Oblivion (19 page)

‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ said Erlendur. ‘I have a habit of saying the wrong thing, but I didn’t mean to make you storm off like that.’

‘Forget it,’ said Caroline briskly. ‘The plane was operated by NCT and was given special express treatment, according to a colleague of mine. The hold was never opened. It refuelled in a hurry and was back in the air in no time, headed for Greenland, possibly en route to the States. I don’t know what its final destination was. Could have been Greenland, for that matter.’

‘And you find that suspicious? Isn’t it standard?’

‘I’ve no real experience in this area but you were asking about the airline and its planes, so I got curious. Especially after I found out who hitched a ride on the Hercules.’

‘You mean one of the three passengers?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who was it?’

‘On the passenger list I was shown, which is a restricted document, it said “W. Cain”. And it occurred to me it could be the “W” Joan said was Kristvin’s sponsor at the Animal Locker. In this case the “W” stands for Wilbur.’

‘The man Joan …? Was it this guy Wilbur?’

‘I looked him up. Wilbur’s not a common name. It turns out there’s only one man with that name at NAS Kef at the present time.’

‘Wilbur Cain?’

‘Yeah. I ran it by my friend in Washington but he didn’t recognise it and said he’d check it out when he got to the office. He called me back earlier. Turns out Wilbur Cain’s employed by Military Intelligence. He was sent to Iceland about four months ago on assignment but my friend doesn’t know what it entails. He told me to watch my back with him – Cain’s the reason my friend’s now trying to find out just what in hell is going on here. He told me to quit making all these enquiries and sit tight till I heard from him.’

Caroline was growing jittery again. She fiddled with the mirror and stared frowning out of the rear windscreen.

‘Wilbur Cain’s most likely an alias. Cain’s an experienced agent, he’s worked on all kinds of covert missions for the military, and he’s an expert in making assassinations look like accidents.’

Caroline looked at Erlendur.

‘It’s him I’m afraid of.’

THEY SAT PERPLEXED,
listening to the pounding of the waves below the lighthouse as the early darkness of winter closed in. Erlendur glanced up at the lamp that came to life and died at regular intervals as a warning to seafarers. He felt completely out of his depth.

‘What’s a man like that doing here of all places?’ he asked after a long pause.

‘I have no idea.’

‘And what on earth was he doing with Kristvin at the Animal Locker? How could they have met?’

‘Who knows?’ said Caroline. ‘Maybe Kristvin drew attention to himself by asking questions about the Hercules and NCT. Somebody was alerted, who alerted somebody else and Wilbur Cain was tasked with making enquiries about the man.’

‘But he went to the club with him,’ said Erlendur. ‘That’s hardly discreet. And Joan knows he’s called “W”. Would Kristvin have known his name? If this man’s a Military Intelligence agent as you say?’

‘I think –’

‘Not that I have a clue how these people work.’

‘Apparently it’s just one of the aliases he uses,’ said Caroline. ‘Wilbur Cain’s on home turf. He has no reason to go to ground when he’s on the base. He can leave the country at an hour’s notice and the authorities can deny that anyone of that name ever set foot in Iceland.’

‘So it’s possible that Kristvin wasn’t careful enough – he mouths off about arms shipments and private airlines and this Wilbur Cain is sent to find out what he’s up to?’

‘Maybe.’

‘He seems to have been quick to befriend him.’

‘Wasn’t Kristvin after something? Vodka? Cigarettes?’

‘Marijuana.’

‘Then it wouldn’t have been hard for Cain to strike up an acquaintance with him.’

‘Are you sure this Wilbur Cain is the same man as Kristvin’s “W”?’

‘Of course I can’t be sure, but it seems likely,’ said Caroline. ‘The airline’s a link – Kristvin’s enquiries about the NCT planes. And we know that someone called “W” was in Kristvin’s company on at least one occasion. Cain’s a member of special forces, so he must have been sent here on a specific assignment. I don’t think we should dismiss the possibility.’

