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- Herausgeber: Orenda Books
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
When Sonja's son is kidnapped by her ruthless ex-husband, she's thrust back into the world of cocaine smuggling, but this time she's got a plan of her own… High-stakes jeopardy presides in book two of the dark and original, nail-bitingly fast-paced Reykjavik Noir trilogy… 'Tense, edgy and delivering more than a few unexpected twists and turns' Sunday Times 'Tough, uncompromising and unsettling' Val McDermid 'Tense and pacey, this intriguing mix of white-collar and white-powder crime could certainly be enjoyed as a standalone, but I would suggest reading its excellent predecessor, Snare, first' `Guardian –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Happily settled in Florida, Sonja believes she's finally escaped the trap set by unscrupulous drug lords. But when her son Tomas is taken, she's back to square one … and Iceland. Her lover, Agla, is awaiting sentencing for financial misconduct after the banking crash, and Sonja refuses to see her. And that's not all … Agla owes money to some extremely powerful men, and they'll stop at nothing to get it back. With her former nemesis, customs officer Bragi, on her side, Sonja puts her own plan into motion, to bring down the drug barons and her scheming ex-husband, and get Tomas back safely. But things aren't as straightforward as they seem, and Sonja finds herself caught in the centre of a trap that will put all of their lives at risk… Set in Reykjavik – still covered in the dust of the Eyjafjallajökull volcanic eruption and the aftermath of the banking crisis – Trap is an award-winning, deliciously dark and outstandingly original slice of Nordic Noir, from one of Iceland's finest crime writers. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Praise for the Reykjavik Noir Trilogy 'A tense thriller with a highly unusual plot and interesting characters' Marcel Berlins, The Times 'With characters you can't help sympathising with against your better judgement, Sigurdardottir takes the reader on a breathtaking ride … Stylish, taut and compelling' Jon Coates, Daily Express 'Pacey and tense, Trap is full of delicious carnage that could translate well to the screen' New Zealand Listener 'This is a searing portrait of the less salubrious parts of the Icelandic psyche as well as a riveting thriller' Sunday Express 'Sharp shocks of chapters hit with increasing energy ... a towering powerhouse of read and I gobbled it up in one intense sitting' LoveReading 'The intricate plot is breathtakingly original, with many twists and turns you never see coming. Thriller of the year' New York Journal of Books 'The action is fast, helped by the short chapters switching us from one set of characters to another, the villains ruthless, and the undercover world of Iceland vividly evoked. A treat for fans' Promoting Crime 'Smart, ambitious and hugely satisfying' Eva Dolan 'Zips along with tension building and building' James Oswald 'An emotional suspense rollercoaster on a par with The Firm' Alexandra Sokoloff 'Compelling … this is prime binge-reading' Booklist 'The suspenseful Trap takes full advantage of its fresh setting and is a worthy addition to the icy-cold crime genre popularized by Scandinavian noir novels' Foreword Reviews
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Seitenzahl: 418
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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PRAISE FOR LILJA SIGURÐARDÓTTIR
‘Tough, uncompromising and unsettling’ Val McDermid
‘An emotional suspense rollercoaster on a par with The Firm, as desperate, resourceful, profoundly lovable characters scheme against impossible odds’ Alexandra Sokoloff
‘For a small island, Iceland produces some extraordinary writers, and Lilja is one of the best. Snare is an enthralling tale of love and crime that stays with you long after you have turned the last page’ Michael Ridpath
‘Snare is a smart, ambitious and hugely satisfying thriller. Striking in its originality and written with all the style and poise of an old hand. Lilja is destined for Scandi superstardom’ Eva Dolan
‘Clear your diary. As soon as you begin reading Snare, you won’t be able to stop until the final page’ Michael Wood
‘Zips along, with tension building and building … thoroughly recommend’ James Oswald
‘Crisp, assured and nail-bitingly tense, Snare is an exceptional read, cementing Lilja’s place as one of Iceland’s most outstanding crime writers’ Yrsa Sigurðardóttir
‘Snare will ensnare you’ Marie Claire
‘Lilja Sigurðardóttir delivers a diabolically efficient thriller with an ultrarealistic plot … We cannot wait for Sonja’s next adventure’ L’Express
‘The suspense is gripping’ Avantages ii
‘This first novel of a planned trilogy is stylish, taut and compelling and a film adaptation is in the pipeline. With characters you can’t help sympathising with against your better judgement, Sigurðardóttir takes the reader on a breathtaking ride’ Daily Express
‘The seamy side of Iceland is uncovered in this lively and original debut as divorcee Sonja finds herself coerced into drug trafficking while her banker girlfriend Agla fends off a criminal investigation in the aftermath of the financial crash. Tense, edgy and delivering more than a few unexpected twists and turns’ The Times Crime Club Star Pick
