Frozen Assets (34 page)

The squad car bumped down the track and came to a halt yards from the top of the dock, as another black-suited figure in a helmet stepped in front of it with one hand held up.

‘Who are you?' the figure asked gruffly.

‘I could ask you the same,' Gunna replied. ‘What's going on here?'

‘Who are you? What's your authority?'

‘Gunnhildur Gísladóttir, Hvalvík police. And who might you be?'

The man stepped back and moved quickly in front of the police car, muttering into a microphone built into his helmet. Gunna drummed her fingers on the wheel, gradually losing patience as she could see
Juno Provider
's funnel dribbling smoke at the quayside below.

‘I'm sorry. This is a security zone and I have no authority to let you through.'

‘Don't talk such rubbish. This is a fishmeal factory, not a terrorist cell, now get out of the way, will you?'

Bára's eyes widened as she saw the man swing one shoulder back and push a small machine pistol forward within reach.

‘Gunna, he's got a gun. Who are these guys?'

‘I don't know and I don't like this. This may well be the fast response team we're supposed to be able to call on, and if this fuckwit doesn't get out of the way, I'm going to run the bugger over.'

She put her head out of the window. ‘Hey! Get out of the way, will you?'

The man made no move to step aside and Gunna put the second-best Volvo into gear to let it roll gently forward. The man put a hand on his weapon and reappeared at the car's window.

‘This is a security area and you have no authority,' he repeated in the same grim voice.

‘Look, mate, some of us have work to do. Bára, ring Vilhjálmur, will you, and tell him to call these cowboys off.'

‘You don't have clearance,' the man repeated, head lowered so close to the car's open window that Gunna caught a whiff of his bad breath. Suddenly he shot a hand inside and made a grab for the keys in the ignition. As he did so, Gunna took her foot off the clutch and the car shot forward.

***

HÃ¥rde stiffened. He was sweating under the plastic helmet in spite of the rain and the chill wind. He saw the squad car come hurtling along the quay. The bow rope had already been taken off and he was furiously hand-over-handing it through the fairlead into a coil on the deck. He glanced over his shoulder to see Terje at the bridge window look down at him impassively. The engine roared again and the spring rope tightened as the angle between the ship and the quay increased. The ship strained against the rope and the squad car rolled to a halt on the quayside. HÃ¥rde saw the fat policewoman and a smaller one emerge from the car and stride across the concrete apron of the dock just as the engine noise again died away. The spring rope suddenly fell slack as a second man in black appeared from the shadow of the building that ran the length of the quay.

‘Don't let that rope go, you hear me?' Gunna yelled. The man casually raised the machine pistol slung over his shoulder and trained it on the
Juno Provider
's bridge windows as two more men appeared. Gunna wondered where they were springing from.

The first man waved to the bridge, pointing to indicate that the ship should be brought back alongside, while the other two trained their weapons on the group standing around the mooring lines on its foredeck.

The ship's engines rumbled as the spring tightened again and the ship gently came back to its berth. A gangplank was swung ashore and scraped across the concrete before it came to rest.

On the foredeck, HÃ¥rde was trying to understand what had happened. The fat policewoman had obviously been closer on his tail than he had thought, although he had carefully not underestimated the woman's tenacity.

He looked across the narrowing gap at the trio on the quay and looked directly into the fat policewoman's furious eyes as she lifted one hand and pointed a finger at him like a gun. He saw her turn her attention to the black-clad man.

‘What's going on here?' Gunna demanded.

‘I don't have to say anything. You don't have authority to be on this site. Leave, now, or I'll have you escorted off.'

Boiling with fury, Gunna drew herself up to her full height, and wagged a finger at the man. ‘I've a bloody good mind to have you charged with hindering a police officer in the course of duty. So don't you try lecturing me, sonny. D'you hear me? That man is a wanted criminal and it's my duty to arrest him.'

She pointed at Ha
de, standing motionless on the
Juno Provider
's foredeck with the rest of the crew.

‘Leave the site immediately,' the man repeated.

‘Special Unit, my arse. Bunch of tin soldiers wasting taxpayers' money and getting in the bloody way.'

The man ignored her and shouted up to the ship. ‘All of you, come down the gangway one at a time, slowly.'

The group from the foredeck trooped down nervously, with HÃ¥rde in the middle of the group and Terje bringing up the rear.

‘Who are you?' the man demanded of each one. ‘Which of you is Hårde? And who is the captain?'

Terje stepped forward, and Gunna had to restrain herself from lunging at HÃ¥rde as he stepped out of the group. Even with a gun trained on him, the man radiated a quiet menace that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. The Special Unit officer motioned for two of his men to escort HÃ¥rde while he spoke abruptly to Terje in rapid Norwegian.

