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

  “Great shot, Nuder,” Bergman said, breathing loudly.

  The sea cooled. What had gone down would never again come up. They could still see small pieces of wreckage burning on the surface. The rotor blades of the helicopter were still floating like long burning arms. Axman’s kayak was still upside down. They waited, their eyes burned from strain.

  Modin had reached the shoreline and was already on his way up. He stood at the cliffs, searching the sea for human remains.

  What is down there no longer belongs to either earth or heaven, Bergman thought, unable to take his eyes off the destruction. What he saw in his mind’s eye were bodies bereft of life, their eyes bursting, looking inward yet unable to see the slimy tentacles of the sea that wished to annihilate them.

  “Where is Axman?” Bergman yelled. “Someone has to save him.”

  “Look!” Nuder interrupted. “There’s someone out there.”

  Bergman took up his machine gun and aimed. A head came up. Hands flailed on the surface, splashing water everywhere. A gurgling sound scared them.

  It was John Axman.

  CHAPTER 92

  SPECIAL OPS HEADQUARTERS, STOCKHOLM, SATURDAY, MAY 23

  What’s happening, Lundin?” Loklinth asked. “I’m getting cryptic messages on the line.”

  “Everything’s fine. General Synnerman writes that everything’s going according to plan.”

  “Fine? Are you completely out of your mind? It says here that we’ve lost one helicopter crew and eight men. And it says that Modin is still alive. They are out on Black Island, defending themselves. That’s not according to plan; that’s a fucking screw-up!”

  Loklinth was pacing his office anxiously, staring at the well-polished floor. Not a speck of dust, stone, or wood was left from the break-in. He stopped, as if invisible footprints had blocked his way.

  He felt like an animal trapped in a cage. He didn’t like Lundin’s inquisitive look. That idiot no doubt thinks I’ve grown old. He’s just waiting for me to make a fool of myself. Fucking moron. Once we dealt with Modin, Lundin must go. I can’t stand him any longer.

  “We must attack Black Island, Lundin,” Loklinth said, raising his chin. “Inform the Skandia Bar. Attack immediately. Before sunrise. With all we have. It’s our last chance. If they get away, we’ll hang, Lundin. Both you and me; we´ll hang high! Do you understand?”

  Lundin hurried out, his tail between his legs.

  Out on Riddargatan, a group of youths were wandering past. They were chanting rather than singing: We’ve passed our exams.

  Finals already? Loklinth wondered and to distract himself from his heavy duties he began to hum O Flower Time is Here with a shaky voice as he went off to the bathroom to take a dump.

  CHAPTER 93

  BLACK ISLAND, SATURDAY, MAY 23

  “The most important reason that a large reward (7 million USD) is being discussed is because investigators think that the Palme murderer belongs to an organization that will not spare informers.”

  (Not All Roses Should Be Pruned,

  Anna-Greta Leijon, former Minister of Justice )

  Nights in the Stockholm area were short at this time of year—just a few hours of darkness. They were at their shortest around Midsummer, and then grew longer so that by the beginning of August, when the crawfish feasts started, it began to grow dark at nine in the evening.

  This fateful night had been short. No one on Black Island had slept a wink. A sharp streak of fire on the horizon indicated that dawn was near, and Modin and his friends were anxious to start the day. They had held out until the morning, as Filipson had requested, and daylight would hopefully bring a chance to negotiate their freedom and safety. The attacks from Crack of Dawn had stopped for now, and if the day went well, their insurance policy would pay off, forever.

  They must have lost at least ten men, Modin thought. Ten bodies to hide, somewhere. Fuck!

  John Axman had survived the attack, but had suffered a serious bullet wound to his upper right arm. Bergman and Nuder were busy bandaging the wound. He was in pain, suffering both physically and mentally. His face was grim as he told them what had happened ashore.

  “They’re tough opponents,” Modin said. “The operation was much bigger than I thought it would be. We’re real lucky we got back here.”