‘A tense thriller with a highly unusual plot and interesting characters’ The Times
‘The Nordic crime wave just keeps coming … The eponymous “snare” here is a hydra-headed monster … Sigurðardóttir avoids inviting easy sympathy for any of her characters, even the beleaguered Sonia, but she keeps us reading’ Guardian
‘The intricate plot is breathtakingly original, with many twists and turns you never see coming. Thriller of the year’ New York Journal of Books
‘This rattlingly good read could only be improved if this were the first in a trilogy. And it is!’ Strong Words
‘Terrific and original stuff, with some keen-sighted and depressing reflections on Iceland’s place in the world’ European Literature Network
‘The Icelandic author and playwright Lilja Sigurðardóttir delivers a sparkling firework of a novel, tightly plotted, fast-paced, and crackling with tension, surprises and vibrancy … If the first glamorous instalment of the Reykjavík trilogy is just a starter, then I cannot wait for the rest of feast to be finally available in English, to be devoured by English readers’ Crime Review iii
‘A taut, gritty, thoroughly absorbing journey into Reykjavík’s underworld’ Booklist
‘First of all I have to say that this cover is EVERYTHING! Striking simplicity at its finest! But the story within is anything but simplistic! A compounding complicated story that keeps you on the edge of your seat! I enjoyed Snare so much that I was eager to see if this one enthralled me as much and it did not disappoint!’ Laura Rash
‘The tension escalated throughout the book, culminating in a thrilling, heart-stopping conclusion. And while most of the threads were tied up neatly by the end, leaving me feeling satisfied, I can’t wait to see what happens next’ Off-the-Shelf Books
‘Lilja Sigurðardóttir’s Snare is the author’s fourth crime novel and the first in a brand-new series … With an atmospheric setting, damaged characters and intriguing dynamics, this Reykjavík-set story will keep you on edge’ CultureFly
‘The novel reads effortlessly thanks to the work of translator extraordinaire Quentin, and the tension builds and twists until a very fitting ending. But it’s the journey of cool, collected Iceland, through the long dark tunnel from the capital to the frozen north that took me on a ride on many levels’ The Book Trail
‘Full of secrets and lies, Snare kept me on edge, questioning trust and self-awareness, ensuring a enthralling, fascinating read, and I highly recommend it’ LoveReading
‘Sleek and taut, Snare delivers a breathtaking blend of Nordic Noir and high-stakes thriller. Not to be missed!’ Crime by the Book
‘A beautifully-crafted drug-crime novel with a pull-you-in plot and memorable characters. Highly recommended’ Promoting Crime iv
‘Fast-paced and pulse-racing, Snare is a novel that will capture your attention completely as you race to the finish’ Swirl and Thread
‘This novel is full of tension and a brilliant cast of characters full of fiendish malice’ Chillers, Killers & Thrillers
‘Snare by Lilja Sigurðardóttir is a fast-paced, heart-pounding ride that takes you into the depths of Reykjavík’s underbelly’ Bloomin’ Brilliant Books
‘Written in fairly short chapters, Snare is an incredibly pacey book, in which the translation effortlessly carries you from one person’s perspective to another. Highly recommended’ Live and Deadly
‘Full of suspense and intrigue, this crime story about love and revenge had me hooked from start to finish’ Novel Deelights
‘Sigurðardóttir perfectly balances the darkness of the crime world against the lightness of love and loyalty, and I was engrossed in the layers of storytelling that she perfectly weaves’ Beverley Has Read
‘A sharp-edged suspense thriller with a healthy dose of Scandinavian Noir to take it to another level’ Always Trust in Books
‘I felt her fears, her longings, her love, her desperation… none of which could have happened without Lilja Sigurðardóttir’s prodigious writing style’ Rambling Lisa’s Book Blog
‘Astounding writing!! An excellent addition to the Scandi Noir genre, packed with tension, suspense and a crime story that gets under your skin!’ The Quiet Knitter
‘There is risk on every page and DANGER lurks around every corner and screamed out at me … If you are looking for a stunning crime novel that delivers on many levels, then Snare is a five-star read’ The Last Word Book Review v
‘Snare is an exceptionally good thriller translated into pacey and urgent English language by Quentin Bates … edge-of-the-seat stuff’ Words Shortlist
‘Snare was a highly original and tense read that I flew through. It gripped me immediately and caught me in its own unique snare. I read it in one breathless sitting … it’s outstanding’ Novel Gossip
‘It has you sitting there literally on the edge of your seat, uncertain if you’re brave enough to turn the next page … Superb writing, storytelling and a bright new star in Lilja Sigurðardóttir’ Books Are my Cwtches
‘It’s unique, chilling, tense and full of suspense. A real page-turner’ It’s All About the Books
‘It is daring storytelling with a fresh feel to it. Reading this book is a risk worth taking’ Nordic Noir
‘This book would make a fantastic film/TV series and I love the cover. Go dip your toes in the icy waters of Nordic Noir – you won’t be disappointed!’ Bibliophile Book Club
