by A P Bateman
Admiral Casey nodded. The submarine service was the most secretive wing of the United States Navy, and he could not comment on a vessel’s location, but he knew the USS South Dakota - America’s most advanced and deadly hunter-killer submarine - was en route from Alaska, travelling under the Polar Icecap to form an albeit covert ‘presence’ near the Svalbard archipelago. “Director Lefkowitz, rest assured, the United States Navy will have the means necessary.”
Lefkowitz nodded. “Good. We can’t be a day late and a dollar short on this one.” He paused, rubbing the area around the cannula in the back of his hand. It was bruised and raw and the skin on the back of his hand was flaking from the itching to soothe the irritation. “Once it’s signed off and we have the backing, the CIA will commit its asset in the region. Any intelligence cultivated will be shared with Naval Intelligence. I move to reconvene to Joint Intelligence Committee Clandestine Affairs tomorrow at zero nine hundred. By then, Admiral, you will have word on your submarine and Becker, you will have contacted our asset to give JICCA some meat on the bone.”
Chapter Fourteen
Longyearbyen, Spitsbergen Island
Svalbard Archipelago
He opened his eyes, the bright light above him forcing him to blink defensively. His eyes were dry, although not as dry as his mouth, which felt somewhere in the region between flour, dust, and sand. There was a good reason for that, and he rubbed his mouth with the back of his right hand, noticing grains of the distinct looking black and grey sand glisten on his skin. He moved his left hand, but it stopped short, secured to the bed rail by a handcuff.
“What were you doing in the storage depot?” A woman’s voice, out of King’s view.
King strained his neck to see, winced as his shoulder seared with pain. His neck was stiff, too. “Show yourself,” he said tiresomely. “I’m not talking to someone I can’t see. Where am I?”
“Longyearbyen Hospital. The northernmost hospital in the world.” A woman of around thirty-five stepped out from behind the separating curtain. She was blonde, a little weathered in the face from the climate and her activities but looked fit and athletic. Like a chalet girl who’d done too many ski seasons and not acquainted herself with sunscreen or moisturiser. “I am Politiførsteinspectør Karlsson,” she said with authority. “Anna Karlsson. I am in charge here.”
“Of the hospital?”
“Of the police.”
“Like the sheriff,” King mused.
“Like a sergeant in your own police service. It’s a small and remote posting. No call for a more senior rank. Not much crime here. ” She paused. “Until now…”
“I was shot at on the beach.”
“I have witnesses who say you drove recklessly on the beach and narrowly missed hitting a polar bear.” Karlsson paused. “Nobody said anything about hearing a gunshot.”
King shrugged, but it hurt. “I want to see a doctor.”
“You’re fine.”
“I’ve been shot.”
“Not nearly enough.”
“Why are you detaining me?”
“I’m not. Not yet at least.”
King raised his left hand until the handcuffs chinked on the metal rail. “I beg to differ.”
“Just a precaution.”
“Then get it off me. Now!” He stared at her and she smiled, not in the least intimidated, but then again, he was cuffed, and she was the one with a Glock 17 pistol in the holster, next to her right hand which hung casually alongside it. “I want to see a doctor,” he added, a little calmer after seeing her reaction. There was no sense sticking with the wrong approach when he was chained to a bed. He wasn’t exactly holding any cards.
“You will,” Karlsson smiled. She stepped out of his view and came back a moment later with the Browning rifle. The bolt had been removed, as had the magazine. She held up the stock for him to see. It had been struck by a bullet and as she spun it over, King could see a bulge in the synthetic material on the other side. “I’m surprised it stopped the bullet,” she said. “It looks like a small round. I dug it out and have scanned it and emailed the images to the forensic laboratory in Bergen. I suspect they’ll confirm it as point two-two-three, or five-point-five-six millimetre. Not a calibre we use up here, on account of the legal ballistic performance requirement for the threat from polar bears.”
“Well, I’m sorry I got shot with the wrong gun…” He paused. “Now, unshackle me and fetch me the doctor.”
“Ah, don’t be such a wimp,” she said quietly. “You have extensive bruising from the rifle stock, and bruises from falling off the container, but nothing else. No broken bones. It’s a good job that rifle was hanging over your shoulder on the sling.”
“Great, so unlock this and let me get out of here.”
“All in good time.” Karlsson paused. “Why would someone shoot at you?”
King shrugged. “No idea. I’m normally such an affable character.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a marine diver and salvage engineer.”
She nodded. “So, you say. But tell me, why would someone who has been shot at go looking for the gunman?”
“I’m a vengeful son-of-a-bitch…”
“Most people would run away.”
“I did. Or at least I drove. Ask the polar bear.” King paused. “Apparently I got pretty close.”
“Where’s the gun, Mister King?”
“You’re holding it.”
“There were shell casings found on top of the container. Nine-millimetre. Where is the gun you used against the other gunman?”
“So, you now admit there was a gunman to start with, although the bullet in my gunstock already told you that.”
