66° North (37 page)

Carefully she climbed down the ladder. She was wearing a T-shirt and underpants, but the hut was warm. Wood was burning in a stove.

Her head was still muzzy. She felt as if she had just woken up from a dream, except she was waking up
into
a dream.

‘Björn, where are we?’ she asked.

He kissed her quickly on the lips. ‘In a mountain hut. I thought we could get away for a few days.’

Harpa blinked. ‘You know, I don’t remember coming here at all.’

‘You were very tired. You slept in the car.’

‘Did I?’ Harpa scrambled to make sense of it. She could remember Björn coming to meet her in the bakery, and then nothing. Very strange.

‘Where’s Markús?’

‘With your parents. We left them a note.’

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘Well, I left them a note.’

Harpa sat on a chair by the table and sipped her coffee. Her brain cleared a little. ‘Where is this hut, Björn?’

‘Near Grundarfjördur. It’s on the old road from Stykkishólmur to Borgarnes. But no one comes here any more. It’s very peaceful.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Harpa.

Björn took her hand over the table. ‘You’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. You need a rest.’ He squeezed it. Smiled. For a moment she was comforted by that smile.

Then she withdrew her hand. ‘Wait a minute. We didn’t talk about this, did we? We were going to the police. To tell them about Sindri and the student. Isn’t that where we were driving?’

Björn swallowed. ‘No.’

‘Björn. What’s going on here?’ Then Harpa’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve kidnapped me, haven’t you?’

‘No,’ said Björn.

‘OK. In that case let me find my phone and I’ll ring the police.’ She grabbed her handbag which was lying by the door and rummaged inside it.

‘There’s no reception here,’ said Björn.

‘Where’s my phone, Björn?’

‘You don’t need it. There’s no reception.’

Harpa looked up from the bag. ‘You’ve taken it, haven’t you. My God, you
have
kidnapped me. Björn, what the hell is going on?’

‘I think we should spend some time…’

‘That’s bullshit.’ A look of panic overwhelmed Harpa’s features. ‘You
did
shoot Óskar and Lister, didn’t you? You want to stop me going to the police!’

‘I didn’t kill anyone.’

‘Then what the hell are we doing here?’ Harpa shouted.

‘Sit down,’ Björn said. ‘And I’ll explain.’

‘You had better,’ said Harpa. But she sat down. She sipped her coffee.

‘To start with, I haven’t killed anyone,’ Björn said. ‘I promise.’

‘But you know who has?’

Björn nodded his head. ‘I know who has.’

‘And you did go to France?’

Björn nodded again. ‘Yes. I flew to Amsterdam and then rode down to Normandy to prepare the ground for someone else.’

‘Who?’

Björn shook his head.

‘Sindri? Ísak?’

‘Sindri and Ísak are involved, yes.’

‘So Frikki was right?’

Björn nodded. ‘But we did it for a good reason.’

‘Oh, come on, how can killing anyone be for a good reason?’

‘You killed someone, Harpa.’

‘Yes, and I’ve regretted it ever since!’

‘I haven’t,’ said Björn quietly.

Harpa looked at him closely. His blue eyes were steady, strong.

‘I mean the more I thought about it, the more I thought Gabríel Örn deserved to die. He was a nasty man. He treated you like shit.’

‘That’s not a good enough reason to murder him,’ Harpa said.

‘Maybe not, but ruining our country is. People like Gabríel Örn have destroyed Iceland and the people in it. The strong, hardworking honest Icelanders like me, and the thousands like me. You know how hard I worked to build up my fishing business. Why should I lose it all? Why should thousands like me lose it all? Farmers losing their farms, shopkeepers losing their shops, and yes, fishermen
losing their boats. Young families losing their houses. You remember Sindri talking about his brother that night after the demo?’

Harpa shook his head.

‘Well, his brother lost his farm to the bank in the end. And killed himself. And now the brother’s wife and kids will have no home and no job. These people have worked hard all their lives. It’s not their fault! And it hasn’t even really started yet. They say unemployment will go up. We’re going to be a nation of paupers for decades. Because of people like Gabríel Örn.’

‘But it’s not just Gabríel Örn’s fault, is it?’ said Harpa.

‘Precisely!’ said Björn, and he struck the table with the flat of his hand. ‘What do they say, there are thirty people who destroyed Iceland?’