‘Sigurðardóttir’s prose is truly a treat and gave life to the text … I loved how the author was able to take a regular occurrence and make it thrilling, especially having Sonja handle the situation like a boss!’ Clues and Reviews
‘On finishing the all-important last sentence on the last page, I was left with two overriding feelings; firstly, I must know what happens next, and secondly, this book is absolutely screaming to be made into a movie’ Nic Perrins
Trap
Lilja Sigurðardóttir
Translated by Quentin Bates
Contents
viii
Pronunciation guide
Atli Thór – Atli Thor
Austurvöllur – Oyst-uur-voet-luur
Bragi – Bra-gi
Breiðholt – Breith-holt
Davíð – Dav-ith
Dísa – Dee-sa
Eyjafjallajökull – Ey-ya-fyat-la-jeok-utl
Finnur – Fin-noor
Guðrún – Guth-ruun
Gunnarsdóttir – Gunnar-s-dottir
Hallgrímur – Hatl-griem-oor
Hljómskálagarður – Hl-yowm-scowl-a gar-thur
Húni Thór Gunnarsson – Hueni Thor Gunnar-son
Iðnó – Ith-no
Illugi Ævarsson – It-lugi Eye-var-son
Ingimar Magnússon – Ingi-marr Mag-noos-son
Jóhann – Yo-hann
Jói – Yo-ee
Jón Jónsson – Joen Joen-son
Jón Sigurðsson – Joen Sig-urth-son
José – As in Spanish
Kauphöllin – Koyp-hoet-lin
Keflavík – Kepla- viek
Kópasker – Keop-a-sker
Krummahólar – Krumma-hoel-ar
Lágmúli – Low-muel-ee
Laugardalur – Loy-gar-da-lur x
Laugavegur – Loy-ga-vay-gur
Libbý – Libb-ee
Listhús – List-huus
Margeirsdóttir – Mar-gayr-s-dottir
María – Maria
Marteinn – Mar-tay-tn
Mjódd – Mjow-dd
Múlakaffi – Moola-café
Ólafur – Ow-laf-oor
Öskjuhlíð – Usk-yu-hlith
Reykjanesbraut – Reyk-ya-nes-broyt
Reykjavík – Reyk-ya-viek
Ríkharður Rúnarsson – Riek-harth-uur Ruenar-son
Thorgeir – Thor-geyr
Tómas – Teo-mas
Valdís – Val-dees
Icelandic has a couple of letters that don’t exist in other European languages and that are not always easy to replicate. The letter ð is generally replaced with a d in English, but we have decided to use the Icelandic letter to remain closer to the original names. Its sound is closest to the hard th in English, as found in thus and bathe.
Icelandic’s letter þ is reproduced as th, as in Thorgeir, and is equivalent to a soft th in English, as in thing or thump.
The letter r is generally rolled hard with the tongue against the roof of the mouth.
In pronouncing Icelandic personal and place names, the emphasis is placed on the first syllable.
April 2011
1
Sonja was wrenched, shivering, from a deep sleep. She sat up in bed and looked at the thermometer on the air-conditioning unit; it was thirty degrees in the trailer. She had closed her eyes for an afternoon nap and fallen fast asleep while Tómas had gone to play with Duncan – a boy of a similar age who was staying in the next trailer. While she’d been snoozing, the sun had raised the temperature in their little space to thirty degrees, at which point the air-con had rumbled into action, blasting out ice-cold air.
Her dreams had been of pack ice drifting up to the shore alongside the trailer park, and however ridiculous the idea of sea ice off the coast of Florida might be, the dream had been so vivid that it took Sonja a few moments to shake off the image of grinding icebergs approaching the beach. While she knew the dream had been a fantasy and that the chill of the ice had in fact been the air-conditioning, it still left her uneasy. A dream of sea ice wasn’t something that could bode well.
Sonja got off the bed, and as soon as she stepped on the floor, she stubbed a big toe on the loose board. This trailer was really starting to get on her nerves. But it didn’t matter, because it was really time to move on. They had been here for three weeks, and that was already a dangerously long time. Tomorrow she would discreetly pack everything up and in the evening, without saying goodbye to any of the neighbours, and under cover of darkness, they would drive away in the old rattletrap she had paid for in cash. She had coughed up a month’s rent in advance, so the trailer’s owner wouldn’t lose out.
This time, she and Tómas would travel northwards to Georgia and 2find a place there to rent for a week or two; and then they’d move on again – to some other location, where they would stay, but then depart before they’d put down any roots. They would leave before they could be noticed, before Adam could track them down. Adam who was Tómas’s father; Adam who was her former husband; Adam the drug dealer. Adam the slave driver.
One day, once they had travelled far enough and hidden their tracks well enough for Sonja finally to feel secure, they would settle down. It would be in a quiet spot, maybe in the US, or maybe somewhere else. In fact, it didn’t particularly matter where the place was, as long as it was somewhere they could disappear into the crowd, where she wouldn’t constantly have to glance over her shoulder.
Sonja peered into the microwave – something that had become a habit. Inside, giving her a sense of security by being where it should be, was the sandwich box full of cash. It was a white box with a blue lid, and was stuffed with the dollars and euros she had scraped together during the year that she had been caught in Adam’s trap. This bundle of cash was her lifeline, in this new existence where she dared trust nobody. She had got herself a prepaid Walmart MoneyCard and had loaded it with enough to keep them afloat for a few months, but she had not dared apply for a normal credit card; she didn’t want to risk Agla, with her access to the banking system, using it to track her movements.
