VATNAJÖKULL GLACIER,
SATURDAY 30 JANUARY, 2300 GMT
They were well
equipped with powerful torches, good climbing boots and warm winter
overalls provided by Jón but the temperature had risen after the
earlier storm, turning the snow soft underfoot and making every
step a struggle. The moon dipped in and out of the clouds, shedding
a pale light on the rim of the glacier. The temperature was falling
again.
In the end they had
not managed any sleep but the rest had done them good. Before
setting off, Kristín had tried once more, unsuccessfully, to reach
her father, then had finally gathered enough courage to call the
police. She was put through immediately to the detective
investigating the city centre shooting. He listened attentively to
her detailed account of the improbable events that had occurred and
her explanation of why she had not contacted the police sooner. She
concluded by telling him that she was now at the foot of
Vatnajökull.
‘So the man we found
in your flat – Runólfur – had no connection with any of this,’ the
detective commented when Kristín had finished speaking. Far from
disputing her account, he went out of his way to give the
impression of taking what she said seriously. He did not want to
risk making her hang up by arguing with her. It was late and the
entire force was working round the clock on the shooting and
murder.
‘No connection at
all,’ Kristín confirmed; she had tried to give as clear and
impartial an account as possible. ‘In fact, I think he saved my
life.’
‘They told me at the
ministry that you might have killed him and gone into hiding as a
result. They thought it was plausible. But that, if so, you would
have been acting in self-defence. They said this Runólfur bloke had
been threatening you.’ His voice, friendly, steady and sensible,
had a calming effect on Kristín. She sensed she could trust this
man and tried to put a face to the voice but somehow could not
imagine what he would look like.
‘That’s why I didn’t
know where to turn. And because the men who attacked me referred to
a conspiracy. They murdered a man in my flat. Don’t you see, I was
desperate?’
He absorbed this
information. Kristín’s account, crazy as it was, nevertheless tied
in with what he had found out so far, and he could see no reason to
disbelieve her. Her willingness to work with the police was obvious
but he sensed the extreme difficulty of her situation.
‘We detained the man
from the Irish pub briefly,’ the detective continued, ‘but the
embassy insisted he be moved to the US military hospital on the
base. The Icelandic government conceded to their wishes, on
condition that he doesn’t leave the country.’
‘That’s insane. He’ll
be halfway across the Atlantic by now,’ Kristín said.
‘I agree. First
Class.’
‘And what about the
other one?’
‘We know nothing
about the other man. We went to the embassy which is, as you say,
crawling with soldiers, and talked to a general, some kind of
stand-in ambassador, but couldn’t prise anything out of him. We
know they have something to hide; we need your help to find out
what it is.’
Her manner was so
convincing that he had decided to take a gamble and trust her, at
least more than he trusted the Americans.
‘I know what it is,’
Kristín said. ‘It’s to do with the wreck of a plane on Vatnajökull
and I’m on my way there now. I’ve only got a single name, Ratoff.
That’s all. Maybe he’s in charge of the operation.’
‘We’ve heard nothing
about any plane wreck,’ the detective commented.
‘My brother saw
it.’
There was a pause
while the man on the phone thought.
‘Why don’t you come
and see us in town and we’ll try to sort it out from
here.’
‘It’ll be too late.
It would be better if you sent some of your people here. And why
don’t you get in touch with the rescue team on the glacier? The man
in charge is called Júlíus. He can confirm what I’ve told you about
Elías and Jóhann.’
‘You know that a
travel ban has just been announced for the Vatnajökull area due to
a volcanic eruption alert? There have been newsflashes on all
channels. They’ve declared a state of emergency.’
‘Eruption alert? What
bullshit! What do you think American soldiers are doing there if
there’s a risk of an eruption? What you mean is that the spineless,
arse-licking government has kowtowed to the Yanks yet
again.’
The detective
suppressed a laugh. He was beginning to like her. ‘I believe the
term is “fostering positive relations”.’
‘I’m on my way,’
Kristín said again.
‘You really ought to
come in to the station and tell me more. What’s this plane you keep
talking about?’
‘I haven’t got time
to go into it but there’s something inside the wreckage that
they’re determined to hide. I don’t know what. It could be
anything.’
‘And that’s the big
secret?’
‘Exactly. It’s up to
you what you do, but I’m going to the glacier,’ Kristín repeated,
and ended the conversation. Part of her wanted to trust the
detective, who seemed a decent man, but she knew the only way for
her to uncover the whole truth was to go and find it out for
herself.
Steve was four metres
behind her and the gap between them was growing. The weather was
still but cold. Their overalls creaked, the snow creaked and she
felt as if her lungs were creaking too. Jón had given them very
precise directions as to the best way to access the glacier, yet
she was surprised to find how easy the route was, in spite of
everything. The only thing holding them back was their lack of
fitness. She could hear Steve puffing and blowing behind her,
swearing profusely every now and then. She was out of breath
herself, every footstep she took in the snow an
effort.
Kristín did not know
what to expect when she reached the glacier. Hopefully she would
find Júlíus there and possibly even members of the Coast Guard.
Besides notifying the police, she had called an acquaintance on the
national TV news desk to ensure that the media would quickly start
following up the rumours of American troops on Vatnajökull and the
possible presence of a German World War II plane on the glacier.
The Yanks would not be able to cover it up much longer and she had
every intention of being on the spot when the story
broke.
