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Prologue Far back, far back in our dark soul the horse prances. Dagur Stilgarsson knew he was dying. He had known the moment he had touched the housing of the multiplexing unit.The secret service technician shifted his weight in an attempt to reach his duffel bag, and the mobile in it. He had to warn headquarters about the trap which was killing the fourth agent just now. Even though his lanky frame moved but mere inches, he could feel excruciating pain rip through his chest with the effort. It was the poison coursing through his veins with every heartbeat. His left hand had gone numb almost at once, the numbness had quickly climbed up his arm afterwards. There were but very few toxins able to create such an instant impact and those which did killed rapidly. Again he tried to reach his bag and failed. The pain had ceased to be so searing, which was a bad sign. The failure of his intercostal muscles settled like a band of steel around his rib cage. Breathing became hard work.The secret station he was in was built into a smaller mountainside some 120 kilometres southwest of the cable landing point in Seydisfjordur. Unknown to but very few this hub meshed submarine sea cables CANTAT-3, FARICE-1 and the Greenland Connect with two secret lines leading straight to southern England and the east coast of the USA. During the past years Dagur had often wondered what those secret landing points were, who was behind this comprehensive setup and which organisation had the.clout to install such a global surveillance and communication network. He had never been told by his superiors, he was just one of several agents maintaining it. Down the hallway from the main maintenance unit he had found the bodies of Fjalar Gudrunsson and Kristin Bjarnarsdottir. He had been unable to locate Arnar Jonsson, the agent who had been the first not to report back from servicing the secret hub. In his mind there was no doubt that Arnar was just as dead as he would be in a few moments.Interesting that of all things, dying, he felt bad about not being able to bid Hrafn farewell.
Chapter 1
A canter is the cure for every evil.
Straker tried to find a comfortable posture, he needed one desperately. Over on the viewing gallery Alec was grinning. Indeed, he was sure his friend was having a good laugh watching him. Foster beside him had the decency to hide his lower face behind a polite hand.Craning his neck to check on them had not been a good idea, it threw him even further out of balance. The saddle pounded him with a vengeance now. If it wasn’t the pommel in front, which caught him, it was the cantle in the back. The huge gelding trotted in a circle around his riding instructor, oblivious to the pain he was inflicting on body parts Straker had not even known existed in his nether regions and legs. He could feel new sores developing over the old ones from the day before and the day before that one.“You must be one with the horse, Mr. Straker!” David Redcliff shouted at him. “Try to be one with it.”By then Straker knew that this was not meant to be sarcastic. The young man was as straightforward and good-natured as his construction manager had told him. He swallowed the acerbic remark he had been about to dish out and made do with throwing him a helpless look, biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out. It was astonishing how badly a few abrasions in the wrong places could hurt. He had not felt as miserable and as incompetent as during the past two days and on this horse for a very, very long time. Worse yet, he had only 4 more days to acquire enough skills to manage a 200 miles long round-trip ride through rough, mountainous terrain up North on Iceland.Greiningardeild Varnarmálastofnunar Íslands, Iceland’s Military Intelligence Service, had contacted IAC a week ago, transmitting a sparsely worded report on trouble with what ultimately was the centre of S.H.A.D.O.’s worldwide earthbound communication and surveillance network.Their own statistics department had told him already several months previously that something had gone wrong, somewhere, somehow. The tide had turned about a year ago: every month more UFOs managed to slip past their defenses than before. At first a barely noticable 1 in 100, it was more like a staggering 1 in 10 these days. Not just that, the aliens lately were rather well-informed on secret S.H.A.D.O. coastal bases, several of their recent convoys and transports, on relief dates for Moonbase and the skydivers.There had been too many attacks on essential institutions and flights during the past year to be coincidental. When the report came in, it was the missing piece of the puzzle. The hidden meshing hub did not need much maintenance, just checking up on the sodium-sulfur batteries and the turbines, replacement of minor bits and parts, if necessary. The whole system was nearly fit-and-forget, quite unlike the submarine cables themselves which needed constant watching. Normally a secret service technician would do the job, once every three months, tick off the item on a list of duties held at headquarters and be done with it. That was not what had taken place for the past year though. Just how it could have slipped past GVMSI’s notice that three agents in a row had not reported back in, waking up to hard facts only now that a fourth did not return from the hub, was beyond him.One reason why he had to go on the journey himself was the need to have it out with Iceland’s chief of secret service. Neither IAC, nor S.H.A.D.O. personnel could be everywhere at all times. They were dependant on proper support by international governments. The hub was the single most important earthbound network they had access to. Without it S.H.A.D.O. would be severely crippled.When Paul Foster pointed out that the hub could be reached on horseback exclusively, he had been somewhat bewildered, but not deterred. If Foster felt up to it, after the riding lessons he had taken at Russell Stone’s manège last year, he had believed he would be fine after some concentrated practise.Well. Not.Louis had recommended Redcliff, who coached actors for several studios, including Harlington-Straker. He also provided well-trained and well-behaved horses for basic movie scenes.The young man had not been particularly astonished that the big studio boss himself wanted riding lessons. Instead it was the haste and intensity that came with that wish which amazed him. Two lessons in the morning and two in the afternoon for a whole week were quite a stunt, even for an active athlete. Straker did look as if he still was exercising regularly and he was fit, lean and trim, but sitting a horse and making it do what you wanted was no walkover. The CEO had not explained to him what exactly it was, that he wanted to do on horseback, just that he needed to be able to sit a horse at all paces without falling off immediately, direct it where and stop it when he wanted. A tall order.“Let’s canter a bit, okay?” Redcliff suggested, not able to watch the other wince through more trotting yet. Albeit big-boned the gelding already was one of his smoothest rides. “Remember? Lower thigh on the off side a hand’s width to the back and squeeze with the inner right at the girth. And don’t fall forward!”Straker nodded, teeth clenched, and did his best to obey the instructions, wondering whether he would fail again. Redcliff flicking his lunge whip at the horse’s hind quarters and the resulting huge leap off yesterday had quite frightened him, even though the canter was much more agreeable to sit.It took him a moment to think in terms of what had to go where. Then he gave the horse a slight kick with his inside heel. To his utter relief the huge animal jumped off into a rolling quiet canter, immediately settling half of the aches and pains he felt.A brilliant, delighted and rather boyish half-smile flashed across Straker’s face.“Excellent!” Redcliff said. “Keep him going, sit upright, heels down.”After a further two full circles the riding instructor brought the horse to a halt.“That was well done, Mr. Straker,” he said. “I think we should call it a day. You both need some rest.”Redcliff stepped up to the horse and took hold of the reins, allowing Straker to dismount at leisure.Time which was needed. Straker contemplated jumping off with dash, the way he observed the experienced riders do, but thought better of such a stunt. Unlocking his cramped legs and sliding down was difficult enough. The moment he hit the sand he could feel his knees buckle. A quick grab at the stirrup leather saved him from a rather ignominious spill to the ground. His legs felt as if there still was half a ton of horse between them when he finally managed to walk out of the manège. Freeman and Foster waited alongside of the stable hand who took over the horse and clucking his tongue in criticism ran a hand down its off fore in a quick check as if thinking Straker had done harm.Alec schooled his features into an expression of bland interest, careful to hide his amusement. Straker looked absolutely whacked, he was pale, soaked with sweat, and walked with what must have been quite some discomfort.He had warned him of course. The only S.H.A.D.O. officer into fox hunting, Alec was an accomplished rider and had a good idea of what his friend was going through given the crash course Straker had committed himself to. He had offered to go to Iceland instead, but somewhere along the line Straker had gotten as stubborn as a pig. It may even have been his open amusement which had made the commander dig his heels in. Still, it was difficult keeping a straight face listening to the stream of inventive expletives Straker kept coming while folding into the passenger seat of his car.“You should see Shroeder, you know?” Freeman said. “Saddle sores aren’t going to help you achieve what you want.”Straker grunted, still trying to find a way to sit without pain.“You really should leave it to Paul and me,” Freeman continued. “Setting this straight isn’t much of a problem.”“Headquarters, Alec,” Straker said at last. “While I appreciate your offer, and believe me, by now I really do, I need to meet the Icelandic CSS myself. The Iceland hub is much too vital for us to risk him misunderstanding the seriousness of the situation.”“So meet him in Reykjavik, and Paul and I will make the ride out to the hub.” Freeman said. “You can chew him up all you want without making the field trip.”Straker gave a wry smile.“That’s what I tried to set up with this Unnur Halldirsdottir first, right after Paul told me about the only way up to the hub.” Straker said. “No dice! We were told that the only way to meet the CSS is to accompany him up to the hub. I think Ford has been sparing me just how pissed he is about losing four agents on what they considered a routine job. I’ll have him grasp how I feel about the hub going public for a year.”Alec chuckled and stopped in front of the guardhouse, waiting for the watch to wave them through. He could well imagine that discussion without even being there.