  “Seven men ashore, and a helicopter with crew? Fuck Modin, we’re going to jail for this. For life,” Bergman said.

  “No, I don’t think so. This is self-defense. We made the call to Filipson at Security Service. The Justice Department will get the message. Now it’s up to our government. I told them we will negotiate and that this must have a stop.”

  “When do you think they will come for us?” Nuder said.

  “The government will get the message this morning. We just have to wait here and hope for the best,” Modin answered.

  “But they may attack again soon. They won’t wait for nightfall. It’s the weekend and tourists will be pressing to get over the bridges. They either have to open the road blocks or declare a state of emergency, and then the media will be onto them.”

  “They’ll never declare a state of emergency,” Modin said. “That would make headlines all over the world.”

  “Well, this means that an attack this morning is their last chance,” Nuder said. “If we can hold them off for a few hours, we’re home free. Then we could—”.

  “Hang on, listen!” Bergman interrupted.

  Nuder turned round.

  Modin could hear the sound of an engine coming from the north side of the islet.

  “They’re coming from the rear, by sea,” Modin said.

  Nuder and Bergman rose to their feet. Modin indicated to Axman that he should stay where he was. They ran toward the shore to survey the open sea. The sound of engines could be heard clearly; it sounded like outboard motors. Modin thought they could see a wake of foam on the surface.

  Three boats were approaching at high speed from the north.

  “Fuck, Modin, what do we do?” Bergman looked scared and made no attempt to hide the fact. “We could die out here. Our bodies would never be found,” he said.

  “Have you got any ammo left in that cannon of yours?” Modin asked, turning to Nuder who seemed determined.

  “I’ve got one left.”

  “There are three manned rubber boats,” Bergman said in a shaky voice. “There are only four of us. Axman is wounded. We can’t count on him.”

  “We’ll save that shot, Nuder,” Modin said. “Come on, guys. We’ve got to get closer to shore.”

  They ran down the cliffs and took shelter at the shoreline close to the sea. Modin picked up his binoculars.

  There were four men in each boat. They were heavily armed. This is the end game, Modin thought. Then calm washed over him. No going back now.

  “We’ll get those bastards!” he shouted. “Only fire if you’re sure you’ll hit one of them. We’re short of ammunition.”

  The rubber boats were about two hundred yards from the cliffs. The paramilitaries would land within minutes. Modin could hear them yelling and chanting. He looked through the binoculars again. The enemy was dressed in dark blue overalls and dark gray knitted balaclavas. They had automatic weapons. They were no spring chickens. The yelling was more of a ritual than an attempt to strengthen their resolve. Modin remembered that from the Coastal Ranger training far back. He was convinced they would not spare his team. Their procedures required to leave no witnesses. No loose ends. That was the rule in this game.

  He put the binoculars in his pocket and took aim with the machine gun that had been lying beside him on the cliff edge.

  “Fire at my command,” he yelled and aimed at the upper body of the man at the bow in the first boat. He was a large chap with a small head. He would die first.

  Modin started to think about his family, remembered sunny days at the cottage, Ellinor and Alexander playing in the hot sand, his wife, Monica turning to him with her golden hair and beautiful smile.

/>   Will we meet now, somewhere? That feels good. I’ve missed you so much.

  “Something’s happening out there,” Bergman shouted and it took Modin out of his thoughts. “Look! What is that?”

  The surface of the water right in front of them had started to simmer. First gently, small white bubbles emerged, then bigger and bigger ones. The water between the attacking boats and the island began to change color. It was boiling. Something was on its way up from the depths. It was huge and black as death.

  The rubber boats slowed down, veering to either side. They looked like flies on the surface of the water next to this colossus rising up from the deep. A death machine that made all activity around it cease.

  First they saw the conning tower; then the entire hull of the vessel emerged; and finally, the full length of the submarine rose from the sea. The water gushed from its black metal sides. The swell spread. The markings on the submarine could not be seen.

