He thought back to the years between 1909 and 1912 when he had been involved in redrawing secret naval routes through the archipelago between Landsort and Västervik. In the early days he had played a junior role, but later, from the spring of 1910 onwards, he had been promoted rapidly and placed in charge of the whole operation.
Those had been happy days. In just a few years a large number of his dreams had come true.
But he then realised that he had a quite different dream. It had been unexpected, but it was that dream he now hoped to be able to turn into reality.
The dream of discovering the greatest depth of all.
Chapter 23
The vibrations faded away.
The ship was still.
The beast was holding its breath.
He put on his tunic again, went on deck and stood in the spot where he knew he was invisible. The gunboat Thule, with her three funnels, was drawing alongside to leeward. The sick rating had already been carried out on deck. When the Thule had completed the manoeuvre Rudin was lowered carefully down in a skilfully made sling. The smoke from the Thule’s funnels swallowed him up. There was no sign of Captain Rake: the operation was being directed by Lieutenant Sundfeldt. As soon as Rudin was safely on board the gunboat, the empty sling was retrieved, the Thule backed away and then set off in a north-westerly direction towards Bråviken.
He stayed on deck and watched the Thule until she was out of sight. The smoke from her funnels blended into the scudding clouds.
Rudin was one sailor who had escaped from a terrifying trap, he thought. Swedish ships would be sunk even if Sweden managed to stay out of the war. The sailors most at risk would be in the merchant navy, but even the crews of warships would be torpedoed or blown up by mines. If Rudin did not return to his ship, he would not need to run the risk of being killed by an exploding boiler. Thanks to his inflamed appendix he might be one of the lucky sailors who would escape death.
Tobiasson-Svartman screwed up his eyes and searched for traces of the Thule. There was no sign of her now; she had disappeared into the grey coastline.
He went back to his cabin. The ship was turning back into the wind again.
Chapter 24
He paused in the doorway and tried to imagine what his wife was doing at this particular moment. But he could not envisage her. He had no idea what she did when she was alone in the flat. He did not like that notion. It was like holding a chart in your hand and suddenly finding that all the writing, the outlines of the islands, the areas covered by the lighthouses, the buoyage, the depth contours had all been erased.
He wanted to know what routes his wife used when he was away.
I love her, he thought. But I do not really know what love is.
He sat down at the little table and unpacked his lead. The brass gleamed. For one brief moment he had the feeling that Kristina Tacker was standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder.
‘Something is going to happen,’ she whispered. ‘There is a point where your lead will never reach the bottom. There comes a point where everything is found wanting, my darling husband.’
Part II
The Navigable Channel
Chapter 25
The evening before Lars Tobiasson-Svartman started on his mission, a petty officer came to his cabin to tell him that Captain Rake wanted to give him the final instructions.
He put on his naval jacket and hurried up the slippery companionway. The crescent moon kept appearing through the clouds. The Svea was anchored to the northeast of the Häradskär lighthouse.
He paused halfway up the stairs and gazed out over the dark sea to where the lights of gunboats could be seen. The Häradskär light had been turned off. He thought about all the shells, all the torpedoes out there. Every vessel was laden with the man-made fury known as dynamite or gunpowder.
The hardest place to estimate distances was over open water, but not when it was dark. He judged the nearest gunboat to be 140 metres distant, with a margin of error no greater than ten metres either way.
Before entering the captain’s quarters, he removed his dark blue naval cap.
Rake offered him a brandy. Normally, Tobiasson-Svartman never touched alcohol when he was working, but he could not bring himself to refuse it.
Rake emptied his glass and said: ‘They are very much concerned in Stockholm, and rightly so. They say on the wireless that Russian and German naval vessels have been sighted to the east of Gotland. But there haven’t been any reports of action. The whole of the Gotland coastline is crammed full of people with good hearing, straining to detect the sound of guns or torpedoes.’
‘There’s no concern worse than the sort you feel when you don’t know what’s going on,’ said Tobiasson-Svartman. ‘Concern based on knowledge is always easier to handle.’
Rake handed him the sheet of paper he was holding.
‘Nobody knows if any of these nations intend attacking Sweden. We are going to switch off all our lighthouses and creep down into our burrows.’
‘Are people worried more about the Russians or the Germans?’
‘Both. You don’t need to be one of the navy’s most experienced officers or even the Minister of Defence to know that. On the one hand both Germany and Russia have an interest in Sweden being kept out of the war. On the other hand both of them probably suspect that Sweden won’t be able to hang on to its neutrality in the long run. That could lead to either or both of them launching a pre-emptive strike. The other possibility, of course, is that they decide to leave us alone. Being an insignificant country can be both an advantage and a drawback.’
Tobiasson-Svartman read through the list of lighthouses that had been switched off, and which other navigation marks had been covered up or hastily dismantled. He could picture the sea charts. At night in total darkness it would be very difficult for a foreign warship to sail through the archipelago.
Rake had rolled out a chart on his table and placed an ashtray on each corner. It covered the area between Gotska Sandön and the southern tip of Gotland. He pointed at a spot out to sea.
‘A German convoy — comprising a couple of cruisers, a few small destroyers, torpedo boats, minesweepers and probably some submarines — has been seen here, travelling north. They are said to be travelling at speed, around twenty knots. They were on a level with Slite when they were spotted by a fishing boat from Fårösund. At four o’clock this afternoon they vanished into a belt of fog north-east of Gotska Sandön. At about the same time another fishing boat discovered a number of Russian ships also on their way north, but a bit further to the east. The skipper of the fishing boat was not sure of their exact course. He wasn’t sure about anything, in fact. He might well have been drunk. Even so, he can’t very well have imagined it all. In my view — and the Naval HQ in Stockholm agrees — the two convoys can hardly have been in contact with each other. We can assume that they are not cooperating and have different intentions. But what? Who are they aiming at? We don’t know. They could be diversionary moves, intended to create confusion. Uncertainty is always more difficult to cope with at sea than on land. But the lighthouses have been switched off anyway. Those in charge in Stockholm evidently don’t dare to take any risks.’