***“Boss?” Ragnar Smillasson called from his office.Unnur tried to ignore her secretary’s voice. She was reading what Section 7 had compiled on the American film executive she had been told to suck up to. To her surprise the minister of defence himself had phoned late at night last week and ordered her to obey that civilian in every respect.This could only mean several things, for one the minister was quite aware of her reputation for making independant decisions and sticking by them. For another, she was again about to be degraded to comply with the commands of some unknown outside agency she knew nothing about.It also meant he knew about her other misgivings.The secret meshing hub had been a tender spot with her ever since it had come under her authority. Unnur had acquired her position during the upheavals resulting from the coalition government collapse a decade ago. Independence and national self-determination were high on her agenda. There simply was no excuse for permitting another country or entity to run their affairs.“Boss!”That was a yell. With a sigh she laid the report aside, there was not much to be found in it anyway. Even the photo was too blurred to get an idea of what that guy looked like, except that he was rather fair-haired, a trait many people living on this island shared.Her secretary’s office was located at the other end of the narrow, ancient turf house they used as headquarters near Seydisfjordur. Its near-perfect insulation was a boon during harsh winters, but it also meant that the only two rooms with natural light lay on opposite sides of the structure. Visitors were often taken aback by the casual tone Ragnar maintained with her. Hollering for her instead of using the intercom was just one sample.His room was cooler than hers, he had a thing going about fresh air and open windows. Outside a mixture of rain and snow was pelting the coast, the sea a roiling, slate-grey creature crowned in white foam. Unnur shuddered at the sign of oncoming autumn storms. They had a time window of barely 4 weeks left to make it to the hub and back.Ragnar was bent over what looked like microfilm printouts. His shock of strawberry blonde hair was combed into his face, obscuring keen grey eyes. Unlike her he dressed carefully, shopping in the more expensive men’s fashion boutiques in Reykjavik. Today he wore a narrow russet suit made of some shiny elegant fabric over a traditional Icelandic pullover. The resulting mix was one of casual urban refinement, rather unexpected in rural Seydisfjordur.“What do you have?” she asked.“Intelligence reports,” he answered. “Going by the filing system I’d say KGB and FSB, some is 15 to 20 years old, some is fairly recent. According to them your film executive used to be USAF. A full Colonel in the end, going strong towards his first star. Then he dropped entirely off the radar, to resurface as the boss of a sizable film studio in southern England. Quite some career change, eh?”“How did we come by these? Where did you find them?” Unnur asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise. That was more than what Section 7 had been able to dig up.“Our Finnish division, I suspect.” Ragnar shrugged. “You know computers, they are literal and stupid, still. I decided to search for Edward and Edwin Straker, not just that Ed Straker his office told us is his name. This here was the catch.”“Good thinking,” she smiled and accepted the portfolio into which he had swept the printouts. “See what you can find out about long-term weather forecasts for the trip up the mountains. I want to be prepared.”Back in her own office she studied the sheets he had come up with. Some was in Cyrillic print, some had been translated prior to putting it onto microfilm. The Russian was no problem, she was fluent.Indeed the reading was very interesting: Straker had been an officer with a spotless career. He had only the very best credentials and references from everyone he had served under. Neither the abrupt abandonment of his military career, nor the come-back as head of a film studio made much sense. Especially in view of what the minister of defence had told her to do for the guy. Well, she had him all to her own for more than two weeks. She would solve that puzzle, along with the one the hub still was.***Doug Jackson took a deep breath and, steeling himself for the invisible waves of resentful dislike inexorably bound to emanate from the commander, walked into the treatment room.Without Miss Ealand’s intervention Straker would not have come to seek medical care at all. It was her making an appointment without even asking Straker first which had brought the commander down to him in what clearly was a very foul mood.Not that Straker showed his displeasure in any blatant manner these days. It had been years that he had openly exhibited his profound aversion to Doug, an aversion the commander shared with the majority of S.H.A.D.O.’s staff. After all this time Jackson had grown used to that. But the blast of icy hostility he expected to being the result of such a major invasion of privacy might need an extra steeling of the inner defenses.It never came. The commander was stretched out flat on the examination couch, on his belly and asleep, his features for once relaxed in deep repose. Jackson quickly closed the distance, concerned by such atypical conduct. Making a fast, cursory examination, fingertips barely brushing Straker’s skin while feeling for the pulse and checking temperature, he sighed with relief when it became clear that the man was just done for by what he had exposed himself to.The basic concern remained, though. Straker never stirred, while Jackson had assumed that his low-key manipulations would be enough to wake him without startling him. He knew from past in-patient stays that Straker had a very light sleep. Running his sharp observant eyes down the still form, Jackson finally hissed. He bent over Straker’s thighs with an abrupt hawk-like interest and using tissue forceps tried lifting the fabric away from the skin. The commander immediately came alive with a pained cry.“Well,” Jackson drawled. “I can see the problem now. You need to take those trousers off so I can do something about it.”Straker lifted himself up on his elbows, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Still there was no hostility, just weariness. Jackson walked over to where they kept a variety of treatment fluids, putting on as businesslike a mien as he could, and picked up a bottle of saline solution.“That’s going to feel cold,” he said, then poured the fluid where blood and secretion had caked and stuck fabric to skin. Straker hung his head in resignation, chuckled after a few moments.“I guess everyone down here and upstairs is laughing by now,” Straker said, acknowledging the humor in the situation. “The big boss with a sore butt and a set of, uhm, cracked nuts.”Jackson could not help a chuckle and peeled back the trousers as gently as he could. The damage revealed was quite extensive and made him click his tongue with surprise. He could not imagine how Straker had been able to sit a horse in spite of this mess. The doctor applied Xylocaine solution liberally wherever he could make out injured and chafed skin. The profound relief that induced in Straker was conspicuous, the man was taking his first deep and untroubled breath in what must have been hours.“I wouldn’t think so, Commander,” Jackson answered. “It’s not exactly public knowledge what you were up to the past days. Your friends may have had a laugh at your expense, but they’re also discreet, and good friends.”Straker looked around at the doctor, astonished by what had to be compassion in the tone and the words. Not what he had expected in Doug Jackson of all people. The man did one of his nervous, bird-like on the spot dances he had come to recognize as part of his decision-making process.“May I make a suggestion, Commander?” Jackson finally asked, bending back over Straker’s thighs, applying more sprays, skin rebuilders still deemed experimental outside of HQ, but found to be very effective by S.H.A.D.O. surgeons who had been using them for several months now. Straker nodded, craning his head to look at what was being done to him.“Stay off horses tomorrow,” Jackson continued. “Give your body a chance to heal itself. I’ll give you an ointment which will strengthen the skin and deaden some of the pain. Use it. Tell that riding master that all you need to know is how to post trot and gallop, how to use the reins and not upset the horse. There’s no need for you to develop a classic dressage seat which is what, well, caused this.” Jackson waved a hand into the direction of the sores.“I didn’t know you’re a horseman,” Straker said.Jackson shook his head.“No, I’m not,” he said. “My wife used to ride at competition levels. Sometimes she’d pester me until I rode out with her and that’s what she taught me. It was enough to keep me comfortable on, uhm, a well-behaved horse. You will have to insist on such a one, I’d say.”Straker was about to ask about the wife he also had known nothing of, but something in the doctor’s expression kept him from doing so. Jackson turned rather abruptly and rummaged through several drawers of the apothecary cabinet until he lifted out a small plastic pot with a satisfied grunt. Another drawer produced a large, clear tube containing a gel-like substance.“Adeps Cervinus,” he said, pointing at the pot. “Rendered, medicinal deer tallow. There’s nothing which works better, keeps skin from becoming sore. Racing cyclists and marathon runners use it. Take it with you to Iceland, and apply liberally every morning. And this is the skin ointment to use during the next 24 hours. Careful, use gloves when applying that stuff, it contains DMSO.”“What’s DMSO?” Straker asked, puzzled.“Dimethyl sulfoxide,” Jackson explained. “It’s a solvent which penetrates the skin very readily and when mixed with pharmaceuticals it carries these through the skin into the system. It’s also an efficient painkiller. You don’t need to have your hands numbed though, do you?”He placed container and tube with a beatific smile in Straker’s hands.For the first time since the Polish doctor had joined S.H.A.D.O. the commander looked into Jackson’s face and wondered whether he had been correct in believing this expression to be pure cynicism.
Chapter 2
Riding: The art of keeping a horse between you and the ground.
