Thor's Haven

by Richard S Young

  “Kolbrún. Can you track where the Kia Sportage 4x4 Crossover that Sólrun leased to this Markus Bruscante is just now?”

  “Certainly. It’s at Kirkjubøur and parked at the Kirkjubøargarður, the oldest still inhabited wooden houses in the world.”

  “Thanks. Are you able to show me where Sólrun has been in her car recently?”

  Kolbrún typed away at the keyboard and brought up on the screen all of the information relating to Sólrun’s travels of the past two days. Yesterday, she had driven from her home in Tórshavn directly to the airport in the morning and then returned home in the evening with no diversions. However, this morning, she had left her home at 8.30am and taken a 15 minute detour to drive the 7 miles to Kirkjubøur, spent 10 minutes there and left at 8.56am and a 54 minute journey to drive the 34 miles to Vágar Airport to go to work, arriving at 9.50am.

  “What’s Sólrun doing at Kirkjubøur? There’s nothing there apart from the farm, the houses, the church and the ruins of the St. Magnus Cathedral. Everyone that lives there has a car and I can’t see why she would go there first thing in the morning.”

  “I do Kolbrún. Sólrun went there to hide something for me and now she’s in trouble because of it.”

  Daniel showed Kolbrún the packaging and the letter from Pakistan and quickly explained what the situation was.

  “Can I hire a car from you?”

  Kolbrún reached over into Sólrun’s handbag and removed the car keys and passed them to Daniel.

  “Take Sólrun’s. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Daniel took out his wallet and removed two business cards from a sleeve and laid them out in front of him. He asked Kolbrún if he could use the landline telephone and after her agreement, he began dialling a number. After a few long rings, Hélène Lecacheux answered.

  “Hélène? It’s Daniel. Have you got a pen and paper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Markus Bruscante is here in the Faroes and I think he has taken Sólrun. He’s made a mistake though by hiring a car and I’ve been able to locate him by its tracking device to a small village called Kirkjubøur.” He spelt the place name out for her.

  “I’m currently at the airport and I’m going to head over to Kirkjubøur just now. It’s going to take me about 40 minutes to get there. It’s 5.17pm just now, and I’ll be there at approximately 6.00pm. Can you contact Jógvan Johannesen, the Løgmaður, prime minister of the Faroe Islands and explain who you are, what’s been happening and you need local police assistance, that I’m here and Sólrun is in serious danger. Just say him to him ‘Jo-Jo’ and he’ll pull out all the stops for you and contact the ‘Landsfoged’, the Chief Constable of the Færøerne Politi/ Føroya Politi (Faroe Islands Police) to action armed response officers and the use of weapons and for them to meet me at 6.00pm. No sirens or flashing lights. We can’t take any chances with these people Hélène. ‘Jo-Jo’ is a pet-name that Sólrun has for him, and when he hears you say that, he’ll know that your request is for real. I’m leaving now and I’m passing you over to Sólrun’s friend, Kolbrún, who will give you all the details for contacting Jógvan Johannesen. Bye.” and passed the telephone over to Kolbrún.

  Kolbrún looked shocked as she took the telephone handset from Daniel with one hand and the business card for Jógvan Johannesen with the other.

  “I have to go now Kolbrún. Just tell Hélène everything that she needs to know. Thanks.” and grabbed Sólrun’s handbag and jacket and sprinted out the office towards her car.

  5.51pm – 16th April, present day

  Kirkjubøur, Streymoy, Faroe Islands.

  As he drove along the road away from the airport, the stark and rugged beauty of the island of Vágar struck home with its mountains and steep inclines versus the contrasting juxtaposition of the various hamlets and villages with their brightly coloured wooden and stone houses, most of which had grass roofs. When he reached the village of Fútaklett, Daniel prepared himself for what he was about to drive into – Vágatunnilin (the Vágar Tunnel), a 4,900 metres long sub-sea road tunnel, 109 metres below sea level, through the solid basalt rock lying under the Atlantic Ocean, taking him from the island of Vágar to the neighbouring island of Streymoy and emerging at the village of Leynar. After exiting the tunnel on the island of Streymoy, he continued his journey towards Tórshavn by following a road that seemed to cling to the sides of steep inclines and cliff edges as it snaked around the southern part of the island. On the outskirts of Torshavn, Daniel chicaned the car right onto the Oyggjarvegur and then executed an immediate right turn onto the Vestari Ringvegur and towards Kirkjubøur. He increased his speed as the road signage indicated he was getting closer to Kirkjubøur, finding Sólrun and hopefully to solving the mystery of what was so important about a white stone that he had found in Pakistan.

