The light flickered while the image on the wall zoomed in and grew sharper. Tom stared up at the glowing square. The footage had been recorded in a small room whose walls were covered with a shiny material that looked like thick tinfoil. From the ceiling hung a lightbulb, which kept coming on and going off. The light was naked and sharp. At times it would be dark for only a few seconds. At other times for longer. It switched constantly between light and dark in an unstable rhythm. A small, dark-haired girl sat in the middle of the room. She disappeared from the wall and returned with the light. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, but she was wearing tights. Her upper body was covered by a green coat that was wrapped tightly around her. She was clutching a dark knitted woollen hat, pressing it against her face as if it were a teddy bear. She was nibbling at the hat. Her eyes were closed.
‘What’s this?’ Tom shouted. His voice broke. ‘Why the hell are you showing me this?’
Tom saw how the girl’s body jerked whenever the light came on. When it went off everything grew dark around him, as it did with her.
‘For God’s sake,’ Tom said in a hoarse voice. ‘Stop it!’
The film carried on monotonously.
Tom slammed both hands onto the floor. ‘Stop it now!’
The film and the light went out, and the darkness settled closely around him once more. He gasped for air and turned around quickly. The light began to spread from the wall again. Grainy and flickering. It was the same room as before. The shiny metal walls. The glowing lightbulb that segmented everything into moments of light and darkness. The girl was curled up in the corner with her hat pressed against her mouth. Her hair was more matted than in the first clip. Her tights were stained. Tom got up and took a few steps towards the wall with the flickering film.
At that same moment the camera making the recording started moving towards the curled-up girl. The light continued to blink erratically. Disappearing. Returning. Disappearing. The girl flinched. She was shaking. The camera moved very close to her and a hand reached out and snatched the hat from her.
Tom roared in anger and slammed his right hand into the wall just below the film.
The girl’s mouth opened and it looked as if she was screaming. She hid her face. Her hands were trembling. Her lips nibbled the skin on one of her hands.
Tom ran towards to door and banged on the iron surface, but nothing happened. ‘What sort of person are you?’ he shouted. ‘Let her go, for pity’s sake…Let her go…I promise to help you…But please just let her go.’
The shrill noises of the intercom interrupted him. ‘Can I get you some popcorn?’
‘Stop the damn film,’ Tom shouted.
The buzzing sound of the intercom disappeared. The film carried on playing. The little girl was still curled up and pressing herself against the wall. She was shivering. More time had passed. Her hair was even messier and more matted, and her tights were gone. Her legs were naked and filthy.
Tom’s heart was pounding and his whole body was shaking too. He was breathing in short gasps. He made himself watch. He could see a little of the girl’s face. She couldn’t be more than ten years old. Inuit. She was sucking her hand and there were traces of dried tears down her cheeks.
Tom ran to the door, where he picked up the bucket and hurled it up against the ceiling. It hit the concrete with a hollow metallic sound, and his own urine rained down onto the floor. He picked up the bucket and flung it at the ceiling again. This time the bucket hit the lightbulb, which scattered in a shower of tiny shards.
‘So do you want her to die?’ The intercom crackled. ‘Do you want the girl to die, Tom?’
Tom picked up the bucket again and scanned the cell in order to spot the intercom in the dusty glow of light from the film.
The film stopped and all light disappeared. He let the bucket sink to the floor.
‘That’s right, Tom,’ the voice went on. ‘You decide if little Najak here lives or dies…Just as you decide if Matthew dies. Put down the bucket so we can get started.’
Tom let go of the bucket and stared around at the darkness. He was no longer sure that the voice belonged to Abelsen.
Once again a bright, dust-filled beam of light illuminated the room. The square on the wall flickered. The girl was still sitting in the erratic light. Her hair was messy. Filthy. More tangled. She wasn’t wearing any underwear now. Her whole body was shaking. Neither the light nor the darkness seemed to affect her closed eyelids. Her hands were pressed against her mouth and nose. Her face was grimy from tears.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Tom hissed angrily into the air. His fists were clenched, his veins bulging under his skin.
