The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “I thought you were the navy.”

  “I am,” Vestergaard said with a look that Fenna couldn’t interpret. “Now let’s get this finished.”

  Chapter 15

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  Fenna ejected the magazine from the Glock. She weighed the magazine in her hand and slid it back inside the pistol grip, flicking her head to the left at the sound of footsteps in the snow.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Konstabel,” said the Englishman as the short, black barrel of a bullpup rifle wormed its way around the doorframe. Fenna squeezed her hand around the grip as the Glock shivered in her grasp. “Just drop the pistol, Konstabel.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “It’s your choice. Doesn’t bother me either way. Although...” the barrel slid down the bruised wood as the man dropped to his knee. “You might want to look out the rear window.”

  Fenna turned her head toward the back of the cabin. The Nepali waved from behind his rifle. “You understand now, eh? Just toss your Glock out through the doorway.” Fenna turned the pistol in her hand and threw it outside. “Now get on your knees. Slowly. That’s it. Place your hands behind your head...”

  Fenna shuddered forward as a gloved hand gripped her fingers. She watched the shorter man climb through the window as her wrists were bound with a plastic tie. The tie snapped as it was pulled tight.

  “Damn this fucking cold,” the man said and gripped her fingers tighter. “Bad, come over here and help me.”

  The shorter man crossed the floor, slung his rifle and pulled a length of paracord from his pocket. He stood behind Fenna and wrapped the cord tight around her left wrist, pulled her arms behind her back and tied both wrists together.

  “That’ll do it. Now then,” the tall man said and kicked Fenna onto the floor. “Let’s have a little chat.”

  “Who are you?” Fenna turned her head to one side. The man with the ski mask shook his head.

  “You’re obviously new to this,” he said and kicked Fenna in the stomach. “That isn’t how this works.” He squatted by Fenna’s side, his breath misting out of the pores in his mask. “Where is the girl?”

  “What girl?” Fenna said and coughed a spat of blood onto the floor.

  “Seriously? You want to play rough? Bad,” the man said and looked up at his partner. “Do you have any advice for this gal?”

  “Yes, Saheb,” Bad said and punched Fenna in the kidneys. Fenna grunted as she doubled over and swore in Danish.

  “Speak English, love, or my friend will have to do that again and you will be pissing blood for a week, if you live that long.” The masked man sat on the floor. “We’ll try again, shall we? Where is the girl?”

  “The Greenlander?”

  “Yes, the fucking Greenlander. How many other girls have you seen wandering around this shithole?”

  “She came with you?”

  “More questions? Wait a minute, Bad,” he said and held up his hand. “We’ll give her that one. Yes, she came with us. A loose end, needing tidied up.”

  “Like my partner?”

  “The Oversergent? Yes, you could say he was a loose end. If I had to choose between interrogating him or playing with you, well... it was a no-brainer, really.”

  “So you just killed him?” Fenna said and took a ragged breath.

  “That’s right, love. But it’s a little more complicated than that,” the man drew Fenna’s Glock from his belt. “You killed him, actually. This is your Glock. This one is Gregersen’s,” the man pulled a second Glock from the belt at his back. He slid it over to his partner. “Wouldn’t want to get them mixed up.”

  “Do you want the satellite? Is that what this is about?”

  “You’re a quick girl,” he said and nodded. “Good guess. Where is it?”

  “On the sledge.”

  “And the girl? The Greenlander?”

  “Dina.”

  “Yes,” the skin around at the corners of the man’s eyes creased. “Dina.”

  “She escaped.”

  “Escaped? What, like she was your prisoner?”

  “No. She escaped from you.”

  “No one escapes from us. Where is she going to go?”

  “She has a sledge with a fully-rested team of Sirius dogs. She is going to get help.”

  Fenna watched the man’s eyes flick to look at his partner before they turned back to her. He shook his head and laughed. “Damn, you are funny. You think your new friend is just going to disappear. Just like that.”

  “Yes.”

  The man lifted his head at the sound of rotor blades chopping the air from the east, nearing the cabin.

