‘You must think we’re complete monsters,’ said Caroline.
Marion was silent. Taking this as assent, Caroline saw red.
‘Jesus, I don’t know why the hell I’m doing this. You hate literally everything I stand for. Everything we do looks suspicious to you.’
‘That’s not true,’ protested Marion. ‘Your help’s been invaluable and we’re very grateful, even if we do have our doubts about your country’s military activities. You’ve done more for us than we could have dared ask and I get the impression that’s because you yourself want to know what’s going on here.’
Caroline didn’t answer. The cinema doors opened and people began to pour out. The crowd quickly dispersed homewards, some on foot, others in cars. There was only a short interval before the next screening and a new audience was already gathering. Occasional shouts, the honking of car horns and laughter carried through the darkness.
‘Thule’s a top-secret installation, of course,’ said Caroline. She had slid down in her seat and was peering out of the window at the cinema-goers as if they belonged to a different, more benign world. ‘Not many people know this but I’m told that B-52 bombers used to be kept aloft in a holding pattern over the area at all times, one taking over from the other so the chain was never broken. That was to ensure the fastest possible response in the event of a Soviet strike. They assumed it would be one of the first places to be flattened in a nuclear attack. By keeping the B-52s constantly airborne they made sure that at least one would escape being destroyed in the attack and make it over the Soviet frontier with its payload of bombs.’
‘What kind of bombs?’
‘Hydrogen bombs. Four to a plane. Each one a hundred times more powerful than the atom bomb that destroyed Hiroshima.’
‘Are you telling me there are nuclear weapons in Greenland?’ said Marion.
‘Apparently. About a decade ago a bomber crashed in one of the violent blizzards you get in the region. The wreckage was found about six miles from the base and the bombs were removed. After that they abandoned the policy of keeping B-52s airborne. But the weapons are still stored on the base.’
‘The Danish government has always denied the presence of nuclear weapons in Greenland,’ said Marion. ‘It’s a highly controversial issue over there. Was it your friend in Washington who told you this?’
Caroline nodded. ‘He feels he owes me,’ she said quietly.
‘Oh?’
‘It was hard for me to turn to him for help but he’s behaved honourably. And I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘What... in what way does he owe you?’
‘He feels guilty.’
‘About what?’
‘Another woman.’
‘Another woman?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘No, fair enough.’
‘I thought we had a good relationship until he started cheating on me,’ said Caroline. ‘I guess he’s still trying to make up for it. He’s the reason I’m here. I wanted to get as far away from him as I could and now he thinks it’s his fault that I’m in deep shit out here at the ends of the earth.’
‘What’s all this got to do with Hangar 885 and Wilbur Cain?’
‘I wasn’t supposed to tell you but it’s conceivable, just conceivable, that the NCT Hercules transports have been ferrying nuclear weapons from Thule and establishing them here. It’s also conceivable that the person responsible for security matters on this operation is none other than our friend Cain.’
‘Wilbur Cain?’
‘You got it.’
41
There were two men on duty at the filling station, one of whom looked to be in his late fifties. Rósanna’s cousin, presumably. The age was right at any rate. Erlendur sat in his car, trying to be inconspicuous, and watched the garage. The occasional vehicle pulled up by the petrol pumps and the men would fill it up and, if required, perform small additional tasks such as topping up the antifreeze or cleaning the windscreen. The older man, the cousin, pumped petrol and exchanged pleasantries with the customers while the younger one mainly took care of the till. The weather was cold, as it had been for several days now, and the pump attendant was wearing a down jacket and a baseball cap, both branded with the petrol station logo. He was round-shouldered and moved with slow deliberation as was common with manual labourers his age. In between customers, he took a seat behind the counter and whiled away the time with some activity that Erlendur couldn’t make out.
A car drove into the forecourt and the older man stood up and drew on his gloves. Rósanna had told Erlendur that Mensalder worked at one of the few garages in the capital that stayed open late. She didn’t know much about him as they hadn’t been in contact for years. Although they were first cousins, their families didn’t get along so they weren’t close. Erlendur had gone round to his flat first but, finding nobody home, had swung by the garage Rósanna mentioned. She had been keen to come too but Erlendur had dissuaded her, telling her not to worry. All he was doing was gathering information about Dagbjört’s case and the fact that her cousin had come into the picture wasn’t necessarily significant.
The garage, one of the largest in the city, was located on its eastern outskirts. After watching the place from a discreet distance for a while, Erlendur drove up to one of the pumps. He went into the shop and asked for petrol. The attendant he took to be Mensalder stood up and Erlendur saw that he had been playing patience. Mensalder asked if he should ‘fill ’er up’. When Erlendur said yes, the man put his gloves on again and went out to the pump. Erlendur looked around the shop which sold newspapers, magazines and a variety of motoring accessories such as windscreen wipers and ice scrapers, as well as shelves of cigarettes, cigars and sweets. Then he went outside in the wake of the attendant who had started filling his car. There was a rumble of traffic from the road. The man leaned against the car while the pump was working, glancing every now and then at the litre counter and price.
‘Quiet this evening,’ remarked Erlendur, automatically reaching for his cigarettes, then remembering where he was.
‘Yes,’ agreed the man. ‘It’s been pretty quiet. We were busier yesterday. It varies. Every day’s different, like anywhere else.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Erlendur.
The pump churned away and the man checked the litre counter. As he did so, Erlendur caught a glimpse of his face. He had several days’ worth of stubble on his lean cheeks, a small nose and bushy eyebrows. His nose was running.
‘Was she totally empty?’ asked the attendant.
‘Yes, almost.’
‘Nearly there, though it’s surprising what big tanks some of these little cars have.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Need any new windscreen wipers or anything like that?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘We have to ask,’ said the man apologetically. ‘New rules. We have to ask the customers if they need anything else.’
‘I understand.’
‘We’re always learning something new.’
‘By the way, you wouldn’t be Mensalder, would you?’ asked Erlendur casually.
‘Yes, that’s me. Or that’s my name, anyway. Do we know each other?’
‘Rósanna’s cousin?’
‘I’ve got a cousin called Rósanna, yes. Why do you ask? Do you know her?’
‘Vaguely,’ said Erlendur. ‘Not well. But I happened to be chatting to her recently and your name came up.’