The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “Yeah, I’m done.”

  Mikael crawled through the baffle at the entrance to the tent, rolled onto his backside and removed his boots. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said as the ice from his beard began to melt in the heat of the tent. Fenna gave him the finger and stirred the evening meal over the gas burner.

  “How are the kids?” she said and leaned to one side as Mikael crawled onto his camp bed.

  “They’re fine. I gave them your regards,” he said and checked his watch. “Is the radio ready?”

  “All set. It’s tuned to the normal patrol frequency. We don’t have to use any of the code words before we get to the cabin.” It’s a real shame, she thought, a smile on her lips. “It’ll be nice to get the news from base, hear what’s going on with the other teams.” Fenna passed Mikael a bowl of beef stew.

  “This is good,” he said as he wiped his thawing beard and spooned stew into his mouth.

  “I know.” Fenna leaned back against her camp bed. She checked her watch and turned on the radio, a robust relic from a decommissioned submarine, increasing the volume to compete with the wind.

  “Calling all Sirius teams, this is Daneborg,” the radio hissed. “We start with a storm warning. Easterly winds increasing from thirty to forty-five metres per second in the course of the night, reaching forty-seven metres per second in the early hours of the morning. Temperatures increasing to minus sixteen. Heavy snow forecast along the coast south of Mestersvig.”

  “That’s us,” Mikael said. He held his spoon poised over his bowl.

  “It’s going to be a hell of a day tomorrow.”

  Mikael shrugged and took another spoonful of stew as the radio operator in Daneborg read aloud letters and emails from home. He tilted his bowl and spooned the remaining stew into his mouth. “This is really good.”

  “You've said that already.”

  “I have,” Mikael said and nodded. He tapped the back of the spoon on his chin. “And, considering your cheeky response to your senior...”

  “Cheeky response?”

  “To a senior officer, yes,” Mikael continued. “I think it only fair that it’s you who crawls out into the abyss and gives the dogs a cube of blubber.”

  “Because you forgot?”

  “Because I forgot.”

  “I was the inside man today.”

  “You were, that is correct. Now you are making amends for hinting that your senior officer has a touch of senility.”

  “A touch?” Fenna tossed her empty bowl into Mikael's lap. “Seeing as we just switched roles, you're on dishes, coffee and dessert.”

  “I think I can manage that.” Mikael paused at the smile creeping across Fenna’s chapped lips. “What?”

  “I don’t know,” she said and shrugged. “It’s just...”

  “Spit it out, Fenna.”

  “All right,” she said and took a quick breath. “I didn’t expect our relationship to work like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like two guys on patrol. I thought the weak woman thing would get in the way.” Fenna studied Mikael’s face as he returned her look. She felt a slight tremor of embarrassment as he opened his mouth to speak.

  “You’ve seen the movie?”

  “God,” Fenna said and rolled her eyes. “G.I. Jane? They called me that during training. Are you saying I’m Demi Moore?”

  “Hardly,” Mikael said with a cheeky grin. “She is far better looking.” He flinched as Fenna looked around the tent for something to throw at him. “And I’m better looking than Viggo,” he said and caught the spoon Fenna threw at his head. “I’m just saying that there’s a reason you’re here. I don’t give a shit what they called you in training. We took two new men last year – and one of them was a woman. If you couldn’t do the job, you wouldn’t be here. But I’m not going to dwell on the woman-in-a-man’s-world, crap. Honestly, I haven’t got time for that. Sure, we had the meeting...”

  “There was a meeting?”

  “Don’t be naive – of course there was a meeting. You’re the first woman to join the patrol. I volunteered to have you on my team, mostly because I was curious. How would the dogs respond to a female patroller? How would I?”

  “And?”

  “Hah,” Mikael said and threw the spoon at Fenna. “Not so fast, rookie. You’ll get my evaluation when we’re done, and not before. Now, get outside and see to the kids.”

