They followed Swanson as he led them onto a porch through the open glass doors. A couch and a couple of recliners stood in a large bright room. Axman and Modin took a seat on the couch without waiting for permission. Swanson sat in a leather armchair.
“Stay Behind was an American invention. It was kept top secret until the early 1990s. I was one of the heads of the organization in the department called National Leadership. All this was in case war broke out—the dawn scenario.”
“And when was all this?” Modin said.
“During the Cold War, that is to say, from the early 1950s to 1992. In the beginning, Stay Behind was run by business interests. The Social Democratic government of the day decided that an organization firmly rooted in social democracy should exist, and so a parallel organization arose. That is where I come in.”
“So this was under the leadership of Special Ops, or more precisely, under Birger Elmér’s leadership?”
“Yes, that’s right. Stay Behind was part of Defense; for practical reasons, we were formally reporting to Special Ops.”
“What sort of practical reasons?”
“Well, Stay Behind was secret and had to remain secret.”
“Why did it later change its name to Crack of Dawn?”
“The center-right parties came into government toward the end of the 1970s. They wanted to get rid of Stay Behind and Elmér’s organization, because it was far too close to the Social Democratic Party and its leftist ideals. So they started the new Stay Behind organization around 1978, which was run by the Swedish Employers’ Association, SAF, with what was left of Elmérs organization. So Action Team Crack of Dawn was born under the leadership of Curt Steffan Giesecke, the former SAF boss, himself a former Stay Behind operative. You could say that the right-wingers together with Military Intelligence took over the business 1978.”
“So where in the hierarchy was Crack of Dawn actually located?”
“It was subordinate to Defense HQ. Military Intelligence Special Ops DSO kept it at Navy HQ.”
Axman got up and started to walk around in the room.
Modin looked out of the gigantic panorama window. The house was situated on a stretch of lawn with a wonderful view over the sea to the west of Singö Island, “the inside shore,” as it was usually called. The only thing blocking the view was a huge oak in the middle of the lawn. Down by the shore, he could see the large boathouse and the pier where they had moored.
“You have to realize one thing, Modin. The Stay Behind organization was a lifeline to the west, our guarantee, should we be attacked by the Soviets, which seemed like a definite possibility at the time. It had been set up by Tage Erlander, while he served as prime minister, along with the defense minister and with help from CIA director William Colby, back in 1952. In the mid-1980s, the lifeline was cut abruptly. It shook the whole military establishment in their roots.”
“So who cut it?” Modin said. He crossed his legs, as the couch was slightly uncomfortable. He would really have preferred to wander around the house like Axman did, so he could stretch his legs.
“Olof Palme. He thought it was no longer necessary. And he wasn’t too happy about right-wingers taking over the business. He thought Crack Of Dawn was against the principles of neutrality because of its ties to the U.S.. He wanted to maintain a completely pure version of neutrality. He ordered the Chief of Staff to weed out and destroy documents that described any secret cooperation with NATO. He wanted to disband Crack of Dawn. In a word, he was, I don’t know, insane… maybe.”
Swanson looked up at the ceiling as if thinking back to those days.
Modin noticed how worn he looked. Something was weighing him down, and Modin decided to try to squeeze it out of him. “So was Palme playing on both teams, or did he favor the Soviets?”
Ingo Swanson muttered a few spontaneous remarks, then cleared his throat. “We all played on both sides. That was our doctrine. Palme screwed it all up. He was under a lot of pressure during the mid-1980s, from all sides. The Swedish Security Service was keeping an eye on him with the assistance of the CIA and MI6, because they thought he was too cozy with the Russians. The left was upset with him, too, because they felt he wasn’t radical enough. And the Russians suspected he was in bed with NATO. You remember how those Soviet submarine incidents ruined all sensible discussion? Nobody understood Palme’s vision anymore. It was all messed up. Palme wanted some sort of Scandinavian socialism and that made him an enemy to all the conservatives and all the businessmen.”
“A misunderstood genius,” Axman said and sat down again on the couch.
Swanson and Modin looked at Axman, who had not taken part in the conversation.
“I guess you could say that,” Swanson said. “Way ahead of his time. Would you like a cold beer?”
Swanson got up and went out into the kitchen. Modin and Axman remained seated. Modin nodded in Axman’s direction.
“Looks promising, doesn’t it? Just the source we need. What do you think?” Modin whispered. Axman raised his eyebrows, as if admiring the fancy surroundings.