Her heart lurched at the thought of Agla. The memory of the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin under the bedclothes brought a lump to Sonja’s throat that refused to be swallowed. The more time that passed since their parting, the harder she had to work to stop herself from calling her. Iceland was behind her, and that was the way it was. This was her and Tómas’s new life, and she was fully aware that to begin with it would be a lonely one. But loneliness wasn’t her biggest problem; a much weightier concern was their safety –Tómas’s in particular. If she allowed herself the luxury of contacting Agla, there was every chance that Adam would sniff out their communication and use it to track her down. 3
Sonja opened the trailer door and sat down on the step. The air outside was hotter than inside the trailer and the afternoon sun cast long shadows from the trees across the bare earth at the centre of the cluster of trailers. Sonja took a deep breath of the outdoor air and tried to throw off the discomfort the dream had left her with. The old, toothless guy opposite stood over his barbecue, which sent up plumes of smoke as the fire took; Duncan’s mother sat in a camp chair outside the trailer next door, listening to the radio. There was a peace to the place, but it would soon come to an end, broken by the noise of traffic and horns on the freeway as people began the commute home from work.
Duncan came out of his trailer at a run, along with the basketball that he dribbled everywhere. He half crouched over the ball, and Sonja smiled to herself. She and Tómas had seen that his weird dribbling technique didn’t affect his accuracy when he shot for the basket. His skill at basketball was unbelievable, and after a few days playing together, his interest had infected Tómas as well.
Tómas…
‘Duncan! Where’s Tómas?’ she called, and the boy twisted in the air, dropped the ball through the basket fixed to the trunk of a palm tree and, when his feet were back on the ground, shrugged.
‘Where is Tómas?’ she repeated.
‘I don’t know,’ Duncan said, still dribbling the ball. ‘He went down to the beach just now, but then some guys came looking for him.’
‘Guys? What guys?’ In one bound Sonja was at Duncan’s side.
He finally let the ball drop from his hands. ‘Just guys,’ Duncan said. ‘Just some guys.’
‘Tell me, Duncan. Where did they go?’
Duncan pointed towards the woods that lay between the trailer park and the beach.
‘What’s up?’ Duncan’s mother called from her camp chair, but Sonja didn’t give herself time to reply.
She sprinted towards the beach, her mind racing. The vision of ice on the shore, the groaning of the floes as the waves grounded them on 4 the beach and the chill that the white layer brought with it clouded her thoughts as if the dream were becoming a reality. She cursed herself for not having bought the gun she had seen in the flea market at the weekend.
It’s never good for an Icelander to dream of sea ice, she thought. That means a hard spring to come, and ice brings bears.
2
Tómas jumped from stone to half-buried stone at the edge of the woods, where they formed steps rising up a slope and finishing in the sand at the top of the beach. He was barefoot as he had left his sandals at Duncan’s place. But that didn’t matter; the sand on the beach was soft underfoot, and he could collect his sandals on the way back, before his mother could find out that he had taken them off.
He was only going to pick up a few shells – preferably the black ones, which were the rarest and also the best. Most of the shells on this beach were yellow, brown or a rust red, but there were the occasional black shells and those were the ones he needed for what he was making. It was a suggestion his mother had made. She said it was something she had done as a child, and by the time the cigar box was almost covered, Tómas could see that it was going to be impressive. The box had come from the old guy who lived opposite and Tómas was going to use it to store football pictures. And then his mother had suggested that he should cover it with shells, so Tómas had spent three evenings gluing them in a pattern to the outside of the box. Now he needed just one more row of black shells to finish the job. There was no doubt in his mind that this was going to be the finest box in the entire world in which to keep football pictures.
The tide was high, leaving the beach so narrow that it would be difficult to find any shells now. He would have to come back once the sea had receded. Tómas dug his toes into the sand, his attention now on the entrance to an ants’ nest. There were no ants in Iceland, so 5this was something new to him, something he found fascinating. The ants’ nest was nothing more than a hole in the ground, but dozens of ants marched to and fro in perfectly ordered single file. They were so intent on what they were doing that it had to be something very special – some kind of ant construction project, perhaps. Tómas picked up a stick and pushed it into the hole, in the hope of reaching all the way down to the nest, but it seemed to be deeper down than he had thought. The ants were alarmed, and for a few moments rushed around in all directions. But they were unbelievably quick to regain their usual discipline, and set about repairing the damage done to the entrance to their nest.
‘Tómas!’
He glanced up from the ants’ nest, looking for whoever had called his name from the other set of steps down to the beach, on the car park side. There were two men waving happily to him. What did they want? He walked hesitatingly towards them, stopping a good way short of where they stood. They looked like they could be Mexicans, and Duncan said those were people you had to be careful of. Tómas didn’t know why – there were no Mexicans in Iceland and nobody had told him just why they were so dubious.
‘What?’ he called to the men, who both smiled amiably. They didn’t look dangerous. One of them sat down on a rock and the other walked away towards a car.
‘You want to buy a puppy?’ the man sitting on the rock asked. So they were salesmen. Florida was full of people selling stuff, and a lot of them were Mexicans.
‘I already have a dog,’ Tómas replied, his curiosity piqued.
‘Where is it, then?’ The man asked, raising one eyebrow.
Tómas shook his head. ‘He’s at home in Iceland,’ he said. ‘But one dog is enough. My mother wouldn’t let me have another one. We’re just here for a long holiday.’
At least, that was what he hoped he was saying. His English was pretty good by now, but he still occasionally used the wrong words, which made Duncan laugh. 6
But this man didn’t laugh. ‘Well,’ he said and sighed, ‘I don’t know what to do with the puppy back there in the car. I guess I’ll just have to drown him.’
