Cold Breath (Gunnhildur Mystery Book 7)

by Quentin Bates

  The chestnut mane was alluringly disarrayed, as usual whenever Sif Strand was photographed in public, but he was unprepared for her sheer presence and height as she looked down at him, her face a question.

  ‘Skúli?’

  ‘That’s me. We spoke earlier,’ he said, trying to sound detached.

  ‘Cool. This way.’

  ‘You work here?’ he asked as he followed her along a corridor, squeezing past racks of clothes that were lined up along its length.

  ‘Sometimes. When I’m needed to help out,’ Sif said, turning to glance at him. ‘My sister owns this place and she thinks I can drop everything and help out just like that.’

  She snapped her fingers to illustrate the point and swung open a door that squealed on its hinges.

  ‘Now. What do you want to know?’ Sif draped herself across a chair, her endless golden legs elegantly crossed. ‘You work for what? Pulse?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m one of the news team.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t do fashion stuff? Too highbrow for that kind of thing.’

  Skúli fumbled in his pocket and took out his phone, looking for the text message Lars had sent him a few days earlier.

  ‘This guy,’ he said, turning his phone around to show her. ‘You’ve met this guy. That’s who I’m looking for.’

  Sif’s face froze.

  ‘Who are you? You’re not from some fucking scandal sheet, are you?’

  ‘Seen & Heard?’ Skúli replied and tried to smile. ‘No, far from it. I’m tracking this man’s whereabouts and I understand he’s keeping a very low profile.’

  ‘You’re not going to mention me anywhere, are you? Because if you do . . .’

  ‘If I do, what?’ Skúli asked, stung at the crude threat.

  ‘I’ll make your life hell,’ Sif leaned forward and hissed. ‘Now tell me why you’re really here.’

  Skúli shrugged. ‘Like I said, I’m trying to find out what this man is doing in Iceland, and I have it on good authority that you know him quite well.’ He looked into sharp eyes that stared back at him angrily. ‘Or so I’m told.’

  Ívar Laxdal blew on his fingers as he stamped slush from his boots and banged the door behind him, handing her a bag that smelled enticing.

  ‘Locked it?’ Gunna asked without looking up as he took off his coat, dropping it and a pile of newspapers onto a chair.

  ‘Both locks.’

  He shook the Thermos to check if there was coffee in it and poured himself a mug.

  ‘It’s only damned well snowing,’ he grumbled. ‘That’s all we need.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. I can’t imagine any bad guys will want to sneak up on the place in a blizzard.’

  ‘One should never underestimate an opponent,’ Ívar Laxdal said, coughing as the steam from his coffee hit his throat. ‘Good. Any joy with the CCTV?’ he asked with little hope in his voice.

  ‘Actually, yes,’ Gunna said, turning and grinning at him. She nodded her head towards the bedroom. ‘You’d better come and have a look. And bear in mind that I’ve been staring at these faces all morning, so I’m not as wide awake as I’d like to be.’

  She scrolled back through the raw footage to find the time-stamp, and set it to run as Ívar Laxdal sat and gazed intently at the screen. The picture was remarkably clear, capturing passengers walking along the passageway that would take them through the airport terminal.

  She could hear Ívar Laxdal’s heavy breathing at her shoulder as he peered at the screen with an intensity that furrowed his brows. On the screen a queue of people shuffled towards the desks, passports in hands, bags over shoulders, sweltering in heavy coats. The vaguely unreal images seemed somehow clearer than reality. Ívar Laxdal fumbled in his pocket, taking out his rarely worn spectacles and jamming them on the end of his nose without taking his eyes off the computer.

  ‘There,’ Gunna said, slowing the replay and then stopping it as a pair of bright eyes under tousled pale hair flashed past the camera lens, framed between two other impatiently waiting passengers. ‘I reckon that’s him.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘It was a late flight, last Monday.’

  ‘Monday? You’re sure? Osman arrived in Iceland on Thursday night.’

