Special Dynamic

by Special Dynamic (retail) (epub)

  ‘And what happens after that?’

  ‘You’ll get them down into the wilds, that’s all. Then I‘ll take over. But let’s have a look at the maps now-over there, in my coat pocket…’

  *

  Any day now, Rosenko’s decision would be made known: whether to start now or wait for the spring. Either way, with the surprise appearance on the scene of these Americans, Belyak knew that quick and resolute action was precisely what Rosenko would expect of him.

  5

  The Volkswagen rumbled southward over the snow-packed Route 96, which ran down to the Finnish border at Karigasniemi. The distance was only nineteen kilometres and they weren’t going even that far, not on this highway; there was a turn-off just before the border, a minor road leading south and keeping company with the river, as so many inland roads seemed to do. That particular river being also the frontier. To Finns it was the Teno, to Norwegians the Tana and then farther south the Anarjokka; whatever you called it, it was a famous breeding water for Arctic salmon, Sophie said, and in summer it was a Mecca for fishermen from all over.

  ‘You fish, Ollie?’

  ‘I’ve done a bit. Haven’t had a chance at salmon, though.’

  ‘Come back here in summer, we take a boat, I teach you?’

  ‘You’re on!’

  He thought, We might teach each other…

  The VW was getting along reasonably well, but after the turn-off it might not be so good. The map showed it as only one lane wide, and it obviously wouldn’t rate the same maintenance and snow-clearance priority as this or any of the roads they’d used so far. Isak had warned it mightn’t be negotiable at all, or anyway not for very far. They were hoping to get to where it became a cart-track, at a place called Jorgastak, near which there was said to be an overnatting. But if necessary they’d leave the van at some earlier point, trek on on skis. It wasn’t any great distance but conditions could deteriorate suddenly; snow was expected, and the daylight hours were short.

  At lunchtime the day before yesterday Sutherland had returned from his meeting with Isak in a state of excitement: he’d found them in the hotel lounge. ‘I have a lot to tell you guys. Come down to my room while I wash up?’

  Sophie had probed, on the way, ‘Good things to tell us?’

  ‘I’d say so.’ He’d nodded grimly. ‘Isak made me a proposition which I personally am going along with, although I haven’t committed you people, in case — well, I’ll explain that.’ He’d glanced round. ‘Except you, Gus, I’m naturally counting you in.’

  They’d trooped into his room, and while he was changing from boots to shoes he told them that Isak had offered to guide him south, by road and then on skis, to where the huge nature reserves spanned the Norwegian-Finnish border. Somewhere in that area was where he believed one particular siida would be wintering its herds, and a member of that siida had told him months ago that he knew what was being cooked up politically and the identities of the people behind it. Isak had no idea how this individual, who was a decent, honourable Sami and well respected in the community, could have such knowledge, and he hadn’t done anything about it because he hadn’t wanted to become involved himself. Now he realised he’d been wrong, that he’d shirked what he should have seen as his duty. The recent outrages had appalled him, and being convinced that no Sami people could have instigated such crimes he felt he was under an obligation to establish the truth, if that were possible. Right up to last night’s dinner party he’d been undecided, but now he’d seen clearly where his duty lay.

  ‘So he wants to make the trip anyway, and he’d be glad of some company and happy to help with what I’m after, since the two objectives coincide.’

  Ollie had asked what a siida was, and Sutherland explained it was a sort of reindeer-farming commune. A number of families, each owning its own deer, got together to share the work of husbandry. They’d take it in turns for instance to watch one large herd, instead of each family unit having to spend many more hours watching one small group of beasts.

  ‘Anyway,’ Stenberg said, ‘could be the breakthrough — right?’

