The Troubled Man (7 page)

Von Enke paused, as if he expected Wallander to ask what the two questions were. Some peals of laughter could be heard on the other side of the door, but they soon faded away.

‘I suppose you wanted to know if the submarine was in Swedish territorial waters by mistake,’ said Wallander. ‘As was claimed when that other Russian submarine ran aground off Karlskrona?’

‘I had already answered that question. There is no naval vessel as meticulous with its navigation as a submarine. That goes without saying. The submarine the
Ajax
had come across intended to be where it was. The question was what exactly it was up to. Why was it reconnoitring and surfacing, apparently not expecting to be discovered? It could have been a sign that the crew was being careless. But of course, there was also another possibility.’

‘That the submarine wanted to be discovered?’

Von Enke nodded, and made another attempt to light his reluctant pipe.

‘In that case,’ he said, ‘to encounter a tugboat would be ideal. A vessel like that probably wouldn’t even have a catapult to attack you with. Nor would the crew be trained for confrontation. Since I was in charge at the base, I contacted the supreme commander, and he agreed with me that we should immediately send in a helicopter equipped for tracking down submarines. It made sonar contact with a moving object we decided was a submarine. For the first time in my life I gave an order to open fire in circumstances other than training exercises. The helicopter fired a depth charge to warn the submarine. Then it vanished, and we lost contact.’

‘How could it simply disappear?’

‘Submarines have many ways of making themselves invisible. They can descend into deep troughs, hugging the cliff walls, and thus confuse anybody trying to trace them with echo sounders. We sent out several helicopters, but we never found any further trace of it.’

‘But couldn’t it have been damaged?’

‘That’s not the way it goes. According to international law, the first depth charge must be a warning. It’s only later that you can force a submarine up to the surface for identification.’

‘What happened next?’

‘Nothing, really. There was an inquiry, and they decided that I’d done the right thing. Maybe this was the overture for what was to follow a couple of years later, when Swedish territorial waters were crawling with foreign submarines, mainly in the Stockholm archipelago. I suppose the most important result was that we had confirmation of the fact that Russian interest in our navigational channels was as great as ever. This happened at a time when nobody thought the Berlin Wall would fall or the Soviet Union collapse. It’s easy to forget that. The Cold War wasn’t over. After that incident, the Swedish navy was granted a big increase in funding. But that was all.’

Von Enke drained the rest of his coffee. Wallander was about to stand up when his host started speaking again.

‘I’m not done yet. Two years later, off we went again. By then I’d been promoted to the very top of the Swedish naval defence staff. Our HQ was in Berga, and there was a combat command on duty round the clock. On 1 October we had an alarm call that we could never have imagined, even in our wildest dreams. There were indications that a submarine, or even several, were in the Harsfjarden channel, very close to our base on Musko. So it was no longer just a case of trespassing in Swedish territorial waters; there were foreign submarines in a restricted area. No doubt you remember all the fuss?’

‘The newspapers were full of it, and television reporters were clambering around on slippery rocks.’

‘I don’t know what you could compare it to. Perhaps a foreign helicopter landing in a courtyard at the heart of the royal palace. That’s what it felt like, having submarines close to our top-secret military installations.’

‘That was when I’d just received confirmation that I could start working in Ystad.’

Suddenly the door opened. Von Enke gave a start. Wallander noted that his right hand was on its way to the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he let it fall back onto his knee again. The door had been opened by a semi-inebriated woman who was looking for a toilet. She withdrew, and they were alone again.

‘It was in October,’ von Enke resumed once the door had closed. ‘It sometimes felt as if the whole Swedish coast was under siege by unidentified foreign submarines. I was glad I wasn’t the one responsible for talking to all the journalists who had gathered out at Berga. We had to convert a few barrack rooms into press rooms. I was extremely busy all the time, trying to find one of those submarines. We’d lose all our credibility if we couldn’t manage to force a single one to the surface. And then, at last, came the evening when we had trapped a submarine in the Harsfjarden channel. There was no doubt about it; the command team was convinced this was it. I was the one responsible for giving the order to open fire. During those hectic hours I spoke several times to the supreme commander and the new minister of defence. His name was Andersson, if you recall - a man from Borlange.’

‘I have a vague memory of him being called “Red Borje”.’

‘That’s right. But he wasn’t up to the job. He no doubt thought the submarines were pure hell. He went back home to Dalarna and we got Anders Thunborg as minister of defence. One of Palme’s blue-eyed boys. A lot of my colleagues didn’t trust him, but the contact I had with him was good. He didn’t interfere; he asked questions. If he got an answer, he was satisfied. But once when he called me I had the distinct impression that Palme was in the room with him, standing by his side. I don’t know if that was true. But the feeling was very strong.’

‘Anyway, what happened?’

Von Enke’s face twitched, as if he was annoyed by Wallander interrupting him. But when he continued there was no sign of that.

‘We had cornered the submarine in such a way that it couldn’t move without our permission. I spoke to the supreme commander and told him that we were about to fire depth charges and force the sub up to the surface. We needed another hour to prepare for the operation, and then we would be able to reveal to the world the identity of this submarine that had invaded Swedish territorial waters. Half an hour passed. The hands on the wall clock seemed to be moving unbearably slowly. The whole time, I was in touch with the helicopters and the surface vessels surrounding the submarine. Forty-five minutes passed. And then it happened.’

Von Enke broke off abruptly, then stood up and left the room. Wallander wondered if he had been taken ill. But after a few moments the commander returned, carrying two glasses of cognac.

