Into Oblivion

by Arnaldur Indridason

  ‘She was scared of him,’ said Marion, looking at the pages, ‘but didn’t want to tell anyone.’

  ‘She must have been embarrassed.’

  ‘She was obviously pretty innocent. She sounds so bewildered.’

  ‘Yes. She doesn’t understand what he’s up to. Mind you, a brief comment like that’s not much to go on.’

  ‘So no one knew? That this man was spying on her?’

  ‘No, I doubt it,’ said Erlendur. ‘I’m guessing Dagbjört never let on to her parents or friends. And the man’s name doesn’t crop up anywhere in the case files. No one seems to have interviewed him or, if they did, there’s no note of it.’

  ‘Of course you can never interview everyone.’

  ‘No, true.’

  ‘This is quite a significant discovery,’ said Marion, handing back the pages. ‘Have you told her aunt?’

  ‘No, not yet. I want to look into it a bit more before I start raising any false hopes.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Marion, eyes resting meditatively on the little figurines on the bookshelves. ‘It’s not fair to go around raising false hopes.’

  30

  There seemed no point in detaining Ellert and Vignir any longer. Despite their continued denials of any wrongdoing, they were going to be charged, so there were no further grounds for keeping them locked up. They would be placed under a travel ban until their case came to court. They smirked at Erlendur as they walked out of Sídumúli Prison, as if they had won a major victory against the police. Erlendur was only too glad to see the back of them.

  When he returned to Kópavogur, there was a message for him to call Caroline. He knew the number of her workplace but didn’t recognise the one she had given this time. It turned out to be her home phone. She answered after one ring.

  ‘What the hell have you gotten me into?’ she said the moment she heard Erlendur’s voice.

  ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I need to see you. Not here on the base. Down in the village.’

  ‘The village? You mean Keflavík?’

  ‘Yeah, Keflavík. Know the place?’

  ‘Not very well,’ Erlendur admitted.

  ‘Meet me by the soccer field,’ said Caroline. ‘In the parking lot. You ought to be able to find that. Get going. Now!’

  She hung up and Erlendur was left staring at the receiver, not knowing what had hit him. Caroline had sounded in a real state, spitting out the words in a frantic whisper. He thought he had detected genuine fear in her voice.

  This was the day after his visit to Marion, who still didn’t feel up to coming into the office, so Erlendur drove out to Keflavík alone, ignoring the speed limit. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t know the town, so after driving aimlessly up and down the main street, he stopped a pedestrian who directed him to the football ground. When he arrived, there were only a handful of vehicles in the car park and he saw Caroline step out of one and walk towards him. She jerked open the passenger door and got in.

  ‘Drive somewhere out of town,’ she said.

  ‘What’s wrong? What are you afraid of?’

  ‘Just drive!’

  Caroline was wearing an army jacket with the hood up. It had a fur ruff that almost completely hid her face. Neither said a word while Erlendur found his way to a road leading west out of town and eventually came to a sign pointing to Sandgerdi and Gardur. He opted for Gardur and they drove in tense silence until finally he pulled up beside the Gardskagi lighthouse. Beyond it, foaming white breakers were crashing onto the rocks and they could hear the booming as the waves rolled up the shore.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ asked Erlendur warily, once he had switched off the engine.

  ‘I should never have gotten involved,’ said Caroline.

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Your case – what do you think? I should have left well alone.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The shit’s hit the fan, that’s what,’ said Caroline, twisting in her seat to look through the back windscreen in case they’d been followed. She’d done this several times on the way. ‘I have a friend in Military Intelligence in Washington,’ she explained. ‘I called him up because he’s an old boyfriend of mine and I trust him, and anyhow I didn’t think the information I was requesting was anything special. But he got real jumpy and started demanding to know why I was calling him from Iceland to ask about an airline called Northern Cargo Transport. He wanted to know where I’d come across the name, why I was asking about it, what I intended to do with the information and whether my superior officers knew about my enquiries. My superior officers! And he’s my friend! I asked if he was going to report me. That stopped him in his tracks.’

  ‘Did he know right away what you were talking about?’ asked Erlendur.

  ‘Right away. He’s quite high up and he’s told me before that he has access to all kinds of information. He wanted to know if I was in the office and when I said I was, he told me to go home. Took my number and said he’d call me there. See what I mean? It’s that kind of situation. We had to change phones. He’s worried about wiretapping and all I did was mention the name of that airline.’

  ‘Did you call him at work?’

  ‘No, at home. He was about to go to the office.’

  ‘Did he call back?’

  Caroline nodded and adjusted the rear-view mirror so she could see out of the back.

  ‘When he arrived at the office. I told him that –’

  ‘Hang on a minute, do you think you might actually be in some kind of danger?’ asked Erlendur.

  ‘I don’t know. He told me to watch my back and steer clear of you guys. To forget about Northern Cargo Transport and all that crap.’

  ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ said Caroline. ‘He’s my ex. Try to keep up.’

  ‘Who’s supposed to be following you?’