  “I hope for your sake that she doesn’t, or this is going to be a really long day for you. Get her up, Bad.” He stuffed the Glock back into his belt and pushed himself to his feet. “That’s our ride.”

  Snow blasted in through the cabin door as the AugustaWestland thundered into a hover, landing fifty metres away from Mikael’s body. The men held Fenna inside the cabin as two crewmen from the aircraft dragged Mikael’s body inside and began dousing the equipment and wood floors with aviation fuel.

  “Get her on the chopper, Bad,” Burwardsley said and handed him a syringe.

  Fenna stumbled through the snow, the barrel of the man’s rifle prodding her toward the aircraft. She turned as a wave of heat washed over her back. The masked man slipped a Zippo lighter into her jacket pocket as he passed. Fenna watched the cabin ignite, ducking as the rounds from Mikael’s Glock started cooking off in the heat.

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  “Well,” Vestergaard leaned back in his chair. “That is quite a turn of events.”

  “That is what happened.”

  “Burwardsley paints a rather different picture, Konstabel.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “He has a witness.”

  “Who shot my partner.”

  Vestergaard picked at a loose thread on his trousers. “So you say.”

  “Did I miss something? Have you switched sides all of a sudden?”

  “I think you misunderstand, Konstabel. I was sent to debrief you, to discover the truth behind Oversergent Gregersen’s death. I was never on your side.”

  “And Burwardsley?”

  “The Lieutenant has been helping us with our enquiries. Burwardsley and his Nepalese friend have been very cooperative.”

  “And I haven’t?”

  “Fenna,” Vestergaard said and stood. “I’m sure you are tired. Perhaps it’s best if we take a break and you take the opportunity to get some rest. Maratse? Please escort Konstabel Brongaard to her quarters.”

  Maratse smoothed the creases from the front of his uniform sweater. He nodded at Fenna, beckoned her to follow with a wave of his hand.

  “My quarters, Premierløjtnant? I take it you mean my cell?” Fenna said. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I guess I now know just how far the navy will go to protect its own.”

  “It’s for your own good, Konstabel.” Vestergaard picked the empty coffee mugs from the table and carried them to the sink. He turned around, leaned against the unit, and drummed his fingers on the work surface.

  “You’re not interested in what happened in the house, before you turned up?”

  “It’s not relevant to this stage of the investigation.”

  “And the satellite? Is that no longer relevant either?”

  “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before your sledge and the satellite is retrieved. I’ll be sure to wake you if I require any further assistance.”

  Fenna glared at Vestergaard. She resisted the urge to spit in his face, and followed Maratse into the cell.

  “Shoes,” Maratse held out his hands. “Belt,” he pointed at the draw cord tied around Fenna’s waist. Fenna kicked off her boots and slid them out through the door. She pulled the cord through the belt loops of her trousers, with one hand, holding her trousers up with the other. Maratse took the length of
cord, wrapped it around the palm of his hand. Glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen, the policeman leaned in close to Fenna. “TELE has repaired the connection. Mobiles are working.” Maratse pulled his smartphone out of his pocket, swiped the screen with his thumb and presented an image of a man to Fenna.

  “Who is he?” she whispered.

  Maratse thumbed forward to the next photograph.

  Fenna shook her head. “Who are they?”

  “Dead. Danish,” Maratse slipped the phone back into his pocket. “In Kulusuk.”

  “Where the airport is?”

  “Iiji.”

  “Is everything all right?” Vestergaard said from the kitchen. “I thought I heard you talking.”

  Maratse lifted his hand with Fenna’s makeshift belt. “She can keep this?”

  “I don’t think that is wise. No, you should probably keep that.”

  “Okay,” Maratse said and leaned close to Fenna. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered. The policeman stepped out of the cell and locked the door.

  Fenna walked the short distance to the metal cot. She sat on the floor of the cell and leaned against it. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of urine drifting in from the toilet bucket next door, turned her head at the cries of children scrambling about the insulated pipes on the rocks outside the police station. Outside the cell, the sound of someone kicking sand and gravel from their shoes, reverberated from the wooden steps through the floorboards. Fenna shuffled closer to the door.

