Dancing With Mortality (16 page)

She grinned. ‘Perhaps there isn’t one. You need to find your
own meaning. I find it mostly in my music. For you, it will be something
different I guess.’

Yes, he thought, that makes a kind of sense. Where was the
meaning in his existence? Not in his work, that was for sure.

‘I’m sorry about your hepatitis, Harry. Didn’t mean to
lecture you with philosophy.’

‘That’s ok. It’s funny, I thought so much about Nat’s death
and the meaninglessness of it, and never stopped to think about my own. Stupid
of me.’

The traffic was speeding up again, the unseen obstacle
restraining it now gone. Sabine accelerated through the gears and they were
soon back at cruising speed.

‘My turn,’ said Sabine. ‘Tell me about your wife. What’s her
name, what does she do?’

Harry was happy enough to change the subject, for now at
least.

Near Hamburg they found an Autobahn
service area and stopped for lunch. The opportunity to move around was a
welcome relief after nearly six straight hours of driving. After lunch Sabine
squeezed the saxophone into the boot and stretched out on the back seat for a
cat nap. Harry took the wheel, heading for Puttgarden and the ferry to Denmark,
and less than two hours later he was queuing to load the car on for the 4pm
crossing. Sabine woke up as the Golf rumbled into the hold to take its place in
the neat line of vehicles ahead.

‘Here already?’ She yawned and sat up.

‘Yes. It only takes 45 minutes to get across. Want to go up
on deck?’

As the ferry pulled away they made their way to the stern.
Puttgarden was part of the German island of Fehmarn, and the receding landscape
behind the port was completely flat and covered with a dusting of snow over
what looked like nothing but farmland as far as the eye could see. Day was
giving way to dusk in an overcast sky, and a crisp breeze grazed their faces as
they stared into the fading light.

‘Snow at last,’ said Harry. Until he’d driven across the
bridge connecting Fehmarn to the mainland, it had been snowless. ‘Wonder how
long it’s been here.’

‘Let’s go back down,’ said Sabine, ‘it’s freezing. There
will be plenty of snow for you to look at later.’

They spent the remainder of the crossing in the car, as did
most other people. An announcement 15 minutes away from Denmark ordered all
drivers to their vehicles, then the next significant sound was the powerful
reverse thrust of the engines as they manoeuvered into port.

It was dark as they exited the hold and followed the other
cars out of the harbour area. Copenhagen was clearly signposted and the traffic
on the E47 flowed smoothly. Harry was about to resume Autobahn speed when he
realised he was in the wrong country. He eased off the accelerator, looking for
signs.

‘It’s 80kph,’ said Sabine, reading his mind.

Two hours later they were approaching Copenhagen.

‘Now all we need is a hotel,’ he said.

They found one in the Vesterbro district, ‘the coolest part
of town’ according to the receptionist, who looked surprised when Harry asked
for two single rooms. He recovered sufficiently to suggest two with an
adjoining door, which Sabine pronounced as perfect, and having settled that
they took the lift to the third floor, trailing one suitcase each plus a
saxophone.

His room was large and furnished in solid Scandinavian wood,
with a big free-standing wardrobe he thought he might get lost in, a
comfortable armchair, a writing desk and a king-size double bed. Tall french
doors led on to a small balcony overlooking a side street. He took a shower
under an enormous showerhead set directly overhead, which completely enveloped
him in a luxurious steaming downpour. He liked Denmark already.

Emerging refreshed, he dressed and sat at the desk,
contemplating his mobile. He wondered if he was being paranoid in wanting it
switched off. Would Jack Hudson be interested in his movements now that
attention had moved away from Sabine? And if Sophie tried to call she would
worry if he didn’t answer or return her messages. He turned it on, and received
an immediate text message welcoming him to Denmark, followed by two missed call
notifications, both from Sophie.

‘As I thought,’ he muttered, hitting the call back option.

‘Sorry I missed your calls,’ he began when she picked up.
‘You ok?’

‘Is there anything I should know?’ Her tone was icy.

‘Like what?’

‘What you’re doing in Lanzarote would be a good start.’

He felt a stab of apprehension. ‘What makes you think I’m in
Lanzarote?’

‘I wanted to talk to you about coming over to Frankfurt on
Friday night, I thought we could go to the Christmas market there. When I
couldn’t get you I rang your London office to get the Frankfurt number. And
guess what? They told me you were on holiday. I felt like a first class idiot
when I heard that.’

Much the same as I feel now, he thought. ‘I’m in Copenhagen,
actually.’ It seemed pointless to maintain the fiction any further. ‘I didn’t
want the office to know what I was up to, that’s all.’