‘It’s a chilly winter evening,’ he said. ‘We need something to warm us up. Nobody seems to have missed us, so we can carry on chatting in this bunker.’

Wallander waited for the rest of the story. Even if it wasn’t perhaps totally engrossing, listening to old stories about submarines, he preferred von Enke’s company to having to talk to people he didn’t know.

‘That’s when it happened,’ repeated von Enke. ‘Four minutes before the attack was due to take place, the phone rang - the direct line to Defence Command Sweden. As far as I know it was one of the few lines guaranteed to be safe from bugging, and it was also fitted with an automatic scrambler. I was given an order that I would never have expected in a thousand years. Can you guess what it was?’

Wallander shook his head, and wrapped his hand around his glass to warm up the brandy.

‘We were ordered to abort the depth-charge attack. Naturally, I was dumbstruck and demanded an explanation. But I didn’t receive one - not then, at least. Just the specific order that on no account should any depth charges be fired. Obviously, I had no choice but to obey. There were only two minutes left when the helicopters were informed of the decision. None of us at Berga could understand what was going on. It was exactly ten minutes before we received our next order. If possible, it was even more incomprehensible. Our superiors seemed to have taken leave of their senses. We were ordered to back off.’

Wallander was becoming more interested.

‘So you were told to let the submarine get away?’

‘Nobody actually said that, of course. Not in so many words, at least. We were ordered to concentrate our attention on a different part of the Harsfjarden channel, at its very edge, south of the Danzig straits. A helicopter had made contact with another submarine. Why was that one more important than the one we had encircled and were just about to force up to the surface? My colleagues and I were at a loss. I asked to speak to the supreme commander in person, but he was busy and couldn’t be interrupted. Which was very odd, because he was the one who had authorised the operation not long before. I even tried to speak to the minister of defence or his private secretary, but everyone seemed to have vanished, unplugged their phones, or been instructed to say nothing. The supreme commander and the minister of defence instructed to say nothing? By whom? The government could have done it, of course, or the prime minister. I had agonising stomach pains for several hours. I didn’t understand the orders I’d been given. Aborting the operation went against my experience and instincts. I came very close to refusing to obey. That would have been the end of my military career. But I still had a grain of common sense left. And so we moved all our helicopters and two surface vessels to the Danzig straits. I asked for permission to keep at least one helicopter hovering over the place where we knew the submarine was hiding, but that was not granted. We should leave the area, and do so immediately. Which we did. With the expected result.’

‘Which was?’

‘Needless to say, we didn’t find a submarine near the Danzig straits. We continued searching for the rest of the night. I still wonder how many thousand litres of fuel the helicopters used up.’

‘What happened to the submarine you had encircled?’

‘It disappeared. Without a trace.’

Wallander thought over what he had heard. Once, in the far distant past, he had completed his national military service with a tank regiment in Skovde. He had unpleasant memories of that period of his life. On being called up he had tried to join the navy, but he had been sent to Vastergotland. He had never had any trouble accepting discipline, but he did find it difficult to understand a lot of the orders they were given. It often seemed that chaos ruled, despite the fact that they were supposed to imagine themselves in a potentially lethal confrontation with an enemy.

Von Enke emptied his cognac glass.

‘I started asking questions about what had happened. I shouldn’t have. I soon noticed that it was not a particularly popular thing to do. Even some of my colleagues whom I had regarded as my best friends objected to my curiosity. But all I wanted to know was why these counter-orders had been issued. I’m convinced that we were closer than we’d ever been before, or have been since, to finally making a submarine surface and identify itself. Two minutes away, no more than that. At first I wasn’t the only one to be upset about the situation. Another commander, Arosenius, and an analyst from Defence Command Sweden were part of the top-level team that day. But after a few weeks they both started keeping me at arm’s length. They didn’t want to be associated with the way I was stirring things up and asking questions. And eventually I gave up as well.’

Von Enke put his glass down on the table and leaned forward towards Wallander.

‘But I haven’t forgotten it, of course. I still keep trying to understand what happened - not just on that day when we allowed a submarine to give us the slip. I keep rehashing everything that happened during those years. And I think that now, at long last, I’m beginning to get some idea of what was really going on.’

‘You mean, why you weren’t allowed to force that submarine to surface?’

He nodded slowly, lit his pipe again, but said nothing. Wallander wondered if the story he had heard was destined to remain unfinished.

‘I’m curious, of course. What was the explanation?’

Von Enke made a dismissive gesture.

‘It’s too early for me to say anything about it. I still haven’t come to the end of the road. So right now I have nothing more to say. Perhaps we’d better go and join the other guests.’

They stood up and left the room. Wallander went back to the conservatory, and bumped into the woman who had disturbed them. Only now did he reflect on the way von Enke had moved his right hand when she had burst into the room - at first very decisively, but then slowing down and eventually dropping it back onto his knee.

Even if it seemed almost inconceivable, Wallander could think of only one explanation. Von Enke was carrying a gun. Was that really possible? he thought as he stared out through the window at the deserted garden. A retired naval commander carrying a gun at his seventy-fifth birthday party?

Wallander simply couldn’t believe it. He dismissed the thought. He must have been imagining things. One bewildering experience must have led to another. First the idea that von Enke was scared, and then that he was carrying a gun. Wallander wondered if his intuition was fading, just as he was beginning to grow more forgetful.

Linda came into the conservatory.

‘I thought you must have left.’

‘Not yet. But soon.’

‘I’m sure both Hakan and Louise are glad you came.’

‘He’s been telling me about the submarines.’

Linda raised an eyebrow.

‘Really? That surprises me.’

‘Why?’