The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  Fenna pointed at the image of Humble, mid-thrust, as he penetrated Dina’s tied, torn and twisted body. “You can’t bring her back. Can you, Richard?”

  “No,” Humble said and shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

  “Oversergent Gregersen, then. Can you bring him back?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t know what you can give me,” Fenna said and pressed the gun to Humble’s head, the barrel depressing the skin beneath the lawyer’s receding hairline.

  “Ms Gregersen.” Fenna turned at the shout from outside the office door. “We need to talk to Mr Humble.”

  “Your friends are impatient, that wasn’t five minutes,” Fenna said and lifted the Webley from Humble’s forehead.

  “Rachael,” said Humble. “Set up a transfer of $1,000,000 to an account of the Konstabel’s choice.” Humble looked up at Fenna. “In return,” he said, “I get all the copies of that video.”

  “That’s what Dina’s life is worth? And Mikael’s? 1,000,000 Canadian dollars?”

  “I can’t give you their lives back, Fenna. I am buying my reputation. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do,” Fenna said took a step back. “You pay and I walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then make it $2,000,000 and you can have all the copies.” Fenna turned to Rachael. “You’ll find the account number in my original email with the title ‘Webley’.”

  “There are two numbers here,” she said.

  “There are two families.”

  “And what about you, Konstabel?” said Humble. “What do you want?”

  “Your assurance you won’t press charges. That will be enough for me.”

  Humble nodded his head at the door. “You have my word,” he said and reached for the mouse.

  “Not for that,” Fenna said as Humble closed the movie file. She took a step backwards, away from the desk. “For this,” she said and pointed the Webley at Humble’s crotch and fired.

  Chapter 33

  At the crash of the bullet and the combined scream from Humble and his secretary, Toronto’s Emergency Task Force breached the door. Fenna closed her eyes and opened her mouth a second before the flash grenade rolled into the room, detonating in the centre of the office. Two ETF officers tackled Fenna to the ground, pulling the Webley from her grasp; they cuffed her with plastic ties and pressed her to the floor with a knee in her spine. Two more officers assisted Rachael out of the office while a third attended to Humble’s bleeding crotch. The tactical team leader stepped around Fenna. He pointed to the door with the gloved thumb of his right hand. The officers holding Fenna changed their grip and pulled her to her feet.

  The team leader looked down at the medic cutting away Humble’s trousers with medical shears. “How bad is he hurt?”

  The medic looked up at Humble. He turned to the team leader. “The bullet has severed his penis and blown one of his testicles to mush, sir.” Humble groaned.

  “But he’ll live?” said the team leader.

  “Yes. I’ll give him a shot of morphine,” the medic said and looked up at Humble. “Are you allergic to morphine, sir?”

  “No,” Humble said and gritted his teeth. The medic pressed a needle into a phial from his pack and drew the clear liquid into the syringe. He jabbed the needle into Humble’s thigh and depressed the plunger.

  “Wait,” said Humble. He gasped and pointed at Fenna. “Please, wait.”

  “What is it, sir?” the ETF team leader walked around Fenna and stood in front of Humble.

  “She didn’t do anything,” said Humble, his chest rising and falling with rapid movements.

  The team leader pointed at an ETF officer unloading and securing the Webley. “She shot you, sir. With that pistol.”

  “No,” said Humble, his face contorted, his cheeks wet with sweat and tears. “It was an accident.” He gritted his teeth and continued. “I wanted to see if it was in working order.” Humble looked at Fenna. “It went off in her hands.”

  “You’re saying she accidentally shot you with a loaded pistol?”

  “Apparently,” said Humble and took a ragged breath.

  The team leader rubbed his face with his glove. “Okay, sir. Are you sure you want us to release this woman?” he said and pointed at Fenna.

  “Yes,” Humble said and twisted as the medic applied a large bandage over his crotch. Humble glanced at the medic’s hands as he packed the wound and then averted his eyes. “I have already bought the pistol. It is mine. Ask my secretary.”

  “All right then, sir. We’ll get you to a hospital and she...” the team leader said and shook his head. “She walks free.” Fenna stared at Humble.