  Meandering through the green, but treeless, landscape of volcanic origin, the vista ahead rose abruptly, then fell before dropping, straight down into the ocean’s waters, as the now single-lane road wound and churned a route through some very irregular and rough terrain. The final destination of Kirkjubøur reclined at the foot of some rugged layer-cake mountains, and as Daniel neared closer to the village, waves spat up a fog that scaled the shoreline ahead of a fast approaching, rolling tsunami of folding mist, and in a heartbeat, the scene before him turned white as Kirkjubøur and its associated buildings disappeared from his view, completely enveloped by a vapourous fret.

  Slowing the car down to almost walking pace, the road forked – to his left lay a lane that went above and behind the village, while to his right, the road terminated at a car-park beside a small harbour and in front of some houses, the 11th century parish church of Ólavskirkja and the ruins of the Magnus Cathedral that had been built in the 1300s. But the reason for Sólrun visiting Kirkjubøur earlier this morning had been, or so Daniel presumed, to place the white stone, in plain sight, on a shelf inside one of the rooms of the 900 year-old farmhouse/museum of Roykstovan, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited wooden house. He turned the car to the left and slowly drove along the lane and parked it behind one of the houses and exited the vehicle.

  Breathing in the briny air of the North Atlantic and gazing through the haze of the swirling mist at the eerie and imposing ruins of the roofless Gothic cathedral, St Magnus, Daniel imagined in his mind’s eye that the very day the Vikings first washed up on these shores in their longboats would have been almost similar. Out of the mist, their silent approach to Kirkjubøur would have been unexpected and taken the locals by surprise. Their Nordic gods of old had obviously been watching over him today to provide a similar opportunity to effect a surreptitious rescue, but first he had to wait on the police support arriving.

  When staying in the Faroe Islands previously, Sólrun had gone to great lengths to show off the history and heritage of her beloved islands, and as a couple, they had visited many of the places of interest. This heritage was meticulously preserved here at Kirkjubøur, the most significant historical site in the Faroe Islands, inside the turf-roofed Roykstovan museum, an 11th century farmhouse and former bishop’s residence, that was run by the current owner/occupier, a 17th generation farmer called Jóannes Patursson. The oldest part of the black-timbered Roykstovan (smoke room) is open to visitors and catapults any visitor right back in time to the early Middle Ages and then onwards through history with its walls festooned with heirlooms from throughout the ages ranging from whale spears, utensils and ornaments. On a previous visit, Daniel had joked with Sólrun that if he ever wanted to hide something, he would place it on a shelf in one of the rooms of the Roykstovan and have total confidence that it would remain there undisturbed. Daniel was utterly confident that Sólrun had taken note of this previous comment and placed the white stone in a prominent place, and so noticeable, it wouldn’t look out of place.

  Walking back through the misted village towards the road junction to await the expected police sup
port, the silence was deafening, with even the breaking of the waves on the nearby shore at a minimal sound level. Through occasional breaks in the mist, Daniel could see that three sets of headlights were in convoy making their way slowly towards Kirkjubøur. The headlights dipped and flashed as the approaching vehicles negotiated the twists and turns of the road down the mountainside to the village. Standing in the middle of the road, Daniel hoped and prayed that the driver of the lead vehicle would see him and not run him over. The car braked abruptly about ten metres short of him and the two vehicles behind instantly followed suit. The driver of the lead vehicle opened his door and stepped out onto the roadway, and through the murk of the cloying mist, Daniel recognised Jógvan Johannesen, the Løgmaður of the Faroe Islands had arrived to help. Daniel took stock of Jógvan and assessed, that for a man he presumed to be in his 60s, he certainly didn’t look it. He was about 5 foot 10, of average build but very fit looking, a presence that would deceive most people into thinking he was in his late 40s. Daniel reckoned Jógvan would be able to handle himself in a difficult situation, and not just by using the quick thinking, sharp wit and the silver tongue of a politician that they all seem to possess. This was a man who dealt with life’s adversity head on, took its kicks and punches and moved on to the next challenge. He didn’t strike Daniel as someone that would back away from a confrontation and would be a good asset to have as back-up if you got into difficulty. He was glad to have his support just now as Jógvan greeted him.

