The kayak harbor at Black Island
“Sources in both the Swedish Navy and the American Navy have confirmed the media reports regarding the acquisition of sound libraries from the U.S. and American assistance to Sweden when building a chain of underwater systems (SOSUS) in the Baltic Sea in order to trace the movements of Soviet submarines. NATO assisted by providing equipment and knowhow in exchange for being able to access a certain number of results of the signals surveillance. In the late 1980s, cooperation became so intensive that U.S. Navy officers would visit Sweden on a weekly basis.”
(Lifeline Lost, Robert Dalsjö, Senior Analyst Swedish Defense Research Agency FOI, page 242)
Once he had finished reading Matti Svensson’s article in Norrtelje News, Modin put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and went to the beach where the kayaks were bobbing up and down in the shallows. He put his paddle and life jacket in the cockpit.
I’ll be paddling over to Black Island and can be reached on my cell phone, he texted Axman. I will be gone a few days. I’ll call you.
The wind was against him all the way out. Each stroke of the paddle required effort. Paddling a kayak was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t feeling well, neither physically nor mentally, but he just had to ask Julia about her disclosures to Svensson. By the time he was dragging the kayak onto dry land on the southern side of the islet, he was wet and beat. He hid the kayak under twigs and branches, then started up the incline.
Julia was nowhere to be found. Modin first looked in the shelter, then in the cottage. As he climbed up the steps, he heard the radio playing softly. The door was half open.
“Julia!”
No answer.
He sensed something was wrong. He entered the hall cautiously and in so doing stepped on a pair of leather clogs, which, judging by their size, belonged to Julia.
“Julia!” he yelled again, blindly, into the room.
He continued his search. Julia was lying on the couch, seemingly lifeless. He went up to her and felt her neck; her pulse was there. She forced open her eyes but she was unable to sit up. There was a stench of alcohol.
“Hi honey,” she said, slurring her words. “What are you doing here? What’s happened to your nose? It’s so big…”
“Forget my nose. What happened to you? Are you drunk?” Modin said, trying to pick her up.
“How d’you feel?” he said, looking into her misty, bloodshot eyes. “What happened?” Julia was obviously wasted.
“So many questions, so few answers,” Julia said with a crooked grin. “My dear, are you here to rescue me. Rescue me to be by your side when the sun is shining and the birds are migrating? Are you?”
Julia looked at Modin in a way he hadn’t seen before. An absent-minded and bitter face stared back at him. He didn’t like it at all. This was not the Julia he knew; he was looking at Julia’s demons.
“Hell, I have a terrible headache. Can you hand me a bottle of water?” She glanced at a red tote box on the floor.
As he reached for the water, Modin could see three empty wine bottles and an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the table. On the floor were pictures of Julia’s family all mixed up and scattered around. He could even see a couple of snapshots of himself as a teenager and of Julia’s brother Christer. He picked up the photos and put them in the shoebox on the table.
“Tell me what happened,” he said when Julia had finally managed to sit up. Her hair was messed up and Modin figured she’d been lying there since the night before. Her right eye was bruised with blue and yellow patches.
“My dear brother was here. He’s such a sweetheart.” She ran her hand through her dark hair and tried to pin it back behind her ears. It wouldn’t stay, but flopped out again as she leaned her head against the table.
“He knows, Modin. I told him everything. He brought one of those journalists from town.”
“You mean Svensson,” Modin said. “Frigging hell, Julia, why did you tell him?”
“Svensson, yes, I think that was his name. Hungry for gossip and sensation. They tried to squeeze secrets out of me about the U.S. and signals reconnaissance. Fuck, Modin. I’m in deep shit. Is there anything in the paper?” She fumbled across the table.
“No names, but I figured you were the source, Julia. Not that many in the municipality of Norrtelje are likely to know anything about U.S. underwater signals monitoring? Others will know it was you, too. What ties do you have to NSA, Julia?”“
“Oh damn, they’ll come pay me a visit. I’m scared, Modin. You’ve got to help me.” She put her head in her hands.
“Who’ll pay you a visit? The NSA?”
“I don’t know who the fuck they’ll send, but this is all top level U.S. national security. I can’t say more.”
Modin didn’t recognize his childhood friend any more. Julia seemed neurotic and paranoid; it seemed as if something had snapped inside her. What had happened to all her cockiness and self-confidence? He liked it when she let go of her tough mask, but this was scary. Julia had taken a step into new territories. It was too late to worry about what she had messed up. She just wanted to stay alive at all cost. Her body language suggested that she couldn’t deal with this on her own. He had to choose. Her sudden vulnerability made them equals: two lonely ships in the night seeking shelter with to each other.
“What was your brother doing here? Was he the one who hit you? I’ll get that bastard,” Modin said. “He attacked me the other day. My nose is as soft as a peach. That dear brother of yours is a fucking psychopath.”
“He’s working for intelligence,” Julia said, clearing her throat while trying to sound sober. “But he isn’t on the right side, I’m afraid. He’s going to end up damaging our country.”
“What do you mean, damaging Sweden? Is he some kind of spy?”
“Please look at the photos. Look at that happy family there, then you’ll understand.”
Modin pulled the shoebox toward him. He pulled out a bunch of snapshots and soon found what she was referring to. It was a black and white picture of an officer in German uniform with a badge Modin was very familiar with. He had already seen it in the Security Service archives.
“Is that your dad, Julia?”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “That is my beloved and highly respected father, Helmut Steerback. A former Nazi and a good friend of Hitler’s.”
“He’s wearing an HVA uniform,” Modin pointed out. “That was East German intelligence. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know. We’re illegal immigrants, Modin. We were smuggled in from the German Democratic Republic while pretending to be German refugees with an anti-Nazi background. But in reality, my father’s mission was to report back to the Stasi. He was a traitor.”
The kayak harbor at Black Island