Aftershocks

by Mark Parragh

  “Sir,” Olvirsson said as they met. Einar kept on walking, and Olvirsson and the other man turned and hurried to keep up with him.

  “Good work, Ari,” he said. “Bring me up to speed.”

  “I’m afraid he’s still on the loose, sir,” said Olvirsson. “We found a rental car on the far side of the hill, but he never came back to it. I assume he saw our men and withdrew.”

  “So he’s on foot,” said Einar. “Good. He’ll make his way to the Ring Road, of course.” Where else would he go?

  “I sent a truck to patrol the road to the south, between here and Mossfellsbær. And the Reykjavik resources are all activated and in position.”

  Einar nodded. “Very good.” The city was an excellent trap. It channeled an enemy into just a few avenues where he could be located and contained. Einar now had multiple screens in place between the intruder and the airport. He wouldn’t slip through.

  “The signals team flagged a mobile call through the tower here thirty-three minutes after the event. It went live, made one call, and vanished again.”

  Einar was considering the implications of that when the timer he had set on his phone hit zero and chimed at him. His team should be arriving at Keflavik. He looked over to the man holding the radio.

  “Keflavik?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said nervously. “Right here.”

  Einar took the radio. “This is Security Director Persson,” he said, crisply enunciating his syllables. “Who am I speaking with?”

  “This is Ingolfsson, sir,” came the reply. “We’re pulling in now, but I think we’re too late.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We have an asset in IFR control,” the man explained. “He just notified us that your tail number took off three minutes ago. Flight plan for Bergen, Norway.”

  Einar hissed through his teeth. That was disappointing. “Understood,” he said. “Carry on while you’re there. See if they’ve left us anything interesting.” But he knew the team would find nothing.

  He handed the radio back to its bearer. “Show me everywhere he was,” he said to Olvirsson. “We’ll start at the perimeter and work our way down to the catacombs.”

  They showed him the spot where the intruder had cut through the fence, where he’d attacked a power technician having an unauthorized evening smoke, the route they thought he’d taken to the supercomputer, but Einar was only partly paying attention. That was past. He might be able to glean some clues to the man’s thought processes, but Einar was more concerned with the future.

  The intruder was still out there, with the device he’d come for. If Einar could run him down before he got that device out of Iceland, he could contain the damage. So where was he? What was he thinking, and what was he doing?

  Einar knew the man had arrived by private jet, and he’d planned to escape the same way. But when things went wrong, he’d called and sent the plane away. Why?

  As far as Einar knew, only one thing had happened to change the tactical picture after the man had escaped from the complex. He’d learned that Einar’s men had found his car. That was a bit clumsy in retrospect. He was on foot now, and less mobile. But if those men had stayed hidden and let him reclaim the car, they could have taken him on the road. Now Einar didn’t know where he was. And the intruder would eventually have to acquire a car anyway, except now it could be any car on the road.

  But that must have been what triggered the call that warned the jet. Why? It would take him longer to get back to Keflavik without the car. Did he anticipate that they would identify the jet and reach it before he could? Everything the intruder did suggested he was very familiar with their capabilities, more so than Einar was comfortable with.

  If the man sent the jet away, he must have a backup plan. What was it? Einar nodded and made attentive noises as his people showed him the molten fragments of the plexiglass panel the intruder had blown out to escape the chamber. But his instincts were triggering. How was the intruder planning to escape without his plane? Almost every foreigner entered and left Iceland through Keflavik; it was hard to do so any other way. But he’d sent his plane away. Did he mean to try and get aboard a commercial flight?

  Suddenly, Einar recognized his flawed assumption. It was Reykjavik itself that held the danger for him, not losing the jet. If he meant to take his chances in the city, then it would be best to do it immediately, in hopes he could elude his pursuers before they could close the net. And if he was going to risk Reykjavik anyway, the jet remained his best chance of making it out of the country. Therefore, he wasn’t going to try to slip through Reykjavik later. He wasn’t going to Reykjavik at all.

  “Damn it!” he snapped suddenly, startling the technician trying to show him a damaged board they’d pulled from one of the racks. He strode quickly away to the elevators.

  “He’s not coming back here,” he shouted to Olvirsson. “All those men hanging around upstairs, get them on the roads. Send them north.”

  “North, sir?”

  “North. Keep the southern assets in place, but everyone else moves north.”

  The elevator opened, and Einar punched for the ground floor. Olvirsson was taking notes as the car rose.

  “Tell the signals team to look for police reports of stolen cars. And tell them to flag any new SIM cards registering on the cell network outside of Reykjavik.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Olvirsson. The doors slid open and Einar jogged through the lobby area as Olvirsson followed at his heels.

  “Where will you be, sir?”

  “Airborne,” said Einar. He burst through the front door and signaled to the pilot to spin up the rotors. “I’m going north.”

  Einar didn’t know what the man meant to do. But they already had people in place to intercept the intruder if he tried to make it through Reykjavik after all. He might as well play his hunch.

