Daniel had to check himself from bursting into the cathedral when he realised what the movement was between the ground and the first level of the scaffolding structure. Sólrun was suspended from the crosspiece section of an overhead scaffolding strut and directly above the pyramid of wooden stakes that the man was building. Gaffer tape was over her mouth and her legs had also been bound together with lengths of it. Her hands gripped a protruding spar joint of scaffolding pole, while she had been fixed in place by having both wrists wrapped and tied together with some more gaffer tape. She was struggling against her binds and trying to free herself. A faint waft of kerosene was in the air and Daniel identified where it was coming from. There were two mobile kerosene generators sitting on the ground in a corner under the scaffolding. By following the cabling attached to one of them, he could see that when the generator was switched on, it would power temporary lighting units that were strung along the various levels of the scaffolding. The other generator was either a back-up or was used for other purposes. A steel storage unit stood in the opposite corner, the doors lying wide open to reveal blue 20 litre kerosene fuel containers sitting on its shelves. Daniel now comprehended the scene before him – Sólrun had been bound, gagged and suspended from the scaffolding while a pyre was built beneath her. Kerosene, to fuel the generators, had then been poured over and around the pyre as an accelerant, and Sólrun was about to be burnt alive at a make-shift stake. He couldn’t burst in to save her from her plight as it could be set alight before he even got close, and he couldn’t use his pistol to shoot the man in case a ricochet or spark ignited the kerosene.
He peeled away from the doorway to run through the mist to provide an update to Andras and Jógvan, then retrieve something from the Roykstovan museum. For him to be able to save Sólrun from her plight, he was going to require the use of some old-fashioned methods, and on a shelf within a room inside the museum, lay the perfect implement for him to do that task.
6.11pm – 16th April, present day
Kirkjubøur, Streymoy, Faroe Islands.
Having had the currently unfolding situation inside of the ruins of the St. Magnus Cathedral explained to them by Daniel, Andras and Jógvan took a police officer each to begin the previously agreed plan of surreptitiously decanting the occupants from the wooden houses of the Kirkjubøargarður and escorting them beyond the police car blockade on the approach road. The ever-present mist was going to be a major asset in achieving this evacuation unobserved and Jógvan had asked Daniel what he was going to do to save Sólrun.
“I’m going to sneak along the side of the cathedral and climb up onto the outside scaffolding supports at the rear of the building. If I can get up onto that upper level without being seen, I will have the element of surprise to cut Sólrun free from her bindings. That’s the important bit to do first, and when she’s free, I’ll deal with these three, one on one. I won’t have a problem with the Markus Bruscante fellow or the woman, but the guy on the ground that’s building the bonfire, Henrique, is going to be difficult. He’s a professional killer and very good at it. When you’ve cleared the houses, I’m going to need you guys to come back and give me support.”
“We’ll be as quick as we can. Good luck.” said Jógvan as Daniel disappeared into the folds of mist once more.
After approaching the front door of the Roykstovan, he gently opened its front door, entered inside, turned to his left then took a sharp right into the main room of the building. Originally, this room would have been the longhouse, where the extended family of the occupants would have eaten, slept, cooked, worked and played, day and night. The layout of the room hadn’t really changed in nearly a thousand years of occupancy, with its wooden floor and walls with cross-beam supports overhead, while the rich smell of its history pervaded the air. A long wooden table with trestle seating was hard up against a far wall that was complimented with wooden benching, topped with planking, running along three sides of the square room, while a fourth wall featured a blackened range and an accoutrement of cooking utensils hanging on the wall above it. It was a particular object in among these appurtenances that Daniel was interested in, and he quickly found it nestled on a low shelf above the range. A grindaknívur, a Faroese whaling knife, with a blade length of 20 cm, sat beside some photographs and a notice explaining that it was over 200 years old and its purpose. For centuries, a grindaknívur was one of the most important implements of society and was passed down from father to son. For the Faroese who had eked out a meagre existence on these barren islands, and in the harshest of conditions, they were utterly reliant on their survival coming from the air, the land and the sea. Seabirds and sheep had provided generations with meat for eating and materials for clothing, while the sea provided fish and the greatest prize of all, whales. Whale meat could feed the population for months, especially during the winter, while whale oil provided fuel for lamps. The blubber provided sustenance to infants and young children by giving them the essential nutrients they desperately required to develop and not readily available to them from their normal diet of fish, sea-bird and mutton. A grindaknívur was the implement that was used in the process of the slaughter, and then the dividing of the whale carcass up equally amongst the immediate community. Daniel drew the grindaknívur from its scabbard and as he held over 30 cm of history in his right hand, the reality of its capabilities hit home. Although it had not been used for decades, the double-edged diamond shaped blade was still razor sharp and effortlessly removed the hair on the back of his left hand as he drew it over it. He re-sheathed the knife and tucked it into trouser pocket. “Time to save Sólrun” he muttered aloud to himself as he exited the Roykstovan and then sidled along the exterior wall of the St. Magnus Cathedral to the rear.
