The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “Trying,” said Fenna as her body shivered, her fingers rigid and useless.

  Mikael hung the clothes on the back of the sledge. “Arms up.” He tugged Fenna’s sodden sweater over her head. Fenna's eyes locked on Mikael's as he tossed the sweater onto the ice. He grinned.

  “What?” Fenna said with a slur of blue lips.

  “The boys placed bets as to when I would see you naked.” The beads of ice in his beard sparkled as Mikael's mouth twitched into a smile. He tugged Fenna's thermal top over her head, and pulled her trousers, long johns and panties to her ankles. “These aren't regulation underwear,” he said and lifted her feet to remove her sodden panties.

  “Bastard,” Fenna said. She smiled though stiffened cheeks.

  Mikael towelled his partner with brisk and rough movements, before helping her into dry clothes. “Get your socks on.” The Oversergent tugged a chocolate bar from the cargo pocket of his trousers and pushed a piece into Fenna’s mouth. As Fenna crawled onto the sledge, he pulled a sleeping bag out of a stuff sack. “Wrap this around you.”

  “Okay.”

  Mikael poured Fenna a cup of coffee from the patrol flask. “It’s cold. I’ll make more.” Fenna shivered the coffee to her lips, splashing brown spots upon her knuckles.

  “Where’s Hidalgo?”

  “Dead,” Mikael said as he fiddled with the MSR stove. “I shot him. Pyro too. You didn’t hear the shots?”

  Fenna shook her head. “They were gone?”

  “Yep.” The stove spat, Mikael adjusted the fuel regulator. “Drink up. I’ll have a fresh brew for you in a minute.”

  “Who’s our lead dog? Betty?”

  “Worry about that when your teeth have stopped chattering.”

  Fenna twisted on top of the sledge. “Mikael?”

  “Yes?” he said and looked up.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Mikael smiled. “Bad ice. We’ll get going once you’ve warmed up.” Mikael reached for Fenna’s empty cup as steam drifted out of the pan on the stove. He dropped a teabag into the mug and poured hot water over it, handing Fenna the mug as he turned his head to save her from the glare of his headlamp.

  “Thanks,” Fenna said as she reached out from inside the folds of the sleeping bag and cupped the mug between her hands.

  Mikael turned off the stove and made a coffee with the remaining water. He looked up as Fenna pulled the dry thermal top over her head, covering her breasts. The white light of the headlamp flickered across her stiff nipples.

  He looked at Fenna and his eyes softened. “You had me worried for a minute.”

  “Me too,” she said and tugged the sleeping bag around her shoulders.

  Mikael packed away the stove. “You ready to move on?”

  “Yes,” Fenna said.

  “Good. Get dressed. I’ll stow the rest of the gear.”

  At the rear of the sledge, Mikael collected his skis before checking the dogs. Fenna watched as he walked the length of the gangline, stopping to make a fuss of each dog as he passed them. She looked beyond Mikael and stared at the hole in the ice. Fenna shivered as the moonlight danced upon the tiny floes bobbing in the black water.

  Chapter 4

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  Fenna's mug burred the tabletop as she turned it between her fingers. The thought of Mikael being reduced to a memory angered her. She stopped turning the mug and looked up, the memory of the chill of the Greenland Sea goose-bumping her skin. The men were silent and Petersen looked away as Fenna caught his eye. Vestergaard coughed and gestured to Petersen for more coffee.

  “So,” Vestergaard said as Petersen refilled his mug. “The Oversergent saved your life?”

  “Yes,” Fenna said. She shook her head as Petersen leaned over with the coffee jug. “I'm fine.”

  “You're fine?” Vestergaard looked up.

  “I mean I don't want more coffee.”

  “Right.” Vestergaard shuffled through the pages of his notebook and pulled a biro from his shirt pocket. He scribbled a note in the margin. “Oversergent Gregersen had an outstanding service record,” he said as he wrote. “I had not heard, however, of him plucking you from an icy death.” He looked up. “Your record, Konstabel, is a tad less notable.”

  “This is my first year of patrol.”

  “Yes. First,” Vestergaard said and scribbled another note. “You are the first woman to ever pass selection for Sirius?”

  “Several have tried, but the physical selection is where they drop out.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I was a biathlete at Esbjerg Gymnasium. I competed in the under 21s for Denmark.”

