Mountain Ghost: A Polar Task Force Thriller, Book #2 (PolarPol)

by Christoffer Petersen

  Chapter 14

  OUTSIDE LONDON, ENGLAND

  The Land Rover ran out of diesel along the side of a field in the early hours – the winter dark before the grey dawn. Byrne cursed as he stepped out of the cab, dropping down into a frigid puddle, breaking the thin layer of ice with his shoes. It was too dark to see the black water swell over his toes, but he could feel it, seeping into his socks. Byrne reached back inside for the shotgun, then tugged at the collar of his jacket, turning it up as thick sleet coated his arms and hair. He left the driver’s door open, favouring the dramatic, idly wondering what the police would make of it. Had he been in a hurry? Who was chasing him? Or did he step out for a piss, only to wander off and die of hypothermia just a couple of metres from the safety and relative warmth of the cab? It didn’t matter, but the thoughts distracted him as he trudged along the side of the field, cutting through the hedgerows and into a wood, angling his way towards the lay-by where he had arranged to meet Bess.

  Byrne tucked the shotgun under one arm, clamping it to his body as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, half curious at how ill-prepared he was for the weather… for anything. About the only thing he had going for him was Elizabeth Park, and he wondered if she really knew what it might cost her.

  Five years had passed since they first met – a stuffy café in Berlin, not far from Potsdamer Platz. The windows were suitably steamy, the chairs adorned with shopping bags, creaking under the weight of Berliners and tourists warming up between Christmas Markets. Bess sat alone, tucked into a corner of the café, nursing her third coffee, nibbling at a saucer-sized cookie, waiting to receive information from an unknown contact. It was a test, of course, devised by Pace Sempers, the head of the Spurring Group, and Byrne, back when he was a valued company asset. Bess had been kept in the dark, told only what she needed to know – that an operative was pursuing a target in Berlin, and that she needed to wait in the café for an unspecified period of time in the event that she was needed. Sempers had refrained from telling her in what way she might be needed, and neither was she told who she would be meeting. When Byrne arrived at the café, one bloody hand hidden inside his jacket, Bess had received him with little more than a raised eyebrow, and the soft northern accent he had since come to love.

  “Hurt yourself, love?”

  “Yes,” he had whispered, as he sat down.

  “Let me have a look then.”

  Byrne relaxed as he focused on the memory, ignoring the sleet melting on the back of his neck, thinking instead of the warm café, Bess’ slight touch with soft fingers, and the discreet way she had mopped up the blood from the knife slash above his wrist, her broad smile as she cleaned the wound with a sterile swab.

  “Big baby.”

  He remembered her words clearly, repeating them when he gave Sempers his report later.

  She dressed his wrist with a bandage, as quickly as she had cleaned it, with little more than a bump of the cookie plate with her elbow as she tied the knot.

  “Good as new.”

  Thinking back on it, Byrne could only guess how she had thought to bring along a tiny first aid kit, but then Elizabeth Park was full of surprises. A real boy scout – always prepared.

  Nor was she fazed by his appearance, or the reasons why he might have a knife wound on his forearm.

  “You can finish my cookie, while I pop to the bathroom. If there’s nothing else you need, then I suggest you keep moving. There’s a train leaving Berlin Central in thirty-seven minutes. It’s heading north. You can take a taxi or you can walk – about four kilometres from here. Also north. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes – quicker than a taxi at this time of day.”

  “Elizabeth Park?”

  “Yes?”

  “Byrne Cantrell.”

  “Lovely,” Bess had said, with an abrupt shake of his hand. “But I thought names were off limits. And,” she said, tapping her handbag, “your blood is leaking into the leather. So, if you don’t mind…”

  “Take the cookie and fuck off?”

  “I might choose a different formulation, but yes.” Bess smiled, and, lowering her voice as she stood up, “Fuck off. You’ve got a train to catch.”

  Byrne stopped at a broken fence bordering the edge of the wood. He had other stories about Bess, and Edie could have told him many more, if she had been alive. But from that first meeting, Byrne had never been in any doubt that he could trust Elizabeth Park.

