We know how the army is viewed by many Icelanders and we are aware that military manoeuvres on Icelandic soil are frowned on by the public, but this is an emergency and if the expedition is to be successful, we must proceed in absolute secrecy. But, needless to say, we wouldn’t want to act without your full cooperation. I’d like to make that absolutely clear from the outset and stress that this is above all a scientific expedition. The military personnel will be accompanied by some of our most senior scientists.’
‘What’s so special about this plane?’ the prime minister asked again.
‘I think we had better leave it at that for the moment. We wanted to inform you in case anything went wrong – and of course in a spirit of mutual cooperation.’
‘Went wrong?’ the foreign minister echoed him. ‘How do you mean?’
‘In the event that news of the operation leaks out,’ the admiral replied, ‘we would like you to be ready with an explanation about the troop movements and our presence on the glacier.’
‘And what, General, do you suggest?’ the prime minister enquired.
‘Small-scale winter exercises. It would probably be best to describe deployments of small Belgian and Dutch NATO forces in collaboration with the US Defense Force. That should take off most of the heat.’
‘Is that all you’re prepared to tell us?’ the foreign minister asked.
‘We regard this as the best way.’
‘Best way? Why all the secrecy? Why can’t we simply announce that you’re mounting an expedition to the glacier to recover a plane? Just what exactly is going on here?’
‘It’s a sensitive issue, that’s all I can tell you at the present time,’ the general replied. ‘I hope to be able to provide you with a fuller explanation in due course.’
‘General, the issue is extremely sensitive for us too,’ the prime minister pointed out. ‘I advise you to be straight with us, otherwise I fail to see how this can work. What is this plane and why does it pose a problem?’
‘With all due respect, it’s not your concern,’ the general answered, abruptly abandoning any attempt at politeness.
‘And with all due respect to you, we’re not accustomed to such lack of courtesy in our dealings with the Defense Force. You have not requested permission to carry out the operation, merely told us what you are planning to do. Does that mean you’ve already set an operation in motion? May I remind you that such an act would represent a serious violation of the defence treaty, something the Icelandic media would be very dismayed to learn. Hitherto we have been prepared to accommodate American interests in any way we can and while we’re grateful that you’ve seen fit to inform us of this operation, I’m afraid the feeble excuses you are proposing will prove inadequate if we are compelled to account for our actions.’
‘Please excuse us if we come across as disrespectful,’ the admiral intervened in a placatory tone. ‘Of course we value your contribution to the West’s efforts for peace and international stability but in this case I think the general is right. This matter is best resolved without any external involvement, and then forgotten.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the foreign minister replied. ‘A plane from the Second World War? How do we know that’s true? For all we know, it could have crashed yesterday. Who’s to say it even exists? Frankly, I find the whole thing extremely far-fetched.’
‘We could have passed it off as a routine exercise,’ the admiral replied, ‘but the matter is so serious that we can’t afford to be disingenuous. You will simply have to trust us. If questions are asked, it’s important that the answers given by all sides are consistent. It’s imperative that we keep the existence of the plane secret.’
‘I repeat: what is so special about this plane?’ the prime minister asked.
‘I’m afraid we can’t answer that question,’ the admiral replied.
‘Then I’m afraid this meeting is over,’ countered the prime minister, tightening the knot of his tie and standing up.
The Americans watched the ministers get ready to depart. They had been prepared for the fact that the Icelanders might not buy the half-baked story about a plane and Belgian troop movements, but had felt obliged to mount this as a first line of defence.
‘Are you familiar with the Manhattan Project?’ the general asked, rising to his feet.
‘The Manhattan Project? Vaguely,’ said the foreign minister.
‘It was the codename for our nuclear testing programme in the 1940s. At the end of the war a considerable number of German scientists who had been involved in the Nazis’ nuclear experiments were invited to America and employed on the Manhattan Project. It became a source of major embarrassment to us after news broke about the Holocaust. The Jews claimed that some of these scientists had worked in the death camps, carrying out experiments on the prisoners.’
The general allowed the ministers a chance to absorb the implications. This was the story he had been instructed to feed them if the meeting failed to go according to plan, a contingency he now judged necessary. The ministers observed him with quizzical expressions.
‘We were engaged in a race against the Russians, as on all fronts in those days. They managed to recruit far more German scientists than we ever did, though no one criticised them, of course. But that’s another story. The plane took off from Hamburg with four German nuclear scientists on board. It made a refuelling stop in Scotland and was scheduled to land again in Reykjavik en route for New York but was damaged in a storm and crashed on the glacier. Since no sign of them or the plane has ever been found, we believe everyone on board was killed. Now, however, we have a chance to retrieve the wreckage from the glacier and take it home.’
‘But I still can’t see why the discovery of the plane should be kept so clandestine,’ the foreign minister interrupted.
‘If news of the plane and its mission is made public, it will reignite the whole debate about German scientists working in America, coverage that we could well do without and which would risk jeopardising relations between the US and Europe. That’s all there is to it. Now, gentlemen, you are in possession of all the facts. May I take it you are willing to cooperate?’
The ministers looked at one another, then back at the Americans.
‘I think you have a lot more explaining to do,’ the prime minister said.
Chapter 12
KEFLAVIK AIR BASE,
FRIDAY 29 JANUARY, 2230 GMT
Ever since the Icelanders had taken over the international airport at Keflavik in the 1980s with the construction of their own civil aviation terminal, public access to the military zone had been severely restricted. Local dealings with the army had always been kept to a minimum but now the base became more isolated than ever. Standing among the bleak lava fields, the military zone was demarcated by a high fence, pierced by only two gates which were guarded at all times. Although it was not considered necessary to mount a guard on the fence itself, the military police monitored it during their regular patrols of the residential area.
Kristin directed the taxi driver to a new housing estate which lay adjacent to the perimeter fence. After waiting for the cab to disappear down the street, she set off at a run in the direction of the military zone. The fence soon loomed out of the darkness and after a hasty glance around she started to climb it. There was barbed wire along the top and she had to ease her way over it with extreme care to avoid the spikes which nevertheless ripped at her clothes and scratched her hands. Finally, she was over and jumped down the other side; it was a drop of about three metres but the snow was soft and absorbed most of the impact. Rising to her feet, she brushed down her borrowed clothes and assessed the damage. Her ankle ached from the fall but the injury did not seem serious, so after a brief pause to recover, she set off, limping a little.
During the drive she had forced herself to take stock of her situation, to impose some sort of order on her chaotic thoughts. Runolfur had been involved in business with the Russians; he had spoken of a conspiracy when he visited her office at the ministry; he had made threats against the chairman of the Trade Council and now he was lying dead in her flat with a bullet in his head. He had mentioned the Russian mafia. Yet
