Operation Napoleon (10 page)

‘Hello,’ she heard a voice say at the other end. ‘Is that Kristín? This is Júlíus. I’m in charge of the team here on Vatnajökull. Can you hear me okay?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Kristín said hurriedly. ‘Is Elías with you? Is he all right?’

‘I’m afraid Elías is missing.’

‘He’s missing? How come? Where is he?’

‘He and Jóhann left camp about seven hours ago and haven’t returned yet. But we’ve traced a signal from Elías’s phone and expect to find them as soon as it gets light. They may have got lost – it’s very dark here. But I can’t rule out the possibility that they’ve had an accident. Elías has plenty of experience on glaciers though, so there’s no need to panic.’

‘Have you noticed any soldiers in the area?’ Kristín asked.

‘Soldiers? No. What do you mean, soldiers?’

‘Elías phoned me from the glacier and said there were soldiers coming towards him.’

‘When did Elías call you?’

‘It must have been about three or four hours ago. We were cut off seconds after he saw the soldiers.’

‘No, we haven’t noticed any movements up here. The boys were test-driving our new snowmobiles and could have covered quite a distance in that time, but there’s no one around except us.’

‘Didn’t they give you any idea of where they were going? Do you think Elías could be in danger?’

‘They didn’t, and I can’t imagine so, not unless he’s travelling in the dark. There’s a large belt of crevasses several hours to the west of us, but he’s careful, and so’s Jóhann. I expect they’ve stopped somewhere and their phone’s out of range. If they stay where they are, we’ll find them quickly once it gets light. What on earth made you call about Elías? Did you have some kind of premonition?’

‘I was informed that Elías was dead,’ Kristín said, ‘and that it was connected somehow to the soldiers he saw on the glacier.’

‘Elías isn’t dead. He’s missing but he’s alive.’

‘Kristín.’ Steve was looking out of the living room window, the curtain pushed to one side. He was staring down at the car park in front of the building.

‘Can I get hold of you on this number later?’ Kristín asked, ignoring Steve.

‘Who told you Elías was dead? Who would do a thing like that?’

‘It’s too complicated to explain now. I’ll talk to you later.’

She took down his number and rang off. Júlíus had a manner of natural authority that in any other context would have been reassuring, she thought; he spoke confidently and precisely. But the conversation had done nothing to allay her fears.

‘How did you get here?’ Steve asked.

‘By taxi.’

‘Did anyone else know you were coming here?’

‘No, no one.’

‘Did you pay using cash?’

‘No, by debit card.’

‘Those men, did they have fair hair?’ Steve asked in a level voice.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Actually, it can’t be, these guys aren’t wearing jackets and ties, they’re in ski-suits and boots.’

‘Steve, what the hell are you on about?’

‘There are two men standing outside, staring up at my window.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kristín said, the colour draining from her face.

She ran to the window, peered down at the car park and gasped in horror.

‘Jesus, it’s them. How the hell did they find me here?’

Steve leapt back from the window as if he had been struck. ‘They’ve seen us. Come on!’

Kristín was still wearing her coat. Steve yanked on boots and a thick down jacket; seconds later they were outside on the landing. Peering down the stairwell, they saw Ripley and Bateman entering the hall below and running towards the stairs.

‘Shit,’ muttered Steve.

‘Have you got a gun?’ Kristín asked.

‘Why would I have a gun?’

‘Just my luck to meet the only bloody American who doesn’t carry a gun,’ she swore in Icelandic.

‘Come on,’ he cried, running back into the apartment and locking the door behind them. They dashed out on to the little balcony. It was a six-metre drop to the ground – too high. Nor could they swing down to the balcony below, but there was a chance they could jump on to the one next door. From the front door to the apartment came the sound of hammering. Steve helped Kristín climb on to the rail and, grasping the ice-cold metal, she pushed herself up, almost succumbing to vertigo when she looked down, convinced for a moment that she was going to fall. Large lumps of snow slithered off the balcony, vanishing into the darkness below. Conquering her dizziness and ignoring the pain from her hands as the cold bit into them, she jumped over to the next balcony, dropping to the cement floor with a thud and a gasp. Steve followed just as the door to his apartment burst open.