  “That explains your physical abilities, shooting and skiing,” he said and circled something on the page of his notepad. “What drew you to Sirius?”

  Fenna paused. “What about that shower?”

  “Later,” Vestergaard said with a wave of his hand. “The water tank needs refilling, so I hear. In the meantime, you can continue, Konstabel.”

  “All right,” Fenna said and straightened her shoulders. “It was the challenge. Competing in a biathlon is one thing, but I always wanted something more. Maybe it’s my father’s fault?”

  “Ah, yes,” Vestergaard nodded. “He was military too, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. Special Forces, Jægerkorps. He was killed in Afghanistan in 2006.” Dad, she thought. How come everything always comes back to you?

  “You were...”

  “Fourteen,” Fenna picked at the blood and grime beneath her fingernails. “All the men in my life seem to die young.” Fenna looked up but Vestergaard ignored her.

  “You were fond of your father?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “He raised you?”

  “In his own way.” Fenna shivered as she recalled the early morning exercises and discipline he enforced to push her to excel in sports. And I was only fourteen. What was the bastard thinking?

  “He was a bit of a character, so I’ve heard.”

  “Try living with him.”

  Vestergaard snickered as he made a note in his pad. “What about your mother?” he said and stopped writing with a click of the pen.

  Fenna turned her attention to her nails and picked at the blood beneath them. My mother, she thought. Fenna could almost smell the alcohol on her mother’s breath as she remembered her goodnight kisses. With a mother like her, there’s no wonder I choose to live in a world surrounded by men. She was silent until Vestergaard got the message.

  “Mikael then. What about him? You had feelings for him?”

  “Yes.” Fenna looked up and caught the quizzical look on Vestergaard’s face. “No, not like that. There was no time for that.”

  “You have a boyfriend back in Denmark, I presume,” Vestergaard said with a smile.

  “I did have. Ravn and I split up a few months after I was posted to Greenland.” Fenna paused as Vestergaard sipped at his coffee. “It seems some men aren't cut out to be sailors' wives.” She laughed as Vestergaard spluttered coffee over his jacket. It felt good to laugh.

  “But Mikael,” Vestergaard said as he dabbed at his jacket with a handkerchief. “There really was nothing between you?”

  “I’ve answered that,” Fenna said with a sigh. “Mikael was my patrol partner. My mentor. He taught me everything I needed to know.”

  “And then you killed him?”

  “What? No,” Fenna slammed her palms on the tabletop. The table rocked as she pushed herself up, the coffee spilling onto the floor.

  Vestergaard leaned back in his chair, his palms open in front of his chest. “You didn’t kill him, Konstabel?”

  “What is this? An ambush? You ambushed me, with all this...” she waved her hands at the table. “This coffee and small talk bullshit.”

  “Calm down, Konstabel,” Vestergaard said. He nodded to Petersen to stand down.

  “You asked me to tell you about the time Mikael saved my life. Then you accuse me of taking
his. What kind of officer are you Premierløjtnant?” Fenna spat Vestergaard’s title through clenched teeth.

  Vestergaard raised his eyebrows and waited. Maratse, a cigarette between his lips, appeared in the doorway.

  “Sit down, Konstabel,” Vestergaard said and gestured at the chair. “Finish your coffee.” He lifted her mug from where it lay on the table. “Petersen, can you get the Konstabel some more coffee?”

  “I don’t want more coffee.”

  “Okay,” Vestergaard said and lowered the mug. He turned around to look at the policeman. “Is there enough water in the tank for one shower?”

  “Iiji,” said Maratse with a nod.

  Vestergaard scuffed his chair away from the table. “I think we can take a short break while I get set up here. Petersen will show you to the shower. Can we trust you not to jump out of the window?”

  “Where the fuck would I go?” Fenna said. The skin of her left cheek flickered, just below her eye.

  “Funny,” he said and slipped his notebook into the pocket of his jacket. “One more thing before you go. The English Lieutenant, Burwardsley.” Vestergaard paused as Fenna's body stiffened. “He mentioned something about a witness. A young woman? A Greenlander? Perhaps Maratse can locate her while you shower?”

