19
Iceland
Eddie peered out of the descending airliner’s window at the raw, rugged landscape below. At this time of year the Icelandic lowlands were thawing, but the higher ground in the distance was still an unbroken vista of white. ‘Can’t believe I agreed to this,’ he grumbled. ‘We get back from Nepal, and the next day we’re off to bloody Iceland!’
Macy, in the seat between her parents, let out a little gasp. ‘Daddy! You said a bad word!’
‘It’s not a bad word in America, love,’ he assured her. ‘And when Americans say it, it sounds wrong anyway.’
‘It’s still a bad word in England, though,’ Nina reminded him.
‘No it’s not. It’s more like punctuation.’
‘All the same, Daddy’s going to stop saying it. Isn’t he?’
‘Bloomin’ right,’ said Eddie, but with a smile at his daughter.
A few minutes later, the Icelandair flight touched down at Keflavik international airport. Macy squealed first in alarm, then excitement. ‘There you go, honey,’ said Nina. ‘You just finished your first airplane ride!’
The little girl craned her neck to see out of the porthole. ‘Can we do it again?’
‘Yeah, we’ll be going back to New York soon,’ said Eddie. He gave Nina a meaningful sidelong look. ‘I hope.’
‘I’m sure we will,’ she replied.
She couldn’t help feeling trepidation, however. Olivia had been annoyingly opaque, insisting only that the meeting she had set up would answer all Nina’s questions about the Midas Cave – and her mother. She had not even expanded any further on the nature of the mysterious Legacy until Nina put her foot down and told her that without at least some clue about what to expect, she wasn’t going to leave New York, never mind the country. ‘I have a seat on what we call the Midas Legacy,’ Olivia had finally said. ‘It’s not nearly as mysterious as it sounds – it’s simply a rather self-aggrandising name Tobias and the others came up with, and that the three families have kept ever since because . . . well, we rather like it. It’s essentially a council that meets every so often to make decisions concerning the fortune.’
Beyond that, however, she had not been forthcoming, which had made convincing Eddie that they should travel to Iceland a drawn-out process. But eventually he’d acquiesced, the condition being that Macy go with them; their daughter had had a passport for some time in anticipation of eventual travel. Nina had been more than happy to agree.
By international standards, Keflavik was a relatively small airport, so it did not take long to clear passport control. The only minor delay was when they had to wait for one of their items of luggage. Nina had checked the Crucible in as oversized baggage, the crystal well-protected in the same box used to transport it from Nepal. ‘Well, it made it this far,’ said Eddie as he collected it from the claim counter, with a wary look around.
‘The only people who knew it was in New York were Lola, Oswald and Olivia,’ said Nina. ‘And Olivia was the only one who knew it was coming here. I don’t think she’d send goons to steal it herself.’ She put Macy into a puffy winter coat, then took her hand and started for the exit.
‘Considering that she lied to you to find the thing in the first place . . .’
‘Eddie,’ Nina warned him quietly. Despite his misgivings – and her own, for that matter – about the sudden reappearance of her long-lost relative they had agreed not to air them in front of their daughter. He made a disapproving noise, but said nothing more.
A man approached them as they emerged from the arrivals gate. ‘Dr Wilde?’
‘Yes?’ Nina said cautiously, aware that Eddie was subtly taking up a defensive stance, ready to react to any threat. The man – around thirty, with bristling light brown hair and a wide, tight-lipped mouth that gave an unsmiling edge to his otherwise handsome face – eyed him, clearly realising what he was doing.
‘I am Rutger De Klerx. Mrs Garde is waiting for you in my car.’ At first Nina thought his accent was German, but on hearing his name, she quickly revised her guess to Dutch. ‘If you and your daughter will come with me?’
‘And her husband too,’ rumbled Eddie.
‘Yes, and you, Mr Chase,’ said De Klerx, though not without a dismissive exhalation. Eddie started to mutter something rude, but held it back after a glance at Macy.
They followed De Klerx to his waiting car, which was more imposing than expected. ‘So we’re getting a lift from the Fall Guy?’ said Eddie, looking up at their ride. It was a bright red Ford Expedition EL, already a large vehicle capable of seating seven people, but made even taller by the fitting of massive off-road tyres and a jacked-up heavy-duty suspension. Banks of spotlights ran across its radiator grille and roof, a rack on the tailgate holding ropes, chains and jerrycans of fuel.
