The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  Vienna took off her jacket and hung it on a wire-frame mannequin by the door. She ushered Fenna beyond the pine finish of the hallway and into the cabin proper. Fenna caught a gasp in her throat as she followed Vienna inside, her eyes flitting from the leather sofa to the mirrored wall, beyond the spacious kitchen and back to the black hardwood table facing the balcony. The cabin was twice the size of Fenna's family flat in Esbjerg. She took a few steps towards the sofa as Vienna walked into the kitchen and prepared two mugs of coffee. The polar bear rug beneath the glass and birch coffee table was the only item in the flat Fenna could identify with, that and the view of the thick fog pressing against the cabin window.

  “The crew call us guests,” Vienna said as she waited for the coffee machine to finish preparing the first mug.

  “Guests?”

  “Yes. Instead of passengers. Although, I rather like to think of myself as a resident,” Vienna said as she placed Fenna's coffee on the kitchen counter. “I spend all my time here. It keeps me away from Alejandro and his dreadful business.” She turned back to the machine.

  “What business is that?” Fenna asked as she curled her fingers around the mug.

  “Cocaine,” Vienna said as she sipped at her coffee. She raised her eyebrows, and Fenna caught the twitch of a smile in the corners of her eyes.

  “Seriously?”

  “Fenna, my dear,” Vienna said as she guided her into the lounge. “How else do you think I can afford to live here?” Fenna sat down in the corner of the sofa as Vienna shushed at the dog whining from the bathroom and then sat down opposite her. “I speak for myself, of course,” she said. “Most of the residents aboard The Ice Star are thoroughly reputable. Incorrigible and ruthless, but reputable all the same. You seem surprised?”

  “Yes, perhaps,” Fenna said and put her mug down on the coffee table.

  “Take off your boots, dear. You are stiffer than one of Alejandro's dead rivals.”

  Fenna paused as she reached down to untie her laces. Vienna wore that smile again, the one that threw a coal of warmth upon her ice-bright eyes. She undid her laces and hesitated before removing her boots.

  “I’m not quite dressed for your apartment,” she said.

  “Nonsense. Take off your boots, my dear. Relax. I have too few guests to complain. You are my first since October. Alejandro comes once a month or so, just for a few days,” she said as Fenna placed her boots behind the sofa and, at Vienna's urging, curled her feet beneath her legs and settled onto the cushions. “He never stays long. Always on the move. Of course, I make sure to feed up the dog before he comes.”

  Fenna lifted the mug of coffee to her lips and looked around the cabin as Vienna talked. She lingered over a painting hanging on the bulkhead to the right of the balcony.

  “Monet?” she asked and pointed at the painting with her finger.

  “Yes,” said Vienna and kicked off her own boots. “Do you like it?”

  “I recognise it,” Fenna said. “I'm not sure what to make of art.”

  “It's a fake. Alejandro has the original at home, but wouldn't settle for a print, so he had a local artist make a copy.” Vienna sighed. “It's all about the look, the feel of money and what it can buy. These clothes, for example,” she said and tugged at the hem of her dress. “I am from Switzerland, but I dress like Katherine Ross.”

  “Who?”

  “From Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” Vienna said and smiled. “Before your time, I’m sure.”

  “Yes,” Fenna said. She uncurled her legs and stood up. Vienna followed her to the balcony. The ship's engines thrummed through the floor, tingling Fenna's toes as she studied the fake oil painting.

  “I even married a bandit,” Vienna said as she stood beside Fenna. “Only he’s from Colombia, not Bolivia.” She waved her hand as Fenna frowned. “Don't mind me,” she said. “More film references. I see far too much television. That and books are all that keeps me sane on this damned boat.”

  “Why do you stay?”

  “Why? Ha,” Vienna said. She walked around Fenna and placed her mug on the dining room table. “I don't stay, my dear, I am kept. I am an amusement,” she said and glanced at the bathroom door. “Like the fucking dog.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fenna said and raised her hands. “It's not my place.”

