Betrayal

by Lilja Sigurdardóttir

  Úrsúla sighed. Eva had certainly been right when she said that the staff were nervous about the new minister. Óðinn had undoubtedly laid down the law, telling them not to bother her with anything trivial, so most probably it was him who’d had the woman’s name erased from the registration, to prevent Úrsúla from getting involved. He’d certainly have done it with the best of motives, but she would have to make it clear to him that she didn’t appreciate this kind of manipulation.

  She left the reception lobby and walked through the building to the staff entrance at the back. The snow had continued to pile up, but it melted as fast as it collected in the empty car park, so her car looked like a monument standing in the middle. She pulled the sleeve of the brand-new coat Eva had chosen over her hand and shoved snow off the edge of the car’s roof so she could open the door without it falling inside. This time she had locked the car and left it in a free spot so there was no chance of finding an unpleasant message, but she still looked around the car to be sure. The stink inside was becoming unbearable; she’d ask Eva to take it to be valeted tomorrow. She couldn’t expect Nonni to be outside cleaning the car in this weather. She dug through the junk in the footwell for a scraper and cleared the worst of the snow from the bonnet and windows, then sat in the car and started the engine.

  The snow had reduced the traffic to a crawl, and it was obvious that the snow ploughs were only able to keep the main roads clear. Úrsúla opened a window to let some air in, but this brought with it flakes of snow, although it was hard to tell if these were coming from above or drifting in from the roof of the car. It was almost time for the news, so she switched on the radio, but almost immediately turned it off again, because she could hear a clanking sound coming from the back of the car. She listened for a while and then switched the radio back on. It was just as well to take in the news on the way home, as she wouldn’t have to shush the children over dinner later. She could catch up properly online when things were quiet.

  The newsreader was in the middle of an item about the criticism around the prime minister’s decision to appoint her to a ministerial post – over the heads of experienced men from both government parties – when she heard the clank again. She turned down the radio, but turned it up again as she wanted to hear the rest of the news item. It had to be ice dropping from the wheel arches or something. On the radio the prime minister nimbly defended his position, saying that it was always possible to criticise the choice of ministers when there was such a pool of talent available, but his party was implacable in its support for equal rights, in addition to which, Úrsúla’s specialist knowledge of issues concerning refugees was especially useful.

  Úrsúla was startled by another clank. This time the sound was much louder, followed immediately by another. In fact, it sounded like distant gunfire, which was out of the question here. The sound was accompanied by a faint vibration; perhaps the noise was coming from the boot.

  She’d have to check. It sounded as if something heavy had come adrift. Maybe she had forgotten about a gas bottle from the barbecue after the summer, or something else that had been there for a long time and which had now come adrift. She turned off the road and into the wide area by the harbour. She intended to stop right away, in the entrance, but the snow was piled so high on each side, she had to continue all the way to the open space that had been cleared. Here she would be able to turn the car around and get out without her shoes filling with snow.

  She switched off the engine and got out, but another clank stopped her in her tracks. This time the car stood motionless, so there was no question of anything rolling from side to side. It was as if there was something alive in the boot. She glanced around, regretting that she had turned onto the quayside. Even though it was in the middle of the city, the place was poorly lit and the nearest people were some distance away. These days her gentler instincts seemed to be buried so deep that she sometimes felt that they had been lost, whereas fear was just below the surface and something like this was all it took to upset her equilibrium.

  She considered simply getting back in the car, driving home and asking Nonni to check, but another clank stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t dare drive off with something alive in the boot. She thought about calling the police, but then imagined standing in front of a bunch of uniformed men, all laughing at her for being hysterical, and dismissed the idea.

  She summoned up her courage, stepped closer to the car and stretched out a hand to open the boot.

  20

  Gunnar had dressed in three minutes. He looked at his reflection in the minister’s hallway mirror and saw that in spite of his haste, he looked fine. His tie was knotted at his throat and he had managed to smooth down his hair on the way here.

  The call from the cabinet office had taken him by surprise, especially as he was just coming to terms with his disappointment. He had abandoned his half-eaten dinner – a steamed chicken breast – and rushed out.

  ‘Hello,’ said the guy from the national commissioner of police who was in charge of ministers’ security. Gunnar had met him a few times before but couldn’t remember his name; it sounded Russian as he recalled. He followed him into the living room, where the new minister sat with one arm around a girl who had buried her head in her shoulder. Two uniformed officers sat opposite her. In the kitchen a tall, dark-haired man was fussing over making coffee. He had to be the husband.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Gunnar murmured to the national commissioner’s guy.

  ‘There was a rough sleeper in the back of her car. He attacked her when she opened the boot.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘Yeah. Not pleasant. He had clearly made himself at home there for a few days. She had refused the national commissioner’s recommendation that she have a driver. But now she’s changed her mind. Welcome to the job.’

  The minister was still busy giving a statement to the uniformed officers, so the national commissioner’s guy beckoned Gunnar to go with him.

  ‘From now on you collect her from the front door every morning and go with her to the door when you bring her home. If there’s nobody home, then you come inside with her and carry out these security checks.’

