“Constable?” Jessie said.
“That’s right. The Constable is joining us for this little jaunt into the mountains.” Ansel paused as the flight attendant opened the door, letting in a rush of cold air, followed by a bald man wearing a dark suit and an oversized winter parka. “And this is our contact.” Ansel greeted the man, introducing him to the team with the name, “Berglund.”
“And your team?” Berglund said, with a nod.
“Right,” Ansel said, pointing to each member of the team in turn. “Jessie, the fairest of the bunch. Dave, the fat bastard on the left.”
“Hey,” Dave said, with a scowl. “It’s muscle. All of it.”
Ansel grinned as the team commented on how hard Dave worked on shaping his muscles, before continuing with the introductions. “Roberts, the thin one on the right. And that leaves…”
“Patterson,” said the shortest man on the aircraft.
“And the big bugger at the back,” Ansel said, “is Constable Hákon Sigurðsson, currently assigned to Polarpol.”
“Really?” Berglund said, as he took a moment to study Hákon.
“Yeah, he’s more of an advisor,” Ansel said. “And he won’t be armed.”
Hákon returned Berglund’s stare, but turned his attention to Ansel, curious that his was the only name Ansel had given in full, together with his position in Polarpol.
“Okay,” Berglund said, turning away from Hákon. “But if I could have your attention.”
Ansel clicked his fingers and the team stopped what they were doing.
“Thank you.” Berglund took a moment to look at each of them, with another lingering look at Hákon, as if he still wasn’t sure about him, before launching into his briefing. “I have arranged transport. Two cars with trailers and snowmobiles. There are five snowmobiles. Two of you will have to share.”
“That’s Jessie and me,” Ansel said, dipping his head towards Jessie, smirking as she groaned in protest.
“You have your own weapons and equipment?”
“We’re all set.” Ansel nodded.
“Good.” Berglund took a moment, and then said, “There is a map case on each of the snowmobiles. The target location is circled on the map. You can take the snowmobiles to within two kilometres, slightly less, of the cabin. But you will have to go on foot from there.”
“The target?” Dave asked.
“Is at the location,” Berglund said, with another glance at Hákon. “You can expect resistance.”
“And what are we looking for?” Jessie stared at Berglund, waiting for his reply.
“Intel,” he said. “Specifically, USBs, maybe even small hard drives. If it looks like a hard drive, I want it.”
“To be clear,” Ansel said. “This intel is of high value. Heads will roll if we don’t secure it. You have a green light for prosecuting the target with extreme prejudice. Berglund, and his lot, will clean up after us. Right?”
“Yes,” Berglund said.
Hákon gripped the top of his stick, pressing the whorls of smooth knotty wood into his palm. He felt the pain in his foot twist into his leg but ignored it. There was more at stake than his comfort. The look on Berglund’s face revealed more than the man perhaps intended.
“So,” Ansel said, bending to look out of the aircraft window. “Those are the cars?” he asked, straightening his back at a nod from Berglund. “Right then. We debus with all our gear. Secure skis, poles, and long weapons in the trailer. Sidearms only in the cab. Ready to go in five minutes.” Ansel clapped his hands. “Let’s move.”
Hákon waited at the rear, watching as Ansel took Berglund to one side. Berglund’s furtive glance at Hákon confirmed that they were talking about him. He checked his mobile in his pocket, cursing silently as he realised the battery was dead.
“Hey,” Jessie said, waving Hákon over to the gear. “Come grab some gear.” She gestured at the cold weather gear strewn across the seats. Hákon nodded, then walked along the aircraft, his head tilted to one side to fit. “At least the sweater fits,” Jessie said, sizing a thick woollen sweater against Hákon’s chest. “Perfect. It goes well with your stick.” Jessie laughed, then turned to pull a chest rig over her black ski jacket, clipping the sling of an MP5 into the buckles.
Hákon removed his jacket, wrestled his way into the sweater, and then found a pair of salopettes, almost long enough for his legs. He ripped the crotch area, pulled the straps to the maximum length, and then tugged the outer layer over his trousers. He found a fleece hat and Gore-Tex mittens for his hands.