‘People like Óskar?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Julian Lister?’

‘Yes.’

Harpa frowned. ‘You’re crazy. You’re all crazy.’

‘Are we? Sure, the Icelanders protest, but they don’t actually
do
anything. When the Americans start a war on terror, they take out a couple of countries and kill tens of thousands of people. We should be waging war against these guys. And we’re only talking about four people.’

‘Four?’ Harpa counted them off on her fingers. ‘Gabríel Örn, Óskar, Julian Lister… who’s the other?’

Björn shook his head.

‘So Frikki was right. One more to go?’

Björn didn’t answer.

A tear leaked from Harpa’s eye. ‘I don’t understand you, Björn. I mean Sindri, I do understand. He has always said he believes in violence. He’s deluded himself into practising what he preaches. But you? You are one of the most practical men I know.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Björn. ‘But I’ve learned a lot over the last year.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as that people like my father and Sindri are right. They always said that capitalism hurts real people, people who work and save. It’s a tool for the rich to screw the rest of us. I can see now how that is blindingly obvious. But I never listened to my father. I thought he was a dinosaur from the wrong side in the Cold War. I believed in the Independence Party, that capitalism meant people like me could work hard to build a business. Boy was I wrong. But at least I realize it now. At least I am going to do something about it.’

‘Like kill some people?’

‘Harpa.’ Björn reached across the table for Harpa’s hand. She drew back from him. ‘Harpa, you’ve suffered almost as badly. You lost your job. Your father lost his savings. Gabríel Örn treated you badly, as did Óskar. Don’t you see we’re the good guys here?’

‘You are a murderer, Björn. OK, you didn’t pull the trigger yourself, but you are a murderer.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Wait a minute! Did you pick Óskar because of me? Did you know he was Markús’s father?’

‘The police only told me that on Sunday. But yes, when we were talking about which bank boss to go for, Ódinsbanki seemed a good choice to me.’

‘So you killed him on my account?’

‘Yours, mine and every other ordinary person in Iceland.’

Harpa pursed her lips. Anger flared through the couple of tears that had gathered in tiny pools around her eyes. ‘So what are you doing with me? Holding me prisoner?’

‘I’d like you to stay here for the next twenty-four hours.’

‘Until the next guy on the list is shot?’

Björn shrugged.

‘And what happens after that?’

Björn sighed. ‘I think it’s inevitable they catch us. The others think there’s going to be a revolution, but I don’t know. It’s just not the way the Icelanders do things. So I guess I’m going to jail.’

For a moment Harpa almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. ‘You deserve to,’ she said.

‘Maybe. Perhaps I should pay for what I’ve done; I knew the consequences when I did it. I will just have to accept them.’ His voice was calm.

‘Perhaps you should.’

‘One more day, and then it won’t matter. The others think they’ve still got a chance. I’d like you to keep quiet for a couple of days, until the police have caught us. Then you can say what you like. I’ll make sure you aren’t implicated in any of this.’

‘You’re mad if you think I would go along with that.’

‘Please, Harpa,’ Björn said. ‘For my sake.’

Harpa glared at him. ‘You make me sick,’ she said. ‘Now give me my phone and let me make a call.’

‘No,’ said Björn.

‘In that case, I’m leaving now,’ Harpa said, pulling herself to her feet.

‘You have to stay in the hut,’ said Björn. ‘No, I don’t,’ said Harpa. ‘Are you going to stop me?’

She walked a couple of paces towards the door. Björn leapt to his feet, grabbed her from behind, twisted her around and pinned her to the floor. Harpa screamed and kicked. Björn stretched out and grabbed the length of rope that was lying on a chair.

He wrapped it around her body, pinning her arms to her sides, and tied a firm knot. Harpa screamed louder as she writhed against the rope. Björn left her on the floor and stood by the cooker watching her.

‘I hate you, Björn!’ Harpa yelled. ‘I hate you!’

The screams were muffled by the walls of the hut and the mist outside, so by the time they reached the rocky slopes of the valley they were scarcely powerful enough to create an echo.

M
AGNUS WOKE UP
thinking about Ingileif. Or rather he didn’t know
what
to think about Ingileif.

