Antler Plan (A Konrad Loki Thriller Book 1)

by Joonas Huhta

  Ruut nodded, her eyes closing and opening like a sleepyhead on watch.

  “Count to ten,” Konrad said. “Loudly!”

  “Yes… to keep me awake… One… two…”

  Konrad dived under the water and the ice cover, his head exploding as if he had just received a bullet in the head, a sense of hot blood pouring out of his mouth, nose, and ears.

  Excruciating pain.

  He took a few breaststrokes and relaxed as much as he could to keep his oxygen storage as full as possible. With but one breath he was part of that dark, desolate space that gave no room for error. After the slide of the third stroke and a kick he hit bottom. He crouched into fetal position and gave a push to the ice on top of him with his back.

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Nothing.

  There was a hand-sized rock on the bottom. Konrad picked it up and tried to hit the ice with it.

  A slow, moronic attempt.

  He breathed out.

  I’m running out of time.

  Panic started taking over. He tried his fists, head, and legs.

  The ice didn’t budge.

  A flash of a Nazi gas chamber hit his vision as he felt his nails leaving scars on the ice. There was no way to blast out of the walls. He looked at oxygen bubbles lingering in the ice and sank to the bottom when he felt it in his jeans…

  The Glock.

  Konrad aimed, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  The recoil hit his jaw hard.

  Click, click, click…

  Empty.

  The mirror of ice shattered. He sprang up from the bottom through the ice out into the night.

  “Forty-five,” Ruut said, faintly crying. “You said count to ten…”

  Konrad circled the hole and went to her rescue, hearing her repeat the line in a stupor. He took off his jacket, crawled the last meters and threw it at Ruut.

  “Come on! Take it!”

  Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow through blue lips. Konrad took the gun and threw at her with it.

  “Auch! You broke my nose. I’ll kill you!”

  “That’s my girl!” Konrad grinned and threw the sleeve of the jacket at the length of her arm. “Grab it.”

  Pulling Ruut out of the water was easy, getting her on the beach a bit more complicated as their combined weight defied the fragile ice. They reached solid ground, both blowing out cold steam. Ruut panted.

  Konrad tried to annoy her to keep her warm.

  “You know, you sure can fake an orgasm.”

  “Konrad... ” Ruut said, “I’m sorry to disappoint you…”

  “I was just kidding.”

  Ruut spoke between breaths. “No, you don’t understand…”

  “I’m going to take you to the hospital; it’s just behind the hill.”

  Her breathing wheezed.

  “Ruut?”

  “I’ve got... Asthma…”

  Konrad stopped. His tongue withdrew to his throat and dried out.

  Ruut continued, “No hospital. They’ll find us.”

  She collapsed. Konrad barely prevented her from hitting her head on the forest floor they had just entered.

  “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  For a second Ruut’s eyes stared back at him, calm but intense as the breathing glow of an ember.

  “Take us to the woods. I need to know if that Russian soldier was lying.”

  “Ruut, whatever that evil man said to you, I don’t think—”

  “They had captured Oona a year ago.”

  “What?”

  “The soldier said…” Ruut whispered. “They’ve extracted the information from her. She was the Divine Messenger. They are like gods now. Soon they’ll do… horrors beyond any measure.”

  Somewhere within his shattered mind, Konrad found a thin logic. Ruut was right. They would have needed them alive if they wanted them to do the job of finding and locating the prophesied one.

  “Stay with me!”

  “Leave me, Konrad.” Ruut fell unconsciousness in his arms.

  An oppressive stillness descended.

  Konrad gently combed her hair back with his trembling hand.

  “Don’t die on me. I’ll take care of you this time.”

  He ran.

  He ran for their lives.

  He ran for the sake of unknown destiny buried ahead.

  The air was suddenly thick with mist. Cold trees rustled like living things, and the forest floor bore so many holes and traps and small rolling rocks that it begged for a broken ankle. Carrying the limb, light-weight woman in his arms, he fled into the woods like a thief in the night.

