Part 6 (2/2)

'It's too complicated to explain now. I'll talk to you later.'

She took down his number and rang off. Julius had a manner of natural authority that in any other context would have been rea.s.suring, she thought; he spoke confidently and precisely. But the conversation had done nothing to allay her fears.

'How did you get here?' Steve asked.

'By taxi.'

'Did anyone else know you were coming here?'

'No, no one.'

'Did you pay using cash?'

'No, by debit card.'

'Those men, did they have fair hair?' Steve asked in a level voice.

'Why do you ask?'

'Actually, it can't be, these guys aren't wearing jackets and ties, they're in ski-suits and boots.'

'Steve, what the h.e.l.l are you on about?'

'There are two men standing outside, staring up at my window.'

'What do you mean?' Kristin said, the colour draining from her face.

She ran to the window, peered down at the car park and gasped in horror.

'Jesus, it's them. How the h.e.l.l did they find me here?'

Steve leapt back from the window as if he had been struck. 'They've seen us. Come on!'

Kristin was still wearing her coat. Steve yanked on boots and a thick down jacket; seconds later they were outside on the landing. Peering down the stairwell, they saw Ripley and Bateman entering the hall below and running towards the stairs.

's.h.i.+t,' muttered Steve.

'Have you got a gun?' Kristin asked.

'Why would I have a gun?'

'Just my luck to meet the only b.l.o.o.d.y American who doesn't carry a gun,' she swore in Icelandic.

'Come on,' he cried, running back into the apartment and locking the door behind them. They dashed out on to the little balcony. It was a six-metre drop to the ground too high. Nor could they swing down to the balcony below, but there was a chance they could jump on to the one next door. From the front door to the apartment came the sound of hammering. Steve helped Kristin climb on to the rail and, grasping the ice-cold metal, she pushed herself up, almost succ.u.mbing to vertigo when she looked down, convinced for a moment that she was going to fall. Large lumps of snow slithered off the balcony, vanis.h.i.+ng into the darkness below. Conquering her dizziness and ignoring the pain from her hands as the cold bit into them, she jumped over to the next balcony, dropping to the cement floor with a thud and a gasp. Steve followed just as the door to his apartment burst open.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up a heavy plant pot from the floor of his neighbour's balcony and used it to smash the gla.s.s of the veranda door, before opening it from the inside. They hurried in, straight through the apartment, kicking children's toys out of the way and almost falling over a vacuum cleaner, and out on to the landing, then raced down the stairs.

Ripley and Bateman ran through Steve's apartment and, hearing the sound of smas.h.i.+ng gla.s.s, out on to the balcony where they saw that the veranda door of the neighbouring apartment was open. Spinning round, they rushed back through the apartment, only to spot Steve and Kristin vanis.h.i.+ng into the stairwell. A fat man wearing nothing but his underpants emerged from the neighbouring flat and walked straight into Ripley and Bateman's path. They collided with him, knocking him to the ground where Ripley tripped over him.

Steve and Kristin made the most of their head-start, hurtling out of the front door of the building as the two men regained their feet. Steve ran to his car, Kristin following close behind. It was unlocked and Steve got behind the wheel, Kristin jumping in beside him.

'Keys... keys!' Steve shouted, slapping his jeans frantically, then digging his hand into a pocket.

'Where are the keys?' Kristin shouted back.

'Got them!' Steve replied, extracting a bunch from his pocket and shoving the correct key in the ignition. He pressed the accelerator to the floor as he turned the key. Nothing happened. The ignition hissed but the engine failed to catch.

'Jesus!' Steve swore between clenched teeth.

He tried again, thumping the steering wheel, stamping his foot down and switching on the ignition. The engine coughed for a few long seconds, then roared into life. He rammed it into drive and the car took a bound, hurling Kristin back in her seat. The stench of petrol filled her nose as the wheels spun in the snow, the engine screeching as the tyres tried to get a purchase, the back of the car skidding sideways, but just as the two men raced out of the building the wheels caught, the car jumped forwards and they were away.

Looking back, Kristin saw them chase the car briefly before giving up and standing at a loss, watching the vehicle disappear from view.

Steve turned his eyes from the road to look at Kristin. 'I thought you were crazy when you arrived at my place. Out of your mind.'

'Thanks, I noticed.'

'I don't think so any more. Sorry.'

He drove on, checking the mirrors every few seconds. Kristin noticed that he was gripping the steering wheel hard to stop his hands from shaking.

'There's only one way they could know about you,' Kristin said after a minute's silence.

'What's that?'

'Elias. They're connected to what's happening on the glacier. They've got your name from Elias. That has to be it. They must think he's told me something; that he's told me about them. And about the plane, whatever it's doing up there. The men are in contact with the soldiers and they got my phone number from Elias's mobile. That's how they knew. They know I'm his sister. And they think I know something; that Elias told me something. That's why they're after me.'

'But who are they? Who are they working for?'

'I almost forgot. One of them mentioned a name when they attacked me. I wasn't supposed to have heard. Something about ”Ratoff”. Do you recognise the name?'

'Ratoff? Never heard of him.'

'Oh G.o.d, Elias!' Kristin sighed. She slumped deep into the pa.s.senger seat, raking her hand through her hair. 'What's happened to him? They said he was dead.'

Steve drove grimly on, marvelling at the extraordinary turn the evening had taken. To think that he had come to this frozen island for a quiet life.

'Kristin, I'm going to make a few calls and try to find out what's going on. Do they actually know who you are?'

'They knew where I lived. They knew about Elias. They seem to know everything I do before I do it. Yes, Steve, I'd say they know who I am.'

Kristin looked at him, then out of the rear window again. She thought about Elias, and about her father who must have gone abroad; he was forever travelling not that they had ever had foreign holidays as children and did not always bother to mention when it was for short trips. They did not have much contact; a phone call every month or two, a stilted conversation and some bland expression of hope that all was well. Kristin felt sad that she could never go to her father about anything, that she always had to cope on her own. And the worst of it was that he would probably blame her for what had happened to her brother. He always had done.

NEAR WAs.h.i.+NGTON DC,

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