He held out his hand when his cigarette was lit. “I’m Matt Burnside, and this is my wife, Mattie. Mattie Mayberry.”
He said that with an air of expectancy. Ben had already had his embarrassing moment with the wow so he made no indication whatsoever that he’d finally placed the woman. She was a singer—a successful recording artist. Emilia played her records incessantly.
Nikolas wouldn’t have known any musicians unless they were European and dead, so his ignorance wasn’t feigned at all.
The subtleties of the reception given to her introduction clearly didn’t escape Mattie Mayberry. She flicked a quick, unreadable look at her husband.
Celebrity nose job and a remote holiday to hide the recovery.
Ben introduced himself—James Lancaster.
It went against the grain. It went against many things, not the least that he had a hyphen and Nikolas a ring, but he’d reluctantly agreed—he couldn’t book into a hotel for a romantic holiday with another man as Ben Rider. Nikolas had complained it was very inconvenient having to pretend to be someone else. His annoyance being slightly less believable when he’d produced his new identity—Alexander Mikelovich. Peyton had created it for him as a joke. Alexander Mikelovich was a Russian businessman. He owned, apparently, most of the vodka factories in Russia.
§§§
Once they’d left the lights of the hanger, they’d seen no signs of habitation whatsoever. Ben had never ridden in a Hagglund before and was surprised by the interior. The vehicle was in two parts; firstly the front cab for the driver, the young man they’d spied on the roof, which was slightly separated from the seating which held the current six visitors, and then the rear cabin, which could have taken another ten or so people, depending on how squashed tourists wanted to be. It was rough and ready and very uncomfortable, but gave a sort of authenticity to the experience that would not have been possible in a helicopter. In this, Ben felt the ice. He traversed it and all its odd, irregular surfaces, as if an explorer of old. It was warm and claustrophobic inside, too, and he got to press hard against Nikolas, squashing him against the wall as they shared one small window.
It seemed impossible to him that they were going to find a luxury anything at the end of this incredible journey. With changes at Amsterdam and in Norway, they were now well into twelve hours of travelling and he was feeling jaded.
Nikolas was watching the snow outside the tiny, distorted window with narrowed eyes. Ben pictured him in the same position twenty years previous, artic camo, kitted out with a vast rucksack and a rifle ready to deploy. It was incongruous somehow.
Their two older companions were studying guidebooks and pointing things out to each other in very subdued voices. Ben tried not to smile when he glanced at them, but he couldn’t help but think that after years of marriage they had apparently come to actually look alike. Same close-cropped steel-grey hair, same weathered skin, same earnest expressions. Then he frowned. He’d assumed they were married. Perhaps they were brother and sister?
After three hours, the driver shouted back to them that they were almost there. Even on the rocky terrain they were crossing, Ben reckoned that put them a good twenty or thirty miles outside of the settlement at Longyearbyen. It was something of a relief. There had been nothing to see but ice and rocks since they’d left the settlement.
It was a surprise, therefore, when Matt Burnside suddenly cried, “Hey, look, honey, a bear!”
Everyone moved to his side of the vehicle.
About thirty feet away, a white bear was watching them from atop a small ice ridge. The driver stopped the vehicle and the Englishwoman produced a camera and began to take a few photos.
Nikolas was frowning, and he said quietly to Ben in Danish, “You should not see bears this time of year.”
“Maybe it’s stuffed and put there for the tourists.”
Nikolas covered a huff of amusement, but Ben could tell this answer intrigued him.
Ben pulled out his phone to take a picture for Miles, leaning against the thickened glass to hold the camera steady in the low light. He turned to Nikolas to ask his opinion about the whiteness or not of the fur, so he could contradict the irritating child next time he saw him, to find Nikolas uncharacteristically biting his lip. “What?”
Nikolas was about to reply when with no warning the bear came for them.
It covered the thirty feet from the ice ridge in less time than it had taken Nikolas to take a breath to respond to Ben.
