the stairs.
Ripley and Bateman ran through Steve’s apartment and, hearing the sound of smashing glass, out on to the balcony where they saw that the veranda door of the neighbouring apartment was open. Spinning round, they rushed back through the apartment, only to spot Steve and Kristin vanishing into the stairwell. A fat man wearing nothing but his underpants emerged from the neighbouring flat and walked straight into Ripley and Bateman’s path. They collided with him, knocking him to the ground where Ripley tripped over him.
Steve and Kristin made the most of their head-start, hurtling out of the front door of the building as the two men regained their feet. Steve ran to his car, Kristin following close behind. It was unlocked and Steve got behind the wheel, Kristin jumping in beside him.
‘Keys… keys!’ Steve shouted, slapping his jeans frantically, then digging his hand into a pocket.
‘Where are the keys?’ Kristin shouted back.
‘Got them!’ Steve replied, extracting a bunch from his pocket and shoving the correct key in the ignition. He pressed the accelerator to the floor as he turned the key. Nothing happened. The ignition hissed but the engine failed to catch.
‘Jesus!’ Steve swore between clenched teeth.
He tried again, thumping the steering wheel, stamping his foot down and switching on the ignition. The engine coughed for a few long seconds, then roared into life. He rammed it into drive and the car took a bound, hurling Kristin back in her seat. The stench of petrol filled her nose as the wheels spun in the snow, the engine screeching as the tyres tried to get a purchase, the back of the car skidding sideways, but just as the two men raced out of the building the wheels caught, the car jumped forwards and they were away.
Looking back, Kristin saw them chase the car briefly before giving up and standing at a loss, watching the vehicle disappear from view.
Steve turned his eyes from the road to look at Kristin. ‘I thought you were crazy when you arrived at my place. Out of your mind.’
‘Thanks, I noticed.’
‘I don’t think so any more. Sorry.’
He drove on, checking the mirrors every few seconds. Kristin noticed that he was gripping the steering wheel hard to stop his hands from shaking.
‘There’s only one way they could know about you,’ Kristin said after a minute’s silence.
‘What’s that?’
‘Elias. They’re connected to what’s happening on the glacier. They’ve got your name from Elias. That has to be it. They must think he’s told me something; that he’s told me about them. And about the plane, whatever it’s doing up there. The men are in contact with the soldiers and they got my phone number from Elias’s mobile. That’s how they knew. They know I’m his sister. And they think I know something; that Elias told me something. That’s why they’re after me.’
‘But who are they? Who are they working for?’
‘I almost forgot. One of them mentioned a name when they attacked me. I wasn’t supposed to have heard. Something about “Ratoff”. Do you recognise the name?’
‘Ratoff? Never heard of him.’
‘Oh God, Elias!’ Kristin sighed. She slumped deep into the passenger seat, raking her hand through her hair. ‘What’s happened to him? They said he was dead.’
Steve drove grimly on, marvelling at the extraordinary turn the evening had taken. To think that he had come to this frozen island for a quiet life.
‘Kristin, I’m going to make a few calls and try to find out what’s going on. Do they actually know who you are?’
‘They knew where I lived. They knew about Elias. They seem to know everything I do before I do it. Yes, Steve, I’d say they know who I am.’
Kristin looked at him, then out of the rear window again. She thought about Elias, and about her father who must have gone abroad; he was forever travelling – not that they had ever had foreign holidays as children – and did not always bother to mention when it was for short trips. They did not have much contact; a phone call every month or two, a stilted conversation and some bland expression of hope that all was well. Kristin felt sad that she could never go to her father about anything, that she always had to cope on her own. And the worst of it was that he would probably blame her for what had happened to her brother. He always had done.
Chapter 13
NEAR WASHINGTON DC,
FRIDAY 29 JANUARY, 1700 EST
Miller answered the door himself and invited Carr inside. He lived in a two-storey wooden house with a tidy garden, situated in quiet, forested countryside now covered with a light dusting of snow, not far from Washington DC. Miller shuffled along in his worn-down felt slippers; he was around eighty now with a pronounced stoop, his remaining wisps of hair completely white, his face dotted with liver spots. His wife had died twenty years earlier and though they had never had any children he was well looked after, receiving home help three times a week and meals on wheels at lunchtime and in the evenings. On the face of it, Miller was nothing but a useless old husk waiting to die, his many years of service behind him, but the fragile, elderly exterior disguised a mind as lively and resourceful as ever.
After the two men shook hands at the door, Miller showed Carr into his ground floor study which was filled with mementoes of a long life, predominantly photographs of his military service: World War II comrades, scenes from Korea and Vietnam, but there were pictures from peace time as well. Everything inside the house was as neat as a pin. The walls were lined with books, mostly about war.
‘Are you sure it’s the plane?’ Miller asked, taking out two small tumblers and filling them with brandy. It was far too early for Carr but he said nothing; the time of day had obviously ceased to have any meaning for Miller.
‘No question,’ Carr replied, sipping.
‘Are they inside yet?’
‘Not yet. Ratoff’s in charge.’
Miller frowned. ‘Was that really necessary?’
‘In my estimation the operation needs a man like Ratoff. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Are you still planning to fly it over the Atlantic? To Argentina?’
‘Yup, Argentina.’
‘So the procedure hasn’t changed?’
‘No. Everything’s going to plan. Though they were spotted with the plane. By locals – two of them. I’m afraid they saw too much, but according to Ratoff everything else is under control.’
‘I don’t suppose he spared them.’
Carr turned away and looked out of the window.
‘And the brothers?’
Carr shrugged.
Miller closed his eyes. He remembered the brothers as they had been when he first met them at the foot of the glacier all those years ago: friendly, hospitable, cooperative and, most important of all, discreet. They had never asked questions, simply invited him into their home and acted as guides on the glacier. They had been more or less the same age as him.
‘Ratoff hasn’t been briefed on what the plane contains, has he?’ he asked.
‘He’ll soon find out. But I’m confident we can trust him, at least to bring us the documents. We have trucks on the spot to transport the dismantled plane to Keflavik. The bodies will accompany the wreckage. I’ve given Ratoff instructions about what to do with any papers he finds. No doubt he’ll read them but it’s an unavoidable risk and in