  Chapter 14

  Crane walked north, along the shoulder of the Ring Road. It was after 1:00 in the morning now, as dark as it was going to get. It was a little brighter than a full moon, with the dull glow of reflected sunlight along the horizon to his right. He’d been walking for more than an hour and hadn’t seen anything threatening. He hoped they were still looking for him to the south, around Reykjavik.

  He saw the asphalt brighten slightly at his feet before he heard the sound of the engine. He turned and stuck out one hand, thumb raised in the universal gesture. This might be some random motorist who might give him a ride, or it might be Datafall’s people searching for him. Either way, his best play was to look like a hitchhiking tourist. Of course, that would only get him so far if this was a Datafall patrol. Again, he cursed himself for losing the Sig Sauer.

  The headlights belonged to a Volvo truck, Crane realized as it came closer. FL series, red, marked with some cartoonish brand name Crane wasn’t sure how to pronounce. It slowed, creaked to a stop beside him, and the driver leaned over to open the passenger door. He was a gruff looking, middle-aged man with a scraggly beard and a plaid shirt. He said something in Icelandic.

  “Do you speak English?” Crane asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said the driver. “Get in, you’re letting the warm out.”

  Crane shrugged off his pack and climbed in. The boxy cab was strewn with papers and empty candy wrappers, but it was warm. It made Crane realize how cold it had gotten outside. He stuffed his pack down behind his legs in the footwell, and the truck lurched forward again.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m John.”

  “August,” said the driver. “Where in hell are you going in the dead of night? Out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Crane laughed. “I’m trying to get to Akureyri,” he said. “I was out hiking around Thingvellir, and I got…well, long story, but I missed my ship!”

  “Hah! The big cruise ship, eh? Yes, they will go without you. But your luck is getting better. I go to Akureyri. We’ll be there by morning.” He gestured over his shoulder to the back of the truck. “I make some stops alon
g the way for deliveries, but we’ll get you back to your ship, no problem.”

  “Much appreciated,” said Crane. “I’m happy to help unload if you’ll show me what goes where.”

  August grunted in acknowledgment. He drove in silence for a minute, then said, “We all speak English, you know.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “In Iceland. We learn it in school. And we grow up with American and English TV.”

  “I see,” said Crane. “I noticed I was getting along okay in English. Figured I was just finding the right people to talk to.”

  “No, no. Everyone,” said August. “Because of TV mostly. With the…um, we say ‘texti.’ What do you call them? The words on the bottom that tell you what they’re saying?”

  “Subtitles.”

  “Ah. Subtitles. We’re both learning something this trip. It’s good.”

  Crane wasn’t sure what good knowing the Icelandic word for subtitles would do him. On the other hand, he decided, he could totally see August at a bar somewhere showing off his new knowledge—pointing at the TV over the bar and bellowing, “Subtitles!”

  They made small talk as August drove, and the highway wound between various old volcanic remnants and the ocean. In a small town called Akranes they pulled into a gas station with a convenience store, and August opened the back of the truck to reveal cases of soda, candy, and various unhealthy snack foods. There were a couple battered hand trucks in the back as well, so Crane helped haul the store’s order inside.

  Then they were back on the highway again. Crane dug a granola bar out of his pack, and they shared it. August wasn’t hugely impressed. He produced something called a Kókosbolla and swore Crane would never want to leave Iceland once he’d tried it. It was a thin chocolate shell, rolled in coconut flour with some kind of white paste inside. Crane praised it since August clearly expected him to be impressed, but it wasn’t to his taste.

  They stopped again in Borgarnes, an even smaller town strung out along a narrow spit of land with the sea on either side. August pulled into a brightly lit gas station with a restaurant and shop attached—a curving, single story building of cast concrete that reminded Crane of a diner.

  “Another delivery, and we get some gas,” said August. Crane helped him haul the candy and drinks again. When he was finished, Crane saw that August was flirting with the woman behind the counter. He slipped outside to the parking lot and powered up the backup phone he’d bought. He dialed the Celebrity customer service number and introduced himself as Peter Drew. They looked up his reservation number and noted he’d failed to join the ship in Reykjavik.

  “Yes, I’m afraid there was a situation that kept me longer than I planned. It’s resolved now, however, and I’ll be able to join the ship at Akureyri.”

  They reassured him that that would be fine, and he hung up just as August emerged from the shop.

  “You coming?” August bellowed.

  Crane trotted over to the truck and climbed in. His backup plan was in place and working, he thought as August started the engine and pulled back out onto the Ring Road. He was invisible here in the truck. He would make it to Akureyri by morning, thanks to August who was turning out to be a surprisingly pleasant traveling companion. He would simply join the crowd of tourists that would flood the town and then follow them back to the ship.

  “So, the woman running the store,” said Crane.

  “Lilija.”

  “Yeah, I think she’s into you, man.”

  August roared with laughter, and the truck drove on into the night.

