Far North - Michael Ridpath [150]
‘Ólafur Tómasson!’ The Prime Minister until the pots-and-pans revolution. The former leader of the Independence Party. And onetime governor of the Central Bank.
‘That’s right,’ said Ingileif. ‘But, Magnús?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you wait a moment? Just a minute. I need to talk to you. I think I will go to Hamburg. I’m just about to call Svala now.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, Ingileif, we’ll have to discuss this later,’ said Magnus. ‘I’ve got to go.’
For a second he wondered whether he had made a mistake cutting her off like that.
Then he called Baldur.
He outlined his fear. That the next victim was Ólafur Tómasson and the means could be a bomb.
‘Are you sure?’ Baldur asked.
‘Of course I’m not sure,’ said Magnus. ‘But you need to tell him to be careful. Does he have protection?’
‘He did until two months ago. Then we pulled it. Cost savings.’
‘Well, you had better get it back, pronto,’ said Magnus and hung up.
He was standing alone in the car park. The Stykkishólmur police station was a more substantial building than its Grundarfjördur counterpart, as befitted a regional headquarters. A small white concrete office block, shared with the district court.
He hesitated before entering. There was nothing more he could do, was there? He would have to rely on Baldur to get the message out. That might take several minutes, even longer if there were approvals to go through, people to talk to, decisions to be dithered over. Maybe they would decide once again that Magnus was operating on no more than a hunch.
Magnus remembered that the former Prime Minister lived in one of the houses on the shore of the Tjörnin, the bird-strewn lake right in the heart of Reykjavík. If Árni was driving from Seltjarnarnes to police HQ, he was right there.
Magnus called him.
‘Árni, where are you right now?’
‘On the Hringbraut, just coming up to the university.’
That was just a few hundred metres from the Tjörnin.
‘OK. Listen closely and do exactly as I say.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘You know where Ólafur Tómasson lives?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. We believe he is the next victim. Probably from a bomb. I want you to go to his house and get him and his family out of there. Don’t let him touch any packages and above all don’t let him get in his car. You got that?’
‘Are you sure about this, Magnús? He’s an important guy.’
‘Which is why they want to blow him up.’
‘I’m on my way,’ said Árni.
Good man, thought Magnus. Ólafur was famously irascible, especially since he had been forced out of office, and he wouldn’t take kindly to being pushed around by a skinny detective.
Tough.
*
Blue light again.
Árni put his foot down on the accelerator, swerved round the roundabout in front of the university and in less than a minute was speeding along the road on the edge of the Tjörnin. The houses along the lake were some of Reykjavík’s most majestic, and Ólafur Tómasson’s was at the northern end near the City Hall.
As he neared the house he could see the familiar tall, gaunt figure of the man himself. He was standing by the door of his Mercedes. Opening it. Getting in.
Árni leaned on his horn. But that might not be enough to prevent Ólafur from turning on the ignition.
Ólafur’s car was parked in the driveway outside his house, facing downhill towards the road and the lake. Árni had to do something in the next couple of seconds that would persuade Ólafur not to insert his keys in the ignition, but to get out of his car.
There was a blonde woman pushing a buggy along the pavement by the lake, pointing at the ducks. Blaring the horn all the while, Árni swerved and aimed straight at her. He saw, rather than heard her scream. At the last second he changed direction and hit a tree. The airbag exploded and smashed into his face.
He heard the mother’s screams and the sound of shouting and running feet.
He opened his car door, extricated himself from the airbag and staggered out on to the pavement.
‘What the hell do you think you were doing driving that fast?’
Árni turned to see the angry face of the former Prime Minister of Iceland yelling at him.
He smiled.