  “And now all I have to do,” he said, his breath misting in the wintry air. “Is find her.”

  Byrne climbed the broken fence and struck out across the next field, ignoring the shadows, favouring speed over stealth. He didn’t have the luxury of taking his time. Dawn was just a few hours away, and in Byrne’s experience, it was usually the most dangerous part of the day.

  Byrne saw Bess’ car tucked into one end of the lay-by. The lights were off, but the trickle of smoke from the exhaust, and the snow melting on the bonnet, showed that she wasn’t taking any chances. Bess was ready to pull away at the slightest indication that something was wrong. It didn’t matter what, only that she was ready to react. Byrne smiled in appreciation, then walked in the view of her passenger side mirror, approaching slowly so that she could confirm who he was before blasting out of the lay-by. Bess opened the passenger door as soon as Byrne reached the rear of her Mini Countryman.

  “Hello Bess,” Byrne said, as he ducked into the car.

  Bess grinned in the shadows, flicking a slim, manicured finger at the interior light, saying, “I remembered.”

  “Never doubted you.”

  “Ready?”

  Byrne closed the door, dumped the shotgun in the footwell, and buckled his belt. “Let’s go,” he said, settling back in the seat as Bess pulled out of the lay-by. She turned the headlights on half a mile further down the road.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, checking the mirrors as she talked.

  “Hmm?” Byrne shook his head. “Sorry. Almost fell asleep there.”

  “I asked if you were hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Hungry?” Bess reached over Byrne’s knee and opened the glove compartment. “Sandwiches, flapjack. There’s a can of coke in there somewhere.”

  “I’m fine for a minute,” Byrne said. He leaned back, closing his eyes as Bess drove. “This is a nice car,” he said, after a few minutes’ silence. He opened his eyes, blinking in the pre-dawn light to appreciate the interior.

  “A 2017 Countryman. I know you like the classics, but I’m a practical girl, and I like to know I can get the parts and get it serviced on the same day.” Bess turned her head towards Byrne, raising her eyebrows and giving him the full effect of her big brown eyes. “I spent my money wisely, and safely. The car is registered to a Pam Smith, from Darlington. I’ve got the paperwork and the IDs to match. I won’t bore you with Pam’s history, but she’s quite the character, with a suitable digital footprint to match.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “I’ve been careful.” Bess slowed for a junction, turned left onto a main road, and then settled into the speed limit. “I’ve got a whole packet set up for you. It’s in the back. I’ve got new used clothes in the boot, toiletries. Everything. If you ditch the guns, we can leave, right now. There’s a ferry from Harwich…”

  “I’m not leaving, Bess.”

  Bess bit her lip, shaking her head as she forced herself to look ahead.

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s stupid,” Bess said. “I just don’t…”

  “Understand?” Byrne shifted in his seat, turning his head as the light revealed more of Bess – her new bobbed haircut, the plain style of practical clothes, the lack of make-up. She was blending in, avoiding anything that might draw attention to her face. Byrne sighed as he realised she had everything planned, and not just the clothes in the boot and papers in an envelope in the back. From the moment he called she would have started packing. No, he thought, correcting himself. She’s been ready from the minute I
left for Iceland.

  “It was the meeting at the airport,” Bess said. “If you’re wondering.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “When I knew that we were in trouble. Sempers had me pick you up.”

  “I remember.”

  “You just got in from Pakistan.”

  “And I sent Edie straight on to Iceland.”

  Bess slowed for another turn, pointing at the sign for London, saying, “There’s one more turn for the ferry.”

  “Just keep going,” Byrne said.

  Bess looked at him, then nodded, ever so slightly.

  “Sempers never said who you were going to meet, only that I wasn’t to come with you,” she said, continuing from where she left off. “Something was off about the whole thing.”

  “We were getting burned.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know. And then, when the money ticked in, well… then I really knew. That’s when I started planning, erasing all my tracks, using every trick in the book.”

  “You’ve done well.”

  “You think so? You might not when I tell you I kept one of the company phones.”

  “You’ve got a Spurring Group phone?” Byrne swore under his breath.