  ‘Ívar, of course I’m sure,’ Gunna said with a measure of disapproval. ‘I’ve checked and double-checked. He arrived on a flight from Amsterdam. He was here four days before Osman, so they knew he was coming here well before we did. So how did they know and have time to prepare?’

  Ívar Laxdal was busily jotting down times and flight numbers in his hardback notebook.

  ‘Amsterdam. Right. Leave it with me. I’ll have the flight checked out and see what else we can dig up on this man.’

  ‘Who’s doing that?’

  ‘Birna and Úlfur are handling that side of it. But I can go straight to airport security for this.’ Ívar Laxdal took off his glasses and folded them as a humourless smile crossed his lips. ‘Steinunn wants this handled by the Security Unit, not by us plods.’

  ‘It’s a stupid question, maybe,’ Gunna sighed, jerking her head towards Osman’s partially open door, ‘but how long is this going to go on?’

  ‘At the initial briefing it was a week. Now, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘I was under the impression that this was to be a couple of days, and then I’d be able to sew on my chief inspector’s star.’

  ‘That’s what I was hoping for as well. I’m down one of my best officers at the moment and I could do with her back. I’ve told Steinunn that either this is the National Security Unit’s baby or it’s ours, but she more or less told me to wind my neck in and do as I’m told. You’re getting frustrated out here?’

  ‘Not yet, but it’s not far off. I haven’t seen my bloke for a week, and I think it’s the first time we’ve been apart that long since . . . But the really frustrating thing is that I should be banging on doors, not sat here as a glorified housekeeper.’

  Ívar Laxdal scowled and shook his head. ‘This is your assignment. I can’t bring in anyone from outside.’

  ‘Maybe Birna could come and wash his underwear for a day or two? Or Úlfur?’

  ‘Let me see what I can arrange. But don’t be too hopeful. Steinunn wants him watched like a hawk,’ he said. ‘Speaking of which, Osman is due at the ministry at two, and has a tour of Parliament at three, before we bring him back here. That’s assuming Steinunn is still a minister by then. She’s seeing the PM later and I’d love to be a fly on the wall when that conversation takes place. The opposition has been calling for her to resign and even the press that normally supports the government is turning against her.’

  ‘We’d best get Osman fed and ready, then.’ Gunna sighed. ‘It’s almost like having a small child again. But first, hold the fort for ten minutes, will you, while I take a quick shower? You being here will discourage our guest from accidentally bumping into me when I’m wrapped in a towel.’

  Osman took Steinunn’s hands in his own. Gunna wondered if he was going to kiss them.

  ‘So happy you found time to see me, Steinunn,’ he said, his voice a deep purr. ‘I know how busy you must be.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I have forty minutes before I have to leave to see the Prime Minister,’ Steinunn said. ‘I really would like you to explain a few things for me before I see him.’

  She gestured towards a deep sofa at one end of her office.

  ‘Leave us, would you?’ she said curtly. ‘Give us twenty minutes.’

  Steinunn’s new adviser hesitated and looked ready to protest, but then nodded, quickly shepherding Ívar Laxdal and Gunna from the minister’s presence.

  ‘Let’s leave them to it, shall we?’

  ‘You’re going to give us a cup of coffee and tell us what’s really happening, are you?’ Gunna suggested.

  ‘Coffee I can do. Reality I’m not so good at,’ he said. ‘By the way, I’m Matthías, parachuted in to take Valgeir’s place in the hot seat,’ he added, striding along the corridor u
ntil he found an unoccupied office and closed the door behind them.

  ‘I imagine you already know who we are and you’ve done some homework on Osman?’ Ívar Laxdal said.

  ‘I have. Valgeir gave me a run-down. I’ve also read what Pulse had to say about the minister’s friend.’

  ‘So where do we stand?’ Gunna broke in. ‘Do we have any idea what’s happening?’

  Matthías lifted a couple of thermos flasks on a sideboard until he found the one that wasn’t empty.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on in there right now. She’s under a heap of pressure at the moment and Osman isn’t her priority.’

  ‘What is?’ Gunna asked.

  ‘One is Kyle McCombie and the public meetings he’s been holding, plus the Patriot Party that seems to have burst into existence overnight. Osman is number three for the moment, but he might shoot up to the top of the list once Steinunn has seen the PM.’

