Trust was the only valid currency.
It was just so exhausting.
And so we used that trust to pay for our freedom, and we’re still collecting the change to this day.
Chapter 7
If you happen to be a citizen of the Kingdom of Sweden, and your name is Kenneth Lindblom, then you can be quite sure that your decision to stay at Kungla Hotel instead of the more usual Viru Hotel would have led to questions in the relevant departments. So what if you also happen to be a television reporter and Kungla Hotel is across the road from the offices of Estonian Television. Viru Hotel is not more than a short walk from there either. But Kungla Hotel lacks all those things which you, as a citizen of Sweden, might expect from a visit to the Soviet Union (since you’re not a pensioner, and a bus trip to the ruins of Pirita Cloister or a visit to the building complex which hosted the 1980 Olympic regatta are probably of no interest to you). In Kungla Hotel there is no hard currency bar with its lavish selection of drinks; there is not even a hard currency shop where you can buy yourself a six-pack of Finnish beer to quaff in the quiet of your room. And the room itself leaves a lot to be desired. But above all there are no hard-currency prostitutes with respectable exteriors and perfectly tolerable Finnish but smiles which instantly give them away. Of course the relevant departments know that you are a Swede who doesn’t speak Finnish, but that doesn’t change a thing – there are none of those girls at this hotel regardless. It’s true that the Kungla Hotel does have a bar which looks like the West to tourists from Moscow and Leningrad (since their understanding of what the West looks like largely comes from Russian films where the action takes place overseas, a significant number of which were filmed in Tallinn). But that probably doesn’t hold any attraction for you, since it’s hardly likely that you have come to Tallinn to sit in a dimly lit drinking den with 1970s interior design.
In short: there is nothing here.
The real reason your decision to stay in this hotel causes questions in the relevant departments is because it lacks something important which the other hotels have: this hotel only recently received authorisation to accommodate foreign tourists, so there is no eavesdropping equipment here. There apparently isn’t even any equipment in the bar because during the last renovation, instructions reportedly came from the Communist Party Central Committee to leave the place alone so that party functionaries could come here and relax undisturbed.
But if you are a citizen of the Kingdom of Sweden, then the relevant departments will start to ask questions. Especially if you are a television reporter, your name is Kenneth Lindblom, and you have just recently filmed a story about a large meeting of writers, artists, composers and other so-called intellectuals which took place in Toompea Castle with the connivance of some of the local authorities, during which people gave the current regime a piece of their mind. Then they will surely want to know why the hell you have chosen to stay in this central hotel which lacks the necessary equipment. Isn’t it blindingly obvious?
Kenneth Lindblom was in a splendid mood. He’d just finished doing a long interview with Heinz Valk, who had made it very clear what he meant when he said “we are sure to win in the end”. True, he’d only recorded the sound, but he had a whole stack of photographs in his briefcase, including a couple from the heritage protection festival in Tartu, of a torchlit procession of students bearing the blue, black and white colours of the Estonian flag. Not together as one flag, but the message was clear enough.
What would you do if you were a television reporter, a citizen of the Kingdom of Sweden and in a splendid mood? Maybe you would have a glass of champagne? Definitely, but that could wait until a little later. An hour or so later at the ferry bar, for example. Right now you might go and have a walk instead. And that is exactly what Kenneth Lindblom does. In any case, he has one more thing he needs to take care of before heading to the harbour.
Two years ago, when he first visited Tallinn, he could not have dreamt of such a thing. A year ago he would have certainly been wary, even if he’d heard a bombshell like that from someone close and trustworthy, to say nothing of some unfamiliar, slightly fanatical activist at the Estonian House in Stockholm. But now he had no doubt at all that the game was worth the candle.
If you don’t take risks, you don’t get to drink champagne. That was apparently what they said in these parts.
Kenneth headed at a relaxed pace through Pasatski park in the direction of the town centre, along the road he might have walked down if he’d been staying at Viru Hotel as he was supposed to. He’d walked down this road before, but this time he was especially interested in the trees – or to be precise, in one particular tree. He knew very well where that tree was situated, even though he’d obviously left the map of the park, with its paths, benches and a red mark in a certain spot, back in Stockholm.
He looked around, didn’t see anything suspicious, stepped off the path, and shoved his hand into the hollow of the tree.
It was empty.
Which you could no longer say of the spot next to Kenneth.
Chapter 8
“Damned fool!” said the man behind the table. He was prone to corpulence but otherwise in good physical shape, and had turned red in the face from anger. His words were aimed at his colleague, who was a fair bit younger than him, and junior in rank. He’d just reported on the Swede, and was now sitting across the table, hunched up as small as possible. “You damned stupid bastard!”
“I didn’t get there in time, Comrade Major,” said the younger man, trying to explain. “I was just too late.”
That was the truth. As soon as he’d made sure of what was in the envelope, he’d started to head back, planning to place the envelope back into the tree hollow. But when he arrived he found the Swede already there. Of course there was no doubt what he was looking for. Just like there was no reason to suppose that he would ever be given a visa to visit the Soviet Union again. But since the Swede had sussed out what was going on with lightning speed and had jumped back on to the path like a frightened deer, it was unfortunately not possible to accuse him of spying, clap him in irons and deliver him to the KGB building on Pagari Street. In the current climate something like that could cause an international scandaclass="underline" the security organs would be accused of baseless harassment of a foreign journalist in search of a scoop. And Major Vinkel would not have that.
And so at first they did not know precisely who this person was, or what exactly was going on. Nor did they know how it was all being orchestrated from abroad.