The Gods of Laki

by Chris Angus

  He felt his talents were being underutilized by Ryan’s firm, and so he spent even more time living the high life. But this revelation that German companies were buying up land around Laki struck him as very odd.

  There had to be a reason the Germans were coming in. They were pretty savvy business people. He was convinced it had to do with a new find of some kind. He stared out at the barren landscape. Why in hell else would anyone buy land here? If he could determine what was going on, it might cement his place in his new firm, but more than that, he might find a way to wedge himself into the action. Secrets could be a valuable commodity in their own right—if marketed correctly.

  He started up the steep, slippery slope toward Laki’s rim. Every now and then he stopped to dig his hammer into the rock and examine the geology. It certainly wasn’t the type of terrain, largely basalt lava flows, where one would expect to find oil or natural gas. Thermal, yes, though developing that was not the sort of proposition he might expect from the Germans.

  He reached the top and stopped to rest. Too many vodka martinis had taken their toll in the months since he’d arrived here. His eyes swept the length of the Laki chain, then down into the crater itself, where they stopped abruptly.

  Staring up at him were two figures sitting calmly by an opening in the earth. They were obviously talking about the new arrival. Jon made his way down to them.

  “Afternoon,” he said. The men were warmly dressed. One looked to be about thirty. The other was older, middle aged. Probably tourists, he thought.

  The older man nodded. “Interesting place, is it not?” he asked.

  Jon looked around, as though noticing this fact for the first time. “Long as we don’t get caught in the middle of an eruption,” he said.

  “Do you think that’s a possibility?” asked the younger man, looking suddenly concerned.

  Before Jon could answer, the older man said something to his friend in German. That made Gudnasson prick up his ears. “Actually,” he said, “I’m a geologist and I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. There’s been some seismic activity here over the last year or so. That could be a sign of something building, but these things take a long time to work themselves into a serious eruption. We’re talking many years and there will be telltale, small eruptions or steam releases before anything serious happens. A Mount St. Helens blast, out of the blue, is a pretty rare event.”

  The older man considered him with new interest. “You must know this area pretty well, being a geologist and all.”

  Jon could never resist any reference to his expertise, which he considered vastly underappreciated.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “We were just observing these mushrooms around the cave here. Any idea what they are?”

  Jon looked at the strangely shaped fungi. He’d been on Laki a couple of times but hadn’t seen them before. He hated to show his ignorance, though.

  “Oh yes, they’re quite common . . . this time of year.” He suddenly remembered what someone had told him about the ground cover. “The moss is called Woolly Fringe Moss,” he said authoritatively. “It covers most of the Laki chain.”

  “I see,” the man said.

  Jon had a question of his own. He nodded at the cave entrance. “Where does that go?” he asked.

  “We wondered that too.” The man hesitated, then came forward and stuck out his hand. “My name is Kraus. Hans Kraus. This is Ernst.” He didn’t bother with the other man’s surname.

  “Glad to meet you.” Jon shook hands. “I’m Gudnasson. Jon Gudnasson.”

  “We might be interested in hiring a geologist,” Kraus said.

  “Are you serious?” Jon moved closer to the man. Conspiratorially, he said, “I have a job you know, but they don’t pay very well. Always keep one ear to the ground. Serve my boss right if something better came along. Almost hate to do it to them, though. They need me to run the office.”

  “What kind of business do you work for?”

  “We investigate geothermal energy sources and new technologies and develop joint ventures between firms here and in America.”

  “Perhaps you could take a walk down this particular tube with us,” the man said. “We’d appreciate your expertise. We have . . . uh . . . bought the rights to some land across the way there, outside the preserve.”

  “Why?” Jon asked, his curiosity rising.

  “Well, that information is proprietary at the moment. If you came on board with us, we could tell you, but not before.”

  They’re either completely bonkers, Gudnasson thought, or they really do have designs on this place. Dollar signs flew before his eyes. He just might make one hell of a lot more money than he did currently.

  He followed them into the earth, where he was astonished to see the connecting tunnels leading away. One of the men turned on a powerful flashlight.

  Kraus said, “My father did some work here during the war. He wrote a monograph on the Laki Craters.”

  “Really?” Jon said. “Which side was he on?”

  Kraus cleared his throat. “He did research here before the war, then he worked for the German regime as a young geologist. Not that he had a choice in the matter.”

  “Why would the Nazis be interested in an Icelandic volcano?”

  Kraus considered him. He waved an arm at the passage they were walking through. “I believe a significant number of these subterranean lava tubes were connected or expanded under the direction of my father,” he said, somewhat proudly.

  “Whatever for?”

  “Initially, as part of a fantastical plan to cause an eruption that might affect the outcome of the war . . .”

  The younger man said something sharply to Kraus. They exchanged words for several moments. Then Kraus turned back to Jon.

  “My young friend thinks I talk too much. Perhaps he’s right. In any event, the scheme was never carried out. The plans were waylaid by the Führer after another discovery was made.”

  Aha! Jon thought. Here it comes. The Nazis must have discovered something valuable. Gold perhaps? Hitler was mad about gold, had stolen it all over Europe to help finance his vision of world domination. Causing an eruption would have buried all that mineral wealth under fresh layers of lava.