  ‘Patriot Party?’ Gunna asked. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been living under a rock for the last week and I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Matthías shrugged. ‘It didn’t exist until two days ago, and as far as I can see it exists mainly on social media. You know how these bubbles pop up and then disappear. The concern is that this might become a bubble that doesn’t disappear.’

  ‘Some kind of extremist movement?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Pretty much. A nationalistic soapbox for people with anti-immigrant, pro-white views. The same as we’ve seen pop up in other countries. We just have to wait and see if it develops beyond Facebook into something tangible.’

  ‘What are the odds?’ Ívar Laxdal asked.

  ‘No idea,’ Matthías said after a moment’s thought. ‘It could be a flash in the pan that disappears as quickly as it began, and dies away now that McCombie has left the country and his sidekick leaves tonight.’

  ‘Or it could become a movement that brings all the nutcases out into the open,’ Gunna suggested. ‘Do they all deserve a secret file like the lefties do?’

  She reflected that Matthías’s expression had nothing friendly or funny about it.

  ‘Well, I’m fairly new. I only jumped in to cover for Valgeir at short notice,’ he said with a smile that was even more wintry than before. ‘But I’ve had a pretty in-depth briefing from the National Security Unit.’

  ‘The terrible twins?’ Ívar Laxdal asked.

  ‘That’s them,’ Matthías said, and this time there was a spark of humour in his grin. ‘I have as much of the picture on Osman as they have, and they’ve brought me up to speed on the Children of Freedom. So I’m probably better informed on all this than Steinunn is right now.’

  ‘Or ever will be,’ Gunna said, and immediately regretted her words as Ívar Laxdal scowled at her.

  ‘It appears that the reason for McCombie’s visit to Iceland was primarily to meet Osman. The meeting and the media noise is a sideshow that we expect to fizzle out,’ Matthías said. ‘They had a meeting at the Vatnsmýri Hotel, as you know.’

  ‘Of course. I was there,’ Gunna said.

  ‘McCombie and the Children of Freedom are putting four million dollars into a venture that Osman is organizing.’

  ‘What?’ Ívar Laxdal demanded. ‘How do you know this? Does Steinunn know?’

  A wry smile flashed across the adviser’s face before he replied.

  ‘There was a listening device under the table, and I’ve listened to the recording of the entire conversation. We know exactly what they agreed. Four million dollars goes to White Sickle, and Osman’s people will ensure that a shipment of arms and ammunition reaches a particular militia. The agreement was “the usual route”, so while we don’t know what route that is, we can conclude that this isn’t the first time.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Gunna said. ‘This isn’t legal, surely? How did you manage to bug the right table at the hotel?’

  ‘Of course it’s not legal,’ Matthías said with brusque impatience. ‘But this isn’t the kind of evidence that’s going to end up in court, so let’s just say it’s vital information even though it’s not legally admissible. As for the table, well, it wasn’t possible to be sure where they would sit, so your colleagues had a listening device under every table in the room, plus one in his room. Just in case. The other material has been wiped, even though some of it would have been very interesting if I were a divorce lawyer.’

  ‘Hell,’ Ívar Laxdal swore under his breath. ‘Does the PM know about this?’

  ‘He will before Steinunn gets to his office.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘She’s going to have to make a choice,’ Matthias said as his phone buzzed discreetly. He glanced at it and stood up. ‘Steinunn,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Ana longed to sleep for another hour. She could feel the soreness in her eyes even before she’d opened them. She willed herself to get out of bed, not silencing the insistent buzzing from the phone until she had pulled on clothes and was sure she was awake.

  Michel was dozing on the sofa and opened his eyes as she appeared.

  ‘Coffee,’ Ana muttered, heading for the bathroom.

  She returned refreshed and alert to find the percolator spluttering and Michel with a questioning look on his face.

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘I need to check our boy’s whereabouts. But it looks like we’re disengaging, with or without a result.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Tonight. You’ll be travelling home tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I thought I was going to be stuck in this place for ever.’