  Fenna turned to study the walls of the tent, composing her smile as they bowed and flattened with each gust of wind curling in across the frozen surface of the Greenland Sea. She pulled on her outer layers and crawled past Mikael.

  “Thanks,” she said and squeezed his shoulder on her way out.

  “You’re welcome,” he said and watched as she crawled out through the tent baffle and into the storm.

  Fenna staggered among the dogs, treading on those she couldn’t see as they lay, all but buried, beneath a thick layer of wind-blown snow. Fléchettes of snow bored into the pores of her jacket, stinging her face in gusts of tiny needles as she bent over each dog, slipping a large cube of seal fat between eager jaws. She made her way back to the tent, kicking the worst of the snow from her boots, clapping great clumps from her mittens, before burrowing into the baffle and pulling the stiff fleece neckie away from her face to breathe. She tied the baffle closed behind her and crawled into the living space of the tent.

  “Hot drink,” Mikael said and pushed a mug of tea into Fenna’s mittened hands.

  “It’s tea,” she said as she sniffed the contents of the mug.

  “And?”

  “We have plenty of coffee.”

  “And too much tea,” Mikael tossed the teaspoon into an empty bowl. “I’m doing my best to get rid of it.”

  Fenna leaned forward. She sniffed Mikael’s mug. “You have coffee.”

  “Yes,” he said and leaned back on his camp bed. “I didn’t pack the tea.”

  Fenna sat on her heels, placed her mug on the floor and removed her mittens, pearls of ice frozen within the wool fibres rattled as she tossed them onto the floor.

  “We made good time today, despite the weather. We are relatively close to the crash site,” Mikael said and sipped his coffee. “If we push on through the storm to the cabin, we can dump the gear and be at the site by midday tomorrow. Weather depending.”

  “Should we push on in this?” Fenna baulked at the thought.

  “That’s why they sent us. Because we can.”

  “But should we?”

  Another gust of wind buffeted the tent, with a shower of ice grating over the cotton like a swathe of sandpaper.

  Mikael swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I think it’s implied.”

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  When did we start calling them kids? Fenna brushed her hair from her eyes as the hollow clump of boots on the stairs roused Fenna from her thoughts. She washed her hands and left the bathroom. Petersen and Vestergaard stood close to one another in Maratse’s office, talking quietly. They stopped as Fenna closed the door to the toilet.

  “Ah, Fenna,” Vestergaard said with a nod to Petersen. He left the younger man in the office. “Something has come up.” He gripped her elbow and guided her to the kitchen.

  “What?”

  “It seems that Maratse has been busy, and his search has been productive.” He gestured to the chair. “Sit down, Konstabel.”

  “Has he found Dina?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So what is the problem?”

  “Petersen found Maratse talking with an older hunter down by the ice. From what he can make out, it would appear that Dina is missing. We presume she is dead.”

  “Dead?” Fenna said and sank into her chair.

  “The details are sketchy,” Vestergaard said and put on his most sympathetic look. “This information does put us in a bit of a bind.”

  “What kind of bind?”

  “Well,” he said and sat down, “If Dina was
the only witness who would be willing or able to corroborate your side of the story...”

  “My side of the...”

  “You understand? Until we know anything for certain,” he paused. “Perhaps you would continue from where you left off?”

  Fenna stared at the floor beneath her chair. Her hair fell over her cheeks, hiding her eyes. She can’t be dead, or I may as well be.

  “The fog is clearing, Fenna,” Vestergaard prompted.

  Chapter 11

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  The descent to Loch Fyne cabin was uneventful, despite the wind peeling layers of exposed skin from their faces. Mikael helped Fenna to anchor the dogs to the travelling chain before grabbing the shovel and digging the snow from the cabin door. A testament to the determination of the pre-war Danish hunters, the cabin had lasted well, and was a favourite of many of the Sirius patrolmen. The name was was carved into a broken ski, the tip tapering above the red wooden door. A muskox skull kept watch from its mount beneath the apex of the roof. The teams repaired the cabins during the summers, caching supplies in preparation for the spring and autumn patrols. Once the door was dug out, Mikael stepped onto the bench to remove the shutters from the window to the right of the door and made a quick inspection for signs of polar bears. Fenna joined him.