The room fell dark again and the intercom crackled above him. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
The film looped back to the start. Najak was dressed, with clean hair.
16
FÆRINGEHAVN, WEST GREENLAND, 25 MARCH 1990
The light from the movie didn’t come back. Tom didn’t know how much time had passed. He estimated that the short film clips went for about an hour before they restarted. The same clips were shown again and again.
Tom had tried and failed to keep track of how long the film had been playing. It might have been a day, maybe two.
He pulled the blanket over his head. It was dark now. Deep, black darkness. For the first time in hours, days possibly, his eyes could rest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something to drink. His lips felt cracked and his neck and throat hurt when he moved his tongue.
He tried to sit up but he couldn’t. His arms were limp, his body weary and sore. The back of his head and neck were pounding. His body was starting to stink.
He screamed when the light in the room came on again. Another lightbulb. He screamed again and raised a hand to his face. His arm hurt as he moved it.
He turned over onto his side and looked along the floor. The upended bucket lay close to the door, and thin, curved shards of glass from the smashed lightbulb were scattered in the middle of the cell. His eyes began to close. They stung behind the eyelids, but he couldn’t sleep; he hadn’t slept since before the killings.
The howl of the intercom returned. ‘So, Tom, how are you doing?’
Tom rolled onto his back. He couldn’t speak. He tried to organise his thoughts.
‘Isn’t it about time we moved on?’ the voice continued.
It sounded like Abelsen. Tom nodded.
‘I can’t hear you?’
Tom slowly raised one arm. ‘Yes.’
The intercom buzzed for a few minutes before falling silent. Soon afterwards the door opened.
‘Jesus,’ Abelsen exclaimed. ‘Did you piss all over the place?’
Tom shook his head. He didn’t have the energy to respond.
Abelsen looked down at Tom. ‘Are you able to stand up?’
‘Yes,’ Tom croaked. ‘Water…’
‘Water?’ Abelsen echoed, looking down at the full half-litre bottle by the door. He picked it up and placed it in Tom’s hand. ‘Drink some and then come with me. This place stinks.’
‘Okay…’ With difficulty Tom managed to push himself up so that he could rest on his elbow. He emptied the bottle before collapsing back onto the floor. His empty stomach churned and he nearly blacked out. He felt the urge to throw up, but fought it. He swallowed the saliva that welled up in his mouth and forced the nausea back down his throat.
‘I’m going…I’m going to throw up…if I stand up…’ Tom panted in short, wheezing gasps.
Abelsen picked up the bucket and placed it upside down so that he could sit on it. ‘Tom, we need to move on, don’t we?’
Tom nodded. Inside his turmoil of nausea and exhaustion he had tried to find a way out of this nightmare, but there was none.
‘We’ll carry on,’ Tom said in a resigned voice, and took a few breaths. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’ He fixed his gaze on Abelsen. ‘And you stay away from Matthew…and you let the little girl go. What kind of a sick person are you?’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Abelsen said.
‘Who is the girl?’ Tom continued. ‘You can’t do that to a child. Shit…If I…’ He clutched his stomach and grimaced.
‘Relax, Tom,’ Abelsen said. ‘You haven’t got the strength to get worked up. If you keep your end of the deal, I’ll keep mine; it’s as simple as that. But if you even think of double-crossing me…’ He paused and his eyes swept around the room. ‘Then you’ll be back here.’
‘I won’t fail you,’ Tom panted. ‘Just leave the children alone.’
Abelsen slapped his thighs energetically as he nodded. ‘Right, time to shop. I’ll get you some paper and a pencil so you can make a list of everything you need…And I mean everything; we’ll be starting from scratch here, but I can get you anything you want.’
‘I’ll make a list,’ Tom said.
