Arnaldur Indridason - Oblivion

‘I told him an Icelandic civilian had been killed, most likely murdered, and that you believe it happened in one of our hangars. I told him the man was a flight mechanic with temporary access to Hangar 885 where the Icelandic airline’s permitted to use the facilities from time to time. That he’d serviced a C-130 Hercules for a company called Northern Cargo Transport and discovered that it was carrying artillery. And that he found it kind of strange that a civilian operator should be involved in arms shipments so he started asking around about the company, and that you guys believe this might have cost him his life. That he’d been pushed off a platform in the hangar and afterward his body had been taken off base and dumped in a lava field.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He asked me how the hell I’d gotten dragged into this,’ said Caroline. ‘I told him I was ordered to assist you and that you’d asked me to run a few checks to save you the time and paperwork and avoid unnecessary political hassle or however it was you sold it to me. He said you were just using me and that I shouldn’t be doing this and must stop at once.’

‘Did he imply you’d lose your job?’

‘I guess so. Or worse. Actually I think he was talking more like treason and court martial and all that shit.’

‘But you managed to persuade him to help you in spite of that?’

‘Yes, in the end. We... let’s just say he decided to do me a favour.’

‘What about Northern Cargo Transport? What did he say about that?’

‘He said it was run by the CIA.’

‘Did you say CIA?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Of course, that explains it,’ said Erlendur.

‘What? What does it explain?’

‘The company uses the same call sign as the American air force when they land at Keflavík,’ said Erlendur, remembering the conversation with Kristvin’s boss, Engilbert. ‘Their planes land here under cover of the army. When they enter Icelandic airspace they’re not distinguished in any way from the military jets. That’s how they slip in and out of the country unseen.’

‘That’s exactly what my friend said. How did you know?’

‘I gather that Icelandic air traffic control has noticed. But I don’t think they realise the CIA are using the company as a front to fly in here under military call signs. They’d be bound to comment on that. Especially if a civilian airline’s being sheltered by the military.’

‘Yeah, they would, right?’

‘Though I can’t be certain,’ said Erlendur, a little shamefaced. ‘Our relationship with the army is a bit unusual, as we’ve been trying to explain. It’s all tied up with money and Cold War politics and the fight for independence, and everyone’s at each other’s throats.’

Caroline gazed at the surf by the lighthouse, listening to the boom and hiss as the waves rolled ashore, then were sucked back out again. She wound down the window to hear better as they rose and fell as rhythmically as if the sea were breathing. She seemed much calmer now and had stopped checking the rear-view mirror.

‘But that’s the least of it,’ she said at last.

‘What?’

‘I heard some news about the Hercules that landed here in transit two weeks ago,’ said Caroline. ‘I found out that three men boarded the plane and travelled on to Greenland. After we... parted yesterday, I tried to find out what was going on, the little information that exists. Called up a couple people I know. Tried not to seem too interested. Said I’d received a request about a package for the States that was supposed to go by military transport.’

‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ said Erlendur. ‘I have a habit of saying the wrong thing, but I didn’t mean to make you storm off like that.’

‘Forget it,’ said Caroline briskly. ‘The plane was operated by NCT and was given special express treatment, according to a colleague of mine. The hold was never opened. It refuelled in a hurry and was back in the air in no time, headed for Greenland, possibly en route to the States. I don’t know what its final destination was. Could have been Greenland, for that matter.’

‘And you find that suspicious? Isn’t it standard?’

‘I’ve no real experience in this area but you were asking about the airline and its planes, so I got curious. Especially after I found out who hitched a ride on the Hercules.’

‘You mean one of the three passengers?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who was it?’

‘On the passenger list I was shown, which is a restricted document, it said “W. Cain”. And it occurred to me it could be the “W” Joan said was Kristvin’s sponsor at the Animal Locker. In this case the “W” stands for Wilbur.’

‘The man Joan...? Was it this guy Wilbur?’

‘I looked him up. Wilbur’s not a common name. It turns out there’s only one man with that name at NAS Kef at the present time.’

‘Wilbur Cain?’

‘Yeah. I ran it by my friend in Washington but he didn’t recognise it and said he’d check it out when he got to the office. He called me back earlier. Turns out Wilbur Cain’s employed by Military Intelligence. He was sent to Iceland about four months ago on assignment but my friend doesn’t know what it entails. He told me to watch my back with him — Cain’s the reason my friend’s now trying to find out just what in hell is going on here. He told me to quit making all these enquiries and sit tight till I heard from him.’

Caroline was growing jittery again. She fiddled with the mirror and stared frowning out of the rear windscreen.

‘Wilbur Cain’s most likely an alias. Cain’s an experienced agent, he’s worked on all kinds of covert missions for the military, and he’s an expert in making assassinations look like accidents.’

Caroline looked at Erlendur.

‘It’s him I’m afraid of.’

They sat perplexed, listening to the pounding of the waves below the lighthouse as the early darkness of winter closed in. Erlendur glanced up at the lamp that came to life and died at regular intervals as a warning to seafarers. He felt completely out of his depth.

‘What’s a man like that doing here of all places?’ he asked after a long pause.

‘I have no idea.’

‘And what on earth was he doing with Kristvin at the Animal Locker? How could they have met?’

‘Who knows?’ said Caroline. ‘Maybe Kristvin drew attention to himself by asking questions about the Hercules and NCT. Somebody was alerted, who alerted somebody else and Wilbur Cain was tasked with making enquiries about the man.’

‘But he went to the club with him,’ said Erlendur. ‘That’s hardly discreet. And Joan knows he’s called “W”. Would Kristvin have known his name? If this man’s a Military Intelligence agent as you say?’

‘I think—’

‘Not that I have a clue how these people work.’

‘Apparently it’s just one of the aliases he uses,’ said Caroline. ‘Wilbur Cain’s on home turf. He has no reason to go to ground when he’s on the base. He can leave the country at an hour’s notice and the authorities can deny that anyone of that name ever set foot in Iceland.’

‘So it’s possible that Kristvin wasn’t careful enough — he mouths off about arms shipments and private airlines and this Wilbur Cain is sent to find out what he’s up to?’

‘Maybe.’

‘He seems to have been quick to befriend him.’

‘Wasn’t Kristvin after something? Vodka? Cigarettes?’

‘Marijuana.’

‘Then it wouldn’t have been hard for Cain to strike up an acquaintance with him.’

‘Are you sure this Wilbur Cain is the same man as Kristvin’s “W”?’

‘Of course I can’t be sure, but it seems likely,’ said Caroline. ‘The airline’s a link — Kristvin’s enquiries about the NCT planes. And we know that someone called “W” was in Kristvin’s company on at least one occasion. Cain’s a member of special forces, so he must have been sent here on a specific assignment. I don’t think we should dismiss the possibility.’