Dancing With Mortality (17 page)

‘He’s ex-IRA,’ Michael explained, ‘my Battalion Commander in
1981. This is the man I’m talking about, Harry. Seen him before?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, means nothing to me.’ There was a
pause in the speech now, and Fitzpatrick was taking questions. He had a strong
Belfast accent and a resonant tone that Harry thought would easily fill a large
public space. A useful attribute if you were an up-and-coming politician.
‘Never seen him.’

Michael reached for the remote and paused the tape.
‘Remember that face. He’s the man responsible for killing my sister and your
wife. I’m certain of it.’

Harry stared at the still image on the screen. Something was
tugging at his memory.

‘Run it on,’ he said.

He watched and listened for a little longer, then he had it.

‘I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard him. That’s Sean
O’Riordan.’

Ingrid did Reindeer steak for the
evening meal. Sabine helped her in the kitchen, and it was clear the two women
liked each other. They had developed an easy rapport, and the conversation
drifting through to the living room was punctuated by quiet laughter. The two
men, who were still digesting the implications of Harry’s earlier revelation,
were muted by comparison.

‘I suppose I should be pleased I got it right,’ said
Michael, looking anything but.

‘They knew all along,’ Harry muttered.

‘Who?’

‘Hudson and Litchfield, my SIS colleagues in Dublin. That
O’Riordan and Fitzpatrick were one and the same person. And they must have
known your relationship with him. Yet still we were targeted by your people.
Why?’

Michael’s expression darkened. ‘Fitzpatrick would need to be
seen to be doing something after we lost all those guns. They knew the vehicle
they wanted to target, but not who would be in it. Unless...’

‘Unless what?’

‘Perhaps they did know.’

Harry waved a dismissive hand. ‘Meaning I was to be the
sacrificial lamb? That’s ridiculous.’

Michael smiled without mirth. ‘You think so?’

Dinner was served. Sabine did most of the talking,
describing their visit to the Ice Hotel, and the ice sculptures she’d seen.

‘There’s a lovely ice chandelier, and they have a wedding
chapel. And an Ice Bar. You really should go and take a look, Harry.’

‘Sounds great,’ he said, his mind elsewhere.

She caught his mood and decided not to distract him.

The meal was conducted mostly in silence, then Ingrid
suggested they go back to the Ice Bar after dinner for a couple of quick
drinks.

‘Actually, that’s a good idea,’ said Harry, snapping out of
his reverie. ‘Let’s do that.’

The Ice Bar was a welcome diversion, with its hewn columns
of pale blue ice supporting the ceiling, and semicircular sculpted booths with
reindeer skins covering the ice seats. The glasses were ice tumblers, and the
drink of choice was vodka, served by barmen in fur hats and padded jackets and
thick gloves. The place maintained a constant -5 degree temperature, which
while tolerable wasn’t conducive to a long stay no matter how well you
insulated yourself. Harry thought that after a couple of drinks the novelty
might lose out to hypothermia, or maybe after sufficient vodka he wouldn’t
notice.

‘Why don’t you take a look around now you’re here,’ said
Sabine. ‘It’s a lovely place.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Michael.

They made their way down the arched corridors, pausing to
peek inside bedrooms as yet unoccupied. The basic arrangement consisted of a
bed made with two huge slabs of ice pushed together, topped with a mattress and
reindeer skins. The more elaborate rooms had carved ice headboards, chairs and
animal sculptures.

‘People actually sleep here?’ asked Harry

‘For one night usually and then they put you in warm
accommodation.’

In the chapel they took a seat on one of the pews, admiring
the altar and huge white cross behind it. The floor-level lighting bathed the
equally white walls in a subtle glow, giving the place an intimate feel. Harry
looked behind, but there were no other churchgoers sharing their intimacy. He
turned to Michael.

‘What are we going to do? We can’t prove anything we might
accuse Fitzpatrick of.’