‘No!’ Tómas yelped, stepping closer.
‘What do you think I should do with him?’ The man asked. ‘Do you know anyone who would take him?’
‘Is he big?’ Tómas asked.
‘No. Tiny. Pretty much new-born.’
Tómas’s heart ached. Maybe he could take the puppy and he and his mother could look after it for a few days while they looked for a home for it. Surely she wouldn’t be angry if he came home with a new-born puppy he had saved from drowning?
‘Won’t you take a look at him?’ The man said, getting to his feet. ‘He’s over here in the car.’
The man walked away and Tómas followed him over the sand dune and into the car park, even though he was already starting to feel guilty because Teddy the dog had been left behind in Iceland and he hadn’t seen him for such a long time. The other man was sitting in the driver’s seat, smoking. Tómas was furious that he should be smoking near a new-born puppy. Everyone knew that smoke was unhealthy.
But as the first man opened the car’s rear door, he froze as the realisation dawned on him.
‘You called me Tómas,’ he said, looking at the man. ‘How do you know my name?’
3
Agla woke up with such a sharp pain in her chest, she was convinced she was having a heart attack.
She rolled onto her front, fighting for breath, and realised that she was in the middle of the living-room floor. By her side was a rum bottle that had tipped over, leaking dark liquid into the silk Turkish carpet. She took some deep breaths, but the pain did not relent – it was now 7spreading in waves to her belly. This wasn’t a heart attack – this was pure sorrow. She had dreamed of Sonja.
Agla crawled on all fours to the sofa and hauled herself onto it. Could it really all be over? Could Sonja have genuinely vanished from the face of the earth? Could it really be true that she would never touch her naked skin again, fold her arms around her, see the spark of life that appeared in her eyes every time she smiled?
Agla looked around the living room. The curtains were drawn and the room was in semi-darkness, even though, according to the clock, it was past midday. She remembered practically nothing of the previous evening, except that she had sat in the car outside Sonja’s place for a long while, in a bizarre attempt to feel closer to her. The rest of the evening was lost in a haze. Her eyes stopped at the bag of coke on the table. Next to it were two lines that were ready to be snorted, and the glass tabletop was scattered with more, so she must have spent a few hours there. She should get those two lines inside her, take a shower and get on with doing something useful. Two lines would give her the energy for that. She would be cheerful and optimistic, bursting with self-confidence, and maybe in the right frame of mind to meet her defence lawyer; perhaps even to buy some groceries and have a proper meal. That was the joy of coke – it changed not just the way you felt, but your general outlook, making you believe that everything would work out for the best. Agla leaned forwards, rolled a five-thousand-krónur note into a tube and snorted the first line.
But as the hot buzz flowed through her veins, disappointment flooded through her body. The pain in her heart didn’t give way, instead it grew as her heartbeat galloped, and she suddenly felt as if she had already been locked in a cell, alone and isolated, and she began to sweat. There was no point talking to the lawyer – new ideas now would change nothing. It was too late. Her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest, and she longed to howl; to scream and yell and break things.
But she did none of these things. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, so complete that she could no longer move. Then she began to feel 8 nauseous and despite being bathed in sweat, shivered as if she were chilled. That damned cocaine had just made things worse; she had clearly been overdoing it recently.
Agla felt herself rise out of her body, up to the living-room ceiling, from where she looked down on herself, sitting in a singlet and ripped tights, with mascara smudged down both cheeks and her hair like a badly made haystack. It seemed so unreal, so unlikely that this wretched vision of a person could be her, that for a moment she felt she had travelled back in time, was once again a hopeful young woman, and was looking at her future self, asking in fear and astonishment just what had gone so badly wrong.
As Agla returned to herself, the pain in her heart took over. She was petrified: the reality was that it was all over – she was on her way to prison, convicted of market manipulation, and Sonja had fled the country. There was every chance she would never see her again. She had lost the only thing that had made her life bearable since the financial crisis. Although she had known from the moment of that very first kiss that this sweet, burning passion of theirs was something temporary, the fact that it was over was more painful than she could ever have imagined. The tears streamed down her cheeks and her heart seemed ready either to burst out of her chest once more, or to break inside her.
4
This time the beach seemed unbelievably long, and the sand was soft beneath her feet, so that she sank into it with every step. The effort to move was painful when she wasn’t making the progress she wanted. It was almost like her recurring nightmare, in which she ran and ran but stayed in the same spot.
The beach was deserted, or at least this section of it, between the rocks, was empty, but in the car park on the other side there was a car – she could just see its roof over the dune. But while instinct told her that was where Tómas was, something else insisted that wasn’t the way 9she should be going. She pumped her feet against the soft sand and pushed forwards until she finally reached the steps up to the car park that overlooked the dune, her lungs now burning with exertion. She lost her footing in the sand, but instead of slowing down she used her hands as well and scrambled up the steps on all fours until she got to the top and rose again to her feet. She jogged, panting, to the car. As she approached, a door opened and a man stepped out.
‘Is my son here?’ she called, just as she saw Tómas sitting in the car.