  “No, perhaps not, but...” Vienna paused as if to erase a shadow from her mind. Fenna watched as her host made a decision. “Yes,” she said. “It was rash of me to invite you into Alejandro's den, but I’m so very lonely, Fenna. I don't know how long you will be aboard – as short a time as possible if it’s up to Charlie – but let us relax this evening at least. Within these walls, we can tell each other secrets, and pretend that no-one is listening.”

  “Pretend?” Fenna said and looked around the cabin.

  “Oh, no, silly me,” Vienna said and placed her hand on Fenna's arm. “It's not bugged. There are no cameras. Believe me,” she said and let go of Fenna's arm. “I’ve had plenty of time to look. No, there are others onboard that like to film things.” She shuddered for a moment and then continued, “But Alejandro can't risk having anything on file. For obvious reasons.”

  “I can imagine,” Fenna said and smiled.

  “What the other guests do with their cameras, well, that's up to them. I’m sure that one day,” she said with a sneer that Fenna could feel as easily as she could see it, “those bastards will realise they made one film too many.”

  “Is there anyone onboard that you like or is likeable?” Fenna asked.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure there is. I just don't mix with them, my dear. No, Alejandro has vetted my circle and that’s why we must suffer the likes of Richard Humble tonight.”

  “Who is he?” Fenna forced herself to ask.

  “Humble?” Vienna said and paused to tap her fingers on the table. “Richard is as Canadian as Alejandro is Columbian. Impeccable manners, polite and generous. He is a charmer. His only public flaw, the only chink in his armour, is his partner, Mark Lunk.” Vienna curled her fingers into a brief fist before smoothing her palms over her dress. “I don't know what it is that binds the one to the other. But Lunk is a pig with...” She stopped at the curl of her lips. “Excuse me,” she said. “That's enough for now. No matter the company, it does not do to speak ill of dinner guests before the meal. Let’s find something for you to wear, then I’ll let the dog out of the bathroom and you can relax and freshen up. You'll have the cabin to yourself,” Vienna said as she led Fenna to the bedroom. “I’ll take the mongrel upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Yes,” Vienna said and nodded. “Alejandro has bought the cabin above. He’s hired a marine architect to draw up plans to put in a staircase, over there,” she pointed, “right where the coffee table is.”

  Fenna pushed the image of a two-storied cabin out of her mind and waited as Vienna let the dog out of the bathroom. She caught a smile at the sight of the Pekingese as it yapped at her feet. The thought of a Colombian drug baron tickling the dog behind the ears made her laugh out loud, causing the dog to yap even louder.

  “It is laughable, isn't it,” Vienna said and tried to call the dog to her. She gave up and fetched a treat for the dog from a ceramic pot on the kitchen counter. “Like its master it has a high opinion of itself,” she said as she held out the treat and clipped a leash from her pocket into the dog's collar.

  “When you breed the wolf into a dog that size,” Fenna said, “You're asking for trouble.”

  “A wolf?” Vienna said as she stood up, tugging at the leash every time the dog barked.

  “All dogs come from the wolf,” Fenna said with a shrug. The thought of Betty and the wolf flashed through her mind, as did the image of her team as they raced towards the polar bear. If they are smart, she thought, then they will follow the scent back to Kula's camp.

  “You look distracted, dear. Let me get rid of the dog, then you can clean up. We’re about the same height,” Vienna said as she glanced at Fenna. “And
you are a size A?”

  “As flat as they come, yes,” Fenna said and glanced down at her chest.

  Vienna laughed and tugged at the leash. “We’re going to get along well, Fenna, my dear. I might just have to encourage the Captain take the long way back to the mainland.” She pointed at the bathroom. “Fresh towels are on the rack. The maid was in earlier, but who knows what the dog has done since then. Watch your step.”

  “I will.”

  “I'll be down later to find something for you to wear.” Vienna looked at her one last time and nodded as if she had already decided on Fenna's evening attire.

  The dog erupted into a new round of shrill barks as a porter knocked at the door. Vienna fumbled with the leash as she opened the door and received Fenna's sledge bag. The porter nodded and retreated down the passageway towards the elevator as the dog nipped once at his heels.

