by Mark Parragh
So letting Halla take him to the police wasn’t really an option. But that left the question of how he was going to stop her. He certainly wasn’t going to attack her. It might come to taking the Sako away from her and locking her up someplace. But of course that would just convince her that he was exactly the dangerous criminal that Datafall’s people were painting him as.
He still didn’t have an answer he was happy with when he noticed Halla slowing. He looked up and realized the Land Rover was negotiating a curve at the top of a low rise. The road descended in a gentle sweep past a farm driveway and swept behind another low rise where the river curved in a lazy oxbow to the left. Beyond that, it intersected with another rural road, and at that intersection were two trucks. One was another of Datafall’s black Suburbans. The other was an aged Toyota 4Runner that obviously belonged to one of the local farmers. The Suburban was blocking the road, while the Toyota had pulled off and parked on the shoulder.
Halla was braking, looking at the trucks with concern. Crane noted two black-clad figures in the road. At least one carried an automatic weapon.
“Don’t stop,” he said. “You’re visible. Turn into the driveway.”
“That’s Gunnar Steinsson’s truck,” she said. “What is going on here? It’s like an invasion.”
She pulled into the driveway and drove toward the farmhouse.
They were stopping and searching vehicles. It was a logical strategy, Crane thought. They’d lost track of him, so they threw up a net designed to contain him. Iceland’s limited road network was perfect for it. There were only so many ways he could go.
“What are we doing here?” Halla said as they pulled up in front of the farmhouse. There were no other vehicles around. It looked like nobody was home. Crane peered out the back windows, and decided they weren’t visible from the intersection here.
“We’re deciding what to do,” said Crane. “They should have searched Gunnar’s truck and let him go when they saw I wasn’t in it.”
Halla grinned. “Oh, Gunnar won’t have stood by for that.”
Crane shook his head. “Well let’s hope he hasn’t gotten himself killed.”
She looked at him in frank disbelief. “They wouldn’t.”
“They already have, I told you. We need to find out if your friend’s okay and help him. Do you understand me?”
She nodded.
“All right, they’ve seen the Land Rover. They were at Mori’s place, so they’ve seen it before. They know it doesn’t belong here.”
They could pull out and head back the way they came. That might make sense to the watchers on the road. Mori had come to see whoever lived here and was now going back home. But it got Crane no closer to escaping the country, and it didn’t help this Gunnar Steinsson. Crane didn’t know what he’d done to get himself in trouble with Datafall’s people, but now they’d effectively kidnapped a local. Crane had seen that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill an innocent if necessary to cover up other crimes.
“Drive back out and head to the intersection. When we pass behind that embankment, I’m going to bail out. You drive up slow, you keep them busy. What are you doing here, who do you think you are—just keep them distracted. I’ll circle around behind them and see if I can find your friend.”
“Or you could just run away and leave us to them,” she said.
“No, I can’t. They’re out here because I stirred them up. They’re my mess. Now let’s go.”
Crane tossed his pack into the back seat and slid down into the foot well.
Halla considered him for a long moment. Then she put the Land Rover noisily into gear and threw it into a three-point turn.
She drove out to the end of the driveway and stopped, as if looking for oncoming traffic. But she was looking down the slope to the pair of trucks. Crane could tell the men guarding the intersection had spotted them. In his mind he kept an image of the road down to the checkpoint at the intersection. He visualized the sweeping curve, the point where they’d be briefly invisible to the armed team, the route down into the river channel.
“John Crane,” Halla said, her voice suddenly thick. He looked up and saw her turning to reach into the back seat. She came back holding the Sako and thrust it at him, stock first. “If you play me false, I swear…”
Crane nodded and took the rifle. Then Halla pulled out and drove slowly down the hillside toward the waiting Datafall team.
Chapter 28
As they rolled around the curve, Halla hit the brake and slowed to a fast walk.
“Now,” she hissed.
Crane opened the door. As he swung out of the Land Rover, he looked back and met her eyes. He saw the fear in them, the hope she wasn’t making a mistake by trusting him. Then he hit the pavement, ran a few steps to keep his balance, and dashed for the side of the road. Behind him, the door swung shut again, and Halla hit the gas. The Land Rover sputtered a bit and disappeared around the curve.
Crane crawled over the bank and dropped down into the river channel, landing at the edge of the water. The river looked cold and impossibly pure. He leaned back against the bank and checked the Sako. Halla had taken good care of it. There were five rounds in the magazine. The rifle’s carbon fiber stock made it surprisingly light. Crane held it in one hand and made his way down the water’s edge.
The river was calm here but quick, fed by dozens of small streams that tumbled down the steep slopes of the valley. Crane walked on bare earth, and occasionally had to wade into the water. It was as cold as he expected. He wished he could hear what was going on up on the road, but the rushing water was like white noise, drowning more distant sounds.
Crane followed the river around a sweeping curve until he was sure he was past the Datafall checkpoint. The steep bank formed a natural rampart. He stood and his eyes were more or less at ground level. He was about thirty yards past the trucks, he realized. The farmer’s 4Runner was closest to him, facing him on the other side of the road. The Suburban was farther up and facing away from him.