‘It’s a monster truck!’ cried the amazed Macy.
Even smiling, De Klerx did not appear to be amused. ‘They call them “super jeeps” here in Iceland. They are the only way to reach some parts of the island when there is snow.’ He folded down a step and opened the rear door to let them in.
‘I guess we’re going somewhere snowy?’ said Nina as she clambered aboard. Eddie lifted Macy up after her.
‘The Electra hotel,’ said Olivia from the front passenger seat. She greeted them, then continued: ‘One of the Legacy’s other members owns it. We sometimes use it for meetings because we can be sure of privacy. It’s a little out of the way.’ She smiled at Macy. ‘Hello, dear. Did you enjoy your trip on an airplane?’
Macy began an enthusiastic recounting of the journey as Eddie climbed into the cabin. ‘See you planned ahead,’ he said, gesturing at the child seat into which Nina was buckling their daughter.
‘I always do,’ Olivia replied.
De Klerx got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The Expedition’s big V8 sounded as if it had been considerably beefed up, exhaust pipes roaring. He pulled away, the studded tyres crunching noisily over the road surface.
Keflavik was some distance from the Icelandic capital Reykjavik, a long and lonely highway running parallel to the coastline before reaching the city’s outskirts. Rather than heading into the centre, the Expedition skirted around it, taking a road that climbed into the hills to the east. The patches of snow on the ground grew larger as they went higher, soon joining to cover the entire landscape. The road itself was relatively free of ice – the Icelanders were well practised at ploughing and clearing their thoroughfares even in the wilderness – but the only vehicles they saw as they crossed the high plains were other super jeeps, in the form of pumped-up SUVs, pickups and even buses.
Eddie kept Macy occupied with an animated conversation about animals that might live in snow. ‘Not many people out here,’ Nina observed. The scenery was beautiful, but no less devoid of life than the mountains of Nepal.
‘You should see this road when the Northern Lights are active,’ said Olivia disapprovingly. ‘It’s almost as congested as Manhattan on a Friday evening. Endless busloads of tourists on their way to Thingvellir in the hope of getting a good view.’
‘What’s a Thingvellir?’ Macy asked.
‘It’s a national park. There’s a very big lake there, and it’s also the place where the Icelanders used to have their parliament. Do you know what a parliament is?’
‘I’ve got some words to describe the British one, but I can’t use them in front of the little ’un,’ said Eddie with a grin.
‘It’s where people meet to vote on what they’re going to do,’ Nina told the confused girl. ‘Like Congress in Washington DC.’
Realisation lit Macy’s face. ‘Oh, where all the idiots are!’
‘I see you’ve been offering commentary on the news,’ Olivia said to the couple, amused, before addressing Macy again. ‘The Icelanders called it the Althing, and it was their governm
ent. I suppose we’re going to our own little Althing, except only three families vote in this one. Mine is one of them.’
‘Who else is there?’ Macy asked.
‘That’s a very good question,’ Nina said pointedly.
‘You’ll meet them soon,’ Olivia assured her.
The super jeep continued on, the large lake eventually coming into view to their right. Against the stark white backdrop, it appeared so deep a blue as to be almost black. Further along the road, Olivia pointed out a rocky chasm stretching back towards the ice-speckled waters. ‘At the moment, we’re technically in North America,’ she said as the Expedition reached a curve in the road that crossed over it. ‘And now . . . we’re in Europe.’
‘Wish it was that quick to get between ’em all the time,’ said Eddie. ‘It’d save a lot of waiting around in airports.’
‘Was that the continental rift?’ Nina asked, watching the cleft retreat behind them.
‘Yes, between the North American and European plates.’ Olivia gestured at the distant hills to the east. ‘This valley’s gradually getting wider as new rock is formed beneath it. The place we’re going is also on the rift, actually. One of its unique selling points, to use the jargon.’
