Frozen Assets

‘I assure you, we are not badly positioned and everything is set to go ahead with the last phase of the finance for the Hvalvik Lagoon project.’

‘Yes, of course. I believe this represents some eighty per cent of your company’s contribution?’ Horst asked.

‘You know it is.’

‘Then I think you may be disappointed. I hope not, but I believe you will be when you meet your bankers.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Bjarni Jon repeated.

‘Between ourselves, it is much easier for us to do our business in the developing world. Developed countries such as yours present obstacles that we are not used to dealing with, and frankly, we do not want to deal with. We don’t find joint ventures particularly comfortable.’

‘So you’re just going to walk away?’

‘Precisely. We are withdrawing from the project. There will be a question of some compensation that will have to be arranged, but we can deal with that when your lawyers contact ours. It might take a few weeks.’

‘They certainly will.’

‘Of course. That isn’t a problem. We would appreciate it if you would instruct them to do so as soon as is convenient, as InterAlu would prefer to have everything concluded as rapidly as possible.’

Bjarni Jon stood up now that feeling had returned to his feet. Horst did the same and walked around the table, offering a hand to shake. Bjarni Jon debated with himself for a second whether or not to accept it before limply grasping Horst’s hand.

‘Doesn’t this reflect badly on you, Mr Horst, as you were in charge of the project?’

‘Quite the contrary,’ Horst said, smiling. ‘I was dubious about it from the start and warned the directors of our parent company of the difficulties I expected we would be presented with in Iceland. As it happens, I was quite right, so actually it reflects rather well on me personally.’

Bjarni Jon couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. ‘So you come out of it all right and we have to pick up the pieces?’

‘I am aware that this is a significant disappointment to you and your wife, Mr Bjarnason. Please be assured that there is nothing personal in this, but I really do think that your bankers have a great many questions to answer.’

‘It’s just business,’ Bjarni Jon said, trying not to sneer, wondering how he was going to break the news to Sigurjona. ‘Have you announced this yet?’

‘Exactly. Business. We haven’t made an announcement and I don’t expect we will. InterAlu prefers a low profile. Please give my kindest regards to your wife and we will be in touch with her people after the weekend. I’m sure she can issue a suitable press release,’ Horst added with a hint of a grim smile.

Gunna parked the jeep outside Dagurinn’s offices. Normally she would never have used a private car for police work, but Skuli had been so insistent they meet that she borrowed the keys to Gisli’s Range Rover and made the hour’s drive to Reykjavik in ten minutes less than usual, even with the detour to drop Laufey off with her friend on the way.

‘So what did you want me to see, young man? And why the hell are you still at work at eight thirty on a Sunday evening?’ Gunna asked as they made their way in single file through the maze of workstations. She thought the young man looked tired. There were black bags under his eyes and his hair stood on end where he had repeatedly run his hands through it.

Although every light was on, Dagurinn’s office was deserted. A pair of tiny Asian women were slowly dusting each desk in the background, clicking off desk lights as they went.

‘I’m still at work because I have a ton of stuff to get through and also because I wanted to make sure Reynir Oli wasn’t here when I show you the proofs of Tuesday’s Hot Chat.’

‘Hot Chat? What’s that?’

‘God, Gunna, where have you been? Hot Chat’s Dagurinn’s answer to Seen & Heard,’ Skuli said. ‘It’s pretty shit, actually. It’s just the same as Seen & Heard, but it’s got a bit more raunchy as the competition got tougher.’

‘Which did?’ Gunna asked, confused already.

‘Well, both of them did. They’re both garbage. Lots of gossip and celebrity scandal.’

‘And that’s what you want to show me?’

‘Yup. Come on.’

Skuli threaded through the quiet desks and the two cleaners soundlessly stepped aside to let him pass, looking at Gunna, still in uniform, with fearful eyes. She tried to smile at them, as if to send a message that she wasn’t remotely interested in their immigration status, but their expressions remained impassive as she followed Skuli.

At the far end of the row of desks, he sat down and started up one of the computers. He tapped at the keyboard and paused. A page of newsprint and pictures appeared gradually, scored with red guidelines, and Skuli scrolled downwards.

‘The guy you’re looking for, the foreign tough guy. You know, the one who was at the march in the spring. Is that him?’

He pointed at the screen and Gunna fumbled for her glasses. She peered at the image of four people sitting round a table with a cluster of wine bottles in the middle. Harde had a smile on his face and his left arm round the back of a statuesque blonde woman. On Harde’s right side sat the pink-faced young man Gunna had seen at the bathroom door in the Gullfoss Hotel suite and next to him sat a regal Sigurjona in a low-cut black dress, all of them with their attention on something out of camera shot.

‘Bloody hell. What’s all this?’ Gunna asked.

‘I’ll print it out for you.’

Skuli’s fingers flickered and a printer hummed somewhere behind them.

‘It’s the PR Association Awards, held the other night. The design guy did these pages today and I saw the proofs this afternoon.’

‘But it’s Sunday. Don’t you people ever take a day off?’

‘The guy who did the story is a freelance, and freelancers never stop working. The page make-up guys are on flexi-time, so if they want to, they can work twenty hours straight and take two days off. I guess the one who did these pages was in today because it’s the last page of the mag and I don’t expect he’ll be in again until the middle of the week.’

Skuli swung his chair round and picked a crisp set of proofs from the printer under the bench behind him. He smoothed the sheets and spread them on the desk.

‘That’s Sigurjona Huldudottir.’ His finger paused at Jon Oddur. ‘Don’t know who that guy is. That’s the foreign guy.’

‘Harde, his name is, but you don’t know that.’

‘OK, that’s Harde.’ His finger moved on. ‘And that’s Erna Danielsdottir.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Celebrity hairdresser, Sigurjona’s little sister.’

‘Good grief. You can see the resemblance.’

She inspected the double page spread with its ‘PR Practitioners Pull Out the Stops!’ headline. Another picture showed Sigurjona with a blissful smile on her face accepting an award. Gunna skimmed over further photographs of grinning people in formal finery sitting at tables or standing on a platform accepting their own awards.

‘Looks like quite a party. Who took these pictures?’

Skuli pointed to the by-line at the top of the page. ‘There.’

Under the headline she read ‘Words and pictures: Armann J.’

‘Right. Where can I find this Armann character?’

Skuli shut down the computer. ‘I’ll find his number for you.’

Back at his own desk, Skuli skimmed through the post-it notes adorning the monitor and copied the number on to a scrap of paper.