He snatched up a heavy plant pot from the floor of his neighbour’s balcony and used it to smash the glass of the veranda door, before opening it from the inside. They hurried in, straight through the apartment, kicking children’s toys out of the way and almost falling over a vacuum cleaner, and out on to the landing, then raced down the stairs.

Ripley and Bateman ran through Steve’s apartment and, hearing the sound of smashing glass, out on to the balcony where they saw that the veranda door of the neighbouring apartment was open. Spinning round, they rushed back through the apartment, only to spot Steve and Kristín vanishing into the stairwell. A fat man wearing nothing but his underpants emerged from the neighbouring flat and walked straight into Ripley and Bateman’s path. They collided with him, knocking him to the ground where Ripley tripped over him.

Steve and Kristín made the most of their head-start, hurtling out of the front door of the building as the two men regained their feet. Steve ran to his car, Kristín following close behind. It was unlocked and Steve got behind the wheel, Kristín jumping in beside him.

‘Keys . . . keys!’ Steve shouted, slapping his jeans frantically, then digging his hand into a pocket.

‘Where are the keys?’ Kristín shouted back.

‘Got them!’ Steve replied, extracting a bunch from his pocket and shoving the correct key in the ignition. He pressed the accelerator to the floor as he turned the key. Nothing happened. The ignition hissed but the engine failed to catch.

‘Jesus!’ Steve swore between clenched teeth.

He tried again, thumping the steering wheel, stamping his foot down and switching on the ignition. The engine coughed for a few long seconds, then roared into life. He rammed it into drive and the car took a bound, hurling Kristín back in her seat. The stench of petrol filled her nose as the wheels spun in the snow, the engine screeching as the tyres tried to get a purchase, the back of the car skidding sideways, but just as the two men raced out of the building the wheels caught, the car jumped forwards and they were away.

Looking back, Kristín saw them chase the car briefly before giving up and standing at a loss, watching the vehicle disappear from view.

Steve turned his eyes from the road to look at Kristín. ‘I thought you were crazy when you arrived at my place. Out of your mind.’

‘Thanks, I noticed.’

‘I don’t think so any more. Sorry.’

He drove on, checking the mirrors every few seconds. Kristín noticed that he was gripping the steering wheel hard to stop his hands from shaking.

‘There’s only one way they could know about you,’ Kristín said after a minute’s silence.

‘What’s that?’

‘Elías. They’re connected to what’s happening on the glacier. They’ve got your name from Elías. That has to be it. They must think he’s told me something; that he’s told me about them. And about the plane, whatever it’s doing up there. The men are in contact with the soldiers and they got my phone number from Elías’s mobile. That’s how they knew. They know I’m his sister. And they think I know something; that Elías told me something. That’s why they’re after me.’

‘But who are they? Who are they working for?’

‘I almost forgot. One of them mentioned a name when they attacked me. I wasn’t supposed to have heard. Something about “Ratoff”. Do you recognise the name?’

‘Ratoff? Never heard of him.’

‘Oh God, Elías!’ Kristín sighed. She slumped deep into the passenger seat, raking her hand through her hair. ‘What’s happened to him? They said he was dead.’

Steve drove grimly on, marvelling at the extraordinary turn the evening had taken. To think that he had come to this frozen island for a quiet life.

‘Kristín, I’m going to make a few calls and try to find out what’s going on. Do they actually know who you are?’

‘They knew where I lived. They knew about Elías. They seem to know everything I do before I do it. Yes, Steve, I’d say they know who I am.’

Kristín looked at him, then out of the rear window again. She thought about Elías, and about her father who must have gone abroad; he was forever travelling – not that they had ever had foreign holidays as children – and did not always bother to mention when it was for short trips. They did not have much contact; a phone call every month or two, a stilted conversation and some bland expression of hope that all was well. Kristín felt sad that she could never go to her father about anything, that she always had to cope on her own. And the worst of it was that he would probably blame her for what had happened to her brother. He always had done.

NEAR WASHINGTON DC,

FRIDAY 29 JANUARY, 1700 EST

Miller answered the door himself and invited Carr inside. He lived in a two-storey wooden house with a tidy garden, situated in quiet, forested countryside now covered with a light dusting of snow, not far from Washington DC. Miller shuffled along in his worn-down felt slippers; he was around eighty now with a pronounced stoop, his remaining wisps of hair completely white, his face dotted with liver spots. His wife had died twenty years earlier and though they had never had any children he was well looked after, receiving home help three times a week and meals on wheels at lunchtime and in the evenings. On the face of it, Miller was nothing but a useless old husk waiting to die, his many years of service behind him, but the fragile, elderly exterior disguised a mind as lively and resourceful as ever.

