Arctic Rising: A Constable Maratse Stand Alone novella (Guerrilla Greenland Book 3)

by Christoffer Petersen

  Survive.

  “Enough, Inniki,” Maratse breathed. “I’m trying.”

  Try harder.

  Denmark

  Part 9

  ________________________________

  Petra kept the park on her right as she walked along Stockholmsgade, turning up her collar as a fresh May wind blew through the park, brushing her shoulders and teasing her hair as she turned left down Upsalagade. Petra stopped at the café on the corner of Lundsgade and waited, just as Inniki told her to. She sat on a stool at the table in the window, sipped her latte, checked her phone, and wondered what on Earth she had agreed to. And, more importantly, why? The smell of pizza dough and coffee beans drifted around the tables as Petra sent a text to Abella, reminding her to be nice to her sister, and that yes, mommy would be home before she was asleep. Knowing Inniki, that last part might be difficult, but Lauritz would just have to sit with the girls until Petra got home, provided he wasn’t running late, and the sitter had to wait even longer than agreed.

  “Just another day in the Jensen Karlsen clan,” Petra whispered as she tucked her phone back into her pocket. She finished her latte, ordered another, and waited.

  What she knew of Inniki Rasmussen was mostly secondhand. A friend told another friend who told her that Inniki was a cranky old woman who was kicked out of Greenland for misbehaving. Petra recalled her conversations with Lauritz as she sipped her second latte, trying to remember his exact words – something about politically toxic. Whether he meant Inniki herself, or associating with her, Petra couldn’t remember, only that Inniki was toxic enough for Petra to say she was meeting friends at a yoga class, rather than tell her politician husband she was meeting Greenland’s most wanted.

  Except she wasn’t. Not currently. And now a police constable called Maratse seemed to have stolen the title from her, before his voice suddenly disappeared from the airwaves.

  “Caught you napping,” Inniki said, as she pinched Petra’s elbow.

  Petra jumped. She spilled her coffee, then caught her breath as Inniki took a napkin and tidied up.

  “You scared me.”

  “Aap.”

  Petra looked around the café, curious if any of the patrons were watching them. An older man in the corner, hidden behind a newspaper, snapped the pages as he turned them. The only other people in the café were the staff, chatting as they prepared take-away orders.

  “Stop looking around,” Inniki said, as she tapped the younger woman’s thigh. “Let’s go.”

  “We’re not meeting here?”

  Inniki shook her head. She curled a thick grey strand of hair to one side of her head, tucking it into place, before taking Petra’s arm and guiding her out of the café.

  “I’m late,” she said, once they were out on the street, “because I was being followed.”

  “By whom?”

  Inniki shrugged and quickened her pace. “It’s not important.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s not.” She clutched Petra’s arm, disarmed her with a smile, and walked on, encouraging Petra to keep up with a gentle tug. “As long as I keep spotting them, I’m all right. When I don’t see them, that’s when I need to worry. Not before.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s the point at which things get interesting.”

  “Or they’ve lost interest.”

  “Naamik,” Inniki said, with another shake of her head. “They wouldn’t go to the trouble of showing themselves just to leave me alone. They want me to know they are here, and that they can take me whenever they want to.”

  “What do you mean take you?”

  “For questioning, or whatever it is they call it these days.”

  Petra stopped and said, “You should go to the police.”

  “Keep walking.” Inniki tightened her grip and pulled Petra into motion. “It’s not good to just stop. We don’t want to stand out.”

  “But you said…”

  “That I could see them. And I could. But right now, I can’t.” She turned her head to look behind them. “But unless they are helping that young couple move into the apartment across the street, I think we’re safe for now.”

  “You never said who they were.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No.”

  Inniki smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “The Americans?”

  “Exactly.” Inniki patted Petra’s hand, then let go of her arm to light a cigarette. “You catch on quick.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe a little too quickly.” Petra waved at the smoke from Inniki’s filterless cigarette. “Lauritz thinks I’m at yoga.”

