Páll belted through the Berserkjahraun, past the new road up over to Borgarnes, and turned right up the old Kerlingin Pass track. Over to their left towards Helgafell on the way to Stykkishólmur Magnus could see the flashing blue light of another police car on its way.
‘I don’t suppose you happen to have a rifle in the back of this car?’ Magnus asked.
‘No, of course not,’ Páll said. ‘You know Icelandic policemen don’t carry guns.’
‘What if Björn is armed?’
‘Why should he be? He’s only a fisherman. And I know for a fact he doesn’t have a gun licence.’
‘These guys had guns in London. And Normandy.’
‘He won’t have a gun.’
‘But he could have a knife,’ Magnus said.
Páll didn’t answer for a moment. ‘He will probably have a knife,’ he admitted.
‘Oh, great.’ The car was bucking like a demented stallion as it leapt over the potholes in the track.
‘What do you use for shooting the polar bears, then?’ Magnus asked. Three times in the previous couple of years polar bears had made the long journey to Iceland on drifting icebergs, only to be blasted as soon as they hit dry land by trigger-happy policemen.
‘That’s different,’ said the constable. ‘Jesus!’ He fought to retain control as his car nearly went spinning over the edge.
Magnus decided to let Páll concentrate on the road.
His phone rang.
‘Magnús, it’s Baldur. Have you found Ísak yet?’
‘We’re on our way to the pass.’
‘Sindri just talked. He says Ísak is planning to kill Harpa. Keep her quiet.’
‘Does Björn know about that?’
‘No. And Sindri says he won’t like that idea at all.’
‘Interesting. Did he say who Ingólfur Arnarson is? Or the assassin?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Did you get hold of Björn’s brother?’
‘Yeah, we brought him in to the station as well. He just looked surprised. And he’s been painting the shop on Laugavegur since eight this morning. Not exactly preparing an assassination attempt.’
The car plunged into fog. Baldur was beginning to break up as the reception deteriorated. ‘Tell me when you locate Ísak,’ he said and rang off.
The car followed the track around bare volcanic rock and soon they were descending. It was impossible to make out the Kerlingin troll, although Magnus knew it was above them somewhere.
Suddenly the cloud seemed to lift and they were in a valley of rock and moss. There, on the left, was the hut, its door wide open. And on the right was a pickup truck, its nose pointing down towards the stream, one of its front wheels wedged in a hole, and one of its back wheels raised off the ground. The driver’s door was hanging open.
‘Slow down! You take the hut, I’ll take the truck!’ said Magnus. He jumped out of the car before it had come to a halt, ran to the truck and looked inside. Nothing. He scanned the hill. A short distance up the far wall of the valley he saw a body splayed out on the ground.
He forded the freezing stream and ran uphill. It was Björn. Stab wound to the chest. It didn’t look good unless they could get rapid medical attention.
At least he was conscious. His eyes flickered up at Magnus.
Magnus asked the key question. ‘Who did this?’
Björn tried to speak, but was finding it difficult. Magnus lowered his ear towards Björn’s mouth. He heard one word. ‘Ísak.’
‘Where’s Harpa?’ he asked.
Björn couldn’t answer, but he flicked his eyes upwards.
‘She’s gone up the hill?’ Magnus asked.
Björn nodded, just a brief downward movement of the chin.
‘And Ísak’s after her?’
Another nod.
Magnus tried for one more question. ‘And who is Ingólfur Arnarson?’
Björn closed his eyes and moved his head to the side.
Magnus waved at Páll who was trotting heavily towards the stream. ‘Get an ambulance!’ he shouted.
Páll raised an arm in acknowledgement and ran back to his car and the radio.
Magnus turned and looked up the hill. The cloud seemed to be lifting, moving off to his left down the valley. But he couldn’t see either Ísak or Harpa. He closed his eyes and listened. He could hear running water, the croak of a raven, Björn’s laboured breathing, and somewhere above, the clatter of falling stones.
He set off up the hill into the fog.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HARPA RAN AS fast as she could, which wasn’t nearly fast enough. Her wrists were a real problem; because they were tied together she couldn’t use her arms to help her balance. And she was wearing the wrong shoes, they kept slipping on the scree, sending torrents of stones falling down behind her. She fell every few seconds, it would only be a matter of time before she twisted something. Her heart felt like it was going to explode.
The fog was dense around her. Above the crescendo of the blood in her ears and her own panting, she could hear the rattle of stones below as Ísak caught up on her.
Then suddenly the mist lifted. Above her was blue sky. To her left and right was rock. And behind and in front was a thick carpet of grey. She was at the top, on the ridge between one valley and the next.
She stopped for a second. She could hear Ísak close behind. Summoning up a renewed burst of energy she sprinted downhill towards the cloud. She slipped and fell, twisting one knee and grazing the other. She couldn’t stop herself emitting a cry of pain. The fog was only a few metres away. She limped towards it.
She felt an enormous sense of relief as once again she was enveloped by the blanket of moisture. Although the slope was broadly downhill, her knee was giving out.
The fog was thick now. She spotted a cluster of boulders to the left. If she just lay down there and kept quiet, Ísak would never find her.
She changed direction and headed for the rocks.
Suddenly she heard the regular thump of Ísak’s feet hitting the ground. She couldn’t see him, but it sounded as if they were going to collide. She took the decision to keep going for the rocks.
She threw herself at them and lay still, huddled between two boulders. Except she wasn’t exactly still, her chest was heaving and her heart pounding.
Seconds later she heard Ísak lope past. She could see his legs. He was barely five metres away from her as he stopped to listen. She tried to hold her breath, but she could only do it for a few seconds. Her lungs needed the air. The sound as she exhaled seemed loud to her, but Ísak appeared not to notice. He walked cautiously forward into the mist.
She stood up, and made her way as quietly as she could laterally along the slope of the hill, putting distance between her and Ísak.
But then the fog rolled away, revealing a valley glistening in the pale sunshine.
Ísak was a hundred metres away to the left, slightly below her. He stopped, scanned the hillside below, to his right. He turned towards her.
She ran downhill as fast as her jellied knee would let her.
Magnus plunged into the fog. The slope was tricky, rocks that were sharp in places, slick in others, moss, dirt and the odd patches of grass. Occasionally he would pause to listen out for the sounds of dislodged stones. He couldn’t hear any.
The fog was good. Provided Harpa kept quiet it would be impossible for Ísak to find her. In fact, if she had any sense, she would just lie low and wait.
Magnus’s situation was different. He was a big lumbering target making a lot of noise, whose adversary had a knife and had just used it. And he was unarmed. If only he had a firearm. According to the manual he should hold off and wait for back-up.
Screw that. Apart from anything else the back-up wouldn’t be armed either.
He pressed on.
His heart pounding, he found himself in a shallow dip between two wind-eroded rocks. He had the impression that he was on the ridge between the two valleys.
He heard the sound of someone falling and a cry. It sounded as if it was coming from ahead and to the right but lower down, not too far away.