  Fenna turned from Vestergaard and looked at the police officer. Maratse pulled another cigarette from a crumpled packet of Prince.

  “I’m sure I don't have to remind you, Konstabel, that a witness in your favour could make all the difference.”

  Fenna watched as Maratse lit his cigarette. “Her name is Dina.”

  “Iiji,” Maratse said and puffed a cloud of smoke from between his lips. He rolled the cigarette into the gap between his teeth. With a nod towards Fenna he turned and left the room. The door to the police station swung shut behind him as Maratse clumped down the steps to the Toyota.

  “Good,” Vestergaard said as he scribbled a note onto a fresh page in his notebook. He tore it out and gave it to Petersen as the Sergent pushed past him.

  “There is soap in the shower,” Petersen said as he led Fenna out of the kitchen. He stopped to pick up a pile of clothes from the cupboard in Maratse’s office. He pressed them into Fenna’s arms. “There are towels upstairs. Used ones.”

  “I’ll be fine. I just need a shower.” Fenna looked around Petersen's shoulder as Vestergaard tore another page from his notebook. He folded the note into his jacket pocket, followed them to the doorway, and leaned against a filing cabinet at the entrance to the kitchen. “Do you require medical attention, Konstabel?”

  “No,” Fenna glanced at her wrists.

  “Nothing,” Vestergaard said and paused, “internal?”

  “They didn’t rape me, Premierløjtnant. If that is what you mean.”

  Vestergaard nodded. “That's just as well. The doctor is stranded in Kulusuk.”

  “The fog,” Petersen said and shook his head.

  “Twenty minutes, Konstabel. Petersen will wait outside the door.”

  “It's this way.” Petersen led Fenna up the stairs to the first floor. “It really is just a shower. If you need the toilet, it’s one of those bucket jobs downstairs.” Petersen ducked his head and leaned against the window as Fenna squeezed past. “It’s right in there. I’ll wait here.”

  “It’s not necessary, Sergent. I’m really not going to run away.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Petersen said and leaned against the wall.

  Fenna entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Attached to the wall with clips and screws, the water pipes served as shelves with a blunt razor tucked behind one pipe, a dirty sponge behind another. Fenna turned on the water, peeled off her clothes and stepped beneath the shower head. She tugged the shower curtain around a rusty rail and distanced herself from the outside world. She twitched as the hot water sluiced the cuts and grazes on her skin and rinsed the blood and grime from her hair. Fenna worked up a lather of soap between her hands and smoothed it into her body, the Arctic ichor of blood, grit and grime streamed down her skin and pooled at her feet. She ran a soapy hand over her body, tracing the bruises around her ribs and stomach with a finger. Her thighs were untouched but her shins bore yellow shields of old haematomas from the prod and stab of sledge runners and the trials of sledging around boulders, across the ice. She lingered over the dog bite healing on her forearm and smiled.

  “Lucifer,” she said and traced the bite with her fingers. She pushed her face under the shower head and let the water rinse the slow well of tears from her eyes. “Where the hell are you, Lucifer?”

  “Fenna?” Petersen knocked on the door. “Vestergaard says it’s time.”

  “Two minutes,” Fenna said and turned off the water. “I’ll be down in two minutes.”

  She stepped out of the shower and wiped the mirror above the clothes hook and looked at herself with tired eyes. Her gaze lingered over her bruised cheek until the steam disguised her face as the mirror was obscured. She towelled her body with brisk movements, then stepped into Maratse’s police trousers, securing them as tightly as possible at the waist with the draw cord she removed from his hooded sweatshirt. She pulled on the sweatshirt and socks and stepped into her boots, tying most of her hair into a ponytail, letting the wayward strands cling to her face. Petersen stood up as she opened the door to the bathroom.

  “Better?” he said as his eyes lingered over Fenna's hair clinging to her cheeks.

  “Much,” Fenna said and nodded at the stairs. “Shall I go first?”

  “Yes, I’ll follow you.”

  Fenna descended the narrow staircase. She waited at the bottom as Petersen clumped down the stairs behind her.

  “Handball?” Fenna said and pointed at the Sergent’s left leg.

  “Yes, I ripped a ligament in my knee.”

  “Same thing happened to my mother. That’s why I chose athletics.”

  “Smart move,” Petersen said and pointed over Fenna’s shoulder. “He’s ready.”