  “What discovery?” he asked.

  But this time, the younger German took Kraus’s arm and almost shouted, “Nein!”

  Kraus shrugged his shoulders and smiled benignly at Jon. “You’ll have to come work for us and sign a confidentiality agreement, I’m afraid, before I can tell you that.”

  This was big all right. Jon began to fantasize about his immediate future. He’d buy out Ryan Baldwin. That was the first thing he’d do. Then he’d fire Eva. “What sort of salary are we talking about?” he asked, as they moved deeper.

  ***

  Abu Qarawi set the final charge and stood back to examine his efforts. Would it work? He really had no idea. He knew explosives. That wasn’t the problem. What he knew nothing about was volcano tectonics. Frankly, he had his doubts. But it didn’t matter. Either way, he’d already been paid. Get the money up front was the first tenet of his profession.

  His coworkers finished running lines connecting all the charges to one timer. “Everything’s ready,” said one of the men. “All sixteen charges are linked. They’ll go off simultaneously. Gonna cause some damned big fireworks.”

  “Wasted,” said the other man. “No one to see it. All underground.”

  “Well, I for one don’t want to be around to see it,” the first man said. “Who the hell knows what’s going to happen? Biggest crap shoot I’ve ever been a part of.”

  Charges had been set along the line agreed upon. A quarter mile of massive explosions would take place, all focused along the weakest part of the Laki fault. Qarawi had no doubt something cataclysmic would happen. Perhaps a massive landslide or lava outflow. Anything was possible, the Arab thought. Maybe even the gaseous release that Rashid hoped would alter the world’s climate.
<
br />   Rashid had ordered them to work much faster than originally planned, having no idea how long the window of opportunity around Samantha Graham’s detention might last. The woman had been an incredible nuisance. Too bad her dispatch had been fouled up.

  Qarawi didn’t know whom the people were that they’d entombed in the tunnel and didn’t much care. They’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Soon, they would be encased in lava if they weren’t already dead of asphyxiation. It was possibly the best body disposal he’d ever effected in his work. No body, no crime. Of course, if anything like what Rashid intended came to pass, there were going to be a whole lot of bodies, possibly all over the world.

  Qarawi had listened to Rashid fret endlessly about Ali Akbari. The oil minister was up to something, working in concert with the American majority leader. Whatever it was, Rashid knew Akbari thought little of the scheme to blow up Laki. More fool him.

  Qarawi understood that Rashid would allow nothing to stand in the way of his plan. The man was a fanatic, a type he was quite familiar with in his line of work, and a type he had little use for, other than to take their money. Rashid envisioned enormous wealth flowing into his private accounts from a worldwide spike in oil prices. Well, maybe. What Qarawi was sure of was that the money deposited in his own account was considerable.

  He ordered his men out of the passage. Then he set the timer to give them a full hour to get away before the blasts occurred. No way he wanted to be anywhere near when it happened. Whatever “it” was, lava, landslide, gas release. It made no difference to him. He had his money. Let the fanatics figure out the rest.

  ***

  Margret sat with Eva and David in Dagursson’s office. She’d explained what had happened at the school and what she’d found in Sven’s locker.

  “I suppose you’re not going to let me see the picture,” said David.

  “Need to know,” said Margret. “There’s no need for you to see it.”

  “Other than the fact I’m a normal, healthy, seventeen-year-old boy.”

  “David,” said Eva.

  “I’m only kidding, mom. I feel really awful for Sahar. That picture must have been what I saw Sven and Nils show her in the locker room. They must have threatened to show it to the whole school if she told anyone what they did.”

  Margret nodded. “They have a sure thing over Sahar with that picture. She’d never want her parents to see it, let alone everyone at school. Sven and Nils must realize they have complete control over her. They can take advantage of her whenever they want.”

  “And they have,” said Eva, her voice barely controlled. “The question is what do we do about it now?”

  “The picture is proof that Sahar is being molested,” said Dagursson. “She’s being held by one boy while the other takes advantage. It’s obvious enough from her face that she’s not a willing participant. And we can clearly identify Sven. That’s enough for me to bring charges. But Sahar would have to be willing to testify.”

  “Which would humiliate her in front of the whole school,” said Margret, “and probably gain her no sympathy from her parents either. Be nice if we could figure some way to deal with this without making Sahar even more of a victim than she already is.”

  Dagursson stood up and went over to his window and stared out. The others watched him.

  “I could get in real trouble by not informing the girl’s parents,” he said. “She’s a minor. They have a right to know about this regardless of what their reaction might be.”

  “Parents need to be talked to all right,” said Eva. “But not Sahar’s. You need to bring Sven’s and Nils’s parents in. Tell them what their sweethearts are up to, show them the picture and ask them what they think should be done.”

  Dagursson grunted. This thing threatened to blow up into the biggest hairball the Reykjavik school district had ever seen.

  “There’s something else,” he said. “Sven Svensson’s father is a leading member of the Althing.”

  “He’s a member of Parliament?” Margret looked stricken. This was going to get very bad.