“A gunman at the yard, but there’s no proof you were fired at on the beach. I should write you up for dangerous driving.”
“Take a look at my truck and you’ll see it was shot up. Someone was shooting at me.” King frowned. “And you say there were casings from the most popular calibre handgun in the world, but no gun found at the scene, where I must have been discovered in a state of unconsciousness…” He looked at her and said, “Well, it wasn’t me. I was looking for the person who shot at me. I found him, and he shot at me again. It was foolish to go after him, and I have learned my lesson. Now, about the handcuff and my arrest…”
“I haven’t arrested you.”
“Then you’d better get this thing off me before it’s too late. You’re imprisoning me without due process.” King stared at her, but not as cold as he could have. His grey-blue eyes were cold enough to start with, like glacier water. There was no malice in his expression, but she could be under no illusion as to the seriousness of his mood. “And your techniques are disingenuous. You start off by denying I was shot at, but clearly the truck I hired was at the scene and it doesn’t take a CSI level of forensics investigation to see the windows are broken and my headrest has been shot out.”
“There was no vehicle at the scene,” she replied. “But you were seen driving a silver Toyota Hi-lux and you couldn’t very well hide it at the yard before we found you…” She stepped forwards and walked around the bottom of the bed, reached down, and unlocked the cuffs with a stubby-looking silver key. “I’ll be in touch,” she said, as she headed for the door.
“You’ll leave the rifle, bolt, magazine and bullets,” said King. “It’s illegal for me to leave town without them.”
“You’re planning on leaving town, Mister King?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied, rubbing the feeling back into his left wrist. “But I don’t see that you can do anything about it, as I’m not under arrest…”
“Be careful, Mister King,” she said. “There are many new faces around here because of the green energy project, and many more since your country’s submarine was discovered. I think you have already met someone with an agenda that does not align with your own. You should take care.” She rested the rifle against the wall and nodded to where he could find the rest of his t
hings on the other side of the room. “Stay out of trouble.”
King watched her leave, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grimacing as he felt a twinge in his back and his head started to spin.
“You can’t leave yet.”
King looked up at the doorway where a tall, balding man with thick spectacles stood wearing a white medical coat with a stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. He didn’t look happy with his patient.
“No harm done, I hear,” King replied.
“You’ve had a serious concussion. You should rest and remain under our observation.”
King nodded. “I’ve had a few concussions in my time, I know the score.”
“I can see you’ve suffered a few traumas. You are a former soldier, yes?”
King shrugged. His employment had never looked good on a form. He found silence was sometimes the best answer he could give, or the people asking the questions could hope for.
“You have bullet wounds, the scars from knife wounds and your body has suffered many blunt force traumas.” The doctor stared at him. “Whatever you do, you should perhaps stop doing it…”
“Do you need my medical insurance details?” King asked, changing the subject.
“You will see the reception desk on your way out,” the doctor replied. “You know, it’s illegal to die in Svalbard.” He mused. “If a citizen has a terminal disease, then they must return to Norway. The permafrost prevents the digging of graves.”
“I’ll be careful not to die, then.”
“I’m thinking of the people who get in your way.” The doctor turned and hesitated in the doorway. “Don’t fall asleep until tonight, and if you suffer a headache take a couple of paracetamols and call the hospital if it persists. Likewise, you should contact us if you suffer from double vision or dizziness. But I’m guessing you know the score…”
King watched the man leave and got off the bed, the hospital gown was gapping open at the rear and catching a draft as he gathered his clothes and the rifle and pulled the cubicle curtain around him.
Chapter Fifteen
King had never experienced a fog like it. He had filled in the forms on the desk and left the hospital, unable to see more than twenty feet in front of him. He had supposed the Toyota was still at the cargo storage compound, but from what Karlsson had said he could only assume the gunman had stolen it. There couldn’t be many places to hide it and making it roll into deep water would be about the only way of disposing of it, but a can of petrol and a match would be more effective and a lot less discreet. He could not see to what ends it served the gunman to steal the pick-up, other than to escape in and now there would be their DNA inside.
He had asked someone for directions, a spectre appearing before him out of the gloom, but the man had not spoken English and King’s Norwegian was about on the same par, so the two had parted ways and disappeared from each other after a few paces. Thankfully, the hotel was on the main street and once he worked out that he was at least on the right street and the correct side of the road, he was able to make his way there, slipping under foot as the ice had started to melt on the surface, making progress treacherous.
As he entered the lobby King was met by Madeleine who looked pleased to see him. “Oh, thank goodness you’re okay!” she exclaimed and hugged him closely. “There was a shooting near the beach! Somebody said it was a handgun, but apparently the police could not find the shooter.” She realised King had winced when she hugged him and she pushed him away at arms-length and looked at him full of concern, still holding him by the arms. “What happened to you, are you injured?”
“I fell, it’s nothing,” he said defensively. She hugged him close again, then released her grip a little awkwardly.