  ‘That’s how I see it, sure.’ Sutherland looked at Sophie. ‘What’s your reaction?‘

  ‘I suppose I feel the same.’ She’d shrugged. ‘Although he didn’t mention any of this last night, he didn’t seem to have any such — dilemma — in his mind.’ She shrugged again. ‘But as you said—’

  ‘He needed to get his thoughts straight on it. He’d said yesterday he wanted time to think… Sophie, I know you don’t like him, but — well, he’ll be with us, it can’t be any spoof, can it?’ He paused, looking at her. ‘But there’s one aspect of this thing I have to point out to you. The three Finns who were murdered — it happened down there, someplace, and they were investigating the same phenomena that we’re interested in. I have to make this point, Sophie, and ask you to consider it.’

  ‘To stop me going with you?”

  ‘No, by no means, but—’

  ‘We would not be going very far into Finland, from what you’ve said?’

  Stenberg cut in: ‘Last time we talked about it we agreed they could’ve been killed just about any place. So locality’s of little consequence. The only relevance — this must be Carl’s point — is what questions those guys may have been asking and what questions we’ll be asking.’

  ‘So play safe.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Let Isak ask all the questions.’

  ‘Ollie.’ Sutherland glanced at him. ‘You with us?’

  ‘It’s what I was hired for, surely.’

  He realised Sutherland was only trying to scare Sophie out of coming; he was also fairly certain the professor was wasting his breath. He’d begun again now: ‘Seriously, my dear — wouldn’t you agree it may not be quite your scene?’

  ‘You want to leave me behind.’

  ‘No, you‘re wrong, I don’t. We’d all like to have you along. But for your own sake — and OK, ours too, in a way — don’t you see what you’d be getting into? Rough going and rough living, sleeping in tents, whole days on skis, maybe a lot of whole days?’

  ‘I love skiing and ski-trekking and I have never minded sleeping in a tent. I will not take a silk nightdress, if this is the kind of problem that’s bothering you.’

  Stenberg muttered, ‘I’ll leave mine behind, too.’

  She’d made it plain that she was coming, anyway, and there hadn’t been time for argument, they’d needed every minute of the day and a half they had, for various kinds of preparation. Ollie had everything he’d need, but there were shortcomings in the others’ gear. Luckily Karasjok boasted both a sportswear shop and one that rented ski equipment, so most deficiencies could be taken care of. Some items were bought, others hired — including three two-man tents, insulated mountaineers’ tents. Sophie would have one to herself — despite Stenberg’s attempts to persuade her that as she spoke Lappish she’d have to share with Isak. Then there were rations to get together. They made lists and bought most items from the two local foodstores, while Isak offered to provide both fresh and salted reindeer meat, getting it from Sami herdsmen. All the heavier gear — including tinned food, the tents, snowshoes, two shovels, one machete, a naptha-burning cooking stove, cooking pots and several half-gallon containers of fuel — would be carried on a light pulk which Isak produced from his scooter store.

  Gus, questioning the value of the Volkswagen in deep-winter conditions, suggested that a heavy diesel truck might get them farther; wouldn’t diesel be best anyway for long-range work? Ollie had to explain to him that diesel fuel had a certain water content, so that in excessively low temperatures it froze. Sutherland hadn’t thought of this, either, and there seemed to be a lot of elementary cold-weather know-how they lacked, despite having completed some survival course before departure from the USA. Another fuel question, for instance, and again from Stenberg — why not hexamine tablets for the cooking, why naptha which was so much heavier and more cumbersome, when weight of stores was a crucial factor? It hadn’t occur
red to him that in a snow—hole or other weather-proofed bivouac either hexamine or ordinary petrol fumes would kill you, whereas naptha — lead-free petrol — was non-toxic. One way and another Ollie was satisfied long before departure from Karasjok that he’d begun to earn his pay.

