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

by Christoffer Petersen

  Etienne gave Evelyn a long, hard look. “Trooper Odell, are you intoxicated?”

  “Me?” Evelyn gestured at the wide-open stretch of frozen lake before them, the mountains in the distance, the peaks drifting in and out of the clouds. “Yeah, I’m drunk. You’ll have to put me on a charge. Just wait ‘til we get back.”

  “After the die horribly part?”

  “Yeah, after that.”

  “Okay.” Etienne shifted to one side, drawing a smile from Evelyn as she stepped onto the opposite runner to compensate for the weight and keep the sled even. “You were in Iceland. You saw what happened. Is it such a stretch to think this is related?”

  “It’s true that, even without proof, it’s hard to deny there was some government interest. I mean, Seabrooke was going to reveal something big – a game changer, perhaps. We’ll never know.”

  “Someone does,” Etienne said.

  “But will they kill for it?”

  “They did kill for it, Evelyn.”

  “Yeah, okay. Let me rephrase that.” Evelyn brushed at a clump of ice sticking to her eyelashes, then leaned into a fresh flurry of snow as the clouds descended and the skies whirled with snowflakes and ice crystals.

  “You were saying?”

  “I was rephrasing. But it doesn’t get any better.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay, how about this – would they kill us for it?”

  Etienne leaned his head back, catching Evelyn’s eye. He might have thought the same, but hearing her say it out loud, put it into a different perspective.

  “Think about it,” Evelyn said, licking at the snow landing on her lip. “It’s like you said, you learned about Mats Lindström while we were still in Iceland. What happened there was a front-page thing, all across the world. We got caught up in something that was bigger than us. We should never have been there. That’s perhaps the most reassuring thing.”

  “What is?”

  “If our government – any one of them, was involved in some shady agreement to off Seabrooke before he revealed some big secret, then they wouldn’t have sent a Coast Guard cutter and a team of advisors…” Evelyn grinned as she lifted her hands from the sled, bending the mitts like rabbit ears – polar quotation marks. “I mean, they wouldn’t want the exposure.”

  “So we’re not going to be killed by our own governments. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. But no, I don’t think they’re going to kill us. Not today.”

  Despite Evelyn’s enthusiasm and her natural high, Etienne struggled to be reassured that his own government wasn’t out to kill him. Aaron Barnes, on the other hand…

  “But that does leave us with a problem,” Evelyn said.

  “Go on.”

  “If someone is going to try and kill us, and they’re probably following us right now, then… Well,” she said, frowning at Etienne. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “We’re unarmed.”

  Evelyn nodded, drawing out the word, as she said it, “Exactly.”

  “Gina’s got a gun,” Etienne said, pointing at Gina’s sled, then peering into the distance as she disappeared in and out of the snow flurries.

  “She has, but what if she’s working for them? Have you thought about that?”

  In truth, Etienne realised he hadn’t. The fact bothered him, especially in light of his conversations with Berglund, followed by his conflicting conversation with Ivarsson. If it was a conspiracy, it had the makings of a good one, with just enough facts to be credible.

  We shouldn’t be here, he thought. But if we stay, I should give Evelyn the choice.

  “What?” Evelyn said, as Etienne turned to look at her.

  “Given what we know, I have to say, I’m not sure I know enough for us to continue.”

  “What?”

  “I said.” Etienne raised his voice, competing with the wind.

  “I heard what you said. I just don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m saying we’re probably in over our heads. And if just one aspect of this whole conspiracy thing is true, we could be a whole lot deeper than that.” Etienne waited for Evelyn to respond, then took her silence as a prompt for him to continue. “Trooper Odell, I can’t, in good faith, order you to continue on this mission. Honestly, I think it’s a bad idea, and right now, I’m seriously thinking we should turn around.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We’re out of our jurisdiction.”

  “Were inside the Arctic Circle.”

  “Yes, okay, that’s true, but…”

  “Searching for a lost police officer – secret agent guy.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “That’s why we came – to help.” Evelyn pointed ahead. “It’s where we’re headed.” Evelyn shifted her weight onto both runners, gripping the sled, squaring her shoulders. “I volunteered for Polarpol, Inspector. I’m volunteering for this. If that’s what you’re worried about?”

  “You think I’m worried about the legal aspect?”

  “No,” Evelyn said, after a moment’s pause. “I guess not.”

  “But you want to continue?”

  “I’m just thinking about Márjá and her boy…”

  “Niillas,” Etienne said.

  “You never met them, but if we were to turn around now, I don’t think I could look them in the eye, not when we came so close.”

  “You really think he’s in that cabin?”

  “I think it makes sense that he is. That’s why the cameras are in his house. He’s watching his family. When I pulled them out, I took his family away from him. If I’d thought about it, I might have left them in. Now… Well, I guess it changes things. What happens when he skis into town to see his family? If the screens are blank…”

  “He might think they’re dead.” Etienne took a breath. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’m just thinking it now. But either way, we’re running out of time.”

