66° North (42 page)

‘So what’s next?’

‘I thought shops and petrol stations,’ said Páll. ‘He may have stocked up with supplies or fuel. There aren’t many of them in town: do you want to split up or come with me?’

‘Let’s do it together,’ Magnus said. ‘You know the town and the people. I’ll just waste time.’

‘Good,’ said Páll moving towards his white police car. ‘Jump in. And you can tell me what’s really going on.’

Ísak drove his mother’s poor Honda off what was left of the track, and round the back of a large conical rock. Miraculously the axle didn’t break. He scuffed the tyre marks in the dirt with his foot. He didn’t want Björn to notice the car should he decide to drive back up the pass.

He took the knife he had bought in Borgarnes out of the plastic bag and thrust it into the pocket of his coat. Then he crept back to the boulder. The hut was about two hundred metres from where the road emerged into the open. There was virtually no cover, but only one of the windows in the hut faced that way, and that was high up, probably a little higher than eye level.

He noticed that the cloud was thickening and creeping down the walls of the valley.

On the other side of the building was a cliff about thirty metres high, with a waterfall cascading down it. There seemed to be a vertical crevice in the rock there big enough for a man to squeeze and still have a view of the hut.

Ísak gave it a try. He ran, crouching, around the hut, keeping
himself out of the field of vision of the bigger windows at the side of the building. He pressed himself into the crevice. His view of the hut was indeed clear, and he was pretty sure that Björn wouldn’t be able to see him. The only problem was that water from the cascade was constantly splashing on to him, and it was cold. Very cold.

He would wait until Björn left the hut again. Then he would slip inside and deal with Harpa. Wait until Björn came back and as he discovered her body, slash a tyre of Björn’s truck and run up the road to his own car.

Leave it to Björn to dispose of Harpa’s body.

But then, if Björn was subsequently caught, which he probably would be, he would talk.

No. Ísak would just have to kill Björn as well as Harpa. Either wait until Björn left the hut and surprise him when he returned, or if Björn didn’t leave, creep into the hut after night fell and they were both asleep. If Ísak wasn’t frozen to death by then.

It wasn’t ideal, but he was committed now.

Magnus waited in the car as Páll went into Samkaup, the main supermarket in town. He called Baldur and told him that there was no sign of Björn. He had already passed on Sharon’s message about Ísak’s disappearance.

Baldur was businesslike. Sindri wasn’t talking. Not a word. Wasn’t even bothering with a lawyer. Magnus wasn’t surprised. If there was one more hit still to come, Sindri would be happy to bide his time.

Árni had checked with Ísak’s parents. Ísak had left home at nine o’clock the previous evening in his mother’s car, a small Honda, loaded with camping stuff. She said that the family had been on a number of camping trips to Thórsmörk, a hundred and fifty kilometres to the east of Reykjavík.

They had struck lucky. Calling around campsites, they had discovered that Ísak had been spotted at a site near Hveragerdi, to the south-east of Reykjavík, on the way to Thórsmörk. Although
Baldur and Magnus agreed that Ísak wasn’t going on a little holiday jaunt, it was possible that if he was looking for wilderness to hide in, he might choose an area with which he was familiar.

Or he might be in the Snaefells Peninsula with Björn and Harpa.

Magnus suggested that they pull Gulli in. Perhaps somehow he had travelled from Tenerife to London and Paris and then back to Tenerife. Unlikely, but they didn’t want to take any chances: if he was in custody he couldn’t assassinate anyone. Baldur agreed. He had given up condemning Magnus’s wilder ideas. The stakes were too high.

Páll returned to the car. ‘Nothing. Let’s go on.’

Grundarfjördur was a small, compact town and it didn’t take long for Páll to get from place to place. They checked Vínbúd, the state liquor store, and then went on to the petrol station.

The kid behind the counter knew Björn Helgason but hadn’t seen him since he had filled up his red pickup the morning of the day before.

‘That was probably to get down to Reykjavík,’ Magnus said. As an afterthought, just as he was leaving, he paused.

