Andy McDermott - The Midas Legacy

A few minutes later, he emerged from a side room wearing a tailored suit, its chequered pattern more forceful than the one he had worn in New York. ‘Shall we?’ He gestured towards the doors. De Klerx opened them, and the group followed Mikkelsson through the lobby.

The hotel’s interior was as neatly minimalist in design as outside, simple and elegant without seeming stark. ‘One of my other business interests is renewable energy,’ Mikkelsson continued. ‘Iceland is the world leader in geothermal power. This site was originally used to test a new design of steam turbine — our island is formed by volcanoes, so it is very easy to drill down to a depth where the rock is hot enough to boil water. But we also have a beautiful landscape, so I thought: why not build more than a power station, so others may also enjoy it? Neither the government nor the elves objected, so I went ahead.’

‘Elves?’ Eddie said, surprised.

‘Icelandic folklore. Many believe it is unwise to alter their land without appeasing the “hidden people”; it brings bad luck.’ A small smile. ‘So far, in life, I have stayed on their good side.’

‘Kind of ironic that a nuclear expert would be so into renewable energy,’ Nina observed.

‘Few countries are as fortunate as we are to be able to take advantage of geothermal power. Nuclear energy is also vital if the world is to meet the needs of an ever-growing population. Ideally, we would use thorium rather than uranium in new reactors, as it is a more common element and produces less waste. Unfortunately, it cannot be used to make nuclear weapons.’

‘ Un fortunately?’ exclaimed Eddie.

‘From the point of view of governments. Because there is no weapons potential, nations are less keen to invest in developing it.’ They reached the end of the hall, entering another, larger lobby at the hotel’s main entrance. Banks of elevators flanked the reception desk, at which stood a man in dark clothing. Mikkelsson brought them behind it to a door that he unlocked with a contactless keycard. ‘This is the turbine hall.’

Beyond was a large, high-ceilinged room, every surface painted a pristine white. A complex network of gleaming stainless-steel pipes ran through the space to a pair of great metal tanks attached to humming electrical generators. The constant low whooshing thrum of pumps echoed through the hall. ‘A mixture of superheated water and steam is brought up from below the ground,’ explained Mikkelsson, indicating the large conduits before them. Signs in Icelandic and English beside some of the valves warned that the contents were extremely hot. ‘The water is redirected and cooled so it can be reused, and the steam sent to the turbines. This was only built as a test facility, so the turbines produce just two megawatts. That is more than enough to power the entire hotel, though.’

‘So it’s self-sufficient?’ Nina asked.

The Icelander nodded. ‘We have backup diesel generators, but they have never been needed. The only waste product,’ he indicated another set of pipes, these bearing warning stickers with the symbols for both flammable and explosive substances, ‘is hydrogen sulphide.’

‘Isn’t that poisonous?’

‘And kind of smelly,’ Eddie added.

‘It is not a pleasant smell, no,’ Mikkelsson told him. ‘But the gas is condensed in the next room and stored in tanks so it can be treated with a catalyst and broken down. We actually sell the sulphur that is produced as fertiliser.’

Nina grinned. ‘Recycling in action.’

‘It turns it into something much more valuable. Which,’ he continued as he directed his visitors back to the door, ‘is in a way why you are here.’ He had until now seemed almost to have deliberately avoided looking at the box Eddie was carrying, but now he gave it his full attention. ‘The Crucible, I assume?’

The Englishman nodded. ‘So is this where we finally get to find out what you know about it?’

‘It is,’ replied Mikkelsson. ‘I shall introduce you to the others.’

He took them back through the lobby into the hotel’s other wing, a mirror image of the first. At the far end was another large room with a stunning view, this a luxurious lounge. A well-stocked bar ran along the rear wall. Before the windows stood a circular table, several chairs arranged around it.

Some were occupied, but rather than go to meet those already in the room, Mikkelsson instead crouched to speak to Macy again. ‘Would you like to see something very cool?’ he asked.

She looked up at Nina before answering; her mother nodded. ‘Okay.’

He led her to a raised round pool to one side. Rising from its centre was a stylised sculpture of a volcano. Faint wisps of steam rose off the water surrounding it. ‘Do you know what a volcano is, Macy?’

‘Of course I do!’ she told him proudly. ‘It’s a mountain, but it’s full of lava! It’s very hot because the rock is all melted.’

‘You are a most knowledgeable young lady,’ said Mikkelsson. ‘But this volcano is a little different. Would you like to see why?’ She nodded. ‘Watch this.’

He straightened and moved to one of several metal pedals set around the pool’s base. As Macy watched with anticipation, he slowly moved his foot over it, then pressed. With a loud hiss, a geyser of steaming water burst from the volcano’s mouth and splashed down around it. She flinched back before laughing in delight.

‘That is water from the power plant,’ Mikkelsson explained. ‘We also use it for all the hotel’s hot water and heating. No, no,’ he added gently as Macy stamped on another pedal. ‘It takes a little while to recharge. A deliberate feature,’ he told the adults, ‘otherwise nobody in here would ever hear anything except the volcano erupting.’

‘I guess you have kids,’ said Eddie.

‘I have. In fact, you are about to meet her.’ Mikkelsson crossed to the table, where a tall blonde woman in her early twenties stood to greet him. He kissed her cheek, the woman returning it before embracing him. ‘This is my daughter, Anastasia Fenrirsdottir.’

‘We Icelanders don’t have surnames like you do in Europe and America,’ said Anastasia, seeing Eddie’s quizzical expression. Her English was as good as her father’s, but much more easy and informal. ‘Mine means Fenrir’s daughter; his means Mikkel’s son.’ She glanced past Nina at De Klerx, the redhead noticing that she couldn’t quite contain a smile at the sight of him.

Mikkelsson beckoned to an older woman, also blonde but smaller and more willowy than Anastasia. ‘And this is my wife, Sarah.’

‘Hi,’ said Sarah. ‘Nice to meet you.’ Her quiet accent seemed to Nina to be French Canadian, but it sounded as though she had lived in Iceland for a long time. She smiled at Macy. ‘Oh, what a beautiful little girl! I remember when Ana was that age. You’ve got so much to look forward to.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nina, pleased and proud.

There were two other people in the room, who bustled over as if afraid of being left out. They were a slender, well-groomed man in his mid fifties, and a curvaceous woman at least twenty years younger, with long dark hair and a low-cut dress. ‘Dr Wilde!’ said the man; he was American, more specifically a New Englander. ‘A great pleasure to meet you. We were looking for the same thing, but you were, ha ha, rather more successful.’ The laugh was slightly awkward, his discomfort growing when all he got in return was a look of confusion. He faced Olivia. ‘I take it you haven’t told her about our search for Atlantis.’

Olivia treated him to a wry smile. ‘I hadn’t gotten around to it.’

‘Ah. So much for my opening conversational gambit.’ Another hesitant laugh, then he thrust his hand at Nina. ‘Spencer Lonmore. It genuinely is a pleasure to meet you. And your husband.’