  “Well Daniel. It’s always a great pleasure to see you back in the Faroes but you do seem to have some very interesting friends. Hélène Lecacheux has filled me in with the details of the ongoing situation and why you are here, but are you certain that these bad bastards are here and that they also have Sólrun with them?”

  “I’m positive Jógvan, because the route tracker on her car placed her here this morning. It’s far too much of a coincidence that she’s now missing, but the last people she hired a car to, appear to be the same people that Hélène Lecacheux is searching for and they are now here. Why are you here? I only asked for armed police support.”

  Jógvan laughed. “I’d be a bad liar if I said that I would prefer to be back in my office diligently pouring over the details of the latest budget reports and fish quotas but this is important. I’m here officially, as oversight, to follow the request of Interpol to lend assistance to you, but I’m here to also rescue a Faroese national from harm, and even more so because it is Sólrun. She’s like a daughter to me.”

  Five shapes emerged from the mist and stood beside Jógvan. Jógvan introduced Daniel to Andras Sigurdson, the Landsfoged, the chief constable, and four Føroya Politi officers. Daniel couldn’t help but notice that Jógvan and the five police officers were all wearing standard-issue tactical Kevlar vests, but the chief constable and the four officers also had the standard service handgun, the Heckler & Koch USP 9mm pistol, as a sidearm and all of them carried the Heckler & Koch MP5 9mm submachine gun at chest level. Although only a small force of only 100 officers, Føroya Politi is still a professional force operating as an independent police district of Denmark. All of the serving officers have completed a three year training course at the National Police College in Copenhagen, and all of them are weapons proficient and regularly attend the requisite courses to monitor their competency. The crime levels in the Faroe Islands are low, but that has more to do with cultural responsibility and that the Faroese population respect the law of the land and its police force. A fair number of the annual offences that are committed tend to be by foreign nationals, who are either tourists, or are working or living on the islands. The Føroya Politi act as a deterrent. Their crime prevention rate is statistically very high with the current operational intensity focused on delivering situational crime prevention and deterring cybercrime, fraud and any form of sexual abuse. But Føroya Politi is also prepared, and trained, for any eventuality as their previous isolation from the rest of the world diminishes with the 18 islands becoming more and more connected to it in the 21st century.

  “We are here to help you today and we will prevail.” declared Andras Sigurdson, obviously proud of his police force and his officers, but supremely confident in their competence and the unknown tasks ahead.

  “Thank Andras. I really appreciate you all being here for me.” replied Daniel.

  Jógvan asked Daniel if he had a plan and what did he want them to do.

  “Luckily we have the cover of the mist just now so our presence has been unobserved. I don’t know if Sólrun is actually here, but I do know that these Interpol targets definitely are because the AVIS vehicle tracking has pinpointed their hire-car to this location. This is all going to be an off-the-cuff operation from now on, but we cannot allow these people to escape. There’s nowhere for them to go, but at least we have them contained at the end of an island, so either they swim, climb over the mountain tops or try to pass us. Do not underestimate these people. One of them is responsible for the deaths of at least ten people in the past week alone, so taking a life means nothing to him. From what I can gather, there are three of them – two men and a woman.

  First thing to do is block the road, so if the police cars can be parked across the road, say about 50 metres back from here, that will be a start and have two of your officers remain with those vehicles to turn away anyone trying to get into the village.”