  Most of his own equipment was stuff he’d had and used in his SBS days. Special Boat ranks tended to invest in their own gear, mainly because Service-issue items were usually inferior — heavier, as often as not, and less efficient. His boots, for instance, which he’d bought in Exeter from Arktis, were ski-march boots handmade on wooden lasts by the Swedish firm Lundhags. They were something like para boots but made of rubber-covered leather with lace-up fronts and insulated felt insoles; they’d cost him some money, but your feet were the things you moved on, and as far as he knew there wasn’t anything better you could put on them, for hard going. Then he had Helly Hansen ‘Lifa’ thermal underwear, which had the useful property of pushing sweat out into the next layer of clothing instead of leaving it to freeze on your skin. Over that went a Norwegian Army shirt — heavyweight cotton, polo neck with a zip-up front, elasticated cuffs. He’d got that from Arktis too — and Canadian heavyweight socks. For outer wear he had a Ventile suit — windproof and waterproof, as worn by Captain Scott at the South Pole in nineteen twelve. To go on top of it in really extreme conditions he had a Goretex jacket.

  ‘And what the hell is this?’

  He was packing stuff into his bergen, and Gus Stenberg was holding up a furry-looking object.

  ‘Let me guess… Dead monkey?’

  ‘Fibre—pile suit. Extra insulation when needs must. Goes inside other gear, you don’t even have to take your boots off.’

  He demonstrated it. The suit was made of a lightweight fur fabric, and the pants had zips right up the sides so you had only to drop your outer trousers, wrap the fur legs round yourself and pull the zip up. The hip-length jacket zipped up in front, and with the fur inward against your body it provided a high degree of insulation. The fact it looked like the remains of some animal that had been in a road accident was accounted for by its having seen a lot of service, including a few weeks on wind- and sleet-swept hillsides in the Falklands a few years ago. The same applied to his sleeping-bag, also ex-SBS equipment and rather evocatively called a North Face Bigfoot.

  ‘And this?’

  ‘Bivvy-bag. Goretex, like that coat. The sleeping-bag goes inside it and stays dry no matter what. Don’t you have something like it?’

  He didn’t, and Sutherland didn’t either, which called for yet another visit to the shops, this time without success — no bivvy-bags, no material from which to make some. Checking Sophie’s equipment then, and finding she didn’t have one either, he told her he had a spare and lent his to her. It was all very well her telling everyone how often she’d slept in tents, you could be damn sure she’d never tried it in Finland in February.

  ‘How are we doing, Miss Eriksen?’

  She was beside him in the front of the VW, on this trip, leaving the others to converse with Isak at the back. Not that there was much conversing going on; Isak was morose and jumpy, locked into his own thoughts, apparently. Maybe scared by the responsibility he’d taken on. Sophie answered that last question: ‘I think we are about halfway to the frontier.’

  Not that they’d be crossing it, at that point. They’d be turning down, driving along the Norwegian side of it, when they got that far.

  The river here, on the left and sometimes close to the road, was the Karasjokka. On the right, power-lines were strung between pylons that dwarfed the trees. It was well wooded country along this stretch of road and river, but above the tree-line, up on the right, nude hilltops gleamed dayglo-white against the grey, snow-threatening cloud. Isak had said they’d have snow by nightfall if not sooner. A very sudden change, after the recent sunshine and clear nights.

  Sophie had telephoned her department in Oslo to tell them where she was and where she was going, but the colleague to whom she’d given this information hadn’t seemed very interested, she’d told Ollie. He’d muttered something about making a note that she was at the Karasjok turisthotell, in case anyone wanted to get in touch. She’d banged the phone down…

  ‘They are so dum!’ A high note of exasperation… ‘The only intelligent man in that place is my boss — who happens to be a Sami.’ She’d noticed Ollie’s surprise. ‘Oh, yes, there are Samis in good jobs now. They are fine people, you should not judge by a few who are like Isak. That is why all this business is so unbelievable to us, you know?’

  He’d thought of putting a call through to COMNON, to let Grayling know where they were going and why, but he’d decided against it. Jarvis had only given him that Contact so that he could pass on any urgent or important information, and as yet he had no information worth passing to anyone. That had been one good reason not to call in. The other was a long-held aversion to reporting to anyone about anything at all when you didn’t have to.

  What it came down to was that you were again, as in that previous existence, on your own. There was an objective: you had to get there, and come back with the information. The only insurance — life assurance — was packed in the Berghaus bergen in its three component parts, the longest of them being the 28-inch barrels.