  Chapter 15

  Einar Persson strode back and forth on the ramp in his tuxedo while his crew refueled the helicopter. That had been eight hundred liters of aviation fuel burned for nothing, he thought. The man he was searching for had simply dropped off the map. There had been no reports of movement from the southern teams, the dragnet of people he had around Reykjavik and guarding the highway to Keflavik. His spotters on the Ring Road to the north were reporting nothing. And Einar understood why. He’d burned most of that eight hundred liters of fuel flying around the Ring Road himself, and he’d seen nothing. It was the dead of night. There was no traffic at all. There was nowhere for his quarry to hide.

  So then where the hell was he?

  Einar glanced up at the sky. Cloud cover was rolling in. It was almost 2:00 a.m. now. The sun would be rising in another hour, but it was going to be a gray day. In more ways than one. The executive board already knew what had happened, of course. They’d have been informed immediately of a brushfire event, even if it meant pulling them out of bed. But they’d be pretending otherwise for the time being. They’d give him a chance to bring the situation under control before they intervened. But by morning, it would be impossible for them to remain uninvolved. He’d have to report on the situation, and it would be better if he had good news for them.

  An airport worker glanced over at Einar as he walked by. He realized how out of place he looked standing here in his tuxedo, but he hadn’t had time to change yet. He’d have to have a spare duty uniform brought out to him somewhere. Of course, he didn’t know where he was going to be. This was a mess, he thought.

  His phone buzzed. It was the signals team. Thank God, thought Einar as he answered it. Perhaps some good news at last.

  “What have you got?” he said.

  “New SIM on the network, sir,” said the voice at the other end. “It registered, made one overseas call, then went dark again.”

  Einar felt a quick rush of adrenaline. That was his man. He had him.

  “Where?”

  “Call was placed six minutes ago, from Borgarnes.”

  “Borgarnes? Are we sure about that?”

  “Yes, sir, location near the Ring Road in central Borgarnes.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course you’re sure. Who did he call?”

  “Call was placed to an 800 number. It maps to a call center run by Celebrity Cruise Lines.”

  A cruise ship! Of course! There had been a huge white cruise liner docked at Skarfabakki harbor that morning, but it had left by mid-afternoon. It would be bound for Akureyri where it would spend a day before leaving Icelandic waters. That was his backup plan. He was making for Akureyri.

  “Thank you,” he told the signals team operator. “Keep watching and let me know if it activates again. And tell your team they’ve done well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Einar slipped his phone back into his jacket and strode toward the helicopter.

  “How soon can we be airborne?” he shouted at the pilot.

  “Five minutes, sir!”

  Einar nodded and stood impatiently by as the crew topped off the tanks. He wanted to be moving, but he knew it was wise to have as much fuel as he could carry. It gave him more options, especially up north where aviation fuel would be harder to find on short notice.

  Something still bothered him. He checked his watch again. What the hell was the man doing in Borgarnes? It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have walked all the way there. He must have gotten his hands on a car somehow. But if he had a car, he should be halfway to Akureyri by now. What was keeping him?

  As the helicopter lifted off into the pre-dawn twilight, he still couldn’t make sense of it. He wished they had a police report of a stolen car someplace. It would at least give them a make and model to look for. But at this time of night, it was likely the car’s owner wouldn’t notice it missing for hours.

  Still, they had a position and a direction now. That was something he could work with. The positions of Einar’s men were charted on a ruggedized tablet clipped to the helicopter’s bulkhead. He pulled it down. There was a blinking dot on the Ring Road in Bifröst, about 30 kilometers north of Borgarnes. He switched the radio handset to the proper frequency.

  “Spotter team eight,” he said, “Come in.”

  A moment later the radio crackled. “Team eight, sir.”

  “Stay alert. He’s coming your way.”


  “Do you have a vehicle ID, sir?” the spotter asked.

  “No,” said Einar. “But he just left Borgarnes, headed north. He should reach you in less than 30 minutes.”

  “He’ll be easy to spot, sir. There’s been no traffic at all out here but a few commercial trucks.”

  “When you spot him, contact me. Keep eyes on him and guide us in. We’re headed for your position now.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Einar closed the channel and sat back in his seat, thinking. The spotter team would pick him up. The helicopter would have him on the scene in minutes. By the time he had to report to the executive board, he’d have the man and he would have recovered the data. The brushfire event would be history, and they could focus on damage control and improving their counter-intrusion techniques.

  Still, something kept nagging at the back of his mind. What had kept him? Had he been forced to walk farther than Einar expected before he found a car to steal…or a truck?

  Commercial delivery trucks. That was what the spotters were seeing because they owned the roads at this time of night. They serviced the little grocery stores and gas stations in the settlements strung around the Ring Road. They drove from one town to the next, and then they stopped to unload cargo. It would take them longer to cover the distance than a man in a car trying to escape from pursuers.

  That was why there had been no stolen car reports to track down. He hadn’t stolen a car at all. He’d hitched a ride with a trucker. Einar pulled a map book from the pouch on the bulkhead and flipped to the appropriate page. The timing was right, he realized. A trucker who stopped in Akranes, and then again in Borgarnes, for twenty to thirty minutes in both places. Of course! Of course. They were looking for a truck.