  The vehicles were reversed back along the roadway and then parked across it as a barrier. Two police officers removed cones from the rear of the vehicles and began to place them further up the roadway as deterrents to other road users.

  “The next thing we need to do is locate where these people are. They are either inside the Roykstovan or somewhere inside or around the Magnus Cathedral. If we know where they are, we can start to evacuate the residents from the surrounding houses and remove them from harm.”

  “Is that the best course of action?” asked Jógvan.

  “Yes. We don’t know if they are armed and bullets will go through the timbers of the houses if a fire-fight breaks out. We cannot take any chances at all.” replied Daniel. Andras agreed and came up with a suggestion.

  “Daniel. You have the mist to mask your approach and it might be prudent for you to slip through the murk and ascertain where these people are. If you can check the Roykstovan first and there’s no-one inside, the only other place they can be is inside the Magnus Cathedral. Once you have checked the Roykstovan, and if it is empty, Jógvan and I can use two officers to remove all the locals from the nearby houses and then escort them beyond the road block. Better that we do it as we are locals and the residents know us and we also speak Faroese which will be helpful if there are any children or elderly present.”

  Andras passed Daniel his Heckler & Koch USP 9mm pistol.

  “Just in case.”

  Daniel tucked the weapon into his waistband behind his back and thanked him. He prepared to set off into the mist to scout out the Roykstovan when Jógvan tugged at his sleeve.

  “Why do you think Sólrun has been taken back here by these people?”

  “Because Sólrun has hidden the very thing they are looking for in the Roykstovan, or at least, I hope she did. They have no other reason for being here at Kirkjubøur and they are certainly not tourists. They are after me and have been for nearly two weeks, they know that I was heading back to the Faroes, and they have accosted the one thing in my life that I hold dear above anything else in the world, Sólrun, and are now using her as bait to draw me out and also secure what they are looking for, this fucking white stone.”

  Jógvan just nodded in agreement at him and watched Daniel disappear back into the mist towards the diffused shape of the Roykstovan.

  To avoid detection, Daniel walked slowly across some grass as he approached the Roykstovan diagonally from the roadway. As he was about the turn a corner and step onto its ramped entrance way, he could hear its wooden door being opened, followe
d by the clickity-click of footsteps on the ramp that descended down some stone steps and onto the roadway. He cautiously peered around the corner to see the shape of a woman ghost through the mist and then enter the large open doorway of the ruined Magnus Cathedral. A conversation was now taking place inside the building and Daniel sloped quietly across the roadway and stood to the side of the portal opening of the building to listen to what was being said. He couldn’t understand a word being spoken but recognised the language as French. There were three voices in the conversation, one was a woman’s that was very near to him and the other two belonged to men, their tones seemed to be distant but within the building. Carefully, Daniel kneeled down and gingerly peered into the building and assessed that some sort of restoration work must be currently in process. Tiered scaffolding ran along three sides of the inside of the cathedral, with the rear end protected from the elements by an overhead wooden shedding facade. A black-haired woman stood just a few metres in front of him in what would have originally been the nave of the church. Directing a conversation towards the rear of the building, she was waving her right hand in the air and Daniel recognised that she was holding the white stone. He looked towards the rear of the building to pinpoint the two male voices. Standing up on a level of the scaffolding framework, part of which projected through a large clerestory window to the outside, a man was studying some of the decorative features protruding from the stone walls, then standing back to take photographs with his mobile telephone. Below this scaffolding, at ground level, another man was occupied with building a crude pyramid, constructed from lengths of wooden support struts that were piled against an adjacent wall. Blue plastic containers were strewn around the base of the pyramid, but Daniel was conscious of something moving between the ground and the first level of the scaffolding. His view was obscured by the body of this man on the ground and so prevented him from seeing properly what it was that was causing the movement. Daniel needed to get a better look, so stepped away from the doorway and slipped back into the mist in the direction of the Roykstovan. Using the mist to still conceal his presence, he approached the right hand side of the cathedral entrance from an oblique angle to provide himself with an alternate view of what was inside. As he had just done a few moments before, he crouched down at the doorway before slowly peeping around the stonework to gaze within the building.