  “Ah, Lieutenant,” Vestergaard said. Fenna felt her stomach tighten. She tried to ignore it and pressed her ear to the door.

  “She’s still here?” Burwardsley’s English accent slurred through the walls.

  “Yes. In there,” Vestergaard said and dragged a chair from the kitchen. “We can sit out here.”

  “She can hear us out here.”

  “That’s the point. Isn’t it?”

  “Where’s the policeman?” The chair creaked as Burwardsley sat on it.

  “Maratse? He went out for a moment. He’ll be back soon.”

  “Has he got any jurisdiction?”

  “In this village? Yes. On this case? Absolutely none.”

  “I think we need to remind him of that.”

  “We?”

  “It would be better coming from you. He seems to have taken a little too much interest in our girl in there,” Burwardsley raised his voice and turned toward the door of the cell. “Can you hear me, love?”

  Fenna pulled her knees to her chest. “Yes.”

  “Good.” The legs of Burwardsley’s chair scraped along the floor as the big lieutenant stood. He walked across the office and leaned against the cell door. “I hope you’ve been cooperative with your friend the Premierløjtnant.”

  “I think,” Fenna said and took a breath, “he is more your friend than mine.”

  “Well, love. You have smartened up since we last met. Any more revelations you want to share?”

  Fenna pushed herself to her feet and leaned into the door. “I think you had this planned from the start.”

  “That is possible,” Burwardsley laughed. “More than you know.”

  “And you’ve covered your tracks well, getting rid of Mikael. Cutting out Dina’s tongue…” Fenna waited. “You did cut out her tongue, didn’t you Burwardsley?”

  “Careful, Fenna,” Vestergaard called out. “Don’t say anything that can implicate you further.”

  “It’s all right, Vestergaard,” Burwardsley tapped the door with his knuckle. “Our little Sirius girl is hardly going to change anything from inside a cell.”

  Fenna tipped her head forward until it rested on the door. “What would Mikael do?”

  “What’s that, love? Couldn’t hear you,” Burwardsley said and laughed. “How about I come in there and keep you company?”

  Fenna felt her heart begin to hammer inside her chest.

  “We were so rudely interrupted last time we had a little chat.” Burwardsley rapped the door again with his knuckles. “How about it, love? Shall we have a cosy chat? I’m sure Vestergaard won’t mind.”

  “By all means, Lieutenant. Be my guest.”

  Fenna whirled around the cell, looking for a weapon as Burwardsley grasped the handle of the cell door. She held her breath as it rattled in his grasp.

  “The key, Vestergaard?” Burwardsley said and kicked the door.

  “I haven’t got it. The policemen must have it.”

  Burwardsley swore and kicked the door a second time.

  “Thank you, Maratse,” Fenna breathed.

  Chapter 16

  Maratse’s Toyota churned to a stop in the gravel outside. Fenna waited for the sound of the door closing once, twice, catching on the third go.

  “There’s one thing I want to ask you,” Fenna said and took a step back from the door. She heard Maratse’s footsteps as he kicked the grit from his boots at the door to the station.

  “And that is?” Burwardsley said.

  The door hinge squealed. Fenna leaned close to the gap between the cell door and the wooden frame. “Who are the dead Danes in Kulusuk?” she said and stepped back.

  “Damn it, Vestergaard. I have to get in there,” Burwardsley said and slammed his fist on the door.

  “Not now, Mike,” Vestergaard said and stepped closer to the lieutenant. “Not now.” He paused as Maratse opened the door. “Officer Maratse. You remember the British lieutenant?”

  “Iiji,” Maratse said and tucked his hands into his gun belt.

  “He was just helping with the investigation. Thank you, Lieutenant Burwardsley. I know where to find you if I have anything further.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Burwardsley rapped the cell door on his way out. “I’ll be seeing you, love.”

