45
Her phone’s alarm chimed for a long time before María finally woke up. She stretched for it, hit the snooze button and closed her eyes again. Despite the painkillers, her whole body hurt. She lay still. That was best. As she drifted between sleep and consciousness, Maggi seemed close to her, performing the gentle caresses he always woke her with on Sunday mornings, a clear day ahead of them with fresh bread from the bakery and the weekend papers to be read in bed.
The alarm called out to her a second time. As she was about to tap the snooze button again, she was startled to see a message from Agla on the screen. It was painful and difficult to sit up. She lifted her hands above her head to stretch her spine. But the pain in her back shot all the way down her right leg to her toes as she got to her feet. It would be a while before she would be ready for anything.
She limped back and forth, picking up her things and throwing them anyhow into her case. The old María had had a linen bag for underwear that she packed before arranging everything else in orderly rows; but in this grubby motel, bruised and stiff from the beating she had endured while carrying out Agla Margeirsdóttir’s assignment, she admitted to herself that she hadn’t just changed in the last few years, she had become a different person. Maggi had been quite right when he had said that she was no longer the woman he had married.
Agla’s message was short: Follow a truck and find out where they take the aluminium.
María sighed. She had meant to start working on the list of business contacts that Marteinn had sent, but this sounded like a better plan. The trucks appeared to arrive full and drive straight out again. There was no space to load or unload them, so this had to be for show. It was therefore key to work out where they went after leaving the warehouse. Did they go round in circle after circle, or stop off somewhere? If they did, where might that be? She sent a reply that was as brief as Agla’s message had been.
OK. There’s something fishy about all this, and they threatened me with a gun.
She had finished packing her case and just dropped the room keys off in the box at reception when her phone rang. The caller was identified on her screen as the Hólmsheiði Prison.
‘Will you accept a call from Agla Margeirsdóttir?’ asked a voice with a strong Eastern European accent. She had hardly said yes before Agla was on the line.
‘Are you all right, María?’ she asked, and she felt a pang inside at this unexpected concern.
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ she said. ‘I’m not used to having a gun in my face.’
‘What happened, exactly?’ Agla whispered as if to stop anyone listening, although they both knew that prisoners’ calls were often monitored.
‘I broke into the warehouse last night, and they caught me. I was thrown out. It was all very heavy-handed.’
As she thought of the pistol barrel being rammed into her cheek, the feeling again came over her that she was about to faint. She sat down on the kerb outside the motel.
‘I had no idea I was sending you into anything dangerous,’ Agla said. ‘Maybe it’s best if you just come home. We’ll leave things as they are.’
‘No chance.’ María felt the obstinacy well up inside her. She wasn’t going to give up right away. She wasn’t going to let these scumbags scare her off. ‘If they had nothing to hide in that warehouse, then they would have called the police and had me arrested. But instead they called someone who told them to erase the pictures from my phone and to check the messages.’
‘Do you think they saw the message you sent me?’ Agla asked.
‘No,’ María replied. ‘I fixed the settings so that outgoing messages are deleted – just like you showed me.’
Agla laughed and María couldn’t help smiling as well. This had been the focus of endless questions when she had been at the special prosecutor’s office and Agla had been a person of interest under interrogation. María had asked again and again if Agla had replied to this or that message, while across the table Agla had sat silent and impassive. There had been nothing for it but to take all kinds of roundabout routes to get to her emails.
‘Take care, María,’ Agla said at last.
María said ‘yes’, and ‘thanks’, and ended the call with the bizarre feeling that Agla was her thoughtful friend instead of her sworn enemy.
She threw her case into the back of the car and limped over to the diner, where she ordered two American pancakes and bacon. When the food arrived, she squeezed a generous helping of maple syrup over everything and tore into it. She asked for coffee in a take-out paper cup. This was one shithole she couldn’t wait to leave behind her.
46
Anton would really have preferred orange, but he thought it would look immature to wait for a boy two years older than he was and already in college with a glass of fizzy orange in front of him. So instead he ordered a latte and stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into it. That made him a grown-up man meeting another guy in a coffee house to discuss serious business. He had to play the part properly. That was why he hadn’t brought Gunnar along. He would have screwed things up with some crap about Molotov cocktails and fireworks. Anton sipped his coffee, which wasn’t too bad once there was sugar in it. He would have much preferred hot chocolate.
As soon as Oddur walked in he stood up and waved, and asked him what he wanted to drink. Oddur asked for a cappuccino, and Anton made a mental note to ask for just that next time. There was something cool about the way Oddur said it – ‘cappuccinothanks’, all one word, as if this was something he had ordered a thousand times before but somehow still looked forward to; as if there was something special about that kind of coffee.
‘We were at school together,’ Anton said with a smile.
‘Yeah, that’s what you said in your message,’ Oddur said. ‘Sorry, man. I don’t remember you at all.’
‘That’s all right,’ Anton said. ‘You normally only remember the older kids. That’s why I remember you but you don’t remember me.’