  One of the rubber boats was cast aside and capsized as it collided with the black beast. The outboard motor screamed in the air, then fell silent. The boiling water turned to foam. The beach below Julia’s bathing cliff was white with froth, and in its midst sat an immense black U.S. submarine.

  Modin recognized its provenance from the shape of the conning tower and the fin at the back. The submarine was over three hundred feet, featured two long, raised periscopes and a small mini sub strapped midship, just behind the conning tower.

  Modin turned to the right and saw that Nuder was aiming at the submarine with his Carl Gustaf.

  “Easy does it, Nuder. Easy does it. Don’t fire,” he said in a low voice.

  But Nuder was focused on his task. He was the hunter with the prey in his sight. Nuder had to be brought back to reality before he created an international incident.

  “Stand down, Nuder. It’s a Los Angeles-class,” Modin shouted. “Fuck! We’re saved!”

  “By the Yanks,” Bergman said.

  Nuder slowly lowered his weapon. A feeling of relief clearly showed on his face.

  “It’s an American nuclear sub. I bet they’ve come to collect their equipment. How the hell did they get here so fast?” Bergman said.

  That was a close call, Modin thought.

  USS Key West outside Black Island

  CHAPTER 94

  The RIB boats pulled back and returned out to sea. One group stopped to pick up the men from the capsized boat.

  “Look over there,” Nuder shouted. “That’s the Visborg, a Swedish naval vessel! And she’s not alone. I don’t think it’s us they’re looking for.”

  Out at sea, a little further to the east, the HMS Visborg was rapidly approaching, two Swedish coastal corvettes at her side. Modin recognized them even from a distance. He’d been aboard one of them and saw through his binoculars that the coastal corvettes were fully armed.

  He sank down on the cliff. The fear of an impending battle, which would inevitably have resulted in their deaths, had gripped him like a vise. Now it dissipated.

  One of the vessels fired a missile. It whined as it flew like a white streak through the air, swift as a comet. It landed right next to the leading RIB boat, which was furthest away from land, and exploded in a cascade of water. Modin got up and dropped his weapon on the rocks in a surge of joy. The coastal corvettes collected the men from the rubber boats. On deck were armed soldiers. He heard an order called out over a loudspeaker. The Americans had come with the USS Key West to save them.

  CHAPTER 95

  A helicopter was approaching from the mainland. Modin raised his binoculars and brought them into focus. It was a Swedish police helicopter, painted white and blue. It would be landing within a couple of minutes.

  Modin was standing next to the Commander of the USS Key West, Harrison Bolt, and his two deputies. They all stood together on Julia’s pier near the sauna. The submarine had rounded the peninsula and called just outside the cliffs of Black Island, once the Swedish vessels had left after fishing up the Crack of Dawn paramilitaries.

  Bolt was wearing a navy blue uniform, had a peaked cap on his head, and was holding a portable radio in his left hand. He was shivering in the early morning air. The sky to the east was pink. There was a light breeze from the mainland. The attack that would have killed Modin and his men had been foiled within a matter of seconds.

  Harrison Bolt kept a low profile and looked out to sea while Modin recovered his composure.

  The sight of this vast nuclear submarine moored off the Black Island islet was unreal. This was something Modin could never have imagined. He was aware that large submarines could reach the northern part of the Baltic Sea, but manage to navigate through the deep but narrow channels leading to Black Island was another matter. The Los Angeles-class submarine was an attack submarine used to combat enemy submarines. They were huge but only had a draft of thirty feet and good maneuverability, a great deal better than the old Russian Whisky class vessels. Furthermore, they were heavily armed with nuclear missiles.

  Commander Bolt began to tell his story. He mentioned that the USS Key West usually patrolled the Atlantic, but did occasionally also make detours that included the sea around Norway.

  “Clearly you also detour into the Baltic Sea,” Modin commented, obviously fishing for information.

  “Sorry, but that’s classified,” Bolt said. “What I can tell you is that the Los Angeles-class sub is an attack submarine with a 6,000 ton displacement. She is 362 feet, with a 33 foot beam and a 31 foot draft. My crew consists of 127 men and women, including three chefs.” He rubbed his belly before continuing. “Launched in 1985; her home base is Norfolk, Virginia.”