‘You haven’t seen a young guy in here have you? A student, twenty-two years old, neatly dressed, about one seventy-five tall, fair hair, little dimple on his chin? Driving a small blue Honda?’

‘Yes,’ said the kid. ‘A guy like that was in here about an hour ago. Asked me where a mountain pass was with a hut. I told him about the Kerlingin Pass. He’d never even heard of the troll. Can you believe it? These guys from Reykjavík don’t know anything.’

H
ARPA SAT ON
the floor examining the man who, until a couple of hours before, she had loved more than any other. She knew her stare was discomfiting him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about him at all.

Because suddenly, for the first time in a year, she felt strong again. The confusion, the mistrust, the guilt, the self-doubt, all those destructive feelings that had swirled around inside her head for a year now, were gone.

She knew what was right and what was wrong. And she knew what she had to do.

Compared to the agonies that she had gone through about her own role in Gabríel Örn’s death, and in the cover-up, what Björn had done was much simpler. He had conspired to murder someone. That was unequivocally wrong. It was her duty to do all she could to right that wrong.

She couldn’t bring Óskar back to life, but maybe, just maybe, she could save whoever the next target was, and then perhaps bring Björn and Sindri and Ísak to justice. And whoever else was their accomplice.

She knew what she had to do and she was determined to do it.

Escape.

When Björn next left the hut, it would take her less than a minute to untie the rope around her ankles. She would have to cope with her wrists tied together, but she would be able to run. She had tried to recall the geography of the Snaefells Peninsula. She was pretty
sure she knew where they were, and that a modern road ran through a parallel pass not far away. What she couldn’t quite remember was whether it was to the west or the east. She guessed the west.

Her plan was to clamber up the side of the valley and over the top to the road on the other side and then flag down the first car that came past. Anyone would stop immediately for a woman standing in the middle of the road with her hands tied.

But first Björn had to leave the hut again. She had no idea when that would be, and she was afraid to ask him in case he suspected something.

She thought about what she would tell the police. It would be good to give them the names of the next victim and the assassin. Björn had been reluctant to tell her: she would see what she could do about that.

‘So when you have dealt with the next name on your list, will you let me go?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Björn. He looked as if he was pleased with the question. ‘It depends. On you.’

‘Hmm.’ Harpa let the silence hang there. She knew that Björn wanted to believe that she could be persuaded to agree to keep quiet for a few days. ‘And when will that be?’ she asked him.

‘I can’t say.’

‘Today? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?’

‘This afternoon, possibly. Probably this evening. Almost definitely tomorrow morning.’

‘How will you know?’

‘A text.’

‘Which is why you need to go and make your phone calls?’

‘Once I have heard everything is ready, then all I will have to do is wait for the text.’

‘From?’

Björn shook his head. ‘ I can’t tell you, Harpa.’

‘OK. At least tell me who the target is.’

Björn shook his head. Harpa could see that his earlier pleasure in her talking to him was waning.

‘I don’t see why you won’t. After all there’s nothing I can do about it, is there? You may as well tell me now.’

‘I’ll tell you when it’s done.’ Björn’s voice was firm.

Harpa didn’t want to push him any more in case he realized what she was planning. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said.

They were silent for five, maybe ten minutes. Through the window, Harpa watched as the clouds swirled across the valley, bringing thick fog one moment and sunshine the next.

Fog would be good for evading Björn. But it would make it very easy to get lost on the mountain. She would just have to seize her opportunity whenever it came.

Björn checked his watch. ‘I’m going to go and check for that text.’

Harpa grunted.

Björn glanced at Harpa’s ankles and wrists and left the hut. A few seconds later Harpa heard the engine of his pickup starting up and the sound of the vehicle bumping down towards the track.

She bent down and attacked the knot. It wasn’t coming, damn it! And she was sure she had nearly untied it.

Slow down, Harpa. She stopped, took a couple of breaths, examined the knot, thought about it, tugged the rope here, pushed there.

She was free!

She scanned the room for her phone, or a knife, but couldn’t see either. No time to mess about. She pulled open the door with her bound hands and ran outside.

