The Gods of Laki

by Chris Angus

  “Come lower,” the voice said. “And try not to make any noise.”

  He eased farther into the fissure, sliding on his rear where it became steeper, finally stopping beside the woman.

  “Thanks,” he said. “They would have had me in another minute.”

  Her face was turned away as she removed her pack and lowered it to the ground. Then she sat down, leaning against it.

  “Maybe we should keep going,” he said.

  “No. They’ll never find the entrance. I’ve been doing research here for two years, walking past that ledge and opening nearly every day and I never saw it until I slipped one time and fell into the depression. They’ll look for a while and then give up. We’re too far from the entrance now for them to hear us.”

  He examined her face for the first time. She had prominent cheekbones and smooth, dark skin that had obviously spent time in tropical climates. Her features were small and sharp, with penetrating black eyes that were studying him hard.

  “Now maybe you can explain,” she said, “why you brought these people here. And how you happen to know my name.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. I feel like a damn fool. I’m here—I come to Iceland I mean—on business, to do research in geothermal energy. I have a small consulting business that works with energy firms. Believe it or not, I’m actually staying at Bjorg’s place, just down the hall from you. She mentioned . . . or maybe it was my friend Eva, that you were out here. I only just arrived and decided to come out for something to do. I was here once years ago. I . . . I think those men followed me.” He hesitated, then added, “Why would they do that? And why are they trying to kill me?”

  Her intense eyes stared at him. She seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to believe him. Finally, she said, “They aren’t trying to kill you. They’re trying to kill me, and it’s not the first time.”

  She held up a hand as he started to speak. “You called me Sam,” she said. “Why?”

  “What do you mean? It’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “My name is Samantha. There’s only one person in the world who calls me Sam. That’s my father.” She glared at him. “He sent you here didn’t he?”

  He swore. So much for being undercover. He wondered just how badly her father had underestimated his daughter’s ability to take care of herself. There was nothing he could do but nod.

  She lowered her head. In a resigned voice, she said, “Mr. Majority Leader always has to be the one who makes the decisions. It’s why I don’t spend any more time in the States than I have to.” She put both hands to her face and pressed them against her eyes. “I never cared for that nickname, you know. Sam Graham. Sounds like some sort of wire service, though I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

  She looked him up and down. “I suppose if he hired you, you must be good. I rather doubt you are any sort of . . . what did you call it? Geothermal researcher.”

  “Funny thing is, I am. It’s what I do now. But I was in the Secret Service for many years. That’s how your dad knew about me.”

  “It figures.”

  “So now that you know all about me, can I ask a couple of questions, since I’m supposed to be protecting you—at least until you tell me to take a hike.”

  “I just may do that,” she said, but he detected the hint of a smile around her eyes. “I suppose it’s stupid, really, given what’s just happened, not to be grateful that someone wants to help me.”

  “Some help. I led them straight to you and damn near got us both killed. We still may be. So . . . the obvious question is, why are they trying to kill you? You would appear to be a fairly undangerous-looking volcanologist going about her business. What gives?”

  ***

  Eva was washing dishes in her kitchen. The window looked out on a sidewalk and a small garden. About twenty feet away, she could see into the windows of the home next door. A new family had moved in. She hadn’t met them yet but thought it would only be a matter of time. Neighbors were cordial in Iceland.

  They appeared to be Iranian. Nothing unusual about that these days, though they certainly lived modestly. They weren’t the rich oil barons of late. More likely labor or help for the upper classes. There was a cute little boy of about eight and a daughter who looked like she was maybe sixteen. Eva had taken to waving at the girl whenever she came home from school. She was slim and pretty and had a dazzling smile.

  As she finished up the dishes, a school bus stopped at the corner and several kids got off. One was the Iranian girl. She hunched over her books and walked quickly down the sidewalk.

  Eva opened her window and called hello. The girl didn’t look at her or acknowledge her in any way. She disappeared inside. A moment later, Eva saw her through the open window of her bedroom.

  She started to turn away, when she heard a low wail. Looking back, she saw the girl hunched over, holding her stomach, and crying as she lay curled up on her bed.

  Eva stood in indecision. She didn’t know these people. But her heart went out to the girl. She was probably having a hard time in her new school. She watched until the crying stopped and the child seemed to go to sleep.

  Helga came over and stood beside her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Eva nodded out the window. “Our new neighbor’s daughter isn’t happy.”

  Helga looked out at the still form across the way.

  “Life’s hard in a new home,” she said.

  “In a new country.”

  “In a new school.”

  Helga looked at her. She knew Eva. “You going to do something?”

  Eva shook her head. “Try not to be a busybody. That’s probably the last thing she needs.”

  Chapter Three

  August 5, 1940

  Reykjavik

  Fritz Kraus was the only German graduate student at the University of Iceland. He was also the only one studying the island’s geology. In just a week, he had to defend his PhD thesis on the geology and volcanology of the Laki chain.

  His interest in Iceland had come about as the result of a climbing trip several years earlier. He and a friend had gone ice climbing on one of the glaciers. The awe-inspiring beauty of the place hooked him, as had the geology. He was particularly intrigued by subglacial volcanoes. It was a new wonder, a terrain of earth-shaping powers, and Germany had nothing like it.