  A thief in the night…

  Konrad slid into the ranks of dark trees standing sentry like soldiers on around-the-clock standby.

  20

  OFFICER THEO KRAFT gazed out of the window of Finnair A350 flight from Helsinki to Rovaniemi and rested his thoughts on the black runway. Welcome shone out in four languages from the embedded screen: Welcome to Christmas Land! As though that left any room for error, there was a giant screen outside with double confirmation: The Official Airport of Santa Claus.

  The airport itself was small and cozy, but the weather was as bad as thirty years ago, just like the old historian sitting next to him had told him. The day that gave rise to the Christmas stories that still span the globe was probably the most anti-Christmas moment imaginable.

  But the world bought the tale.

  “Summa summarum,” the old historian with a facial tic in his eyes continued, “Santa is here because of beer talk. Santa came here to stay thanks to a Concorde flight from London in 1984, planned by two travel agents in a pub. The pilots pulled elf hats on, landed the beaky-nosed sonic boom beast here, and the hundred British guests were treated like kings and queens in a remote Lappish inn with lavish foods and presentations. They drove circles with a few rare snowmobiles partly on grass and met a poor man’s Santa Claus. The trip made headlines everywhere; an overnight sensation for the gloating British. Nobody even knew that Rovaniemi had a permit of exception from the government to open the airport because until that Christmas Day it was closed, like all the airports in Finland. The airspace belonged exclusively to Santa and Rudolph and the other flying reindeer.”

  The man paused briefly to lean closer as if whispering a secret: “Apart from the Northern Lights, Santa is the only thing that brings tourists and their money here. Santa used elbow tactics against Alaska, Greenland, Norway, and Sweden to get Finland Santa Superpower Status. Our government funded his PR world tour from Bollywood to Beverly Hills.”

  Theo smiled at the historian. “Wonderful story.”

  “Pleasure.” The historian sighed. “The war left an unforgettable memory. Luckily, we have Santa removing the worst traumatic shadows. Even the official airport is a former Luftwaffe base, and the woods surrounding are scarred with dark and consuming history: scattered remains of railroads, barracks, and trenches. They remain uninterpreted for the tourists who come to meet Santa. I wish my story gives a new perspective to look at things. My grandchildren always want to hear the story of how Santa came here to safeguard his secret hiding place. I tell them that if being in the right place at the right time is impossible, one can always study and learn from history.”

  “Being in the wrong place at the wrong time happens to other people, not me.”

  “I’m not sure if I understand what you mean, son.”

  “Let’s just say there was only a stain of white in the ground thirty years ago. I still remember how it felt under the snowmobile. And under my feet.”

  The old man revealed his bad line of teeth. “You were there?”

  The plane came to a stop.

  People started to remove seatbelts; the air filled with the cacophony of metal clicks.

  Theo said, “Add a little snow to your story. It always saves the Christmas.”

  The historian rose to his feet and shook his head in disbelief. “My wife isn’
t going to believe this. I acted as the first Santa Claus ever, and I told my best story to a man who happened to be in it. Maybe miracles do happen after all.”

  “They surely do.” Theo offered his hand, and they shook. “Never doubt it.”

  The historian paused as if weighing Theo’s words in his mind, and then he walked away with the others.

  Theo sat still. He looked outside. Whispered, “Never. Doubt. It.”

  He took his phone and stared at the screen.

  No contacts.

  Where are you, Patrick?

  He glanced at his mirror image in the window, liking what he saw: a rested man with determination in the eyes. As the latest Supreme Allied Commander Europe in the fine line of men starting from the European Theatre of World War II and first positioned by Dwight David “Ike” Eisenhower, his was a seat that belonged only to real leaders. They all excelled with one distinct quality: being the first to act. Only a few times had he doubted his motto of acting first and asking questions later. The interrogation of Oona was still a ghost in his mind. Torture was unnecessary. They got answers to every questions they asked.

  Moral questions.