“I thought I might have heard a rifle shot,” Daniel said, walking over to him. “But it may have been a vehicle backfiring because some idiot raced across the beach in a pickup and nearly hit a female polar bear. Maybe it was an accidental gunshot, and the idiot made his escape before anybody could question him. They hire out firearms to people with no experience, just so long as they can get the forms filled in on time.” He paused, looking at the rifle on King’s shoulder. “Anyway, it’s been quite a morning…”
“Sounds like it has,” King replied, ignoring Daniel’s comment. Had he seen King driving and entered into a passive-aggressive rhetoric? King suspected so but decided to let it go.
“That doesn’t explain the other gunshots,” Madeleine protested.
“I didn’t hear them,” said Daniel. He looked at King and asked, “Did you?”
“No,” King lied.
She shrugged. “I didn’t either, but somebody said that was what the police were questioning people about. Anyway, the sailing has been cancelled because of the fog. Not because of the ship and navigation, but because of the issue of loading it with the cargo and passengers. They’re all used to it up here, the fog can be some of the worst on the planet caused by the warm Gulfstream and cold Arctic currents meeting head on.”
“Is there fog forecast for tomorrow?”
“Not as thick,” Madeleine replied. “We’re having some lunch, care to join us?”
King looked at Daniel, whose expression was somewhere between disinterest and ambivalence. King could think of nothing he’d rather do less, but he agreed. Something wasn’t quite right with these two, and he figured he could find out what that was over a plate of something hot. He looked around for somewhere to put the rifle, then ended up handing it over the desk to the receptionist, who received it like it was an everyday occurrence, which he supposed it was. She put a tag on it and asked his name, writing it on the tag along with his room number. King had drawn out the bolt and kept the magazine.
The restaurant was busy with people who should have been making their way to the port but had been left with a last-minute change in plans and from the way the front of house staff bustled about the place, King got the impression that this was an impromptu lunch service. After they had been seated on a table laid for four diners, they ordered drinks and food from a special’s menu of three choices. King chose the reindeer stew with potatoes and Madeleine ordered king crab claws with dill butter. King wasn’t necessarily interested in what Daniel chose but when the food came, it was the thickest slab of cod he’d ever seen. The fillet had been cut a mere inch wide and still filled a third of the plate. He started to regret his choice of reindeer, which he could see was the Svalbard or Norwegian equivalent of a shepherd’s pie. Madeleine was handed a plate containing a small faux bucket of cracked crab claws, a pot of the melted dill butter and a finger bowl with a slice of lemon.
“The food here really is excellent,” she commented. “Simple, but brilliant.”
“Agreed,” said Daniel, but King suspected it was merely to agree with her and not that he was a fan of the menu.
“Have you heard about the seed vault?” Madeleine asked, looking at them both.
“No,” Daniel replied.
“I have,” replied King. He glanced at Daniel, and the man seemed visibly irked that he had answered honestly.
“Isn’t it simply the most wonderful idea?” She exclaimed. She turned to Daniel and said, “It is an underground vault located here on Spitsbergen. Naturally being the most northerly town on the planet, and with a year-round permafrost, the place is a natural freezer. Well, every country on the planet stores its most staple crop seeds in the vault in case of disaster or famine. That way, they can withdraw seeds and grow them in times of crisis. It’s incredible because the United States keeps its seeds right next to those of North Korea! It’s a neutral facility and kind of ground zero for feeding the planet if we ever suffer a disaster like an ELE.”
“ELE?” Daniel asked.
“An extinction level event,” King replied casually. “Yes, it’s a marvellous facility, or the concept is at least. Four and a half million varieties of seeds are held in what is referred to as the Doomsday Vault. Even cannabis is stored there.”
“Cannabis!” Madeleine exclaimed.
“Yes,” replied King with a wry smile. “That was what the Dutch chose to store…”
Madeleine laughed. “You are terrible!”
“Do countries ever withdraw their seeds?” Daniel asked, not looking in King’s direction.
Madeleine shrugged and King said, “Syria is the only country ever to have made a withdrawal. Which gives you an idea of the situation out there…”
“Oh my god…” Madeleine said quietly.
Everybody was quiet for a few minutes as they ate. King paused to sip his beer and said, “It’s a shame this fog is so thick, we should have been able to see the Northern Lights tonight.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Madeleine. “I have seen them before, when I was a child we stayed at a cottage in the north of Sweden, and we watched them every night.”
“What about you, Daniel, have you seen them before?” King asked.
Daniel nodded through a mouthful of cod. He finished chewing and said as he swallowed, “Yes. Like Madeleine, I saw them as a child growing up.”
King nodded. “Nothing new for you, then.”
“They’re pretty, but you get used to them.”
“In Poland?” King sipped his beer and stared at Daniel. “I didn’t think you could see them that far south.”
“Well, you can.”
“Surely not?”
“It’s about light pollution, not strictly northern geography.”
“But still…” King stared at him. “It’s not a common occurrence.”
