The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “Expertise?” Fenna said and spluttered the coffee onto the table. “You think I am an expert?”

  “I could have said experience,” Jarnvig said and wiped the coffee from the table with a napkin.

  “You know what happened?”

  “Like I said, I know enough,” he said and dropped the wet napkin onto the floor. “Konstabel,” Jarnvig continued, “you’re going to have a tough time adapting to life after Greenland.” He held up his hand as Fenna opened her mouth. “Hear me out,” he said. “You’ll need a place to stay, money, a job – I can set you up with all these things.”

  “And a diplomatic pouch?”

  “What?”

  “One of those bags they won’t open at the airport.”

  “I know what a diplomatic pouch is.”

  “I’ll also need a ticket to Toronto, and one more thing.”

  “Fenna,” he said and leaned over the table. “Forget Humble. He’s untouchable.”

  “I think he’ll listen to me,” she said and pressed her hand against her shirt pocket.

  Jarnvig rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin. Fenna heard the rasp of hair on his fingers as he stared at her.

  “What do you want a diplomatic pouch for?”

  “That’s for the other thing,” Fenna said and took another sip of coffee. She swallowed. “You’re recruiting me, aren’t you?” She smiled at Jarnvig’s curt nod of the head. “Then this is the price. Plus, the other things you mentioned.”

  Jarnvig tapped his fingertips on the table. Clipped and filed, Fenna noticed and looked at her own broken nails and scarred fingertips. Greenland was still ingrained in the pores of her skin. I’ll carry it forever, she realised.

  “All right,” he said.

  Fenna almost spilled her coffee for the second time. “All right?”

  “Yes,” Jarnvig said and shrugged.

  “You do know what I am going to do?”

  “I have a pretty good idea.”

  “Fuck,” she said as the realisation of what he wanted in return sank in.

  “Fenna,” he said. “There’s no going back after this. I’m willing to turn a blind eye to your business in Toronto...”

  “Because your business is much worse? Is that right, Jarnvig?”

  “There’s that possibility.”

  Fenna turned her fingers within the light from the window. Gone were the icebergs and the harsh polar light, the sting of ice splinters on the wind, and the howl of the sledge dog beneath the pitch black winter canopy of the Arctic. But there are things to be done, she reminded herself. Debts to be paid. She looked up and nodded.

  “I am twenty-four,” she said. “My father is dead, my mother is an alcoholic and may as well be dead, and my sister probably hates me for leaving her to cope with our mother by herself.” She looked at Jarnvig and sighed. “Everyone else I ever cared for, I lost in Greenland.”

  “Greenland has its price,” Jarnvig said and nodded. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “And so does the rest of my life,” Fenna said and stood up. “I need to pee.”

  Jarnvig’s chair squealed as he pushed back from the table and stood up. He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Fenna. “When you’re done, go to customer service and ask them to show you to this room. I’ll have the things you need, a change of clothes, luggage...”

  “And the other thing,” Fenna said. “The Webley. It was sent with my personal effects on the same flight – addressed care of Airport Authorities. I think that means you.”

  Jarnvig shook his head. “That’s not going to be possible.”

  “And yet, that’s the price,” she said and turned to walk towards the nearest toilet. Fenna smiled as she savoured the last look on Jarnvig’s face, and her own renewed sense of strength and purpose.

  PEARSON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - TORONTO, CANADA

  Fenna shrugged her backpack higher onto her shoulder and waited for the Canadian Border Services Agency officer to return with her documents. The officer’s shoes whispered along the airport carpet as she approached Fenna, a clipboard and several documents in her hand.

  “Miss Bronguard?”

  “Yes,” Fenna said, ignoring the mispronunciation of her name.

  “If you’ll come with me?”

  “Sure.” Fenna followed the woman into a tiny room. She noticed her diplomatic pouch and the new duffel bag Jarnvig had bought for her on a table in the corner of the room. Fenna waited for the officer to close the door before sitting at the table.