After the two men shook hands at the door, Miller showed Carr into his ground floor study which was filled with mementoes of a long life, predominantly photographs of his military service: World War II comrades, scenes from Korea and Vietnam, but there were pictures from peace time as well. Everything inside the house was as neat as a pin. The walls were lined with books, mostly about war.

‘Are you sure it’s the plane?’ Miller asked, taking out two small tumblers and filling them with brandy. It was far too early for Carr but he said nothing; the time of day had obviously ceased to have any meaning for Miller.

‘No question,’ Carr replied, sipping.

‘Are they inside yet?’

‘Not yet. Ratoff’s in charge.’

Miller frowned. ‘Was that really necessary?’

‘In my estimation the operation needs a man like Ratoff. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Are you still planning to fly it over the Atlantic? To Argentina?’

‘Yup, Argentina.’

‘So the procedure hasn’t changed?’

‘No. Everything’s going to plan. Though they were spotted with the plane. By locals – two of them. I’m afraid they saw too much, but according to Ratoff everything else is under control.’

‘I don’t suppose he spared them.’

Carr turned away and looked out of the window.

‘And the brothers?’

Carr shrugged.

Miller closed his eyes. He remembered the brothers as they had been when he first met them at the foot of the glacier all those years ago: friendly, hospitable, cooperative and, most important of all, discreet. They had never asked questions, simply invited him into their home and acted as guides on the glacier. They had been more or less the same age as him.

‘Ratoff hasn’t been briefed on what the plane contains, has he?’ he asked.

‘He’ll soon find out. But I’m confident we can trust him, at least to bring us the documents. We have trucks on the spot to transport the dismantled plane to Keflavík. The bodies will accompany the wreckage. I’ve given Ratoff instructions about what to do with any papers he finds. No doubt he’ll read them but it’s an unavoidable risk and in any case, he’s stuck on an island – where can he go? All being well, this chapter of the war will be closed in a few days’ time and we’ll finally be able to breathe easier.
They’ll
be able to breathe easier.’

‘And what about Ratoff?’

‘We’re keeping our options open.’

‘If he reads the documents, he’ll think he’s in danger.’

‘Let’s just wait and see how he plays it. Ratoff’s not a very complicated man.’

Miller swirled the brandy in his glass.

‘Do the others know the situation?’

‘The few who are left.’

‘And the politicians?’

‘I’m confident I’ve managed to frighten them off. I gave them the Walchensee gold story. Our young secretary of defense didn’t know whether to cry or piss himself when I told him. You only have to mention the Jews and they start shitting themselves.’

‘But something’s wrong.’ It was a statement, not a question. Miller knew his successor; he had guessed from Carr’s expression and the way he talked that all was not well. It would not be the first time Carr had come to him for guidance or support but he was a man who could not bear to admit to mistakes.

Carr spoke crisply and precisely. ‘There’s a young woman in Reykjavík, the sister of one of the boys who disturbed the excavation. Apparently the boy told her over the phone that there were armed troops and a plane on the glacier – Ratoff extracted that much from him. She’s given our men the slip twice now, and is being assisted by an American from the base, an ex-boyfriend. Presumably she went to him because of what her brother said about soldiers. They’re currently somewhere on the base but I’m assured that the area has been secured and the base commander is cooperating. They won’t get far.’

Neither man spoke for a while.

‘The operation was a necessity of war,’ Miller said at last. ‘We had to clean up after the politicians. Always have done.’

‘I know – though I’m more inclined to put it down to temporary insanity. It was bedlam in the last months of the war.’

‘That’s not to say that we shouldn’t have gone into Russia. Patton was right about that.’

‘They hesitated.’

‘And we lost half of Europe.’

Miller topped up their glasses. Brandy was one of the few luxuries he still permitted himself. The doctors had told him he did not have long. Not that he cared; he had reconciled himself to dying a long time ago and would welcome it when the time came.

