Anton Modin woke up sweaty and uneasy. The bedroom clock said it was five in the morning. He tried to remember what he had been dreaming. It was more horrible than usual and was linked to his familiar and ever recurring nightmare about drowning, not being able to breathe, with someone holding onto him, down there in the depths. He knew that thoughts and impressions from the previous day were processed in one’s brain at night. Sometimes you could dream about the future, as he had once read somewhere. Dreams were important. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.
He now remembered the dream. He was lying on the floor and was held down. He couldn’t move a muscle; someone was pressing down on his chest. He felt trapped and abused. He feared for his life. The dream had been so real that it had produced a cold sweat. He experienced details that were unusual for dreams, and remembered which type of glove had been gripping his neck, and the material of the floor-linoleum, yellow and dirty. The room was dark and it felt like he had been kidnapped.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the pillowcase and got out of bed. He was dizzy. He gripped the mattress for support, reached for his bathrobe, and stepped into his slippers, which were parked neatly near the bedroom door. He was tired and wanted to pee.
Sitting on the toilet, he thought of Julia. He had stayed on the island that night and then paddled home after breakfast. They had not made love in the morning, but were simply lying next to one another, sharing their breath and feeling the presence of each other’s body. The intimacy had been a high for him.
She’s going to let me into her life, he thought. It’ll be me, Julia, and her family secret.
He had paddled back as if in a trance. Julia had enriched his life in many ways over the past twenty-four hours. And he didn’t only feel that way because she had supplied a major piece of the puzzle of the Palme murder: SOSUS. But although that success was encouraging, it was being with Julia that he had enjoyed most. A unique woman, tough, extremely independent, almost like an androgynous creature from outer space with supernatural powers. But her background puzzled him; her family and her brother, especially.
At the breakfast table, he had decided to get in touch with Bill Bergman and John Axman. They would go SOSUS-hunting. Try to find the connection between the Palme murder and Sweden’s secret cooperation with NATO—if there was a connection. But there had to be—nothing else made sense. The first step toward solving the murder of Olof Palme was to find the secret SOSUS equipment—if it still was here. He could deal with Julia’s brother later.
He heard a tractor pass outside, which reminded him of Harry Nuder, the skipper and occasional ship’s pilot, though a farmer for the most part. He would need the Hulk, his pilot boat, and a seasoned sailor; and last but not least, he wanted his cat back!
After he had cleaned the kitchen, he went into the main room and sat at the table. He opened his laptop and connected to the internet. He wrote e-mail’s to his three friends, inviting them to his house for dinner the next day. Modin then downloaded his incoming mail.
One was from the War Archive. He had been expecting that one. Modin had phoned his contact there the day before, asking that he copy the log books of the Navy vessel, Visborg. Modin knew the Visborg was the only military vessel in the Swedish Navy big enough to lay down a SOSUS system.
He read the pdf documents his contact had sent with great interest. He was concentrating on the summer of 1986, which is when he assumed that they were out here, installing the SOSUS. Soon he found what he was looking for. It was a note from early September. He grabbed his laptop, stepped out to the deck, and slipped into one of the wicker chairs.
The entry in the Visborg’s logbook for September 9, 1986 read:
Course 005, speed 14, Black Island at 274 degrees, distance 5.1 nautical miles, cloud 0, wind 050/05, visibility 60 miles, weather 0, sea 1, air temp 50.
12:00 hours position north of Understen, 188 degrees, distance 1.1 nautical miles. Wind 130/13, course 330 degrees, speed 0.
Based on the logbook, Modin could see the movements of the ship in his mind’s eye. The ship was stationed in a small area for the entire day. Since it was a deep spot, it could not be for ordinary mooring. Without a doubt, the vessel was carrying out some kind of task around Black Island and the Understen lighthouse. Besides, it was the only time during the period of the logbooks that the Visborg was in the Grisslehamn area, where, according to Julia, the SOSUS system was installed. So, if the only vessel that could fulfill the task was near Grisslehamn only in September 1986, chances are it was to install the SOSUS system.
