by James Morcan
The hut was manned by a friendly Texan who spoke with a Southern drawl and introduced himself as Randy. If he noticed anything strange about Nine, he didn’t let on.
Rasmus did the talking, as he’d been instructed to. After introducing himself and his passenger, he handed over permits and paperwork that confirmed they were who they claimed to be. Nine’s documentation had been prepared and supplied courtesy of yet another of Lars’ contacts.
The pilot explained that his passenger was deaf and had come to join his Inuit friends on a trading expedition to the nearby medical lab, and that seemed to satisfy Randy. If the official wondered how an Inuit could afford to travel by helicopter, he kept that to himself also.
Formalities over, Nine and Rasmus returned to the chopper. They waved the Inuit hunters over to them. The hunters fired up their snowmobiles and motored across the ice to join the new arrivals. Two of them towed a large sled that was piled high with hides and other items of trade. Another towed a spare snowmobile. Nine guessed that was his ride.
“So, we’re all set?” Nine asked of his companion.
“Yep,” Rasmus said. “I’ll wait three hours then come looking for you if you haven’t returned.”
“Good. Don’t leave without me.” Nine was mindful of their isolation. They were in the middle of one of the world’s most massive ice sheets and nearly three hundred miles from the nearest town. “And remember we may have to leave in a hurry.”
Rasmus nodded. He’d already been thoroughly briefed by Nine during the flight, and by Lars before that. The pair ceased conversing as the hunters pulled up alongside them.
Slipping into his native tongue, Rasmus introduced the hunters to Nine and explained to them his Inuit friend was stone deaf. He stressed there was no point in trying to talk to him as he couldn’t hear a word they said. They seemed to accept that, though they continued to look sideways at the man they’d been told was a fellow Inuit.
Nine endeared himself to the hunters when he climbed into the chopper and emerged moments later holding an armful of furs and pelts. He strapped them on to the sled that was already piled high with trade items.
The Inuits’ faces lit up with smiles as Nine collected two more armfuls of furs. Little wonder as they knew they’d share the spoils between them after the items were traded.
This arrangement had been negotiated twenty-four hours earlier by another of Lars’ contacts, an Inuit interpreter. The hunters, who were already en route to American Summit Camp from their hunting grounds, had readily agreed to cooperate. Their end of the bargain was they had to allow Nine to accompany them when they traded with the occupants of the nearby laboratory building.
37
The journey to the lab building took an hour. Uneven ice and the ever-present risks posed by hidden crevasses forced the hunters to drive slower than Nine would have liked. So it was with some relief that they finally arrived and parked outside the building’s main entrance.
There was no sign of life within the inconspicuous looking, single-level building which, if Fourteen was correct, served as a branch of the Thule lab. Nine hoped the building hadn’t been vacated. His concerns were allayed when a door opened and a tall, bearded, fiftysomething gentleman stepped outside.
“Hello there,” the man shouted. He spoke Greenlandic, but his accent was distinctly American.
The man was joined by several fellow Americans – three more men and a woman who all appeared to be in their thirties. They looked as though they’d been expecting to see the Inuits as they walked over to welcome the visitors.
The members of the two parties greeted each other like old friends, confirming that this was not the Inuits’ first visit. They all conversed in Greenlandic.
When the woman tried to engage Nine in conversation, one of the hunters came to his rescue, explaining that Nine was deaf. The woman gave Nine a sympathetic smile and moved on to converse with the next hunter within earshot.
The trading that followed took another hour. It wasn’t so much a trade as a straight buy-out by the Americans. They loved the furs and pelts on offer. Their items of trade were Greenbacks, and the Inuits were only too happy to receive the US currency.
During the trading, Nine surveyed the building and its surrounds. Movement inside the building indicated the presence of someone else. He wondered again if Francis was there.