In fact, he was relieved that Oddur hadn’t remembered him, as two years ago he had been a stick-thin spotty weakling; not exactly the slick business type he wanted Oddur to see now.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Oddur said, looking at his phone. He seemed to be reading messages and answering them; he held the phone in both hands and tapped with his thumbs at incredible speed.
‘I saw in the paper that you won an honorary award in the university robotics competition,’ Anton said as Oddur put his phone down.
‘The engineering students’ competition,’ Oddur said. ‘I would have won if I had been old enough to take part. But I’m still at high school, so they gave me an honorary award instead. My robot, Wrangler, was the best of the lot.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ Anton said, raised his cup in appreciation and sipped, as if he was toasting Oddur’s success.
Oddur lifted his cup at the same time and when he put it down again, it was clear that the moment had come when he wanted to know what Anton’s request to meet him was about.
‘You’re interested in robotics?’ he asked.
Anton shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s why I need your help.’ He moved his chair closer to the table, leaned forwards and dropped his voice. ‘Let’s say, for example, that I needed a remote-control system that could light a fuse leading to some dynamite to blow up an old shed. Is that the kind of thing you could produce?’
Oddur stared at him in surprise.
‘Why on earth would I do that, even if I could?’
‘Because I’d pay you. As much as you want.’
Oddur shifted in his chair and sat very upright, as if his body had stiffened.
‘What are you going to blow up?’
Anton was slightly taken aback by how abrupt Oddur’s manner had suddenly become.
‘It’s just an idea,’ he said to calm Oddur down. ‘Just an idea, you know. Let’s just say that I want to do something a bit special as a surprise for my girlfriend’s birthday, and I’m ta
king her and some friends for a picnic. The best part might be when we blow up a rotten old shed that’s in a place I know.’
‘And you think your girlfriend’s going to enjoy seeing some shed blown up?’
‘Yep. She loves a bang, y’know.’
Now Oddur smiled awkwardly.
‘That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,’ he said and shook his head in disbelief.
‘She just loves explosions,’ Anton continued excitedly. ‘New Year’s Eve is her favourite. She’ll just love it.’
He could hear the lies in his own voice and hoped that Oddur wouldn’t see through him.
‘Then why not just have a firework display for her?’
‘That’s the plan,’ Anton said. ‘But blowing up the shed is the high point of the firework display.’
He was taken by surprise by just how quickly the lies had spun themselves. It was as if all this make-believe emerged effortlessly.
‘And where are you going to get the money to pay me?’
‘I have money,’ Anton said. ‘I’m a silver-spoon kid.’
Oddur smiled again.
‘I need to think it over,’ he said. ‘I can easily make what you’re looking for, but I’m not sure that I’d want to. It depends whether I want to take the risk that someone could get hurt and it would be my fault.’
Anton nodded gravely to show that he appreciated Oddur’s concerns.
‘That’s why I wanted to ask if you could come up with something smart. My friend offered to make some kind of a detonator using a petrol bomb. That sounds far too dangerous.’
It had the required effect. ‘Christ…’ Oddur breathed.
‘I reckon there’s far less risk of someone getting hurt if you could make a high-tech remote control,’ Anton went on. ‘I want everyone to be well clear when the dynamite goes off.’
‘You’re completely off your head,’ Oddur said, getting to his feet. ‘Thanks for the coffee. I’ll think it over and let you know.’
Oddur had left the coffee house when Anton remembered something important: he should have mentioned that this had to remain strictly between the two of them. He hurried after Oddur, who turned as he heard Anton call his name.
‘Hey,’ Anton said. ‘Don’t forget this is just a potential scenario, and we keep it between you and me.’
Oddur waved a hand and nodded, but his eyes flashed nervously from side to side, so that Anton wondered if a boy two years older than he was, a coffee-drinking robotics genius, was actually frightened of him.
47
María didn’t have to wait for long for a truck to turn up at the warehouse. She had been parked in the shade of a threadbare tree for only a few minutes when two trucks drove up at the same time. She sat up straight and finished the weak coffee in her paper cup. She knew the trucks spent around a quarter of an hour inside the building before emerging at the far end. Considering how packed the place was, there was unlikely to be any loading or unloading going on, so she guessed that the fifteen minutes were simply a coffee break for the drivers.
She pulled out from under the tree, and with the engine running waited in the side road from where she could see the exit. As the second truck crossed the speed bumps by the gate she swung the car out onto the road.
She kept a safe distance behind the trucks as she followed them through the town, but closed up the gap as they approached the freeway, for fear of losing them in the traffic. With less than a mile to go before the turn-off, the trucks dropped into separate lanes. For a moment María wondered whether they were aware of her and were splitting up as a way of confusing her. But that was a ridiculous idea, and to avoid switching lanes and drawing attention to herself, María decided to stay where she was, following the second of the two trucks. It took the bend towards the north and Fort Wayne, while the other went under the bridge, taking the Indianapolis road.
