by Chris Angus
“I suppose you’d rather a few hundred tourists got incinerated?” said Sam. “That should do wonders for tourism.”
“Nevertheless, your work could be handed over to the university. I actually appreciate what you are doing, Dr. Graham, but evidently it has already cost four lives, if we are to take your word. I don’t need any more disappearing people. Half a dozen tourists have gone missing in the last few months.”
“Yes. I read about that,” said Sam. “Any progress on what happened to them?”
“It’s been an absolute dead end, as though they simply vanished. We continue to work with the families, tracking down every lead. As you know, inexperienced visitors have a habit of heading off into the hinterlands, completely unprepared for the harshness of this climate.”
Dagursson stood abruptly. “I told your father I won’t revoke your visa without due cause. Being the subject of an attack hardly seems a fair reason. For now, you may continue. And we will continue our own investigations.” He gave Ryan a look. “Your training may come in handy Mr. Baldwin. I’d advise that you not let Dr. Graham out of your sight. The senator has made it abundantly clear that he would take a dim view if anything happens to her.”
Ryan nodded. The same thought had occurred to him.
Outside, he said, “There’s something to that bit about not letting you out of my sight. But I want to do some investigating of my own. Where are you going now?”
“Home,” she said. “I want one of Bjorg’s breakfasts. Then I’m going to take a very long bath.”
“I guess you’ll be okay for a while, then. Whoever’s been after you will have to regroup and find some new men if they’re serious about this. Or maybe they’ll want to lay low for a while, until the police investigation dies down. But that’s no excuse to let our guard down. Will you let me know if you go out?”
“I seem to recall that it was you who led those men straight to me. I might be safer on my own. But . . .” Her eyes sparkled as she considered him. “I suppose as long as my dad is paying you what is no doubt an outrageous sum, I ought to make use of you. Just try not to get into any more trouble. It will be awkward if I have to tell my father that his bodyguard turned up missing—or dead.”
***
Ryan decided to touch base with Eva at his business address on Oldugata Street, a few blocks from the waterfront. He had complete trust in her ability to manage the office and in her knowledge of the business climate in her hometown.
Her father had once been mayor of the city. He’d been pushed out of the job in nasty political infighting when Eva was just a teenager. She spoke sometimes to Ryan about that time and how difficult it had been for the family. There was no question it had affected her deeply, for she’d been working in her father’s office as an intern during the upheaval. But her experience had proved invaluable to Ryan. There was no one of importance in Reykjavik that Eva didn’t know.
The office currently held six employees. They worked on establishing contacts with various businesses, exploring, and keeping up with new technological developments and laying the groundwork for joint ventures in the field of geothermal energy between U.S. and Icelandic concerns. Under Eva’s capable management, Ryan knew his own currently divergent interests would not harm the business.
His main worry was Jon Gudnasson. He was concerned that his chief geologist could so poison the atmosphere that Eva might be tempted to jump ship. She’d had offers in the past.
Eva listened to his story of the past two days with growing concern. “Well . . . it doesn’t usually take people long to figure out what an asshole you are,” she said facetiously. “But shooting at you takes it to a new level.” She stared at him. “I don’t suppose you might get Gudnasson to join you the next time you go careening down a lava tube.”
“That bad, huh?”
“The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word work. Spends most of his time, as near as I can determine, reading in his office, going out to lunch and carousing in nightclubs. He’d like to have my job, along with both salaries, thank you very much. Everyone in the office thinks he’s a self-important fool.”
There was no better moment for the fool to make an appearance. Gudnasson opened Eva’s office door with a bit of a flourish. “Ah, the boss has arrived,” he said, coming forward with his hand out.
He was about forty, with a fading boyish look and a receding hairline, carefully combed over. He was thin but had begun to put on extra pounds through lack of exercise and too much nightlife. He affected the tweedy look, wearing suits from a well-known London haberdasher.
“Hello Jon,” Ryan said. “Keeping busy?”
The geologist sat down, unasked. He’d long since given up waiting to be invited to sit by Eva. Shaking his head, he said, “An awful lot of work needs doing here. Darn good thing you managed to hire me, really. There’s a shortage of good geologists in the market, you know.”
“There’s a shortage of geologists, anyway,” Eva said.
The remark seemed to escape Gudnasson.
“Like to talk to you sometime, boss. I have a number of ideas for ways to improve our bottom line. We need more outreach to local companies and that includes, by the way, the new Iranian firms that have moved in.”
Ryan nodded slowly. “I understand the Iranians are supplying cheap foreign oil. Obviously that means competition for renewables.”
“Most people in Reykjavik rely on geothermal already for energy,” said Eva. “Where the Iranians have really had an impact is in the dirt-cheap price they’re selling gasoline for.”
“It all relates to the market, doesn’t it?” Gudnasson said with a wink. “When one sector goes up, the other goes down. We need to cover all our bases, the same way big industry gives contributions to both Republicans and Democrats in America.”
“You’re saying we should give money to the Iranians? I’m afraid I don’t see how that helps us.”
