Depths - By Henning Mankell & Laurie Thompson Page 0,51

capabilities. He had a reputation of being impatient and arrogant, and dominated all those around him by means of sudden outbursts of fury. He invited Tobiasson-Svartman to sit down.

'Your work is impressive,' he said. 'You seem to have that rare thing, a passion for secret military navigable channels. Is that true?'

'I just try to do my job to the best of my ability.'

The vice admiral shook his head impatiently.

'Every single member of the Swedish Navy does his job to the best of his ability. Or at least one can assume that there are not too many idlers and layabouts. I'm talking about something different. Passion. Do you understand?'

'I understand.'

'Then perhaps you would be kind enough to answer my question?'

Tobiasson-Svartman thought about his dream of finding a depth too deep to measure.

'It is exciting to record things that cannot immediately be taken in and comprehended.'

The vice admiral looked doubtfully at him, but decided to accept the answer.

'What you say is understandable. I thought something similar myself in my younger days. But what you thought in your youth, you forget in your manhood and only recall it in your old age.'

The vice admiral sat up straight and held up a chart.

'Our commander-in-chief will receive the chart with the new stretches of channel at Sandsänkan in the new year. A couple of our frigates will test them out during night manoeuvres in differing weather conditions.'

He reached for another chart.

'Gamlebyviken,' he said. 'The approach to the narrow bay. Cramped, existing depth soundings doubtful, constant silting up that hasn't been checked since the 1840s. Well, Commander Svartman, have you been informed that we are counting on you to undertake this mission in the new year?'

'Yes, I have been informed.'

'In our judgement this mission is important and will be given priority. Other measuring operations will be postponed for the time being, since the war means that vessels are needed for other duties.'

'I am ready to start at once.'

'Excellent. You will receive your instructions immediately after Christmas.'

The vice admiral glanced at the lieutenant who was keeping the minutes.

'On 27 December, 08.45 hours,' the lieutenant said.

The vice admiral nodded.

'So, that's that. Has any member of the committee any questions?'

Captain Hansson, who was the oldest person present, with experience dating from the age of sailing ships and always overlooked when it came to promotion, raised his hand.

'You seem to be surrounding yourself with a series of peculiar deaths,' he said. 'It's not exactly commonplace for dead sailors to be fished up out of the sea, for regular bosuns to pass away and ships' captains to fall down dead on deck.'

'I didn't catch the question,' Tobiasson-Svartman said.

'It wasn't a question,' Hansson said. 'It was just a comment that doesn't need to be recorded in the minutes.'

'Can I declare the meeting dosed, then?' Vice Admiral H:son-Lydenfeldt inquired.

Tobiasson-Svartman raised his hand.

'I have a question. There will probably be a layer of ice at the approach to Gamlebyviken in January. Is it the intention that I should make soundings through boreholes?'

'All your work will be concentrated in an area less than half of a nautical mile,' the vice admiral answered. 'Which means that boring holes through the ice will be a satisfactory method of proceeding.'

Tobiasson-Svartman nodded. The vice admiral smiled.

'I've bored holes through the ice myself in my time,' he said. 'I remember when we were sounding a channel in the far north of the Gulf of Bothnia. The ice was a metre thick. It was so cold that the lines froze stiff in the boreholes. It's strenuous work, but you can console yourself with the thought that your task will only take three to four weeks at the most'

The meeting was over. Everyone stood up. Tobiasson-Svartman saluted and left the room. The adjutant handed him his black overcoat. He left through the front door of the headquarters building and felt mightily relieved.

But Captain Hansson's words gnawed away inside him. Was it mere coincidence that he had been surrounded by so many peculiar deaths? Or was there a message involved? A warning?

Stockholm was still enveloped in fog.

CHAPTER 79

Something strange happened on the Sunday before Christmas. Tobiasson-Svartman was bewildered by it, and also by Kristina Tacker's reaction.

It was as if, out of the blue, she had leapt ahead and left him far behind her.

They had gone for a walk to the traditional Christmas market in Stortorget. They left home late in the afternoon, as it was rapidly getting dark. It was mild, a week of freezing cold weather had been followed by a thaw.