In the end Straker had decided to use a local airline rather than expose one of their own machines on a flight to Reykjavik. Thus it had been Iceland Air which had taken them to Keflavík International Airport.Now Paul Foster and he were sitting in a small charter plane bound for east-coast Egilsstadir Airport. If schedules were kept as promised, an agent would pick them up there and drive them down to Seydisfjordur.Foster was soundly asleep, as he had been on the flight up from Heathrow. Straker envied the younger man that ability. Instead of getting what most likely was the last real rest for a fortnight he was looking at the evaluation reports Alec and Ford had assembled on the meshing hub, the scant data they had gotten from Halldirsdottir and a set of topographic maps and satellite photos of the mountain range and the area they would have to travel that Colonel Lake had compiled.He had finally understood why the hub could be reached only on foot or by horse: there were no roads, lots of terrain riddled with small brooks and streams, there were waterfalls and wide lakes. A lot of that area was strewn with boulders and rocks large enough to act like tank traps. The mountains themselves appeared to be shrouded in low clouds or fog most of the time. International aeronautical maps charted the whole stretch of land as being of the highest habitual danger level for any kind of aircraft, both for landing and flyover. He wondered whether UFOs experienced a positive effect from the constant drizzle and humidity.It would be a strenuous venture. To say he was not daunted by the prospect would have been a lie. However, his sores had healed completely after two further visits to Doug Jackson. Taking the doctor’s advice he had explained what he needed to be able to do and the lessons which had resulted from that clarification had been much less of an ordeal. On the last day he had mastered a trail ride at a moderate pace with Redcliff, and much to his surprise he had even enjoyed it.***With open admiration Ragnar watched his commanding officer stalk the silver dapple mare. Of barely more height and substance than a slender 13-year-old Unnar did not have the brawn to convince the nimble Icelandic ponies with weight or size. She was fast, though, and many a recalcitrant horse discovered that this harmless looking woman could drop halters on them as if it were indeed child’s play.She wore mud-coloured jodhpurs, the ubiquitous Icelandic hand-knit sweater and sturdy boots reaching up to mid-calf. The heavy clothing looked incongruous on her delicate frame, but he knew that she preferred these to anything more elegant. Which was a shame.At 56 she was at the height of her personal beauty, he thought. She looked like one of the hidden fairie-people, her full waist-length dark hair shiny like a raven’s wing, barely touched with silver at the temples, her face wise, feline and refined. Long, regular hours of riding and exercise teaching martial arts to field agents had given her movements of effortless grace and a hard, resilient body.Ragnar had trouble understanding heterosexual men. If he had been into women, Unnur would not have been safe from him, boss or not. But to the best of his knowledge she had not found another relationship after her husband had been killed a couple of years ago. There may or may not have been casual encounters, but if there were she had been so secretive about those that even he as her secretary and co-tenant had not noticed.There were six of them living on the large former horse farm just outside town. Apart from Eric Andrisson, colleague, lover and husband of two years, there were Unnur’s younger sister Jordis and the middle-aged couple of farmhands who did most of the menial work on the farm, Helge Gundarsson and Stine Bjoerkdottir. The buildings could easily have housed a dozen more inhabitants. The place had once been a cooperative run by several families, of which only Unnur’s late husband had remained in the end. She had given up most of the land and nowadays just kept a small herd of horses, additionally boarding again as many for government and agency employees of the area.Eric had taken the Range Rover to collect the film producer and his staff from Egilsstadir’s air strip. That left Unnur, Jordis and him to decide on which horses to use and catch them. Helge was heating up the forge to the side of the paddocks, all horses would need fresh shoes. The delicious fumes wafting over from the kitchen told him that Stine also was up early, baking and cooking. They had slaughtered two young ewes the day before, some of the meat would go into their provisions.He hollered with the rest of the onlookers when Unnur at last outwitted the wily mare and dropped the rope-halter over her nose, leading her from the herd to the paddock. Ragnar jumped off the fence, his turn now.***
Straker looked at his watch for the fourth time. There were few things he hated more than unpunctuality. By now he had drunk what must have been a whole bathtub of coffee in the grubby cafeteria and he could feel his temper beginning to snap.Their plane had landed two hours earlier in this godforsaken spot on the edge of just about nowhere. The cafeteria’s panorama terrace overlooked empty, windswept grassland, looking bleak and cold in the constant drizzle. There were no other passengers around. Going by the surreptitious glances they were treated to the staff wanted to close down for the day. He could see there was no further plane due. The sole reason the service building still was open and lit was their presence.Thoroughly exasperated Straker got up and started pacing the length of the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back.“Keep your shirt on”, Foster said. Straker turned, his gaze following where Foster pointed with his chin. A mud-spattered jeep had pulled up in front of the glass wall separating the cafeteria from its terrace. The man who got out of it quickly pulled up the hood of his oilskins and dashed towards the entrance.Eric Andrisson was a burly, fair-skinned, fair-haired man in his late twenties sporting a bristly, full beard which must have been non-regulation even in the Icelandic military. He did not even bother to shake himself, a small puddle quickly collecting where he stood.He knew he was late, something which he tried to avoid when foreigners were involved. Few of those not living on an island permanently affected by freak weather paired with whatever little tricks a volcanically and geographically active landscape could throw at you grasped that being on time was a matter of chance, not application. The waves of exasperation emanating from one of the visitors proved that point.Eric gave them a quick once-over, the annoyed one was blonde enough to have passed as indigenous, slim and quietly elegant, apparently brain to the second arrival’s pronounced hunky brawn and dark-haired charm. Now, that one looked beddable enough even for Ragnar’s fickle taste, Eric thought and hid a smile neither man would have understood.“Mr. Straker? Mr. Foster? Welcome on Iceland,” he said and extended a friendly hand. “I’m very sorry you had to wait.” Both men had a firm grip, Eric watched the blonde one dismissing his earlier vexation with a smooth gesture.“I hope you have wet weather clothing with you,” he continued cheerfully, while he led them through the steady drizzle to the jeep. “Seems we’ll get a few early autumn storms this year.”He did not miss the resigned look which passed from Straker to Foster. They quickly climbed into the car, while he stowed their luggage in the trunk.“Will the weather adversely affect our trip to the meshing hub?” Straker asked, buckling himself into the passenger seat.Eric shrugged. “Not really, unless we get a real bad deep low pressure cyclone we should be fine,” he said. “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing. And the boss is picking our horses right now, so you can be sure they’ll be up to it.”“But we won’t leave before tomorrow?” Straker asked.“That’s right,” Eric nodded. “The horses will be shoed today, the irons will have to settle until tomorrow. Anyway, it would be too late to start out today by the time we reach the farm.”The jeep hurtled at good speed over a single-lane road in need of a thorough makeover, the countryside flat and forbidding, except for occasional rocks and large boulders strewn about, as if a giant had played them like marbles.Straker observed with growing apprehension that they headed straight for on of these boulders, a chunk of rock the size of a truck, instinctively sitting up straighter expecting impact. At the last moment the jeep swerved around the boulder, following a turn in the road which clearly had been built to accommodate it.Foster, who had been just as astounded, whipped around to have a last good look at the sharp bend.“What was that?” he asked.“A boulder.” Eric answered.“Yes, I saw that,” Foster continued. “Why does the road go around it?”Eric smothered a smile. “Well, it can’t go through it now, can it?”“Sure, nothing a few pounds of Semtex wouldn’t solve,” Foster said, still puzzled. “Or a powerful caterpillar.”“Oh no,” Eric said. “That would anger the elves. Or possibly one of the trolls. Can’t have that. The road would be a mess of accidents and mishaps then. I think remember reading in the newspaper that this one houses a troll and that the troll didn’t agree with moving it. So they built that bend.”He was explaining this with such an air of seriousness, that Straker was unable to tell whether or not they were being had or not. He decided he did not want to call the bluff and kept looking straight ahead.Eric cracked a small smile. Foreigners. They never understood.***The farm rang with the music of Helge striking the hot iron in the age-old rhythm of all farriers. Unnur was holding up the off fore of one of the geldings she intended for the visitors. There were four more riding horses and the stallion to be shod.The farrier approached with the hot iron and pressed it against the hoof. Horn sizzled, the pungent billows of dense smoke enveloped her. Not that anything but a long shower would get the stench out of her hair and off her skin.Ragnar whistled. He had been sitting on the fence near her, watching them work. Unnur straightened: the approaching jeep was quite visible even up in the Fjord, slowly winding down the road towards the town. Of course it would branch off towards the farm before reaching the outskirts of Seydisfjordur.Her secretary looked at her pointedly. Unnur smiled and shook her head. There was an almost imperceptible change in those present. Long used to Unnur’s occasional whims the others acknowledged her decision. Ragnar knew Eric would have no trouble noticing. He slid off the fence to avert Stine.By the time he had returned from the longhouse the Range Rover had turned into the farm’s driveway, careering along at Eric’s usual maniacal driving speed. Ragnar grinned and felt somewhat sorry for the two strangers. Stine would be heartbroken if they did not do justice to her cooking later.The jeep pulled up near the guesthouse with a loud crunch of the gravel. Walking towards it Ragnar watched Eric jump out cheerfully, pulling suitcases from the open-bed trunk. The two visitors got out of the car much more deliberately, shaken by the drive.Going by the old photos he had looked at at headquarters Ragnar identified the older, slighter man, who had been in the passenger seat as Edward Straker. He wore no rain gear and there was something touching about how he straightened his suit jacket in an attempt of steeling himself against what clearly was a totally foreign situation. The other visitor was younger, quite buff and handsome, clad in much more practical clothing with his parka and heavy khaki slacks. His whole demeanour was more casual, but no less self-assured.Ragnar caught Eric’s eyes. As he had surmised, his lover needed just one moment to take in that Unnur was out at the forge, obscuring herself among the rest of them. It was not the first time that their boss had managed to learn a lot through simple observation in assumed absence. One of the first rules she taught new staff members was to never let on who precisely she was when meeting with outsiders. Few people even realized that the slight woman was more than a farmhand when first meeting her.He approached the group, extending a hand in greeting towards the fair-haired film executive.“Mr. Straker,” he said. “Welcome on Vegjurbaer. I’m Ragnar Smillasson, Unnur Halldirsdottir’s assistant. May I show you your accommodation? Maybe you want to refresh yourself, before I take you around?”A set of bright blue eyes gave him what was a very thorough once-over. There was no mistaking the high level of intelligence in the other man, way more in line with his military career than what he purported now to be.“Yes please,” Straker answered after a moment. “Thank you!”Extending a hand towards the guesthouse he allowed the two men to precede him.
Chapter 3
It is not enough for a man to know how to ride; he must know how to fall.