“Got what you need?” Ansel asked, as he fiddled with his own gear and a chest rig similar to Jessie’s.
“I have enough,” Hákon said.
“Good.” Ansel leaned in, lowering his voice. “I need you to keep a low profile. Berglund’s a bit spooked. It could get a bit messy.”
“How?”
“Well, the target is legit, but there’s some local police involvement. Nothing to worry about, and nothing we can’t handle. But there’s a chance some of your lot might be working with the police. Now, don’t worry,” Ansel said, changing his voice to a lighter tone. “They are not being targeted, but I’m sure you’ll understand that it’s important that they don’t get in the way.”
“You said nothing about…”
“About what?” Ansel raised his eyebrows, leaning in, pressing his finger into Hákon’s chest. “This is what it is, mate. The light, the dark, and those grey areas. If you can’t handle it, then you can wait here. Inside the aircraft. Have a few drinks, and then find your own way home once the op is over. But, if you want to be useful, then I can use you in the field. Your job will be to make sure your boss…”
“Etienne…”
“That’s the one.” Ansel nodded. “You make sure he stands down. So long as he doesn’t get between us and our target, there is no problem.”
“Who is the target?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“And the intel?”
“Ah, it’s best you don’t know about that either.” Ansel turned as Jessie tapped his shoulder.
“We’re ready,” she said.
“As are we,” he said. “Aren’t we, Constable?”
Hákon considered his options and the consequences of his actions. As far as he was concerned, there was only one course of action, and he was committed to playing the role of the Spurring Group aspirant all the way, for his own sake, and the sake of his team. Hákon had little doubt where Etienne would position Polarpol, and the thought of not being there, right beside him…
“I’m ready,” he said. “I know what I have to do.”
“That’s all I need to hear,” Ansel said. “I guess you’re not skiing with that foot of yours but grab whatever else you need and let’s get going.”
Hákon hefted the stick in his hand and nodded at the exit. “I have everything I need.”
They unloaded the snowmobiles and hit the trail less than two hours after leaving the hangar. Ice pearled in Hákon’s beard and the sweater as his breath froze between his whiskers and into the weave of the wool. Patterson drove in front of Hákon, with Dave in front of him, and Jessie with Ansel as passenger in the lead. Roberts swung wide of the trail, picking a route across the ice. Hákon kept his eye on him for as long as he could, wondering what he intended to do with the long rifle strapped to his back, and then cursed as Roberts turned off the lights and disappeared into the black night.
New Year’s Eve.
The thought gave Hákon pause, as he realised he hadn’t thought about it, that he had been so wrapped up in pursuing Cantrell, that he had forgotten where he should be. Home, he thought. With Íris. The cold air pierced the weave of his sweater, but thoughts of his daughter, laughing with her cousin, or tugging at his beard, pulling him down to her level for a kiss before school… such thoughts kept him warm, just like the fear of losing Íris forced him to be apart from her. On New Year’s Eve. Christmas, at least, had been saved, even in the aftermat
h of the events in Reykjavík. Even after Cantrell. But this?
Hákon struggled to grasp exactly what he was involved in. But Berglund’s parting remarks when they unloaded the snowmobiles, had, at least, shed a little more light on the operation, before Ansel had cut him off.
“The data on the USBs must be checked before you leave Sweden.”
“Don’t worry,” Ansel had said. “We’ll get them.”
“Yes, I know.”
Hákon recalled the look on Berglund’s face, and his knuckles – white in the cold, as he gripped Ansel’s arm.
“But I want to see them. Otherwise your plane is grounded.”
“All right,” Ansel said, lowering his voice, forcing Hákon to concentrate. “But remember who you’re talking to. Without us, things could have been very different in Iceland. You owe us,” he said. “So don’t go making idle threats. If you’re going to threaten me, or my team, then you make sure you’ve got the balls to back it up.” Ansel thrust his hand into Berglund’s crotch, lifting him as he squeezed. “You’ll get your USBs.”
The team grinned as Ansel let go of the Swede, sharing knowing looks and nods as Ansel adjusted the position of his MP5 across his chest on his way to the lead snowmobile.