Climbing upon the scaffolding lengths, Daniel waited for Markus Bruscante to enter back inside the cathedral via the clerestory window. But Markus was obviously excited about something he had discovered, as a fast-paced conversation was taking place between him, the woman and Henrique, with much pointing at a section of the masonry. Daniel waited patiently to move, but, at the same time, was intrigued to discover what it was that Markus Bruscante had become so animated about. He watched Markus rub the palms of his hands over a part of the stonework, then step backwards to take a photograph. The flash function on the mobile telephone illuminated the targeted area of the stone wall, and Daniel saw what all the sudden excitement had been about. A building consecration cross made of soapstone was affixed into the wall of the cathedral. It was a cross patteé surrounded with a fleur-de-lis decorative design within a circle, the same symbol as the ornament that Lionel DeChevalier had on his desk, the same symbol that had been inked as a tattoo on the bodies of the dead mercenaries and was also the same symbol that topped the memorial at Montségur commemorating the Cathars and their followers who had been slain in the massacre referred to as the ‘Meadow of the Burned’. Daniel didn’t have time to research this any further and he just wrote it off as nothing more than a coincidence. Saving Sólrun was the focus of his attention.
Crawling along the decking, Daniel cautiously peered through the open clerestory window to ascertain where everyone was located inside the cathedral. He could see Sólrun’s fingers were still moving as she continued with trying to free herself from the gaffer tape that held her to the cross-piece. The sound of two voices to his left identified to him that Markus Bruscante and the woman were still on the same level as he was, while Henrique’s voice was coming from directly below. The woman was showing Markus the white stone while Henrique stared upwards at them both, but crucially, their present locations created a blindspot in the scaffolding structure. Daniel could move without being seen. It was a now or never moment to save Sólrun. He pulled himself through the opening before slowly slithering like a snake towards her moving fingers. Pulling the grindaknívur from its scabbard, he carefully directed its blade towards the gaffer tape to then insert between the layers of the wrapping. By using a twisting motion,
the grindaknívur sliced through the gaffer tape to release Sólrun, who dropped the short distance onto the pyre below her, then fell forward, face down, onto the hardened earth floor of the cathedral. Daniel stood up on the platform, then jumped down beside her, sliced the tape around her legs and screamed at her to run.
“Go Sólrun! Go!”
Sólrun stumbled and staggered as she stood up and made her way in the direction of the main doorway of the cathedral. Daniel was conscious of something bright flying through the air and then landing a few feet away. A spark, followed by a flicker, then a whoosh, as the kerosene around the pyre ignited as a result of a petrol lighter being tossed upon it. Henrique had thrown a naked flame upon the heap and blue and yellow flames surged upwards and outwards. Daniel darted to his right to evade the gathering blaze but was felled to the ground by a blow across his hips. He turned to see Henrique advancing on him, brandishing a short length of scaffolding pole like a baseball bat. Behind Henrique, Daniel watched the flames of the bonfire reaching upwards towards the wooden shedding facade. The flames licked at the joists and ties, causing the panels to break free and fall down into the scaffolding framework it was supposed to protect. The outside tarpaulin was catching fire and unfolding inwards onto the scaffolding, and like curtains, but alight, their weight was pulling the structure in with it. This sudden exposure to fresh air increased the conflagration and hurried the blaze from flames into an inferno. The scaffolding was collapsing in sections inside the cathedral with Markus Bruscante and the woman now trapped in a corner on the first level. Henrique skipped over the outer flames of his bonfire while holding the scaffolding pole above his head in preparation to deliver a final crushing blow upon Daniel. Daniel threw himself to his left to escape the impending strike, and the muscle memory of his military training for edged weapon close combat reflexes took over. He thrust the grindaknívur into Henrique’s body at waist level, twisted the blade upwards and then through the intestines, cutting the spinal column just below the rib cage before dragging the blade diagonally upwards until it re-emerged at the spleen. Having been effectively halved, Henrique looked shocked as he collapsed by falling forwards in two pieces while watching his own blood and innards start to spray outwards, and then pool beside him on the floor of the cathedral.
Sólrun appeared in the doorway of the cathedral and stood aside as Andras, Jógvan and two police officers ran past her to assist Daniel. Screams were coming from the first level of the crumbling scaffolding and they weren’t a woman’s screams. Markus Bruscante cowered in fear as the rising flames got closer and closer to him. Arabelle Auguste just stared at him with complete and utter contempt. She despised this man intensely for the fraud of the false faith that he had enchanted her with. In his final moments upon this earth, he had reverted to displaying what most people would as their life was about to end – fear. For all of his bluster and the false proclamations of him having faith and seeing the light, Markus Bruscante was nothing more than a charlatan. Arabelle had lost her family in tragic circumstances and he had done nothing more than prolong her grief and feelings of loss. She stood apart from him and watched the scaffolding collapse downwards, section by section upon the raging bonfire below in a grim realisation that her own end was now very near. She looked down below at the others trying to formulate an escape for her and Markus, but they were too late. She shouted at them.