Now she was hurt. ‘Or me. What are you up to?’

He sighed. ‘It’s about Ireland. I got some information and
I’m checking it out. I didn’t want to worry you with it either. In fact I’ll be
back in Frankfurt this weekend, we can still...’

‘Not Ireland, Harry,’ she interjected. ‘Can’t you just let
that go? What is there possibly left to find out about 20 years later? And in
Denmark?’

Her exasperation was completely understandable, he had no
ready answer. Before he could think of one he was interrupted.

‘Harry?’ Sabine had come into the room. If she’d knocked on
the connecting door he hadn’t heard her. Sophie heard her clearly enough.

‘Who’s that?’ she demanded, and in the short pause that
followed she reached her own conclusion. ‘You bastard.’ She hung up.

Harry sat, head in hands. ‘Oh shit,’ he murmured. Then he
rounded on Sabine. ‘Can’t you knock first?’ he said, in a steadily rising
voice.

‘I did.’ She was clearly upset. ‘I thought we weren’t using
our phones.’

‘What? Well it was definitely a bloody stupid idea for me to
use mine. That was my wife. Do you know what she thinks now?’

Sabine didn’t reply, and he glared at her from his seat at
the desk. She stood just a few steps into the room, and he saw the hurt on her
face. His anger evaporated.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘I’m going back to my room now. When you calm down I would
like to go out to dinner with you. If you don’t come and get me in 20 minutes
I’ll go without you.’ With her poise and some semblance of dignity restored,
she gave him a last cool look of dismissal and left the room.

He slumped back in the chair feeling somewhat chastened. He
spent the next ten minutes wondering how on earth he could explain all this to
Sophie, but came up short. There was too much he hadn’t told her already, and
she wouldn’t be in the mood to discuss it rationally right now anyway. He
decided to put it on hold for 24 hours. In the meantime there was someone next
door he needed to pacify.

He knocked gently on the connecting door and waited for an
answer. When she responded he went in, apologised once more and suggested to
her that he was feeling a little stressed, and if she would forgive him and let
him take her out to dinner he would behave like a grown up for the rest of the
evening. She smiled a little at the last part, and to his relief allowed
herself to be persuaded.

There was no shortage of restaurants nearby. The district
was obviously popular with students and artistic types, and a few ladies in
thigh high boots and tight short skirts graced the odd street corner. Over
dinner he told Sabine of Sophie’s ignorance about this trip and its purpose,
hence her less than gracious reaction to Sabine’s presence. She agreed that he
had a lot of fences to mend, and was sorry Sophie had misunderstood.

‘Whatever Michael wants to show me better be worth all this
grief,’ he said.

‘We’ll know soon enough. This time tomorrow we will be on
the train to Kiruna. Not long to wait.’

Back at the hotel he lay in bed wondering what he would do
once he knew the identity of Nat’s killer. Shoot him? He’d already had occasion
to point a gun at the man he thought responsible 20 years ago, and he’d not
pulled the trigger. He put it out of his mind and sent Sophie a text, saying
they needed to talk. An hour later there was no answer forthcoming, and he fell
into a restless sleep.

Denmark to Sweden proved a welcome
diversion. From the Danish side they entered a four kilometer tunnel and
emerged on to the Öresund Bridge, which extended across the Öresund Strait for
a further eight kilometers into Malmö in Sweden. It was a spectacular feat of
engineering, and a pleasure to drive across once Harry had paid the expensive
toll charge. The sun played across the strait below them, and he found the
glittering water a calming antidote to the angst of the previous evening.

They arrived in Stockholm six hours later, and made straight
for the Central Station, where Harry bought two sleeper tickets for the 6pm
train, while Sabine parked the car. They had a couple of hours to kill and
Sabine consulted the travel guide, looking for a jazz club she thought was
nearby.

‘Yes, about ten minutes walk from here,’ she said,
pinpointing the address on the city map. ‘It’s called “Fasching”. I think they
have jam sessions quite regularly, so when we get back I want to visit it.’

‘I thought “Fasching” was a carnival.’

‘Now it’s a jazz club too.’

With the help of the guide they found the place, which was
closed, and then retired to a nearby bistro for an hour before doing some quick
shopping for thermal underwear, snow boots, and a thick Winter jacket for
Harry. Sabine had come pre-equipped. With a detour to the car park to retrieve
their cases, they made it back to Stockholm Central with 15 minutes to spare
and boarded the train.