She didn’t hesitate; she went straight for the man. Although she was petite and had no hope of overpowering such a heavily built guy, she had to try; every nerve in her body demanded it. She crashed into him with all her strength, shoulder first, and managed to knock him off balance for a moment. He teetered and stepped back to regain his balance, at the same moment holding Sonja fast in his grip. Then he turned her nimbly around without letting go of her wrists. As she was spun it felt like a dance. But this dance, in a car park in Florida, was deadly serious – lethal even – and she knew it had to be linked to her past in Iceland.
The man, who had a Mexican look about him, tied her hands behind her back with tape, placed a hand on her head, just like a policeman, and then pushed her into the car. Wanting to show some resistance, Sonja struggled, but she really wanted to be there in the car where Tómas was – she needed to be with him. She dropped into the seat next to her weeping boy. His arms were taped behind his back, just like hers, and a piece of tape had been put over his mouth, but Sonja could still see his lips moving to form the word Mum.
Mum, his lips said through the tape and the tears streamed down his cheeks.
Sonja leaned over to him, put her head by his and shushed quietly. ‘I’m with you, sweetheart. Mum’s with you.’
She wanted to take him in her arms, but this would have to do, her head next to his for a moment, before the man reached into the car and hauled her back. He tore a strip of tape from a roll and made to tape her mouth shut. 10
‘Please, don’t…’ was all she managed to say before the grey tape covered her mouth and all she could do was breathe through her nose.
5
The two men in the front of the car spoke to each other in Spanish, so Sonja couldn’t understand their conversation. They seemed calm, which was good, she supposed. They weren’t behaving as if they were crazy, but as if they were running an errand. The driver took a left turn down the track and parked across the entrance to the trailer park, then the one in the passenger seat jumped out. Sonja stretched to see where he was going. He jogged straight towards her trailer, slipped through the door and closed it behind him. What was he doing? Was he looking for cash? Was there something else he was searching for? And how had he known which was their trailer? She shuddered at the thought that these two men must certainly have been watching her and Tómas for some time.
Sonja mumbled into the tape, trying to get across the message that she had something to say. Maybe the driver would pull the tape off to find out what it was. She could tell them about the cash in the microwave, in return for letting her and Tómas go. But the driver half turned in his seat and hissed at her to be silent. The panic grew in Tómas’s eyes and the tears began to flow down his cheeks again, so Sonja decided it was better to try and stay calm.
A moment later the other man loped out of the trailer and ran over to the car, stuffing something into his pocket. In his other hand was a white box with a blue lid: the money box. Maybe the microwave hadn’t been the ideal hiding place after all.
‘Vamonos,’ the man said the moment he was in the passenger seat, and the tyres squealed as the driver spun the car around and took off towards the freeway.
Sonja leaned to one side and laid her cheek on Tómas’s head. He was shaking with fear and she longed to wrap her arms around him 11and whisper comforting words in his ear, but the only thing she could do was be close to him so that he would get some comfort from her warmth, just as he had when he was a baby. Back then the place he wanted to sleep was on her belly, feeling her body heat and hearing her heartbeat.
Sonja did some breathing exercises. She filled her lungs with air, counted to four and exhaled. It relaxed her body and made it easier for her to take in enough oxygen through her nose alone. She would be of no use to Tómas if she were to have a panic attack and use up all her strength by thrashing about. She had to stay calm for his sake. All this was terrifying enough without him having to deal with her fear as well.
At the next junction they took the freeway, heading south. Sonja watched the signs as they passed them, trying to work out where they were heading. The whole thing was so unreal that if it hadn’t been for the pain in her constricted arms she would have thought it was a dream, that it was just another lousy nightmare.
The men in the front stayed silent as the car hurtled along the freeway, past the endless woodland that covered the landscape like a thick suit of clothes, making the view monotonous. Compared to this, Iceland seemed almost naked, with no trees to be seen, and all its secrets unprotected. The only things that changed here were the signs; Sonja read them carefully without taking her cheek from Tómas’s head. He seemed calmer now, if his breathing was anything to go by.
Then she saw the sign for Orlando International Airport and her heart lurched. If they were heading there, then they were being flown somewhere. Could someone be sending them back to Iceland? She watched anxiously as the airport signs became increasingly frequent, and when the car turned off the freeway at the last one, she sighed and felt a wave of disappointment mingled with relief.
All the worst things she had imagined throughout this bizarre journey left her: the insane serial killers, organ thieves and kidnappers all became less likely as the airport approached and reality came closer. Her old, miserable reality. When the car rolled into the airport car park and the door was wrenched open, all her suspicions were confirmed. 12
6
By the time Agla regained some normality, it was almost midnight and her face was swollen with grief. It had been years since she had cried like that. In fact, she couldn’t remember how long ago it had been since she had last shed a tear. The strange combination of sorrow and the effects of the coke had stayed with her all afternoon, and she had alternated rambling through the apartment like a ghost with throwing herself onto the bed and howling into the pillow. Now, after a shower, she finally felt a little better and her thoughts were straightening themselves out. She applied some make-up, loosely brushed her hair, pulled on some trousers and a shirt, pushed her feet into some shoes, without bothering with socks, and put on her coat. The evening air outside was bitterly cold and the frost stung her skin, which was still tender from the shower. She wrapped her coat tightly around her. It was just as well the hotel was only a short walk away. A proper meal would cheer her up.
