Arnaldur Indriðason: Operation Napoleon

‘You don’t need a guide any longer,’ he added. ‘Especially not a dinosaur like me. I’m no use to anyone these days.’ He smiled.

‘We’re very familiar with the route by now,’ Ratoff agreed, rising to his feet.

‘Tourists use it a lot in the summer,’ Jón said. ‘They run glacier jeep tours from Höfn; I let them cross my land. There are more coming every year now.’

Shortly afterwards Ratoff emerged from the farmhouse with his interpreter. They strode over to a small vehicle with caterpillar tracks, climbed inside and set off without delay, past the farm in the direction of the foothills. There was no sign of the larger trucks now. The blizzard had grown ever more dense during the evening and visibility was poor. Their vehicle followed the trail left by the others in the newly fallen snow, its progress slow, crawling onwards through the drifts, its powerful headlights illuminating the way. By the time they reached the camp at the foot of the hills, brilliant floodlights had been erected within a rough circle of tents. Boxes of supplies lay scattered around and special forces soldiers in snow camouflage were working in an orderly, methodical fashion. Once the plane had been located, they would shift the camp on to the ice cap.

The outline of a large satellite dish loomed through the thick veil of snow outside the tent that acted as telecommunications centre. Ratoff went straight inside. Two men were busy setting up the radio system.

‘How soon can we make contact?’ Ratoff asked.

‘In forty minutes at the outside, sir,’ one of the men replied.

‘Get Carr for me when you’re done.’

Vytautas Carr was sitting in his office in Building 312 when the phone rang.

‘Ratoff on line one,’ his secretary announced. He pressed the button. It was 9 p.m. in the US capital, 2 a.m. in Iceland.

‘Everything okay?’ Carr asked.

‘We’re on schedule, sir. We’ll head up to the glacier at first light tomorrow. It’s snowing fairly heavily but nothing that will hold us up. As long as the coordinates are correct, it won’t matter if the plane’s been covered by drifts.’

‘What about the locals?’

‘Unsuspecting, and we plan to keep it that way, sir.’

‘They keep a close eye on our military manoeuvres. We’ll need to proceed with caution.’

‘They’ll keep their mouths shut as long as they’re making money out of us.’

Carr ignored this. ‘Is there any other traffic on the glacier?’

‘We know about a rescue team on a training exercise but it’s in a different sector and shouldn’t cause us any problems, sir.’

‘Fine. Get in touch when you find the plane.’

TÓMASARHAGI, REYKJAVÍK,

FRIDAY 29 JANUARY, 0600 GMT

Kristín woke up in the early hours with a sinking feeling about the day ahead. She knew the matter with the businessman was not over and that she was bound to encounter him again, maybe even later that day. Another source of worry was the knowledge that her brother was out on Vatnajökull in the middle of winter; he was experienced but you never knew how extreme the weather might become. After a bad night’s sleep, she got up shortly before six, took a quick shower and put on the coffee. Sometimes she missed having someone there to share her worries with.

Not that she minded living alone. She had lived for three years with a man she met after coming home from university in the States, a lawyer like her. But once the honeymoon period was over he had become increasingly domineering and she was relieved not to have to put up with his overbearing behaviour any longer. He had been so different when they first met, so witty and entertaining. He used to make her laugh and spoiled her with gifts and surprises. But all that had gradually dried up once they had moved in together; he had landed his fish, and at times she felt as if he was tearing out the hook.

Although she had always been independent, she was by nature quiet, somewhat introverted, protective of her privacy, and did not mind the absence of a man about the house. The sex had been nothing to write home about either, so she did not miss that. If she felt the urge, she could satisfy herself and she enjoyed the freedom that gave her. Enjoyed having the flat on Tómasarhagi to herself; only one toothbrush in the bathroom; no need to tell anyone where she was going. She could go out whenever she liked and come home when it suited her. She loved being alone, not having to pander to anyone else’s whims.

She had been so relieved when it was over that she was not sure she ever wanted to share her home again. Perhaps it was too great a sacrifice. Children had not crossed her mind. Maybe she was afraid of turning out like her parents. It had come as a surprise when, after they had lived together for a while, the lawyer had brought up the subject of children, saying they should think about starting a family. She had stared at him blankly and admitted that she had not given the matter much thought.

‘Then maybe you could stop fussing over Elías all the time,’ he said. ‘He is not your child, after all.’

What an extraordinary statement. Is not your child, she thought. She had no idea what he was getting at.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you treat him like a baby.’

‘Like a baby ?’

‘You ring him ten times a day. He’s forever round here. You’ve always got some reason to go to town together. He hangs out here in the evenings. Sleeps on the sofa.’

‘He’s my brother.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You’re not jealous of Elías, are you?’

‘Jealous!’ he snorted. ‘Of course not. But it’s not natural, such an incredibly close relationship.’

‘Not natural? There are only the two of us. We’re close. What’s unnatural about that?’

‘Well, not unnatural exactly… it’s just he’s your brother not your child. I know he’s much younger than you but he’s almost twenty, he’s not a kid.’

She was silent for such a long time that he seized the chance to get up and claim he had some work to finish at the office.

Shortly afterwards, their relationship started to go downhill and by the end she had almost developed an aversion to him. Perhaps he had touched a nerve, opened her eyes to something she did not want to confront. She had met other men since but those had been nothing but brief flings and she had no regrets about any of them, with perhaps one exception. She regretted the way she had ended that relationship, the way they had parted. It was her fault and she knew it. Her sheer bloody ineptitude.

Just occasionally, when she was alone at home with time on her hands, she would have a vision of her future stretching out before her, saw herself growing older in lonely monotony, shrivelling up and dying; no children, no family, no nothing. Growing old in the oppressive silence of long summer evenings when she had nothing to do but read documents from the office. These moments tended to occur when she was disturbed by the shouts of children outside in the street or when she lay down in the evenings, feeling the weariness spreading through her body. Sometimes she thought the process was already happening, felt as if she were trapped inside time: all those long days, all those long, suffocating days, passed in solitary silence. At times she appreciated them, at others she wished her life were more eventful, presented more challenges, required more of her than merely sitting behind a desk all day and returning to an empty flat in the evenings.

Elías was her family. Their mother was dead, they had little contact with their father and few relatives to speak of. They had coped alone, she and Elías; taken care of one another. Perhaps the lawyer was right about him taking up too much of her time, but she had never minded.