  “Damn this animal,” Vienna said. She gripped the sledge bag as Fenna took the leash from her hand, reached down and flipped the dog onto its side. Fenna slipped her right hand over the dog's muzzle and held it firmly as the dog settled beneath her grip.

  “I know dogs,” she said and smiled up at Vienna. “I think that’s mine.” Fenna gestured towards the sledge bag.

  “Yes,” Vienna said and closed the door. “May I look inside?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Fenna said. “There's not much.”

  “There's nothing at all,” Vienna said as she reached inside the bag. “Oh, wait. There's a phone. That's all.”

  “That's all?” Fenna relaxed her grip on the dog as she did a quick mental inventory. The Webley and the knife were locked in the safe. Vienna had the phone. The muscles of Fenna's stomach tightened as she realised the satellite component was missing. She let go of the dog and checked the sledge bag, sweeping her fingers around the inside, and fighting another round of muscle cramps as she confirmed that it was gone.

  “You look pale, dear. Is something missing?”

  “Yes,” Fenna said and took a step back. She held out her hand as Vienna gave her the satellite phone. She looked at it, bit her lip and nodded. Next step, she thought to herself. “Do you have a USB charger?”

  “Now that,” Vienna said, “is something I do have.”

  Fenna nodded as she glanced at the satphone. “Time to call for backup,” she whispered as Vienna led the dog across the cabin floor in search of a charger. “But who do I call first?”

  Chapter 22

  Fenna’s mind raced with questions. She showered, dressed in a robe and towelled her hair, then she walked into the lounge area of the apartment – she couldn't call it a cabin – and checked the battery level of the satellite phone. She frowned at the single solid black bar, one of five. Not even enough to turn it on. Fenna put the phone down, sat on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest.

  “Think,” she said to herself, the single word lost in the upholstered interior. Fenna leaned back on the cushions and closed her eyes. She imagined Kula on the ice, running his dogs on the thinnest layer where the sea bit at the edge, where snowmobiles could not follow. She saw Burwardsley then, his face a mask of professional hatred, eyes piercing the fog, searching for Kula, for Fenna, for Dina. “Dina,” Fenna said and opened her eyes. The room drifted into focus and she gripped the hem of her bath robe. She slipped her legs over the side of the sofa and checked the phone battery once more, shaking her head as she pushed it back onto the surface of the small table next to the power outlet. Who did you call, Dina? she wondered. Who would you call after your grandfather?

  Fenna chewed on the thought and returned to the sofa. She closed her eyes again, thinking through what she knew, rejecting her best guesses. Her thoughts returned to the ship, and how it came to be there, at the edge of the ice, at the right moment. A blurred image of Burwardsley's handwritten note pressed its way into the fore of Fenna's mind. The logo, a ship. A ship with a name. The Ice Star. A ship for the rich and the infamous. A home from home at sea, beyond borders, beyond the law. A haven, she realised as her mind wandered and her thoughts drifted, merging with the incessant fog pressing at the windows.

  Fenna woke at the sound of the lock beeping. She sat up as Vienna let herself in, the keycard in her right hand, a dress draped over her arm, and a pair of high heeled shoes in the other.

  “Did I wake you, dear?” she said as she bumped the door closed with her hip. “You must be exhausted.”

  “No. I'm fine. Really.”

  “You sure you're up for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Fenna nodded. I need to meet him.

  “Good,” Vienna said. She hung the dress by its hanger from a shelf and held out the heels. “I hope we have the same size.”

  Fenna slid along the sofa and took the heels, slipping the left one onto her foot. “They fit,” she said. “But I’ve no idea how I’ll walk in them.”

  “I am sure your boots will be more comfortable, but there is a dress code, and you simply won't be allowed into the restaurant unless you are dressed for it.”

  Fenna put on the right heel and stood up. She took a breath and walked around the sofa. “I haven't worn heels since gymnasium,” she said and laughed. It felt good to laugh, to be distracted.

  “Try on the dress,” Vienna said. “I’ll fix us a drink.”