  Another table, another interrogation, she mused. This seems to be my lot in life.

  “So,” the officer said. “This is just a formality.”

  “Okay.”

  “All your papers are in order, and I must admit, my supervisor and I are impressed at the speed at which they were prepared.”

  “The Danes can be quite efficient when they want to be,” Fenna said and tried a smile. She regretted it as a fresh scab on her lip began to split. She reached into her pocket and smoothed some salve from a tube onto her bottom lip.

  “So we can see,” the officer said. “Your first stop?”

  “Is the Consulate General,” said Fenna. “Here in Toronto.”

  “All right.” The officer checked her notes and placed the clipboard onto the table. She pressed her fingers together and took a breath. “We only have one question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “More of a concern, really.”

  “Yes?” Fenna said and nodded. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.

  “Your appearance worries us a little,” the officer said and smiled in such a way that Fenna could feel the sympathy pouring out of her. “We don’t have a lot of information about you, Miss Brongaard, but, if you need any assistance,” she said and gestured at Fenna’s face.

  Fenna almost laughed. My papers are in order, but they are worried if I am not? That’s a first, she mused and turned her head to look at her reflection in the glass. Fair enough.

  “I can assure you I’m all right,” she said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “I don’t know,” the officer said and, testing, she added, “If my husband...”

  “Husband,” Fenna said and laughed. “If only.” She took a breath, scratched a broken fingernail through her hair and looked at the officer. “I work for the Danish Navy. I have been on exercise and this,” she said and nodded at the diplomatic pouch, “is a comfortable job they have given me while my body mends.” That sounded good – almost plausible.

  “I see,” the officer said. Fenna could see that she didn’t, but that her questions, for the moment at least, were satisfied. “How long are you planning to stay in Canada after you have visited the Consulate?”

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow evening, on the first available flight,” Fenna said. All being well, she thought.

  “Then we’re done. Thank you, Miss Bronguard.” The officer stood and gestured at Fenna’s luggage. “You’ll find a taxi outside, unless the Consulate is sending a car?”

  “A taxi will be fine,” Fenna said. She walked around the desk to the table with her luggage, nodding at the weight of the diplomatic pouch as she picked it up. She slipped it inside her backpack and turned for the door.

  “Your duffel bag, Miss Bronguard,” the officer said. “Don’t forget it.”

  “Right,” said Fenna. She turned back for the duffel. “It’s been a long flight.” Maybe I’ll sleep on the return, she wondered. But then, that all depends on tomorrow. Fenna thanked the woman and walked out of the room in search of a taxi.

  Chapter 32

  DOWNTOWN TORONTO, CANADA

  The office building of Humble & Lunk was as space-age as the technology its parent company created. The huge glass plates reflected the summer sun, much like the icebergs off the coast of Greenland. Fenna pulled on her sunglasses and pressed the bridge against her nose. She shrugged the backpack onto her shoulder and climbed the marble steps in front of the building. Sh
e waited for two men and women in suits to walk out of the revolving doors before dipping her head to her chest and walking beneath the security camera and into the foyer of the lion’s den. Like The Ice Star, the building reeked of money, all the way from the door to the mahogany reception desks and into the elevators. Fenna walked to the desk closest to her and gripped the strap of her backpack.

  “I have an appointment,” she said and fiddled with a lock of her hair as the receptionist checked the computer.

  “Name?”

  “Gregersen.”

  “And who are you here to see, Ms Gregersen?”

  “Richard Humble,” Fenna said and tapped her finger on the surface of the desk. “He is expecting me.”

  “Not according to his schedule,” the woman said and looked up from the computer screen. “I suggest you wait while I contact his office.” She pointed to the area of the foyer closest to the door, the sofas, Fenna realised, were longer than Sirius sledges.