When trading concluded, the two groups said their farewells. Nine and his Inuit companions drove off on their snowmobiles. Before they’d gone a hundred yards, Nine motioned to the others that he was returning to the building they’d just left. Using hand signals, he indicated they should continue to American Summit Camp without him.
Mystified, the hunters chattered amongst themselves and gesticulated to him to follow them, but he held firm. Confused, they reluctantly continued without him.
Nine motored back to the building alone and parked his snowmobile right outside the front door.
The door opened and the same man who had first greeted the visitors emerged, looking puzzled. “Forget something?” He spoke English then remembered who he was addressing and repeated the question in Greenlandic.
“Yes,” Nine responded in English. “I left my son here.”
The man’s surprise turned to shock when Nine pulled out his USP semi-automatic pistol from beneath his heavy coat.
Nine spun the man around, encircled his throat with his arm and held the pistol to the back of his head. “What’s your name?”
“Stan Sinclair,” the man stammered.
“Well Stan. Do as I say and I may let you live.” Nine marched the frightened man back inside. “How many of you are there here?”
“Just the five of us,” Sinclair said hoarsely as the pressure around his throat increased.
Nine had no way of knowing if his hostage was telling the truth. He removed the safety on his pistol. It made an audible click causing Sinclair to flinch. “How many?”
“Six counting our security officer!” Sinclair blurted out.
“That’s better. Now where are they?”
“They’re all in the dining room preparing for lunch.”
“Let’s join them, shall we?”
Again the frightened man nodded.
“You lead the way,” Nine ordered.
Sinclair led Nine to the dining room. Sounds of laughter and lively discussion came from within.
“Open the door,” Nine whispered.
Sinclair did as he was told and the pair entered the room. No-one noticed the new arrivals immediately.
Nine saw at a glance there were five of them. They were all sitting around a dining table and were about to start tucking into pizza slices that had just been microwaved.
The woman Nine had met earlier noticed the pair first. It took her a second or two to register that someone was holding her colleague at gunpoint. Then she screamed. Her startled companions looked around to see what had upset their colleague.
“Stay calm,” Nine ordered. He released his hostage, pushing him toward the others.
The woman continued to scream.
Nine glanced at her plastic name tag. It read Dr Sue Talbot. “If you keep screaming I promise I will shoot you, Doctor Talbot.” Nine pointed the pistol at her.
The doctor ceased screaming immediately and appeared close to fainting.
Nine surveyed the others. He noticed a big, strapping individual he hadn’t seen before. Arnold Fisk was the security officer Sinclair had referred to earlier. Nine pointed his pistol directly at Fisk. “Hands on the table where I can see them.”
Fisk did as he was told. Like the others, he seemed bemused that he was being threatened by an armed Inuit who sounded distinctly American.
Nine then walked over to the security officer. Frisking him, he discovered he carried a holstered pistol on him. Nine relieved him of the weapon. “Now why on earth would you need this at a scientific laboratory in the middle of an ice sheet?”
Fisk remained mute.
Looking at
the others, Nine asked, “Who is in charge here?”
A sixtysomething man with a handlebar moustache raised his hand. “I am.”
“And you are?”
“Professor Bernard Smythe.”
“Very well, I shall start with you.” Nine pulled out Francis’ photo and handed it to the professor. “That’s a recent photo of my son. His name is Francis Hannar and I have it on good authority he’s being held here.”
Smythe looked genuinely puzzled as he studied the photo. “I can assure you, whoever you are, he is not here. Nor indeed has he or any other child ever been here.”
Nine couldn’t determine whether the professor was lying or telling the truth. He sounds convincing, but his body language tells a different story. He waved his pistol at him. “Pass the photo around and let’s see if it jogs anyone’s memory.”
Smythe passed the photo to Doctor Talbot who sat next to him. She studied it, shook her head and passed it to a colleague.
As the photo did the rounds, Nine studied the reactions and body language of each person. Each indicated they hadn’t seen the boy, but it was Nine’s assessment that they were covering up something. Running out of patience, he asked, “Where’s the lab?”