‘The kitchen’s closed,’ the young man at reception said coldly. Agla had interrupted his computer game – she could see it was now paused on the screen in front of him.
‘Don’t you do room service?’ she asked. ‘Can’t I order a meal from room service and eat it here?’
She waved a hand towards the sofa that occupied a corner of the lobby, but the young man shook his head.
‘Room service is for guests in their rooms,’ he said and grinned. ‘That’s why it’s called room service.’
‘Then I want a room,’ Agla said, taking her wallet from her coat pocket.
‘What?’
‘Get me a room,’ she repeated, fishing a credit card from her wallet and sliding it across the desk in front of the young man. ‘If that’s what it takes to get something to eat here.’
He took the card with a doubtful expression on his face. ‘You’re sure? You’re going to take a room just so you can order room service?’ 13
‘That’s right,’ Agla confirmed. ‘And you might as well take my order as well, since you’re booking me in. I want the steak, medium rare, chips and a beer.’
She had hardly closed the room door behind her when the food arrived. She sat happily at the table, inhaling the scent as the waiter lifted the cover off the tray. The steak was overcooked, but she didn’t feel like complaining. She was too hungry for that. She cut it into pieces and dipped each one in the cocktail sauce that had come with the chips, which made up for it being overdone. She reached for the remote and switched on the TV, not so much because she wanted to watch anything in particular, but more to get something out of having paid for a room to get a fairly average dinner.
On the way back down in the lift she took a five-thousand-krónur note from her wallet and, once she was downstairs, she slapped it on the reception desk. ‘That was fine, thanks very much.’
The young man stood up behind his computer and watched as she walked out of the building. Agla was sure that there must be something sheepish about the expression on his face. It would have been easy enough for him to bend the rules, let her order room service and eat it in the corner of the lobby, but that would have taken him away from his computer game. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and she didn’t make a habit of letting men get in her way with their little rules.
Back home, she felt more her usual self. Taking a deep breath, she summoned up the energy she needed to check out how things stood. She sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and logged into the AGK-Cayman statement page. Her lawyer, Elvar, had told her that now that the investigation was complete the special prosecutor’s office would no longer be monitoring her phone and computer. With the long delays between the investigation, the court proceedings and when a sentence would eventually be handed down, she had in fact been free to work on her investments for a few weeks; she’d simply not had the energy to face the situation. Now it was time to take the Caymans money in hand. That crap never seemed to do anything but lose value, though. Letting it drop endlessly wasn’t really an option, although it wasn’t easy 14to see what other choice she had. Realistically, it was little short of a miracle these days if you let your money look after itself and didn’t lose any of it. But that was far from good enough for her. She would have to get busy and find a way to make more. But the whole process with the special prosecutor had given her self-confidence a beating. All the same, she couldn’t deny that things had turned out better than she could have expected. Of course she would be spending time in prison – Elvar’s guess was that she would get more than a year inside – and then, of course, there were the legal costs and all that stuff. But in truth the prosecutor’s office had hardly even scratched the surface. They were sure they had scored a goal, but had actually never managed to ask the right questions. If they had they would have seen the real state of affairs. And that was bad. She owed a lot of money and needed the investments to do much, much better.
Agla scowled as she scanned the statement. If AGK-Cayman looked bad, then there was every chance the other funds would be much the same. She had the feeling that this was like walking into a burned-out house. These were ruins, charred junk that hadn’t been moved for months, and she didn’t even have the spark of an idea as to how she could turn these funds around. This was going to be a battle. She was regretting looking at this now, so late in the evening; it would certainly keep her awake.
She closed the laptop, and as soon as she stood up she felt it. She had heard no sound; she had noticed no movement from the corner of her eye. Instead she sensed it as if the cells of her skin knew: she was not alone in the flat.
7
Adam opened the car door for Sonja as if she were a film star arriving at a premiere. But the smile playing across his face vanished when he saw that Tómas was tied up and that his mouth was taped over.
‘You didn’t have to tie up the boy!’ he snapped at the two Mexicans, 15who immediately started to explain that he had fought like a tiger and there had been no choice.
Adam began to pick at the tape over Tómas’s mouth, but the driver reached in front of him and pulled the tape off with a jerk. Tómas yelled at the sudden pain and Adam glared at the man, who laughed as if it was funny. Then he took out a pocket knife and crouched behind Tómas to cut the tape holding his wrists together. Tómas was still crying, but as soon as his hands were free he threw himself at his father and held on to him tightly.
The driver then cut the tape around Sonja’s arms and went to help her with the tape over her mouth. She swatted him away and picked at the tape herself; it seemed to have taken root. As she pulled at it, the thought occurred to her to take to her heels, run from this car park and search for someone who might help her and take her to the police, where she could have these men charged with kidnapping. But that was an idea that was best forgotten. Adam would be out of the country before long and when all was said and done, legally he still had custody of Tómas. She was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one who was the real kidnapper. As she struggled to remove the tape from her face, the Mexican who had been in the passenger seat took two little blue books from his pocket and handed them to Adam: he had taken their passports from the trailer. Her stash of money was just a bonus. Adam shook the two men’s hands as they left, and asked them to give Mr José his kindest regards. With that, Sonja understood. She had met Mr José in London a few months before – an encounter she would have preferred to forget. As far as Sonja could make out, Adam was working for Mr José, who had eyes and ears in the States, of course, just as he undoubtedly had his hooks in people all over the world.
