But it was hard to wait. Where would he make the most impact? These were the sorts of questions one asked of people one trusted, and while Lukas did not distrust Lozorius or Zoly, he did not wholly have faith in them either. Lukas missed, for a moment, the clarity of life in the underground back home, where a friend was a friend and an enemy was an enemy.
Zoly offered him a cigarette, which he turned down, but he did ask for a map of Stockholm, which Zoly did not have. Instead, Zoly gave him a detailed verbal description of the city. It did not help. When Lukas went out for a walk that afternoon, he became lost again. As he wandered, he looked to see if the men who must be following him could be identified on the street, but they knew their craft too well. Lukas could not find a recognizable face, and wandered about for an hour and a half before he found his way back home to the warehouse.
After two more days, Zoly came in one morning and asked if Lukas would mind meeting someone from “very high up” for lunch.
“Very high up where?” Lukas asked.
“Among the Swedes, where else?”
“What part of the Swedish government?”
“He’s the deputy director of intelligence, and he’d like to lunch with you.”
“Here?”
“No, at his apartment. It’s a great honour.”
Oskar Ramel lived in a flat on the island suburb of Lidingo, a few minutes from Stockholm’s city centre. The three-storey building was twenties modernist, all the space calculated squarely and rationally, without waste. Ramel’s flat was in the southwest corner on the second floor with a view over the water. The sky was low and overcast, but there were large windows on both the south and west walls and the place was filled with cool winter light.
Ramel had been a commodore in the Swedish navy, an attaché in Buenos Aires before the war. He was tall and straight of back, middle-aged and elegant. He spoke several languages, and they chose English at first to test Lukas’s command, and then German in deference to Zoly, who was clearly going to sit through the meeting with them. One end of the dining room table was set with open-faced meat and fish sandwiches, and Ramel mixed up aquavit cocktails for them while recounting his experiences in Argentina during the war.
Having eaten a couple of sandwiches, Ramel brushed the crumbs off his fingers with a napkin and got down to business. “I’ve read your reports and I’m intrigued. Are you really the one who shot all those Reds during the so-called engagement party?”
Lukas shifted uneasily. It seemed barbaric to hear the words out here, in Ramel’s mouth. He felt like a murderer. “That was a long time ago.”
“Still, very remarkable. What happened to the woman who worked with you in that operation?”
“She was killed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Were you close to her?”
“She was my wife.”
An awkward silence ensued. Ramel sighed, proposed a toast in her memory, and they finished their drinks. He rose, mixed fresh cocktails in the glass shaker and refilled their glasses.
Then he asked many questions, cross-checking what Lukas had written in his reports, sometimes asking for information that Lukas did not have. Lukas had no idea how many military bases the Red Army had in Lithuania. He had no idea about any rocket installations. He did not know the state of East Prussia beyond what he had seen when he crossed it to get to Poland.
They had been talking for a few hours and the pale grey light in the apartment was growing weaker, although it was still only mid-afternoon. They were on their third cocktail by the time Ramel finished asking questions. He had been thorough and courteous without committing himself. Either he was masking his heart or he did not have one.
“There’s no doubt that the Allies made mistakes during the war,” he said. “We all did.” As a former supplier to the Nazis of war materiel, there was no way to avoid accepting some of the blame for Sweden’s actions. “But Roosevelt made too many concessions to the Soviets. As a result, the whole of Europe has been thrown off balance and the fate of small nations is at risk. A country like Sweden has no option but to manoeuvre between the great powers. It’s true that we have recognized the incorporation of the Baltic States into the Soviet Union. That was regrettable, but necessary for us. However, we are still your friends.”
“You let the Reds have us. How can I think of the Swedes as my friends?”
He had not intended to be so rude, but he was slightly drunk now and getting exasperated. He felt as if he had come to say his child had fallen into a well and his neighbour was giving him a dissertation about the high cost of rope.
“I need you to understand realpolitik,” said Ramel, unperturbed. “There’s no need for me to meet with you at all. We could stop talking this moment and I could find a spot for you at a displaced per-sons’camp.”
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. But first let me hear what else you have to say.”
“We’re democrats in Sweden. We think you should have the same rights too. Emotionally we’re on your side, but the Soviet Union is very close to us here, just across the sea.
“Furthermore, the political situation is unstable. We might stay as we are for some time or Europe might go back to the borders of 1939. On the other hand, the Soviets might sweep right across Europe and end up ruling us all. We don’t look forward to this sort of tyrannical orientalism.
“However things turn out in the end, the Estonian, Latvian and Lithuanian states and their partisans are important players in the future of Europe. I’m honoured to pay my respects to the movement through you. Lozorius, the old rascal, has been filling my ears as well.
“Here is what I’ve been authorized to do. I can help you get in contact with the wider world. Sweden can take no direct action, but we might be able to put you in touch with people who can. I should remind you that we helped you during the Nazi era, even though we were supposed to be neutral then.”
Ramel stopped at this point and it seemed polite to thank the Swedes through him, so Lukas did so, although it was hard to be diplomatic. His friends were dying and Ramel was talking about measured action.
It was almost dark outside now, but no lights had been turned on inside the apartment. Although all their glasses were empty, Ramel made no move to mix fresh cocktails. The business was nearing its end.
“You know, there is no way you could carry on any clandestine activity here without our knowledge. Do you have any ties with other agencies? Say, the French or the Americans?”
“You’re only the third person I’ve met in this country,” said Lukas. “The fourth if you count my driver from Trelleborg.”
Ramel nodded vaguely. “Well, I feel better now. At least we understand each other.”
Zoly was rising from his chair. Lukas did the same.
“It’s been delightful speaking with you,” said Ramel.
“Maybe we’ll have a chance to speak some more another time.”
“Perhaps.”
A car was waiting for them when they reached the street.
Neither he nor Zoly spoke until the driver pulled up to the warehouse. Lukas got out of the car and Zoly stepped outside too.
“Well?” Zoly asked.
“He’s a cold fish,” said Lukas. “These Swedes are calculating. Look at this beautiful city, a living monument to their neutrality. If you’re neutral, your heart never catches fire, you don’t believe in anything. God, how do these people even procreate?”