‘You must be hungry,’ Abelsen said, taking out a small bag. ‘I brought you some rye bread.’
Tom reached for the bag.
Abelsen shook his head and broke a chunk off the bread. He tossed it to Tom, who stuffed it into his mouth.
‘But first I need to tell you a bit about this place,’ Abelsen said, tossing another chunk of bread to Tom. ‘Because you’re not alone out here.’
Tom wolfed down the second piece of bread and looked at Abelsen. ‘You mean you live here?’
‘No, I only make the occasional visit,’ Abelsen said. ‘I was referring to Bárdur, who lives here with his family.’
‘What’s a guy from the Faroe Islands doing here?’ Tom said. ‘Just give me that damn bread.’
Abelsen broke off another chunk and chucked it at Tom. ‘Yes, Bárdur is the last Faroese left in this place—except that he doesn’t live above ground in the abandoned town, but down here in the corridors in his own little world.’ Abelsen let out a short laugh. ‘He has built it all himself…I mean, the bunker was already here, but everything else is down to him. He dragged furniture down here and made himself comfortable…He has done a really good job.’
‘Can I have some more water?’
‘Yes, in a moment, Tom.’ Abelsen cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been looking after Bárdur since he was a boy. His father was killed in Nuuk in 1973, and when people started to leave Færingehavn, I took care of the boy.’
Tom looked at Abelsen’s narrow face. The thin, pale lips and the black eyes.
Abelsen tossed the rest of the rye bread onto the floor. ‘By the mid-eighties only Bárdur was living here, and it was about that time he set up his underworld. After all, the people who moved away left all their belongings behind, and it’s easy for a big guy like Bárdur to lug stuff down here…And when he fancied getting himself a girlfriend one day, I found him one and brought her out here.’
Tom looked up. He was still chewing the last mouthful of bread. ‘Someone actually chose to live here?’
‘You don’t know much about life in Greenland, do you?’ Abelsen said with a wry smile. ‘Bárdur grew up in a tiny, remote community of deeply religious Faroese immigrants. It was another time, not like today. Corporal punishment and Bible school were par for the course. Apart from that, the lad hasn’t had much education, but he has seen his world slowly collapse as he grew up. The fishing died out and the money disappeared with it…and then his father was killed. Bárdur is a very simple man, but good to those he trusts.’
‘Like you?’
‘Yes,’ Abelsen said with a light shrug. ‘I’m probably the only one.’
Tom managed to shift himself into a sitting position. He briefly closed his eyes and pulled a face. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘For two reasons,’ Abelsen said with a cold smile. ‘Number one. I intend to use Bárdur and his family as guinea pigs, and I won’t be taking any pills which they haven’t taken first. Number two. You need to understand that no one gets out of here alive without my say so. It’s impossible to escape without a boat. You would die from hunger and exposure before you came even close to help. Besides, you won’t be the only one to suffer if you don’t honour our deal, will you?’
17
FÆRINGEHAVN, WEST GREENLAND, 27 MARCH 1990
Abelsen had left the bunker a few hours earlier, but unlike on the other days the door to Tom’s room was no longer locked.
The room where he was staying now was smaller than the cell where he had first been kept, but it was less austere. Everything was still grey concrete, but there were carpets, furniture and a sink. He pushed himself up from the orange-brown couch and went over to the sink. There was only one tap, which let out a faint stream of icy water. He bent over the sink and filled his hands with water. It felt good to splash his face. Above the sink a round mirror was glued to a piece of chipboard that had been painted orange. His cheeks looked grey and sunken in the mirror. His blond hair was too short to become matted. His fingers traced the stubble on his cheek.
The door to the corridor was ajar, but no light or sound came through. Tom pulled on his boots and laced them up. They were the only footwear he had brought with him from the base. He could feel the air in the corridor even before he opened the door fully. Only his room was heated, while the corridor was dark and cold. He fumbled for a light switch, but couldn’t find one. His best option was to walk slowly down the corridor trailing one hand along the wall.