  Vestergaard stood to one side as Fenna entered the kitchen. As she sat down Petersen set up a microphone in the middle of the table.

  “This is the formal part of our conversation. It will be recorded in full. You are encouraged to tell me everything. It might feel informal, given our surroundings, but anything you say may of course be used for the purposes of your prosecution and defence. I’m not your lawyer. I do, however, represent the navy in this case. Do you understand what I have said so far?”

  “Yes,” Fenna said. She poked at the tripod beneath the microphone.

  “Then you will also understand that it’s in your best interests to tell the truth,” Vestergaard said and waited as Petersen placed a Thermos of coffee on the table. “As regards the sensitive nature of your mission, Petersen has full clearance and you can speak freely.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “What?”

  “That he has clearance?”

  Vestergaard turned to Petersen. “We’ll need the letter from the Admiral’s office. It’s in my briefcase.”

  “Actually,” Petersen said and folded his hands behind his back, “I think it’s in your overnight bag, in Maratse’s car.”

  “It’s okay,” Fenna said and shrugged. “You said it was formal. I just wanted to be sure.”

  “We can show you the letter later. As for now, if we are to get this done before the fog lifts, we must begin.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes,” Fenna held the mug as Vestergaard unscrewed the Thermos and poured. Petersen reached around Vestergaard and switched on the microphone. He returned to the sink, rested against the kitchen units and waited.

  “Start from the beginning of your patrol, when you were first tasked with the mission.” The Thermos lid squealed as Vestergaard screwed it closed and placed it on the table.

  “Well,” Fenna said as she warmed her hands around the mug. “There was a storm coming, but we had a window to get as far north as possible. Hau
ksson was the pilot’s name.”

  Chapter 5

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  The tundra tires of the Twin Otter bounced along the gravel landing strip at Daneborg. As the pilot pulled back on the control stick Lucifer sank his canine teeth into Fenna’s arm. She smacked the dog between the eyes once, twice before it let go. In the confines of the cabin, squeezed between the long, broad, wooden sledge, patrol gear and twelve sledge dogs, Fenna watched the blood stream between her fingers. After a brief halt between the fibres of her cargo trousers the blood dripped on the packing cases, traced the scratched surface of the aluminium deck and ran beneath crates and sledging boxes towards the rear compartment of the aircraft. Fenna clamped her hand on the wound, leaning back as the aircraft peeled from the earth into the polar sky. The wind whistled through the airframe. Lucifer squirmed and received another clout on the head.

  At the front of the cargo area, closest to the open cockpit, Oversergent Mikael Gregersen tugged at the pilot’s trouser leg, twisting an invisible dial back and forth with his hand in the air between them. The pilot nodded, reached forward to the console and turned the heat up to full. Mikael unclipped the first aid kit and a bottle of saline from the bulkhead. He squirmed his feet for the deck between the dogs and worked his way towards Fenna, bracing himself halfway. His knuckles bruised the plastic veneer of the ceiling as the aircraft bounced in a patch of turbulence. The two Sirius Sledge Patrollers grinned. Mikael pointed at Fenna’s arm. She lifted a bloody palm from the puncture wound with a shrug. Several sledge dogs yawned as Mikael pushed off from the ceiling and stumbled over to kneel beside her.

  “We forgot to turn up the heat,” he shouted.

  “What?”

  “Heat, to make them drowsy,” Mikael repeated, his mouth but a finger’s width from Fenna’s ear. “How bad?”

  “It’s okay,” Fenna said and drew the ragged sleeve of her sweater and thermal top above the wound. Mikael passed her the saline with a squirting motion and Fenna diluted the blood seeping out of her punctured skin.

  “More,” he shouted.

  With one squeeze Fenna emptied the bottle, cleaning the bite and loosening the clumps of blood within the wool fibres. Mikael dried the wound with a square of lint from the first aid kit. The two patrollers butted heads during another bout of turbulence. Mikael fell onto Lucifer and the dog squirmed beneath the Oversergent’s body before flopping back onto all fours on the deck. Mikael pushed himself off the dog. He pulled a packet from the kit, tore off the top and dumped the white powder contents onto the open wound. He pressed his mouth to Fenna’s ear as he dressed the wound.