dropped a paper napkin over his plate.
‘He called me three times that last night. Very late - or rather, early: it was dawn when he called the last time.’
‘And you were still on board the destroyer?’
‘We were less than a nautical mile south-east of Harsfjarden. It was windy, but not too bad. We were on full alert. The officers were informed about what was happening, of course, but the rest of the crew knew only that we were ready for action, not why.’
‘Were you really going to be ordered to start hunting down the submarine?’
‘We couldn’t know what the Russians would do if we forced one of their submarines to surface. Perhaps they might try to rescue it? There were Russian vessels north of Gotland, and they were moving slowly in our direction. One of our radio officers said he’d never experienced so much Russian radio traffic before, not even during their major manoeuvres along the Baltic coast. They were agitated, that was obvious.’
He paused when Marie came in and asked if they wanted any more coffee. Both said no.
‘Let’s consider the most important thing,’ said Wallander. ‘How did you react to the order to let the trapped submarine go?’
‘I couldn’t believe my ears.’
‘How did you hear about it?’
‘Nyman suddenly received an order to back off, proceed to Landsort and wait there. No explanation was given, and Nyman wasn’t the type to ask unnecessary questions. I was in the engine room when I was told there was a phone call for me. I ran up to my cabin. It was Hakan. He asked if I was alone.’
‘Did he usually do that?’
‘Not usually, no. I said I was. He insisted it was important that I speak the truth. I remember feeling angry about that. Then I realised he had left the operations room and was calling from a phone booth.’
‘How could you know that? Did he say so?’
‘I heard him inserting coins. There was a phone booth in the officers’ mess. Since he couldn’t be away from the command centre for more than a couple of minutes, only as long as it would take to go to the toilet, he must have run there.’
‘Did he say so?’
Nordlander looked searchingly at him.
‘Is it you or me who’s the policeman here? I could hear that he was out of breath!’
Wallander didn’t allow himself to be provoked. He merely nodded, indicating that Nordlander should continue.
‘He was agitated, both furious and scared, I think you could say. He insisted that it was treason, and that he was going to disobey orders and bomb that damned submarine up to the surface no matter what they said. Then his money ran out. It was as if somebody had cut through a tape.’
Wallander stared at him, waiting for a continuation that never came.
‘That’s a strong word to use. Treason?’
‘But that’s exactly what it was! They released a submarine that had invaded our territorial waters.’
‘Who was responsible?’
‘Somebody in the high command, possibly more than one person, who got extremely cold feet. They didn’t want to force a Russian submarine up to the surface.’
A man carrying a cup of coffee came into the room, but Nordlander glared so aggressively at him that he turned immediately and went to look for a table in another room.
‘I don’t know who was responsible. It might be easier to answer the question “Why?” but even so it would only be speculation. What you don’t know, you don’t know.’
‘Sometimes it’s necessary to think aloud. Even for police officers.’
‘Let’s suppose there was something on board that submarine that the Swedish authorities couldn’t be allowed to get their hands on.’
‘What might that be?’
Sten Nordlander lowered his voice - not much, but sufficiently for Wallander to notice.
‘Maybe you could extend that assumption and suggest that it wasn’t “something” but “someone”. How would it have looked if it turned out there was a Swedish officer on board? For example.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘It wasn’t my idea. It was one of Hakan’s theories. He had lots of them.’
Wallander thought for a moment before continuing. He realised that he should have noted down everything Nordlander said.
‘What happened after that?’
‘After what?’
Nordlander was starting to get cross. But whether it was because of all the questions or due to worry in connection with his friend’s disappearance, Wallander couldn’t decide.
‘Hakan told me that he started to ask questions,’ Wallander said.
‘He tried to find out what had happened. But nearly everything was top secret, of course. Some documents were even classified as ultra-secret so that they would remain under lock and key for seventy years. That’s the longest time anything can be kept secret in Sweden. The normal limit is forty years. But in this case some of the papers were embargoed for seventy years. In all probability not even that nice little Marie who served us coffee and pastries will live long enough to be able to read them.’
‘But then again, she belongs to a family with good genes,’ said Wallander.
Sten Nordlander didn’t react.
‘Hakan could be difficult if he’d set his mind on something,’ Nordlander continued. ‘He felt just as violated as the Swedish territorial waters had been. Someone had failed in their duty, and failed in spades. A lot of journalists started digging into the submarines incident, but that wasn’t good enough for Hakan. He really wanted to know the truth. He staked his career on it.’
‘Who did he speak to?’
Nordlander’s reply came quickly, like a crack of the whip in order to buck up an invisible horse.
‘Everybody. He asked everybody you can think of. Perhaps not the king, but you never know. He asked for an interview with the prime minister, that’s definite. He called Thage G. Peterson, that fine old Social Democrat in the cabinet office, and asked for a meeting with Palme. Peterson said the PM’s diary was full, but Hakan wouldn’t be put off. “Get out the reserve diary then,” he insisted. “The one in which urgent meetings can always be fitted in.” And he actually did get an interview. A few days before Christmas 1983.’
‘Did he tell you about it?’
‘I was with him.’
‘When he met Palme?’
‘I was his chauffeur that day, you could say. I sat in the car outside, waiting for him, after watching him, in his dress uniform and a dark overcoat, vanish through the entrance door to the most exalted dwelling in the land after the royal palace. The visit lasted about half an hour. After ten minutes a traffic cop knocked on the window and said that drop-offs were allowed but parking was forbidden. I rolled down the window and informed him that I was waiting for somebody currently discussing very important business with the prime minister and had no intention of moving. After that I was left in peace. When Hakan eventually came back, there were beads of sweat on his forehead.’
They had driven off in silence.
‘We came here,’ said Sten Nordlander. ‘And we sat at this very table. As we got out of the car it started snowing. We had a white Christmas in Stockholm that year. It stayed white until New Year’s Eve. Then it rained.’
Marie returned with her coffee pot. This time they both had their cups refilled. When Sten Nordlander complied with Swedish tradition and popped a cube of sugar into his mouth before taking a sip of coffee, Wallander noticed that he had false teeth. The discovery made him feel sick for a few moments. Perhaps because it reminded him that he should visit the dentist far more often than he did.
According to Sten Nordlander, von Enke gave a detailed account of his meeting with Olof Palme. He had been well received. Palme asked a few questions about his military career, and spoke ironically about his own status as a