  Fenna moved to the tiny window at the rear of the cell. She stood on the edge of the bed and peered out, watching Burwardsley as he stomped past the children and pulled out his mobile. Fenna dropped down to the cell floor as Maratse unlocked the cell door.

  “Time to go,” he said and handed Fenna her boots.

  “Where?” Fenna sat on the bed and tied her laces. She reached up to take the leather belt from Maratse’s hand. “Yours?”

  “Iiji.” Maratse waited. “I’ll take you to Kula.”

  “Where is Kula?”

  “Not where,” he said and laughed. “Who. Kula is a hunter.”

  “Wait just a minute, Maratse,” Vestergaard said and pushed his way past the policeman and into the cell. “She’s staying here.”

  Maratse placed his right hand on the grip of his service pistol and pulled his smartphone from his pocket. “Nikolaj Petersen,” he said and pointed the screen towards Vestergaard. He thumbed forward to the next picture. “Klaus Vestergaard. Dead in Kulusuk.” Maratse popped the quick release snap open with his middle finger and gripped his pistol. “She comes with me. You stay here.” He nodded to Fenna. “Get out of the cell.”

  “Big mistake, Maratse,” Vestergaard said and pointed at Fenna. “You side with her and I won’t be able to help you.”

  “Like you helped Fenna?” Maratse said and pointed at Vestergaard’s feet. “Shoes. Belt.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Shoes.” Maratse tugged the pistol a few centimetres out of the holster. “Belt.”

  “It’s no real wonder Greenland will never be independent,” Vestergaard said and tugged his belt through the loops of his trousers. “Such a backward people. You’re just not smart enough to make the right friends. Friends who can help you get out of this frozen shithole.” Vestergaard pressed the toe of his shoe against the heel of the opposite foot, slipped his ankles out of his street shoes. “I could be a good friend to you, Maratse. Get you anything you want. Help you out of this mess and get you set up for life. Money. Flat screen television. Anything you want.”

  “I have a flat screen television. Fifty inch,” Maratse said and took Vestergaard’s belt. He stepped back to close the door.

  “Wait,” F
enna said and pushed past the policeman. “Who do you work for, Vestergaard?”

  “You’ll see,” Vestergaard said and lay down on the bed. He crossed his arms behind his head and rested one foot over the other. “If you live that long.” Vestergaard closed his eyes and smiled.

  Maratse slammed the cell door and turned the key in the lock. “Open the gun safe,” he said and pointed to his office. Fenna crossed the room, reached around the desk and grabbed the handle.

  “Combination?”

  “It’s open,” Maratse said and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the front door.

  Fenna pulled open the door and found an M1 Carbine leaning against the back of the safe. She swept her hand around the dusty shelves and found an empty magazine and a small box of .30 calibre ammunition. She pocketed the smaller items, pulled the semi-automatic carbine out of the safe and joined Maratse at the door.

  “Where did you get this? It’s ancient.”

  “Standard issue,” Maratse said and pushed half a cigarette into the gap between his teeth. “Kula is waiting.” He held out his jacket and nodded for Fenna to put it on.

  “Where?” Fenna switched the carbine from one hand to the other as she put on the policeman’s jacket.

  “On the ice.”

  “And where are we going?”

  “To get Dina.”

  “They said she was dead?”

  “Dina is not dead. You came by helicopter. Dina is north of here. She is coming by sledge.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Dina did not call Daneborg with your satellite phone. She called her grandfather.”

  “Kula?”

  “Aap.”

  “How do we get to the ice?”

  “We drive.”

  “Burwardsley is outside.”

  “We drive fast,” Maratse said and shrugged. He reached beneath Fenna’s arm and pulled a police issue wool hat from the pocket of the jacket. “Put this on. Hide your hair.”

  “It won’t fool Burwardsley,” Fenna said and pulled the hat over her hair, pushing the loose strands under the lip.

  “Maybe not, but your hair won’t get in the way when shooting.” Maratse chuckled around the cigarette between his lips. “Ready?”