  “I’ll wait,” she said and turned towards the sofas. The receptionist picked up her phone and dialled through to Humble’s office. Fenna heard the name Gregersen as she crossed the marble floor to the sofa. She sank onto the cushions and leaned back as the receptionist clicked her heels across the floor and looked down at Fenna.

  “Rachael will be down to see you shortly,” she said.

  “Who’s Rachael?”

  “Mr Humble’s secretary.”

  Fenna shifted position and pulled the backpack closer. “Is Mr Humble here today?”

  “He is in the building, yes,” the receptionist said and gestured at the coffee machine and water dispenser. “Please help yourself to coffee. Rachael will meet you here.”

  “Thank you,” Fenna said and watched as the receptionist returned to her desk.

  This will go one of two ways, she thought as her pulse quickened. Fenna looked around the foyer and flicked her eyes from the security man by the door to another by the elevator. And then there’s the Toronto Emergency Task Force. And everything that entails.

  But I got this far, she said to herself. I just need to get a little further.

  The elevator door opened and Fenna turned her head to see a young woman, perhaps the same age as Fenna – chestnut hair and a flat chest. My city double, she laughed.

  “Ms Gregersen?” the woman said as she approached. “I’m Rachael. Mr Humble’s secretary.”

  “Mikaela,” Fenna said as she stood. She shook Rachel’s hand and pulled the backpack over her shoulder.

  “Mr Humble was intrigued by your email,” Rachael said as she led Fenna to the elevator. “It came quite out of the blue.”

  Because I wrote it last night at the hotel. Fenna pinched her thumbnails into her index fingers and nodded. “He is interested in the piece?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rachael said. “There are very few things that he would cancel a meeting for, but a handgun from The Great War is one of them. You’re lucky he’s in town. He has a flight scheduled for the afternoon. And then he will be flying on to meet his ship...”

  “The Ice Star?”

  “Yes,” Rachael said and frowned as she stepped into the elevator. “You know of it?”

  “In passing,” Fenna said and felt the hairs on her neck rise as the elevator door whispered closed.

  The security guard pressed the button for the twenty-eighth floor and clasped his hands in front of his waist. He stared at Fenna through floors two and ten until Rachael nodded that it was okay and he turned his attention to the control panel.

  “You’re from Europe?” she asked. “Your name, is it Norwegian?”

  “Danish,” said Fenna and smiled. She gestured at the control panel and said, “I thought Mr Humble would have an office on the top floor?”

  “No,” Rachael said and laughed. “He’s always getting teased about that,” she said and paused. “Mr Lunk used to say it was like going down to the basement, every time they held a meeting in Richard’s office.” The corners of Rachael’s lips soured at the mention of Lunk’s name. “Of course, after Mark’s death...” At a look from the security guard, Rachael stopped talking and Fenna bit back a smile. The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened into a modest reception with two sofas identical to the ones in the foyer. Fenna followed Rachael through the doors and into the main office area of the twenty-eighth floor. She waited until the elevator doors had closed before opening her backpack.

  “I’ll just let Mr Humble know you’re here,” Rachael said as she walked to her desk.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Fenna as she pulled the Webley out of her backpack and pointed it at Rachael’s head. Rachael’s assistant screamed, but, to her credit, Fenna mused, Humble’s receptionist stayed cool and nodded. “Which office?”

  “That one,” Rachael said and pointed at the double doors in the centre of the office space.

  “Is he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Fenna said and took a breath. “Let’s do this.” She nodded towards the doors and let Rachael lead the way. Fenna followed Rachael inside as she knocked and opened the door.

  “Rachael,” Humble said as he looked up from his desk. “And Konstabel Brongaard,” he said. For a brief moment, Fenna enjoyed the lack of composure on the man’s face, and then he was all business and she knew what she must do.

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I really thought you were dead.” Humble leaned back in his chair. Fenna kicked the door closed. She waved the Webley at Rachael and nodded for her to stand beside Humble.