  He looked at his watch for the tenth time in annoyance. His Icelandic girlfriend, Greta, was late as usual. Then he saw her slip into the library and toss her blonde hair as she looked for him.

  His heart took the little leap it always did whenever he saw her. She was so damn beautiful. If he didn’t watch out, he might never return to Germany. That wouldn’t be good for his employment possibilities. Since the rise of the Nazis, Germans had not been looked upon favorably in Iceland. It had taken an extraordinary effort, along with letters of reference from several teachers back in Germany, to get him into the country to study in the first place.

  Greta saw him and worked her way down the long study tables. The eyes of every young male student followed her progress, and Fritz felt that incredible sense of pride when they all saw her stop in front of him, lean over and give him a quick kiss.

  She sat beside him and snuggled close, whispering, “How’s the most handsome geology PhD candidate in Reykjavik?”

  “I’m the only PhD geology candidate,” he reminded her.

  “And the most handsome one too. Imagine that?” she said, giggling. “You promised we’d go ice climbing this weekend.”

  “Yes. Everything’s ready, though I really should be studying, you know, or I may soon be the only ex-PhD candidate in geology.”

  “Nonsense. You’re too brilliant. Be a feather in the cap of this place to issue you a degree. They wouldn’t dare deny you.”

  He wished he shared her feelings. “Germans aren’t all that popular around here, you know. Not since Germany invaded Denmark last April. Yours may be the only friendly face I see on a regular basis.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, well, we Icelanders are sick to death of Der Führer and his nasty Storm Troopers. He’s a disgusting, little man. And that ridiculous moustache . . .”

  “You better not talk that way if you ever come visit me at home,” he said.

  “I’m not going to visit your home as long as that monster is in charge. You’re going to have to stay here and be my sex slave and make love to me whenever I order you to.”

  He looked around self-consciously. Greta was deliciously sexual, but she seemed to have little idea of the effect she had on men. Even now, he could see several students unable to take their eyes off her. It was time to get out of here.

  He gathered up his books and papers and they made their way outside to his car. It was already loaded down with the gear they would need for the weekend. In a few minutes they were outside the city, motoring down the Ring Road toward the southern Laki chain.

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Greta. She perched her feet on the dashboard, bare legs soaking in the sunshine. “And how long till we set up our tent and you ravish me in the wastelands?”

  He glanced at her. “I can pull over right here and have the tent up in five minutes,” he said.

  She laughed. “No, no. It has to be the wastelands. Otherwise, the effect is not the same.”

  “It’s the same for me no matter where we do it,” he said.

  “Tell me what you’re studying,” she said. “It’ll take your mind off my legs . . . and be good practice for the defense of your thesis when the time comes.”

  He reached out a hand and stroked her bare thigh. Maybe it would be a good idea to think of something else. “Well . . . I’ve been studying the effects of subglacial eruptions in the Grimsvotn volcano beneath the Vatnajökull icecap. There have been a number of glacial outburst floods, called jökulhlaup, in recorded history. I’ve been studying two documented jökulhlaups probably caused by Grimsvotn eruptions beneath the glacier in 1933 and 1934.”

  “So . . . what?” she interrupted. “The volcano erupts and it causes ice to melt, right? Forming a lake?”

  “Exactly. The eruptions can melt huge volumes of water. Some of it may become trapped beneath or within the glacier and build up pressure until it breaks through. The damage when that happens can be unbelievable, though it rarely happens in inhabited areas. I’ve estimated runoffs equal to a week’s outflow of the Amazon.”

  “Wow! I guess that could cause a bit of damage, huh?”

  “There’ve been lots of Grimsvotn eruptions through history. The word jökulhlaup is actually an Icelandic term that’s been adapted by the rest of the world to describe the phenomenon. One scientist friend of mine believes the English Channel may have been created two hundred thousand years ago by a glacial lake outburst flood, probably caused by an earthquake. The flood would have lasted for many months, releasing perhaps a million cubic meters of water per second.”

  Greta stared at him. “Per second?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been expanding on my friend’s theory. I think such an outflow might have destroyed the isthmus that connected Britain to continental Europe. It’s one small part of my PhD thesis, along with the idea that it would have carved a deep valley down the length of the English Channel.”

  She stared at him. “How on Earth could you ever prove that?”

  He laughed. “We’ll have to leave that to the science of the future, I’m afraid. That’s the great thing about far-out theories. No one can really refute them.” He stared at the horizon where the slopes of the volcano, Laki, loomed barren and bleak. “I love this place. Ever since I first visited the southern coast and especially Laki, I’ve felt a strange attraction to it. Overwhelming, really.”

  He glanced at her. “I can’t explain it. This place simply makes me feel alive.” He added quickly, “Almost the same way you do.”

  “I hope my charms are a little more enticing than those of a volcano,” she said. “But I think I understand. You have a poetic soul, you know. It’s one of the things I like about you.” She looked out at the rising hills. “It does look a bit like a woman. Laki, I mean. Those lean, lanky slopes, like a woman’s curves, leading to something more, something promised in a dark, warm center.”