The bear crashed into the vehicle. It was so unexpected, so unprecedented that they all reared back, and the elderly woman gave a small shriek of alarm. The whole side of the Hagglund seemed to cave in, but when Ben recovered from the shock he realised it had only been a trick of the light as what little illumination there was had been suddenly cut off, the animal rearing up on its hind legs, one vast paw splattered to the window.
And then the muzzle appeared, huge teeth gnashing at the resin-bonded glass. The Hagglund cabin was over seven feet high. The bear towered above it, stretched on its back legs, thumping and scraping at the window, desperate to get to the contents inside, possibly able to smell them.
It flung itself in desperate fury at the glass again and again. The vehicle shook as fifteen hundred pounds of muscle slammed into it. The bear tried to use its fangs on the glass, opening its mouth wide and biting at nothing. Then it banged and punched the glass.
Suddenly, it was over as quickly as it began.
The silence was intense. Ben knew he wasn’t the only one braced for another shuddering, ferocious assault. No one knew why the bear had attacked in the first place, or why it had now, apparently…disappeared. It was unnerving being effectively blind. He’d have preferred being outside, where he could see danger coming. Then he remembered the awesome speed and power of the bear and was quite happy to be exactly where he was.
His heart was beating rapidly. He suddenly turned to Nikolas and grinned, elated and inappropriately aroused. Nikolas put a finger to the window and commented thoughtfully, “I wonder if it’s the same company that made the armoured glass at Paignton Zoo. I must write and thank them.”
Ben rocked back in his seat as they started up once more.
The zoo attack. He’d almost forgotten.
He too craned to gaze outside as the American was doing to see if he could spot the bear. The terrain was flat as far as the eye could see and there was nothing on it.
The attack broke the ice between strangers. The English couple immediately introduced themselves as Richard and Penelope Cooper, biologists from Cambridge doing a study on—of all things—the bears of Svalbard. This confession got dutiful, rueful laughs. Penny Cooper, when asked by Mattie Mayberry if such an attack was common, became…oddly distant, but she only replied vaguely that it was the wrong time of year and entirely the wrong…behaviour. She then reclined back in her seat with a small sigh, and began rummaging in her bag, producing a bottle of pills, two of which she took with a grateful pat on the hand for the older man when he passed her some water.
Ben was quiet for a while, thinking about the tiger and now this bear, then he chuckled and leant against Nikolas. “You should read my books sometimes.”
Nikolas was trying his phone once more, so he only grunted, which Ben knew meant he wasn’t listening. He kept his thoughts to himself about a novel he’d once read where animal attacks on men began to increase and appeared to be…coordinated. One day, he reckoned his extensive knowledge of likely apocalyptic scenarios would be far more useful to their survival than any of Nikolas’s more superficially intelligent reading.
§§§
When they reached their destination, the driver pulled up a little way away from the building that loomed through the strange polar half-light a few hundred feet away. He flicked a switch and the vehicle’s headlights went off.
They all peered out of the window.
In the blue-black softness they saw a scene of stunning beauty—a vast cabin nestled against a sheer black cliff, ev
ery window glowing amber, throwing that soft, manmade illumination across the unforgiving polar ice. A couple of hundred meters in front of the hotel, ice-laden water sloshed against a rock-strewn beach. It was unearthly.
When everyone had admired their destination sufficiently, they began again, descending off the higher terrain onto the beach and then to the front of the cabin.
Finally, they were let out and ushered into the lobby of this impressive wooden structure.
The reception area was as high as the hotel with a galleried landing running around it, showing off various doors which Ben assumed were the bedrooms. There was a small, discreet desk, which appeared almost embarrassed to be there, as if the place was trying very hard indeed to be a home and not a mercurial enterprise at all. The spacious area was lit by a vast fire, each side stacked with enormous cords of wood. As he’d seen no trees, Ben assumed the wood, as with all the other things in the hotel, must have been imported.