  He lifted an eyebrow as Ana took out the smartphone and waited for it to come to life.

  ‘I thought . . .’ he began.

  ‘Yeah. I know what you’re going to say,’ she interrupted.

  ‘No, I was just going to say I wondered how you always seemed to know where he is.’

  ‘Only some of the time. It took a while to figure it out, but our guess is that there’s a jamming system at the house, so we can only tap into his phone when he’s away from there and it connects to a phone network.’

  She peered at the screen, zoomed in on the map to identify the blue dot’s position and nodded to herself.

  ‘He’s on the move,’ she said, to herself rather than to Michel. ‘He’s not far away, but out of reach.’

  ‘You mean he’s at the police station?’ Michel said with a bark of laughter.

  ‘Somewhere even more secure than that. It looks like he’s in the Parliament building. That’s probably about as safe as he can be anywhere. Until he leaves,’ she said. ‘So we’ll watch him come back, see what happens, and wait in case the plans change again.’

  Matthías was back quickly, with a grim look on his chiselled face.

  ‘Problem?’ Gunna asked.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough. There’s a security alert at Hotel Vatnsmýri. I’m not sure what it is, but the Special Unit’s there,’ he said. ‘That’s the Special Unit guys we have left who aren’t already watching Einholt.’

  ‘No idea what’s going on?’

  ‘No. But it’s serious. A fatality as far as I can make out, and a whole floor of the place has been closed off completely.’ A bleak smile crossed his face. ‘I expect you could find out more quickly than I could,’ he said.

  Ívar Laxdal got to his feet and walked over to the window, muttering into the microphone of his communicator.

  ‘And our friend?’ Gunna asked.

  ‘Ah. You have an hour to relax,’ Matthías said and shook the Thermos on the table again to check how much coffee was left in it. ‘He’s gone over to Parliament with a couple of the ministry people. Your colleague Úlfur and the guy from Brussels are with them.’

  ‘It would be perfect if he were to come to grief just as I’ve put my feet up.’

  ‘I think you’ve done enough already, Gunnhildur,’ Matthías said with a look of respect in his eyes that told her he had heard about the intruder at Einholt.
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  Ívar Laxdal sat down heavily and took his earpiece out, scowling with frustration.

  ‘One fatality on the eighth floor of the airline hotel. The deceased is a foreign national. That’s all I can get out of them. Every officer in the city is there, apart from us.’

  ‘Murder?’ Gunna asked.

  Ívar Laxdal shrugged.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I know,’ he said. ‘Osman’s over at Parliament, so where’s the minister?’

  Matthías’s bleak smile returned.

  ‘She’s with the PM. So I guess we’ll find out in half an hour or so if she’s still a minister.’

  Hanne crunched through the frozen grass outside the hospital, wrapped in her thoughts. Yesterday had been bitterly cold but clear. Today there was a breath of warmth in the air, as if winter was thinking about giving way to spring, but not right away.

  They had been through Blönduós before, spending the night in the campsite in the middle of the little town. On the way out, they had passed the hospital on the outskirts without realizing what it was, or knowing that many of its facilities had been shut down and shifted to Akureyri in the north or to the Reykjavík hospitals.

  Clouds had settled on the mountains in the distance, low and heavy, the grey merging with the grey water of the bay beyond the town, little more than a village as far as Hanne could see.

  She clenched her fists in their thick woollen gloves and strode across the road, looking both ways and not seeing a car anywhere in sight.

  ‘I’m looking for the police station,’ she said to the first person she encountered in the civic offices. It hadn’t been a long walk – not long enough for her to change her mind and go back to the hospital.

  ‘Through there,’ the man said with a bleak smile, pointing a finger. ‘I’m not sure there’s anyone there right now. But you might be in luck.’

  Hanne pushed open the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi.’ The police officer who had hurried her into the ambulance the day before gave her a welcoming grin. ‘How’s Carsten?’

  ‘He’s very weak and he’s not happy. He’s had a huge fright,’ she said. ‘We’ve both had a huge fright. But he’s alive.’