  “Burwardsley finally choked on your money and had a change of heart,” she said and pulled the SD card from her shirt pocket. She handed it to Rachael and nodded at the computer. “Put it in and let me show you who your boss really is.”

  “Fenna,” Humble said as he removed his glasses and wiped them on his tie. “I see you brought the Webley.”

  “That’s not all,” she said as Rachael clicked on the folder icon on the computer to open the SD card.

  “Really? You have something to show me?”

  “Oh yes,” Fenna said. “I remember how you like to watch.” Humble paled and reached for the mouse. Rachael moved to one side only to pause at the click of the pistol’s hammer as Fenna cocked it. “There’s a movie file,” she said. “Click on it.”

  “Burwardsley,” Humble said and stammered. Sweat beaded on his brow and he pushed Rachael away from the computer.

  “Yes,” Fenna said. “Like I said, he finally got sick of your shit, just a few minutes after the woman you tortured hung herself from the rafters in the schoolhouse on that island.”

  “What is she talking about, Richard?” Rachael said and stepped away from the computer. Humble said nothing. He stared at Fenna as she centred the pistol on his face.

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Security has called the Emergency Task Force by now,” Humble said and swallowed. “You know that?”

  “I’m counting on it,” Fenna said.

  “In the time you’ve wasted on this,” he said and gestured at the screen. “I could have bought the Webley and you could be safely on your way.”

  “This isn’t about money.”

  “It’s about the girl?”

  “The girl, my partner, Oversergent...”

  “Gregersen,” Humble said and sighed. “I should have guessed at the name.”

  “You didn’t know his name.”

  “No,” Humble clicked his tongue. “You’re right, I didn’t.”

  “What about the girl? Do you remember her name?”

  “Diana,” Humble said and shrugged.

  “Dina,” Fenna shouted. “Her name was Dina, you fuck.” Rachael backed away from the table and Fenna swung the Webley towards her. “Stay there. Open that movie file.”

  Rachael clicked the file and stared at the image on the screen. Her lips paled as the phone rang. Humble looked away from the screen and focused on Fenna.

  “That’s ETF,”
he said and reached for the phone.

  “She answers it,” Fenna said and walked to the side of the desk furthest from the window. Rachel picked up the phone. She held it to her ear, trembling as the grainy image of a woman chained to a pipe twisted on the screen, the only sound a whimper and the chatter of two men as they tore the clothes from her body with their hands. Humble flicked his eyes to the screen and back to Fenna.

  “Keep watching,” she said.

  Stifled cries of pain weeped out of the computer’s speakers. The image on the screen blurred back and forth from the picture of a young woman, naked but for her own panties gagging and choking her. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the saliva spooling out the corners of her mouth.

  Rachael held out the phone and nodded at Fenna. “They want to speak to you, Richard.”

  Humble turned away from the screen.

  “You will look, you bastard,” Fenna slammed the Webley onto the table top, took two steps and gripped Humble’s head between her hands, turning and pushing the lawyer until his head was a hand’s width from the screen. “This is your boss, Rachael.”

  Rachael gasped as Dina screamed, the blurred motion of the camera focusing and refocusing on the face of the Greenlandic woman and the man penetrating her from behind, the sweating, heaving, grinning face of Richard Humble.

  The metallic clack of weapons and the shuffle of feet on the other side of the door turned Fenna’s head. She let go of Humble, paused the video and picked up the Webley. “Get back on the phone, Rachael.” Fenna pointed the Webley at Humble’s crotch. “It’s time to negotiate.”

  “They really want to speak to Richard,” Rachael said. The telephone trembled in her grasp.

  “Tell them they can open the door,” said Fenna.

  “Wait,” Humble said and looked up at Fenna. “Just wait a second.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Just wait. Rachael,” Humble turned to his secretary. “Tell them we will be out in five minutes. She is here to negotiate,” he said and turned to Fenna. “You want something in return for the video? Right?”

  “Something like that,” said Fenna.

  “Then tell me what you want.”