Straker cast a brief glance at Foster who was looking proper and competent in well-worn jodhpurs, sturdy stable boots and a weatherproof jacket over a thick Aran sweater. He even already smelled of horse. His own equipment on the other hand was brand-new and did not appear as trustworthy, breeches, knee-high riding boots, a fleece pullover and a skiing jacket.“Say it out loud."“You should’ve taken the jodhpurs instead,” Foster complied. “Low boots too.”“Right.” Straker agreed. “Nothing I can do about it now, is there? Let’s go join them outside. Maybe this Halldirsdottir chap’s finally arrived.”With a quick glance he checked that all their S.H.A.D.O.-only equipment was ranged inside the temper proof suitcases. Their guest quarters were surprisingly modern, light pine furniture, bright fabrics on the floor and beds, whitewashed walls with beautiful multicoloured hangings decorating them. The beds were soft and comfortable, covered with thick duvets.Using his satellite phone, with SID scrambling the signal, he had contacted HQ directly after their arrival, averting Alec and Colonel Lake that they had reached the farm and would be making off for the meshing hub the next day. S.H.A.D.O.’s own weather forecast confirmed what Eric had told the, triggering some mirth in Alec. Straker heard the ‘I told you so’ without it having to be said.Outside he saw that the weather had taken a turn to the better. The evening sun broke through the cloud cover, transforming the Icelandic tundra into a place of magical beauty. The farm provided a magnificent view of the slowly rising fjord with the mountains and ranges at the back, a composition in pale blues, rose and delicate greens touched with gold where the rays of sunshine met with the ground. Foster at his side took a deep, contented breath and gave him a happy smile. Straker could not help answering in kind.The sounds from the stable area were as old as the hills: the bright tone of iron being forged in double-strokes, the neighing of horses, the hard fall of hooves galloping across grass, the calming chants of the horsemen, the hiss of hot iron in cold water. He felt transported backwards in time, his usually effortless grip on harsh reality slipping in an unexpected manner.Just as unexpected as his first glimpse of the Icelandic horses that he had taken from the window of the guesthouse. Now, slowly walking towards the small milling herd in the paddock, he regarded them at leisure. These horses were smaller than those he had seen at Redcliff’s place. He gave them 13 hands, maybe 14, but not more than that. Yet what they lacked in height, they made up in attitude. He shuddered involuntarily as he watched them race the length of the enclosure, heads thrown high, luxuriously full and long manes flying, kicking their heels and bucking freely.A quick glance at Foster showed unadulterated delight in the younger man’s face whose gaze was riveted on what obviously was a stallion, black as a crow, rearing and pounding the ground in anger, not giving an inch opposite one of the stable hands who was trying to catch him. The stallion threw his head in an arc, then snaked forwards in what looked an attempt at biting. That was all the slight human in front of him needed, from nowhere a halter appeared and settled in a graceful movement on the stallion’s head. Ears laid back, neck thrown into the air he stalked stiffly after what Straker now realized was a short, delicate woman. She tied him up near the forge and lifted a leg for the farrier to work on, nimbly evading the horse’s continued attempts to bite her.“Hi there”, Ragnar said, falling in step beside Straker. “That’s Hrafn. He’s Dagur Stilgarsson’s horse. When he appeared at the other end of the fjord, and tried to abduct mares from the farms there, we knew something must have happened to Dagur. That’s when we sent you that report.”“Why is he being shod then?” Straker asked, carefully keeping a distance between the horse and himself.“He’ll need new shoes to make it up there. If Dagur is alive and injured, he’ll want his horse to ride home on,” Ragnar explained. “If he is dead we will turn him loose on the plain beyond the mountain range. Dagur would’ve wanted that. ”Straker just looked at him, this was not the answer he had expected.“Do you want to see the horses the boss has chosen for you?” Ragnar asked and had both their attention. Straker and Foster fell in step behind him as he walked to the much smaller paddock on the other side of the blacksmithing pit.***They were unaware of being closely watched.Unnur did not make the mistake others would have made. That this Edward Straker was quite completely out of his waters on a farm, that he wore the wrong set of clothes telling everyone that he knew little to nothing about trail-riding, all that was no reason for her to discount him. Quite on the contrary. Instead there was something speaking loudly about the easy deference Straker was awarded by the aggressively virile young man at his side, about Straker’s calm acceptance of a for him most likely untenable situation and about his hooded interest in everything surrounding him. The man was drinking in information much the same way she did.The meshing hub’s capacities alone sized up the kind of organisation the man must be heading. Few knew just how encompassing the network was which that hub controlled on a purely technical level. She did, it had been her former husband who had designed and built the station. Knowing that, she had been astonished to discover that the CoC of such an organisation was so young.She placed Straker still this side of forty, remembering how vague the reports she had read had been regarding his age. That on top of that he was of an incongruous beauty for a military man made her smile rather than underestimate him. She had been puzzled by the rigidly slicked down helmet he had turned his hair into, wondering why he rejected his good looks when she first spotted him. However, the humid Icelandic weather was spelling this out for her now. The slight drizzle had dissolved the constraining hair gel enough to turn the austere hairstyle into a fluffy, feathery bob of white-blond curls softly caressing Straker’s angelic face. Unnur had to concede, had she looked that harmless and cherubic, she also would have tried to add some severity.From the way the man moved around the horses Ragnar showed them, she could tell that he had little more than a beginner’s knowledge. Where Foster was confident and boldly enjoying himself, Straker’s movements were tentative and cautious. She had chosen the calmest, most easygoing of her ponies for them, but even though, they all had zest and temperament. In a snap-decision she motioned her sister to her side.“Quite a pair, uh?” Jordis said, also watching their guests closely. Knowing her sister, Unnur caught the undercurrent telling her that Foster would have to watch out. Jordis had a thing going for dark-haired muscular types.“Harkon’s riding stuff should fit goldilocks, he had the same size and built,” Unnur said. “They need to try out the horses and he can’t go on the ride in what he wears anyway.”“You sure about this?” Her sister looked doubtful. Unnur smiled and nodded. Her soul had let her husband go many years ago. She just did not advertise that to anyone, not even her sister.“Of course,” she said. “Make it your suggestion, please.”She wondered how long it would take Straker to realize that she was whom he was waiting for. The amount of patience and graciousness in reaction to a frustrating experience was a tell, just as the ability to deduct from what was in evidence and how someone dealt with the results.Settling Hrafn’s hindfoot on her upper thigh so that Helge could trim the hoof, she kept watching the two men. Foster already was saddling the sorrel gelding he would start out on tomorrow. She dismissed him, seeing he was competent enough to be no problem on the ride.Straker on the other hand was approaching the small bay mare Ragnar had caught for him with such an amount of caution, that Unnur began to wonder, whether he would be able to just stay up on her. She observed him placing both of his slender hands on the mare’s neck in a gesture calming more likely himself than the horse.She cracked a smile when she saw that Jordis’ calling him off came as a relief.***Thankfully Straker fingered the well-worn but freshly washed and pressed clothes, and lifted them to his face in curiosity. They smelled of heather and lavender, the leathers of horse. The offer had been his salvation, he had been intimidated by the idea of going on that long ride in what so obviously were the wrong clothes. Already the act of taking off the narrow, tight boots was a major effort.The woman had said that these clothes belonged to her late husband-in-law. He wondered where her spouse was. The various ties and relationships of the whole group he and Foster were faced with still perplexed him, though by now he was rather sure that Ragnar and Eric were a pair. The others he could not sort out yet, and there still was no sign of the CSS either. He wondered whether someone was playing power games with him.The black jodhpurs fit so well that they might have been tailored for him, already worn and creased where they needed to be. He felt at home in them immediately. The same went for the heavy stable boots, which were made as much for walking as for riding. The two hand-knit sweaters in bright hues of blues and emeralds set off with shades of grey and black were items of such stunning artisanship that he was not sure whether he ought to wear them at all. The tiny procession of horses, riders and stags knit into them in repeating patterns told stories like artwork. He ran his fingertips over the motifs in admiration, someone had put a lot of time and love into this.However, upon seeing a laughing Foster gallop along the pasture fence he quickly shrugged into one of them and headed back to the stables. He did not notice two pairs of eyes following him closely, both disclosing differing shades of shock at how he looked like in clothes which for 8 years no one had worn.The bay mare was still patiently standing where he had tied her up. She was not big. He believed he could even jump up on her if hard pressed. But unlike the huge gelding he had been riding at Redcliff’s place she reacted immediately to his every move, keeping him constantly in view, her liquid eyes touched with intelligence and interest.Straker picked up the currycomb and brush he had been given and methodically started to clean her, working from front to rear. Eric dropped a flat saddle onto the topmost fence bar.“That’s old Bilgya,” he said conversationally. “Very patient, bit of a slow-coach, no toelt, but ideal for novice riders.”Straker nodded in acknowledgement and put the saddle on her, happy enough when Eric proceeded to help and correct him in a matter-of-fact way whenever he went wrong. Between them they had the mare ready to be ridden within but few moments. Taking a deep breath Straker walked her into the area where Paul Foster was riding side by side with Ragnar doing something looking rather outlandish with their horses. He could not place that gait, it was as fast as trotting, but looked very different, and created quite a racket on the hard-packed dirt road.Still helpful Eric had accompanied him and now waited, holding fast to the stirrup on the off side and keeping the horse in check by the reins. Straker swung up, almost carried off again the other side, using way too much momentum.“Whoa,” Eric steadied him with one hand. “You trained on much bigger horses, right?”Straker swallowed, blushing like a peony.“Just one,” he answered. “Way bigger.” He felt what had to be a dull, deep red flush suffusing his face. The last time that had happened so prominently he had been sixteen. “I took lessons at a riding school last week...” He trailed off, realising he was not making it any better.Eric managed to keep a straight face.“Your stirrups need lengthening,” he said, helping Straker with it. “Just ride her down the road at a walk, so you get used to the difference in size. Just lean forward a bit, don’t kick her.”This was very unlike the manege he was used to, and also unlike the forests he had ridden out in. The packed dirt track he looked down did not end, it just led on and on vanishing into the horizon. With some trepidation he pulled a deep breath, willed himself to relax and bent forward, taking some weight out of the saddle. The old mare started off willingly at a fast, brisk walk.“From any pace, if you want to stop, just say ‘whoa!’ in a loud voice.” Eric carried on, calling after him. “All horses on this farm will immediately stop to a hard stand still then.”Straker turned his head to look at him, inadvertently turning the mare around as well. Against the big gelding he had been riding the past week this little horse was like a sports car compared to a truck.Ragnar and Foster were circling their horses around an oval track in the infield, the black stallion had been shoed and was being led into a paddock beside the one all the other horses were in.Well, there was no help for it. He had to find out. Clicking his tongue he urged the mare forward at a pace faster than a walk, heading back towards the other horses. She obliged him with a harsh, fast trot making his teeth chatter. The gait was far too fast to post, he rose out of the saddle in an attempt to evade new damage. That however must have been the signal to jump off at a canter, as that was what Bilgya did, heading straight for the large pasture holding the rest of the farm’s horses.Still leaning forwards he yelled ‘Whoa!’.
Chapter 4
As distance shows a horse’s strength, so time reveals a person’s heart.
