Arctic Squall: A Constable Maratse Stand Alone novella (Guerrilla Greenland Book 6) by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press for Arctic Noir, Action Thrillers and Greenland Crime
Published: 2023-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Greenland

6

Even without the black tactical vest, M4 carbine, and ballistic helmet clutched under one arm, Walcott doubted he would have missed Matthew Wolfensohn. The IGA’s new operational leader towered above all the passengers – mostly American personnel and contractors – in the small airport terminal in Nuuk. Wolfensohn wore the classic beard favoured by special operators the world over, with thick black eyebrows to match. He fixed Walcott with a steely blue stare and waved for him to hurry as soon as he disembarked from the Dash 8 just arrived from Kangerlussuaq.

“You’re late,” Wolfensohn said, taking Walcott’s outstretched hand in a strong and thankfully brief grip, before slapping the older man on the back and propelling him out of the building. Wolfensohn pointed at a large black SUV and said, “My ride. Get in the back.”

“Okay,” Walcott said. He reached for the door and paused when he heard the personalised ringtone he had given for a contact he rarely heard from.

“Are you getting in?”

“Just a second,” Walcott said as Wolfensohn opened the driver’s door and squeezed his massive frame behind the steering wheel. Walcott thumbed the message icon and read it.

A mutual friend arriving on east coast. Assistance appreciated.

Walcott frowned as his mind started to guess who and what kind of assistance might be required, but a sharp blast of the horn encouraged him into the backseat. Wolfensohn gunned the SUV out of the parking area the second Walcott closed his door.

“So, Walcott,” Wolfensohn said. “You work for me now.”

“Apparently so,” Walcott said.

“And they briefed you? In D.C.?”

Walcott pictured the strange man in the ill-fitting suit with the passion for British berets, and the more concerning and slightly more cryptic discussion he had had with the man he guessed was now his previous boss; Walcott failed to believe Arnold was still with the IGA or any other office or agency.

“They did.”

“Okay then,” Wolfensohn said, slowing the vehicle for the first T-junction. “Here’s the ground truth, Walcott,” he said, accelerating again. “Each ship has a complement of crew to service the ship, cooks, and assorted hospitality staff.”

“Hospitality?” Walcott caught Wolfensohn’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “That sounds grand.”

“Detainees have to be fed, Walcott. There’s a medical staff… Doctor on call. And even a dentist tucked away in the lower decks.”

“Why the lower decks?”

Wolfensohn shrugged and said, “I don’t like dentists.”

“Good to know.” Walcott nodded.

“Then, on the security front, we’ve got a team in a guardhouse on the docks. Both ships have a sluice gate with guards rotating in twelve hour shifts. The guards have quarters on the boat, just like the rest of the crew. I’ve got the captain’s quarters.”

“On which ship?”

“The Sea Queen,” Wolfensohn said. “You can have the Gentle Prospect if you want, just as soon as you’ve kicked my lieutenant out of it.”

“Your lieutenant?” The way Wolfensohn said it made Walcott think of a mafia boss’ lieutenant, rather than a lieutenant’s rank in the military.

“Hal Frazer.” Wolfensohn slowed for a roundabout, then sped up to roar out of it.

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