  He had a hundred cartridges now, having bought another fifty in the Karasjok sports shop.

  Sophie broke into his thoughts, telling him, ‘That was Muotkenjar’ga.’

  ‘My God, was it?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Now I can die content.’

  ‘If you do not watch the road, we will all die.’

  ‘OK. Although I’d much sooner watch you, Sophie… How far to the turn?’

  ‘About five kilometres. Soon this road will bend to the right, we do not then see the Karasjokka any more, we come instead to the Teno.’ She added, ‘Where if you are a good boy I may one day take you fishing.’

  ‘I’m going to hold you to that, you know.’

  The riverside road wasn’t as bad as it might have been, but it was no highway either. There was a layer of loose snow over the hard underlay, and the tyres’ studs didn’t grip so well. With some danger of skidding it meant slow progress. On some stretches the surface improved — presumably where a more conscientious farmer had been doing his community service with a snow-blower — but after a few kilometres they’d be down to a crawl again.

  ‘Must be glorious in summer.’ Glancing to his left, at the wide river of ice. You could imagine it unfrozen, its water flowing between green banks, the wooded hillsides on the Finnish side reflected in its surface; and a boat drifting, himself and Sophie in it…

  ‘Here we go, road’s a lot better suddenly.’

  ‘Coming to a settlement, that’s why.’ Gus was where Sutherland had been, peering over at the map on Sophie’s knees. ‘Could be — whatever that says?’

  ‘Iskuras.’

  It wasn’t, though. Iskuras might be a couple of houses and some sheds, three adults and a dog, but this was even smaller. Isak was saying something to Sutherland as they approached it, Ollie putting his foot down to take advantage of the improvement in the road’s surface. Sutherland called, ‘Isak wants to make a stop here, Ollie. Some kind of restaurant. Pull in, will you?’

  Sophie and Isak were talking in Lappish while Ollie slowed the van; she said as they stopped, ‘He knows these people, he says they will open for us.’ Sutherland justifying the halt to Gus: ‘He’s our guide, after all. If he says we have time, we better go along with it.’ Isak jumped out, hurried into the timber building over which a sign spelt out GRILL-KOK, and by the time the rest of them straggled in he’d ordered coffee and sandwiches and left the room by another door. They’d be reindeer meat sandwiches, Sutherland said after a conversation with the proprietor. He and his wife were Lapps, of course. He told Sutherland the road would be OK as far as Jorgastak, and that just beyond it the overnatting on the river bank would surely accommodate them. It was owned by his wife’s brother, used mainly in summer and
by fishermen… Isak returned from a visit to the lavatory — which had probably been the real reason for stopping here — and the proprietor took him by the elbow, steered him out of the room. Stopping in the passage outside, he asked him, ‘Who are these foreigners? What do they want here, at this time of the year?’

  ‘The one with the beard is a professor, and he wrote a book about ourselves and our country, history, all of it. With my own assistance, actually. But he was never here in the winter, or visited a siida in our highlands; and since he and I are fellow authors and historians — well, he’d heard of me in America, of course, I’m famous there — I thought I might as well bring him along. And the others are his assistants, they make recordings and so on.’

  ‘Are you taking them across the river?’

  Isak shook his head. ‘West. Into the vidda. West from Jorgastak.’

  It was what he’d been told to say. He’d been told to find someone hereabouts and somehow create an opportunity to say it; this fellow had made the opportunity for him, very nicely. He added, ‘The one with the beard is a friend of our people, I’ll take him wherever he likes.’

  ‘You don’t think there’s danger to them out there?’

  ‘What danger?’

  A shrug… ‘All right, so you don’t believe the stories. The Finn soldiers murdered, for instance?’ He saw Isak’s grimace, and raised his voice: ‘Look, if you want proof — all right, you’ll tell me that in January we don’t ever get many tourists. And you’d be right, most have the sense to wait for warmer weather. But haven’t you noticed that this year there are none?’