“You’re becoming quite an okay rider, Ed,” Foster said drily. “You held on to the reins.”Everyone at the large kitchen table laughed heartily, including Straker. The sun had set at last, giving way to a leaden, cloud-covered night sky. All eight of them had gathered around the huge slab of moor oak which served as kitchen table. Fire roaring in the range was spreading a welcome warmth into the chill brought on by the early storms.It was a curious gathering, Straker thought, quietly observing the people sitting around the table, which was laden with a multitude of dishes. Since coming to live in England he had learned that there were many ways to prepare mutton, but the sheer number of differently tasting dishes the cook had prepared from what he had been told had been two ewes on the hoof the day before they arrived was topping that with ease. Apart from mutton there was an almost as large variety of fish, some seafood and a comparatively small amount of vegetables to choose from.Everyone was digging into the food, a long day spent working hard outside or riding in the fresh air had given them all a hearty appetite. He found himself sampling quite more of the dishes than he normally would have done, which gave him an excuse to stay silent and keep observing.As he had thought Eric and Ragnar were a married couple. They had told Foster quite openly so, when he had asked. Straker did not know whether that had been an attempt at getting Ragnar off his back or whether the colonel was genuinely interested. Foster showed no sign of distaste, nor any of attraction either. That was different for Jordis. The young woman had explained that she was the sister of the farm’s owner, which meant she had to be sister of the chief of the Icelandic secret service.No one had owned up to being that so far, indeed by now Straker’s ears were tuned to how they all evaded speaking about the CSS: Over the past hours it had become clear that even though the mysterious chief allegedly was not available, everything regarding their trip was as efficiently arranged as if he had been their commanding everyone. Horses had been chosen and shoed, provisions packed, detailed weather reports and maps provided, maps which right now were on the table and available to all participants. Everything was proceeding as smoothly as if directly supervised, with questions being magically answered and problems seen to. The latter facts had confounded even him.Jordis preferred flirting with Foster to answering any of his careful questions about her brother. It did not help that Foster was smashed enough to turn a blind eye on Straker’s attempts. At least they now knew that Jordis was not part of the expedition, nor the middle-aged couple of Helge, the blacksmith and foreman of the farm, and Stine the cook. The slight woman who had worked as lad during the day quite possibly might take care of the horses on their trip, he thought. That made it five of them.Ragnar was fingering a Tupperware container, trying to open it against the growing protest of Eric and Helge. Jordis had broken out a flask of what they called “Brennivin”, one of the northern akvavits. Straker had declined immediately, but had watched with interest how small amounts of this spirit were filled into chilled shot glasses and downed with a might thump on the heavy oak slab. It had taken four of these drinks to start Ragnar on that container. If he had counted correctly, Foster had had two of these “shots”.Maybe he imagined it, but he thought there had been a low, deep chuckle from the stable hand to his right, who like everyone else was watching Ragnar’s progress.“Sheesh, Ragnar,” Eric groaned when his lover peeled a smaller container wrapped tightly in many layers of Saran wrap out of the first one. “We’ve guests! You can’t eat Hakarl with foreigners at the table!”Everyone except Foster and Straker was laughing this time.“Think of Stine,” Helge added.“What is Hakarl?” Foster asked. “Why shouldn’t we see that?”“Smell it more likely,” Jordis giggled.“Well?” Foster was biting.That was why he rarely imbibed, Straker smiled to himself. Out of the corner of his eye he witnessed what seemed to be a similar amusement streaming from the dark-haired horsewoman on his right.“Hakarl is fermented shark,” Jordis explained. “It has a high ammonia content. It’s an acquired taste. Definitely not for the meek.”“Smells like stale piss,” Helge grumbled.“Grows hair on your chest,” Ragnar said with utter conviction. “It’s not for the meek.”He started to unwrap the inner container, a pungent smell, a bit like strong window cleaning fluid, wafted through the air. With a resigned face Stine opened the kitchen windows, allowing fresh air in.Inside the container there were strips of meat. Ragnar picked a smallish one, set it onto his plate and cut the outer crust off. Grumbling at him Stine made a successful grab for the container, which she quickly reassembled and hid in one of the kitchen cabinets.Ragnar had cut the meat into four neat cubes of meat. Beside each he placed a shot glass and filled it with Brennivin.“Soooo,” Ragnar drawled. “Who’s man enough to eat with me?”Jordis speared a cube with her knife, also taking one of the glasses. She looked at the rest of them grinning like a Cheshire cat. Ragnar impaled his cube on a toothpick, holding it up for everyone to see.Straker started to breathe through his mouth, the fumes from the fermented fish being hard to take. Whatever hopes he had that Foster would not swallow the bait were dashed when Foster picked up one of the cubes with an idly stabbing fork.Ragnar was the first to swallow his, chasing it down immediately with the whole content of the shot glass. Jordis followed, emulating him to a tee.Foster carefully sniffed the meat from the end of his outstretched arm. Everyone was doubled over with laughing, especially when he allowed his disgust to show openly on his face. Then Foster’s steel showed. Pinching his nose shut he gulped the piece of meat down quickly and did not breathe again before he had also swallowed the akvavit.Straker smiled to himself, drunk or not drunk, Foster was calculable. A glance to the right revealed that the stable hand had left the table. Unnoticed by the others he got up and went outside.The air was cool and laden with moisture, strong gusts of wind played along the longhouse. It felt good being outside and alone. He breathed in deeply.In spite of the clouds and the late time it was not entirely dark. After a few moments of adapting to it, he could see the guesthouse to the left and the stables with the paddocks straight ahead. He had read of the phenomenon called “White Nights”, but nothing had prepared him for the eery atmosphere he was witnessing now.He quietly walked down to the stables, moving without a sound. As he drew closer he could hear the restless stallion, pacing, making small distressed noises. Leaning against the fence was the slight, dark-haired woman who had handled him earlier, watching him, as still as the horse was restless.He came to a rest right beside her, impassive, still, sharing the moment of observation.The stallion walked around the perimeter of paddock, forcing air through his nostrils loudly. Every few yards he stopped, threw his head and neck up high, staring into the far distance.At long last Straker turned toward to face her. He smiled, acknowledging her with a minute inclination of his head, and smoothly walked back up to the guesthouse.Unnur watched him vanish into the shadows between the buildings, her lips curled with a smile.Very intriguing.
Chapter 5
There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.
The Icelandic low just off the eastern shore had taken a respite and given them a glorious, brilliant morning. There was an undercurrent of suppressed excitement in the air, fed by the jingling of the metal bits and pieces of the tack, the slap of saddle leathers being adjusted, horses snorting and stamping their hooves, the low voices of people knowing what they were doing and working in tune with each other.Not even 0500 yet, he saw, glancing at his watch. It felt curious to belong, yet that of all things was how Straker felt. He was saddling his bay mare, tying down his sleeping roll and saddlebags just as Eric had shown him. A larger piebald gelding was tied to the fence beside Bilgya, wearing a halter only. According to Ragnar they were taking along two horses per rider, to change every other day, and of course the packhorses which carried their equipment and provisions. Straker cast an apprehensive glance at the two suitcases containing their electronics, strapped to the backs of two geldings further down the caravan.Pulling the fresh air in deeply he stretched, his gaze wandering down the line of horses and people. To his left Foster straightened up from cleaning the hooves of the sorrel he would be riding.“So where is their big boss now?” Foster asked in a low voice. He had weathered the drinking bout quite well, although Straker could have done without the smell or the snore he had brought to their room last night, when he finally got there.Arms comfortably wrapped around his rib cage, he pointed his chin towards the enclosure near the forge, where the slight, dark-haired woman was slipping a snaffle bit between the stallion’s teeth. Foster blinked, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it. Straker gave a low chuckle.“When did you figure that one out?” Foster moved to his side, his voice barely more than a whisper.“Last night,” Straker answered, “when I realized she was sizing us up the way I did myself.”Both men watched Jordis walk towards them, carrying a bundle in her arms. She nodded at her sister, when she passed her and fetched up right in front of them. Shaking out a pair of oilskins she held them against Straker, undecided which one would fit him better.“Unnur says you had better have some along”, she explained to him, yet looking at Foster with laughter in her eyes instead.“Whose clothes are these, exactly?” Straker took what appeared to be the roomier coat and tried it on, then stowed it in a saddlebag. “I’ll take this one.”“Told you,” Jordis answered. “Brother-in-law.”“Who precisely?” Straker canted his head in question. This was no need-to-know thing, but for some reason he felt he ought to be aware of who had worn these clothes before him.“Harkon,” she said after a pause. “Unnur’s husband. He’s been dead 8 years this summer.” The last part followed almost as an afterthought, and reluctantly.“I see,” he said.Ragnar came riding along the lined up horses, already two of the spare mounts in tow.“Yo! Jordis!” He hollered. Jordis turned towards the piebald behind Straker, untied him and threw Ragnar the end of the rope.Straker could see that Eric had mounted as well, leading another four horses, as if there had been some unheard summons he had missed. He turned towards the stallion’s paddock and saw that there had been: Unnur was sitting on her silver dapple mare, hauling the recalcitrant black unceremoniously along.Seeing that Foster behind him also already was up on his horse, he quickly mounted, slipped his feet into the broad Icelandic stirrups and gathered the reins. The mare needed little encouragement from him, the horses started out onto the dirt track with brisk enthusiasm. The sounds, the breeze from the sea, the wind in his hair, the motion of the horse, the brilliant light and open landscape - it suddenly got to him all at the same time. Straker felt his heart expand, a blissful well-being unfolding within his usually so self-contained frame. He started breathing deep, free breaths and could sense an equanimity settling upon him that he had not dreamed of possessing. Regardless of what was in the future, this would stay with him forever, a voice deep inside told him.***So far it had gone better than she had feared.Their weakest link, Straker, was holding up well. Unnur half twisted around in the saddle to do a quick check on him, as she had been doing since they had set off. The slender man had found his rhythm with the old mare, either standing the trot or moving along with her in a short, soft canter. Unnur was thankful to whoever had taught him not to hang onto the reins, the single worst beginner’s fault to cope with on such a trail.It had been rather more unsettling to see him in Harkon’s riding clothes than she had thought. Not that their colouring had been the same. Harkon’s hair had been as jet-black as her own, his coupled with bottle-green eyes. They had always joked that there must have been the same black Irish pirates among their ancestors. Nor were their basic personalities of the same kind, Harkon had been open, humourous and carefree, not brooding and laden with an angst she sensed in Straker but could not fathom. However, the slim frame, those narrow hips and wide shoulders, the flat trim flesh and the easy movements, those were very similar. Just as the shock of curls, now that Straker had given up on slicking down his hair, and the keen intelligence.An hour on the track they had set the spare horses free, except for the stallion whom she was still leading. Hrafn had calmed down, matching her mare’s free-flowing toelt smoothly. The unfettered horses stayed alongside on their own, used to being part of a travel group. The weather had held and they had been making good headway. They would be reaching their lunchtime stopover in about an hour. Before that she had to do some talking.She sheared out of the line and handed Eric the stallion’s reins when he passed her. Curbing her mare she waited until Straker drew even, then had her horse fall in step close beside his. She had to give it to the man, he not only had rather quickly become aware of who she was, he also had left her to stew so gracefully that she could not build a grudge.Going by what she had learned through Harkon, and if he headed the kind of organisation that her husband had told her about to be founded, for the reasons he had suspected, there was the possibility that Straker not just risked all their lives by working on the hub, but also exposed Iceland in general to prolonged efforts at taking out the network he was using. In this case she wanted to be one hundred percent sure that it was worth the cost.She waited, saying nothing, showing none of her thoughts. Instead she observed how he got along with the bay and tried to discern any signs of discomfort in him.“How could you lose three field agents without noticing?” he asked at last, looking at her from under hooded eyes.“To understand that, you have to understand Iceland.” she said.“And I don’t?” He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Procedures... ”“Procedures are not necessarily Icelandic,” Unnur interrupted him, pleased to generate an angry flash of his blue eyes. She sighed. “You need to appreciate how the minds and souls of people here work. Yes, this may be inconvenient sometimes, but it so happens, and not exactly rarely, that people vanish for a while.”The reproachful look he gave her was self-explaining. She could not help but laugh out loud at his utter incomprehension. Not just of ‘people’, such as secret service agents, who simply stayed off work without leave, but also of a CSS who tolerated that.