  Technology issues.

  Intelligence problems.

  As if she was not born of nature.

  A high-ranking Finnish military officer Eric Pantzar entered the plane to discuss with the pilots, the man’s lips pressing into a white slash every time he glanced at Theo. Troubling talks loomed up ahead and around the corner. Everything said would remain between the two of them. He wasn’t worried about letting this man enter the loop. Oona troubled him. She had somehow regained her erased memory back. What she could remember before she died might manifest itself in her willed Wicked Bible.

  Eric marched at his direction, his clenched fists already demanding a thorough explanation. Fortunately, they shared a common enemy.

  The Russians.

  Theo rose to shake hands.

  “Eric Pantzar… it’s been a while.”

  Gazing with focus and drawing to his full height, Eric replied, “What are you doing here?”

  “Rallying the world to act.”

  “You haven’t come this far to discuss NATO.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why then?”

  Theo smiled as if sitting on a treasure chest. “A little brain teaser. You are our vassals or our enemies—which twisted country am I talking about?”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Theo. You’re like a mouse chewing through the insulation. Go home. I don’t want to hear the word or any NATO shit.”

  “Speaking of mice,” Theo said. “I’m offering you cutting-edge technology against Russians. Did you know that just like human babies, mouse pups calm down when carried around?”

  Eric rolled his eyes, inhaled deeply. “Go on.”

  “I’ll tell you why you’ll never need to think about joining NATO again. I can make Russians calm. You know why it’s the best possible moment to rub shoulders with your twisted big brother?”

  Eric crossed his arms, tilted his head. “Why?”

  “Because they are making a move on you. Tomorrow Santa Claus meets his Russian counterpart Ded Moroz for the first time ever in Finland, in Santa Claus Village. And that meeting, my friend, is loaded with agendas.”

  “Don’t take my deliberate shortsightedness for blindness,” Eric said. “You deserve a punch in the face.”

  “Let’s exchange punches at your office, shall we?”

  Eric paused for several beats. He jerked his head. “My fist will be the first and last thing you’ll see on Finnish soil.”

  21

  KONRAD KNEW THAT a soldier’s survival was based on staying tactical, being on a knife’s edge. There was gunpowder within ammunition, but extracting it without proper tools was a fool’s errand. Luckily, his Trabant’s key fob had a mini flashlight with one AAA Duracell battery. He had only needed a thin piece of metal from Ruut’s pocket to connect the battery’s ends to light a fire.

  The gum wrapper.

  He lit small twigs in a hole he had dug, a smokeless fire pit, just like his father had taught him. The roots formed a cavity under a spruce and needed only another hole for a draft of air. When the fire burned from the top downward and dragged air from the air hole, it became a safe heating system. The tiny puffs of smoke were dispersed by the tree above.

  He made sure she got all the warmth.

  The string of luck continued with the surprise of sphagnum moss. The little swathe of land under the spruce bore excellent water retention properties. The moss had been used in Lapland in insulating mattresses and toddler’s nappies, and during the First World War field hospitals in Europe used it as a bandage.

  “Antibiotic properties,” he whispered his father’s words as he blanketed her body that he had to strip. He stayed close beside her.

  The mist hung low, shrouding them with an extra blanket. After a few minutes, as he peeked to check, the color was returning to her lips. There was a tree in a glade, bearing a hand mark on an old tree behind a pond. Its frozen-looking leaves made him forget all of the calamity lying ahead. Was this the miracle Gideon referred to?

  It was strange how he could produce so much heat. But then his hands started becoming numb, and his legs lost power. His mind desperately sought a way out of his shame and agony.

  Shit, shit. Not now.

  Ruut opened her eyes and frowned over her shoulder.

  “Do I look like I want you so close to me?”

  “You’re always so close to me, so I thought what the hell.”

  Ruut’s elbow dug into Konrad’s ribs. His stiff body produced a few seconds of dull delay as he started getting up.

