Jens Amundsen - Death on Pilot Hill

That’s it. I have to find out if she has any blackmail information on me tucked away somewhere where it’s ready to be released if she dies or winds up badly injured. If she doesn’t then I’m going to literally rip her to pieces.

The Otterstads sent their oldest son Leif to pick up the Sohlbergs at exactly 8:00 P.M. in one of the Otterstad’s motorboats. As usual the boat was a Beneteau from France where the 120-year-old company kept Mathias Otterstad on a short waiting list for new powerboats like the Antares 42 model.

“Wow,” said Fru Sohlberg to her husband when the breathtaking 49-foot Beneteau Monte Carlo 47 model docked in front of them.

“She’s a beaut. . ain’t she?” said 22-year-old Leif Otterstad while he helped Fru Sohlberg come on board. “So are you Fru Sohlberg!”

Both Sohlbergs laughed.

“I’m serious,” said Leif. “Fru Sohlberg is a good-looking woman.”

Harald Sohlberg nodded while his wife said:

“Well thank you Leif. This boat is incredible. . it looks like an elegant torpedo on steroids.”

Leif gave them a quick tour of the luxurious interior and then raced the boat south around Malmoya Island and then north across the Oslofjord. They drew gaping stares from everyone who saw them. The trip to the Otterstads took less than 20 minutes before they approached the northwest shores of Malmoya Island.

Although Malmoya and Ulvoya islands are separated by less than half a mile of water there’s quite a big jump in net worth and income for those who live on the bigger island of Malmoya. Sohlberg spotted the Otterstad dock the minute he saw a massive Beneteau Swift Trawler 52 floating on the placid waters near his host’s spectacular home on Skjellveien.

“I want to go home,” said Karl Haugen.

The woman with kind eyes said, “This is your new home.”

“No! I want my Daddy. I want to go home.”

The woman tied to hug the little boy but he turned away from her and started crying.

A crowd of about 50 adults and children on the beach cheered when the Sohlbergs stepped out of the boat and onto the dock. Matthias and Nora Otterstad waved at them from a bench under a grove of cedars.

The two couples hugged.

“Welcome Emma and Harald!” said the always effusive Nora Otterstad. “I’m so glad you’re here. Finally home. Will you stay this time and live here in Oslo?”

“Who knows,” said Fru Sohlberg before Sohlberg could say anything.

“Ja. Who knows,” said Matthias Otterstad, “After all. . Interpol is somewhat like the French Foreign Legion. . you never really know where you are going to posted, eh?”

“True,” said Fru Sohlberg while Harald Sohlberg nodded.

Nora Otterstad pointed at two long tables. “Now come along Emma. Let’s get something to drink and eat for us and our boys. . I’ll also introduce you to some folks you may not know.”

The women left for the enormous koldtbord that offered amazing mountains of glazed and smoked and marinated and broiled salmon and kreps or crayfish and orret or mountain trout and all sorts of cold cuts from Norway and Italy including prosciutto and mortadella along with salads and breads and pastries and desserts.

“It’s been a long time,” said Matthias Otterstad, “since we met in person eh?”

“Ja.”

“I saw your parents before they left for Texas. I invited them over for dinner.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you did that. They rarely go out any more. . even during those few weeks when they’re here in Norway.”

“I was surprised I found them here and not in Houston. . You’re very lucky that they’re still around. And in overall good shape for folks in their mid-eighties.”

“I’d be glad to be in half as good health as they are when I get that age.”

“I understand Emma joined a cult.”

“What?. . Did my mother. . or father tell you that?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Just what cult are you talking about?”

“You know. . that cult from America. . Maybe I shouldn’t have used that word. But it’s something I’ve been very curious about.”

“Matthias. . I’ve also been very curious about something and yet I never asked you about it for years and years.”

“Go ahead.”

“As I remember. . you faced nasty lawsuits. . you prevailed in the lower courts and won again at the Supreme Court. . until two justices mysteriously switched their votes and recalled their original opinion in your favor. . You lost a lot of money and swore you’d get even. . Right?”

“So far you’re right Sohlberg.”

“Well now. . you can finally tell me. .were you the anonymous tipster who led me to find all that corruption in the courts?. . Did you do that to get even with those two crooked justices?”

“Harald why would you think that?”

“Answering a question with a question. Interesting. . ”

“You too answered my cult question with a question.”

“So we’re even. . at a stalemate.”

“A good old-fashioned deadlock. . Sometimes a deadlock is not a bad thing. It gives you time to think things over. . figure things out.”

Sohlberg nodded and observed the koldtbord carefully. He shook his head when Fru Sohlberg pointed at the farikal which he could never digest not even when he was a teenager. The heavily peppered cabbage-and-mutton stew was always served with boiled potatoes and it left him bloated for hours. Unlike most Norwegians he disliked meat including the ever-popular kjottkaker or meatballs. In addition to the grilled salmon he desperately wanted his wife to bring him a heaping plate of Norway’s heavenly muiter or cloudberries. He also wanted a plate of lingonberries piled on top of the mouth-watering Jarlsberg cheese that he missed so badly when living abroad.

“Here,” said Matthias Otterstad who took pity on the famished Sohlberg and offered him his untouched plate.

Sohlberg snatched the plate full of flatbrod or paper-thin crisp rye bread topped with brunost or carmelized goat cheese. “Ah. . heavenly.”

“Are you staying here in Norway for good this time?”

“No. Just for a conference. Then back to the United States.”

“It’s too bad,” said Matthias Otterstad with a melancholy look. “I wish you’d move back here.”

“Why?. . Are you getting sentimental?”

“Maybe. But as you know almost everyone with brains leaves Norway for better jobs and opportunities. Look at your brother. . a top-notch petroleum engineer who should be helping his own country find more oil. Instead of staying at Statoil he’s now helping British Petroleum find oil in America.”

“Well. . they need all the help they can get since a lot of their oil has been spilling and floating on and polluting the Gulf of Mexico.”

Matthias Otterstad laughed. “Ja. Those crazy British idiots. Unbelievable. And not one of those rats have been prosecuted. Interesting how the enviro-radical Obama people turn a blind eye when it comes to one of their biggest corporate campaign donors. I wish I could buy off politicians that easily and thoroughly in Norway.”

“It would be too expensive.”

“Ja,” said Matthias Otterstad. “As the old saying goes. . politicians don’t sell their integrity. . they just rent it. And it figures that the rent for a politician would be much more expensive in good old Norway. . as with everything else.”

“Norway’s gotten too expensive. Remember the good old days?. . I still remember our law school days and going to your Nora’s apartment so I could get some food when I was low on funds. . which was almost always.”

“Nora always had good food in her refrigerator. I think she earned more money in one month as a registered nurse than both of us together made during all of our years in law school.”