  The guy handed him a list, reading out from a copy of it as Gunnar followed him through the house.

  ‘Back door: locked and glass undamaged. Ground floor windows: undamaged. Ground floor lights: working. First floor: windows undamaged, lights working, balcony door locked and windows undamaged.’

  ‘Got it,’ Gunnar said, and that was enough to stop the guy from reading out the whole list.

  ‘These are the new working guidelines. We feel there’s a greater risk of ministers being harassed, so it’s as well as to keep to these,’ he said. ‘Being a minister’s driver isn’t what it was a few years ago.’

  ‘I’m a trained bodyguard,’ Gunnar said. ‘I know this stuff.’

  As they returned to the living room, the uniformed officers were leaving and the husband had just brought in a tray.

  ‘Would you like this coffee?’ he asked, and Gunnar shook his head. He didn’t drink coffee. Coffee put him on edge.

  ‘Here’s your driver, at your service,’ the national commissioner’s guy said, jerking a thumb towards Gunnar, who leaned forward and extended a hand.

  ‘Gunnar,’ he said.

  ‘Úrsúla,’ she replied. Her handshake was strong and warm. ‘This is my husband, Nonni, and our daughter Herdís. We have a ten-year-old son who is staying with a friend overnight, fortunately.’

  ‘I understand you’ve had an unpleasant experience.’

  ‘Yes. I imagine Boris has told you what happened. I’m unhurt, but had something of a roll in the snow,’ she said. ‘And the self-confidence has had a battering. You know that I was going to drive myself?’

  Gunnar nodded, relieved that the minister had reminded him of the national commissioner’s guy’s name.

  ‘My last job was in Syria, and there was gunfire all day long, and before that I was in Liberi
a during the Ebola outbreak. So I’m no shrinking violet, but somehow you don’t expect this kind of thing here in Iceland. I have to confess I’m shaken.’

  Gunnar nodded. It was clear that the woman felt a need to excuse herself, make it plain that she was no pushover, but that didn’t matter to Gunnar. He was delighted to be in his dream job.

  ‘Gunnar will handle all your security,’ Boris said. ‘And it’s best if you don’t open the door in the morning until Gunnar has rung the bell.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ the girl asked with a curious expression on her face.

  ‘It’s because recently ministers have experienced unpleasant things at home. Offal or paint on their doors, that kind of thing.’

  The girl’s eyes widened in surprise and fear, and she looked beseechingly at Gunnar.

  ‘Are you going to look after my mummy?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Gunnar said, sending the child a smile. ‘I’m going to take very good care of her.’

  Tuesday

  21

  Úrsúla took the neat plastic sleeve that Eva handed her and lifted a corner to look at the printouts. Fréttablaðið, DV, Morgunblaðið and many online news outlets had covered the case at the time, six months ago, but there had been nothing recently. The latest clipping was five months old.

  ‘These state that a formal accusation has been lodged, but there are no names – neither the mother’s nor the girl’s,’ Eva said.

  ‘This should be enough for Óðinn to find out more. There can’t be that many police officers in Selfoss with rape accusations made against them. This must be documented somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, according to the reports, the girl went to the local health centre, which ordered a rape kit from the National Hospital in Reykjavík, and after that there was a request for assistance from the Reykjavík city police in making a formal accusation, because it was against a police officer who came under the authority of the Southern Region.’

  ‘OK, that’s perfect, Eva,’ Úrsúla said and handed the plastic sleeve back to her. ‘Will you take this to Óðinn and make it clear that I want this followed up, with a formal request for an update on the progress of this case?’

  Eva nodded, turned and was gone, and Úrsúla sat at the computer to check her emails. Eva had already filtered them efficiently, marking the ones that she ought to deal with personally. She would be able to get through a few of them before the cabinet meeting.

  She was just finishing the coffee the secretary had brought her and had made progress on the unanswered emails when Eva appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’ve called the driver,’ she said. ‘Cabinet meeting, and a quick chat with the PM afterwards.’

  ‘He’ll want to talk about the South Coast Highway,’ Úrsúla said. ‘And I’m hardly halfway through it. There’s a whole stack of material to go through.’

  ‘You could ask Rúnar for information, if you need it,’ Eva said, opening the door for her. ‘And I can read through material and give you a digest.’

  Úrsúla nodded. There was every likelihood she would do just that. There didn’t seem to be many spare hours for work that required concentration in this job.

  ‘It’s plain idiotic to be driven from one building to the next when it would be quicker to walk,’ she said. In the light of day, yesterday’s fear now seemed pointless and she was already regretting having agreed to this ridiculous ministerial-car-and-driver idea.

  ‘The last thing you need is to meet the media outside when you’re out of breath and have wet feet from trudging across Arnarhóll in the snow,’ Eva said, holding Úrsúla’s coat so she could slip into it.

  ‘I can dress myself,’ she said, but Eva laughed.

  ‘Get used to being waited on,’ she said. ‘It’ll do you good.’