“Let me try again,” she said. “I don’t - I didn’t - supervise the servicing of that meshing hub. That was Dugur’s charge. There are - were - seven technicians and Dugur himself who shared the job, from stations spread across the whole island. I get to see a yearly report. How the group arrives at it, is their and only their responsibility.”When Straker was about to interject she waved him to silence.“This is solitary, cold and often really miserable work,” she continued. “The distances here are daunting, and there are times when neither landlines nor mobiles work. Usually bad news spread fast in spite of that, so it would not be extraordinary for such a group to compile their progress report at the end of the year, and react only to the extraordinary in between. Such as someone reported missing for instance.”Straker drew a deep breath, about to comment. Again she waved him silent. He finally ceded to her resolute style, this was getting interesting.“I checked.” Something in her tone had him pay close attention. “The first three agents, those who never reported back in, were all single. Now, that’s not in itself noteworthy, except that all of them had been in solid relationships until roughly a year ago, when suddenly their partners left them. You see, no one missed them. No one reported their absence. In a harsh country like ours, that is an absolute rarity. Yet it happened four times, for Dugur’s wife also dumped him. Dugur, we wouldn’t have known about him either if his horse hadn’t showed up in a civilized area.”“About these partners,” Straker said at last. “Were they interrogated? What did they say? Has a physician, or a psychiatrist seen them?”Unnur shook her head with a rueful smile.“I’m sorry, Mr. Straker,” she answered. “We aren’t the CIA. I’m also not the boss of some ultra-secret anti-alien defense organisation, like you.”She was looking straight into his face saying that, there was no time for dissimulation. And she had dropped the bomb so perfectly, that she now reaped its fruits: oh yes, that was what he was and where he came from alright! She almost felt sorry for him now, the shock playing across his beautiful features was a bad one. She chuckled.“No, Edward,” she said, her voice soft. “You don’t have to shoot me. I’ve known this for more than a decade and no one is the wiser. Harkon, my husband, designed the hub. He worked under a very gung-ho American general. His name was Henderson and he had to provide information that, for a man as intelligent as my husband was, was enough to lead to the right conclusions.”***Normally the easy horseplay and camaraderie going on around the fireplace of their overnight stop would have been something to observe and, at times, to envy, because he usually was not part of it.He was not part of it tonight either, even though he sat closer to the centre of merriment than he would have allowed himself on a training outing with S.H.A.D.O. staff. Straker always had been a firm believer in that closeness bred contempt and allowed very few people to come near him, in every way. The ease with which the Icelanders had accepted Foster into their circle showed him that there would have been room for him as well, if he had chosen to occupy it.However, even just observing the rest of the group was overshadowed by what Unnur had so casually said this morning.He tossed the last peeled tuber into the pot between his feet. Ragnar had dug up a bucket full earlier upon arrival, and placed them near the fire for anyone willing enough to peel them. It was work he at least knew how to do around the camp, so he had quietly pulled the bucket close and made the chore his. He got up and suspended the pot over the fire, poured more water into it, added salt and the wild chives he had found and minced. Mutton was slowly coming to a boil in another pot, a stack of bowls already resting on a flat stone beside the fire.Unnur baffled him. He had watched the woman joke with Foster and Ragnar about the rotten shark they had eaten the evening before, relating to both men in an easy way he could not help envying. Much like with Alec, the people she led wanted to submit to her decisions. Yet she was the chief in command. By all means he would have thought that this distanced her as much from them as it distanced him from his subordinates.“Don’t you drink coffee where you come from?” Startled he looked up. She extended a mug of coffee towards him. He took it and sipped, thankful for the warmth. The coffee had the kick of a mule, was unsweetened and pitch-black. Both his eyebrows vanished into his bangs.“Everyone at S.H.A.D.O. drinks coffee!”“S.H.A.D.O.?” She asked. “Is that the official name?”He could not believe it: this was the second time that she had made him look like a damn fool! It was as if she was leading him around by a ring in his nose. He pressed his lips together, as if that would suck the words he should not have uttered back in.It did not occur to him, that she might have had the simple advantage of being the older, and more experienced in these games, and that she had no scruples about using this advantage to the best of her people and land.
Chapter 6
Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyways. "Colonel Freeman," Ford's tinny voice blared from the intercom in Straker's office. "Could you please come to the control room, sir?" Alec looked up, puzzled. It was, as Straker usually called it, the graveyard shift, and up to now it had been dead quiet indeed. He rose much more fluently than a man his size and mass usually would have. The time in Canada had done him good, physically and mentally. He was scanning the monitors already while striding along the computer aisle, two of the screens showing six small blips of light each. "Trajectory?" "Coming in over Greenland," Ford said calmly. "Flat arc, if they continue like that, they'll overfly southern Greenland, Iceland, Scotland and England, landing somewhere in southern England, right now either Kent or Surrey." "Well, what happened to the Interceptors?" Freeman asked, after some quick, mental arithmetics. "That's the reason I called you, sir," Ford answered. "There were a full dozen when they passed the moonbases. The interceptors took out six of them." "Did you launch the Skydivers?" "Yes, sir. But only 2, 3 and 5 are close enough to reach them before landfall." In situations like this Freeman understood Straker's constant gripe with the late financial problems S.H.A.D.O. had. Of the four additional bases he had wanted, he had gotten just one, and the amount of defense vehicles had been barely doubled. As a consequence it took just a dozen UFOs to slip through where they wanted to slip through. Something struck him about the flightpath. "Exact trajectory again, Keith?" Ford looked up at Freeman, unperturbed. He would have counted out the runner beans in his backyard, if one of the ranking officers had asked him. He had found his very own niche at S.H.A.D.O., nothing would faze him here. "Exact trajectory....," he played with the computer-pad for a moment. "They'll be passing Gjunnbjoern Fjeld and the Denmark Strait in 10 minutes. Then Bolungarvik, Myvatn and Djupivogur, on to Cape Wrath..." "Wait a moment," Alec had called up a map on one of the monitors, following the trajectory with the end of a pen. Tapping the screen where it showed Iceland he turned towards Ford. "Where exactly are Commander Straker and Colonel Foster right now?" "Somewhere between Myvatn and Djupivogur," Alec ran a hand through his hair. He did not believe in coincidences. "Are we able to connect to them?" "No, sir," Ford answered. "Commander Straker phoned in via satellite the evening before yesterday. But already then the connection was bad. He said he would take only his mobile along, but I can't even do a GPS location on it currently." "Order the skydivers in over Iceland," he finally decided. "I want them to keep them from landing or firing on the island." "Very well, sir." "Oh, and Keith," Alec shot over his shoulder already halfway back to the office. "Try to inform Straker of this and keep me abreast of things. I'll be in the office."***Straker woke. It was not morning, the rest of the camp was quiet, there was no obvious reason why he should have come awake. Yet he was wide awake. He listened for the horses. The evening before it had taken him time to grow accustomed to the gentle yet constant stream of small sounds emanating from where they were corralled. After a while his unconscious had filed these and he had been able to fall asleep. Now he revisited what he had stowed in memory and found the discrepancy: the stallion was walking around the camp, free, his breathing heavy and sharp. It was another White Night, the landscape bathed in a silvery shimmer, though this time there also were Northern Lights playing across the night sky in curtains of greens and reds. Noiselessly he slid from his sleeping bag, into a crouch low to the ground, taking the Glock from his backpack. Still as low as possible he moved over to the corral and traced the fence of the stallion's enclosure. It was unbroken and showed no sign of how or where the horse had breached it. He moved yet farther away from the others, leaving the camp's inner perimeter behind. The noises from the sleepers, the horses and the fire were inaudible now. Straining Straker heard the constant, even rustle of the wind through the grass, the lapping of the water from the stream and the regular, lowkey hoof beats from the stallion, which sounded filled with single-minded purpose. His pace had picked up, he was trotting now. At long last he was able to make him out. Black against the dark background the stallion was nothing more than a vague shape propelled forwards in an inexorable perimeter watch. Straker caught his breath, as that was what the horse was doing, he suddenly realized. Another movement caught his eye, near a spot of underbrush close to the streamlet. Silently he crept forwards, discerning a human shape stretched out flat in the grass. Before he could finish the approach, the figure turned around, motioning him to drop down. It was Unnur, a Sig Sauer Pro gleaming dully in her hands. Straker dropped beside her, close enough so their shoulders were touching. The woman turned her face into the light, enabling him to see the seriousness of her expression. With deliberate slowness she straightened out again, allowing him to sight down where her gaze, and her gun, were pointing. When he finally grasped what he was seeing his heart missed a beat, just to start pounding furiously in his chest. There was no mistaking the red suit and helmet. Straker scanned the sky and the nearby landscape, there was no aircraft in sight. The alien was making directly for the camp. He carried no gun, instead there was something resembling a miniature radar antenna in his hands. A low hum emanated from it, just barely audible. The alien was traversing from left to right and back with it, covering the camp from side to side. Although there was no ray or beam visible, the effect was immediate: the horses grew even more restless yet. The last pan brushed both Unnur and him. Straker gasped in response, and heard her groan. He felt a deadly rage flare up inside him, the wish to turn and hit the chief across the face intense, the deed already in front of his inner eye. In this vision blood was streaming from her face, to his deep satisfaction, goading him into hitting her again and again. These emotions, these pictures in his mind were so vivid and compelling, that all he felt able to do was to lock himself into a fetal position, prone on his side, trembling with the struggle not to attack the woman. She was hugging herself in imitation of his efforts. As suddenly as this had started, it stopped again. The alien had passed them by. Straker licked at the blood on his lips, the coppery taste strong where he had bitten down on himself. Breath still coming in a ragged strain he was on the move now, making for the alien who moved closer to the others. There were sleepy moans in the air, what he did affected those around the camp fire just as it had them. A blur of motion at the edge of his vision told him Unnur was following. There was no need for consultation, they tackled the alien in a perfect match. Unnur slapped the device from the alien's hands, then spun him towards Straker, who felled him with a kick to his knees, the crunch of breaking bones audible. Unnur pulled a serrated combat knife from one of her boots, and barely pausing to obtain his approval plunged it deeply into the heart of the alien, twisting it twice. Both of them watched the man die, the green fluid in his helmet tainting with the blood which oozed from his mouth in a thin trail. Unnur crouched down beside the alien, shining a small pocket light at him, openly curious now. "We need to hide him," she said at last, straightening. "There is no need for my men to see him." Straker nodded. He picked up the device and turned it around in his hands. "I wonder what we would learn if we asked the ex-partners of your agents about violent behaviour," he said in a low voice. He shuddered, he could feel the violence still reverberating within him. Looking up into the eyes of the chief he could see his emotions mirrored. For an instant they acknowledged what had nearly happened, then she narrowed her eyes, shutting him out resolutely. "Come on, let's find a place where to bury him."***"And just where did Carlin lose it?" Alec was pacing the control room angrily. "Near the mountain range here," Ford had called up a map of Iceland and pointed at a spot in the south east. "According to Captain Carlin it dropped so rapidly under the cloud cover that he had been unable to follow. When he'd made the descent there was no sign of the UFO." "Where are the other five?" "Two were taken down by Skydiver 3, one by Captain Carlin and the rest by Skydiver 5 when they cleared Scotland." Ford said. "Captain Carlin is executing a grid search pattern at high altitude, but he'll have to refuel with the hour." "Tell him to continue until he needs to refuel, after that he can rejoin with the sub." Alec sighed. "If it hasn't resurfaced until then, it won't do so soon anyway. Station Carlin and Waterman just off Iceland's coast. They should consider themselves to be on a 24/7 yellow alert until that UFO is found. Any contact with Commander Straker?" Ford shook his head. "No, sir." Freeman stalked back into Straker's office and picked up the outside phone. It rang several times, before the other end picked up. "Virginia? What are you doing just now?" "Alec! Knee-deep in ironing," she answered. "Give me an excuse to come to work early?" "Yes. We've a touchdown in Iceland." He said. "I'd like you here to run a computer-assisted radar survey. The new stuff you and Barton have been working on." "Isn't Ed currently up there?" "Yes." The terse answer was all she needed. "Be right over."
