Operation Napoleon [Napóleonsskjölin] by Arnaldur Indriðason

Author:Arnaldur Indriðason
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781846552854
Published: 2010-10-15T07:00:00+00:00

SOUTH ICELAND,

SATURDAY 30 JANUARY, 1800 GMT

They stopped twice to fill up with petrol on their journey east. Kristín drove the whole way. According to the weather forecast, there was a severe storm affecting the east and north-east of the country but down on the southern lowlands through which they were now driving conditions were fine apart from some drifting snow. It was very dark; there was little traffic on the Sudurland highway and the further east they drove, the fewer vehicles they encountered. Soon only the occasional pair of headlights lit up the Pajero before disappearing just as suddenly, plunging Kristín and Steve into darkness again.

They were each wrapped up in their own thoughts and spoke little, except when the radio news reported the shooting incident in the city centre and Kristín interpreted for Steve. A man believed to be associated with the gunman had been admitted to hospital with injuries. Eight fishermen had been arrested but could not be interviewed at present because they were still under the influence of alcohol. The police were investigating possible links between the shooting and the murder of Runólfur Zóphaníasson, and were calling for witnesses to both incidents to come forward. It also emerged that a lawyer employed by the foreign ministry, who was wanted for questioning in connection with Runólfur’s murder, had still not been traced. Sources confirmed that she was a suspect in the murder of Runólfur, who had been involved in unspecified business with the ministry, and that she may also have been present at the shooting in the city centre. No details were given about the gunman. The incident was almost unheard of in Reykjavík where gun crimes were extremely rare.

Steve rang Michael Thompson from the car-phone. In the interim Thompson had dug out the details of the farmer who lived at the foot of the glacier and was able to tell them the name of his farm. Having obtained the phone number from directory enquiries, Kristín called Jón to make sure he was home. He said they were welcome to visit, though he did not know how he could help them.

They sat for a while without saying a word.

‘Have you thought about me at all since?’ Steve asked eventually, squinting in the glare of a pair of headlights that shot past, leaving them in darkness again. He had been sitting mostly in silence, eyes fixed on the monotony of the white road ahead, ever since they left Reykjavík.

‘From time to time,’ Kristín said. ‘I did try to explain.’

‘Sure. You didn’t want to be a GI whore.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘I don’t suppose it is.’

‘I’m so sorry to drag you into this stupid mess.’

‘What, that little game of cowboys and Indians?’ There was no humour in his voice, only weariness.

Kristín was lost in thought for several minutes.

‘It’s partly political. I oppose the presence of the American army on Midnesheidi. I could understand its strategic significance during the Cold War, but that didn’t mean I agreed with its presence. I’ve always regarded it as a blot on the landscape.

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