“Food for thought, eh?” Jessie said, as she bumped past Hákon.
Back on the snowmobile, as the cold turned Hákon’s cheeks stiff in the wind, he thought about the haunted look on Berglund’s face after Ansel let him go. Clearly, there was a lot of interest in the intel the target possessed, but some of the interested parties had more to lose than others. Berglund for one, Hákon mused, looked desperate. Desperate enough to outfit a British team of mercenaries on an operation in the Swedish mountains. Hákon had been here before, he realised, chasing Brits into the snow.
But the last British mercenaries I chased were a diversion. This time, he thought, it’s the real thing.
Hákon looked to his left, scanning the frozen lake once more for Roberts and his long rifle, before turning back to the trail as the order came to douse the lights on all the snowmobiles.
As Jessie slowed in the lead, forcing the rest of the team to reduce speed, Hákon reached for his walking stick. Jenný had joked when she said it reminded her of Odin’s staff, adding she hoped it had some mythological powers to keep him safe. Hákon squared his jaw as he realised it was time to find out.
Chapter 23
KEBNEKAISE, SWEDEN
Evelyn led the way up the gully, pointing out the different handholds when the path steepened. She paused on the rocks, studying the snow as Etienne climbed up to her, her gaze fixed on a section of windblown snow with the faintest shadow of two lines running through the middle of it.
“Skis,” she said, whistling as she followed the line up the slope to the top. “He’s got skills.”
“Great,” Etienne said, catching his breath. “But does he climb up here on the way back each time? There must be another way.”
“Maybe.” Evelyn shrugged. “If we had more time.”
“That’s something we don’t have.” Etienne tapped Evelyn’s arm and pointed up the slope. “Let’s keep going.”
The slope levelled off to a gentle incline at the top of the gully, stretching along a spur of granite, tracing the contours of the mountain’s feet. The wind curled surface snow into their faces, forcing Evelyn to turn her back to the mountain as she repositioned her hat, tugging her neckie up and over her nose. Etienne did the same, nodding when he was ready, and following in Evelyn’s footsteps. He remembered the tiny tracks she had made in the snow outside Filippa Lindström’s house, the deeper impressions of Berglund’s tread, and now his own clumsy prints in the snow.
“We follow this spur,” Evelyn said, raising her voice against the wind. “Then drop down to the right. Do you see it?”
Etienne cupped his hands around his eyes, shielding the worst of the snow and ice, as he stared in the direction Evelyn pointed. “What am I looking for?”
“A broad chute of snow, dropping off the spur.” Evelyn stepped forward, moving her hand in a descending wave pattern, and then pointing, before turning Etienne with a hand on his shoulder. “See it?”
“I see something. But unless the moon shines through this cloud…”
“Later then,” Evelyn said. “The forecast suggests it’s going to clear up later.”
“Suggests?”
Evelyn laughed. “Were in the mountains. What do you expect?”
“Nothing.” Etienne lowered his hands. “Go on, Trooper. Lead the way.”
Evelyn took them along the spur, stopping occasionally to dust away surface snow, looking for more ski tracks, calling out when she found them.
“It’s his regular route,” she said. “Like rails. He just slaps his skis into the tracks and rides them down the mountain. He’ll be fast going into town.”
“And slow on the way home. I get it.” Etienne slapped Evelyn on the arm with the tip of his gauntlet. “Keep going.”
They slowed at the broad chute leading down to a flat area, ringed by boulders and what looked like a path picking its way along the mountainside. Evelyn pointed, but Etienne was the first to say it out loud.
“A cabin. Just off the path.”
“You can see the path?”
“I’m learning,” he said.
“Then it’s only fair,” Evelyn said, taking a step back, “that you lead the rest of the way.”
“Because I’m the boss?” Etienne grinned.
“No, because he’s armed.” What little light there was reflected in Evelyn’s eyes as she smiled behind her neckie.
“Fair enough,” Etienne said, as he took the first step off the spur and into the chute, sinking to his knees as he cut a path to the cabin.