“Who in the government at the time knew about Crack of Dawn?” Modin asked loudly.
“In all detail, only the Minister of Defense, Anker Turner,” came the reply from the kitchen. “And Olof Palme, of course, but that’s it. I myself didn’t know any specifics. There was a hell of a lot of secrecy in those days.”
“Do you know anything about the SOSUS system that was installed in the northern Stockholm archipelago in 1986,” Modin said when Swanson returned. He was bringing three frosty bottles of beer and put them on the table.
“You don’t mind drinking from the bottle?” he said as he put them down. “The SOSUS, yes. Surprised you know about it.” He took a swig from his bottle and wiped off the froth with his finger. “I can’t tell you anything, unfortunately. Partly because I wasn’t privy to many details, and partly because it is still top secret. No, that’s something I won’t talk about. You might as well forget about the SOSUS.”
“So who gave the green light for the SOSUS installation?”
“Must have been the Minister of Defense. Listen, I don’t really know why I am talking about all this. I shouldn’t.”
Modin got the distinct impression that Swanson was scared and eager to tell at the same time.
“Let me put it this way, young man,” Swanson said addressing only Modin. “When Olof Palme began with his triple messages, he lost the military’s trust. General Stig Synnerman and even the Minister of Defense thought that Palme had gone over to the Russians. So did the Swedish Employers Association. They all thought his ideas constituted a danger to national security and to Swedish business relations to the West. At least that is what I was told.” Swanson paused as he took another sip of beer.
“Was he really a friend to the Russians, or was Palme a CIA asset all along?”
“Well, there were rumors,” Swanson said. “Rumors that Palme played both sides, But that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Many people were doing that. We were neutral for Christ’s sake!” Swanson flared up, then fell silent for a short while.
“We had an obligation to negotiate with both sides, and that is exactly the message Palme was trying to drive home,” he continued in a low voice. “He didn’t like it that the Security Service only cooperated with western intelligence services. He didn’t like it at all. Yet he was always being held accountable for his informal contacts with the Russians. That drove him crazy. How can you be neutral if you only talk to one side, he said.”
Swanson brushed through his greasy gray hair with his hand. He seemed to be a credible witness to the events in question. But I have to be careful not to fall for his rhetoric, Modin thought. This man has had long training in the art of manipulation.
“Hang on for a moment, informal contacts with the Russians, wouldn’t that be betraying Sweden?” Modin inquired. “The Soviet Union was, after all, Enemy Number One, not the U.S. and NATO. All our defense efforts were aimed eastward.”
“That is what the Palme Doctrine was based on,” Swanson said. “Keeping us in good standing with both sides. God knows if he wasn’t right, after all. Is there any other way, Modin?”
“Yes. Join NATO,” Modin said.
Axman looked uncomfortable. So did Ingo Swanson. The subject of Swedish neutrality had ruined a good deal of Swanson’s old age. These days no one understood the difficult position of a small country like Sweden in the 1980s, squashed as it was between two superpowers armed with nuclear weapons.
Anton Modin got up and walked over to the picture window. He had to stretch his legs and gather his thoughts. Spring was in the air. He could hear the chirping of birds in every bush when he opened a window. In the distance, a fishing boat was steaming past, bogged down with the day’s catch. A slew of gulls followed in its wake. Modin leaned on the window sill. After a few deep breaths, he turned back toward Swanson in his leather recliner. Swanson had put his feet up on a footstool, prepared for any question under the sun except the one Modin was now going to ask, in as natural a voice as he could manage.
“Who murdered Olof Palme?”
Swanson jumped, cleared his throat, breathing heavily through his nose, and said: “I don’t know.”
“You know something, don’t you?”
“It was a political murder. That much I know.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know, that’s all,” Ingo Swanson said, looking increasingly grumpy. “I want you to leave.”
“Come on, Ingo! Who did it? Who fired the shot? If anyone knows, it’s you. You took over Sweden the very same night the murder took place.”
Modin was talking fast and with confidence. He put the beer bottle to his lips and drank while Swanson shrugged his shoulders.
“Let’s say, I have my suspicions, but I’d rather keep them to myself. I have a good life out here. I’ve got a few good years left, and I’d like to keep it that way. Thank you and good bye.”
“You’re scared,” Axman said.
Axman was sitting casually on the couch and had rested his loafer clad foot on his other leg.
Ingo Swanson did not reply. The conversation was over.