thought quickly.
‘The longer he’s running about, the better the likelihood of picking him up. Iceland’s not a big place and there are only so many ways out. But this guy has some highly placed friends somewhere.’
‘Do you mean the company he was working for here?’
‘Something like that. Although with the news we’ve seen of their business today, I’d imagine they have other fish to fry right now.’
She drummed her fingers on the desk, wondering whether or not to tell him that deep down she had little hope that Harde would now be found.
‘I don’t doubt that as long as he’s in Iceland we’ll find him,’ she decided. ‘Assuming he is still in the country, he can’t stay that many steps ahead for long and even a pro like this guy will make a mistake or be unlucky sooner or later. What really worries me more than anything is if he’s confronted by a police officer without backup, how far is he prepared to go?’
‘Meaning what?’
‘This guy has murdered three people already and could easily have killed that Danish guy if he’d wanted to. I’m convinced he didn’t kill him because he was a better diversion alive than as a corpse so that while we buzzed around like flies, he had a breathing space to run for it.’
‘What are you asking for, Gunnhildur?’ Vilhjalmur said.
‘I need an armed response team I can call on when I need them.’
‘I see. Excuse me for a moment,’ Ivar Laxdal said as the mobile phone in his top pocket chimed. He checked the display and answered in an undertone. He looked up quickly at the group.
‘One minute. I’ll be right back,’ he said as he clicked the door shut behind him, phone back at his ear.
‘I don’t know if I have the authority to mobilize the Special Unit,’ Vilhjalmur said. ‘Is this man armed?’
‘I doubt it, although it’s possible. He seems dangerous enough without a gun.’
Vilhjalmur pursed his lips. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I’m sure laughing boy in the corridor can mobilize the toy soldiers easily enough,’ Gunna said. ‘Anyway, I have things to do.’
‘Where are you putting your effort now?’
Gunna wanted to tell him that any slight lead would be welcome, but refrained.
‘Right now we’re checking every kind of transport link there is. Snorri’s liaising with the international airport. We’ve got flights monitored for anything unusual scheduled to leave the country. Luckily all the squillionaires seem to be hiding at the moment, so there aren’t that many private jets on the move.’
Vilhjalmur looked sour at the reference to the conflicting reports that had been scattering the news all day on the deepening financial crisis.
‘The rest of us are watching shipping at the moment,’ she continued.
‘Trawlers?’
‘Hardly, Vilhjalmur. Short-haul commercial shipping mostly. There are still a few yachts and cruise ships about, but I don’t think they’re likely.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’m not too worried about the cruise ships. Port control in Reykjavik is pretty strict and we can worry about that tomorrow anyway. I’m not too fussed about Hafnarfjordur, as the port is so trussed up by security and CCTV that unless he has a cast-iron way into the area, there should be alarm bells ringing in our guy’s head.’
Gunna rested her chin on her hands and tried to think clearly as Ivar Laxdal returned to the room, his phone stowed back in his top pocket.
‘Sorry. I had a few calls to make. Now, were you saying something about armed response?’
‘Yes, Vilhjalmur and I were discussing it.’
‘Fine. It’s authorized. You have seventy-two hours in which you can alert a six-man team. Echo Squad are already on manoeuvres not far from here, so they can respond fast. I have already alerted their commanding officer.’
‘Bloody hell, you work fast,’ Gunna said appreciatively.
Clearly not used to being addressed with such familiarity by a provincial sergeant, he opened his mouth and then closed it with the words unsaid.
‘Keep me posted, please. Check with me within forty-eight hours if you need an extension,’ he finally said frostily, sweeping from the room with Vilhjalmur close behind him.
35
Friday, 3 October
Rain again threatened to break through. Harde enjoyed the sight of the majestic grey and black clouds rolling across the morning sky just as Gunna looked at them with annoyance and wished the bloody rain would let up for an hour or two.
In the mirror he critically examined the dark tint that his hair had taken, courtesy of a tube of hair dye from Erna’s bathroom. The expensive sunglasses he had found in her bedroom would only go dark in bright light. He didn’t like the dark hair, but an all-over crop in a few days would take it out.
Dry weeks followed by a break in the weather had left the Icelandic air sparkling with clarity. The greens of fields and the brown and grey tones of the rocks and hillsides glittered with a new life. Harde was even enjoying the drive through the jagged lava fields in the smooth Mercedes. It wasn’t his ideal choice of car, but he had to admit it was comfortable. He sped through enough puddles to plaster the number plates with a respectable layer of mud.
He approached following Horst’s instructions, leaving the main road along a wide but barely visible track that looked at first glance like little more than a flattened area of ground where the black lava had been pounded down.
The track widened and swung away from the main road down towards the coast where a long swathe of rock had been cleared, shovelled aside and flattened to make way for the long sheds of the factory squatting by the sea. Harde frowned as an indefinable yet powerful aroma drifted even through the car’s closed windows.
Passing by the long building where there was no indication of any activity, nor any cars parked by the door at the end marked Office, he found a quiet spot between some containers and an expanse of ground strewn with the detritus of industrial fishing. Pumps, nets packaged into huge bales, coils of rusting wire and assortments of anonymous stainless steel equipment lay stacked on pallets against the day that something might possibly come in useful.
Harde left the key in the car, reasoning that there was no need to put the unfortunate owner’s heirs to any additional inconvenience. Briefly he toyed with setting fire to it, figuring that it would cover his tracks more efficiently. He immediately dismissed the idea as impractical — a fire would attract attention and he admitted to himself that he just liked the idea of a bonfire.
He checked quickly that he had everything, shut the car door and walked past the buildings on the seaward side where a long quayside was deserted apart from a small freighter moored at the far end. A generator rattled and the belching mouthfuls of oily black smoke from the funnel told him that the main engine was being started up.
The ship was low in the water. Harde swung his holdall on to his back and took the gangplank in a few long strides before looking about to see where any of the crew could be found. He heard a door slam above him and a bearded face under a peaked cap appeared at the bridge wing.
‘Gunnar?’ the man demanded fiercely.
‘That’s me.’
‘Good. Come up. Go through the door there and shut it behind you.’
The ship’s bridge was deceptively small. A single chair occupied the centre overlooking the radar screens, and there was a stool near one of the windows for a lookout.
‘I’m Terje,’ the man in the peaked cap said, shaking Harde’s hand firmly. ‘You’re our new second engineer for this trip?’