“Out back,” Smythe said.
“Let’s go.” Again Nine motioned with his pistol. “Everyone.”
All six stood and filed out of the dining room, down a long corridor and through to the lab. Nine followed close behind, pistol ready.
The lab looked like any conventional lab. There was no sign of children or any other human guinea pigs.
Not convinced, the former operative decided to conduct a search of the entire premises. Looking around, he pointed to a closed door. “What’s in there?”
“That’s a storeroom,” Smythe said.
Nine crossed the lab and tried the door handle. It was locked. “Who has the key?”
“I do,” a senior technician said. He fished a set of keys from his jacket pocket, selected one key and unlocked the door. It opened up into a small, windowless storeroom.
Nine could see the room would suffice for what he had in mind. “Okay, everyone inside.” As an afterthought he added, “And leave your cell phones here.”
Smythe managed a nervous smile. “We have no need of cell phones here. There’s no cell phone coverage on the ice sheet.”
Nine reached inside his coat, pulled out his cell phone and saw immediately that there was no signal. Satisfied, he motioned to his captives to enter the storeroom. As soon as they were inside, he locked them in then embarked on a search of the premises.
Ten minutes was all it took to establish there were no children being held on the premises. Any hope of finding Francis in Greenland had almost vanished.
Nine felt despondent and angry. Then a plan occurred to him – a last throw of the dice. Ignoring the sudden twinges of pain in his chest, he marched back to the storeroom, unlocked the door and looked inside. “Okay people,” he announced, “I’m gonna question you one at a time. If I think anyone’s lying, I’ll kill them.”
There was a collective gasp.
Nine pointed his pistol at Arnold Fisk. “You first.”
38
The security officer did as he was told and joined Nine outside the storeroom. Nine could see by the expressions on the faces of the others that his new hard-line strategy was having the desired effect. He locked them in again then motioned to Fisk to lead the way back to the dining room.
In the dining room, Nine clipped his hostage over the back of his head, stunning him. The security officer fell to his hands and knees. Before he could recover, Nine tied him up using spare electrical leads someone had left in a bundle nearby. Then he walked through to the adjoining kitchen and re-emerged holding a tea-towel which he used to gag his hostage who had now regained his senses. “There now. Hope that’s not too uncomfortable.”
The security officer glared at him. His expression changed to one of fear and his whole body tensed as Nine aimed the pistol at his chest.
Nine fired a single shot into the ceiling then smiled at his bemused but relieved hostage. “That should do the trick.”
Fisk, who was now hyperventilating, couldn’t believe he was still alive. He was sure he should be dead.
Nine returned alone to the storage room. Unlocking the door, he looked in. He could almost smell the fear in the confined space. “Your security officer lied to me, so you now have one less mouth to feed.”
That news was greeted by stunned silence. It was clear the lab workers believed their colleague was dead. They shrank back as Nine stepped inside the small room.
Nine’s eyes rested on Doctor Talbot.
“No, please!” the doctor whimpered.
Nine reached forward, grabbed the frightened woman by the wrist and pulled her out of the storeroom. She screamed and struggled, but he held her firmly. Looking back at Smythe, he said, “If she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll be back for you.” He locked the others in again then dragged his unwilling hostage kicking and screaming to a conference room he’d come across during his earlier search of the building.
The former operative pushed Doctor Talbot inside the room, sat her down and pointed his pistol at her. She’d stopped screaming, but was now rigid with fear.
Nine hated what he was doing to her, especially if she and her colleagues were innocent, but he kept thinking of Francis. If she knew anything, she’d tell him, of that he was sure. Be strong, lady. This will all be over soon. Pulling his scariest face, he said, “I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will if you don’t tell me the truth. Do you understand?”
Doctor Talbot, who now shook violently, nodded. She most certainly did understand.
Nine held up the same photo he’d produced earlier. “Have you seen my son?”
The doctor shook her head. She was so frightened she was momentarily incapable of speech.