  “Thank you, officer,” said Humble.

  “Ms Gregersen. If you’ll come with us.”

  Fenna’s body shook within the ETF officers’ grasp as the rush of adrenalin in her body dispersed. She sagged within their grip and the men pulled her to her feet and marched her towards the door. She willed her legs to hold her as she stopped and turned to face Humble. He stared at her, biting back a spasm of pain as the medic bound his groin.

  Fenna took a breath and let the men lead her from the room. The irony of being captive in the hands of men once again, was not lost on her. As they neared the door she heard Humble begin to choke. The ETF officers paused and Fenna turned as they did to see Humble start to convulse in his chair. The medic pressed his hands to Humble’s shoulders and nodded for the team leader to help him.

  “It must be an allergic reaction,” he said.

  The team leader shook his head. “But he said...”

  “I know what he said.” The medic’s voice faltered. “Shit. We’re going to lose him.”

  The team leader turned and waved at the men guarding Fenna. “Get her out of here,” he said.

  The officers pulled Fenna from the room as she twisted for one last look at Humble, his face turning a shade of blue, a stark contrast to the white froth bubbling at his mouth. The image of Humble’s last minutes flickered across Fenna’s mind as she was escorted into the elevator. Fenna suppressed a smile as the elevator descended to the ground floor and the men escorted her through the lobby. A cordon of police cars blocked the street and a plain clothes man met them at the door.

  “Inspector Mitchell,” he said and flashed his badge. “I’ll take her from here. RCMP,” he said when the ETF officers frowned at him.

  “We have our orders,” said the senior officer.

  “And so do I,” Mitchell said. “Now, we can wait for your team leader if you want, and then he can explain to the Danish Consular General why ETF has a Danish national in custody. Or,” he said and slipped his badge into his pocket, “I can get the ball rolling and let your team leader deal with the other pressing matter – the death of a prominent Canadian lawyer on his watch.” Fenna felt the officers relax their grip on her arms. “It’s all over the radio,” Mitchell said.

  “Take her then,” the senior officer said and shoved Fenna towards Mitchell.

  “Wise choice,” he said and pulled Fenna down the steps of the building towards a black SUV parked on the curb. He opened the passenger door and pushed Fenna inside. She watched as he jogged around the hood of the SUV, opened the door and climbed behind the wheel.

  “RCMP?” Fenna said, as Mitchell pulled away from the curb and drove around the police cordon. She realised the motor had been running the whole time.

  “Not exactly,” he said and manoeuvred into traffic. He leaned across Fenna and opened the glove compartment. “There’s some keys to your cuffs in there.”

  Fenna lifted the user’s manual. She found the keys next to a phial of morphine. Fenna smiled as she lid the keys into her hand. She fiddled with the cuffs as Mitchell stopped at a red light.

  “There’s a phial of morphine in the glove compartment,” she said.

  Mitchell glanced at her and then turned back to study the road ahead. He shrugged. “A mutual friend sends his regards,” he said, “and requests that y
ou get the fuck back to Denmark as soon as possible.”

  “Jarnvig,” Fenna said and unlocked the cuffs. She tossed them into the glove compartment, took one last look at the morphine and closed the lid. “I should have guessed.”

  “Yes, and you should have maybe thought too.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We’ve had our eye on Humble for a while. Did you really think he would let you live considering everything you know?”

  “You mean the video?”

  “Fuck, Brongaard,” Mitchell said and accelerated as the light changed. “The video? Really? How about espionage and government-sanctioned acts of terror.” Mitchell sighed as he turned, following the signs for the airport. “Humble had to go, one way or the other. But you tipped our hand, and we had to act. Hell, my cover is blown, that’s for sure. I’ll be recalled to Denmark any day now.” Mitchell paused to glance at Fenna. He stuck out his hand. “Nicklas Fischer,” he said.

  “Is that your real name?”

  “For the moment, yes.”

  “And you work for Jarnvig?”

  “Let’s just say we know each other and leave it at that.”

  The traffic on the freeway was steady all the way to the airport. Jarnvig’s man escorted Fenna through security and all the way to the boarding gate.