Michael pursed his lips and stared straight ahead. ‘I’m
going to write a press release naming him as a British agent. I’ll reveal my
credentials as the only survivor of the gunrunning incident in Cork, and I’ll
accuse him of trying to protect himself by killing me. All of the background to
this will be on record – the guns, Siobhan’s shooting. I’ll say I’m breaking
cover because I have reason to believe my life is being threatened by the
Secret Intelligence Service, and that I want some kind of justice for my
sister. It’s all rather circumstantial, but I think I can find an Irish
journalist who will run with it.’

‘But there’s still no proof.’

‘We just need to sow the seeds of doubt at this point. If we
can get people asking questions we will have achieved something. And it might
keep SIS away from me too. If I were to disappear suddenly that would only
strengthen the case against Fitzpatrick.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

Michael stood up. ‘Nothing, Harry. You’ve confirmed
something I thought was true for a long time now. No point in putting you at
risk too. I’m already at risk so I have no choice in the matter.’

‘Alright. One thing though. Even if we were to expose him,
he’d still be running round free. The worst you can do is bring a case against
him for Siobhan’s murder.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Michael. ‘But if he was known to be a British
Agent there’d be plenty of people willing to put a bullet in him for it. That’s
what I’m counting on.’

They left the chapel and returned to the Ice Bar.

‘Did you get lost?’ said Sabine. ‘You were away for ages.’

Harry gave a wry smile. ‘We stopped in the chapel. Praying
for guidance.’

They had another drink and decided it was time to leave.
When they stepped outside Sabine grabbed his arm and pointed upwards. ‘Look at
that,’ she said in awe.

The sky was clear and no snow had fallen in the short time
they’d been here. And tonight the aurora was weaving its magic in the heavens,
its swirling violet and green rays crisscrossing the sky. It was
heartstoppingly beautiful, and both he and Sabine stood transfixed.

‘You’re lucky,’ said Ingrid. ‘A lot of people come here just
to see that and they never do.’

They spent most of the trip back looking at it from the the
car. When they were inside the house Sabine was drawn to the window at regular
intervals to look again.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ announced Harry. ‘It’s been a long
day.’

In the bedroom he checked his phone for messages and found
nothing. Sabine came up shortly afterwards and rummaged in her luggage then
retired to the bathroom. She emerged ten minutes later wearing track suit
bottoms and a t-shirt. She had brushed her dark hair and it was loose now and
down around her shoulders.

‘Am I acceptable?’

He was under the covers, clad in t-shirt and boxer shorts.
‘Perhaps you should wear a jacket.’

He was treated to a look of incredulity, then she got into
bed. ‘It’s big enough for both of us. What did you talk about today?’

He filled her in on the day’s events. She listened quietly
without interruption and with increasing concern as he told her about the
arrest of Michael’s father, the video session, and the press release. When he’d
finished she put her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling for a
while.

‘This is not a good situation for any of us, is it?’ she
said.

‘No, but officially you and I know nothing. And if Michael
gets his story out, it should make him safe too.’

She wasn’t reassured. ‘Turn off the light, please.’ She
turned to him and gave him a quick hug. ‘Sleep well, Harry.’

The next day Michael locked himself
away to draft his statement. Ingrid was in an angry and tearful mood, and
managed to break a glass and a plate while doing the dishes after breakfast.
The sound of breakage and what could only be cursing in Swedish drew Sabine to
the kitchen, and after a while she returned with her arm around a clearly upset
woman.

‘Michael told her everything,’ she explained.

‘I’m sorry, Ingrid,’ said Harry.

‘I don’t blame you, and I’m scared for him.’ She sat at the
dining room table with the anger etched on her face. ‘Can’t he be left alone,
after all this time?’

Harry had no answer. Ingrid took a few deep breaths to
compose herself. ‘We talked last night, and we think you should take the train
back to Stockholm tonight. Michael will try to find a journalist that he can
email today with his statement. After that we will wait here for maybe two days
so he can answer any questions that come up. Then we’re going to disappear
until we know the story has been released.’

‘Right,’ said Harry. It all seemed to be moving rather fast.
‘But how will I contact Michael if you disappear?’

‘You won’t be able to. I have Sami friends here, and they
will take us reindeer herding for a while. We can get lost up here for months.’