  ‘I’ve been real careful. I didn’t tell anyone I’m helping you except my friend in Washington this morning. Not even my superior officer. My friend told me to keep it that way and to stop helping you right now. And that all phones are risky. I didn’t know that. I took mine apart – couldn’t find anything but that’s not saying much because I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I’m not sure about my work phone. Haven’t checked that yet. But you have to stop calling me. We can’t talk on the phone any more.’

  ‘What did you tell your man in Washington?’

  ‘I told him an Icelandic civilian had been killed, most likely murdered, and that you believe it happened in one of our hangars. I told him the man was a flight mechanic with temporary access to Hangar 885 where the Icelandic airline’s permitted to use the facilities from time to time. That he’d serviced a C-130 Hercules for a company called Northern Cargo Transport and discovered that it was carrying artillery. And that he found it kind of strange that a civilian operator should be involved in arms shipments so he started asking around about the company, and that you guys believe this might have cost him his life. That he’d been pushed off a platform in the hangar and afterward his body had been taken off base and dumped in a lava field.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He asked me how the hell I’d gotten dragged into this,’ said Caroline. ‘I told him I was ordered to assist you and that you’d asked me to run a few checks to save you the time and paperwork and avoid unnecessary political hassle or however it was you sold it to me. He said you were just using me and that I shouldn’t be doing this and must stop at once.’

  ‘Did he imply you’d lose your job?’

  ‘I guess so. Or worse. Actually I think he was talking more like treason and court martial and all that shit.’

  ‘But you managed to persuade him to help you in spite of that?’

  ‘Yes, in the end. We … let’s just say he decided to do me a favour.’

  ‘What about Northern Cargo Transport? What did he say about that?’

  ‘He said it was
run by the CIA.’

  ‘Did you say CIA?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Of course, that explains it,’ said Erlendur.

  ‘What? What does it explain?’

  ‘The company uses the same call sign as the American air force when they land at Keflavík,’ said Erlendur, remembering the conversation with Kristvin’s boss, Engilbert. ‘Their planes land here under cover of the army. When they enter Icelandic airspace they’re not distinguished in any way from the military jets. That’s how they slip in and out of the country unseen.’

  ‘That’s exactly what my friend said. How did you know?’

  ‘I gather that Icelandic air traffic control has noticed. But I don’t think they realise the CIA are using the company as a front to fly in here under military call signs. They’d be bound to comment on that. Especially if a civilian airline’s being sheltered by the military.’

  ‘Yeah, they would, right?’

  ‘Though I can’t be certain,’ said Erlendur, a little shamefaced. ‘Our relationship with the army is a bit unusual, as we’ve been trying to explain. It’s all tied up with money and Cold War politics and the fight for independence, and everyone’s at each other’s throats.’

  Caroline gazed at the surf by the lighthouse, listening to the boom and hiss as the waves rolled ashore, then were sucked back out again. She wound down the window to hear better as they rose and fell as rhythmically as if the sea were breathing. She seemed much calmer now and had stopped checking the rear-view mirror.

  ‘But that’s the least of it,’ she said at last.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard some news about the Hercules that landed here in transit two weeks ago,’ said Caroline. ‘I found out that three men boarded the plane and travelled on to Greenland. After we … parted yesterday, I tried to find out what was going on, the little information that exists. Called up a couple people I know. Tried not to seem too interested. Said I’d received a request about a package for the States that was supposed to go by military transport.’

  ‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ said Erlendur. ‘I have a habit of saying the wrong thing, but I didn’t mean to make you storm off like that.’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Caroline briskly. ‘The plane was operated by NCT and was given special express treatment, according to a colleague of mine. The hold was never opened. It refuelled in a hurry and was back in the air in no time, headed for Greenland, possibly en route to the States. I don’t know what its final destination was. Could have been Greenland, for that matter.’

  ‘And you find that suspicious? Isn’t it standard?’

  ‘I’ve no real experience in this area but you were asking about the airline and its planes, so I got curious. Especially after I found out who hitched a ride on the Hercules.’

  ‘You mean one of the three passengers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘On the passenger list I was shown, which is a restricted document, it said “W. Cain”. And it occurred to me it could be the “W” Joan said was Kristvin’s sponsor at the Animal Locker. In this case the “W” stands for Wilbur.’

  ‘The man Joan …? Was it this guy Wilbur?’

  ‘I looked him up. Wilbur’s not a common name. It turns out there’s only one man with that name at NAS Kef at the present time.’

  ‘Wilbur Cain?’

  ‘Yeah. I ran it by my friend in Washington but he didn’t recognise it and said he’d check it out when he got to the office. He called me back earlier. Turns out Wilbur Cain’s employed by Military Intelligence. He was sent to Iceland about four months ago on assignment but my friend doesn’t know what it entails. He told me to watch my back with him – Cain’s the reason my friend’s now trying to find out just what in hell is going on here. He told me to quit making all these enquiries and sit tight till I heard from him.’

  Caroline was growing jittery again. She fiddled with the mirror and stared frowning out of the rear windscreen.

  ‘Wilbur Cain’s most likely an alias. Cain’s an experienced agent, he’s worked on all kinds of covert missions for the military, and he’s an expert in making assassinations look like accidents.’