  “I wanted a direct line, if ever I needed one.”

  “They won’t negotiate, Bess. That’s not how they operate.”

  “That’s not how you operate. I’ve learned to keep an open mind.” Bess slowed as the early morning traffic started to build, braving the wintry dawn to reach the motorway ahead of rush hour. “I wish you would consider running, with me.”

  “It’s tempting.”

  “Then be tempted.” Bess took her hand from the wheel, reaching for Byrne’s, grasping his fingers as she slowed. She let go, fingers slipping across his skin, to change gear. “They won’t stop,” she said, as the traffic started to move again.

  “I know.” Byrne turned to look at Bess, chiding himself for underestimating her. If anything, that first meeting in Berlin should have told him that Elizabeth Park should never be underestimated. Never. But beyond that, he knew he couldn’t live with himself if anything should ever happen to her. It was bad enough that Edie had died, but she, at least, had understood what it meant to operate as the tip of the spear. Bess was never meant to be in the field.

  And yet, here she is.

  “You think you’re putting me in danger,” Bess said. “Is that it?”

  “I know I am.”

  “But what if I chose that? I mean, think about it, who else can I talk to? Who else would believe the life I have been living for the last five years?” Bess pressed her hand to her lips as she started to giggle. “It’s not funny. I don’t know why I’m laughing. But one thing I do know,” she said, turning back to Byrne. “I don’t want to be Pam Smith from Darlington for the rest of my life. I want to live, and I want to live for a long time, Byrne. Come with me. Let’s just go. Forget about all this.”

  “If I could…”

  “You can. Butcher is dead. You sent a clear message.”

  “She only pulled the strings.” Byrne stiffened as he ran through a mental list of everyone below the string puller. “She gave the order, Sempers followed it.”

  “You’ll never get to him.”

  “Maybe,” Byrne said. “Or maybe it’s just a matter of time.”

  Bess slowed to turn into a petrol station. “There’s spare fuel in the back, but I want to top up the tank before we get to the cottage.” She stopped by the pump, curled her hand into the door handle, and then paused. “One thing I haven’t told you yet.”

  “What’s that?”

  Bess took a breath. “I got a call on the Spurring phone. It’s all right,” she said, staving off Byrne’s reprimand with a wave of her hand. “I keep the phone in a lead box. I take it out to check it when I am far away from the cottage. But this call…”

  “Yes?”

  “It was from Owen Ansel.”

  “Ansel?”

  “Right,” Bess said. “Sempers won’t wait for you to find him. He’s sent Owen to stop you.” Bess opened the driver’s door. “Just think about that,” she said, before stepping out of the car.

  Byrne moved his foot, felt his toe brush against the shotgun in the footwell. It made sense for Sempers to send Owen Ansel, and if he had thought about it, if the roles were reversed, he would have done the same. Knowing that Ansel was actively searching for him helped Byrne make sense of other things, such as the events in the lockup. Ansel was running through the Spurring playbook, attempting to isolate Byrne. Having written most of the playbook, Byrne knew what came next. If Ansel failed to trap Byrne, then he would switch tactics and try to lure him out instead. Byrne leaned around the seat, studying Bess in the bright lights of the station canopy, wondering just how far he could trust her.

  Idiot.

  Byrne flinched, as if someone had just slapped him in the face. Edie’s voice – so clear in his head – could do that.

  You can always trust Bess.

  Hadn’t she proved that already? What more did she need to do?

  No, he thought. If they’re going to get me, they’re going to try to draw me out. Hit me where it hurts.

  Byrne looked up as Bess got back in the car.

  “What is it?” she said, closing the door. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Just heard one, actually,” Byrne said, forcing a smile. “Edie told me I could trust you.”

  Bess waited, clutching her car keys. “And?” she whispered.

  “I’ve always listened to my wife. But now…” Byrne paused as his thoughts cleared. “You said Ansel is coming after me.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s going to try to draw me out. If I’m going to end this, I’m going to have to let him.”

  “How?”

  “I know where he’s going to be. It’s what I would do, if I was him.” Byrne nodded at the shotgun at his feet. “I’m going to need an edge. You’ve been busy, Bess. What else have you got?”