That should keep Michael out of harm’s way, thought Harry.
‘Ok, we’ll go back to Stockholm as you suggest.’

As the morning passed, Harry found it increasingly difficult
to relax. Michael could be vaguely heard talking on the phone, but he didn’t
emerge from his study. Sabine was quiet and calmer and exchanging small talk
with Ingrid in the kitchen. Harry had an idea.

‘Can I borrow the snowmobile? I’ll go back to the lake.’

Ingrid managed a smile. ‘Yes, of course. Go with him,
Sabine.’

They took the one snowmobile and she rode pillion with her
arms around him. The lake was deserted and they spent the best part of an hour
traversing it in what remained of the daylight, stopping occasionally just to
absorb the stillness and seemingly infinite whiteness. There was no need for
conversation. The sky was overcast, and as they turned for home fat flakes of
snow began to fall. Sabine tightened her hold around him and he could feel her
breasts against his back. ‘It’s wonderful, Harry. Thank you.’

Michael was out of seclusion when they got back, and Ingrid
was making lunch. Michael had found a bottle of whisky, and poured Harry a
glass.

‘Swedish malt,’ he said. ‘Forgot I had it till now.’ He
passed Harry a sheet of paper.

‘This is my statement, as we discussed. I’ve emailed a copy
to a journalist on the Irish Times, his name and contact details are all there.
And I’ve talked to him. He wants to run a few checks, and if he’s satisfied,
he’ll publish. He said if that happens I should prepare for a “shitstorm”, and
I should be prepared to do an interview if necessary.’

‘In Ireland? Is that wise?’

‘No, here in Sweden.’ He sighed. ‘Done all I can I think.
Now we wait.’

‘Yes, but don’t wait around here too long.’

‘I don’t intend to. Keep that copy, Harry. I’d rather you
have it printed and not emailed to you. There’s one last thing. My father’s
address is on that sheet. If anything should happen to me I want you to go and
see him, and tell him the whole story. Will you do that?’

‘Sure. But I hope I don’t have to.’

Michael made inroads into the malt
after lunch, but Harry declined to join him, muttering something about one glass
being his limit. Michael became somewhat melancholic and started reminiscing
about the greenness and beauty of Ireland, and the character of its people, all
of which he missed. Harry responded with a sermon on the wonders of his own
homeland, citing its rainforests, fiords and mountains. All of which he had to
admit he didn’t miss as much as he should.

Michael turned to Sabine. ‘You didn’t bring your saxophone.
We don’t get much jazz in Kiruna, you know.’

Sabine looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Mmm, it’s in a car
park in Stockholm right now. I should have brought it really, it would have
sounded amazing played on the lake. Next time.’

Ingrid took away the bottle shortly afterwards and made
Michael drink some coffee.

As they drove to the station the Volvo’s headlights cut a
swathe of brilliance through the lightly falling snow, and the trees on either
side of the main road drooped even further under their new blanket. Ingrid
drove steadily and not too fast with the restricted visibility, but they still
made it with time to spare.

The train arrived on time and they had five minutes to say
their goodbyes. The two women hugged each other and then Ingrid kissed Harry on
both cheeks, telling him to come back any time. Sabine gave Michael a long
embrace and then stepped back and gave him a longer look as though she was
burning him into her memory.

‘Before you go reindeer herding, you are to ring me and let
me know everything is ok, yes? If I haven’t heard anything from you in three
days from now I’m coming back.’

‘I will, don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘And when the story comes
out in the Irish Times you’ll be the first to know. Now go.’

He turned to Harry. ‘Thank you for coming, Harry. I’m sorry
about the circumstances that brought you here. I’m glad we met though.’ The two
men shook hands.

Then they were on the train and it was pulling away, and all
they could see through the frosted windows were two blurry figures waving in
the snow.

They had separate sleeping
compartments for the return trip. After agreeing to meet for dinner, Harry
found his compartment and slept for an hour. He woke and showered and then,
feeling warmer and cleaner, he sat cross-legged on the fold down bed and stared
at the blackness rushing past the window.