‘It’s not our job to write history; that’s for others to do,’ he said.

‘No, our job has always been to wipe the slate clean and rewrite it,’ Carr replied. ‘History’s all lies – you know that and I know that. There have been so many cover-ups, so many fabrications; we’ve told the truth about lies and lied about the truth, taken out one thing and substituted another. That’s our job. You told me once that the history of mankind was nothing more than a register of crimes and misfortunes. Well, it’s also a register of carefully constructed lies.’

‘You sound tired, Vytautas.’

‘I
am
tired. When this is over I’m going to retire.’

Miller took another sip of brandy. It was his favourite label, an exclusive French cognac, and he savoured it lingeringly before letting it slip down his throat.

‘The brothers told me that the winter of ’45 was unusually hard,’ he remarked. ‘The snow didn’t melt on the slopes above the farm until July. I searched the area with a small party at the time but we found no trace of a crash. The fuselage must be fairly intact under the ice, which means the bodies must be too. They’ve been deep frozen for more than half a century.’

He paused.

‘I envy that animal Ratoff. I’ve been looking for that plane all my life and now that it’s finally been found I’m too old to see it. When will it reach Argentina?’

‘Ratoff says four days, though that could change. There’s bad weather forecast for the area – a storm’s expected within the next twenty-four hours. You can always come to South America if you feel up to it.’

But Miller was far away. He was thinking of the layers upon layers of snow and ice he had spent so many years fruitlessly probing. The glacial accumulations, winter after winter, blizzard after blizzard, burying the frozen casket ever further from the world.

‘I’ve often thought it would probably be best for us if the glacier held on to the plane for ever, so we wouldn’t have to worry about it any more. It would be best for everyone.’

‘Maybe. Sometimes I think that damn plane is the only reason we established a base in Iceland. Sometimes it seems that important.’

Silence fell on the small room again.

‘About the sister? Can’t we let it go?’ Miller asked eventually.

‘Not until the transport’s airborne. After that it won’t matter.’

‘So all she need do is lie low for a few days and she’ll be out of danger?’

‘Something like that.’

Miller took another mouthful of brandy.

‘Who over here knows about the discovery then?’ he asked.

‘You and me. The defense secretary who’s under the impression that the matter involves Jewish gold. A handful of individuals at the company. The others are all dead and buried.’

‘And soon we’ll be joining them.’

‘It’s ancient history; few people apart from us know what the plane really contains. These new young men don’t appreciate the situation. They’re too naive to understand the need for secrecy. They don’t care if the plane’s story gets out. They might even try to exploit it for other purposes, God help us. They’re fanatics. We mustn’t drag this out – the longer the recovery takes, the more likely it is there’ll be a leak.’

‘When you talk of fanatics . . .’

‘I mean I can’t be sure what they’d do if they knew the role the plane played.’

‘It’s too bad we don’t have the astronauts to deflect the world’s attention this time around.’ Miller smiled wryly.

‘Poor Armstrong. He never had a clue what he was doing in Iceland,’ Carr remarked.

‘He took another giant step for mankind there.’

Miller abruptly changed the subject. Carr had checked his watch and he had the sense that he would soon be leaving.

‘I got to know the Icelanders a little when I was stationed over there in ’45. A baffling nation. They live on this rocky outpost of Europe in the far north of the Atlantic. It’s dark most of the year round and for centuries they lived in dwellings little better than holes in the ground; rocks and peat sods were the only building materials they had to hand. When I was there they were just beginning to emerge from the ground, just starting to build themselves proper houses. Yet despite all that they were a cultured people. Take those brothers, for example – they’d read Milton in Icelandic translation. Knew every word. They’d learnt long passages of
Paradise Lost
by heart.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘There aren’t that many Icelanders in the world. Let’s not reduce their numbers unnecessarily.’

‘I assure you we won’t.’

Miller looked down at the glass in his hand.

‘If I can’t make it to Argentina, will you send him home to me?’

‘As I see it, nothing has changed since we last went over the procedure. It’s only right that he should come back to you.’

‘I keep thinking about the temperatures. It can’t have got above freezing up there in fifty years. If he wasn’t badly injured, he ought to look just as he did. Strange how I can’t stop thinking about it. More as the years go by. It would be like going back in time.’