  He grinned, light-hearted again. “That’s a metaphor I’d like to get to the bottom of,” he said, reaching over a hand and squeezing her bottom.

  Laki retreated behind them and the road began to get marginal as they approached Vatnajökull glacier. He’d done this before and knew how to get as close to the glacier as possible by vehicle. Then they’d hike for an hour to a spot where they could easily access the glacier via a short ice climb.

  It was early evening by the time they reached the glacial wall. Greta stared up at it in awe. “It’s beautiful. Just like you said.”

  “Come on. We’ll pitch our tent over there. It’s too late to climb tonight, and as I recall you said you needed the attentions of your sex slave.”

  By midnight, Fritz was tapped out completely. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d had such sexual stamina. Greta put him through his paces for close to two hours, until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. They didn’t wake until the bright sunshine broke through their tent window.

  An hour later, they had crampons on and a rope tied between them, as they made their way slowly up the glacial wall. The going was not difficult, even though Greta was largely inexperienced. Fritz had taken that into account in choosing a fairly easy path to the top.

  Once they were seated in the snow on top of the glacier, Greta’s eyes sparkled.

  “It’s absolutely everything you said it would be, Fritz! I’m in love with this place—and with you.” She leaned over and kissed him deeply.

  “Let’s hike a ways,” he said. “This looks pretty stable up here. I’d like to see what’s over that next rise.”

  They reached the top of the rise and Fritz stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?” Greta asked.

  “It’s a subsidence bowl. My God, it’s unbelievable! I’ve never actually seen one.”

  They stared down at what looked for all the world like a crater crafted out of snow. It was immense, stretching at least half a mile in circumference. The sides were filled with striations and small crevices. And at the bottom was a small black hole, almost like a cave entrance.

  “There’s your warm, dark center,” Fritz said with a grin. “Like the one I explored last night. Come on! I want to see what’s down there.”

  They circumnavigated the rim of the bowl until they were directly above the black, cave-like entrance.

  “I don’t know, Fritz,” Greta said. “It looks dangerous, and the snow seems loose, like it could give way.”

  “Actually, it’s probably a quite stable formation, but we’ll be careful anyway.”

  He knelt down at the rim and pounded two pitons into an ice-covered rock, then ran his line through them and over the lip into the crater. It reached all the way to the opening.

  Greta sat in the snow, eyeing the bowl. “Look at those crevices. It doesn’t look safe at all to me.”

  “Look, you can just sit here on the rim while I climb down. It’ll be a piece of cake.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on her mouth. “I just want to see what’s down there.”

  He began to back down into the bowl. His feet punched small holes in the snow, causing miniature avalanches that trickled down into the black hole below. Greta sat on the rim and watched him uneasily.

  Fritz stopped just above the opening and tried to peer inside, but the angle was wrong. He was almost out of rope, too. He tied himself off firmly and studied an overhang of snow that was blocking his view.

  “I think I can knock this bit of snow loose,” he called up to her. “And then I’ll be able to see what’s down there.”

  “Be careful!” came her cry from above.

  He maneuvered himself onto the overhang and gave a little jump with both feet. The overhang seemed to loosen. “One more should do it,” he called up.
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  He jumped in the air and came down hard with both feet. The overhang broke away and disappeared into the opening. Fritz stared after the crumbling snow, then noticed that the snow around the sides of the crater had started to trickle downward into the hole as well.

  “Fritz! Be careful!” Greta called. She was standing on the rim watching the loose snow collapse inward. Then, all of a sudden, the entire inside of the crater simply crumbled from rim to rim.

  Fritz looked up in time to see Greta being washed downward in the collapsing snow.

  Avalanche!

  Greta’s white face looked over at him. She was no more than a dozen feet from him, but it might as well have been the dark side of the moon.

  “Greta!” he cried. “Grab onto something.”

  But the snow collapsed in ever-widening circles, drawing Greta downward in a vortex of motion.

  There was nothing he could do.

  The snow disappeared into the black hole, then the hole itself collapsed and Fritz had one last glimpse of Greta, her blonde hair whipped upward by a whirlpool of wind.

  “Fritz! Help me!” she cried, and then she disappeared along with the rush of snow. Fritz felt something give and the entire interior of the bowl collapsed inward, leaving him hanging from his rope above a massive opening. He stared into it in horror. A river of icy meltwater flowed away beneath the glacier, carrying the snow and Greta into oblivion.

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  They heard a distant shout. It seemed very far away from their enclosed hideaway.

  Sam looked at her watch. “They’ll give up soon,” she said confidently. “It gets cold up here in the evening, and they didn’t look to be terribly well dressed.”

  She took her heavy jacket off. Inside the venthole, out of the wind, it was comfortable. More than comfortable. Ryan wondered if there might be some thermal heat being generated by Laki that reached up from the earth beneath them. Despite the presence of gunmen outside, he felt strangely relaxed and content.

  “You said you’d been here before,” she went on. “How much do you actually know about Laki?”