Nine released the safety on his pistol. The metallic click promoted his hostage to jump.
“We have had other children here!” Doctor Talbot blurted out. “But not for several months, and I’ve never seen your boy. Honest.”
Nine could see she was telling the truth. Cross-examining her, he established that young subjects bound for Omega’s lab at Thule were sometimes processed at this branch. The doctor stressed that it was a rare occurrence, and claimed she and her colleagues had no idea what awaited the children when they were transferred to Thule.
On learning this, the former operative felt the same crushing disappointment he’d experienced at Thule after confirming Francis wasn’t being held there.
As a final act, Nine escorted the relieved doctor back to the storeroom and locked her in with the others. He would advise the people at American Summit Camp of their predicament once he was safely back in the air.
#
Nine didn’t have long to wait before the chopper arrived to collect him. As soon as he was in the air, he ordered Rasmus to head for Kangerlussuaq International Airport. Then he used the radio-telephone to advise a bemused radio operator at the ice station that the Americans at the nearby lab building had somehow locked themselves in a storeroom and were in need of rescue. He didn’t give the operator a chance to cross-examine him.
The former operative then called Hells Angels biker Lars Khader and relayed final instructions to him. These related to his upcoming departure from Kangerlussuaq.
Nine was aware Naylor would have heard of his exploits in Greenland by now and would have people looking for him at Kangerlussuaq and, indeed, at all six of the country’s international airports. He had a feeling he may need backup. Hence the call to Lars. The irony of relying on a gang leader and drug pusher to watch his back wasn’t lost on him.
Nine’s thoughts were already on his next destination, Africa, and on his son. Hang on Francis, I’m coming for you. The macabre and shocking sights he’d seen at Thule ate away at him. He couldn’t bear to think of Francis being thrown into such an environment, and he wondered how the b
oy was coping.
Another twinge in his chest reminded him of his ailing heart condition. Popping a couple of pills, Nine wondered if he was up to what lay ahead. He fully expected he’d be flying into a maelstrom in Africa. That is if he managed to depart Greenland in one piece.
Exhausted and dispirited, Nine lay back and closed his eyes as the chopper continued its flight south over the ice sheet. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was how Isabelle and Seventeen were getting on back in Tahiti.
39
Seventeen didn’t like leaving Isabelle alone at the motel, not even for a minute, but there were times she had to venture out – for food and other day-to-day essentials, and to check her emails to see if Nine had made contact. This was one of these occasions.
The former operative was still in the guise of Isabelle’s husband, stubble and all.
After purchasing food at a Taravoa supermarket, she then called in at a local Internet café. The result was the same as always: other than the usual spam, there was no email from her brother.
Seventeen returned to her Jeep and soon found herself driving past the township’s picturesque boat marina. The road she followed took her up onto the isthmus that separated Tahiti Nui from the Tahiti Iti peninsula to the south. Friendly Tahitians waved at her as she drove along the windy road. Seventeen returned their waves with a masculine thumbs-up sign, in keeping with her latest disguise.
The Tahitians weren’t the only people using the road. Every minute or two, a French Army truck would rumble past. Some carried uniformed soldiers and served as a reminder to tourists and locals alike that Taravoa was a military town and the old fort at the top of the isthmus was in use as an army training center.
Within minutes, the original stone walls of Fort Taravoa came into view, signalling to Seventeen that she’d reached the summit. Judging by the number of army trucks and personnel coming and going, there was some kind of training exercise underway.
As Seventeen looked for a place to park the Jeep, she reviewed what she knew of the fort. Her memory still wasn’t what it once was, but it was improving by the day thanks to Nine’s timely intervention. She recalled the French had built the fort during the French-Tahitian War of the 1840’s if she wasn’t mistaken. It was used to help subdue the last of the rebellious Islanders on the Tahiti Iti peninsula. During World War Two, it gained some notoriety when German residents were interned there.