When they checked in, they discovered there were ten double rooms—twenty potential guests in total.
All the bedrooms faced the front of the hotel and the sea, or the sides, allowing views up and down the beach. The areas at the back were reserved for a gym and a small cinema, and some rooms for the staff.
Ben could tell that Nikolas wasn’t taking in very much of the welcoming address, which was given by the young man who’d driven them in the Hagglund from the hanger. He, apparently, was Lars, the owners’ son.
Instead of following the briefing, Nikolas appeared tired, arms folded, staring at the ground. He roused when Lars handed him a key and said their luggage would be brought up for them. Lars then departed back to the Hagglund, which revved up and began a slow turn on the shingle beach.
Ben, Nikolas, and the other four guests were then free to find their rooms up the stairs and along the landing.
Before Ben got very far on the stairs after Nikolas, Richard Cooper intercepted him and asked in a quiet voice if they minded swapping rooms with them—Penny particularly wanted a suite with a bath, not a shower. Did they mind?
Ben was flagging now as well. It had been a long journey. He was looking forward to something to eat and to crash unconscious in a large bed with Nikolas. He really didn’t mind which bed—as long as Nikolas was in it with him. He nodded his acquiescence, jogged up to Nikolas, plucked the key from his hand and the exchange was done.
He didn’t care about baths. He preferred showers. For many reasons, very few of them to do with getting clean.
He also took no notice of Nikolas’s grumbled complaint that they now had a different view.
Ben didn’t care much about vistas either. He was SAS. He’d seen…he stepped into the suite and was immediately embarrassed into another exclamation of naive wonder. Wow hardly described the panorama from the floor to ceiling window of the ice-crusted surf crashing on the beach, of the faint glow of the amber light reflected off the snow and, of course, the most awesome thing he had ever seen in a life that had not stinted on its wonders—the Northern Lights. They had just begun to flicker their ethereal dance in the sky. He didn’t even remember crossing the space to stand at the window.
It was as if he was being drawn against his will toward them.
He swallowed deeply. Nikolas came to stand behind him, sliding his arms around Ben’s waist, his chin propped on his shoulder and, completely silent, they watched the show.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Northern Lights danced their otherworldly, un-choreographed celebration across the vast dome of the night sky, their green luminescence reflected back off the snow and ice, as if tiny land-trapped creatures were dancing in tribute beneath.
There were no words for how Ben felt.
He’d given up thinking moments in his life were perfect, because events inevitably transpired to prove they weren’t. But somehow this flickering dance of light put his life in perspective—perfect but transient. Changing. Unpredictable.
He smiled privately and hugged Nikolas’s arms to his chest.
Nikolas kissed into Ben’s hair, rubbing his cheek against the silky strands. Ben turned in his arms and kissed him properly, mouthing against his lips, “Glad you came now?”
Nikolas was annoying enough to shrug.
Ben held him off. “Oh, come on!”
“What? I had a lot of glass at home, if you remember.”
“The—”
“I had snow, too.”
“What about the—?”
“Ah, you mean the bear.”
“The lights, moron!” Ben moved out of the way and practically thrust Nikolas toward the window, gesturing with his hand. “This!”
Nikolas chuckled and manoeuvred away gracefully. “Ben, I have brilliant green perfection to admire the moment you open your eyes in the morning.”
Ben was stopped from capitalising on this uncharacteristically romantic confession by their luggage arriving.
He was more than ready to order room service, take a shower and take Nikolas—not necessarily in that order—but Nikolas told him they had to attend a compulsory induction.
Ben frowned. “What the hell?”
Nikolas was changing into jeans and a sweater. “We—you—cannot do bears or doggies or snow without attending it.” At Ben’s continued reluctance, he pushed him toward his suitcase. “Then it’s dinner…all you can eat smorgasbord.”
Ben smirked and dug out a fresh shirt.