“It’s not money they want. It’s attention. Outreach is the key. Grease the wheels of commerce. They’re spreading a lot of money around. Maybe we can get them to give some to us—for renewable research.”
“Why would they want to do that? It cuts their own throats.”
“Good will?” he answered vacuously.
Gudnasson’s ideas were never fully thought out. They flowed from his mouth like spittle after a shot of Novocain. It was time to redirect.
“I don’t have time on this trip to become involved. But I want you to get out into the field more, Jon. Call it outreach if you want. We have a number of projects that need your input. Leave the office politics to Eva.”
Gudnasson made a face. “Not trying to undermine anyone, but we really could use a tighter ship. I have some ideas, as I said . . .”
The man was unstoppable. Ryan looked at Eva, who was seething so close to the boiling point that he feared there might soon be a puddle beneath her chair.
“As I said, no time for it now. I’ve given Eva several field projects for you to look into. I’d like full reports on them next time I’m in town. Now, if you’ll excuse us Jon, I have a few other things to discuss with Eva.” He stood and took Gudnasson’s hand like it was a pump that he could use to suction the irritating prig from the room.
“Well . . . uh . . . sure. Just say the word. But I do have a lot on my plate right now. . . .”
And he was gone, back to his cubicle, where he did Lord knew what through the long Icelandic days.
“Thanks,” Eva said.
“It probably won’t keep him entirely off your back. Just remember that I think you are the most important person in this firm. If it ever comes down to a direct confrontation, I will support you, no questions asked, okay? But please keep in mind that we need that PhD on staff. If you want to keep an eye out for a replacement, you can do so.”
That mollified her enough to produce a smile.
“Now tell me what you know about IranOil.”
“Well . . . much as I hate to admit it, Jon said one thing
that makes a certain amount of sense—though I don’t think he had a clue about what he was suggesting. A number of countries in the Middle East are beginning to see the handwriting on the wall. Their oil isn’t going to last forever. They’ve begun to invest in new technologies.”
“That include IranOil?”
“I’m not aware of any such efforts, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t happening. Mind you, with a very long time horizon in mind. The truth is, no one really knows why they’re here. But there’s no question they’re spreading money around liberally, and it’s had an impact. The lousy economy since the financial collapse has made it easier for them to polish local politicians.”
“Like the police commissioner?”
She hesitated. “Actually, no. I think he’s one of the more honest ones around. Got a reputation for being ethical, if hard-nosed.”
He stared at the floor. “I simply can’t buy it. Why would the Iranians want to come here and give their oil away? It doesn’t make any sense. Hasn’t anyone wondered about that?”
“Sure, everyone talks about it, but most people don’t really care. Cheap energy is cheap energy, even if it does undermine local industry. And the new refinery they built over the last couple of years provides all the gasoline Iceland can possibly use. As you well know, the financial catastrophe hurt us badly. So there’s an opening for them to exploit. To what end is anyone’s guess. The price of oil on the international market has plummeted to less than thirty-eight dollars a barrel. That’s down from a high of almost one hundred seventy dollars. They might just as well give it away.” Her face tightened. “I’m more concerned about the connection between IranOil and the people who tried to kill you.”
“The thought had occurred to me. According to Commissioner Dagursson, the firm says they had nothing to do with those men, that the car was stolen. End of story.”
She laughed out loud. “Do you know how many cars are stolen in Iceland in any given year?”
He shook his head.
“Few to none. It’s a no-win crime on an island this size with so few roads. There’s nowhere to hide.”
“So it’s a lie?”
“Just watch your back, boss. Something stinks about this.” She smiled. “Besides, I need you around to fire Gudnasson when the time comes.”
***
Eva looked on as her son played soccer at a school event. He wasn’t the best player, but he played hard and with great intensity. He’d always been like that. Focused. She wondered how much of his personality grew out of not having a father at home.
A siren blew and the game ended. David’s team had won and he came running over with two friends, sweaty, dirty and beaming with their triumph. After a moment, the friends disappeared and David sat beside her.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“What? I have another son I could be spending time with?” She tousled his hair. “You played well.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“I wanted to ask you something,” she said. “Do you know our new neighbor’s daughter?”
“Sure. Her name’s Sahar.”
“What is she, a sophomore?”
“No. She’s just a freshman. I think she’s fifteen. She’s very pretty, though. A lot of the guys talk about her. I guess they think she’s exotic.”
“Is she having any trouble in school?”
David looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve been waving at her when I see her out the window and she always gives me this wonderful smile. Lately, though, she’s completely ignored me. And I saw her crying once. I wondered—you know, it’s hard being at a new school.”
He shrugged. “I really don’t know her personally. I’m a hotshot senior, you know. We don’t pay attention to freshmen.”
She smiled, remembering how it was. “Could you, maybe, keep an eye on her?”
He grinned. “You doing social work again? Does Ryan know you’re moonlighting?”
“I’m serious. Sahar’s been very unhappy lately. I’m worried no one is looking out for her. Her parents both work and she’s alone at home after school. Just keep an eye on her, okay? See if anyone is bothering her or if she’s being ostracized, but keep it quiet. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing.”