The Ford soon reached a crossroads. De Klerx headed north, heading into some higher peaks. After a few miles he turned on to another road, a signpost bearing an exclamation mark and the bilingual warning Ófært; Impassable. Its accuracy soon became clear, the asphalt disappearing beneath deepening snow. Yellow marker posts snaked into the distance, tyre tracks showing that the buried route had been recently taken by other vehicles. ‘There’s a hotel all the way up here?’ Nina asked dubiously.
‘Good for skiing, I suppose,’ said Eddie.
‘You would think, but it’s actually closed to the public at this time of year,’ Olivia told him. ‘The conditions are a little too extreme for the average tourist. The Icelanders prefer that their visitors not die of exposure.’
The Dutchman guided the Expedition onwards, kicking up compacted snow from its oversized wheels. A few miles on, they reached a small frozen lake, the icy surface glittering in the sunlight. Low cliffs rose beyond it, the markers curving around the shore to meet them. He slowed to ascend an incline, then applied a burst of power to propel them over its crest. Macy giggled at the engine’s roar.
‘There it is,’ announced Olivia.
They had reached a broad plain, deep snowdrifts rippling across it like albino sand dunes. Beyond them, a building stood at the base of a low hill, its assertively angular architecture of pale wood and concrete and glass in sharp contrast to the natural surroundings. It seemed almost to be floating above the ground, a pair of long wings each two storeys high jutting out of the hillside. Where they joined, two stainless-steel chimneys rose skyward, plumes of pure white steam drifting from them. ‘That’s . . . pretty spectacular,’ said Nina, impressed.
More super jeeps were parked in front of the structure. As they approached it, a young man in dark clothing hurried to meet the new arrivals. De Klerx lowered his window. A brief exchange, then the Dutchman guided the SUV towards one end of the hotel. ‘He wants to meet us at the east entrance,’ he told Olivia.
She was not impressed. ‘Does he now?’
De Klerx said nothing, instead bringing the super jeep to a stop in an area free of snow beneath the building. From here, Nina saw that the hotel was actually Y-shaped in plan, the broad leg from which the two elevated arms extended partially buried in the hillside. Close up, the structure’s gravity-defying nature was revealed as extremely clever design, steeply raked pillars bearing the load.
De Klerx opened the doors for his passengers. Another man in dark clothes took their baggage, though Eddie kept a firm hold on the Crucible. The group followed their driver up a flight of steps. Seeing that she was having difficulty, Nina moved to assist her grandmother. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Olivia replied testily. ‘If we’d used the main entrance we could have taken the elevator, but no, Fenrir has his own plans.’
The name was familiar, but for the moment Nina couldn’t place it. ‘Do you need a hand?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ the old lady insisted. She gripped the banister more tightly and continued defiantly upwards.
They entered a lobby. The man carrying their bags continued down a hallway, but rather than go with him, De Klerx brought the visitors into a large room occupying the entire end of the wing. Two whole walls were glazed, giving a breathtaking view of the snowy wilderness. But Nina’s eyes went to its sole occupant. The room was a gym containing ranks of top-of-the-range exercise machines, but the man they had apparently come to meet was lying on his back on a bench, lifting a set of weights.
Now she knew where she had heard his name before. ‘Dr Mikkelsson?’ she exclaimed.
Fenrir Mikkelsson looked around at the new arrivals, the mechanical rhythm of his exercise not missing a beat. ‘Ah, Dr Wilde! A pleasure to meet you again.’
‘Who’s this?’ Eddie asked her. ‘Haven’t been seeing someone behind my back, have you?’
She gave her husband a sarcastic smile. ‘I met him at the United Nations. Dr Mikkelsson’s a director of the International Atomic Energy Agency . . . so I’m kinda surprised to see him here.’
‘I am not only a member of the IAEA,’ said Mikkelsson, raising his weights one last time before levering them back on to their rack with a clang. ‘I am also a member of the Midas Legacy. I assume that Olivia has told you about us.’ He sat up, wiping his face with a flannel. Despite his exertion, he was barely sweating.
‘Yes, she has,’ Nina replied, frowning at her grandmother. ‘Although she’s been very cagey about the details – like who else is involved in it!’
Eddie eyed the weights. ‘A hundred-kilo bench press? Bit risky without a spotter.’