As the Mexicans drove away, Adam sighed and smiled. ‘Sonja, Sonja, Sonja,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Who’s been acting the fool, then?’
He stroked Tómas’s head, and Tómas looked up at him in confusion. Reality seemed to be gradually catching up with him. Sonja could almost see his mind trying to understand the mess that the day’s turmoil had created. 16
‘You have a choice,’ Adam said. ‘The first option is that you come home to Iceland with me and Tómas, and we start again where we left off. The other is that you say goodbye to both of us here and now. For good.’
8
Agla tiptoed towards the living-room door. The light had been bright in the kitchen, which made it difficult to make out anything in the dark living room; she stopped in the doorway and felt for the light switch. Now she was sure she could hear breathing, but then she told herself that it had to be her imagination and overstretched nerves playing games with her after all the coke and booze she’d consumed recently. But still, there was something that stopped her walking straight into the room; all her senses were screaming that there was someone there in the darkness; someone waiting for her.
She found the switch, expecting the room to be filled with a sudden brightness, but instead it was bathed in a faint, almost yellow glow. The dimmer was turned right down. But this half-light was enough for her to see him by – Ingimar. He sat in the armchair facing the door, relaxed, his legs spread wide and his hands resting on the arms of the chair. Agla ran a whole series of choice epithets through her mind; she had to exercise massive self-control in order not to let them all come tumbling out. She would far rather be meeting some anonymous burglar or a violent criminal than Ingimar.
‘Good evening, Agla,’ he said without moving, and without taking his eyes off her. She sighed and dropped onto the sofa facing him. It had to happen. She should have known that once the special prosecutor’s investigation was over, there would be a knock at the door, a reminder of the debt; the big debt.
‘How did you get in?’ she said, shifting on the sofa and pulling out the cushion she had sat on. As she did so, she upset a beer bottle, which clattered over on the tabletop. It wasn’t the most dignified response, 17but that didn’t matter. What was essential was to look him in the eye and not flinch. She had to stop her gaze from flitting this way and that, not let him see the nervousness his appearance had triggered.
‘I have my ways. It’s unfortunate that when I knock on a door like any other visitor, people aren’t inclined to let me in.’ He paused, then said. ‘We both know why I’m here.’
Agla nodded. She was completely aware of why, but she had expected that the reminder would be channelled through Jóhann. The last thing she had expected was that Ingimar would come straight to her.
‘Your timing is spookily accurate,’ she said. ‘I was just this minute taking a look at how things stand.’
Ingimar smiled. He had a benevolent smile, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and his face turned serious. Without a smile, he looked far from benevolent.
‘I can imagine things look grim,’ he said.
Agla agreed. ‘Times are hard right now,’ she said, ‘as everyone knows. So patience is the key.’
‘That’s it: patience.’ Ingimar smiled again.
Agla squirmed in her seat. The possibilities were flashing through her mind, as she tried to work out at lightning speed what the worst outcome could be and searched desperately for some kind of strategy.
‘Couldn’t we say that, with the situation as it is, there is no other option but to be patient?’ she replied.
Ingimar shrugged his shoulders. ‘You could say that,’ he said. Then he leaned forwards in the chair, an intense look on his face. ‘You’re good at covering it up, Agla, but you know as well as I do that even if you three were to sell everything you have, it wouldn’t cover the debt. All the stocks, the tangles of debt, everything you have is junk. And it’ll be a long time before it’ll be anything other than junk. Am I right?’ As he dropped the question, he nodded as if agreeing with himself.
There was no point in arguing. Of course he could see what the situation was – Ingimar was no fool. He was probably as far from being a fool as any man could be. 18
‘And although you’re pretty sharp,’ he continued, ‘you’ll need some kind of miracle to get these assets to produce any dividends.’
Agla didn’t reply. He was right. She understood that, and now he knew that she did.
‘But now you’re free of the prosecutor,’ he said, holding Agla’s gaze, ‘I have a proposal for you to reduce the debt, maybe even to become free of it.’
Agla didn’t reply. Instead, she stood up, went to the kitchen and fetched two bottles of beer. She took her time opening them, then went back to the living room, handed one to Ingimar and sat back on the sofa with the other.
‘Let’s hear it,’ she said.
9
Sonja did not say a word to Adam until they landed in Washington to catch their connecting flight. They walked through the airport in silence and boarded the Icelandic jet without saying a word to each other – not even when they went to a clothes shop at the airport to buy socks and trainers for Tómas. Adam occasionally muttered a few words to the boy. But he seemed to be gradually piecing together that the terror of that morning’s road trip had been his father’s doing: he stuck close to Sonja, holding her hand tightly and pulling away every time Adam tried to touch his head or speak to him. Once they were seated in the aircraft, he needed the toilet, and while he squeezed past his mother in the middle seat, he waited until his father had got up from his seat by the aisle.
‘Be quick, sweetheart,’ Adam said as Tómas stepped into the gangway, but as he spoke, Tómas spun around and aimed a kick at his father.