“Daniel Lauridsen! This is yours.” and threw the white stone at him to catch. As he caught it, Markus Bruscante feebly flailed his arms in the direction of the stone’s path but was stopped by Arabelle Auguste, who rushed him, wrapped her arms around his chest and then pulled him with her over the edge of the scaffolding into the fire below. Impaled by a length of scaffolding pole, its metal piping had pierced straight through her body and then that of Markus Bruscante to resemble two pieces of meat on a skewer over some flames. Arabelle shouted her last.
“Let me show you the true path to ‘oneness with God’ Markus Bruscante.”
Whilst their bodies were consumed by the flames of the inferno, the remaining scaffolding sections collapsed down upon them. Jógvan dragged Daniel away from the scene and led him back towards a waiting Sólrun at the doorway. Inside the cathedral, while Andras Sigurdson radioed for immediate fire brigade assistance, two police officers frantically pulled blue canisters from the storage cupboard and tossed them away from the flames.
Sólrun wrapped her arms around Daniel and sobbed into his neck.
“Thank you.”
Epilogue
11.42am – 19th April, present day
Tinganes Peninsula, Tórshavn, Faroe Islands.
Tinganes is a fairly compact area situated on a narrow peninsula that divides the harbour of the Faroese capital, Tórshavn, into two distinct parts, the Eystaravág and Vesteravág, the east and west harbours. The main parliament buildings of the Faroe Islands government stand side by side with private dwelling houses, and Daniel was always amused by the fact that you could wander around these well-preserved historical houses, the majority of which were built in the 16th and 17th centuries, and find residents’ laundry hanging out to dry alongside official and private offices.
Tinganes had been the constant site of the Løgting, or parliament, of the Faroe Islands since the arrival of the Norse settlers in the early 9th century. Christianity had been accepted here in 998 and that the Løgmaður, the lawman, or prime minister, had his office on Tinganes. The charm of the whole area was the premise that you could probably enter inside any one of these buildings and be made to feel most welcome. He found a wooden door with a glass window pane, and written on the glass was ‘Løgmaður’, and below it, in English, was the translation of ‘Prime Minister’. This was government that the local population had ready and available access to. That fact hadn’t changed for a thousand years, the same thousand years where everything elsewhere in the world had changed, but the centre of the decision making and administration of these 18 islands had been continuously constant by remaining where it had always been, located at the end of a narrow rocky peninsula in Thor’s Harbour or Haven, Tórshavn.
Jógvan Johannesen, the Løgmaður, welcomed Daniel and Sólrun into his office and poured them both a coffee.
“It’s really nice to see you both again, but how are you feeling? I take it that the doctors at the hospital gave you a thorough medical?”
Sólrun smiled but rubbed her stomach and then pulled her sleeves over her wrists.
“I’m still sore from where I was punched and kicked in the stomach, and the bruising around my wrists is going to take a while to disappear.” Daniel put her arm around her in a display of re-assurance.
“I’ve a few scrapes and bruises but I’m used to them. Thanks for asking though.” as Daniel drank from his cup.
Jógvan opened a file on his desk and passed over a document to Sólrun and did the same with Daniel. The documents each had an Interpol heading with a blank signature space at the bottom of the solitary page. Jógvan explained to them both that these single-page documents were, essentially, non-disclosure agreements that they were required to sign, date and give back to him. Daniel would be immune from prosecution if he signed his, and his participation in any criminal events of the last two weeks would disappear from public records. Daniel was about to protest when Jógvan pointed out that he had killed someone on Faroese soil, although in self defence, but nevertheless, a homicide had been committed by him. Sólrun’s non-disclosure agreement was merely a gagging order for her to never discuss or disclose what had happened to her. Sólrun looked to Daniel for advice and he passed her a pen which she used to sign her form. Daniel followed suit and handed the forms back to Jógvan.
“I’m sorry that this has happened to you both and I appreciate that you must feel aggrieved at the way you are being treated, but I am following the law of the land and The Police Act (Denmark) 2015 and what has been agreed with Interpol.”
“You are d
oing what you have to do. I’m sorry I had to involve you but at the same time, I am glad that I did.”
Jógvan beamed a wide smile and then sighed with relief as he stood up to shake Daniel’s hand and then hug Sólrun.
“It’s never simple with you Daniel, is it? You are like a walking attraction for tourists to come to the Faroes to see for themselves where unbelievable things have happened involving you. The good news though is that the damage caused to the restoration work at the St. Magnus Cathedral will be repaired by funding from Interpol, and has virtually ensured that Kirkjubøur can now become a UNESCO World heritage Site. That means more tourists and more income to the economy.”
Thor's Haven Page 24