Harry checked the tickets. ‘We’re sharing one compartment,
hope you don’t mind. It was cheaper that way.’

She was unruffled. ‘No, does it have two beds?’

He laughed. ‘Of course. And a shower and toilet.’

‘That could be a little tricky.’

‘We’ll work something out. Follow me.’

It had been dark for three hours already when the train
pulled out.

‘Is Michael expecting us?’ asked Harry.

‘Yes, I texted him while you were buying the tickets. He
will meet us. I’d like to take a shower now.’

‘Ok, I’ll get out of your way for a while. Meet me in the
bar, if you like, when you’re ready.’

‘Don’t drink too much, Harry. It won’t mix with your drugs.’

He walked down the corridor to the bar, the lights of the
city flashing past the windows like shooting stars. He pulled out his phone
looking for a response from Sophie, but there were no incoming messages. Not a
good sign, he thought. When he found the bar he ordered a large lemonade
although a Scotch was his preferred choice. He’d hoped that one or two drinks
would help anaesthetize the culpability he felt, deserved or otherwise.
Anaesthetised or not, there was nothing he could do about the situation until
later. Right now he had a reunion to look forward to.

It was still dark when they arrived.
The train pulled in at 8am, and when they stepped onto the platform the world
had turned white. Thick snow covered the station roof, and the platform itself
was one long white carpet. Beyond the confines of the station lights it was
still too dark to see anything else. The wheels of Harry’s case jammed with
clinging snow as he dragged it determinedly towards the station entrance. He
left it just outside then went back to help Sabine, whose case was somewhat
larger and was resisting her best efforts to shift it.

They stood in the ticket office while the other passengers
swept by, and ten minutes later they were in sole possession of the place.

‘Has he forgotten us?’ said Harry.

Sabine didn’t answer. She must feel nervous he thought,
meeting him again after all this time. He stamped his feet, now firmly encased
in snow boots and thermal socks, and walked back out to the platform. The train
had gone and it was eerily quiet. He went back inside, wondering what the
temperature was, and when the sun would rise.

Sabine had company. They were sitting together on a bench
close to the exit. He had his arm around her and Harry thought she might have
been crying. He felt loth to intrude, but then Michael looked up and saw him.
They locked eyes, and for a moment Harry was transported back to a Belfast
church, and the rage of that day touched him fleetingly then flickered out. He
crossed the floor and extended his gloved hand. ‘Hello, Michael.’

Michael stood up. The pale blue eyes hadn’t changed, the
black hair was flecked with gray, and he was still a well built man, his bulk
perhaps exaggerated by the thick jacket and trousers. His face had acquired a
few lines, but it was unmistakeably the face of the man Harry had met so many
years ago.

They shook. ‘Welcome to Sweden, Harry.’

Then they were all lost for words for a while. Sabine wiped
her eyes and Michael took her case and led them out to the car, a Volvo Estate.
Sabine took the front seat and Harry settled himself in back behind her. They
drove down a snow laden road, the headlights sweeping past fir trees on either
side, their branches frosty and white. There was no breeze, and the stillness
of the quiet, frozen landscape was spellbinding. Harry broke the spell.

‘How on earth did you end up here?’

Michael laughed. ‘It’s a long story. I came to Stockholm in
the mid-eighties, and met Ingrid. We got married a year later, and we stayed in
Stockholm for a while. But she has family here in Kiruna, and we decided to
move up here in 1990. I got a job as a shift supervisor at the mine. It has the
advantage of being remote, and I thought I could live here undisturbed.’

‘And so you have,’ said Harry.

‘Until now. I think that may be changing.’

‘What’s she like?’ asked Sabine.

‘Ingrid? Blonde, Swedish, happy. I’m lucky.’

‘No children?’

‘No, she didn’t want kids. I didn’t mind too much.’

They drove on for another 15 minutes then Michael turned
down a side road and five minutes later they arrived at a two-storey wooden
house painted a deep red, and fronted with a white verandah. It was surrounded
by trees, and if there were neighbours they weren’t close by. Michael turned
into a small driveway, and cut the engine.

‘Before we go in, there are a few things you should know. First,
I’m Michael Sullivan now, just for the record. Second, Ingrid knows everything
– the IRA, Siobhan, the lot. She married me in spite of all that. And she knows
you’re here because of my past, but that’s all. Just be discreet about what you
say in front of her, I don’t want her upset.’

‘Right, will do,’ replied Harry.

‘I forgot something.’ Michael looked at Sabine. ‘She knows
about you too.’ He smiled at Sabine’s obvious concern. ‘It’s ok, she isn’t the
jealous type.’