‘One hundred and ten,’ Mikkelsson corrected, ‘and there is no risk, Mr Chase. I often lift far more.’ He stood and donned a white robe over his black tracksuit. ‘Welcome to the Electra hotel, Dr Wilde, Mr Chase.’ He crouched before Macy. ‘And who are you?’
‘Macy,’ the little girl replied, a little hesitantly.
‘How do you do, Macy? My name is Fenrir.’ Mikkelsson extended his hand. ‘Do you like Iceland?’
She smiled and shook it, then pointed out of the panoramic window. ‘There’s a lot of snow.’
‘There is! It can be very cold. But not in here; we keep it warm.’
‘I assume you had us come in by the side door so you could give us a tour of your pride and joy,’ said Olivia.
Mikkelsson rose to his full imposing height and faced her. ‘Of course. What other reason would there be?’
‘So that you get to meet Nina before the others and try to make a good first impression, perhaps? Just like when you happened to bump into her at the UN.’
The Icelander gave a mocking smile. ‘You are becoming cynical in your old age, Olivia. Not everyone is as devious as you.’ Her own smile in return was distinctly icy. ‘Dr Wilde – may I call you Nina?’
‘Sure,’ Nina replied.
‘Thank you. Nina, I really do wish to show off my hotel to you. I am quite proud of it.’
‘I wouldn’t have expected the boss of the UN’s nuke-counters to be Basil Fawlty as a sideline,’ said Eddie.
Mikkelsson was evidently not familiar with classic British sitcoms, but he got the gist of the comment. ‘It is owned by my family’s company, of which I am also the chairman.’
‘You must be busy,’ Nina said.
‘Those who say there are not enough hours in the day are simply spending too much time asleep. Now, if you will allow me to get dressed, I shall give you a tour.’
A few minutes later, he emerged from a side room wearing a tailored suit, its chequered pattern more forceful than the
one he had worn in New York. ‘Shall we?’ He gestured towards the doors. De Klerx opened them, and the group followed Mikkelsson through the lobby.
The hotel’s interior was as neatly minimalist in design as outside, simple and elegant without seeming stark. ‘One of my other business interests is renewable energy,’ Mikkelsson continued. ‘Iceland is the world leader in geothermal power. This site was originally used to test a new design of steam turbine – our island is formed by volcanoes, so it is very easy to drill down to a depth where the rock is hot enough to boil water. But we also have a beautiful landscape, so I thought: why not build more than a power station, so others may also enjoy it? Neither the government nor the elves objected, so I went ahead.’
‘Elves?’ Eddie said, surprised.
‘Icelandic folklore. Many believe it is unwise to alter their land without appeasing the “hidden people”; it brings bad luck.’ A small smile. ‘So far, in life, I have stayed on their good side.’
‘Kind of ironic that a nuclear expert would be so into renewable energy,’ Nina observed.
‘Few countries are as fortunate as we are to be able to take advantage of geothermal power. Nuclear energy is also vital if the world is to meet the needs of an ever-growing population. Ideally, we would use thorium rather than uranium in new reactors, as it is a more common element and produces less waste. Unfortunately, it cannot be used to make nuclear weapons.’
‘Unfortunately?’ exclaimed Eddie.
‘From the point of view of governments. Because there is no weapons potential, nations are less keen to invest in developing it.’ They reached the end of the hall, entering another, larger lobby at the hotel’s main entrance. Banks of elevators flanked the reception desk, at which stood a man in dark clothing. Mikkelsson brought them behind it to a door that he unlocked with a contactless keycard. ‘This is the turbine hall.’
Beyond was a large, high-ceilinged room, every surface painted a pristine white. A complex network of gleaming stainless-steel pipes ran through the space to a pair of great metal tanks attached to humming electrical generators. The constant low whooshing thrum of pumps echoed through the hall. ‘A mixture of superheated water and steam is brought up from below the ground,’ explained Mikkelsson, indicating the large conduits before them. Signs in Icelandic and English beside some of the valves warned that the contents were extremely hot. ‘The water is redirected and cooled so it can be reused, and the steam sent to the turbines. This was only built as a test facility, so the turbines produce just two megawatts. That is more than enough to power the entire hotel, though.’