  “Good luck, Konstabel,” he said and walked away. Fenna watched him leave.

  She found a seat close to the gate and waited, replaying the scene of Humble’s death. The beginnings of a smile tickled the corners of her mouth. Fenna bit her lip to suppress a giggle. It was done. No more games. He was dead. The bastard was dead.

  The Beach

  BLÅVAND, DENMARK

  Chapter 34

  BLÅVAND BEACH, DENMARK

  The sand dusted across the beach, settling on Fenna’s jeans and filling her pockets. She picked up the dismembered pincer of a crab, pressed the tips of her fingers against the spines and lifted it to her nose to sniff at the meat rotting inside the claw. It smelled of the sea. It took her back to the summer ice-free waters of Greenland, on a rocky beach just down from the dog yard at Daneborg. A Labrador splashed into the surf in front of her, its owner apologising as Fenna brushed at the spots of salt water staining her jeans.

  “It’s not a problem,” she said and wished the man a good day as she watched him hurl a tennis ball into the sea. The Labrador splashed after it, and Fenna smiled; her first of the day.

  Once the dog and its owner had retreated along the beach and out of sight, she dug her hands into the sand and hid them there, feeling the cool sand beneath her palms, and the brush of the grains on the backs of her hands. She wriggled her toes into the sand and closed her eyes. She filtered out the chatter of the tourists on the beach, the flap and flutter of kites, focusing instead on the crash of the waves as they spilled onto the long, broad beach of Denmark’s west coast.

  She felt the soft tremor of city shoes in the sand before she heard the man’s approach. Fenna had an idea of who it might be and opened her eyes, blinking at Per Jarnvig’s face as he stared down at her.

  “Konstabel,” he said. “All well?”

  “Yes,” Fenna said and dug her fingers and toes deeper into the sand, like tiny anchors.

  “Still wearing the policeman’s jacket, I see,” he said. “Having difficulty letting go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Jarnvig made a show of enjoying the sea air, smiling at a group of Germans as they walked past, the tiny dog at their heels paused to investigate what Fenna had buried in the sand. It scurried away as the children in the group called to the puppy.

  “How’s the house?” Jarnvig said when they were alone.

  “It’s nice,” Fenna said and glanced over her shoulder at the beach house tucked behind the dunes. The tiles of the roof glittered in the sun. “Bit posh for a Sirius girl,” she said.

  “Hmm. About that.” Jarnvig turned his head in the direction of the lighthouse to the north of where Fenna sat. “Walk with me,” he said.

  Fenna dusted the sand from her hands. She curled her fingers into the ankle loops of her boots and carried them, one in each hand, as she walked alongside Jarnvig.

  “You’ve stopped limping then. How are your ribs?”

  “They’re fine. I’m fine.”

  “Physically, yes, I’m sure you are. But how are you really doing?”

  “Do you care?” Fenna asked and double-stepped to avoid a sharp swathe of shells beneath her feet.

  “Actually,” Jarnvig said and lifted the manila folder he carried in his left hand. Fenna hadn’t noticed it. “Your mental well-being is more important to me than the shape your body is in.” Fenna laughed. “You stirred the pot in Canada, Fenna,” he continued. “But you also sent a message. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service will never recognise any association with Richard Humble, nor will they admit to knowing anything about covert operations in Greenland. You understand this, don’t you?”

  Fenna nodded, biting her lip at the mention of Humble.

  “What happened in Toronto,” he said and paused. “Let’s just say we gained some ground and lost some. Fischer has been recalled, but Humble has been neutralised. I mention this freely as you and I have an agreement, Konstabel. You work for me now.” Jarnvig lifted the folder in his hand and used it to point to the path between the dunes that led to the beach house.

  Fenna followed his lead and felt the itch of the straw and grass beneath her feet, laid along the surface of the path to protect the dunes. They didn’t speak until they reached the house. Jarnvig waited for Fenna to unlock the door, brush her feet on the mat and invite him inside. He placed the folder on the table as Fenna filled the coffee machine with water.

  “What about my rank?” she asked as she heaped coffee grounds into the filter paper. The machine beeped as she turned it on.