A flicker of light flared in the window, encouraging Etienne to slow his progress to a crawl. He waved his hand, pushing Evelyn further back, then resumed his forward progress, approaching the cabin directly, assuming, hoping, that Mats – if it was Mats –would appreciate the exposed, non-threatening approach.
The crack of a pistol, and the snap of the bullet – wide, and to the left, forced Etienne to drop into the snow.
“Door,” Evelyn said. And then, “Window on your left.”
Another bullet, also wide, cracked out of the cabin, turning Etienne’s head as he looked back at Evelyn, noting that her eyes were fixed on the cabin.
“Suggestions?”
“He’s got us cold. So…”
“He’s warning us off.”
“Or he’s a lousy aim.”
“Possibly,” Etienne said, as he turned back to look at the cabin. He saw the cabin door open and risked a shout. “Mats Lindström?”
Etienne waited, curious that the snow absorbed his shout, just as it did the crack of the bullets, leaving little or no echo.
“Vem är du?”
“We’re police,” Etienne said. ”Friends of Gina Lång.”
“Mats,” Evelyn said, rising up, sitting on her heels. “We’ve talked to Márjá. She knows about the cameras.” Evelyn shrugged as Etienne turned. “Worth a shot,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the cabin.
“Márjá sent you?” Mats said, switching to English.
“Kind of,” Evelyn said. “Can we come over to you? We’re unarmed.”
Mats appeared at the door, his pistol pointing in their direction.
“Yes,” he said. “Slowly.”
“You’ve got the lead,” Etienne said, as he walked beside Evelyn. “Use Márjá. Mention the boy.”
“Niillas.”
“That’s it. Keep his attention focused on home, family – everything he’s missing. It’s his weak spot.”
“It’s everyone’s weak spot,” Evelyn said, slowing as they got within a few metres of the cabin. “Mats,” she said. “My name is Evelyn Odell. I’m with the Alaskan State Troopers. This is Inspector Etienne Gagnon, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“We’re with Polarpol,” Etienne added. “Could y
ou lower your pistol?”
“You’re police?” Mats said, squinting as he leaned forward.
“Yes,” Evelyn said. “But we’re not here to arrest you.”
“Okay.”
“The gun, Mats,” Etienne said.
“What? Oh, sorry.” Mats slid his pistol back into his pocket. “My glasses broke. I can’t see anyway.” His shoulders sagged as they approached. “I’m harmless. Pathetic, really.”
“But you have a stove,” Evelyn said, as she reached the door.
“I was just about to light it. I could make some tea.”
“Perfect.” Evelyn smiled. “We’re freezing.”
Evelyn followed Mats into the cabin. Etienne paused for a moment longer, turning to scan the approach to the cabin, appreciating the open view, imagining what it might look like in daylight. The clouds, he noticed, were thinning, revealing more black sky, and tiny pinpricks of starlight. He kicked the worst of the snow from his boots and stepped inside the cabin.
The interior of the cabin fit with what Etienne imagined a Swedish mountain cabin should look like, with pine panels on the walls, open rafters for skis and equipment, a simple square table with a bench on either side, and a single chair in front of the stove. The bed was more of a sleeping platform, with no visible mattress, just Mats’ thin sleeping pad and his sleeping bag curled on top of it. Etienne turned at the sound of Mats opening the glass door of the cast iron stove. He watched him stir the ashes into life with a handful of kindling.
“It’s not much,” Mats said. “But I manage to stay warm.”
Etienne stood to one side, half listening to Evelyn and Mats as Mats showed her around the cabin, but more interested in the young man’s demeanour. Mats’ eyes seemed to be permanently pinched, as he struggled to see in the gloom. Etienne saw a thick book on the sleeping platform, wondering idly how Mats could read it, before turning back to study the Swede’s manner. Surprisingly calm, he thought, for a fugitive who’s just been discovered. But then Etienne realised Mats wasn’t just calm. He’s relieved. It’s all over.
“Don’t you think, boss?”
Mountain Ghost: A Polar Task Force Thriller, Book #2 (PolarPol) Page 17