  “I see,” Modin said.

  “We’re almost neighbors.”

  “Suppose so.”

  “Armament, torpedoes—twelve of those—plus twelve Tomahawk missiles. They are long distance that can carry a nuclear payload.”

  “I’m impressed,” Modin said and looked at Harrison Bolt’s uniform. He recognized the Navy SEAL’s wing above four rows of service medals on the left of his chest. Under the medals was a small silver colored metal submarine, and below that, there was a large cloth decal in gold with the text: Deep Submergence Unit Naval Base Coronado, San Diego. The guy knew his subs, no doubt about that.

  “Mr. Modin, I have a present for your friend, Mr. Bergman. Is he here?”

  “Yes,” said Modin and could not help showing his surprise. He finally managed to produce a little saliva. His concentration was gone. This situation was just too surreal. He relaxed and let it happen. “Yes, Bergman is the guy over there.”

  Modin pointed at Bergman, who took a few steps toward the commander and his two deputies when he realized they were talking about him.

  “We, the U.S. Navy and our nation have a small gift for you, direct from the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Harrison Bolt said with a smile when Bergman had reached him. He then gave a command on his communication radio set and turned toward the conning tower. A hatch opened. A little head stuck out, complete with a broad smile. It was Astrid, happy as a clam. She waved and shouted.

  “Hi, Daddy!”

  Bergman’s face was white and tears were running down his cheeks, but he was smiling at the same time.

  Astrid was lifted onto land by two U.S. Navy Marines in white uniforms. Bergman fell to his knees.

  “Darling, what are you doing in this submarine?”

  “Daddy,” Astrid said with a big smile. “It’s great. They’ve got TV and they’re really nice,” she added.

  Modin noticed she had her mother’s brown hair, a long narrow face, and bright green eyes. She was wearing a dark blue jacket and white cotton chinos. She had matured and changed her style, as Modin could see immediately. She looked like an upper class American girl.

  “Thank you guys,” Astrid said to the sailors. Then she jumped up and put her arms around her Daddy’s neck.

  “Hell’s bells, where have you been, my love?” Bergman was crying and laughing, and the first thoug
ht that sprang to his mind was: Ewa will be beside herself.

  Modin and Harrison Bolt walked away to give Bergman some space.

  “How did all this happen?”

  Harrison Bolt explained that he had received the order to bring Bergman’s daughter to Sweden. She had been flown to Devonport in the southwest of England by a CIA plane, where she boarded the USS Key West.

  “It took us just over two days to sail to the Sea of Åland.”

  They had entered the Baltic Sea via the Danish Great Belt and had then been submerged for the rest of the way.

  “We can find our way around here,” Harrison Bolt said and laughed.

  “Where are you guys going from here?” Modin said.

  “Well, we’ll do some undersea sightseeing maybe. Then back home, I think.”

  Modin decided not to ask about their assignment. He realized that the Americans were going to remove the SOSUS installation and take home their Sea Tractor from the base underneath the Understen lighthouse. The delivery of Bergman’s daughter was simply a nice side effect of their assigned mission.

  “I understand. No loose ends.”

  A little further away, the police helicopter finally landed on the islet. It had been circling in the air. Probably searching for a suitable place to land.

  CHAPTER 96

  BLACK ISLAND, SATURDAY, MAY 23

  Wait a minute, where’s Julia Steerback?” Harrison Bolt asked.

  “She’s dead, murdered by her own brother,” Modin said quietly

  The commander’s eyes became slits and his few wrinkles were exposed to the morning light.

  “Can I see her?”

  “She’s down in the bunker on the other side of the islet,” Modin said. “She’s been dead for two days.”

  Modin got a lump in his throat. Even though he didn’t want to think about it, he realized that he had to accept the truth. He could have said so to Bolt without his voice trembling. But he was glad that Bolt did not have any more questions for him.