Chapter 7
If the world was truly a rational place, men would ride sidesaddle.
"So what do you think this is?" Foster asked Straker in a quiet aside, both of them saddling their horses. The alien device had gone into one of the electronics chests with Foster's help. "Mind or mood altering rays," Straker shrugged. "It's not the first time they influenced the human psyche. Let's wait and see what Jackson makes of it. He'll have a field day with fully functional alien machinery right in his hands." "We need an armed night watch from now on," Foster added, looking up at him for assent. " We need to defend ourselves from such attacks." "That's already been decided," Straker nodded. "The chief has made it official policy and explained it with the stallion's escape." The piebald kept evading the bit, butting Straker's chest every time he tried to slip the snaffle past his lips. As he had learned this morning, the horse's name was Flekkur, the icelandic word for "pied". Without ostentation, but clearly visible for his commander, Foster pushed the snaffle into the mouth of his own mount, showing him how to force the jaw open with a finger thrust in sideways. Straker flashed him a thankful glance and finally managed to bridle the piebald using that trick. He was somewhat in awe of the gelding who was much more lively and muscular than the old mare. The atmosphere inside the camp was one of unease. As had been agreed between them during the night, the chief had kept Ragnar and Eric in the dark about the exact nature of what had happened during the night. However, Straker's surreptitious observation of the couple, as well as Foster, showed him that some of what the alien had done, had had effects on them all. They were all on the edge. The stallion had ceased his nervous patrol the moment they alien device had been deactivated, and had allowed Unnur to catch him and lead him back into his enclosure. Straker could see she was mounting, leading the black already at her side. He ignored the sharp protest of his overtaxed muscles and swung into the saddle. He suddenly could not help grinning to himself, Jackson's prescription was working. There had not been a saddle sore in sight, in spite of a whole day on a horse. He swung Flekkur around, setting off behind Ragnar and Eric. The whole treck splashed through the brook near which he and the chief had lain and watched the alien approach. Straker cast a casual glance at the mound near the underbrush close to the river bank. Impossible to tell what was resting beneath it he noted with satisfaction. That left the question of how he ought to proceed with Unnur. The dilemma had kept him occupied and wide awake most of the night. The amnesia drug was no solution, it would not erase the past decade and that was as long as she had known about S.H.A.D.O.. Eliminating the CSS of a state partaking in the anti-alien alliance General Henderson and he had forged a decade ago was not going to be taken in a friendly manner, and there would be investigations, even if he staged an accident. She had two agents along, which would not make this any easier. In fact, there was that nagging worry that he might not even be able to do that. So far she had bested him, been a step ahead at every turn. She even knew that he was supposed to correct the breach of secrecy. However, not the least of everything was that he did not want to kill her.***Later he could not have said when exactly they had left the vast steppeland they had been travelling through during the first day. He realized the terrain was becoming quite difficult, when he had to grab the mane of his colourful gelding not to get separated, feeling the muscular animal toil under him to make it up a short, pebbly rise. Ahead the rest of the riders were already gathering in a group, loose horses clattered past him, and he recognized the little mare he had ridden yesterday. Straker turned around to get his bearings. How the hell had he drifted off into day-dreaming anyway? The plains lay a good 500 yards below them now and stretched to the horizon, the river they had crossed a far-off silvery band in the mist. Everything was covered in lichen and moss. He watched the riderless horses nibble with obvious delight at a variant looking grey and delicate. Swathes of mist, or low, moist cloud cover clung to the side of the mountain range they were working upwards. Even though well into the morning the daylight never had taken firm hold, gracefully giving in to shadows and vague impressions. Unnur was coming up behind him, clattering across the loose pebbles and stones on her pale mare, the stallion in tow. She looked at him, her mouth twitching in a quirky smile. "Let's hope that the giant won't wake while we travel across his shoulder," she said in a quiet tone. "Yes," Straker nodded. "Out here this makes sense." For a split second her smile flared, lit up her face, then made room again for the ironic, lopsided grin she habitually reserved for him. This time though he could not help smiling back at her. "Just around that outcrop and we camp down for lunch," she explained. His gelding seemed to know he was in for a pause, the animal needed little persuasion to join the rest of the travellers. Straker realized they must be travelling up the former bed of a glacier, the rocks and pebbles ground to a smooth, round finish during their slow journey down the mountain-face. Even the huge chunk of stone they rode around to their rest place must have travelled down from the top. There was a sense of awe instilled in him right then which was not dissimilar to what he had felt every time he looked at earth from space. Nature at its harshest, most beautiful, overpowering and paling human influence into insignificance. No, they would never get that. Not as long as he lived.***"I can't find it," the sharpness in Colonel Lake's tone was not directed at him, Alec knew. She was short with herself and the lack of results she had produced so far. In all fairness, Lake, Barton and Ford had been really hard at it since early morning. The colonel had ordered the Cambridge graduate SHADO hat recently recruited, on the premises he had established under tuition of Hawking's best, quite peremptorily out of bed and into HQ. He had watched them try dozens of different calibrations and what he recognized to be quite a few extraordinary assumptions as well. To no avail. The UFO they knew to have landed in the region where the commander and Foster were travelling stayed stubbornly hidden from any and all devices, even the technically most advanced they had. Nor did any of the skydivers produce better results. Carlin had organized a regular, repetitive sweep, had even verified from an altitude above the range high enough to be safe that the group of riders still was under way and apparently unharmed. However, there had been no UFO. No debris either. With a sigh Alec ran a hand over his face, felt the stubble on his chin and cheeks and decided it was time to shave and freshen up, to make himself presentable again, time for a cup of coffee, before this hunt continued. A UFO, rocks, lots of them, and no water, only ice, his thoughts drifted, where the heck could it be?***The rest at the foot of the glacier had been short. After making them switch horses Unnur had pressed on, forcing them to cover nearly as much distance as they had down in the steppe. Straker had noticed the repeated looks she had cast far into the plains. Feeling quite a bit more at ease on the squat, sedate mare which was climbing with dogged determination, he sidled up to the Icelandic chief, almost not noticing just how he did that. She was riding a sturdy brown gelding, still leading the stallion "What are you worried about?" he asked in a tone low enough not to carry upwards to the others. Unnur shrugged, uncomfortably. "Weather sense," she answered after a moment. "I know what the forecast says." She shifted in the saddle. "As well as you do. But my guts tell me we need to hurry." ."I wished we could log into a secure line here," Straker said. "I might get us a satellite update that way." "No such luck until we're up at the station," she answered, absentmindedly curbing the black horse engaged in impatient antics at her side. "Why don't you ride him?" Straker asked, nodding at the stallion. "Because his master is dead?" Unnur looked at him, surprised more than anything else. She had to stay on edge, this one was not thinking in boxes, and he was sensitive enough to catch on to things she thought were well-hidden to him. "Partly," she conceded, then continued in a wry tone. "And also because he's a one-man horse. He was bonded firmly with Dagur, would have rather killed himself, than not done and achieved what Dagur asked of him." She sighed. "That's part of why I want to set him free on the high plains later. I've no doubt now that Dagur is dead. Hrafn is one of those horses we used to breed. There are many tales of horses running 100 miles and more, galloping themselves to death because that was what their riders asked of them. He's such a one. Doing what is his duty, regardless of his own well-being." She looked into the thoughtful blue eyes of the man listening to her, then shrugged and gave a laugh. "Come on, Mr. Straker," her tone made a joke of the address. "A few hours of daylight yet, we may make it up to the wall today."
Chapter 8
A thousand horses - the wild - the free - like waves that follow o'er the sea, came thickly thundering on.