Her accusation that he was jealous of her, that he suspected her of seeing other men, was ironic. In Magnus’s previous relationship, with Colby, the lawyer in Boston, he was always the one who was being controlled. Colby wanted to regularize the relationship, to get married, to send Magnus off to law school. He was relieved to get away from that, and indeed that was one of the many things that attracted him to Ingileif. She was independent, she did what she wanted, and she allowed him to be the same way.

So if she went off to parties with her beautiful friends, what business was that of his?

Except he didn’t like the idea of her sleeping with other men. And he wasn’t even sure whether her anger with him was because she did occasionally do that and she thought it none of his business, or because he didn’t know her well enough to trust her to stay away from other men.

Which all showed she had a point. He didn’t really know her.

She wanted to go to Germany. He was likely to be sent back to the States. It was fun while it lasted, but it was over. Face it. Move on.

But rather than be braced by this thought, it depressed him.

Ingileif was part of the life he was building in Iceland. Unpredictable, beautiful, untameable.

Mind you, he had been right to be angry at her. A defence lawyer in the States would run rings around a prosecution if they ever found out what she had done. Iceland had a less adversarial system, it would be a judge who would question the evidence and how it had been obtained. But if the whole case collapsed because of Ingileif’s activities, Magnus would be buying a one-way ticket back to Boston.

Yet she had found out something. There was to be another victim: Ingólfur Arnarson.

There was a slight chance that this might be the target’s real name, a very slight chance. Much more likely it was a codename.

Ingólfur Arnarson was famous as the first settler in Iceland. He had sailed there from Norway in 874, and as he approached the island he had cast his wooden ‘home pillars’ into the sea, vowing to settle wherever they washed up. It took three years for his slaves to find them, but eventually they were discovered in a smoky bay, Reykjavík:
reykur
meaning smoke and
vík
bay. A fine statue of the Viking stood on a mound downtown.

The question was, who did the name Ingólfur Arnarson represent in the twenty-first century?

There were a number of obvious candidates. The young men who had built up business empires overseas in the previous decade were known in Iceland as
útrásarvíkingar
– literally ‘Outvasion Vikings’. They recalled the great Vikings who had set forth from Norway a thousand years before to use their youth, vitality and aggression to make their fortunes. Men like Ingólfur Arnarson.

And like Óskar Gunnarsson. As he himself had recognized by commissioning the sculpture of a Viking riding a Harley Davidson in the lobby of his family office.

The trouble was there were several other candidates for Ingólfur. But which one did Sindri have in mind?

People would have to be warned, which meant that Magnus was going to have to admit how he came upon the information. He could imagine Baldur’s ridicule, quite justified, of Magnus’s investigative
techniques. For a moment Magnus thought about claiming that the information came from a confidential informant. But that wouldn’t wash.

He made himself a cup of coffee and called Vigdís at the station. She had just got in. He told her what Ingileif had been up to the previous night.

‘Impressive work,’ said Vigdís. ‘Unconventional.’

‘Damn stupid, if you ask me,’ said Magnus.

‘And probably if you ask Baldur,’ said Vigdís. ‘But at least we know for sure Sindri is involved.’

‘Any ideas who Ingólfur Arnarson might be?’ Magnus asked. He outlined his own view that it might be one of the Outvaders.

‘I think you are right,’ said Vigdís. ‘I don’t know whether one of them is more like Ingólfur than any of the others. I don’t know them well enough, they all seem like a bunch of greedy fat cats to me. The Special Prosecutor might have an idea.’

‘Yes, I remember him talking to me about them. Or there’s Óskar’s sister Emilía,’ said Magnus. ‘She probably knows them all personally. Find out what she thinks.’

‘OK. We should also go through the phone book, just in case. There are bound to be some people whose real name is Ingólfur Arnarson.’

‘Worth checking. And you could ask Frikki when you speak to him again this morning. Let’s hope he’s more talkative after his night in the cells.’

‘We’re going to have to tell Baldur,’ said Vigdís. ‘These people are in danger. Or at least one of them is. And we don’t know which one.’

‘Leave it with me,’ said Magnus.

‘Before you go, I saw Björn’s brother yesterday. He was in Tenerife for a week with his girlfriend, came back Monday. Iceland Express confirms it. They both flew out, they both flew back.’