§§§
The induction was held in the cinema, a grand name for a luxuriously appointed big-screen TV room with a discrete bar. The Coopers were already seated, heads close together, pouring over some documents Penny held in her lap. Mattie Mayberry was standing by the fireplace, while her husband—not all that surprising to Ben—was sorting through the various drinks on offer.
Nikolas clearly thought this was an excellent plan, too, and helped both of them to some alcohol while Ben took chairs next to the fire. Accepting the vodka Nikolas handed to him, Ben settled back for a small snooze before dinner. He’d slept through most of his army briefings and didn’t see why this should be any different.
An elbow in the ribs put paid to his intent.
It was only fair, he supposed. He did it to Nikolas all the time.
§§§
The hotel had been built six years ago, so they were informed by a middle-aged man who arrived just after everyone was seated. He introduced himself as the owner and manager, Nils Lang. He and his wife and son were there to give their guests an experience of a lifetime. He ran through the things Ben knew anyway from reading the brochure and studying the web site. After these preliminaries, he paused and then mentioned the incident with the bear. This led on to a fairly lengthy and comprehensive briefing about how to prevent bear attacks. Every hotel owner on the island, apparently, had been mandated to give these instructions to incomers since a recent tragedy with a party of British schoolchildren who had been camping near a glacier a few miles from Longyearbyen—which, he claimed, had actually improved tourism on the island, and thus increased the potential threat.
As he was speaking, Ben couldn’t help but notice Penny Cooper’s face, which reminded him for a moment of Babushka when she plucked up the courage to tackle Nikolas about something. The biologist had tucked her papers back into a briefcase and was nodding to herself with pinched lips as if she was having something she already knew confirmed. It was a grim, determined expression.
Ben was startled out of his reverie by a loud American voice. Matt Burnside suddenly called out, “Why’d it increase? What happened to the kids? The Brits who were attacked.” His words seemed slightly slurred by drink.
Ben saw Nils Lang wince a little and he faltered before replying, “One was killed, but it was a very freak accident and…”
“How many bear deaths you have every year?” Burnside was persistent, Ben had to give him that.
Lang shook his head. “It’s incredibly rare.”
“So what? What counts for rare here, Bud?”
&nb
sp; “The last known one was over ten years ago.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben caught a jaw clench of sombre triumph from Penny Cooper at this.
The briefing continued for a few minutes more and then Lang announced they’d break for dinner.
After the meal, for those who were interested, there was a film about Svalbard.
Much to Ben and Nikolas’s dismay, the dining room had also been fitted out on the pretence that they were all one big family sharing a house for the holidays. There was only one long table, ten chairs on each side and a help-yourself buffet. No waiters, no quiet tables where Nikolas could put his back to the wall, drink too much, admire him—which Ben knew was usually Nikolas’s only reason for taking him out in the first place—and get away with eating nothing at all.
Ben twitched his nose at the arrangements, glancing at Nikolas. “Shall we just get room service?”
“They don’t do meals in the rooms. I asked.”
“Sorry. At least there’ll be lots of people. Plenty of others to do the talking.”
Nikolas shrugged and took a place at the table. Ben sat opposite, not sure if he was supposed to sit next to him, but that felt weird. Penny and Richard Cooper were next to Ben and then the Americans continued the line down that side, leaving Nikolas on his own on one side of the table. He didn’t seem concerned.
The six of them waited politely for the rest of the guests to arrive, but Nils came in and introduced his wife, Claire, who was English. When Lars joined them it appeared he was the last to arrive and Nils proudly invited everyone to eat. He and his family always ate with the guests, their new friends, so he informed them. Ben raised his eyebrows at Nikolas, but he was staring sceptically at all the empty places. They’d clearly had the same thought—only six guests. Perhaps the owners were dining with them to make it appear less…deserted.
The meal was traditional Norwegian delicacies. Ben piled one plate high and put some pieces of fish and fruit on another for Nikolas.
John Wiltshire - [More Heat Than the Sun 07] Page 4