  The flurries grew thicker, dampening the sound of the runners on the ice, masking the creak of the sledge, but still the dogs continued, tugging in tandem lines, claws clacking across stretches of exposed ice, breath steaming over their shoulders. They slowed as they reached the end of the lake, following Gina and her team back onto the land, twisting around sparse copses of fir trees, thin and black against the winter white snow. The trail steepened, slowing the dogs, curling into the foothills. The twin peaks of Kebnekaise were hidden now, and the huskies’ breath mixed with their own, beading on the fleece neckies tucked into the collars of their parkas, frosting the fine hairs on their cheeks, clinging to Etienne’s stubble, and coating the ends of Evelyn’s hair in brittle white sleeves.

  She slowed the team to a stop after a few kilometres of trail, digging the two-pronged ice anchor into the snow and stamping on it with the thick sole of her boots. Etienne extricated himself from the sled bag, taking Evelyn’s hand as she helped him onto the trail.

  “We’re on foot from here,” Gina said, her breath smoking as she tramped down the trail towards them. “I thought if Evelyn wanted to have a look, do some tracking?” Gina raised her eyebrows, then pointed back up the trail past her lead dog. “There’s a trail of sorts twisting down the mountainside, in that gully. Do you see it?”

  “I see it,” Evelyn said.

  “It’s too steep for moose, and there’s nothing for them around here anyway. And it’s too narrow for the dogs. Could be perfect for a man on skis.”

  “I’ll have a look.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Etienne said.

  “No.” Evelyn pointed at the dogs. “Gina will need help. And maybe you could talk to her about the things we talked about.”

  “What things?” Gina asked, as Evelyn left them with the dogs.

  “I talked to Ivarsson.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “And…” Etienne paused, considering how he might phrase what he wanted to say. “Okay, let me ask you straight. Can we trust Ivarsson?”
>
  “More than Berglund,” Gina said.

  “In your opinion.”

  “In everyone’s opinion. At least, everyone who knows them.”

  “Okay.” Etienne nodded. “Here’s the next thing. Tell me, honestly, did you ever think Mats Lindström was dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then, when you didn’t, did you… even for a minute… consider that he might be up here, in one of these cabins?”

  “I considered it.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you check it out? All of them.”

  Gina removed her mittens and then took her hat off. She ran her hands through her short, sweaty hair, clutching the ends, tugging at them before answering.

  “Honestly?”

  “That would be preferable, yes.”

  “It was easier when I believed he was dead – when everyone believed it. But then Filippa found those pictures on Facebook. And those bank statements… Suddenly, he’s not dead. Now Márjá’s wondering what’s going on, and I’m really worried about her. How can she move on? How can she make a life for herself?”

  “If he’s alive?”

  “Right. Because if he’s alive – and let’s just say he is – now I’m really worried, because this is what I was afraid of.”

  “This?”

  “This, here, us. Because if we’re here… and we are here. Then it means that Ivarsson was right, and everything is about to unfold, maybe even collapse, right now. From this moment onwards – it all collapses. Márjá’s world. Filippa’s. Ours.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Gina took a breath and then smiled. She turned to point at Evelyn scouting the trail ahead of them, and then back to Etienne, pointing at his chest. “Because Inspector, at least now I’m not alone.”

  Chapter 20

  OUTSIDE LONDON, ENGLAND

  Hákon stood to one side as the police cleared the rest of the grounds. He watched the paramedics collect the bodies of Ansel’s team, followed by the crime scene technicians. They were perhaps the most interesting of all the different personnel to converge of the Teals’ country estate, capturing Hákon’s attention as they removed all evidence of the shootout, leaving nothing behind, but neither did they take any photographs. Clearly, their job was to remove all trace of the events that had transpired at the farmhouse. Hákon wondered if they replaced windows too, and then choked on his coffee as he saw a glazier’s van parked at the gate.

  “You all right?” Ansel said, as he approached Hákon. “I thought I heard you choking.”

  “On the coffee,” Hákon said, clearing his throat.

  “Yeah, it’s a bit rough, but about the best I could rustle up, all things considered. Anyway, if you’re feeling fit, I thought we’d push on.”

  “Where to?”

  “There’s a small airstrip not far from here. I’ve got another team on the way, and then I thought we’d get ready to fly north. If you’re still interested, that is?”

  “What about Cantrell?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to let him twist in the wind for a bit. He’s running out of options, and he’s on everyone’s most wanted list. He’ll turn up. But probably not before you’re due back at work.” Ansel tapped Hákon’s arm and pointed at a black van parked at the gate. They started walking towards it. “Do you think they’ll put you behind a desk? When you get back?”

  “I hope not.” Hákon paused to drain the last dregs of his coffee. He tossed the empty cup into one of the Teals’ bins. “Etienne promised I would be active. It’s why I took the job.”

  “But that was before Cantrell shot you in the foot, eh? What happens now?”

  “That’s up to Etienne.”

  “Well, lucky for you then that we’re going in the same direction. I’ll put in a good word, of course.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Hákon had more questions, but as they reached the van, he realised none of them were safe to ask, not before he could confirm Ansel’s true loyalties, or even his true identity.