  “Are we going inside?” she said, her words whipped from her mouth by the wind.

  “We’ll move the gear inside. Then I’ll feed the dogs while you cook dinner.” Mikael punched Fenna on the arm. “You get to sleep in a real bed tonight.” Fenna grinned, took a breath and turned back into the wind.

  The dogs were already half-buried in the snow by the time they had moved all but the essential survival equipment inside the cabin. Fenna closed the door behind Mikael as he returned to feed the dogs. She pulled off her outer layers and left her boots by the door, hanging her clothes on the nails behind it. She turned to explore the interior of the cabin, following the strings and pegs hung from the simple rafters to the map of Greenland pinned to the back wall of the cabin. The dark and aged wood panels framed a long thick mattress dressed with coarse sacking. She ran her hand along the cold metal surface of the Morsø wood-burning stove and smiled at the box of matches by the side of the kindling. Three matches stood proud of the box. Easy to grip and strike, she realised. Even with numb fingers. The stove was ready to be lit, just as the teams had left it the previous summer.

  Fenna lit the stove and took a moment to explore the tiny bookshelf as the fire crackled into life, light from the flames licking at the nudes pinned to the walls. A small bookshelf housed a selection of literature, ranging from airport thrillers to polar texts belonging in a museum, but it was the cabin diary that caught Fenna’s attention. She cracked the spine and then slipped it back onto the shelf to read after dinner.

  She returned to the stove and closed the glass door before hunting through the supplies piled in the centre of the cabin. She found what she was looking for and lit the propane gas cooking stove the teams had fixed the previous summer. An hour passed before Mikael was finished feeding the dogs and checking their feet for ice. Fenna beamed as he opened the door and sniffed.

  “Bread?” he said.

  “We have a stove.”

  Mikael organised his clothes and flopped into one of two armchairs. He picked at the battered leather padding on the arms, crossed his feet and nodded.

  “Best place in the park,” he said and closed his eyes.

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  Fenna clasped her hands together and rested her elbows on the table. She hid her mouth behind her hands and stared at Vestergaard over her fingers. He looked up as he finished making a note. Petersen had long since given up on his shorthand, and Fenna was beginning to wonder if it was even necessary.

  “Loch Fyne,” Vestergaard said as he closed his notebook. “Is this the cabin?”

  Fenna dipped her head and blinked slowly, affirmatively.

  “Best place in the park,” Vestergaard read from his notes. “It’s a shame there’s nothing left. Of course,” he said as Fenna let her hair fall in front of her eyes, “We won’t actually know what remains before the helicopter returns with Oversergent Gregersen’s body, will we?”

  Fenna took a few measured breaths. If there was pity in Vestergaard’s eyes, she couldn’t see it, and then her vision was clouded with tears.

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  An hour had passed since they tethered Betty outside the cabin and sledged in the direction of the satellite. Fenna could still hear the bitch’s howl of protest. It echoed in her ears as she studied the compass clasped in the palm of her mitten.

  “Use the GPS, Fenna. Forget the bloody compass,” Mikael shouted. With both hands on the uprights of the lightly-laden sledge, he leaned into the wind. “Did you hear what I said?”

  Fenna staggered back from the front of the team and placed one knee on the sledge, sheltering the GPS between her back and the sledge bag.

  “How far are we?” Mikael said as he joined her. He licked at the ice hanging like candy canes from the hairs above his lip.

  “We should be within a few kilometres. I’m using the waypoints to box the coordinates,” Fenna said and tugged her neckie down under her chin. “I plotted them last night, but the temperature is playing hell with the batteries. That’s why I’m using this,” she said and held up the compass secured around her wrist on a thick spectra lanyard.

  “Okay, but we need to keep moving.”