He checked his phone again for messages but there were none,
and he turned it off, wondering if the act of turning it on for even a short
time was enough to pinpoint his location, and if so whether Jack Hudson was
checking on him. If they now knew where Michael was they would certainly wonder
what Harry Ellis was doing there too. He groaned inwardly at his own stupidity;
he should just have left the bloody thing off. And he wondered what would
happen when SIS found Michael. Would they involve the Swedish authorities and
have him arrested, or did they have something more permanent in mind?

There was a knock at the door, and he let Sabine in.

‘Shall we go to the dining car?’ she asked.

‘Sure, sit with me for a minute first.’

They sat together on the bed. She looked at him expectantly.
‘What is it, Harry?’

‘How was it, seeing him again?’

‘It was nice.’ She paused. ‘It’s like he’s just the same,
but of course we’re all older now and we aren’t the same people anymore. The
anger has gone, though, I noticed that. Why do you ask?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Curious I guess. I like him, never thought
I’d say that of an ex-terrorist.’

‘He never considered himself a terrorist.’

‘Let’s not get bogged down in semantics. I should have asked
him what his politics were these days.’ He laughed. ‘I’m sure he’s still
staunch Republican though.’

Sabine smiled. ‘Yes, but without the sub-machine guns. Or
maybe he just doesn’t think about it now.’

Harry got up. ‘Come on, let’s eat.’

The dining car was filling up fast,
but they got a small table to themselves. They decided on reindeer with mashed
potatoes and lingonberry chutney with half a bottle of house red, and nibbled
peanuts while they waited.

‘It’ll be morning when we get back to Stockholm,’ said
Harry. ‘Still want to play at that club in the evening?’

‘I suppose we need to get back to Heidelberg as quickly as
possible. You’re running out of holiday aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but I think I can extend my time off. Let’s stay in
Stockholm tomorrow night then I’ll call the office when we get to Copenhagen.’

‘I won’t be bothered if I don’t play the club. There’s no
guarantee of being able to fit in with whoever is there anyway. I’m just
speculating really.’

‘No, let’s stay over. Ring Michael tomorrow night, I want to
make sure he got the press release finalised before we leave Sweden.’

‘Ok, but what will we do all day tomorrow?’

He grinned. ‘We’ll be tourists of course. You can get out
your travel guide after dinner and work out our itinerary.’

‘Is that so? In that case you’re buying dinner somewhere expensive
tomorrow night. I’ll list if for you so there will be no mistake. Deal?’

He nodded. ‘Deal.’

Stockholm seemed almost warm after
the sub-zero temperatures in Kiruna. Once their luggage was back in the car
they walked to Gamla Stan, the original medieval city centre. There they found
churches and museums to saunter through, and after a break for lunch the
itinerary moved on to the Royal Palace with its endless richly decorated
reception rooms and Royal Armoury. By mid-afternoon Harry was pleading culture
fatigue and was more interested in finding somewhere to stay for the night.
They tried three hotels in the area before striking lucky and then it was back
to the car to retrieve their cases.

There were no adjoining rooms this time, they were separated
by the length of a corridor. As they parted company, Sabine said she’d meet him
again in an hour, and then he could take her to her chosen restaurant. In the
meantime she would ring Michael for an update. After a shower, Harry changed
into some fresh clothes and channel surfed the TV, searching unsuccessfully for
something in English. He settled instead for reading several of the many
pamphlets on the attractions of Stockholm that had been thoughtfully left for
him by the management.

‘We missed the Vasa Museum,’ he said, when Sabine arrived.

‘Show me.’ She took the pamphlet and glanced at it. ‘I’m
sure it’s very nice, but you said you’d had enough for one day.’

‘Yes, I did, I’m kidding you. Did you reach Michael?’

‘Yes, and the story goes to print in three days at most.
They are leaving Kiruna tomorrow morning for at least a week, he said.’

‘Good. I hope this story has the desired impact. We’ll just
have to wait and see.’