As they spoke, a black van appeared from the far end of the fishmeal plant. Hårde took off his plastic helmet and smiled coldly at Gunna and Bára where they stood helplessly glaring at the men with machine pistols cradled nonchalantly in their hands.

Terje hurried back up the gangway to the ship, followed by the rest of the crew, not looking at where HÃ¥rde stood quietly between his escorts. The black van drew up and one of them opened the rear. The
Juno Provider
's gangway was quickly swung aboard and the engines rumbled as the ship again strained at its spring rope.

Gunna watched helplessly while the ugly little ship gracefully swung around. The propeller began to bite as the ship moved forward and around out of the bay.

‘Keep back,' the Special Unit officer warned Gunna and Bára as they watched Hårde taking a seat in the van, still with two guns covering him. As the doors slammed shut, the officer slapped the side twice and it pulled away along the quay before he turned to face Gunna.

‘Where the hell are you taking that bastard? Have you any idea who that man is or what he's done?' she raged.

‘I'm following orders. I can't comment,' the man replied in an expressionless voice.

‘What orders?'

‘No comment.'

‘Look here, that man is a known criminal and wanted in connection with three murders. On what authority have you detained him?' she demanded, wagging a finger under the man's nose. Bára held her breath, keenly aware that the man still had a gun in his hand.

‘I can't tell you anything. I don't have to answer any questions.'

The finger wagging under the man's nose became an open palm and Gunna suddenly gave the man's chest a shove that took him by surprise. He stepped back quickly, trying to keep his balance, but his heel caught the bollard on the quayside and he toppled backwards, spread his arms wide for a moment and was gone.

Gunna peered over the edge at the man treading water far below her.

‘Can you swim, mate?' she called down to the man glaring balefully up at her, but he said nothing.

‘There's a ladder up there,' Gunna said, pointing along the quay to where a set of weed-covered iron rungs emerged from the water.

‘Well, Bára, I think it might be best if we were off. Special Unit seems to have everything under control here.'

The second-best Volvo juddered along the dock to the end where the first black-clad man was sitting on a pile of pallets, nursing the elbow of the arm that had been inside the car when Gunna put her foot down.

‘All right, chum?' Gunna called, leaning out of the window and slowing down as she approached him. The man glowered back at her, but said nothing.

‘You might want to go and give your pal a hand,' she said, jerking a thumb behind her in the direction of the empty quayside. ‘He went for a swim.'

36

Sunday, 5 October

05-10-2008, 1252

Skandalblogger writes:

Ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls and those of you who haven't made up your minds yet . . .

So, what has been happening behind the scenes at Glitnir? For just how long has the Icelandic financial sector been doing the big business equivalent of using its Mastercard to pay its Visa bills?

Children, Skandalblogger has been harping on about the shortcomings of our great leaders for long enough for us to be able to say . . . told you so! But we won't. Let's just say that now things start to look genuinely serious, Geir and his pals in Parliament had better do something right for a change.

Some people just don't get any luckier, do they? Just as Bjarni Jón Environment was about to be hung out to dry for getting caught in the act, Glitnir goes tits-up, the economy's suddenly on its knees and the PM decides government needs to show strength. So BJB's still in a job, his sins swept under the carpet until such time as the present brouhaha blows over, by which time it'll all be loooong forgotten. Still, at least the fragrant Sigurjóna's back in business, even though staff at Spearpoint are taking bets on how long she'll tough it out now she's not the boss any longer and her trademark tantrums are off the menu.

As it happens, word has reached your faithful Skandalblogger that BJB has already been putting it about, passing an old adversary a titbit of advice to oil the wheels of justice. There's nothing like making a real problem into someone else's problem to cheer up a chap who's just been handed a shit sandwich for lunch.

So keep up the good work!

37

Monday, 6 October

Gunna wondered how she could complete her report honestly and contemplated telling the unvarnished truth of how the men in the black van had spirited HÃ¥rde away.

She could still see the man's clear blue eyes gazing directly into hers a second before the doors of the van slammed shut. Gunna frowned and put the computer in front of her to sleep.

‘Snorri!'

‘Yes, chief?'

‘I'm going out. Might be a while. Look after the place, will you?'

‘Will do.'

Outside the breeze off the sea brought the fresh tang of seaweed with it. It was going to be a windy night, maybe the first proper storm of winter, she decided, settling into the second-best Volvo.

She went home first and scoured Gísli's and Laufey's bedrooms for unwashed clothes before bundling the results into the washing machine. She scouted around the living room, picked up glasses and cups and washed them up, leaving them to drain, thinking hard all the while, wondering how long Gísli and Laufey would want to stay at home.