Erlendur sat silently for a long time and found himself inadvertently comparing the two cases that were occupying all his thoughts at the moment. On the one hand Kristvin’s death, in which a superpower might have played a part, with its military installations and special-forces agents, and on the other the Dagbjört affair, the tale of a lone individual going missing on a remote little island in the North Atlantic. Caroline asked what he was thinking and Erlendur started to tell her about the girl who had vanished so inexplicably on her way to school in 1953, about the unsuccessful search for her, and all the years that had passed since then with no news of her fate. There was no way of telling – probably never would be – if a crime had been committed. He said Kristvin’s case presented such a stark contrast.

‘The odd thing is,’ Erlendur added, ‘that both cases have a connection to the American occupation. The girl’s route passed by Camp Knox, an area of old barracks built by the US garrison in Reykjavík. It’s rumoured she knew a boy there.’

‘An American?’

‘No, the soldiers were long gone by then, moved out here to Midnesheidi. No, a local boy. What I’m trying to get across is that we Icelanders just don’t know how to deal with what’s happening on the base.’

‘Nor me,’ she said. ‘You can take that as read.’

‘I mean, this is your world but it’s a world we simply don’t understand. As a nation we emulate everything you do without really knowing why and forget that we’re just a bunch of poor farmers, forced by modern life to live in blocks of flats. You’re the richest nation on the planet. The biggest military power in history. For most of our existence we’ve been fighting a losing battle against starvation.’

‘That sucks,’ said Caroline, momentarily forgetting her anxiety. ‘What … why …?’

‘Oh, a combination of factors. Volcanic eruptions. Earthquakes. Sometimes epidemics. But mostly bad seasons with prolonged periods of arctic conditions. Sometimes all of them rolled into one. But in spite of that we’ve managed to scrape some sort of living up here, and our generation and the generations to come will reap the benefits and be better off than they’ll ever realise.’

Erlendur pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one and inhaled. He wound down the window on his side to let out the smoke.

‘As a result our crimes tend to be rather old-fashioned and provincial,’ he continued. ‘Murders are rarely premeditated, though of course we have our share of notorious cases and mysterious disappearances, like any other country. But what I wanted to say is that they seldom have any international context. Perhaps that’s changing now. Of course there’s a Cold War going on in the outside world and it affects us here with its spies and undercover shenanigans. We know the Soviets have tried to recruit Icelanders and there have been incidents related to international politics, but, I don’t know …’

Caroline allowed herself a faint smile.

‘Times change,’ she said.

‘Yes, times change.’

‘Someone told me you can drive round the whole island in twenty-four hours. Is that true?’

‘Yes, it’s true. There are only 230,000 of us living here, speaking our funny language. Descendants of the Vikings. Once, the worst humiliation anyone could conceive of in this country was if a woman slapped a man across the face.’

‘And now?’

‘Now, like other dwarf nations we’re desperate for recognition that we have something to offer, trying to prove that we can play with the big boys on the world stage. That’s why we’ve got this socking great naval base here. We long to be important in some way. But of course we’re not. We’re of no importance to anyone.’

‘Sounds like me in high school,’ said Caroline, smiling. ‘I was always a bit of an outsider. Never managed to fit in. And now here I am, stuck in the middle of nowhere.’

‘Are you from Washington like your boyfriend?’

Caroline gazed out over the dark sea.

‘We met in the marines. I didn’t know what to do after high school and my dad suggested I try the army. He’d fought in the war and stayed in the army afterward and loved it. That’s where I met Brad. We were together for several years until it just wasn’t working any more. He was … I don’t know. I applied to be transferred somewhere far away. Wanted to high-tail it out of Washington as soon as possible. See the world. I thought Iceland would be a choice assignment. I didn’t know it was a windswept rock in the middle of the North Atlantic and that I’d end up helping out the Icelandic police. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not unhappy here. I travelled round the country a bit last summer. The scenery’s incredible. And I like the midnight sun. When the sun doesn’t go down in the summer and the nights are as light as day.’

‘Not everybody’s keen on that,’ said Erlendur. ‘So you don’t regard Iceland as a hardship post?’

‘Hardship post? No, I don’t think of it like that.’

‘Anyway what do you want to do now?’

‘Brad told me to lie low till he’d had a chance to look into the matter at his end,’ said Caroline. ‘So perhaps I’d better take it easy till I hear from him again. All that stuff about farmers and famine has soothed my nerves a little.’

Erlendur smiled. ‘Do you trust him, this Brad?’