  Inniki frowned. “Without a mat?”

  “He wasn’t home when I left. The girls are with a sitter.”

  Inniki took another look at Petra. “You don’t even have a change of clothes. You’ll have to do better next time.”

  “Next time?” Petra shook her head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing or where I’m going this time.”

  “You’ll see.” Inniki finished her cigarette and nodded at the school across the road. “Can you hear the drums?”

  Petra laughed. “I think they can hear them in Sweden.”

  “Good. Then you’ll notice when they stop. We’re going into the school, into the basement. The young man playing the drums is alone. He stops drumming to open the door and let people in. He’ll let us in, and then we’ll go to the mini sports hall in the basement.”

  “Inniki…”

  She held up her finger and said, “Listen. I’m telling you the procedure before we go inside.”

  “Okay,” Petra said. “I’m listening.”

  They crossed the road and Inniki led Petra through the gate and on to a small door on the side of the school building.

  “When the drums stop, we wait. If the drums start again after twenty seconds, we can stay in the basement. That’s the length of time it takes for Mikael to unlock the door, let someone in, and return to his drums. If he is a second late, we walk to the fire door at the end of the hall and we leave.” Inniki stopped by the side door. “No exceptions.”

  Petra took a breath, and said, “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

  “Yes, you do,” Inniki said, and pressed the buzzer on the door.

  The drums stopped. Petra held her breath. Mikael opened the door. The young Greenlander’s eyes sparkled in the late evening light when he saw Inniki. He took her hand, pulling her inside and into a hug. Petra followed, closing the door behind her.

  “Hugs,” Inniki said, pressing her hand to Mikael’s cheek before turning to Petra, “take longer than twenty seconds.” She introduced Mikael to Petra.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Nuuk.”

  Mikael nodded. “Me too.”

  “That’s enough for now. We’ll catch up next week,” Inniki said, with a nod to the stairs leading down to the basement.

  “I’ll get back to my drums.” Mikael nodded at Petra and left them to it.

  “He might be a grandnephew,” Inniki said. “I’m not sure.” She held the banister as she walked down the stairs. “He’s hoping for a place at the Royal Academy of Music. Percussion,” she added, as Mikael resumed his practice. “I think he will do well, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course,” Petra said. She followed Inniki inside the sports hall, blinking in the light as Inniki flicked the switch by the door.

  “Exit over there,” she said, pointing to the fire door in the far corner. “We sit here, between the badminton nets.” Inniki walked across the court to a single table and three chairs – two on one side, one on the other.

  “What’s going on?”

  Inniki gestured for Petra to sit, then shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the back of the nearest chair chair. “I’ll tell you,” she said, as Petra sat down.

  A light at the far end of the hall hummed and blinked, distracting Inniki for a second, and casting a yellow light on her ti
red face. She sat down, reached for Petra’s hand and clasped it with bony fingers.

  “Things are escalating,” she said. Then, pressing a finger briefly to Petra’s lips, stalling any questions, she continued. “In a matter of weeks Constable Maratse has gone from administrative employee to fugitive. The Greenland government has been wooed and suppressed with the promise of investment, personal gain, and promotion. After the initial resistance and public outcry, you’ll notice there has been no formal complaint. In the eyes of the government, all change encouraged and demanded by the Office of Intermediary Greenlandic Affairs has been accepted and approved. This includes the relocation of people from the settlements and small villages to the towns and Nuuk.”

  “Lauritz said it was voluntary.”

  Inniki nodded. “Of course, that’s the official line. But now, Petra – Piitalaat – it is forced, often at gunpoint.”

  “They can’t.”

  “They are.” Inniki let go of Petra’s hand. She tugged a pair of reading glasses from an inside pocket, put them on, and then scrolled through the messages on her phone. “In the past twenty-four hours since David’s last broadcast, there have been reports of forced relocation from Kussannaq – a settlement north of Maniitsoq.” Inniki scrolled to the next message. “There has been some fighting…”

  “Fighting?”

