Meltwater (38 page)

‘That video was nasty,’ said Vigdís. ‘I hope they get to publish it.’

‘If it’s genuine,’ said Magnus.

‘What do you mean?’

Magnus didn’t reply. He drank his beer.

‘Magnús?’

‘The CIA thinks it’s a fake.’

‘The CIA? How do you know what the CIA think?’

‘Because I’ve spoken with someone.’

‘Magnús!’ Vigdís looked genuinely shocked. ‘Don’t tell me you work for them after all?’

‘No,’ said Magnus. He saw the doubt in Vigdís’s brown eyes and it disturbed him. He didn’t want to lose her trust, or Árni’s. They were unfailingly loyal to him. ‘No. A couple of days ago a CIA agent approached me. He wanted me to tell him what Freeflow was working on. I told him to piss off.’

‘Good.’

Magnus smiled quickly. ‘Then I saw him again today.’

‘Árni said you had been talking to strange men.’

‘He knew about the Gaza video. He didn’t know for sure that Freeflow was working on it, but he said there were rumours about a video going around and that it was faked.’

‘How could it be faked?’

‘Strictly speaking the audio is faked.’

‘Why?’

‘The CIA agent said to disrupt the peace process. He said it might be the Palestinians. Or it could even be the Israelis themselves. A lot of the hard right in Israel don’t want to give the Palestinians anything in peace negotiations. The CIA wants me to tell Freeflow this.’

‘And have you?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Will you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Magnus.

Vigdís frowned. Magnus wasn’t sure if it was disapproval at him talking to the CIA, or if she was thinking. He waited.

‘You know they could be bullshitting you,’ she said.

‘The CIA? Why?’

‘Isn’t that what the CIA do?’

‘I suppose so. But why would they make something like that up?’

‘So that you tell Freeflow and Freeflow don’t publish it. The video is genuine after all, but the CIA buy some more time. The spook asked you to shut down publication the first time he saw you. He’s just asking you again, but in a different way.’

Magnus could feel himself blushing. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

‘Of course, it
might
be fake,’ Vigdís said. ‘We just don’t know.’

‘Screw it,’ he said, draining his glass. ‘I need another drink. You?’

‘Sure,’ said Vigdís, emptying hers.

It didn’t take long to return with refills. Gunni, a big tug-boat captain Magnus knew from the Grand Rokk, was trying to chat Vigdís up, but she brushed him off expertly.

He winked at Magnus as he stumbled back towards the bar.

‘One of your buddies?’ Vigdís said.

‘He’s OK,’ said Magnus.

‘He needs to work on his chat-up lines.’

‘I’ll give him some lessons,’ Magnus said.

‘No offence, but I think he’s going to need more than that.’

At least she smiled. Vigdís was quite attractive when she smiled. She had big brown eyes and a long, sculpted face with angular cheekbones. Her habitual expression was cool and detached, but when she smiled or laughed, her teeth flashed and her eyes danced.

Plus she had a great body.

‘Magnús, you’re leering.’

‘Am I?’ said Magnus, trying very hard not to blush again. He groped for a smart rejoinder, but failed, and drank his beer instead.

Vigdís flashed him another good-humoured smile, knowing she had caught him, but it didn’t last long. The silence started off a little awkward, but then became gloomy.

‘Hey, I’m sorry about Paris,’ Magnus said.

Vigdís shrugged.

‘Have you spoken to Daníel?’

‘Davíd. Yeah. I spoke to him. He’s pissed off. Very pissed off.’

‘That’s stupid,’ Magnus said. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Now he’s stuck in Europe. He has some big meeting in Chicago he can’t afford to miss on Monday. I think he’s planning to go to Madrid or somewhere and try to get a flight to the States from there. So even if I can get to Paris he won’t be there.’

‘It’s still not your fault.’

‘Maybe not this time. But the other three times were. And Davíd did point out that if I’d left here on Wednesday as planned, I would be in Paris right now.’

‘Ah.’ There wasn’t much Magnus could say to that.

Vigdís looked Magnus in the eye. ‘The thing is I really like him. I mean
really
like him.’

‘Well, then, take some vacation and fly over to New York in a couple of weeks.’

‘He won’t let me. He said this was the last time.’

‘Then don’t tell him. Just show up.’

‘I could,’ Vigdís said, averting her eyes from Magnus. ‘I’ve thought of that. But I don’t know what I would find. What he would say when I got there.’

Magnus thought of Ingileif and Hamburg and what might happen if he were to fly over there to visit her unannounced. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘How’s Ingileif?’ Vigdís asked, as if reading his mind. ‘Aren’t you seeing her tonight?’

‘Er, no,’ said Magnus.

‘That doesn’t sound good.’

Magnus told Vigdís about his conversation with Ingileif the night before. It was good to talk to his colleague. Ingileif was right; he didn’t really have any close friends in Iceland, now she had gone.

‘I think she’s jerking you around,’ said Vigdís, when he had finished.

‘She says that I am just an uptight American.’

‘You may be an uptight American, but that’s who you are. She should accept that. She shouldn’t just get to do things her way.’

What Vigdís said sounded right. ‘So what do you think I should do?’

‘Tell her how you feel about her. Tell her you want to see her in Hamburg. Tell her to dump this Turkish guy.’

‘But what if she doesn’t?’

‘Then you’re better off without her.’

‘I guess I am,’ said Magnus, but he knew his voice lacked conviction.

‘There are plenty of other women in Iceland, you know,’ said Vigdís.

Magnus looked at her. ‘I guess there are.’

Vigdís drained her drink. ‘OK, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the drink, Magnús.’ She gave him a peck on the cheek and she was gone.