The logbook revealed positions and weather conditions, but no written record of orders. That kind of information was classified, no doubt. The Understen lighthouse, which stood some seven nautical miles to the northeast of Black Island, was the more precise area Modin considered suitable for mooring a surveillance system to the seabed. Deep waters out there.
15:15 hours. In connection with anchoring operations in conjunction with the Herkules, a dent has formed at rib 97. Confirmed by Lieutenant Joachim Forsberg.
That was the only entry in the log for the entire day! A dent, while carrying out operations, he mumbled to himself.
20:20 hours. Course 140 degrees, speed 0.5.
Modin read the entry for September 10, 1986. There was very little in the log for that day:
17:50 hours moored at military mooring.
19:11 helicopter landed.
Then he read the entry for September 11, 1986:
03:15 unmooring.
15:00 across Simpnäs Lighthouse.
21:00 Moored ÖHM (Muskö Marine Base).
The Visborg had clearly not taken anchoring operations off Understen and Black Island, and had set sail at three o’clock in the morning during a pitch black night, sailing straight for its home base at Muskö Marine Base in the Hårsfjärden inlet south of Stockholm.
Modin wondered what sort of helicopter had landed there that evening and why. Who had been in that helicopter? Maybe some representative from the U.S. Navy or the NSA? Or representatives of the Swedish government? Speculations, yes indeed, but professional speculations. Good info I’ve got here, Modin thought and took a few gulps of beer. Just one problem.
He got up from his armchair and walked to the edge of the deck. He stood looking out over the inlet. There was some rustling in the reeds. A pike, he guessed, or two, mating.
Problem is, that I don’t have an exact position for the SOSUS system. I can take a good guess from what’s in the log book. He sat down again, when his cell phone rang.
“Hi there, this is Göran Filipson.”
“Hello. How are things going at Security Service Headquarters?”
“Everything’s fine in the police den. It’s you I’m worried about. How are things out there? Everything quiet?”
“Yes, as usual,” Modin said. “What’s up?”
Modin knew that Filipson never called him without good reason.
“Rumor has it that there are people out there who mean you harm. You’d better be careful all summer. I was thinking of sending a few bodyguards your way. Any objections? The state will pay for it.”
“I don’t know. Got a few things I’ve got to do. They’d get in the way. How credible is the threat?”
Anton Modin got to his feet, still holding the bottle of beer in his hand. He gripped it tightly. It was difficult to take a swig during a phone call.
“Very credible. We think it’s the same gang that arranged for your death by drowning last fall.” Filipson’s tone of voice was serious. Not a good sign, Modin thought. He needed some beer. “They can come through the woods or over the water at night when you are least expecting them. I’m worried.” Modin understood that Filipson wanted the message to sink in.
“Who are they?”
“I can’t tell you. A matter of national security, I’m afraid. But trust me, you’ve got to watch out. You don’t mess with these guys.”
“Okay, send your bodyguards tomorrow. They can stay in the sea cottage. Have them bring their own food. They can get sheets and towels here. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Filipson said, then paused for a second or two. “You’re not going to like this, Modin. As a friend, I’ve got to advise you to stop digging into the murder of Olof Palme.”
Modin was caught off guard.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “Why should I? I thought you guys at the Security Service want people to solve mysteries and find answers to showcase to the Swedish public. Has that gone out of style, or what?”
“It’s as it’s always been, Modin. But not just at this time, not right now. Promise me. As a friend. Drop the Palme murder. You’re stepping on too many toes. Sweden may never forgive you.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Modin said, lying through his teeth. “No more Palme murder. Maybe something else. Send your bodyguards. We’ll be in touch.”
Modin ended conversation, and slowly put the beer bottle down, which he had managed to finish during he conversation after all. As a friend. He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder. The unease in Filipson’s voice had jolted him, but he had to go through with his task.
They’re not putting a stop to my plans by sending over a few upmarket bodyguards from Stockholm.