Halla had stopped her Land Rover several yards from the roadblock and let them come to her. She was still in the driver’s seat talking with one of them. That one had only a pistol on his belt. The other one held an MP5 and stood in the middle of the road several yards back. The submachine gun wasn’t exactly pointed at her, but it was ready for use, and the man’s stance and the way he held the gun sent a clear message.
Halla and the man at her window were arguing in Icelandic, and the one with the gun was watching them closely. Crane quietly lay the rifle down on the bank and pulled himself up. He rolled up over the edge and lay on the ground. From here he had a clear field of fire, but he really didn’t want to shoot these men if it could be avoided. He wanted Halla’s help, and even though she’d given him the rifle, slaughtering two men was unlikely to ease her fears. If he wounded one or both of them, he couldn’t simply leave them here to die. They’d have to summon medical help at that point, which meant police and a lot of difficult questions.
All of which meant the rifle wasn’t nearly as much of an asset as it might have been.
In the meantime, Halla was getting angrier in the driver’s seat of the Land Rover. She was giving him a distraction, and he needed to make the most of it. They needed to figure out what had happened to her friend who owned the Toyota. Crane got to his feet and dashed across the road behind the two guards. There he hit the dirt again and crawled as quickly as he could toward the roadblock until the 4Runner’s body hid him.
He heard the Land Rover’s rattling old engine sputter a few times and stop. Then the door creaked open. He rose up to peer over the Toyota’s hood. Halla was out on the road beside the Land Rover now. He couldn’t understand either of them, but the tone was growing more tense. The one with the SMG was focused on them.
Crane edged back along the far side of the Toyota. It was well used. Like the Land Rover, the front seats were cracked. There was a coffee-stained plastic travel mug on the dash, and what looked like a day�
��s mail on the passenger seat.
He crept a few more steps until he could see into the back. The rear seats held only a well-used dog blanket. But in the back of the 4Runner, curled up among a set of jumper cables, a plastic bucket, and various other supplies, was a very angry looking farmer. His wrists were secured behind his back with zip ties. They’d secured his ankles as well, meaning they’d either done this to him in the back of the truck, or they’d had to pick him up and throw him back there. His mouth was covered in his own duct tape.
The man—Gunnar, Crane remembered—looked up at Crane in fear. Crane tried to look reassuring and put a finger to his lips. Gunnar furiously cocked his head in the direction of the Land Rover and the Datafall team. He could hear Halla arguing, and if he was her friend, he probably knew her disposition and where things were likely to lead.
Crane nodded and sank back down out of sight. Off this side of the road was an old stone sheep sorting pen. Crane scrambled off the road and rolled over the top of the wall. Here he had better cover. He moved back until he had a better view of the Datafall men between the two vehicles.
It didn’t take Halla long to irritate them. Suddenly the one talking to her stepped back and drew his pistol. He started barking orders in Icelandic. The other one slung his submachine gun over his shoulder and pulled a handful of zip ties off his belt. Perfect.
Crane rechecked the rifle as they walked Halla back to the Suburban. One held the pistol on her while the other opened the back door. Apparently, the plan was to put her in the car while they moved the Land Rover off the road.
Crane sighted down the Sako’s barrel and pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked and the window of the Suburban’s open rear door exploded into glittering fragments of safety glass.
All three of them flinched. The one with the pistol whirled, looking for the shooter. The one with the SMG fumbled his handful of zip ties and scrabbled to get the gun off his shoulder. Crane worked the bolt to chamber another round and fired again. This time he blew out the front side window and spider webbed the windshield.
“That’s enough!” he shouted. “Next one goes down the middle.”
The one struggling with his slung SMG immediately stopped and put his hands out to his sides. The other one, with the drawn pistol, started to move toward Halla. Crane stood and pointed the Sako at him.
“Stop!” he shouted.
The man considered his chances for a moment. Then he swore in Icelandic—at least Crane assumed that from the tone—and let the gun dangle in his hand. Halla took it from him and backed several steps away. She covered the pair with the pistol while Crane climbed out of the sheep pen and approached.
“Gunnar?” Halla said.
“In back,” Crane said, cocking his head toward the 4Runner. “He’s okay, but he looks pretty pissed off.”
“I bet he does,” she said with a laugh.
Once they’d disarmed and searched both men, they trussed them up in the back of the Suburban with their own zip ties. Crane pulled the Suburban off onto the shoulder while Halla freed Gunnar.
They had a quick conversation in Icelandic, then Gunnar turned to Crane and switched to thickly accented English.
“What in God’s name is happening?” he asked. “Thank you. I am Gunnar.”
“They were looking for me, I’m afraid,” said Crane.
“This I know!” Gunnar said pacing around, waving his hands in agitation and rubbing his forearms to get the circulation moving again. “They asked all about a foreign man. Had I seen him? Was anything gone from my farm? Then they want to search my truck! I don’t care for this. Strangers with guns telling me to get out, telling me what to do. I don’t put up with this.”