  “You’ll keep your rank,” Jarnvig said and sat down at the table. “But it will be more of a codename, than a title,” he said.

  “A bit like The Magician,” she said.

  “He’s not your concern, Konstabel.”

  “No?”

  “No,” Jarnvig said and gestured for Fenna to sit at the table. The chair legs squeaked across the tiles as she pulled it out and sat down.

  “Whose concern will he be?” she said and tried to look Jarnvig in the eye. He was good at avoiding eye contact, she realised and gave up.

  “We will deal with him if and when he turns up, not before.”

  “Then what do I do in the meantime?” Fenna said and reached for the folder.

  “You,” Jarnvig said and pushed the folder towards her, “are going back to school.”

  “University?” she said and frowned.

  “Not that kind of school.”

  Fenna opened the folder and skimmed the first page.

  “Tradecraft?” she said and looked up.

  “It’s jargon for communication skills and the practical application of...”

  “Explosives?” Fenna said and tapped her finger on the page.

  “That too. Yes.”

  “I thought I was going to be trained as an investigator?”

  “You are,” Jarnvig said and smiled. “But I like my investigators to be able to act, when the occasion calls for it.” He let Fenna read and stood up to get two mugs from the kitchen. He poured them both a coffee and returned to the table.

  “Your Arctic skills and knowledge of Greenland are invaluable, Fenna. That will be your area of operations, and your focus. But your training,” he said and paused to take a sip of coffee. “Let’s just say, there are things you can get away with in the desert that we just can’t do here in Denmark.”

  “You’re sending me to the Middle East?” Fenna said and looked up.

  “Almost,” he said. “Konstabel, I am sending you to Arizona.”

  Fenna closed the folder and leaned back in her chair. The sun glittered through the blinds and she squinted in the glare. Arizona? That’s a long wa
y from Greenland.

  “One more thing,” Jarnvig said. “Do you speak Chinese?”

  “No,” Fenna said and laughed. She studied Jarnvig’s face and stopped laughing. “Not yet, I guess.”

  “Good,” he said and stood up. Jarnvig picked up the folder, tapped it once on the table to settle the papers and slipped it under his arm. “You leave on Tuesday. I’ll have someone pick you up and bring you some more suitable clothing.”

  “So there’s a mission or an assignment?” she said and looked up at Jarnvig.

  “Your assignment is to get top marks at school. Your mission, well,” he paused, “there’s something I want you to investigate.”

  “Where?”

  Jarnvig smiled and said, “Somewhere north. In the shadow of a mountain.”

  A Greenlandic Glossary

  The characters of Maratse, Kula, and Dina in The Ice Star are from the east coast of Greenland. East Greenlandic is a dialect of Greenlandic. There is, to date, no real written record of the language and children in East Greenland are required to learn West Greenlandic. For Dina to learn English, she would have had to learn West Greenlandic, then Danish and English as her fourth language. There are no foreign language dictionaries translating East Greenlandic words to English. English is predominantly taught through Danish, with all explanations and points of grammar written in Danish. Dina, however, is unremarkable in the sense that many East Greenlanders learn English, and work in the tourist industry. But it is far from easy.

  Here is a very brief glossary of the few East Greenlandic words used in The Ice Star, and the English equivalents.

  East Greenlandic/English

  iiji / yes

  eeqqi / no

  qujanaq/qujanaraali / thank you

  iserniaa / come in

  Acknowledgements

  The Ice Star has had a lot of help over the years since I first started writing it. It began life in 2013 as a project for my Master of Arts in Professional Writing at Falmouth University, England. A number of my peers critiqued the first few incarnations of the manuscript, and I would like to thank Ramon James and Erik Poirier for their “gloves off” feedback. Sarah Acton knows more about The Ice Star than I do, and has contributed to the development of many aspects, not least the main character. Isabel Dennis-Muir, also from the MA, has provided invaluable editing skills and feedback on the later drafts of the manuscript. Of the different supervisors involved in the project, I would like to thank Tom Bromley who saw the project through to its completion, with lots of valuable feedback and plot revisions along the way.