“I’m taking it anyway.” She looked at Marjan in contempt.
“We can move,” said Nils. “There’s a table over there. Oh, somebody’s taking it.”
Marjan sipped her coffee. This was a nuisance. She glared at the girl. The girl looked up at her. “Ata holekh thatsig et atsmcha?”
Marjan opened her mouth. “Ma?”
“Ah, so you speak Hebrew? I thought you were a Turk.”
Marjan snorted in disgust.
“What’s wrong with Turks?” The girl smiled at her barb; she knew Marjan was Armenian and calling her a Turk wouldn’t go down too well.
“You’re our Mossad contact?” said Marjan.
“No, I’m a whore. You want to sell this?” She pointed at Nils, then smiled. “No? Pity, I’ll bet he’s a bit of a hunk under that shit. Did you dress him?”
“Cut the shit, whore,” Marjan quipped. “What’s next? Where do we go?”
“That’s a difficult one. I’m expecting a call from Tel Aviv this morning. Get your breakfast. There’s no hurry, and it’s cold out there. Not good weather for a walk.”
The girl got up and ordered a ham, bread and cheese platter with pickles.
“Looks ok. I’ll get one.” Marjan queued for hers, brought it back and sat down.
“So, why’s it difficult? What do I call you?”
The girl smiled. “Boss. That’s my name.”
“Yeah. OK, Boss, why’s it difficult?”
The girl in denims sighed. “I’m told they’ve only a rough idea of what he’s up to, but they all want him. The Americans, the Russians and the European side of NATO. They know it’s some technical radar shit. We could have his ass in Beersheba tonight if we wanted. But it’s a risk, the fucking SVR are all over this and we’re undermanned here. Plus, NATO want’s first touch, America and Europe are bickering over him. We’ve been asked to look after him until they get their shit together. We threw the SVR a curveball. They think we took him to Berlin, but they’ll find out it’s not true soon enough.”
“The CIA will have people here, won’t they? What’s the problem?” Marjan frowned.
“Jurisdiction. The US and the European sides both want him, so it’s a bit of a standoff.” The girl thumbed the counter. “Eat your breakfast and get the hunk one too.”
After breakfast, Nils fixed Marjan with a gaze. He tried his best to ignore her dark deep eyes, her smiling lips. “You do this kind of thing all the time do you?”
“No,” she grinned. “Only when I’m lucky, clients are usually fat bankers or drug cartel gang lords.”
“I was a Radar Engineer and then this shit. And you, that’s the good part.” She looked at a couple getting up to pay. “I was a surfing girl, always on the beach, then it was the IDF and I got involved in some undercover work. It went on from there.”
Nils found all this a little hard to take. The only thing making all this real was the killings he’d seen on the streets of Allerod. Mossad and the Russian SVR: it was hard to take in. He’d been shocked; he admitted if it wasn’t for those events he’d have just run off and that would have been it. Except he knew it wouldn’t have been just it. Things would have got worse; they’d have come for him at work or just after.
A cell phone rang. The girl who called herself Boss answered. “Yes, factory vault 85G. Boss speaking. They have? I thought they’d be arguing for weeks.” She listened for a few minutes.
“So, it’s not really a solution, it’s a holding place?” She nodded and listened longer. “Right, we’ll be there today. I will.” She tapped the phone screen to off. “That was Tel Aviv, as I’m sure you guessed. Ok, we’re off. Get your bags and come on.”
“Where are we going?” asked Marjan.
Boss smiled. “NATO is still in a catfight. For the time being, he’ll be held in a secure location in European territory where the Russians can’t get their hands on him. What happens eventually…?” The Boss shrugged.
“So where are we going?” asked Marjan again.
“North. The far north. You two are going to Svalbard, or Spitsbergen as it was known. A Norwegian Arctic Island. Surprisingly in the Arctic Sea.”
“Svalbard, what the hell’s there?”
“Polar bears, seals, wolves and shit. There are substantial settlements there, and the Norwegian forces will be watching over you. We’ll go now to Gardermoen air station, an RNoAF base. From there you’ll be flown to Svalbard via Bardufoss RNoAF. Come on, it’s not far to the air station, we’ll get a taxi.”
At the air station gate, Boss showed her passport to the guard who picked up the phone.
“Wait here. Someone will be along to meet you.”
An officer turned up in a truck. “Hi, I’m Major Nyylin. Climb in.”
They headed for the main complex. They were offered food and taken to an equipment store.
“Here, get your cold-weather gear. What you’ve got on is no good,” said the Corporal in the store. There were allocated coats, trousers, boots, hats, snow goggles and thermal underwear. He placed skis, ski boots and snowshoes on the counter.
“You can change in there,” the officer pointed.
The three of them walked into a changing room.
“Where’s yours?” asked Marjan.
“I’m not coming with you,” said Boss. “I’m not stupid. I was told to keep an eye on you, so that’s what I’m doing.” She smiled, nodding towards Nils. “I’m looking forward to this.”
Nils felt self-conscious removing his clothes including his underwear in front of Marjan and Boss, but Marjan had to do the same, so he got on with it. He flicked a few glances her way as she stripped off. Not bad.
“Ok, now that you’re dressed, I think you two can go,” said Boss. “Not bad, Nils, you can bend me over any time. You’re a lucky cow, Marjan.”
Marjan and Nils were taken outside to a waiting Lockheed C-130J transport aircraft. Flakes of snow were thickening. It wasn’t exactly plush inside, but they picked two seats facing the opposite side of the aircraft and strapped in. Four Rolls Royce AE turboprops spooled up, and it rolled down the runway and climbed off towards the north.
The Arctic beckoned and Marjan shivered, but not from the cold.
At RNoAF Bardufoss, 16 Norwegian soldiers in Arctic whites got on, and they pulled a large low box on wheels up the ramp. All looked like Rambo or Schwarzenegger, with weapons dangling from them or carried in their arms. They nodded but kept to themselves.
As they rolled down the runway, Marjan shouted, “Who are you?”
One looked over and yelled, “Jegerkommando.”
He wasn’t talkative, so she sat back for the flight north.
They landed at Svalbard, and the ramp opened and a draft of cold air rushed in. Nils pulled his hood cord tighter.
They walked down the ramp into a grey, windswept, snow-covered land. Mountains were visible in the distance. A truck waited for them, and the soldiers loaded up the wheeled box, then Nils, Marjan and the troops got into the truck and they left the airstrip.
They stopped at a wooden house at the end of a row of similar houses. A soldier from the base showed Nils and Marjan to their house. It was a reasonable size, with two bedrooms, bathroom and kitchen. The furnishing was functional but tasteful.
The two of them were left alone and they unloaded the supplies they’d been given and explored the house.
There was a knock at the door, and Nils opened it. A soldier in full Arctic whites walked in, and Nils recognised him from the flight. Marjan walked into the room and shook the man’s hand.
“Sit, please,” said Nils.
The soldier sat in a chair and faced them on the couch.
“Hello, I’m Major Tandberg, Jegerkommando. We’re here to make sure you come to no harm; we’re staying in a dormitory close to here. We can bring whatever supplies you may need from the island store. We can take you there if you wish,” he said, looking at Marjan.