The corridor was short and formed a T-junction where it met another corridor. He turned right, but stopped when he heard what sounded like a knife being sharpened. Tom stood very still and listened. The grinding sound was followed by a couple of dull thuds. He moved slowly down the corridor towards the sound.
He jumped when a light suddenly came on above him. Looking around, he spotted a sensor in this section of the corridor, which was now lit up as far back as the eye could see.
Not far from him a door was ajar. The sound had stopped the moment the light came on, but now it resumed.
Tom pushed open the door and peeked inside. The room looked like a mixture of a slaughterhouse and an old infirmary. A couple of shapeless cadavers were lying on the steel table in the middle of the room; behind them stood a tall, broad man with his back to Tom, working on yet another bloody cadaver.
Tom cleared his throat. ‘Hello, my name’s Tom. Are you Bárdur?’
Without rushing, the man wiggled a haunch of meat back and forth, then bashed the joint with a cleaver before glancing over his shoulder and nodding briefly; then he turned his attention back to the meat.
‘Is that reindeer?’ Tom asked, stepping inside the room. The sight of blood made him feel faint.
‘It’s meat,’ Bárdur said, taking a step to the right and blocking Tom’s view. His voice was heavy and calm.
Tom nodded. ‘Are you the person to talk to if I want something to eat?’
Bárdur shrugged. ‘There’ll be meat later.’
‘Meat…Good, okay.’ Tom looked at the man’s broad back. Bárdur was wearing an old lumberjack shirt, jeans and black wooden clog boots. His hands continued to handle the meat, and every time Tom moved, Bárdur moved too, that so he blocked Tom’s view.
‘I’m going to go back,’ Tom said. He paused and then added: ‘Do you know anything about the little girl who is being held in a room with tinfoil on the walls? I think her name might be Najak?’
The big man looked briefly at Tom before shaking his head. ‘It wasn’t me.’
‘No, but do you have a room with tinfoil on the walls?’
Bárdur frowned and shook his head. ‘Go back to your room,’ he said before turning back to the meat and picking up his cleaver.
The place smelled of death. Tom looked around at the tables and the walls. The room was clean, lined with steel and tiles, with a few kitchen implements scattered around. All knives. From the ceiling hung several chains with big hooks at the ends. All empty and clean. An icy shiver went down Tom’s spine. The only door out was the one through which he had entered.
Back in the corridor, the light was still shining brightly.
To his right were a couple of closed wooden doors, while the corridor leading back to the side passage where his room was located seemed endless. It dissolved in darkness thirty metres away at least.
The wooden doors to his right looked like the one to his own room. Tom grabbed the first door handle and slowly pushed it down. The room behind it was pitch black. The air inside felt dry and warm, but he couldn’t see anything, so he tried the next door. It opened just like the first one and here there was light on the other side. He carefully released the handle and peered through the gap.
Behind the door a living room had been furnished with items from various decades. Bookcases, chairs, tables and carpets. Bárdur had even dragged down a few paintings and a big crucifix that looked like something he must have taken from a church or chapel. Right below the crucifix was a table with two tall candlesticks. It looked like an altar.
Tom gave the door another push.
A woman was sitting in an armchair in the middle of the room. Her features were Nordic. She was knitting and her fingers moved monotonously, while the knitting needles clicked softly.
On a woven rug next to her sat two little girls. They both had red hair like Bárdur. A couple of dolls lay between them. They had stopped playing and were watching Tom attentively.
The woman looked up. Her face was ashen and her eyes devoid of expression. For a moment Tom thought he sensed something in her gaze, but then it disappeared and she became introverted once more.
Tom looked back and forth between the woman and the girls. All three of them wore long dresses and had their hair up.
The girls continued to stare at him. They didn’t say a word, nor did they move. One of the woman’s ankles was encircled by an iron ring, which was attached to a chain. He couldn’t see where the chain ended; only that it continued into another room.
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