‘Yeah. Brad’s OK – he’d never get me into trouble.’

‘Did you tell him about me and Marion?’

‘Sure. Wasn’t I supposed to?’

‘Yes, of course. Look, wouldn’t it be best if you went straight to Fleet Air Command? Is there any reason to wait? Marion and I could go with you, if you like.’

‘Brad told me not to trust anyone or talk to anyone till I’d heard back from him,’ said Caroline. ‘He’s going to try and find out what Wilbur Cain’s up to in Iceland. Chances are he’s here with the knowledge and at the request of the military authorities. Brad told me that when the time came, I should go directly to the Rear Admiral and take you both with me.’

‘Good,’ said Erlendur. ‘In the meantime, you can come with me if you want. We could put you up in a hotel in Reykjavík or –’

‘No, thanks all the same. But it was good talking to you. I feel a bit less stressed. I’ll be fine. I have friends here I can turn to.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You won’t go back to your apartment, will you?’

‘No, not till I hear from Brad. Maybe the whole thing’s a big mistake and Wilbur Cain has nothing to do with Kristvin’s death. That’s what Brad said. But I think he was just trying to reassure me.’

‘And you definitely trust him?’

‘Yes, I trust him,’ said Caroline firmly. ‘You’d better not talk to anyone about this either until you hear from me. You never know by what route information reaches the base. If something’s happening here that’s costing the lives of innocent civilians, the Icelandic government might well be in on it. Brad told me to trust nobody. Nobody at all.’

‘I don’t believe the Icelandic government could be –’

‘Everyone has their price and it was you who told me that the defence question here revolved mainly around money.’

‘All right,’ said Erlendur, ‘though I hope you trust me and Marion, if no one else.’

‘Yes, maybe you two. But not many others.’

Caroline looked despondently out into the gloom. Erlendur sensed that she had not quite finished. Something remained to be said. Not wanting to put pressure on her, he let time pass without breaking the silence.

‘Marion asked me to check who could have been in the hangar the night Kristvin was killed,’ said Caroline at last.

‘Oh?’

‘Work’s been suspended for the most part because of the construction, but the hangar’s guarded twenty-four/seven. I discovered that one of the security guards is called Matthew Pratt. A private. Young. Only twenty-two. A friend of mine who works on the airport gate knows him but he didn’t recognise the names of the other guards. There are several, apparently, and they patrol it in shifts.’

‘Have you spoken to him? This Pratt?’

‘That’s the strange part.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t trace him,’ said Caroline. ‘He’s not at home. His neighbours haven’t seen him for forty-eight hours. He hasn’t been on duty and I’m told he reported in sick several days ago. He hasn’t left the base, to the best of my knowledge, but he seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.’

ERLENDUR COULDN’T PERSUADE
Caroline to change her mind about returning to the base, so he left her in the car park by the Keflavík football ground. She gave him the phone number of some people she was going to take refuge with and said she would be in touch soon.

‘Be careful,’ Erlendur said in parting. ‘The fewer people you tell, the better. Are you sure you can trust them?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Caroline. ‘They’re the kind of friends who’ll help without asking any questions.’ She pulled up the hood of her jacket and got out of the car.

As Erlendur drove back along the Keflavík road he looked over at the billows of steam rising from Svartsengi and felt as if many weeks had passed since he saw Kristvin’s body floating in the lagoon. Since then the inquiry into his death had almost entirely focused on the naval air station on Midnesheidi, and now both the CIA and Military Intelligence had become tangled up in it. Erlendur found it highly unlikely that a nobody like Kristvin could have constituted a serious thorn in the side for a powerful nation like the US, but then again Caroline was clearly rattled, and maybe Kristvin had as much chance as anyone else on the base of stumbling on classified information. He had access to the largest hangar on the site, after all, so he could have witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to.

As Erlendur wrestled with this question on the drive back to Reykjavík, he reflected on what he had told Caroline about the difference in scale between their two nations. From there, his thoughts wandered back to Dagbjört and what the old woman, Baldvina, had told him about Camp Knox. Erlendur had made casual enquiries about where he might find her son Vilhelm these days. All he had learned was that the tramp was still alive and occasionally showed his face at the shelter for alcoholics and homeless men on Thingholt.