here. He gave Axman a hand signal and they met in front of his house.

  “Let’s go. Back to Black Island. Fast as hell,” he whispered while starting to run toward the Marviken inlet. Behind them, he could hear the voices of approaching soldiers. A helicopter started its engine and lifted off somewhere in the distance.

  Then all hell broke loose. Modin heard automatic fire. The woods and his house seemed ablaze with shots.

  Axman accelerated his run up and Modin desperately tried to keep up.

  CHAPTER 92

  BLACK ISLAND, FRIDAY, MAY 22

  “In the mid-1980s, Swedish Military Intelligence had started to have an extremely alarmist interpretation about the state of security, a Swedish equivalent to the RYAN operation. The core of this threat scenario suggested that underwater operations were part of a larger strategic plan to force Sweden, step by step, to adapt their security policy so that it faced east, with a doctrine of that being the enemy. The intrusions were therefore not, as the Submarine Defense Commission had speculated, operative preparations that would only be used in case of war, but were part and parcel of a war that had already begun and was now being waged behind the curtain of peace.”

  (Peace and Fear, Wilhelm Agrell)

  Bergman and Nuder had positioned themselves on the cliffs facing south, where they had a good view over the bay toward the mainland. Modin’s house was slightly to their right in the southwest. They had heard shots from there, followed by silence and then more shots. Modin’s place was a war zone.

  Bergman checked his watch. It was after eleven. It was dark and they had difficulties surveying the coastline on the other side of the bay.

  Where the fuck are they? Bergman’s thoughts raced and he was worried he’d lose control not only of the situation, but of himself, too. The events seemed so surreal, like a nightmare without end. Perhaps the only way it could end was in death.

  Bergman looked toward the Falu-red cottage in the inlet some two miles away where he saw Axman and Modin go ashore hours ago. Bergman was keenly aware that his friends might already be dead.

  “Over there! Someone’s coming,” Nuder yelled and pointed out to sea.

  Two kayaks were approaching.

  “They’re coming back,” Nuder said.

  “Can I have the binoculars?”

  Bergman saw the contours of the kayaks against the sea. Nothing else. The rest of the water’s surface was blank.

  The two men were paddling with even strokes, but not harmoniously. Their torsos jerked every time they put the paddles in the water with exaggerated force.

  “It’s Modin and Axman. They’re in a hurry. We’ve got to help them.”

  They stood on the cliff, watching the kajaks come closer. Nuder picked up the bazooka and put it in a cleft in the rocks. Bergman
took up position some twenty feet apart, his MP5 ready, pointing toward the mainland far behind the two kajaks.

  Modin was in the lead, paddling frenetically. Bergman could now make out his features in the moonlight that reflected off the sea. Something was wrong.

  Modin had a third of the distance left to cover. Bergman could see his face through the binoculars; he seemed shaken but unharmed. Suddenly Bergman heard a helicopter. It appeared on the horizon over the line of trees and was rapidly approaching Black Island.

  “What do we do, Nuder!?” Bergman shouted.

  The military helicopter with the insignia HKP 9 descended a little and swerved out and away from the coastline. A searchlight came on, scanning the surface of the sea. Suddenly searchlight pointed straight at Axman’s kajak as he paddled some 30 yards behind Modin. The water surface was rippled by the whirl of the rotor blades, which cracked like a whiplash. A rifle appeared on the side of he helicopter

  “They’re firing,” Nuder said. “They’re firing at Axman. For fuck’s sake!”

  Bergman aimed his MP5. The noise of the rotor blades was deafening, but Nuder was right. There was rifle fire. Distinct shots, not machine gun fire.

  “Shall we return fire, Bergman?” Nuder asked. The two kayaks were a hundred yards away from Black Island.

  But Bergman didn’t answer. Instead, he let off a short burst of shots with his machine gun. The tracer ammunition went through the air with a yellow light.

  “It’s too far away,” Nuder said.

  A shot from the helicopter hit Axman’s kayak. Water sprayed all around. Axman’s kayak capsized and remained upside-down. No one came to the surface. Bergman saw Modin was paddling frantically. The gun from the helicopter was pointing at him.

  Then a sudden explosion filled the sky. Bergman stopped shooting. A heavy, dull, metallic echo rolled over them and the islet as a ball of fire lit up the night. A hit on the helicopter had plucked it out of the sky. Burning pieces of the fuselage came sailing down toward the water. They hissed as they hit, frothing up. The air was filled with smoke from the burning wreckage. Glowing streaks were cast across the surface like insane bolts of lightning.