Carr was on the phone as he crawled out of the aircraft again.
‘Are you spying on me, sir?’ Ratoff rasped when he had taken the receiver.
‘Why waste billions on all this equipment if we don’t use it?’ Carr retorted. ‘Well, what have you found?’
Ratoff gestured to the communications officer to leave the tent. All communication from the glacier was conducted on the Delta Force closed channel. Ratoff waited until he was alone, then spoke again.
‘What’s going on, sir?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve found only two crates of gold. You said the plane was full of it. Two boxes! That’s the lot.’
‘Maybe they buried it in the ice. Maybe it’ll never be found.’
‘Maybe the gold’s not what it’s about,’ Ratoff suggested.
The line filled with static.
‘You never told me there was an American pilot on board,’ Ratoff continued. ‘And a two-star general from our side.’
‘Be careful, Ratoff. I’m under no obligation to tell you anything.’
‘It looks to me as if some of them survived the landing,’ Ratoff said. ‘Our pilot and two of the Germans. Judging by the numbers you gave me, one of the Germans is missing. In any case, they can’t have survived long up here in the depths of winter – they had inadequate clothing and no provisions. And somehow I doubt they kept themselves warm by lugging gold around. Anyway, the plane’s too small to have been carrying a heavy cargo. So if you’re not looking for gold, what are you looking for? Maybe you’d like to tell me what I’m doing in this shit-hole.’
‘You say there are only six bodies?’
‘Correct.’
‘There should be seven on board.’
‘Is that something to worry about?’
‘Well, the seventh man has never come to light. Perhaps they buried him further away. Perhaps he tried to get to civilisation.’
‘If the plane wasn’t carrying gold,’ Ratoff repeated, ‘what is it that you’re after, sir?’
‘Ratoff,’ Carr said warily. ‘If I wanted someone to ask questions I wouldn’t have come to you. You know that.’
‘Is it the briefcase?’
‘Ratoff.’ Carr’s voice had fallen to a low growl. ‘Don’t fuck with me. Just do as you’re told. You were chosen to lead this operation for a reason.’
Ratoff decided not to push it any further for the time being.
‘The only thing I found was the general’s briefcase, which I haven’t opened. Then there’s the pilot’s log book and another book. I don’t know what it contains. I haven’t looked at any of it.’
‘Fine. I repeat: bring out all documents, briefcases, books, passports, names, anything in writing that you find on board. Take it into your safekeeping, Ratoff; do not allow anyone else access to it and deliver it to me and only me. Observe the procedure. Bring me the lot. Every last scrap.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Take my advice: you’d be doing yourself a favour to remain ignorant of those documents. We’ve been over this already. Follow the plan.’
‘You’ve always been able to rely on me, sir.’
Carr ignored the edge he believed he could detect in Ratoff’s voice. ‘When will you be in Keflavík?’
‘We’ll be airborne in two days’ time, assuming the storm doesn’t delay us.’
‘Excellent.’
They ended the conversation. Ratoff considered the briefcase, chart and books he had piled on a chair. Over the years, he had heard innumerable stories about the plane’s contents but when he had to accept that it was nothing but documents, it was as if all suspense, all anticipation and all his hunger for the mission had died within him. No gold. No bomb. No biological weapon. None of the more recognisable of the missing Nazi war criminals, as far as he could see. No art treasures. No diamonds. Only documents. Worthless documents. Scraps of yellowed paper.
Still angered and disorientated by disappointment, he took the documents to his own tent. Inside stood a camp bed, a chair and a collapsible desk at which he sat down. First he examined the log book, noting where and when the plane had taken off and the intended flightpath. Then he turned to the red exercise book; leafing through it, he was surprised to see that the pilot had kept a diary during his last days on the glacier. Putting it aside for the moment, he opened the briefcase and took out three files, bound with thin, white straps. He opened the first and flicked quickly through the pages which turned out to be in German; the yellowed paper felt stiff and brittle to the touch. The second contained similar documents. He knew a little German, having been stationed for two years in his youth at the US base in Ramstein, but not enough to grasp the precise meaning of the pages.
The third file contained several more documents, all marked confidential, whose entire text was in English. Among the papers was a single unsigned memorandum. Ratoff immersed himself in reading. He perused the material quickly and gradually began to piece together what the documents contained, rising involuntarily to his feet and pacing the narrow confines of the tent. ‘Is it possible?’ he whispered to himself.
After he had finished reading, he stood, dumbfounded, staring blankly at the papers, briefcase, passports, diary. It took him quite a while to grasp the implications and put them in the context of what he already knew. He scanned the names that were mentioned, scrutinised the signatures again. They were powerfully familiar.
Little by little his scattered thoughts fell into place. He understood the lies. He understood all the misinformation that had been disseminated. At once, he understood the plane’s significance. He knew now why they had been searching for it for decades.
Ratoff grimaced as the truth finally dawned on him. If they had indeed executed this plan, and then gone on to organise this massive military operation to protect the secret, then surely he was in danger? He would be eliminated at the first opportunity; they would have killed him regardless of whether he had read the documents. Carr had known at the outset that if it was successful the mission would be his death warrant. He smiled grimly at the irony. He would have done the same in their shoes. He looked at the documents again and shook his head.
The wind snatched and tore at the canvas, sending it billowing to and fro, wrenching Ratoff back to reality. When he went outside, the snow was gusting so hard he could not see his hand in front of his face.
Carr watched as the glacier edged sideways and finally disappeared from the screen. Few knew Ratoff better and Carr understood instinctively what the director of the operation was doing at that moment. He left the room, prowling ponderously through the control room, out into the corridor and back to his own office where he closed the door firmly and sat down at the desk. He picked up the telephone receiver. It was time for the next step.
He asked for a Buenos Aires number. Then for a flight to Iceland.
Chapter 20
FOREIGN MINISTRY, REYKJAVÍK,
SATURDAY 30 JANUARY, 0730 GMT
Kristín had cared for Elías since he first entered the world. She was ten years old when he was born and immediately took a great interest in the baby, far greater than her parents in fact. She remembered wishing that her mother would have a little boy. Not that it mattered in the end – what she wanted above all was a sibling as she was bored of being an only child and envied her friends their brothers and sisters. But her parents could not bear noise and the house was a haven of peace and quiet. Both spent long hours at the office and would bring their work home with them in the evenings, which left them no time to pay Kristín any attention. She learnt to move about the house noiselessly and to look after herself; learnt not to disturb them.