  Úrsúla scowled. Nonni told her the same thing. He enjoyed looking after her, even though she knew that he did this partly to show her how pleasant their home life was and that she’d be better off with him and the children than in some disaster area, trying to put things to rights. She knew it was also a declaration of love: his way of showing her how dear she was to him.

  She took the cabinet meeting agenda from Eva’s hand and scanned it while they walked to the lift.

  ‘And what did our excellent permanent secretary have to say about this morning’s message?’ she asked as the lift doors closed behind them.

  ‘He just mansplained to me that this kind of case couldn’t be prioritised while there’s other important ministry work waiting to be dealt with, but he would naturally acquiesce to the minister’s wishes and examine the case.’

  ‘Ach. Poor man,’ Úrsúla sighed. ‘I’ll give him a gentle reminder later today, and again tomorrow, and again after that until he gives up and does what I ask him.’

  ‘Welcome to politics,’ Eva said and Úrsúla laughed.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think I’m going to be here long. This is just a temporary role, but hopefully I can achieve something useful and then move on to something else.’

  She had always imagined that she would spend most of her working life dirty and sweaty as she tried to impose order on chaos and relieve suffering. Having children hadn’t exactly fitted in with such a career, so when she had been pregnant with Herdís she had agreed to a desk job with UNHCR. But that hadn’t lasted. Before long she was back in the field, going to refugee camps to gather information for the commission. After that, she had taken occasional unpaid leave as other organisations and bodies offered her assignments, and that was how it had been until a year ago, when Nonni had finally had enough and made it plain that it was time for her to move back to Iceland and find a job that didn’t take her away from the family for extended periods. It had to be a job that didn’t involve lethal epidemics and falling bombs. But all the same, her idea of the future still included dust, baking heat and an all-encompassing hopelessness that she could help alleviate.

  ‘Just you wait and see,’ Eva said. ‘Politics is a bug. Once you’re bitten, you can’t get rid of it.’

  Úrsúla laughed.

  ‘I managed to not get Ebola when I was in Liberia, so I’m sure I can steer clear of the political bug at the Interior Ministry,’ she said.

  22

  Last night they had made him take a shower with soap, and gave him clean trousers and a T-shirt to put on before locking him in a cell. Then there was breakfast, and he was read the riot act about keeping away from the minister. Lovely lads, these policeman today. In the old days he’d have been more likely to get roughed up for no reason at all.

  The copper who took his statement had a serious look on his face, asking if he knew whose car it was that he’d made himself at home in, but he had shaken his head and acted as if it had been a complete coincidence that it had been Úrsúla’s car and not some other one.

  He wanted to trust this sincere young policeman and tell him that Úrsúla was in danger if the Devil himself had hooked his claws into her, but he didn’t dare. There was every chance that he had his spies here as well. His lies and intrigue stretched out in every direction.

  He walked past the bus station at Hlemmur, which was now too smart a place for him to be allowed inside. The smell of him made people lose their appetites, as one of the doormen had informed him, so he went straight to the kiosk.

  ‘Good morning, and may it be a fine day,’ he said as he went inside and heard the man behind the counter sigh. The old guy was working there today. He went straight to the coffee urn and filled a paper cup.

  ‘Had a night in the cells?’ the old guy asked as he handed him the coffee.

  ‘Five-star accommodation,’ he said, sipping coffee as he stood at the counter and watched two men feeding coins into the fruit machines. ‘Do they ever win anything on those machines?’

  ‘Pah. A handful of change now and again. I reckon it’s more about the game than the money, whatever they think.’

  He thanked the man for the coffee, dropped the paper cup in the bin and set off into the falling s
now that was coming from the west and seemed to be building itself up for a blizzard. He set off along Laugavegur, heading for the shelter. Although it would be locked until later in the day, sometimes the guys would gather outside, taking slugs from their bottles; surely someone would give him a dram now that he had started to shiver.

  23

  As soon as the photographers had left the conference room, Úrsúla realised that this was the moment she had been dreading: sitting at this table that had so often been in the news, as one of the participants, among the chosen ones who posed and smiled in their seats, hands in their laps, but who then shut the doors on the rest of the world while they took decisions. It was a relief to find that when the doors closed behind the photographers the atmosphere became informal.

  ‘So where are the doughnuts?’ the prime minister called out and the government laughed. This was clearly part of the routine. The tray was quickly brought in, most of those present reached for one of the twisted doughnuts and followed the prime minister’s example by dunking them in their coffee. Two of the women present didn’t join in, leaving the doughnuts untouched and making do with sparkling water. Úrsúla guessed they were watching their waistlines, as one of them, Guðrún, the minister for social affairs, looked to be on the tubby side. Women in politics had to look good, while the men didn’t seem to need to worry about it, unbuttoning jackets and happily letting their bellies strain their shirt buttons.

  She was relieved and delighted to find out how much this first cabinet meeting was like a management meeting at any other organisation – something she had plenty of experience of. The only difference between this and the meetings she had taken part in before was that the mode of address was formal. All of the ministers addressed each other by title and not by name. That would need some practice.