  “I know, but...” She blinked at the stark white landscape. The team had been sheltered from the wind when ascending the gully. On top of the plateau, nearing the crash site, there was no escaping the needle-sharp wind and the freezing temperatures.

  “The wind is ripping through us here,” Mikael said. “So long as we have reasonable visibility we have to keep moving.”

  “I know. We should keep going.” Fenna pulled her neckie over her nose and cheeks and walked back to the front of the team. She leaned into the wind. With her skis bound to the sledge, Fenna led the team on foot. Mikael pushed the sledge from the rear. After ten minutes of slow progress, a lull in the wind allowed the team to secure their position with the GPS and begin boxing the location of the crash site.

  “There,” Mikael said and slowed the sledge to a stop. Fenna turned, looked in the direction he was pointing and took a bearing on a black object half a kilometre away on the plateau. She waved at Mikael and jogged back to the sledge. “Do you want to ride?”

  “Sure,” Fenna said and sat down on the thwarts. She swung her legs into the centre of the sledge.

  “Haw,” Mikael called and guided the sledge to the left as Lucifer pulled the team around. Sunlight splintered the clouds and the wind brushed little more than a light layer of snow along the surface. The dogs picked up the pace, enjoying the break in the weather and the lighter sledge.

  “Finally,” Fenna said and leaned back against the sledge boxes containing the tent and basic provisions they would need if they were caught out on the ice. Mikael jogged around the left side of the sledge and leaped on. He squirmed his right foot between the boxes and the upright, standing at the rear of the sledge, like a buccaneer at the wheel of a corvette escaping the doldrums. Fenna fished a compact digital camera out of her jacket and took a shot of her partner, pearls of ice shining in his beard, the light reflecting in his eyes. “Now you’re smiling,” she said and took another photo. That’s one for Facebook, she thought.

  “Now we’re sledging,” Mikael said. He grinned and struck a pose worthy of a teenage selfie, framing his ice-matted beard within the apex of his finger and thumb. “Look,” he said and pointed. “Lucifer has it now.” The traces between each dog pinged tight as Lucifer picked up speed, homing in on the satellite half-buried in the snow before them.

  “We should probably slow down,” Fenna said and repositioned to a crouch on the sledge, ready to leap off and restrain the dogs.

  “Wait until we get a
bit closer.” Mikael turned his body through a slow arc, searching the terrain in front of and behind the sledge. “I think we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

  “We’re the only ones stupid enough to sledge through that storm,” Fenna said and grinned. “Worth it.”

  “Yeah, okay rookie,” Mikael said and shook his head at her teenage euphemism. “Get ready to get off.” Mikael called out to the dogs to slow. He stepped off the sledge and jogged alongside until the team slowed to a stop. Fenna hopped off the sledge and walked the length of the team, securing Lucifer at the lead while Mikael organised the anchor line. He drove three ice anchors into the snow and secured a thin chain in a line between the metal plates. Fenna unclipped one dog at a time from the sledge traces and attached them by the collar to a length of chain branching out from the anchor line. Once the team was settled, Mikael and Fenna pushed the sledge closer to the satellite. Flurries of snow settled as the wind dropped. Beyond the satellite, and stretching across Greenland, ancient tongues of ice licked out from the Greenland Ice Sheet.

  “I never thought to ask,” Fenna started.

  “What?”

  “If it was radioactive.”

  “They probably wouldn’t tell us if it was,” Mikael said and walked around the satellite, noting the impact rings forming a circular perimeter in the snow interspersed with fragments of shrapnel. “It’s relatively intact. What we can see of it.” He took a step closer.

  “I thought it would be round, like Sputnik,” Fenna joined Mikael as he lifted the square panel out of the snow. It came off in his hands.

  “Okay, not so intact.”

  “We’ll need a sack, not a net, eh?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “That looks important,” Fenna said and reached into the shell of the satellite. She wiped a layer of snow from a panel of chips and circuitry. “No idea what it is, but it has a whole load of serial numbers.” She turned it in the light, “and a name: Humble Technologies, Inc.”