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  In the corner of his eye he could see Rake studying the course of the smoke from his cigar.

  CHAPTER 20

  The ship was throbbing like a panting beast.

  Tobiasson-Svartman often compared various types of ship with animals to be found in Sweden. Torpedo boats were like weasels or polecats, destroyers were falcons eager to pounce on their prey, cruisers hunted like packs of hungry wolves, the big battleships were solitary bears that did not like to be disturbed. Animals that were normally enemies could be persuaded, in their symbolic roles as warships, to cooperate and even to sacrifice themselves for one another.

  He saw from the folder that the instructions were Confidential and for the Eyes of Commander Lars Svartman Only. Certain sections could be copied, but the original was to be handed back to Rake without ever having left his cabin.

  As far as the Swedish Navy was concerned, his name had not been changed, despite the fact that he had informed his superiors the moment he heard from the Royal Patents and Registrations Office.

  On board this vessel and as far as the Joint Staff of the Swedish Armed Forces was concerned, he was still Lars Svartman, that was all.

  * * *

  He read:

  Your mission is to make depth soundings, without delay, of the dedicated and secret naval channels linking Kalmar Sound, southern section, with the northern, central and southern approaches to Stockholm. It is especially important to check the readings of the sounds, passages and other approaches made in 1898 and 1902 in relation to the deepest possible draught claimed for each type of vessel at Sandsänkan Lighthouse. Your base for these soundings will be the destroyer Svea. The vessel you will use for making the soundings will be the gunboat Blenda, which will supply the necessary launches and picket boats.

  This introductory statement was followed by all the associated specific orders that were to be complied with.

  He closed the file and retied the silk ribbon. Rake eyed him up and down.

  'No notes?'

  'I don't think I need any.?

  'You are still young,' said Rake with a smile. 'Old men never rely on their memories. Young men sometimes rely on theirs too much.'

  Tobiasson-Svartman stood up and clicked his heels. It felt as if he were giving himself a kick. Rake pointed to the table, indicating where the file should go.

  'It's going to be a long war,' Rake said. 'Lord Kitchener in the British high command has realised that. I'm afraid his German equivalent hasn't yet grasped that this war is going to be on a bigger scale than any previous one throughout the awful history of mankind.'

  Rake paused, as if his thoughts had become too overwhelming for him to bear. Then he went on.

  'Thousands of men are going to die. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. In that respect this war is going to be bigger than any previous one. And it's going to be long and drawn-out. There are some who say it will be all over by Christmas. Personally, I'm convinced it will last for years. More ships are going to be sunk than in any other. The tonnage that's going to be blown up and sunk will have to be totted up in millions.'

  Rake paused again. He fiddled absent-mindedly with the blue-and-yellow silk ribbon.

  More people are going to be drowned than ever before, thought Tobiasson-Svartman. Officers and men will be burned to death in blazing infernos. The Baltic Sea and the North Sea, the Atlantic and perhaps other oceans as well will be filled with screams that slowly grow fainter and then cease altogether.

  A thousand sailors weigh about sixty tonnes. War is not only about how many sailors die. It is also about how many living tonnes are transformed into dead tonnes. You talk about the deadweight of a vessel. Human beings can be reckoned in terms of deadweight as well.

  CHAPTER 21

  He left the captain's cabin.

  Jagged clouds were scudding across the October sky. He thought about the task ahead of him. He also wondered whether Rake was right. Would the war really be as terrible and long-drawn-out as he had predicted?

  The ship suddenly lost speed and turned slowly so as to head into the wind. He realised this must be a heave-to manoeuvre in preparation for transferring Rudin on to the gunboat that would take him to Norrköping.

  He went back to his cabin. He hung up his tunic, removed his shoes and stretched out on his bunk. Somebody had made up the bed while he had been with Rake.

  He lay with his hands behind his head, feeling the vibrations that were throbbing through the ship, and thought about what was in store.

  CHAPTER 22

  It was a sort of ritual.

  A new mission did not necessarily have to be frightening just because it was secret. What he was going to do would be characterised by routines, not by sudden dramatic incidents.

  He hated disorder and chaos. Charting the depths of the sea demanded total serenity, a virtually meditative calm.

  Times of peace are used to prepare for new wars, he thought. Since the middle of the nineteenth century the Swedish Navy has sent out lots of expeditions to seek out alternative shipping routes along the Swedish coasts. Some of those expeditions have been badly organised and inadequately led, others have been successful.

  The starting point was simple. An aggressor might set up blockades, often in the last ten years or so by laying mines, preventing use of the usual shipping lanes marked on the charts available to the public and used by various merchant navies. To counter this, there is a network of secret routes and channels used for military purposes. The fear that spies might get hold of information about these routes was both considerable and justified. An aggressor who had succeeded in uncovering these secret channels could cause a lot of damage. As the draught of modern ships was increasing all the time, the routes had to be constantly checked. Were there alternative routes that could accommodate ships with bigger draughts? Could shallows that restricted access be dredged in secret, without the changes being marked on publicly available navigational charts?

  These were the questions he would have to answer. In addition, he would also have to consider the possible threat from submarines. There was no doubt that submarines presented a completely new danger with potentially limitless consequences. But how could they be stopped? If the channels were deep enough, a submarine could penetrate to the very centre of Stockholm.

  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 wa
rships 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.'

  Rake picked up the bottle and looked questioningly at Tobiasson-Svartman, who shook his head and then regretted it immediately. Rake filled his own glass, but not to the brim this time.

  'Does this affect my mission?'

  'Only in that from now on, everything has to proceed at great speed. In wartime you can never assume that there will be plenty of time available. And that's the situation we're in now.'

  The conversation with Rake was at an end. The captain seemed uneasy. He scratched at his forehead, which showed traces of red spots.

  Tobiasson-Svartman left the captain's quarters. The October evening was chilly. He paused on the compan-ionway and listened. The sea was booming away in the distance. He could hear somebody laughing in the gun room. He thought he recognised Anders Höckert's voice.

  He closed the door of his cabin and thought about his wife. She always used to go to bed early when he was away, she'd told him that in a letter the same year they were married.

  He closed his eyes. After a few minutes of trying, he managed to conjure up her smell. It was soon so strong that it filled the whole cabin.

  CHAPTER 26

  It rained during the night.

  He slept with his lead clutched tightly to his chest. When he got up, shortly before six, he had a nagging headache.

  He wanted to run away, escape. But it was only that he was impatient at still not having embarked on his mission.

  CHAPTER 27

  At dawn on 22 October, Lars Tobiasson-Svartman transferred to the gunboat Blenda.

  The waiting was over.

  He was welcomed at the end of the gangway by the commanding officer, Lieutenant Jakobsson, who had a squint in his left eye and a deformed hand. He spoke with a pronounced Gothenburg accent, and despite his squint his expression seemed friendly and sincere. Tobiasson-Svartman could not help thinking that Jakobsson reminded him of some character he had seen in one of those newfangled films, or whatever they were called. One of the police officers, perhaps, who were forever chasing the star but never managed to catch him?

  Lieutenant Jakobsson inspired him with confidence. To his surprise, he was allocated the captain's cabin.

  'This isn't necessary,' he insisted.