The restaurant Sabine had picked was
expensive even by Scandinavian standards, but she wasn’t drinking prior to
playing, and Harry restricted himself to one glass of wine. By the time they’d
collected the saxophone and walked to the club it was 10pm. Inside it was
relatively quiet, and although there was a trio consisting of piano, bass, and
drums performing, the mood of the audience was one of distraction. The music
wasn’t grabbing them, not just yet anyway. It wasn’t grabbing Sabine either.

‘This is a little too traditional for my taste,’ she said.
‘I won’t ask them if I can sit in. Let’s have a drink and see if it improves.’

They stayed for an hour and she didn’t hear anything to
change her mind. ‘We picked the wrong night, that’s all,’ she said as they made
their way back to the hotel. ‘And to be honest I don’t feel much like playing
tonight anyway.’

That surprised him. ‘Why should you not want to play?’

‘I don’t know, Harry, for me it’s most unusual. Maybe I’m
just tired.’

The next evening they were back in
the same hotel in Vesterbro. The receptionist was the same too.

‘Ah,’ he exclaimed. ‘The adjoining roommates. Same again?’

Sabine knocked very loudly before coming into his room this
time.

‘I didn’t want to interrupt,’ she said half in jest.

‘I’ve left the phone off,’ he replied. ‘I’ll explain
everything to Sophie when I get back.’

Now that it was all done he felt an impatience to be back in
London. Since their departure from Heidelberg his existence had assumed an air
of increasing unreality, a bubble of the surreal which was now deflating like a
tyre with a slow puncture. He was feeling flat and it didn’t help that he had
no idea what would happen once Michael’s story got out. Maybe nothing. He tried
to snap out of it.

‘Let’s go for a walk and find somewhere to eat. It’s an
interesting neighbourhood around here, the people are quite exotic.’

Sabine was momentarily puzzled. ‘Exotic? Oh, you mean the
people on the corners in their tight skirts.’ She laughed. ‘Shall I enquire
about price for you, Harry?’

He grinned back. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll do it
myself.’

It was too late to call the office and extend his break, so
he made a mental note to do that on the drive back tomorrow, and they went out
into the buzzing Vesterbro evening. She put her arm through his and smiled her
mischievous smile, and he felt good. They ate fish and chips and drank beer in
a crowded café, which appeared to have been taken over by good-natured Danish
Hell’s Angels, then on the way back they tried to figure out which tight-skirted
lady would be the most expensive. The criteria were less than scientific,
length of leg and brunettes versus blondes were the vital factors. They were
still undecided when they got back to the hotel and went into the bar for a
nightcap.

‘Will you drive to the ferry, Harry? Then I’ll do the
Autobahn.’

‘Yes, no problem.’

‘Thanks. Would you believe I’m still hungry? I’m just going
to the bar to see if they have any peanuts.’

Less than ten seconds later he heard her shout. ‘Harry,
quick!’

He rushed over to the bar. She was staring at the TV mounted
on the wall. ‘It was Michael,’ she almost sobbed, ‘his picture…’

A police official was talking to the camera. In the
background he could see the flashing red lights of what looked like an
ambulance. Then the camera panned across to the deep red painted house with the
white verandah, and he frantically gestured at the barman to join them.

‘Can you translate what’s going on for me?’

The barman, who was a young man in his twenties, gave Harry
a curious look and then turned to the screen. Michael’s face appeared once more
and then after another half minute of commentary it was over.

‘That was in Kiruna in Sweden, last evening,’ the barman
began. ‘You know Kiruna?’

Harry nodded furiously. Sabine clung to his arm, and he
could feel her nails digging in to him.

‘The policeman said that the man you saw in the picture was
shot dead late last night by someone when he answered the door. His wife is
unharmed.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ breathed Harry. ‘And this bastard just
walked away no doubt.’

‘No, this is the amazing thing.’ The young man seemed
slightly in awe. ‘When he went into the house she threw a javelin from the top
of the stairs. Straight through his chest but he’s still alive! They took him
to Kiruna hospital. They had to trim the javelin first to get him into the
ambulance.’ He almost laughed until he saw Harry’s face.

‘Thanks,’ said Harry. ‘Come on, Sabine, upstairs.’

