Bubble(46)
But it was actually something completely different? she said.
He shook his head slowly.
You shouldnt believe everything you read on the internet, my dear …
He patted the lid of a folded laptop, a fairly old model, that was sitting in the middle of the desk.
Their activities were severely restricted, and limited to defence research.
I see. So what was your role, Thore?
I was a research assistant in what was known as the L-Project, trying to produce plutonium – without much success.
She glanced at her watch.
He suddenly stood up.
But forgive me, my dear, can I offer you something else? A little mineral water, perhaps?
He leaned down and opened a small cupboard in one of the bookcases, from which he conjured up a bottle of Ramlösa and a glass.
She opened the bottle with the opener he gave her, poured a glass and drank it in silence. The bubbles stung her tongue and she was starting to get a very strong feeling that she was wasting valuable time.
Now, lets see, photographs … most of my papers are here. Maj-Britt didnt want them at home. I was thinking of writing a book …
He shuffled the piles of paper on his desk, evidently looking for something. High time to get to the point, before he started up again:
Thore, did you ever work with anyone called Erland Pettersson?
No reaction, he didnt even look up, which actually felt like something of a relief. But at the same time it didnt.
Or Tage Sammer?
Still no response.
No, Im afraid neither of those names sounds familiar … he muttered as he stood up and went over to the files in the bookcase at the other end of the room.
She was close to swearing out loud with relief and disappointment. Then another name occurred to her.
What about André Pellas?
He stopped.
You know him, dont you? She could hear how eager she sounded.
Well, I didnt know him, I was aware of him … Lieutenant Colonel Pellas was a section head in the programme …
Which one, which section? She was fighting a spontaneous urge to leap up from her chair.
They were called the I-Group. I think that meant Information and Intelligence, but Im afraid my memory isnt quite what it used to be … He shook his head.
And what was their role in the programme?
I dont really know. But there was a monthly report, where we would register problems that had arisen. Instances where we had ground to a halt entirely used to be marked with a large I. A week or so would pass, and then we would be given a detailed description of what to do in order to solve the problem. The report would be in Swedish, but every now and then you could tell that it had been translated from English. It was mostly just a feeling, certain words and expressions … of some sort. We would get advice from the I-Group on various problems we had with the project, and it was clear the reports were written in collaboration with non-Swedish experts.
The Americans?
Thats the logical answer. Even if the politicians might have liked to suggest the opposite, there had been strong military ties between Sweden and the USA ever since the war. The American OSS, the forerunners of the CIA, for instance, financed secret military activities along the northern part of the Norwegian border. The main purpose wasnt to fight the Nazis, but to have troops ready once the Germans had withdrawn. To prevent any potential Soviet annexation of Norway, he clarified. The operation would never have been possible without the help of the Swedish military and intelligence services …
He broke off mid-sentence and smiled apologetically.
Im sorry, my dear, Ive wandered off the point once again, but I was trying to show that Swedish and American militaries had been cooperating, albeit unofficially, long before our project began … and it would never have been possible in the first place without the help of the Swedish military and intelligence services …
She nodded.
Do you know what happened to the I-Group later, after 1972?
He paused for a few seconds as he drank his coffee.
Like I said, the project was shut down, and the military personnel were transferred to other duties. Those of us who were civilians had to try to find work elsewhere. Very sad, of course, so many dedicated colleagues, so much work just abandoned. All in vain …
He sighed.
I myself moved to Västerås and got a job at ABB as an automation engineer. I was there until I retired. They were a fantastic company to work for, so you could say that it turned out for the best in the end. You see, we developed processes that …
He carried on, but she was no longer listening to what he was saying.
She had been right. Uncle Tage had worked on the nuclear weapons programme, handling the exchange of information with the Americans.
Now, lets see …
Thore Sjögren took out an envelope and spread its contents across the desk. Photographs, most of them black and white, but a few in colour. Judging by the clothes and hairstyles, most of them were taken in the sixties and seventies.
My wife, Maj-Britt, he muttered, putting down a photograph of a smiling, sun-burned woman in a sundress sitting at a table in a restaurant.
She passed away three years ago …
Im sorry …
He went on looking through the pictures.
Here!
He laid out several black and white pictures. Typical group shots that could have been from any business. Lots of sombre men in suits, some in white coats. Sixty or seventy of them in total, lined up in three rows on a broad flight of steps.
That picture was taken in 1966 or 67, I seem to recall … Thats me.
He pointed to a young man with a side parting in the middle row. The resemblance was striking.
Young and fashionable, he laughed. These days Ive only got the and left …
He ran his finger across the rows of faces.
There, he said, but she had already spotted him.
Back row, third from the left. Suddenly she felt sick.
Colonel Pellas, he said, pointing, but she was staring at a different face altogether.
Her fathers.
22
And those weve left behind
They were standing in a clearing among the trees. Even though it was dark and he was a long way off at first, he had no trouble recognizing them. The old man with the stick, straight-backed.
Beside him Mangas slouched silhouette. Steam was rising from their coffee cups.
As he approached them through the snow he gradually noticed more people in there among the trees. Dozens, possibly even hundreds of silent silhouettes that seemed to be watching him. He could feel the snow crunch beneath his feet, but oddly enough there was hardly any sound. The two men now had company in the clearing. Four more figures, all in white Guy Fawkes masks, with painted, curling moustaches and goatee beards.
Welcome, Henrik, the Game Master said when he stepped into the clearing.
Would you like some coffee? Manga held out a plastic cup towards him, and he took it without saying a word.
Who are they? He nodded towards the four people in masks.
Dont you know? the Game Master chuckled.
Two of them are completely uninteresting, but the other two could turn out to be vitally important.
The first of them took a step forward and held out his hand. In spite of his bulky winter clothes, it was possible to make out the square, muscular body. They shook hands.
Friend? HP asked, but received no answer.
The next person stepped up.
Enemy? he asked.
Still no answer.
The third person was a woman, he was sure of that.
Friend? he asked again.
For a moment he thought she shrugged her shoulders.
He held out his hand towards the fourth figure, but the person leaned towards him instead and whispered something in his ear. The voice was so familiar, so sad, that it actually felt painful.
The Luttern labyrinth, she whispered. You have to save us. The Carer …
A raven croaked in the distance. Twice, in an ominous way that sent a shiver down his spine. The shadowy figures in amongst the trees suddenly began to move. They stumbled towards the clearing like dark-clad zombies. And all of a sudden he realized who they were …
More, they hissed.
MOOOORE!!!
A moment later he was running. Snow was flying around his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.
The lights from the road lay far away on the horizon.
See you in the Luttern labyrinth, number 128 … the Game Master called after him. Unless it was actually Mangas voice that he had heard … ?
Rebecca emerged onto the steps library and took a few deep breaths.
The fresh air made her nausea subside and after a couple of minutes she felt considerably better.
She could think. About the nuclear weapons programme; the betrayal of the Palme government. Dads violent rages. The safe deposit box in Sveavägen, set up in 1986. The wide-bore revolver with its two fired cartridges that made Uncle Tage so uneasy. Which mustnt be traced to …
Events in the past …
1986.
Dads rages.
The revolver is an OPW, an Olof Palme Weapon.
She took her mobile out of her bag. Her fingers didnt seem to want to do as she told them, and it took two attempts before she managed to tap in the correct pin-code.
The email from Uncle Tage arrived almost at once, but it took another minute for the attached file to download. A black and white recording from the bank vault, lasting thirty-two seconds, which must have come from one of the cameras in the corridor.
The man walking down the corridor before turning off into the room containing her box was wearing sunglasses and had a baseball cap pulled down over his face.