  Inniki lifted her head and peered over her glasses at Petra. “Between the IGA and police officers from Sisak III.”

  “I’ve been on that boat.”

  “I know.”

  “Who has been fighting?”

  “Your colleagues,” Inniki said. “Patriots.”

  “Greenlanders.”

  “Aap.”

  Petra reached for the phone, and Inniki gave it to her. She scrolled through the messages as Inniki talked.

  “This is the flash point. This is the trigger.” She paused as Petra looked up. “This is how it starts.”

  “How what starts?”

  “The struggle.”

  Petra held Inniki’s phone in her lap, and said, “But there was a struggle. Back when the Americans bought Greenland, and the deal went through. There was fighting in the streets. Rioting.”

  “Protesting,” Inniki said. “It was frustration. Anger. All those things. But this,” she said, leaning forward to tap the screen of her phone. “This is the next step. The trigger.”

  “A Greenlander was killed,” Petra said, reading the messages.

  “Nukappi Aalisartoq,” Inniki said. “That’s right.”

  “And an American.”

  “From the IGA.”

  “Shot in Kussannaq.”

  Another nod from Inniki. “This is how it begins.”

  Petra pressed her hand to her mouth as she scrolled through the last messages.

  “Petra,” Inniki said, taking her phone. “This is important.”

  “I know,” Petra said. She nodded, placed her hands in her lap, and focused on Inniki.

  “This struggle could claim more lives, more Greenlanders.”

  “The Americans have lots of resources.”

  “This is true.”

  “Then this struggle is doomed,” Petra said.

  “It doesn’t have to be. But it will be hard.” Inniki removed her glasses and tucked them into her pocket. “I need your help.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Greenland needs you.”

  Petra shook her head. “I don’t know. My girls… Lauritz.” She looked at Inniki, suddenly torn, saddened by the events in Greenland, her home, but safe in Denmark. “I can’t…”

  “Can’t what?” Inniki smiled. “I haven’t told you what I need yet.”

  “You want me to go to Greenland.” Petra reached for Inniki’s hand. “I just can’t.”

  “You’re jumping the gun, Petra.” Inniki gestured at the hall, nodding at the faulty light at the far end. “I need you here. With me. Every Tuesday.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Inniki said with a glance at the ceiling, “when the drums stop, we need to be ready to receive our guests.”

  “What guests?”

  “Greenlanders,” Inniki said.

  She stood and tugged Petra to her feet. They walked the length of the hall to the storeroom along the far wall. Inniki opened the door and walked inside. Petra followed, wrinkling her nose at the smell of rubber mattresses, sap, and sweat. Inniki rolled a ping pong table to one side to reveal tall, narrow cupboards built into the wall. She opened them and reached inside for a radio handset and a compass.

  “Greenlanders living in Denmark will come. We will teach them how to use radios.” Inniki laughed at the frown wrinkling Petra’s brow. “Not all Greenlanders know how to use a radio, but we’ll teach them.”

  “And the compass?” Petra pointed and said, “We’re going to teach them…”

  “Navigation,” Inniki said. She slid the radio and the compass back onto the shelf and opened the next cupboard.

  “An air rifle?” Petra bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

  “You see an air rifle,” Inniki said. “I see a tool to teach precision and patience. We’re both used to handling weapons, maps, and radios. It’s time we passed on those skills to those less fortunate to have grown up in Greenland.” She closed the cupboard. “This is phase one.”

  “Phase one?” Petra frowned as she raced to catch up. “What’s phase two?”

  “Greenland, by container ship.”

  “Inniki,” Petra said, stifling another laugh. “We’re recruiting?”

  “Aap.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Inniki pulled her phone from her pocket, and said, “The Americans take this seriously, and so should we.”

  “This is crazy, Inniki. We can’t possibly fight the Americans… Even if we could...”