‘Really,’ replied Sabine with a quick smile of her own. ‘How
do you know?’

Ingrid was certainly blonde and
happy, and probably in her mid to late thirties, thought Harry. She was well
built like her husband, tall and broad-shouldered, and she moved with an
athlete’s confident grace. Her blue eyes fixed the new arrivals with a quiet
curiosity, and she seemed genuinely pleased to see them. She’d even made them
breakfast.

‘Please,’ she said, gesturing to the dining table. ‘It’s
typical Swedish food, hope you don’t mind that.’

There was cereal and dark bread, to be topped with pickles,
tomatoes, cucumber, cheese, cuts of ham, and slices of fish, and a large glass
of Lingonberry juice. And plenty of coffee. Harry was ravenous, he attacked the
meal with gusto. Ingrid excused herself as she’d already eaten, and the three
of them were left alone.

‘When does it get light around here?’ asked Sabine.

‘At this time of year we get light between 10am and 1pm.
It’s a strange kind of light, the sun doesn’t get above the horizon, and the
light comes from reflections in the air and from the snow. You’ll see for
yourself soon.’

‘Not sure I could live in perpetual darkness,’ said Harry.

‘You get used to it. It’s completely dark in January. But
then in June and July the sun doesn’t set and you get the other extreme. How
long are you here for?’

‘Two days at most.’

Michael thought for a bit. ‘Better make the most of it then.
I have a plan of sorts. Today I’d like some time to talk to you privately,
Harry.’

‘Fine with me. What about Sabine?’

‘Ingrid wants to take Sabine to the Ice Hotel, it’s not far
from here.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Sabine. ‘I hope you two won’t
lock yourselves away all day though.’

‘We just need a few hours, we’ll be done by the time you get
back. Then we can have an evening eating and drinking like normal people.’

Breakfast was done. Michael began clearing away, and Ingrid
reappeared to show her guests where they’d be sleeping. She took them upstairs.

‘We only have two bedrooms,’ she said. ‘Can you share?’

‘We seem to manage,’ replied Sabine. Harry made no comment.

Ingrid left them to unpack. The room was ensuite, but
contained only one double bed.

‘Perhaps he’s got a camp bed I can use,’ said Harry.

‘You can always ask. I don’t mind sharing with you, Harry.
I’ll wear something if that helps.’

He laughed. ‘Ok, it’s only for two nights at most I guess.’

Ingrid came back with a fur-lined hat and a thick pair of
gloves for Sabine to try on.

‘You need to make sure your ears are covered,’ she said.
‘You need a warmer jacket?’

Sabine thought the jacket she already had would suffice. The
hat fitted perfectly, and the two women disappeared downstairs. Shortly
afterwards he heard the Volvo start up, and they were gone.

He went back to the dining room, where Michael sat waiting.

‘Fancy a drive?’

‘In what exactly?’ asked Harry. ‘You have another car hidden
away?’

‘Follow me.’

Harry grabbed his jacket and boots and they headed towards
the back door. Michael produced another ear-covering hat for him and then took
a coat from its hook by the door.

‘Try this, Harry. It’s reindeer.’

Harry dropped his jacket and put on the reindeer
replacement. The fur-lined exterior was further insulated on the inside by a
thick woollen lining. It was a good fit.

‘They’re perfect for this climate,’ said Michael. ‘We get
them from the Sami people up here. They herd reindeer all over the Arctic
Circle.’

Now identically attired, they stepped outside. There was a
thermometer tacked to the wall, and Michael stopped to take a look.

‘Minus 12 today. Not too cold.’

Harry followed in his footsteps through the fir trees into a
cleared area with what looked like a small garage. Michael opened the door to
reveal two snowmobiles inside.

‘Ever driven one of these?’ he enquired.

‘Never.’

‘Throttle on the right, brake on the left. It’s a bit like
riding a motorbike. I’ll get them out.’

Harry mounted his snowmobile and then, gingerly engaging the
throttle, he followed Michael along a path to the road. They went away from the
direction of the main road, into a forest of white firs, then they took another
turn and the road became a track through the wilderness. After five minutes of
this the track wound down a slight incline, till there were no more trees, just
a vast flat expanse of snow ahead.

‘Frozen lake,’ explained Michael, as Harry pulled up level.

‘Wow.’ The day had arrived, with a grey, subdued twilight
that divided the clear dark sky and the pristine white earth. Like something
out of a fairy tale, he thought. If the Snow Queen should appear now, he’d be
totally unfazed.