Magnus had another beer in 46. It tasted good. When he had first arrived in Iceland the year before, he had obliterated long hours in the Grand Rokk, and he really felt like doing it again. He knew it was dangerous: he had had problems in the past in the States, especially right after his father had been murdered. His mother had died an alcoholic. And there was something about Reykjavík which welcomed heavy drinkers.

A crowd of a dozen kids entered the bar at the beginning of their Friday night out, laughing and shouting, already well oiled. The bar was filling up rapidly. His mood contrasted sharply with the increasingly upbeat crowd, so he left. He grabbed a large hot dog on the walk home.

There was a note waiting for him on the kitchen table.
Hey Magnus. Gone to Faktory to see Katrín sing. Meet us there. Ollie

Magnus certainly wasn’t in the mood for that. Although Katrín had a certain dramatic presence on stage, her voice was mediocre, and Magnus found it embarrassing to watch her. And even if she were Björk, Magnus wouldn’t want to go out to see her that evening, especially at Faktory, the bar that had taken over the site of the good old Grand Rokk. But he felt guilty that he hadn’t seen his brother since the previous lunchtime at the Culture House. He pulled out a pen and scribbled:
Sorry, long frustrating day and I’m beat. See you tomorrow morning. M.

But as he wrote it, Magnus knew he wouldn’t. He would be up early to go into the police station, and Ollie would be tucked up with Katrín. Ollie was supposed to be going back to the States on Sunday, volcano permitting. Magnus would have to find a way to spend time with him before then.

He went up to his room, pulled out a half-full bottle of J&B and poured himself a drink. He thought about what Vigdís had said about Ingileif. She was right. She was dead right. He should tell Ingileif what he thought of their relationship, what he expected of her.

He pulled out his phone and dialled her number. She didn’t pick up.

Of course she didn’t. Good thing really, his thoughts weren’t coherent enough to have a serious conversation with her.

He flopped back on his bed and stared at his wall. He had more to add to it after his conversation with Jóhannes Benediktsson the day before. More importantly, he needed to speak to the Commissioner about the similarities between Benedikt’s case and his own father’s death. But that would have to wait. Both he and the Commissioner had a busy few days ahead of them, what with Freeflow and the Church of Iceland.

He undressed and crawled into bed. It had been good to talk to Vigdís. He liked her. Suddenly he was struck by a thought. What had she said? ‘
There are plenty of other women in Iceland, you know?
’ Was she coming on to him?

He smiled at the idea. She was cute. Very cute.

He imagined what she would do if he brought her back to his room. How she’d take the wall.

Actually, she would take it very well. She understood him, she wouldn’t be surprised, she wouldn’t ridicule him. In fact she would be right in front of it asking him questions, shifting things around.

His brain stopped whirling and he fell asleep, thinking of long black limbs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Saturday 17 April 2010

T
HE OH-SO-FAMILIAR
images shuffled in front of Erika’s eyes. She recognized every building, every vehicle, every figure as it jumped and danced under the fire of the Israeli soldiers. She knew the Hebrew words as spoken by the Israelis, she knew their chuckles, she knew every comma and period of the subtitles. Yet the video still moved her. The callousness of those doing the firing, the innocence of their victims, and in particular the bullets thudding into the body of Tamara Wilton, still shocked her.

The three minutes were up, the credits rolled and her screen went black.

She sat back. It was good. It was very good. It was the best thing that Freeflow had done.

The bastards in that helicopter would pay. Their superiors who tried to pretend that what she had seen had never happened would pay. And perhaps the next time that the soldiers of a civilized nation decided to do something barbaric, they would think again.

Perhaps. That was the best Freeflow could hope for.

She leaned back. Everyone in the house was gathered around the computer. Their eyes switched from the screen to her.

She closed her eyes. Opened them. And smiled.

‘We’re done,’ she said. Then she leaned forward and typed:
okay apex we’re done.

Franz and Dúddi whooped and gave each other high fives. Dieter grinned broadly. She leant over and hugged him. She hugged all of them.

She glanced down at the words that had appeared on her screen.

i’m not sure we are. i’m still not sure about the helicopter noise.

She groaned and typed:
enough, apex. just be quiet. and consider yourself hugged.
Then she minimized the screen. ‘Well done, guys,’ she said. ‘That was really good work. I’m proud of you. The whole world should be proud of all of us.’

‘And so they will,’ said Viktor. He had arrived at the house an hour or so before. He wanted to be there at the end.

‘And thanks for all your help, Viktor,’ Erika said.

‘The Modern Media Initiative didn’t work quite like it should,’ said Viktor. ‘Once it’s on the statute books later this year, things will be better.’

‘Given what happened to Nico, I’d say it was very useful in protecting us,’ said Erika. ‘Anywhere else we would have been shut down while the police trampled all over us.’

‘Yeah,’ said Viktor. The atmosphere in the house was deflated, as they were reminded of their former colleague. And in Viktor’s case, his niece.

‘So what happens now?’ asked Zivah, after a pause.

‘Dieter and Apex send the video out to our partners: the
Washington Post,
Reuters, the
Guardian
,
Der Spiegel.
And to Tamara’s sister. I fly out to Glasgow and we give the press conference tomorrow morning in London.’

‘That’s when we publish?’ Zivah asked.

‘That’s when we publish.’

‘And when do
we
get out?’ Zivah’s voice quivered. Erika had spoken to her at length the night before, tried to calm her down. She thought she had succeeded, at least partially.

‘As soon as flights open up,’ said Erika. ‘And I’ve no idea when that will be. Sorry, Zivah.’ Apex had refused a wholesale assault on Icelandair’s reservation system to grab seats for the three other foreign members of the team: Franz, Zivah and Dieter. Erika knew it was unfair, but now everything was done, she couldn’t wait to get out of the house herself.