She took the second-best Volvo for a tour round the village, noticing a few badly parked cars here and there, a broken window at the back of the old fish plant and the station's other car where Haddi had parked outside Palli Jakobsson's workshop.

The InterAlu compound on the far side of the harbour area was closed up. She was astonished at how quickly everything had been wound up. On Saturday all the heavy machinery had been trucked away and on Sunday the shipping containers that housed the site offices and bunkrooms had been collected by the same fleet of trucks. It was already as if the site had been derelict for months. Gunna walked along the chain link fence facing the road and back at the gate she rattled the heavy lock. Although a sign warned that the site was patrolled by fierce dogs, she knew it was deserted, construction halted before it had got beyond concreting the huge foundations.

She contemplated driving out of the village through Sléttudalur to the deserted Lagoon site, but decided against it, and took the other direction instead.

By the ‘Thank you for driving carefully' sign, Gunna put her foot down as the heavy car enjoyed the upward slope out of the village towards the heath. Rolling into Keflavík, she went straight to the police station.

‘Hi, Bjössi.'

Bjössi was lounging in the doorway with a cigarette in one hand and a mug in the other. ‘Ah, Gunna. Congratulations.'

‘On what?'

‘Your bank.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Don't you listen to the news? Glitnir's been bailed out and nationalized by the government. That makes Glitnir a state-owned bank, hence owned by the taxpayer, so that's you and me.'

‘When did this happen?' Gunna asked, mystified.

‘On the news just now.'

‘Bloody hell. That'll put the cat among the pigeons.'

They stood in silence for a while. Eventually Bjössi ground the stub of his cigarette under his heel and stretched. ‘Apart from that, Vilhjálmur's not here any more.'

‘What?'

‘That's right. Officially, he's on sick leave.'

‘But the man's as fit as a flea,' Gunna protested.

‘I know. That's what's puzzling about it.' Bjössi grinned.

‘So who's in charge here now?'

‘Beats me. I suppose Halli Stefáns is the senior man now, or else the top man himself.'

‘The Sheriff?'

‘Yup,' Bjössi confirmed, gulping from his mug.

‘Is he in?'

‘Think so. Why? Got something to discuss, have you?'

‘Mind your own business.'

Upstairs, Gunna waited until the County Sheriff's secretary smiled and ushered her into his office. This time the Sheriff wore a suit instead of the faded jeans and polo shirt he had been in the last time they met.

‘Ah, Gunnhildur. I was going to ask you to come and have a chat,' he said with a broad smile.

‘That's good, because I need a word with you as well.'

His expression instantly became serious. ‘I can't tell you everything. I'm truly sorry about the incident when our man, er, eluded you.'

‘I'd have had the bastard if those toy soldiers hadn't got in the bloody way,' she said with more anger in her voice than she had intended.

The Sheriff looked embarrassed. ‘As I said, I'm sorry. What I can tell you is that there was interference at the last moment from much higher up. Special Unit wasn't deployed on my authority. I can't say much more than that, except that the men you encountered were not a regular squad.'

‘Was this done to make sure Hårde got away? To save some big shots from a lot of embarrassment?'

The Sheriff nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘This was taken out of my hands, and then handed straight back.'

‘Was it that National Commissioner's dogsbody?'

‘No. Certainly not. This came from . . .' He lifted a hand and pointed upwards.

‘From God?' Gunna asked sharply.

The Sheriff laughed humourlessly. ‘No. But not far off. I don't know the full story either.'

‘Fair enough. I suppose it'll leak out eventually, around the time I come up for retirement.'

‘Ah, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.' The Sheriff smiled.

‘Retirement? Yes, please.'

‘No, not quite. It's this posting to Egilstadir.'

Gunna opened her mouth to speak.

‘It's just that Ívar Laxdal was asking after you earlier,' the Sheriff continued. ‘Of course I couldn't say anything, as you hadn't made a decision.'

‘Go on,' Gunna said encouragingly.

‘I think you'd better speak to him yourself.'

The door opened as he knocked and Kolbeinn the juggler's face broke into a grin as he saw Skúli on the doorstep.

‘Come in, there're a few of us here, so you'd better join in,' he said happily.

In the flat's large living room, with its big picture window giving a magnificent view over the brooding mountain of Esja and Faxaflói Bay, a group of people lounged on chairs and sofas. Photographs from the march had been blown up and pasted across one wall and Skúli could see one of Kolbeinn in his juggler's outfit in the centre. Music played quietly in the background and a TV on the table had the 24/7 News channel running with the sound turned down. Everyone had a bottle or a glass in hand. Skúli recognized a few familiar faces around the room, including Lára sitting in a wicker chair in the corner, and wondered if the broad grin on her face was directed his way in particular.

