‘And that’s exactly why I’m worried.’ Palstein shook his head. ‘Please, Loreena. I don’t want you to come to any harm because of me—’
‘I’ll be careful.’
‘You’ll be careful?’ He laughed harshly. ‘I was duped by my own bodyguard, and believe me, I was careful! Are you going to leave the detective work to the—’
‘No, Gerald,’ she pleaded. ‘Twenty-four hours, give me twenty-four hours – every good thriller gives the detective twenty-four hours! I’m flying to Vancouver first thing tomorrow morning, then the whole thing goes up to boardroom level. All of Greenwatch will be working on the story. Tomorrow night I’ll know what the conference was about, who Gudmundsson is really working for, and if I don’t, I swear to you we’ll bring the police on board. That’s my promise to you, but give me that much time.’
Palstein looked at her with his sad eyes, and sighed.
‘All right then. How many people have you shown those photographs to, of Gudmundsson and the Asian guy?’
‘A few. Nobody recognises Fatty.’
‘And this business with Ruiz?’
‘Three, maybe four people know about it. I’m the only one who knows everything.’
‘Then do at least this much for me. Keep it that way until you land in Vancouver. In the meantime, don’t go lifting up any more rocks.’
‘Hmm. Okay.’
‘Promise?’ he asked, doubtful.
‘Honest Injun. You know what that means, for me.’
‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘Shax’ saani Keek.’
‘Take care of yourself, Gerald.’
‘And call me when you get to Vancouver.’
‘I will do. First thing.’
She hung up. The picture of Palstein faded out. Somewhat surprised, Loreena discovered that she found him oddly attractive, even if he was melancholic, in love with mathematics in that abstract way of his, a man who listened to weird music by dead avant-garde composers. On top of all which, he was shorter than her, a trim little man, almost skinny, losing his hair, the exact opposite of the broad-shouldered masculine type she usually went for. He had regular features, but they weren’t especially striking; there was just something reassuring in his dark velvet eyes. She was back in the bar, still looking thoughtfully at the blank screen, when the chair across from her scraped noisily back.
‘I’m dying of hunger here,’ said the intern. ‘Where’s the menu?’
She put her phone away. ‘I hope you’ve been busy. Steaks for information. One to one.’
‘Should be enough here for a kilo of T-bone.’ He spread out a dozen sheets of paper in front of himself. ‘All right, watch this. I called Eagle Eye, the security company that provided Palstein’s bodyguard. Dished them up a story about a journalist in peril, working on a sensitive story, needs protection, told them you’d just recently met Gudmundsson, Palstein had told you a lot of good things about him, yadda yadda yadda. They told me that Gudmundsson’s a freelance and fairly busy keeping an eye on the oilman, so they’d have to see whether he still had any spare capacity, if not, they could put together a tailor-made team for you. By the way, they knew about you.’
Loreena raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh yes?’
‘From the web. Your reportage. They were pretty taken with the idea of protecting Loreena Keowa.’
‘Flattering. Do they use a lot of freelancers?’
‘Almost exclusively. Half of them are ex-police, the others are a mix of Navy SEALs, Army Rangers and Green Berets, some of them were mercenaries, active right round the world. Then they use ex-Secret Service agents for logistics and information operations, they prefer CIA, Mossad or the Germans. They tell me that the Bundesnachrichtendienst have excellent contacts, and the Israelis of course, but sometimes they even get guys from the KGB wandering into Eagle Eye, even Chinese or Koreans. If you ask, they’ll give you the CV of any of their agents. They don’t keep these things secret, quite the opposite! The career histories are part of their reputation.’
‘And Gudmundsson?’
‘He’s half Icelandic, hence the name. Grew up in Washington. Ex-Navy SEAL, trained as a sniper, he’s got his hands dirty, you could say. When he was twenty-five he joined a mercenary army, Mamba.’
‘Never heard of them.’
‘They were operating in Kenya and Nigeria at the beginning of the century. Then he went on to a similar operation in West Africa called African Protection Services, APS for short.’
‘Hmm. Africa.’
‘Yes, but he’s been back in the States for five years now. He offers his expertise to private security companies, Eagle Eye and others, usually as project manager.’
Loreena thought it over. Africa? Was it important where Gudmundsson had worked before? What was certain was that he had betrayed one of his employer’s clients. She couldn’t rule out that Eagle Eye was involved there, but nor could she assume that that was the case. It was a well-respected company and their services were used by a lot of well-known figures. Interesting that Eagle Eye was already employing Gudmundsson at the time Ruiz disappeared. So what had Gudmundsson been doing on the night of the second to the third of September 2022? Where had he been the night Ruiz went missing? In Peru, perhaps?
‘Was that all?’ she asked. ‘Nothing else?’
‘Hey, come on there, that’s not bad.’
‘Might be enough for a roast potato.’ She grinned. ‘Okay, okay! And a couple of spare ribs.’
30 May 2025
MEMORY CRYSTAL
Berlin, Germany
Exobiologists had come up with scenarios for extraterrestrial life where you would least expect it. Weird forms of life thrived in volcanic vents, braved oceans of sulphur and ammonia, sprouted under the icy crust of frozen moons or glided with splendid lethargy through the banded skies of Jupiter, giant creatures with wings like manta rays, buoyed up by hydrogen in their body cavities that kept them from crashing down to the gas giant’s metallic core.
At 6.30, one such creature was approaching Berlin.
Its skin shone in the cold, hard light of dawn as it curved slowly about and lost height. Its wingspan was almost a hundred metres. Its body and wings flowed seamlessly together, ending in a tiny vestige of a head that seemed to point to only rudimentary intelligence, compared with the size of the whole thing. But appearances were deceptive. In fact, this head brought together the whole calculating capacity of four autonomous computer systems which kept the monstrous body aloft, all under the supervision of pilot and co-pilot.
It was an Air China flying wing, coming in to land at Berlin. There was room on board for around one thousand passengers. The engineers who had built it were fed up with screwing their lifting surfaces onto canisters, and instead had created a low, hollow, symmetrical craft packed with seating all the way to its wingtips, an aerodynamic miracle. The giant’s engines were embedded in the stern. Because of the phenomenally large surface area, it generated thrust even at low engine speeds, while at the same time the ray-shaped wings made for increased lift and kept turbulence to a minimum. This reduced fuel consumption and kept engine noise to a socially acceptable sixty-three decibels. The designers had even done without windows for the sake of the aerodynamics. Instead, tiny cameras along the midline filmed the world outside and broadcast their pictures to 3D screens which simulated glass panes. Flying here was a feast for the senses. All the same, airsickness could strike those who had the cheap seats out in the wingtips, which could hop as much as twenty-five metres up and down when the aircraft banked, and bore the brunt of the turbulence.