She had barely slept
a wink since she woke up at the crack of dawn two days ago,
dreading a confrontation with Runólfur at the office, and
exhaustion was beginning to take its toll as she laboured up the
steep slope to the ice cap.
‘Do you know what I
saw in you?’ Steve had asked as they lay in bed at Jón’s
farm.
‘Saw in
me?’
‘The first time I met
you.’
‘At that
reception?’
‘You seemed a bit
lonely, as if you didn’t know many people.’
‘Receptions are not
my favourite . . .’
‘I’ve never had such
a powerful response to anyone.’
‘What do you
mean?
‘I’m not sure what it
was. It’s hard to explain.’
‘What
response?’
‘I
saw . . . I knew at once that I . . .
I wanted to get to know you, to find out who you were, hear you
speak, see you laugh and smile, be with you, just you and
me.’
Kristín smiled.
‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’
‘No, I guess not,’ he
replied, smiling. ‘I’m just trying to tell you how I felt the first
time I saw you.’
From Steve, Kristín’s
thoughts moved on to Elías. He would have made light work of a
climb like this and teased her for being such a wimp. Well, he had
finally succeeded in forcing her out into the wilderness. She saw
the rim of the glacier drawing nearer in the moonlight. A little
way to the east the land was scored by deep gullies and ravines, in
one of which Jón had found the German.
She pictured her
brother in the hands of the soldiers, and lying, critically
injured, at the bottom of the crevasse. It was not the first time
she had suffered this choking sensation on Elías’s
account.
She had been
eighteen, Elías eight, and she had sent him to the shop for a
bottle of Coke. When he came out of the shop, she heard later, he
had run straight into the road without looking and was hit by a
car. He landed on the bonnet, bounced on to the windscreen,
shattering it, then was flung over the roof, fetching up on the
road. He was knocked unconscious and a large pool of blood had
accumulated under his head. They did not live far from the shop, so
Kristín had heard the shrill sirens accompanying the arrival of
police and ambulance, and knew instinctively that they were for
Elías. She set off at a run and saw men lifting his small frame off
the road and into the ambulance. Kristín could see no sign of life
in her brother. The driver who had hit him was sitting on the kerb,
clutching his head in despair and a group of bystanders had
gathered. She walked over to the ambulance in a daze and was
permitted to ride with Elías to the hospital.
Elías was in surgery
for eight hours. He had cracked his skull and suffered a brain
haemorrhage; he had also broken a leg and two ribs, one of which
had pierced his right lung, and fractured his right arm in two
places. Kristín sat in the waiting room, consumed with guilt,
rocking to and fro, staring into space, now and then emitting
anguished whimpers from deep within. She had sent her brother out
for a bottle of Coke and now he was dying.
Her parents cut short
their holiday in the Canaries and flew home, but only after she had
managed to convince them that Elías was seriously injured. They
blamed Kristín not only for what had happened to him but also for
spoiling their holiday; she had found it hard to tell which upset
them more. She was supposed to look after her brother. It had
always been that way. They had placed the responsibility on her
shoulders and she had failed.
She would never be
free of the guilt. Even though Elías later made a full recovery,
the guilt remained deep inside her like a malignant tumour that
could not be excised. Stranger still, she could never shake off the
conviction, however absurd, that if anything happened to Elías
later in life, it would be because of the accident, because of his
head injury. That because of her, he might be more vulnerable to
falls or car accidents. That was why she could not bear his lust
for adventure – the skydiving, scuba diving, glacier trips – and
did her best to curtail such activities. She often felt that he
went out of his way to provoke her, yet she had never told him of
her fear, of the guilt that gnawed away inside her. Did not dare
put it into words. Perhaps she had bottled it up inside her until
she needed it, like now.
‘Wait for me,’ Steve
shouted and she realised that she had forged far
ahead.
Work on the glacier
was proceeding at full speed again. The snow had been cleared from
one side of the Junkers but the other was still surrounded by deep
drifts. Nevertheless, men were busy fixing slings around the front
half of the plane. Ratoff was expecting two helicopters. As soon as
the slings had been fixed around the fuselage, the bodies would be
put back inside the cabin and the opening would be sealed off,
enabling the helicopters to remove all the detritus in one go.
Inevitably the use of the choppers would compromise the secrecy of
the mission, but the men would spread tarpaulins over the wreckage
in an attempt to disguise it. Not that Ratoff was worried about
rumours: the more the better.
The head of
communications gestured to the radar screen. A cluster of small
green dots was crawling down the glass, their movement so slow as
to be almost imperceptible.
‘The rescue team is
on the move, sir.’
‘Get me the embassy,’
Ratoff ordered.
Ratoff watched the
two dots approaching from the south, crawling slowly up the green
radar screen in the communications tent. He saw the rescue team
converging from the north, creeping down the screen. He was
prepared and had sent soldiers to intercept them in an attempt to
stop or at least delay them, but the two dots in the south were a
mystery to him. He wondered if it could be that pain-in-the-ass of
a girl from Reykjavík, the young man’s sister. His mouth twisted in
a smile: she had certainly made fools of Bateman and Ripley, even
put one of them in hospital.
A reception committee
was on its way to meet them at the edge of the glacier.
Incidentally, he noted from the screen that the troops he had sent
in the opposite direction to meet the rescue team had come to a
halt.