  “The fight has already begun,” Inniki said. “All we have to do is fight back long enough for the world to take notice.” She put the rifle back in the cupboard and slipped her phone into her pocket. Inniki slid the table back into position, then smiled as she spotted something on a shelf behind Petra.

  “What’s this?” Petra asked, as Inniki pressed a roll of foam into her hands.

  “Tell Lauritz it’s a yoga mat,” she said. “Now, go home, snuggle up with the girls, and say nothing.” Inniki reached up to brush a loose strand of hair from Petra’s cheek. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

  Greenland

  Part 10

  ________________________________

  The mountain wind fanned the flames from the heather towards the helicopter cabin. Maratse jerked at the restraints strapping him to his seat. His left shoulder came free as the canvas strap, severed by a shard of metal, frayed and snapped. Maratse rolled free of the restraints, slapping the quick-release button at his waist. He slid onto the deck, biting back the pain from the gash in his right arm and shin. Blood streamed from the cut in his brow, and he wiped it from his eyes, blinking in the smoke from the fire as he took stock of his immediate surroundings.

  Survive.

  Maratse looked to his right, blinking again as he tried to figure out what was wrong with the door gunner, only to realise that the man’s head was still in the helmet between his legs. Maratse heaved his last meal onto the deck, wiped his mouth, then used the seats to pull himself to his knees. He knocked Walcott’s knee as he stood, then reached down to release the IGA leader’s safety restraints. Walcott slumped forward. Maratse pressed two fingers to Walcott’s neck, searching for a pulse, then curled his hand around the grab loop at the back of Walcott’s vest.

  “We have to go,” he said.

  Naamik. You have to go, David.

  Maratse pushed Inniki’s voice from his head as he dragged Walcott to the door. What was left of the cockpit and the pilots was partly buried – concertinaed. Flattened. Gone. But the rest of the aircraft was level. Maratse cried out as he dropped down to the ground. He swore as he stood, spurred on by the flames licking the tail of the helico
pter, stretching towards the cabin. He grabbed the loop on Walcott’s vest, heaved him out of the wreckage, then fell, pulling the American on top of him. The flames leaped from the tail to the cabin, singeing Walcott’s hair, until Maratse shoved the IGA man off his chest, rolling him to the side, away from the flames. The steep mountainside and gravity helped, as Walcott toppled over the lip of a granite ledge and thumped onto the one below it. Maratse rolled away from the flames, over the lip, and landed on top of Walcott. The flames stretched above them, and Maratse watched the orange and yellow tongues as they scorched the parts of the helicopter he could see, the parts that were still whole.

  “Constable,” Walcott groaned.

  “Iiji?”

  “Get off me.”

  Maratse rolled off Walcott and into the heather. The fire roared above them. He grabbed the vest loop again and pulled Walcott further from the flames, ignoring his protests, turning a deaf ear to collarbone and broken.

  “Have to get clear,” Maratse said.

  Walcott muttered something and then passed out. Maratse dragged him another ten metres, rolling him when the mountain allowed, before twisting and pulling him until Walcott sat with his back against a boulder. Walcott opened his eyes and stared at Maratse.

  “You could have left me.”

  Maratse dropped onto his side. Blood streamed from the gash on his forehead. He tipped his head back to let it run through his hair and into the heather.

  “Eeqqi,” he said. “I couldn’t.”

  “What about the crew?”

  “Gone.”

  “Okay,” Walcott said. “I’m sorry. I had orders.”

  Maratse lifted his head, caught Walcott’s eye. He watched him as he spoke.

  “I was supposed to bring you in, Constable. You caused all kinds of problems. You had to be stopped.”

  “I talked on the radio.”

  “Yes.” Walcott gritted his teeth as he probed his collarbone with his finger. “Propaganda.”

  “Hmm,” Maratse said. “I talked about hunting, about dogs, about toilet buckets…”