Following the truck was no problem. It stayed in the right-hand lane and its speed remained steady. Once again María kept a distance behind it, sometimes allowing another car to drop in between them, but never letting the truck out of her sight. After half an hour she began to feel herself getting sleepy. She hoped that the truck would stop at a diner where she could get something stronger than the dishwater she had been given that morning, which hadn’t seemed to contain even a minimal amount of caffeine.
She didn’t need to think too long about coffee, as her phone rang and the sight of Marteinn’s name on the screen brought her back to full alertness.
‘Hæ, Marteinn, my darling,’ she said and immediately sensed that her warm tone had taken him unawares.
‘Hæ, María,’ he said humbly. ‘I think I was a bit over the top earlier.’
‘Maybe a little, my dear Marteinn,’ she said. ‘You know, if you think of all the time we’ve worked together, you’ll know I sincerely want whatever’s best for you.’
Marteinn broke into tears.
‘I know,’ he snivelled. ‘But it’s so hard to not be angry when there’s so much going on in the world. And now that you’re getting mixed up in this metal stockpiling business I have to be careful in case you’re part of the big conspiracy.’
‘I’m not getting caught up in any metal stockpiling, Marteinn. I’m digging into it.’
‘And who got you to do it, eh? Who was it who put you onto this?’
María swallowed. She hadn’t told him that she was working on this for Agla. But it was difficult to keep anything from him. She had had a suspicion that he was reading her emails. Now she was sure he was.
‘Agla Margeirsdóttir asked me to do it, Marteinn, but that doesn’t change anything. She gets the information she’s looking for, and I get a hell of a scoop.’
‘I’d never have believed that you would be on Agla’s side.’
María sighed. Not all that long ago she wouldn’t have believed it herself. There was no way to explain it or excuse herself other than with the plain truth.
‘To be completely open with you, Marteinn, she’s paying me a pile of money for this and I couldn’t see any way of turning her down because it’s what’s keeping The Squirrel and me from bankruptcy.’
‘So you’re for sale like everyone else?’ Marteinn yelped, hardly holding back his sobs of frustration.
‘I’m truly sorry to disappoint you,’ María said, and meant it.
‘My disappointment doesn’t mean a lot when you’re working for the corporate giants fighting for ownership of metals. And metal is the only thing that will be recognised as currency once the magnetic storm hits.’
As often happened during conversations with Marteinn, María was failing to keep track.
‘Magnetic … what?’
‘Look back at all economic systems and you can see the pattern. First banknotes replaced metal as currency, and from banknotes we went to plastic cards, from electronic to digital and when the magnetic storm hits us and all digital records are destroyed, nobody will be able to prove they own anything. There’s a new world order coming and they will control it with magnetic pulses and blame it on solar activity.’
The words tumbled out of Marteinn’s mouth as he went into an even more convoluted explanation of his latest conspiracy theory. He spoke so quickly, María struggled to follow what he was saying. The only thing she understood was that those who would end up with the world in their hands were the same people who now had warehouses stacked high with metal.
‘Marteinn, I have to go now,’ she said as gently as she could.
The truck was indicating that it was about to turn right.
48
The counsellor stared at Agla with concern.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ she asked, her brow furrowed and two deep grooves appearing between her eyebrows.
‘I don’t know,’ Agla said. ‘We’ll find out. I’ve owned this house for almost six years and have never used it.’
‘But you’re aware she’s an addict?’
‘Yes. I know that.’ Agla was fighting
to maintain her composure in the face of this complete stranger’s interfering attitude. She had never met this counsellor before and couldn’t see that it was any of her business who she was letting live in her own house. ‘It wouldn’t worry me if she wrecks the place. I’ve no attachment to it.’
That wasn’t strictly true; there were plenty of emotions tied to this house, but they were all negative ones. She could see herself, childishly cheerful as she painted the living room, Sonja having changed her mind about the colour after the painters had finished. They had lain in bed after making love, ordering furniture online. And then she saw herself sitting in despair on a box as she read Sonja’s farewell message again and again.
It would be perfect to bring some fresh spirit into that house. Although she hadn’t set foot in it for years, she had never had the heart to put it on the market.
‘Well, if you’re happy about it,’ the counsellor said, as if she wasn’t satisfied with the idea herself.
‘Of course I’m happy with it,’ Agla said as firmly as she could without being downright rude. ‘I’ve made her the offer, and I’m delighted to be able to. It’s completely ridiculous that Elísa won’t be allowed out on probation if she doesn’t have anywhere to live.’
This was one of the system’s strangely inflexible rules that she couldn’t fathom. Each prisoner was required to demonstrate that they had a place to live before they could be released, even though everyone was sent to the Vernd probation hostel for a while once their sentence at Hólmsheiði was over. Wherever she lived, Agla couldn’t see how Elísa would be able to pay her way. The wages for the job she had been able to arrange, behind the supermarket tills at Bónus, wouldn’t go far.
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