Michael moved out on to the lake and picked up his speed,
Harry doing likewise. The cold air brought tears to his eyes, but in his sheer
exhilaration he hardly noticed. He could get used to this. After ten minutes of
this high speed pursuit Michael slowed down and then came to a halt. Harry
pulled up close by and they cut their engines. It was vast and very quiet, and
for a minute so were they.

‘This is as private as it gets,’ said Michael.

‘Yes,’ agreed Harry. ‘So, where do you want to start?’

‘First, do you accept that I’m not the person who planted
the bomb that killed your wife?’

‘Yes. Who was it?’

‘We’ll get to that. I know from Sabine that you work for
British Intelligence, though according to her there was a twenty-year gap in
your employment. Is that true?’

Harry nodded. ‘Till a few weeks ago. They wanted to use me
to find you. No reason given.’ He was curious. ‘Why invite me here? I could
have led them right to you.’

Michael dismounted his snowmobile, and paced the snow while
he thought. Then he turned to face Harry. ‘I’ve lived in Sweden for more than
15 years now. No one came looking for me. After Sabine called me, though, I
began to worry. Soon after that I called my father in Ireland, the housekeeper
answered. Dad had been arrested was all she could tell me, and I haven’t dared
call back since. I hope they don’t keep him in too long, he’s past 80 now.’ He
paused, clearly concerned about his father.

‘Does he know you’re here?’ asked Harry.

‘He knows I’m in Sweden, just not exactly where. It won’t be
hard to intimidate a man of his age to reveal that much. And I called from the
landline, so I expect that to be traceable. I got careless, Harry. Thought I
was home free.’

‘But why do they want you now?’

‘I have a theory about that, which is why I asked you here.
If my theory is right then your people will catch up with me sooner rather than
later. But you and I have a common interest. The man responsible for Siobhan is
the same man who ordered the bombing of your vehicle. And he wanted me out of
the way too. I was labelled an informer, but over the years it’s become
increasingly obvious to me that he was protecting himself. There’s no other
explanation that makes sense.’

Harry felt confused. ‘Yes, but that was all a long time ago.
Why worry about it now?’

‘Good question. He’s in politics now, a Republican Sinn Fein
man. Not exactly a friend of England you would think. He’s becoming influential
though, and I think your friends in SIS would like me out of the way because my
theory is correct. He’s working for the Brits.’

It’s plausible, thought Harry. And not something Jack Hudson
would want to tell him about either; they wanted him focused on Michael. Still,
he wasn’t totally in agreement.

‘I don’t see why you should be such a threat even if you’re
right about all this,’ he said.

Michael remounted the snowmobile. ‘I could expose him for
what he is. I have motive after all. It didn’t matter, though, until he got
where he is today.’ He flexed his gloved hands. ‘That’s my theory. And I figure
that if I’m not in a position to do anything about it in the near future, you
might be.’

They looked at each other for a long moment. ‘Christ,’ said
Harry. ‘Who is this man?’

‘Let’s go back to the house, there’s something I want you to
see.’

They made their way back. Ingrid and
Sabine were still out, and Harry was glad to get inside the house again. His feet
were cold in spite of the boots and thermal socks. They went into the living
room where it was reassuringly warm.

He looked around. There were some photos on top of a
bookcase against one wall, and he wandered over to take a look. A couple of
Ingrid and Michael together, both wearing t-shirts. Obviously taken in the summer,
though he couldn’t imagine this place having a summer if this was the winter.
And another of a younger Ingrid, in a tracksuit bottom and a vest, standing
facing the camera and holding what looked like a javelin. He picked it up for a
closer look.

‘She was a javelin thrower when I met her,’ said Michael.
‘Even had a trial for the Swedish Olympic team. She still throws sometimes, not
competitively though.’

‘I see.’ Harry replaced the photo. Explains those wide
shoulders, he thought.

Michael was kneeling in front of the TV. There was a VHS
player next to it, and he inserted a video. ‘Sit down and watch this,’ he said.

The picture flickered for a few seconds and then they were
looking at what Harry supposed was a church hall, the pews filled with people
listening to a speaker on a raised platform at the front. It was shot from the
back of the hall, and the camera zoomed in towards the speaker, giving a clear
shot of his face.

‘His name is Colin Fitzpatrick,’ said Michael, ‘and this is
a Republican Sinn Fein rally from about five years ago now.’

Harry watched closely. Fitzpatrick was a slim, middle-aged
man with a full head of swept-back grey hair and a ruddy-complexioned, weather-beaten
face. He was saying something about the continued need to work for a re-unified
Ireland and to support his party in making that a reality.