  The heels left deep impressions in the carpet as Fenna willed her way across the floor of the cabin. She lifted the dress from the shelf and noticed the panties and bra folded over the inside of the hanger. Black, like the dress. Fenna took it into the bathroom. Fenna put on the panties and bra and then pulled on the dress. After almost a year of olive drab cotton windpants, wool sweaters that scratched at her skin until she learned to ignore the itch, and the cling of week-old thermal layers, the dress slipped across her skin like spindrift. Fenna caught herself smiling in the mirror. She teased out her hair, curling a handful into a loose ponytail and letting the sides hang in bangs to frame her face, and hide the bite of the Arctic wind and the slap of a Nepalese fist. She twisted to the left and the right, enjoying the swish of the side panels and the tickle of rayon on her legs. With a last look in the mirror she stepped out of the bathroom. Vienna sighed as she walked into the lounge.

  “Stunning,” she said and pressed a gin and tonic into Fenna's hand. “Truly, stunning. Do you like it?”

  Fenna curled her fingers around the glass and nodded. “I do. Although the heels,” she said with a guilty glance to where they lay on the bathroom floor.

  “You can kick them off under the table.”

  “Yes.”

  Vienna walked over to the kitchen and placed her glass on the counter. She returned with a pair of black elbow-length lace gloves. “The final touch, before make-up,” she said.

  Fenna exchanged her glass for the gloves and slipped them over her frost-beaten fingers. She slid her thumb into the loop and tugged the gloves to her elbows. The thumb loop was at least familiar, but her mind raced with that which was not – the clothes, the apartment, the ship.

  “Think of it as camouflage,” Vienna said and took a sip from Fenna's glass. “You are simply getting ready for battle.” She reached out and teased a few more strands of Fenna's hair, letting it fall across her cheeks. Fenna’s stomach turned over as Vienna's fingers brushed her cheek. Vienna caught her eye and withdrew her hand. “Drink up,” she said and gave Fenna her glass. “I’ll change in my room and then we can go to dinner.”

  Fenna waited until Vienna had closed the bedroom door before putting down her drink and checking the battery level of the satellite phone. “Two bars,” she whispered. She unplugged the charger and took the satellite phone to the window. The door was unlocked and Fenna stepped out onto the balcony. The chill wind tugged at the fine hairs on her skin as she powered up the phone and scrolled down to the second to last number, the one between her call to Daneborg and Dina's grandfather. She checked the signal, wrinkled her brow at the poor reception, and pressed the button to dial. Vienna's shadow flickered in the light from her bedroom win
dow next to the balcony as the dial tone burred in Fenna's ear.

  “Come on,” she said, the fog beading her hair as the wind tugged at the strands. The dial tone ended and the sound of wind crashed through the earpiece.

  “Dina?” said a man's voice. The single word clamped around Fenna's chest before the satellite phone beeped with the loss of signal.

  “Fuck,” Fenna said and lifted the phone from her ear. She held it above her head and looked up as if searching for the satellites through the fog, above the earth. The phone beeped as the call ended and the words NO SIGNAL flashed across the screen. A rumble that could have been rotor blades caught her attention before Fenna slipped back inside the cabin and pushed the charger into the micro USB port. She stepped away from the phone as Vienna walked out of her bedroom.

  “Were you just outside?” she said. “I was sure I felt a draught.”

  “Yes, I needed some air.” Fenna felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Her mind wandered back to the call. Dina, whose voice was it?

  “What do you think, my dear? Will I do?” Vienna turned on the spot, the graphite ribs of her dress hugged her body above the waist, flaring above her knees.

  “Stunning,” Fenna said.

  “That's my word, dear. You shall have to think of another over dinner, or there will be a forfeit. Now,” she said as she joined Fenna in the lounge. “Make-up.” She gave Fenna a tube of lipstick and a powder blush for her cheeks. Fenna stared at them. “May I?” Vienna asked and took a soft brush from the purse hanging from her arm.

  “Yes,” Fenna said and nodded. She held her breath as Vienna applied powder to her cheeks.

  “You seem distracted, dear,” Vienna said as she finished with Fenna's left cheek and dusted her right with the bristles of the brush.