Ísak saw Björn leave the hut. His heart rate quickened as he watched the pickup clatter its way down to the track, and then up the pass. A patch of cloud drifted down the valley, fingers of moisture stretching ahead of it as it clutched at the rocks and the boulders, silently hauling itself forward. The head of the pass was obscured. Excellent. He would wait until Björn’s pickup disappeared into the mist before making his move.

The vehicle was swallowed up by the cloud. Ísak hesitated. Gripped the knife in his gloved hand and set off towards the hut. He had barely gone five metres when he heard the door open again, and a moment later he saw Harpa rushing down the knoll towards the stream at the floor of the valley.

She was escaping! He broke into a run. She hadn’t seen him yet. He tried to run softly so as not to scare her. The closer he could get the better. Then one final sprint.

But Harpa was running as fast as she could already. She tore down the side of the knoll, crossed the track and forded the stream, slipping once and falling in, uttering a small yelp as she did so. She clambered out, turned and saw Ísak.

Ísak hesitated. Perhaps if he didn’t scare her she would mistake him for a rescuer. They had only met once, in January, and she might not recognize him from a distance.

He slowed to a walk. ‘Are you all right?’ he shouted.

Harpa hesitated. ‘Who are you?’

‘I was hiking through the pass and I saw you run,’ Ísak called. ‘Are you OK?’

Harpa approached him gingerly. Ísak was close to the stream now. He gripped the knife in the pocket of his coat.

‘Ísak! You’re Ísak aren’t you?’ Harpa shouted. She took a couple of steps back and then ran up the slope.

Ísak leaped into the stream. The water was freezing and more powerful than he expected. He slipped on a rock and rolled over once, his head striking another stone. The shock of the cold water seemed to squeeze the air out of his lungs. For a moment he panicked. Fast flowing mountain streams in Iceland were much more dangerous than they appeared. He fought for air and grabbed a stone, pulling himself to his feet.

He could see Harpa scampering up the rocky side of the valley a few metres ahead, hurrying towards the base of the cloud.

Then he heard the sound of a vehicle behind him.

*

Björn was thinking about Harpa as he drove up into the mist towards the head of the pass. Her calm unnerved him. He was used to her confused, panicky. This sense of purpose was new. It didn’t bode well for her changing her mind and keeping quiet once he let her go.

In which case, what was he to do with her?

He glanced down at his phone. A couple of bars flickered. Maybe he could get reception here without going all the way over the head of the pass. He stopped the car. He was right at the point where the road disappeared behind a boulder, but he couldn’t see back to the hut because of the fog. The two bars flickered and died. He stepped out and moved around the black volcanic dirt at the side of the track, trying to get reception, but there was nothing.

He was surrounded on three sides by thick moisture, but above him, through a thin patina of white, he could see the blue of the sky.

He trotted back to the truck.

Then he saw it. A footprint in the dust, a couple of metres from where he had walked himself. He put his own feet by the print. Smaller, definitely not his.

He followed the prints back into the mist. The dirt had been scuffed. There was part of a tyre mark.

A small conical rock lay about twenty metres back from the track. He checked behind it: a car. The same car he had seen struggling up the pass earlier.

Who the hell’s was it? A strange walker, who for an unknowable reason had wanted to hide his car before setting out? He doubted it.

Could it be the police? The small Honda didn’t look like a police car, and he could see various bits of camping equipment in the back.

It could be Ísak. After Harpa.

Björn ran back to his truck, spun it around and hurtled down the hill to the valley.

He burst through the cloud, and the valley floor opened before him. He noticed the door to the hut hanging open. He scanned the
valley as he drove and saw a figure clambering out of the stream and up the hill on the other side. Ísak.

Further up the hill he could see Harpa, only a few metres below the cloud base.

He swerved off the track and drove down towards the stream. Within a few seconds the truck came to a halt as a front wheel slid into a hole with a clang. Björn flung open the door and leaped out. He saw Ísak turn towards him and then keep climbing.

Björn bounded from stone to stone in the stream, and was soon on the other side. He could no longer see Harpa. And the cloud was descending further. In a moment it had swallowed up Ísak.