He looked at her with the same intensity he’d shown in the game. Then he leaned over and hugged her. “I guess everyone can’t get as lucky in the mom department as I did.”
She squeezed him back. “That’s a nice thing to say, especially since I know what the divorce put you through.”
“No sweat, mom. I love living with you and Helga. You know that. She’s like a second mom, and I love dad too. So I got two families instead of one. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m happy, all right?”
Eva couldn’t speak. She just nodded and squeezed some more.
Chapter Five
AD 970
Iceland
Runa watched as her son, now twenty-eight years old, rowed the boat he’d so laboriously built over the last two years. He was proud of his creation and it showed in every ripple of his muscles. He paused, craft bobbing in the choppy bay, and waved to her. She waved back happily.
Now forty-six years old, Runa was still a beautiful woman. Her skin remained smooth, though darkened by long hours gathering food and firewood in the relentless Icelandic sun. She’d had six children, but Afastr was the only boy. He looked just like his father, Agnarr. There could be no doubt, even though Skari had believed otherwise right up until he had disappeared mysteriously years ago.
Skari had taken to working beneath the basalt rock of Laki in a deep vent, where he set up a workshop. He’d become an accomplished stone carver, designing amulets and offerings to the gods. He spent many hours a day at this task, sometimes so engrossed in the work that he failed to show up for meals. When no one had seen him for two days, they went looking for him and found his venthole had collapsed. The entire clan frantically dug out the hole only to find that he wasn’t there. His body was never found.
Runa had tried to be sad over his disappearance, but it wasn’t easy. Despite treating him as one of her two husbands, she’d never grown fond of him. He was too cold and full of himself. She often wondered what she would have done if it had been Agnarr who had died that long-ago day.
She shuddered at the unpleasant thought.
Their small community had grown. Each of her daughters now had children of her own. They’d made contact with other settlers in the land of fire and ice, and Runa’s beautiful daughters had been in great demand. She now had seventeen grandchildren and the shoreline sprouted many small summer homes, built from wood and native stone. Still, the homes were of a semi-permanent, seasonal nature. During the cold winters, everyone resided in vent tunnel homes heated by the gods of the earth.
Amma climbed the rise and stood beside her granddaughter. “He is a good son,” she said, staring out at Afastr. “Too bad you could only have one.”
“I would have liked more,” Runa admitted. “But instead I have five sons-in-law. They are all good men and our community grows.”
Amma nodded. Runa marveled at her grandmother. No one knew her exact age. Her parents had been killed in one of the endless raids when she was a child, and she’d been raised by outlanders. Viking women often began to have children by the age of fourteen. Runa herself had begun at sixteen, as had her mother before her. Amma told of having Runa’s mother when she was still a very young girl, from a marriage she’d been forced into. That meant Amma had to be nearing eighty by now, an almost unheard-of age.
Yet she remained young in spirit. This new land seemed to agree with her. Her long-ago breathing problems had disappeared, and she still walked many miles over the headlands gathering firewood, collecting shellfish and harvesting the mushrooms they used in virtually all of their cooking. The arthritis that had once bothered her was all but gone. Her flesh was firm and unwrinkled, her face unmarred by age spots.
Maybe, Runa thought, she w
ould live as long as Amma. She wouldn’t mind . . . so long as Agnarr lived just as long.
The two women began to climb toward the rim of the volcano. Today, they would make an offering to the gods of this place. It was a ritual begun long ago, shortly after Runa had had her frightening vision of the cloaked figure floating above her.
There had been other visions. Many members of the clan experienced them. Though it was commonplace and expected now, Runa still found the strange sightings, often accompanied by the ever-present rumblings, disconcerting, even frightening, as though Laki was trying to communicate with them.
They reached the rim and Amma knelt, holding the fish in front of her. Runa knelt by her side.
“We offer this fish to the gods of Laki,” said Amma. “You have given us life and warmth . . .” she paused, “but you have also taken Skari from us.”
Runa looked at her grandmother. This was not a normal prayer.
“I believe you have taken Skari to your heart,” the old woman continued. “He has been absorbed into the underworld. Perhaps it is because of the work he did, which was in your honor. Perhaps you wanted him to be with you. We ask that you not take any more members of the clan in this way. For this we make our offering.”
Amma lifted the fish above her head for a moment, then threw it into the volcano.
As they walked back down the mountain, Runa said, “Why do you think Laki took my husband?”
“I don’t know. Skari was a strange man. Quiet. Difficult. Angry. He never seemed happy his whole life. Even when you were first married, along with Agnarr, he didn’t seem happy. We’ve all been content here, except Skari.” She shrugged. “He was different. Maybe he was closer to the gods, which is why they took him away.”
Runa thought about Amma’s words. She didn’t miss Skari and if the mountain wanted him, she was glad to let it have him. But she remained a little frightened of the volcano. Amma’s words made her think of Laki as a living thing. A spirit that sometimes wanted things from them. Runa hoped Laki would never want her that way, or Agnarr, or any of her children.