 He had to almost drag her through the reception area, she
was clinging to him and stumbling with the shock and crying almost soundlessly.
In the end, he picked her up and carried her into the elevator and kept her
that way while they went up, then the door opened and he got down the corridor
to his room.

He put her down on the bed but she refused to let go of him,
so he lay down next to her, and she buried her face in his neck. He could feel
the heat of her tears on him and he put his arms round her, pulling her close.
He held her like that for he didn’t know how long, until the tears subsided and
his heart rate returned to something close to normal.

‘Don’t let go of me.’ Her voice was toneless and far away.

‘I won’t.’ He tried to think rationally. Michael was dead; it
must have been the phone call to Ireland that led them to him. They hadn’t
succeeded in silencing him, the story was out there and they would be helpless
to prevent it running, they knew nothing about it. But Michael couldn’t
substantiate any of it personally now. Would that matter? And the man they’d
sent to do the job had bungled it. If he was questioned by Swedish police,
would he embarrass SIS with his answers?

If they even suspected Harry and Sabine of being in Kiruna
that could have unpleasant consequences. The conversation he’d had with Michael
about the night of Natalie’s death flashed through his mind. Had he been the
‘sacrificial lamb’ that night? He couldn’t understand the callousness required
to set him up like that, but it made perfect sense if you were a callous
bastard like Litchfield, and given what he knew now it was the only logical
explanation. He’d been used as a pawn, both then and now. He wondered if Jack
Hudson had been in on the decision, and assumed he must have been. These people
are so cold-blooded they won’t mind sacrificing me a second time, he thought.

He prised Sabine’s arms from around his neck and gently lay
her back on the bed. She looked blankly at the ceiling. ‘I loved him, Harry.’

‘I know.’

‘And Ingrid, what must she be feeling? We should go back.’

‘No, that’s exactly what we mustn’t do. Look at me.’ She
turned her head slightly and they locked eyes. ‘We need to get you back to
Germany as soon as possible. Heidelberg is probably the safest place for you
now. Do you understand?’

‘How can you be so calm about this?’

‘I don’t feel calm. I think we should assume that SIS knows
we’ve been in Kiruna talking to Michael. At the moment I don’t know what that
means for us, but I just want you back in your own country.’

She nodded, her eyes still on his. ‘Sure.’

‘It’s late. Go next door and have a shower. We’re leaving
early. Do you want to sleep with me tonight? I don’t want you alone even if you
are next door.’

‘Yes, I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Ok, go and shower. I’ll bring your things in here.’

He gave her five minutes to get into the shower then
transferred everything to his room. He put the ‘do not disturb’ sign outside
her door and fixed the chain on the inside. Then he went to his own bathroom
and took a shower. As the water cascaded over him, he thought of Ingrid and
felt a surge of vicious satisfaction at the image of her impaling the man
they’d sent to kill her husband.

Sabine was in bed when he came out of the bathroom. He went
over to the adjoining door and made sure it was locked, and gave his own
entrance door the same treatment he’d given hers. He rang down to reception and
asked for a wake up call at 6am and then he joined her.

‘Try to sleep,’ he said, turning off the lights.

‘I want you to hold me.’

She cried softly for a while and he stroked her back through
her t-shirt as she lay with her head on his chest. He found the action
strangely calming and thought she did too as he felt her breathing gradually
deepen into sleep. He was still stroking her back at intervals and staring at
the ceiling an hour later, but soon after that his racing mind decelerated,
called time, and let him drift into a dreamless slumber.

They had no appetite for breakfast
the following morning and could stomach only coffee, and by 7am they were on
the road. It was late afternoon when they arrived back at Panorama Strasse.
Sabine had spent the first part of the journey to the ferry silently staring
out the window, and Harry was too preoccupied dealing with the shock he’d
suppressed the previous evening to make a sensible attempt at conversation.
When they swopped the driving duties near Hamburg he felt edgy and realised he
was becoming paranoid. He was checking the occupants of every car that overtook
them and turning around at frequent intervals to see what was behind. Sabine
caught the tension in him and when he did try to talk she snapped at him in
irritation. As a consequence they both arrived feeling exhausted.