  Bess pressed her keys into the ignition and started the engine. “How about my contact at the Metropolitan Police?” she said, as she pulled out of the petrol station. “Will he do?”

  Byrne grinned. “Yes, he’ll do.”

  Chapter 15

  GÄLLIVARE, SWEDEN

  The grey dawn breaking over Gällivare long after morning life had begun was familiar to Evelyn and not unknown to Etienne. To Gina Lång it was just another day above the Swedish stretch of the Arctic Circle. The plan, however, was to drive further north.

  “To see Mats Lindström’s pickup,” she said, as she greeted the two Polarpol officers in the hotel reception. “Unless you want to stay here for the day?” Gina frowned, waiting for one or the other of the two guest police officers to say why they were hesitant to leave the hotel.

  “There’s a man staying here,” Etienne said. “Berglund showed me a photo of him, and Evelyn swears she saw him in reception at the same time as you dropped her off last night.”

  “This morning,” Gina said. “It was after midnight by the time we were finished at Márjá’s house.” She caught herself, and Etienne wondered if she was about to add that it was Mats’ house too, but Gina said nothing more, waiting instead for Etienne to continue.

  “But we didn’t see him at breakfast.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Isak Ivarsson,” Evelyn said. “According to Berglund.”

  “Ivarsson?” Gina laughed. “Berglund told you what? That Ivarsson is connected to Mats’ disappearance?”

  “He suggested it,” Etienne said. “He said he was ex-SÄPO, now freelance.”

  “Sure, that’s right. Convenient, isn’t it?”

  “I did wonder.” Etienne refrained from saying that he had thought the exact same thing. “You know him?”

  “I do, and he fits the SÄPO stereotype and he falls right into whatever fairy tale Berglund is spinning. But I bet he didn’t tell you he had been hired by Swedish Sky Sol
utions? They are running their own investigation. Mats ties a lot of threads together.” Gina counted off on her fingers. “SÄPO, Sky Solutions, and whichever criminal organisation he uncovered in his investigation. There’s little wonder he disappeared.”

  “Everyone is after him,” Evelyn said.

  “Yes.” Gina paused to stare at Evelyn as the Alaskan State Trooper reached forward to pluck something from her jacket.

  “Hair,” Evelyn said, rubbing it between her fingers. “Dog hair, greasy, thick.” She tilted her head to the side. “You have sled dogs.”

  “I do.” Gina frowned again. “You figured that out from a piece of fluff on my jacket?”

  “Yep.” Evelyn brushed the hair from her fingers.

  “Well, I can’t wait to see what you do when we get up north. Come on,” she said. “It’ll be light soon and I want to make the most of it.”

  “What about Ivarsson?” Etienne said. “You know him. Can you arrange for us to meet?”

  “Sure. As soon as we get back.”

  Gina led the way, leaving Etienne to ponder the significance of Ivarsson’s interest in Mats Lindström, as she quizzed Evelyn about her knowledge of sled dogs. Etienne took a seat in the back, listening with just one ear to the merits of different consistencies of snow on a trail, as they drove north to Kiruna, before heading west towards Sweden’s tallest mountain: Kebnekaise.

  Evelyn reached between the seats to slap Etienne’s knees with a pair of thick mittens, waking him and pointing out of the window as Gina made slow progress along a white road cut between drifts of snow.

  “Kebnekaise,” Evelyn said, as Etienne yawned. “You can just about see it.”

  Etienne leaned forward and peered through the windscreen, enjoying the glimpse of winter sun on a low, slow orbit in the sky. The two peaks were just visible, and he nodded that he could see them.

  “Better if you lowered your hand,” he said, smiling as Evelyn dropped her hands into her lap. “And what’s that ahead? Is that a kennel?”

  “Kebnekaise Kennel,” Gina said. The tyres of the patrol car squealed in the snow as she slowed to a stop alongside a row of spacious sled dog kennels. “Not mine,” she said. Etienne caught the wistful tone of her voice, before following Gina and Evelyn out of the car and into the snow.