  “Makes no difference,” said Eva. “You both know that. Unless you give special dispensation to break the law to members of the Althing. If this blows up into a big public scandal, though, it will be devastating to Sahar. She can’t expect help from her parents. The pressure could literally destroy her. Is that what you want?”

  Dagursson stared at his ex-wife. “There’s another element,” he said. “An Iranian girl being molested by locals. We’ve already got plenty of bad blood here over the high-handed way the Iranians have come into Iceland. This could ignite a cultural powder keg. So I guess I agree with you. We need to try to deal with this quietly. I’ll talk to the boys’ parents. And if it doesn’t go well, I may be looking for a new job.”

  ***

  Sven’s parents came in late in the afternoon. His father, Stephan, was dressed meticulously, as though he’d come straight from some high meeting. The unspoken message was clear—see how important I am? Why are you wasting my time? He was tall and well built, like his son, but he also had the same cold eyes that Margret had seen on Sven’s face.

  The mother was attractive, with bottle blonde hair and makeup so thick it would probably stop a bullet. She was barely seated before she started.

  “I want to know what this is all about,” she said. “The officer who called said it had to do with something about Sven at school. Our son is a model student, captain of the soccer team. He has lots of friends and is very popular.”

  “Popularity is a strange thing,” said Margret. “You can intimidate people into saying they like you.”

  Mrs. Svensson stared at Margret like she was a bug. “I don’t care for insinuations,” she said. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  “All right,” said Margret. “Your son is a self-centered lout. He drinks, beats people up, probably does drugs, and molests, if not rapes, young girls. His school record is hardly exemplary, though I gather the worst stuff has been suppressed. I suspect you’ve had something to do with that.”

  The boy’s father held up a hand. “Commissioner, if you have something to say to us about our son, I wish you would do so.”

  Dagursson nodded. “We seem to have gotten off to a rough start. Let me just say that this is not pleasant for anyone.” He took a deep breath. “We have clear evidence that your son and at least one other student have been sexually molesting a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  Both parents’ faces went white. Eva could see Mr. Svensson calculating whether or not this might cost him his seat. Mrs. Svensson looked ready to vomit.

  “Whatever this underage girl has told you,” she said, “it’s a lie. She’s probably jealous of Sven. Lots of girls like him. He doesn’t need to molest a girl to get what he wants.”

  Dagursson opened a file on his desk, took out the picture of Sahar, and slid it across, so both parents could see it.

  They stared at it, shock building in their faces as they recognized what the picture showed and that Sven was obviously at the center of the action.

  “Oh my God!” said Mrs. Svensson.

  Mr. Svensson seemed to be fighting to control himself. “Do you intend to bring charges, Commissioner?”

  “Well, we are in a bit of a situation here,” said Dagursson. “If charges are brought, the girl will suffer even more. The boys have no records, and they would probably get off with suspended sentences and community service. The victim is likely to suffer more than the perpetrators.”

  “She must have asked for it,” said Mrs. Svensson. “Little slut’s probably a tease.”

  Everyone in the room looked shocked, even Mrs. Svensson’s husband. He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “Shut up, Ingrid,” he said. “You’re only making things worse for Sven.”

  Her mouth opened, and then she saw the look in her husband’s eyes and shut it again.

  Svensson looked at Dagursson. “I take it you have some deal you want
to make.”

  The commissioner spread his hands. “The deal is this. The boys will do community service. I will determine what and when. There will be a restraining order to keep them away from Sahar.”

  “That’s it?” asked Svensson.

  “One more thing. Sahar will continue at school. She’ll be under our protection and the guidance of school counselors who will help her. Sven and Nils will leave the school and finish their educations elsewhere. Where is up to you.”

  “No!” said Mrs. Svensson. “This is their senior year. You want to take the best year of their lives away from them. Sven is captain of the soccer team. He’s going to university.”

  Mr. Svensson looked sober. “You know there are no other schools in Reykjavik,” he said. “They’ll have to be tutored and pass a public exam to get their degrees. Colleges will understand why they had to take this route, even if there is no record. This could affect the rest of their lives.”

  “You can be damn sure it will affect the rest of Sahar’s life,” said Margret. “If it were up to me, I’d put your lout of a son in jail and throw away the key. He’s reached this stage as a result of your parenting . . . or lack thereof. My opinion is he’ll never amount to anything anyway.”

  Mr. Svensson stared at the photograph. He stood abruptly and offered his hand to Dagursson. “I think you’ve done the best for the boys that you could under the circumstances, Commissioner. If there is ever an appropriate time, I wish you would offer my apologies to the girl.”

  He took his wife’s arm and guided her out the door before she could say anything more.

  The entire episode was then repeated with Nils’s parents. They held no prestigious positions in the community and quickly agreed to Dagursson’s deal once they learned that Sven would accept it.

  When they left, the air in the room seemed to go flat. Dagursson took a phone call from one of his men. He hung up the phone and put on his jacket. “I have to go,” he said. “Margret, will you tell Sahar what’s happened here and make sure she understands she has nothing to worry about anymore.”