  Caroline looked at Erlendur.

  ‘It’s him I’m afraid of.’

  31

  They sat perplexed, listening to the pounding of the waves below the lighthouse as the early darkness of winter closed in. Erlendur glanced up at the lamp that came to life and died at regular intervals as a warning to seafarers. He felt completely out of his depth.

  ‘What’s a man like that doing here of all places?’ he asked after a long pause.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘And what on earth was he doing with Kristvin at the Animal Locker? How could they have met?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Caroline. ‘Maybe Kristvin drew attention to himself by asking questions about the Hercules and NCT. Somebody was alerted, who alerted somebody else and Wilbur Cain was tasked with making enquiries about the man.’

  ‘But he went to the club with him,’ said Erlendur. ‘That’s hardly discreet. And Joan knows he’s called “W”. Would Kristvin have known his name? If this man’s a Military Intelligence agent as you say?’

  ‘I think –’

  ‘Not that I have a clue how these people work.’

  ‘Apparently it’s just one of the aliases he uses,’ said Caroline. ‘Wilbur Cain’s on home turf. He has no reason to go to ground when he’s on the base. He can leave the country at an hour’s notice and the authorities can deny that anyone of that name ever set foot in Iceland.’

  ‘So it’s possible that Kristvin wasn’t careful enough – he mouths off about arms shipments and private airlines and this Wilbur Cain is sent to find out what he’s up to?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘He seems to have been quick to befriend him.’

  ‘Wasn’t Kristvin after something? Vodka? Cigarettes?’

  ‘Marijuana.’

  ‘Then it wouldn’t have been hard for Cain to strike up an acquaintance with him.’

  ‘Are you sure this Wilbur Cain is the same man as Kristvin’s “W”?’

  ‘Of course I can’t be sure, but it seems likely,’ said Caroline. ‘The airline’s a link – Kristvin’s enquiries about the NCT planes. And we know that someone called “W” was in Kristvin’s company on at least one occasion. Cain’s a member of special forces, so he must have been sent here on a specific assignment. I don’t think we should dismiss the possibility.’

  Erlendur sat silently for a long time and found himself inadvertently comparing the two cases that were occupying all his thoughts at the moment. On the one hand Kristvin’s death, in which a superpower might have played a part, with its military installations and special-forces agents, and on the other the Dagbjört affair, the tale of a lone individual going missing on a remote little island in the North Atlantic. Caroline asked what he was thinking and Erlendur started to tell her about the girl who had vanished so inexplicably on her way to school in 1953, about the unsuccessful search for her, and all the years that had passed since then with no news of her fate. There was no way of telling – probably never would be – if a crime had been committed. He said Kristvin’s case presented such a stark contrast.

  ‘The odd thing is,’ Erlendur added, ‘that both cases have a connection to the American occupation. The girl’s route passed by Camp Knox, an area of old barracks built by the US garrison in Reykjavík. It’s rumoured she knew a boy there.’

  ‘An American?’

  ‘No, the soldiers were long gone by then, moved out here to Midnesheidi. No, a local boy. What I’m trying to get across is that we Icelanders just don’t know how to deal with what’s happening on the base.’

  ‘Nor me,’ she said. ‘You can take that as read.’

  ‘I mean, this is your world but it’s a world we simply don’t understand. As a nation we emulate everything you do without really knowing why and forget that we’re just a bunch
of poor farmers, forced by modern life to live in blocks of flats. You’re the richest nation on the planet. The biggest military power in history. For most of our existence we’ve been fighting a losing battle against starvation.’

  ‘That sucks,’ said Caroline, momentarily forgetting her anxiety. ‘What … why …?’

  ‘Oh, a combination of factors. Volcanic eruptions. Earthquakes. Sometimes epidemics. But mostly bad seasons with prolonged periods of arctic conditions. Sometimes all of them rolled into one. But in spite of that we’ve managed to scrape some sort of living up here, and our generation and the generations to come will reap the benefits and be better off than they’ll ever realise.’

  Erlendur pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one and inhaled. He wound down the window on his side to let out the smoke.

  ‘As a result our crimes tend to be rather old-fashioned and provincial,’ he continued. ‘Murders are rarely premeditated, though of course we have our share of notorious cases and mysterious disappearances, like any other country. But what I wanted to say is that they seldom have any international context. Perhaps that’s changing now. Of course there’s a Cold War going on in the outside world and it affects us here with its spies and undercover shenanigans. We know the Soviets have tried to recruit Icelanders and there have been incidents related to international politics, but, I don’t know …’

  Caroline allowed herself a faint smile.

  ‘Times change,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, times change.’

  ‘Someone told me you can drive round the whole island in twenty-four hours. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true. There are only 230,000 of us living here, speaking our funny language. Descendants of the Vikings. Once, the worst humiliation anyone could conceive of in this country was if a woman slapped a man across the face.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now, like other dwarf nations we’re desperate for recognition that we have something to offer, trying to prove that we can play with the big boys on the world stage. That’s why we’ve got this socking great naval base here. We long to be important in some way. But of course we’re not. We’re of no importance to anyone.’