“And you still maintain that the man with the hooked nose boarded that coach?” she asked.
Huss hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, I think so…”
“You think so?” Ramsay shook his head. “Now, Mister Huss, I’ll ask again. And if I think you are lying, I’ll ask my colleague here to shoot you in the kneecap.”
Caroline walked around the desk and aimed the pistol, her elbow rested on the desk to keep her aim steady.
“I…”
“Quiet, Mister Huss,” Ramsay said quietly. “Now, the tall, thin man with the hooked nose; did he get on the coach?”
“I… I can’t be certain,” he said hesitantly, his eyes on the pistol. “No!” he added. “No, he didn’t…”
“He didn’t?” Ramsay nodded. “In that case, where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Huss was perspiring now, a pallor to his face, despite the temperature of the reception and lobby.
The manager appeared with the waitress and a man wearing chef whites. He surveyed the scene and the three of them looked at each other in concern. He said something in Finnish to Huss, then looked at Ramsay. “Nikolai and Mikael have gone,” he said. “They are agency staff and I have no contact details for either of them.”
“Convenient,” Caroline said tersely.
“What do you mean?” asked the manager.
“I suspected they were Russian,” she said. She tucked the pistol back into her pocket and pointed at the waitress. “She said as much, too.”
The waitress shrugged. “I thought they were, but they both claimed to be Norwegian.”
The chef nodded. “They were Russian,” he said. “But they are good men.” He looked with uncertainty between his manager and the owner, the waitress too, like he was about to betray a confidence. “They are both AWOL from the Russian military. They were left demoralised and ashamed after a tour in Syria. Mikael was a helicopter pilot, Nikolai was the weapons operator. The gunner…” He shook his head, as if trying to imagine what horrors and injustices both men had seen. “They simply ran away. If they are caught or return to Russia, then…” He left the sentence unfinished, but everybody seemed to understand the ramifications of their actions.
“And you don’t know where these men are?” Ramsay asked, somewhat incredulously.
“No,” the manager replied.
“Please, tell us what is happening,” the waitress pleaded. “Why do you have a gun, and why all the questions?”
Ramsay glanced at Caroline, then conceded. He looked at the group and said, “We are trying to protect a Russian defector. They are at risk, and so is anybody standing in her pursuers’ way. The storm and circumstance have conspired events and The Eagle’s Nest Hotel has become the place where these events will conclude,” he paused and looked at Huss. “You lied about the man we seek. I believe the tall man with the hooked nose and Slavic or Russian accent is a crucial part of this. He was posing as a guest. You were disingenuous when questioned.” He looked at Caroline. “Put Mister Huss under arrest, please.”
“Wait!” Huss exclaimed. “I own this place!”
Caroline aimed the pistol at him. “What about the others?” she asked without taking her eyes off the owner, or her peripheral vision from the other three.
“I don’t wish to take such measures,” Ramsay said. He looked at the manager. “I would greatly appreciate your knowledge regarding the establishment. Your staff can cater for my team, informally of course. If trouble comes, then perhaps we can adhere to a plan of action. A place they can go to and take refuge while matters conclude?”
The manager nodded. “The wine cellar is secure and even houses a generator. The temperature is habitable, as wine keeps best at fifteen degrees Celsius. A thermostat sees to that. We could take food and drink, blankets and toiletries down there. There is running water for the beer cellar equipment.”
“Sounds ideal,” Ramsay agreed.
“But…” Huss protested.
Caroline cut him off. “Be quiet.” She waved the pistol, saw the fear in the man’s eyes.
“Caroline, take Mister Huss to his quarters and see that he is locked securely inside.” Ramsay looked at the chef and said, “Be a good fellow and make some sandwiches for my team,” he paused, caught the waitress’s eye. “Some coffee as well. We’ll take it in the conservatory. Then take some time to yourself.”
Huss looked as if he were about to explode, his colour several shades brighter than normal. Caroline could see his fists clenched. She noted he was close to losing his temper, made a point of standing several paces behind him as he led the way to his quarters.
Ramsay watched them go, then said to the manager, “Do you have any weapons on the premises? For bears or wolves?”
The man shook his head. “Wolves are shy creatures and you never really see them. As for bears, well guests would consider themselves lucky to see one.”
“Aren’t they dangerous?”
“Yes, but they don’t come around the hotel. In the forest, it’s a different matter entirely. We have cans of bear spray, though. And air-horns, to scare them away. We also have bangers. You hang a string of them on a tree, light the bottom of the fuse and a loud banger explodes every ten minutes. They are good to use if bears are persistent, but they never have been, so…”
“So, nothing to kill them with?”
The manager smiled. “This isn’t America. We don’t encourage killing animals out here. There are hunters, of course. The Sami mainly. But our hotel is all about the beauty of Lapland, we do not cater for hunters. Only fishermen and nature lovers in the summer months, snow-sports enthusiasts and Northern Light watchers in the winter.”
Ramsay nodded. “What’s bear spray?” he asked.
“Like pepper spray, but stronger.”
“Show me,” he said. “Show me everything you have.”
67
“I’ve called