‘I'm sorry, have I interrupted a party?' Skúli mumbled apologetically.

‘It would be a party if things didn't look so grim. It's just a little celebration now that the Hvalvík Lagoon project has been parked.'

Skúli felt suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Look, Kolli, I don't have much time. Could we talk quietly for a minute? Is that OK?'

Kolbeinn still had the grin on his face. ‘Come in here,' he said, stepping out into the hall, crowded with shoes and boots, and into the little kitchen. He lifted himself up and sat on the worktop while Skúli took the only chair and spread his notebook on the table.

‘So, what's your take on all this?' Skúli asked.

‘A victory for us.'

‘In what way?'

‘In that InterAlu have pulled out and the Hvalvík smelter has been put on hold.'

‘Surely this was all due to the banking crisis and ESC being insolvent?'

Kolbeinn shrugged. ‘So? It's had the right result.'

A knock at the front door echoed inside the kitchen and Kolbeinn looked up, waiting for someone from the living room to answer it. When nobody made a move, he slid down from the worktop.

‘Just a moment. I'll be right back.'

‘Hi, great you could come,' Skúli heard Kolbeinn greeting the person at the door, followed by footsteps in the hall as they made their way to the living room. He caught a glimpse of a sober business suit and sensible shoes as the woman passed the kitchen door with Kolbeinn behind her.

‘Here she is!' Kolbeinn announced, and a cheer erupted from the group. Skúli wondered who it was and returned to his notebook.

‘Sorry about that. They're making so much noise in there that they can't hear when someone knocks on the door,' Kolbeinn apologized, hauling himself back to his seat on the worktop. ‘Where were we?'

‘InterAlu, Spearpoint, ESC.'

‘Yeah. Well, the smelter was never really our main target. We've focused on the whole issue of these foreign aluminium plants that do nothing for the environment and precious little for the economy, except to keep it at boiling point. In real terms they offer less employment than, say, a shoe factory or something like that.'

‘All right, you've made the case against aluminium. What was it about this particular site?'

‘You know as well as I do.'

‘But I need to hear it from you.'

‘Man, where do I begin? There's just so much to be up in arms against. There's the crooked Minister channelling lucrative contracts to his friends and his wife's company, setting up ESC and then making sure it gets a whole heap of public subsidy before being floated on the stock market. That was a great story, actually, and it was your colleague who broke that one.'

‘But what about the Hvalvík Lagoon power plant?'

‘That was the big one. Setting up a privately run power generation plant and taking protected status away from part of a national park to do it was just too much to be ignored. You know, Skúli? There is something you could delve into.'

‘Which is?'

The smile fell from Kolbeinn's face. ‘Two of our closest collaborators were murdered in the last year and the perpetrator has never been caught.'

‘The Norwegian guy?'

‘That's him. The policewoman from Hvalvík was right behind him but she was prevented from making an arrest. We have it on very good authority that a unit was deployed on orders direct from the Ministry, and actively prevented the police from arresting this man.'

‘You're sure?

Kolbeinn nodded again.

‘Bjarni Jón? Higher up?'

‘Lárus Jóhann.'

‘But why?'

‘God. Can you imagine the uproar if it came to court? There's so much shit that would have come out that it couldn't happen. So he was quietly deported,' Kolbeinn said.

‘I see,' Skúli replied dubiously, wondering if this might be close to the truth or a wild conspiracy story.

‘You don't believe me, do you?' Kolbeinn asked, his eyes gleaming maliciously.

‘Well . . .'

‘I can tell you right now that a slimmed-down Spearpoint will be up and running again tomorrow as if nothing had ever happened.'

‘You're sure? How can you know?'

Kolbeinn tapped the side of his nose in a theatrical gesture. ‘Find out what your boss is doing today.'

‘You mean Rich Golli?' Skúli asked.

‘Both of them.'

‘You reckon Golli's going to be bailing Sigurjóna out?'

‘It's a done deal. Sigurjóna didn't have much room to manoeuvre. So she's not a happy lady right now, especially as her husband's also moved out.'

‘Really? Where to?'

‘You need to keep up with the gossip, Skúli,' Kolbeinn admonished. ‘Officially, they're living together, but separated. Unofficially, he's shacked up with a political science doctoral student who probably sees him as a fast-track ticket to somewhere or other.'

Suddenly, Skúli felt that he ought to be on his way back to
Dagurinn
's office, and he stood up, shutting his notebook.

‘Check in with me tomorrow,' Kolbeinn told him as he showed him to the door. ‘You'll see.'

Walking away from Kolbeinn's flat, he stopped dead in his tracks and almost turned on his heel to go back, remembering that the last time he had seen the woman in the sober suit and sensible shoes she had been sitting at the Minister's side.