Operation Napoleon

she had been the killers’ intended target. They had referred to a conspiracy as well, but they were American. How did that fit? And how was it connected to what her brother had seen on the glacier? Was he actually dead, as they had claimed – was Elias really gone? It was more than she could bear to follow the thought through.

Soon she came to a block of flats and pressed one of the doorbells. The building was three storeys high with two cold, empty stairwells. It contained twelve apartments in all. Like the other military accommodation blocks on the base, it had been built by Icelandic contractors in the style of a massive bunker, with thick concrete walls designed to withstand major earthquakes as well as a relentless battering from the Icelandic climate which was particularly savage here on the exposed Reykjanes peninsula. The windows were suitably small and thickly glazed.

After a while, a voice said ‘Yes?’ over the entry-phone.

‘Steve?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Kristin,’ she said in English. ‘I have to talk to you.’

‘Kristin? Kristin! Just a minute.’

He buzzed her into the dark stairwell where she groped for a light switch. A cigarette machine stood on one wall and another sold chocolate and nuts. The cheap floor tiles were plastic. She climbed up to the top floor where she found Steve’s door open but knocked anyway.

‘Come in,’ he called from inside the flat.

She entered, closing the door behind her.

‘Hi,’ Steve said, his arms full of newspapers and magazines that he had picked up off the floor and sofa, something he plainly did not do very often. ‘Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting you. In fact you were the last person I expected to see.’

‘It’s okay,’ Kristin replied.

‘I dozed off. But what are you doing here? It must be a year…’ He trailed off in mid-sentence.

She had been here once before and nothing had changed. The apartment was small, consisting of a kitchen, a living room, one bedroom and a cramped bathroom. The place was a tip, littered with piles of newspapers, fast-food packaging and dirty dishes cluttering up the sideboard. The walls were covered with photos and posters: James Dean in a long coat, standing on a New York street in the rain; Che Guevara, outlined in black on a red background – nothing you would not find in any left-leaning movie buff’s home.

‘I didn’t know where else to turn,’ Kristin said, trying to choke back the tears that, despite herself, threatened to come.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, sensing her agitation and putting down the bundle of papers.

‘I didn’t know where else to turn,’ Kristin repeated. ‘You have to help me. Something terrible has happened to my brother.’

‘Your brother? Elias? What’s happened to him?’

‘Two men just tried to kill me in my apartment. Americans.’

‘Kill you? No…’

‘They killed Runolfur.’

‘Runolfur?’ Steve had difficulty pronouncing the name but even more in understanding Kristin. ‘What are you talking about? What’s going on?’

‘I didn’t know where else to turn,’ Kristin said a third time, as if stuck on repeat. She was pale. Her chin trembled and she chewed at her fingernails as she tried to control herself.

Perplexed but troubled by her distress, Steve went slowly over, put a tentative arm around her and led her into the living room.

‘They were going to kill me,’ she choked. ‘I don’t know why. They claimed the police and ministry were involved. Elias phoned from the glacier saying he’d seen soldiers and a plane, then we were cut off. I was just trying to get hold of the rescue service when these men turned up. They said I was going to commit suicide, then Runolfur knocked on the door and they shot him. I managed to get away. They said Elias was dead.’

Steve took care not to interrupt her. Clearly something traumatic had happened but he could make little of this incoherent monologue. He had never expected to see Kristin again, so her appearance now was inexplicable. Had she gone mad in the meantime? He wondered how long it would take for a doctor from the base to get to his flat.

‘Elias saw some soldiers on the glacier,’ Kristin tried again. ‘They must have been American soldiers. That was the last thing he said before we were cut off. Do you know what American troops could be doing on the glacier?’

‘The glacier?’

‘Vatnajokull. I can tell you think I’m talking nonsense. I keep thinking I’m dreaming, that this is a nightmare and I’ll wake up. But I’m not going to wake up. I’m never going to find that everything’s all right. It’s all true.’

He searched her face, as if it would give a clue to what chaos raged in her mind.

‘And then there are the Russians,’ she added hesitantly.

‘The Russians?’

‘The man they killed in my flat was doing business with Russia. The Americans shot him in the head. When he came to the ministry he was ranting about a conspiracy against him. His killers mentioned a conspiracy too. I don’t know what to believe. I’ve got to find out what happened to Elias. I tried to phone the rescue service but they didn’t answer and then these Jehovah’s Witnesses turned up.’

‘Jehovah’s Witnesses?’

‘The men who tried to kill me. There were two of them, dressed like Jehovah’s Witnesses – you know, dark suits and ties, neat hair, like the Jehovah’s Witnesses who go from door to door with pamphlets. That’s why I opened the door. I thought they were Jehovah’s Witnesses. I’m such a fool!’

‘Okay, it’s okay,’ Steve said soothingly, aware that none of this was okay. ‘What the hell have you been doing at the ministry that could lead to this?’

‘Nothing. Just my job. I haven’t done anything. It’s not my fault. I’ve done nothing to cause any of this. Nor has Elias.’

‘No, of course not. But it sounds like two completely unrelated matters. American soldiers on Vatnajokull on the one hand, and a conspiracy linked to doing business with Russia on the other.’

Kristin took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara. ‘I know. I can’t make any sense of it.’

She was calmer now. Steve was glad to have dispelled the tension inside her by accepting what she said without casting doubt on her bizarre story. Whatever her real state of mind, she was at her wits’ end and it would be wrong to argue with anything she said. Her sobs gradually subsided and she was able to speak with more composure.

‘Can you check this stuff about soldiers on the glacier for me? Ask around? Talk to people?’ she asked.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Steve replied. ‘What exactly did your brother say?’

‘That there was a plane in the ice and soldiers on the glacier.’

‘Did he say “ in the ice”? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’

‘What?’

‘As if it was buried in the ice. Is that what he said?’

‘In the ice, on the ice – what the hell’s the difference? He mentioned a plane and soldiers.’

‘Is it possible that there’s a plane in the ice?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Steve, I can’t remember if he said in the ice or on the ice. It doesn’t matter. I just need to know what’s happening up there.’

Steve nodded. He had been stationed on the base for three years, employed by the press office to liaise with those Icelandic government ministries that dealt with the US military, chiefly the foreign ministry. He lived alone; he and his wife had divorced back in America. Of Irish extraction, he was dark, with an unruly mane of black hair. Although a few years older than Kristin at thirty-five, he was about her height, lean and strongly built. He used to