  “Hop in,” Ansel said, as he climbed in behind the wheel.

  Hákon got in the passenger side, wedged his walking stick between the seat and the door, and nodded that he was ready. Ansel started the engine, letting it idle as a police officer jogged over to the driver’s side window.

  “Can I help you, mate?” Ansel asked, as he wound the window down.

  “It’s the bodies. Where do you want them?”

  “Sorry?”

  “They’re your men. I thought you might have somewhere in mind?”

  “They’re dead, Sergeant. Take them to the morgue.”

  Ansel pulled away, shrugging at Hákon as if to say stupid question. But the officer’s question only gave Hákon more to think about, not least the thought that it could have been his body on the way to the morgue. The look on Cantrell’s face when he had spotted Hákon had confirmed it.

  “What you have to understand,” Ansel said, as he headed for the main road. “Is that there’s rank and then there’s position. I don’t have a rank, but my position allows me to make decisions – for better or worse. Now, the lower ranks, like the good sergeant back there, they don’t always understand position. They think it has something to do with society, and money, and that the more money you have, the higher your position in society, ergo the more pull you have. But again, they’re wrong, thinking that position is similar to rank, meaning that the more money you have the higher your position.” Ansel pointed at the different houses they passed, many of which were grander than the Teals’, with bigger gates and longer drives. “See these houses? You’d think that the people who owned them have money. Some might, but the real money is in the city. But just because a stockbroker has a tonne more money than me – more than I’ll ever have, his position in society is below mine. I have more sway, and I can ruin his life with a phone call.” Ansel turned his head to check Hákon was listening. “It might sound like power, but again, it’s position, how well I am positioned to either make that call…”

  “Or not,” Hákon said.

  “Exactly.” Ansel nodded, slowing for the roadblock. “Exactly,” he repeated, as the police waved them through. “Cantrell had it, but he lost it. That’s how quickly your position can change. Rank is similar, but the difference is that unless you really fuck up, you tend not to get demoted. So, position is ultimately more risky. But the rewards…” Ansel hiked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Teals’ farmhouse. “I mean, we just drove away from a major crime scene.”

  “Because of your position.”

  “That’s right. You’re getting it.”

  Hákon stifled a sigh, as he wondered if Ansel’s sudden urge to chat, to show off even, had something to do with coming down off an intense high, the kind that a firefight can incite. More importantly, he wondered how he could use it.

  “What about me,” Hákon said, thinking out loud, testing the water.

  “You?”

  “I have the rank of constable.”

  “Yes, mate.” Ansel laughed. “That’s pretty low.”

  “It is.” Hákon forced a grin onto his face, choosing not to mention his second-in-command position with Polarpol. If Ansel had forgotten about it, Hákon wasn’t going to remind him. “It will take a long time to work up through the ranks. But if wanted to short-circuit that…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “How would I do that?”

  Ansel tapped the steering wheel, taking the next turn for the motorway, cursing the number of cars as he drove down the slipway to merge with the southbound traffic.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I’m interested,” Hákon said. “I think you might be the one to tell me. Maybe you can even offer me access to a position as you call it.”

  Ansel swore, then laughed. “You had me for a minute.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, your questions. It�
��s like you were interrogating me – subtle but pandering to what I said. Showing an interest…” Ansel paused to look at Hákon. He snorted as he studied the Icelander’s face. “Shit, you are serious.”

  “I have a busted foot. Even if I can continue with Polarpol, they will keep me behind a desk. Just like you said.” Hákon imagined it to be true, allowing the dread of paperwork and a police career inside an office, to lace his voice with something closer to the truth. “If I could move sideways out of the police, but stay active…”

  “I get it,” Ansel said. “I totally understand what you’re saying.”

  “Then how would I do it?” Hákon turned to look at Ansel, choosing his words carefully, but deciding he had little to lose. “You’re not MI5. At least, not anymore.”

  Ansel glanced at Hákon, then looked ahead, focusing on the traffic.

  “I’m not prying,” Hákon said. “I’m just saying what I think, based on what I’ve seen. I think you would have to be of a higher rank to order the police around like you did. Then there’s the way you tipped Constable White.”

  “What about it?”

  Ansel fiddled with the seat, selecting a more comfortable driving position. Hákon stiffened, wondering if he was going for his gun.

  “I asked you about White,” Ansel said.

  “You treated him like a confidential informant. Not like a police constable.”

  “White is many things. We’ve already discussed that.”

  “Yes, but what are you to him?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He respects my position.”

  “He has learned to, because of your reputation.”

  “Okay,” Ansel said, tapping the wheel. “We’ve been shot at together, and you’re about to meet an interesting group of people.”

  “More interesting than Mickey and…”

  “The lads? Yeah, you could say so. So, in my book you’ve earned a little more information. And, from what I knew before and what I now know, it’s not unthinkable that you might be a candidate suitable for hire.”

  “To work for the Spurring Group?”

  Ansel laughed. “Yeah, all right, mate. You’re just not letting that go, are you? Jesus.”