  Ruut grabbed his wrist. She squinted. “Why is your hand shaking?”

  Konrad glanced at the pond where the fog was on a dispersing withdrawal and went to fix the strap of the medical bag.

  Ruut made a quick analysis. “Cold treatment? What’s your diagnosis?”

  “Misdiagnosed.”

  “Multiple sclerosis?”

  “You tell me you could see through my MS in fifteen seconds? You doctors are always so far from emphatic in sharing your kisses of death.”

  “It’s not a death sentence,” Ruut stated.

  “But it’s a constant limbo. I’m not ill and not well. Soon I’ll be in a wheelchair and become bed bound, being log rolled into diapers.”

  Ruut gave her best sympathetic smile. “Why do you find it so hard being vulnerable?”

  Konrad said nothing.

  “Stress makes the symptoms worse, doesn’t it?” Ruut studied the muscles in Konrad’s arms. “Sudden changes in temperature also. Heat intolerance is often the leading cause of worsening symptoms. Maybe you should take the dip in the water.”

  “I’ve been thinking… I’ll expose us if I go.”

  “Liar. You were thinking about the sex we didn’t have.”

  “You are wicked. How can you tell?”

  “Hardly rocket science. Your eyes tell.” She shoved Konrad aside, reaching for her clothes on a branch.

  “By the way,” Konrad said, “how did you know we were being followed in the first place?”

  Ruut was unable to breathe for a second as she put the moist shirt on her. “I noticed an empty wine glass on Kaspar’s desk and got suspicious. He never finished drinks nor his coffee, forget them everywhere. I searched for his camera but couldn’t find it. Then I searched his computer. He had a habit of deleting pictures that were for his eyes only, but emptying the Trash is never enough. Every file has a second life; the erased file continues to exist. I recovered the pictures taken on the day you were staged on the ice. I found normal pictures deleted, knowing well that Kaspar never had the time to sort out his exponentially growing galleries. I put two and two together and found a picture that should never have been taken.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Russians. Eavesdropping. Following your every move. And Kaspar’s.”


  “Russians?”

  “I think there are Russians teamed up with Americans. Might be a black op.”

  Konrad rubbed his brow. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Actually…” Ruut looked up into the clearing sky. “I think my boss is also involved.”

  “What?”

  “Let me gather my thoughts. Take the dip. I’ll watch your back.”

  Konrad stifled a shudder. They listened to the woods; then he trudged naked to the pond.

  He felt her gaze on his back.

  22

  GIDEON STUDIED FIVE autographs and monster handprints embedded in concrete on a monument stone in Lordi’s Square.

  He took off his glove and put his hand flat in a monster man’s hand and imagined himself on a stage with an electric guitar and rock-god hair. The renamed avenue and hand marks were a tribute to the local Eurovision Song Contest winners Lordi, much like the footprints and handprints of Hollywood Stars and Starlets on the Walk of Fame.

  This was supposed to be the heart of the A-rock-alypse, but for the most Finnish people the winning song, “Hard Rock Hallelujah” offered only a shared sense of shame.

  He gazed to the east where the fenced street was being prepared with storage snow for reindeer speed race and lasso competitions. Christmas spirit was literally in the air—even though tower-tall snowmen and rows of ice lanterns were melting—but Gideon was not in the festive mood.

  He had a murder in mind.

  The street behind the fenced area dipped down to the river, and behind it the misty Ounasvaara beckoned him with a reverent silence. He saw a peek of Belvedere, a tower build for birdwatchers, but a place he and his friends used to get drunk every weekend.

  “Retardo.”

  Gideon turned toward his best friend, Ville Kaitio. His large, intelligent eyes behind Harry Potter eyeglasses smiled at the new invention of his favorite football player, Ronaldo. He was small, a touch shyer than a raccoon, and his nerd’s forward head posture amplified his sensitiveness. Sometimes Gideon wondered how Ville, who practically and exceptionally lived his life in books instead of steam and screens, could hold himself upright while walking.