"Colonel Freeman?" Ayshea's tone was hesitant, as she approached him, several prints in her hands. Alec smiled up at her, and he did not even have to force himself into that, even though by now he was bone tired. No wonder really that Straker looked as grouchy as he habitually did. Working through nights did that for you. "Yes, Lieutenant? What do you have for me?" he asked, hopeful they might have found a hint at last. However, she pursed her lips for a moment in what he had learned over the years to be a sign of regret. Looking delicious, but nevertheless not the portent of good news. Wordlessly she spread the prints out in front of him. "That's the latest SID gave us," she said at last. "It's from several weather satellites, there's no doubt about it." "When will that storm hit them?" Alec stared bleakly at the baleful eye of the low pressure cyclone outlined in cloud cover roiling around its centre just off the Icelandic coast. "The weather people say it will take days to move to where they are," Ayshea said. "But SID maintains that it should break across the mountain range tomorrow at the latest. He also has a much higher storm warning out. Temperatures will fall by at least 35 degrees all across Iceland." "How cold will it get up there?" he asked. "10 to 15 degrees Fahrenheit," Ayshea answered, looking openly worried herself now. "Will the commander and Paul be alright?" Freeman heaved himself upright and stretched the kinks out of his spine. "Would that I know, would that I know," he said. "I hope so. At least they're with locals. Come on, let's find that blasted UFO, that's not all you have in printouts from SID, right?" She shook her head and produced the second stack of papers. Ford, bringing them two cups of coffee, found them half an hour later, heads close together and oblivious to their surroundings, poring over the satellite photos.***Setting up the tents had been priority A once they had made it to the foot of the steep face that housed the hidden station. Foster had proven to be up to everything on this venture so far, which included such an efficiency at tent building that he was helping the others now, after he and Straker had set up theirs. Temperatures had fallen considerably, heralding the weather change that Unnur had sensed half a day earlier. Yet, apart from the fact that it had gotten much colder and the wind pressure had picked up, there were no further signs of any imminent storm. Except for that the small band of Icelandic horses had bunched together closely, presenting their sturdy hindquarters to the wind, heads low, sheltered against the mountain face. Straker heard them munching on the oats they had brought along. The water troughs had been filled from the lake, fed by the glacier, which formed the other side of the triangular shelf they were setting their camp up on. When they arrived there, they had discovered signs of prior visitors. Several torn halters and ropes near the open paddock of narrow steel railings, which now held their horses, showed where the mounts of the agents had torn loose, probably after days of waiting for their owners. Straker shivered and chafed his hands together, trying to rub some warmth into them, then pushed them under his arms, pressing them against his sides. They were all but numb. The steady, icy wind was leeching body heat from him. He threw his head back to look up the mountain face, where another thin steel railing outlined the narrow steep path leading up to the hub. It had been built long before his time. Suddenly Straker realized, in a very practical manner, for just how long Henderson must have been on to the alien invasion, and preparing to counter it. The man had been battling them for the better part of his life, and not stopped at any difficulty to set up their defenses. Like a secret meshing hub half way up a craggy glacier-covered mountain range on Iceland. He was unable to make out where the land lines fed into the range, someone had taken great pains to hide them from even the most watchful eyes. "Here," Foster held out a pair of fleece lined thick gloves. Straker took them and put them on with a relieved nod. "Thanks," he said. "Where's the chief?" "They're starting to cook," Foster answered. "She doesn't want us to go up at dusk." Straker cast another weary glance at the path leading straight into dense, low cloud cover blown against the range. He could not make out how far up the path ended. "She's right," he nodded. "Too dangerous, even if by now I am sorely tempted." He motioned at the tracing unit Foster had been unobtrusively using to scan the immediate surrounding area. "Anything?" "No," Foster shook his head. "Nothing at all. No radioactivity, no residual energy, no heat source, nothing. Only us and the horses."***She had been astonished how well Straker and Foster had held up under the stresses of rough travel and rougher yet weather. Unnur glanced across the camp slowly vanishing from sight in the throes of dusk, and a pervasive fog dripping down the mountain and settling on the shelf. A fog she knew was low cloud cover pushed at them by the advancing bad weather front. Within minutes anything farther than a couple of yards would be invisible, and the steady sound from the water surging against the mountain wall masked even the nickers of the horses. They'd have to mount guards. If Straker didn't give the order, she would. Something felt askew, and it wouldn't be the first time that her well-developed sense of imminent danger was the cause of a mission pulled from the brink of failure. Better a few grumbles from those on guard duty than being sneaked upon. And if it was unnecessary, well, that was her prerogative as the chief. They'd set up their three tents hugging the mountain face and positioned so that they would keep the tethered horses between them and the offside wall. In the far distance, across the lake a wall of water roared down the mountain side in a fall spanning the width of the valley. According to the old files she'd read the access route had been blasted into the sheer rock face ten feet above the water level. An engineering feat which had taken half a decade given how secret the whole enterprise had been kept from the general populace. All they'd have to do was making sure no one followed them up the trail. Still... "Four-hour-shifts?" Unnur turned. Straker had spoken in low, quiet tones, sipping soup from a cup and casting about in the same direction. Idly she watched tendrils of steam drift over the rim and hug his gloved hands, only to be carried away by the rising wind. "Ragnar and Eric can do first and second, how about your Foster doing the graveyard shift?" He nodded. "I'll tell him." He finished his the soup and went in search of his second. Unnur turned around to survey the valley again. Something was wrong. It was subtle, but it still was there. It frustrated her that she couldn't put a finger on it. The sound of water, lapping, tossing and roaring was everywhere.***The storm broke just shy of midnight, exactly when the chief had predicted it would. Straker watched Foster from slitted eyes as he closed the tent flap from the outside, fighting with the wind which kept ripping the material from his fumbling hands. Temperatures had sharply dropped with the first squalls rushing down the mountainside and across the lake, and Straker wondered how they'd be able to make it up to the station this morning. Neither Foster, nor he were trained mountaineers. Navigating a railed path, however steep, in good conditions was one thing. Navigating the same covered in sleet and snow was an entirely different matter. The night had passed quietly enough so far. He hadn't been able to fall asleep, and contented himself with dozing and resting limbs tired with the strain of riding and walking, envying Foster his guileless deep sleep. The younger man had snored gently until Eric had kicked his foot. Straker could hear both of them talking on and off on the far side of the camp, catching snatches of speech when the gale let up, only to howl with renewed force the next. Hard to keep tabs on what was happening. He shrugged deeper into his sleeping bag, and when the voices ceased entirely he managed to drift off.***Unnur woke with such a sudden urgency that she was out of the sleeping bag and in her parka before she realised what she was doing. It wasn't the same kind of unrest and despair that had woken her near the river. No, this was straightforward. Something was amiss and she had to see what it was. Hooves moving when or where they shouldn't maybe; some sound. When she stepped out of her tent it was into the crunch of a layer of hail and sleet. The gale was still at it, with lesser urgency, and driving a flurry of icy snow across the lake now, but no less of a hazard than before. She swung the beam of her torch towards the horses, but they were all still tethered. The stallion was restless, tossing his head, feet moving and crunching on the ice-covered stone. As she played the beam across his head she saw his flared nostrils and wide open eyes. She wasn't the only one alerted then.She slowly turned in a circle, expecting the young colonel to step up to her, but Foster was nowhere in sight. The guards had chosen to set up against a boulder close to where the path merged into the ledge, given that it would break the wind and cover their back. She couldn't see Foster anywhere near it. The Sig Sauer was in her hands before she had processed that fact, and she made for the boulder trying to be as quiet as possible. The smell reached her before she saw him, curled against the far side of the rock, in on his belly, his arms wrapped around himself. The beam of her torch showed the stain beneath him to be a dark and dull red. He had bled, was bleeding still, and when she knelt at his side, she saw his eyes were open. He didn't speak, but his eyes flicked silently out towards the lake. A trail of foot prints was leading towards the lake's shore in a straight line. And vanished there. She skirted the track, leaving it alone for further investigation, and walked down to the shore to the right of it. The foot prints lost themselves on the solid rock surface cleared of ice and snow by the constant spray of water. Whoever that had been, he now had wet shoes and legs, but he also had managed to walk away without a hint where to he had gone. She bit the glove off her left hand, stowed it and whistled loud enough to startle the horses. There had been a lot of blood underneath Foster.
Chapter 9
To ride a horse is to ride the sky.
"I think I know where." Ford had spoken tentatively. Alec looked up from where he and Ayshea still were consulting maps and charts. The communications officer stood, head canted in self-doubt, and extended a printout. Alec pulled another chair close and motioned for Ford to sit, spreading the laserprinted map on the table top. It showed the same area that Ayshea and he had been studying for most of that night. Except that it also had depth contours for the lake. A lake which was not a normal lake, the caldera creating it made it a nearly sheer drop of a hundred yards to the bottom. "There's a lot of sea around Iceland," Ford said, his adam's apple bobbing nervously a few times. "Usually I'd expect a UFO to hide somewhere a bit off shore, at sea bed level. We've known for a while they've been doing that to get away from the atmosphere." Alec nodded. "Well, it's the water, sir. I mean, it's doesn't have to be saltwater. So I had SID sweep Iceland for ion trails. He found two." "What?" "Curious, right?" Ford pointed at the map. "The fresh one, which has to be the UFO Carlin lost, follows this river, then turns back on itself on an extremely precise course and leaves the Icelandic coast for space here in SID's lee." Using a textmarker he traced the line for both to see. Then he drew another line, which was almost identical in direction, only it stopped right above the volcanic lake. "This is an older trail of ion particles. But according to SID's data it has been repeatedly used with high precision. As you can see, it aligns with areas masked by Earth's radiation belts at the entry into our atmosphere and then avoids all the radar stations." Ford cleared his throat. "I'm afraid, sir, that we have overlooked this in the past. Without any obvious UFO activity it wouldn't have raised any suspicions. Now however..." "Don't make yourself a head, Ford," Alec interrupted him. "Iceland is rife with so much interference, from so many natural phenomena, that no one could have noticed. I'm sure even Henderson will see it like that. The only question now is how many hide in that lake right now, and how can we warn the field team?"***
Epilogue
A horse is worth more than riches.
If any of others had noticed him leaving on the sly, they spared him the texts and calls they normally pursued him with. Or maybe Alec had told them to leave be. A holiday was a holiday, after all. Even for someone like Commander Straker.The reports had come in early that morning. No leaks, no signs of tampering with any of the data, not a single dropped byte. The sub-net was secure again. Henderson had been so satisfied about that, that he never noticed the holes in the story, holes which would have meant trouble both for Unnur and for Ford. And then Redcliff had called. Straker nodded to himself, as he navigated the county roads towards Slough. There were few people around; on Christmas day everyone with a family or a home had retired and was making inroads on the turkey. Dusk was settling when he finally turned into the lane down towards Redcliff's stable. He wouldn't need to disturb the man either, for he saw his objective already on the first field. He stopped, killed the engine and took the bag from the passenger seat. He hadn't yet folded himself entirely out of the car, when he heard the thud of hooves and by the time he straightened, there was a low neigh and an impatient deep nicker.With a contented smile Straker pulled a carrot from the bag and held it out."Don't be so greedy, Hrafn." The End