He gave Crane a sheepish glance. “But you see how that ended up. Thank you for saving me.”
“I’m glad to help,” said Crane. “I’m just sorry I got them so stirred up. They’re criminals, and I have proof of their crimes. That’s why they’re so desperate to find me.”
Gunnar glanced at Halla, perhaps wondering if she believed this.
“Gunnar, do you have your mobile?” she asked.
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
“Call Matti. Tell him I’m going to the airfield, and he should meet us there. I need him to fly this man to Akureyri.”
They made sure Gunnar was recovered, then said their goodbyes. When they were back in the Land Rover, heading toward Blönduós, Crane asked Halla, “Do you actually believe me now?”
She glanced over at him. “These men chasing you are bad men for certain,” said Halla. “I don’t know what you are, John Crane. But you said one thing that is true. The sooner you are gone, the safer everyone will be.”
Chapter 29
Akureyri Airport
Einar swore under his breath. His team’s secure handsets weren’t working here. Akureyri might be the second largest city in Iceland, but that wasn’t saying much. It was a provincial town of fewer than 20,000 people clustered at the end of the country’s longest fjord, where open water gave way to marshy river delta. Datafall had never operated here.
He’d been at the outer fringes of the company’s private encrypted radio network before. Here, Einar had nothing. No radio network. No waiting Suburbans full of security men. No support at all. He was undermanned and unequipped. The stranger had managed to strip away most of his advantages and level the playing field.
Einar strode around the helicopter and surveyed the airport. There was a single runway, built on landfill extending out into the fjord. There were no gates or jetways. The planes pulled up, and passengers walked to and from the terminal. Air Iceland provided ground handling and there was a maintenance company, a small flight school, a coffee and sandwich shop, and four car rental companies inside the terminal. An arc of old airplanes sat at the far edge of the field surrounding a large hangar called the Icelandic Aviation Museum. That was more or less what there was. It didn’t give Einar much to work with.
He had two of his security men, and he had the helicopter’s two-man flight crew, though they weren’t trained soldiers. The two security men, Nils and Rikard, were the ones who’d come to find him in Harpa. Einar thought back to the music, the scent of the woman at his side. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. Einar had been enjoying the fruits of his position that night, a position he’d put much time and energy into building. Now, that all hung by a thread. Even if he stopped the intruder here and recovered the data, his reputation with the board had taken a major hit. It would take him a long time to rebuild what this man had cost him. He would start repairing his reputation by killing the thief. Slowly, so he could find out all there was to know about who he was and why he had come.
Einar gathered his men near the helicopter and laid out his battle strategy. Without coverage for their radios, they’d have to communicate over the public network using personal mobiles. “Be careful what you say,” he told them. “Open channel protocols.”
He sent the helicopter’s aircrew into the town itself, about three kilometers away, and told them to simply watch the streets. They weren’t prepared for this. They’d just get in the way or, more likely given the target’s abilities, get themselves killed and cause him even more trouble with the Board of Directors. He’d considered whether to issue them pistols from the helicopter’s weapons locker, but ultimately decided that wouldn’t help. More eyes on the battlefield was the best he could hope for from them. If he was lucky, one of them would spot the target coming into town and provide some warning.
Einar and his two men would patrol the airport itself. Reaching Akureyri gained the man nothing. If he wanted to get out of the country, he’d have to come to the airport. This was where they’d take him.
The briefing trailed off as Einar realized there wasn’t much more he could say. Einar was a strategist, and strategy was about the most effective use of your resources. He simply didn’t have very many resources anymore. From here, the battle would come down to his personal skills and instincts and those
of his men. He could tell they sensed his mood. This had shaken their confidence in him, too. He’d been an almost mythic figure to them, but now the stranger had bloodied his nose and shown that it could be done.
His only possible response was to fall back on his most basic leadership skills. Project confidence, assume orders will be obeyed without question. Remain calm and assured. Keep the nagging uncertainty and fear of what the worst case could mean well out of sight.
“That’s it, then,” he told them. “Everyone to your patrol areas. Text me every fifteen minutes.”
They hurried off, and Einar watched them leave. They were playing defense now, protecting their goal here at the airport. To get out of Iceland, the stranger would have to get past him. And Einar was prepared to do whatever it took to make sure that didn’t happen.
Chapter 30
The ferry took Georges to a tiny village on Iceland’s northern coast called Dalvik, and from there he caught a bus to Akureyri. Georges suspected they wouldn’t have time for all that on the way back out. He made his way to the small harbor and walked along the waterfront, looking for boats. He checked all the piers, talked with anybody with a boat that looked remotely seaworthy, and let Josh’s money speak clearly.
Eventually he found a Captain with a fishing boat. His crew had already brought in the day’s haul and gone home, but the Captain could operate the boat alone, and for a price he was willing to take them to Grimsey. It was a pretty significant price, and Georges was pretty sure that, once again, he was being taken advantage of. But that was the position he was in, and Josh could afford it.
