‘You missed him,’ Matthew whispered.
‘I fired at the ceiling.’
Another shot tore holes in the air above them.
‘Stop shooting, for fuck’s sake!’ Abelsen shouted somewhere in the darkness.
‘Come with me,’ Tupaarnaq whispered.
Matthew followed her round the back of the warehouse at the end of the quay. They sought refuge behind the iron posts under the building. The darkness was dense down here. He could hear Tupaarnaq breathing in short, shallow gasps. Water sloshed around the posts.
She looked at him. ‘We need to get to the boat… it’s only thirty metres.’
‘But the water can’t be more than two degrees—what if we get cramps?’
‘Then we drown. It’ll be quick when the body is that cold. Now shut up.’
‘Hello?’ Abelsen’s voice interrupted them. ‘Bárdur kindly let the air out of that little rubber dinghy you used to get ashore.’
Matthew watched as Tupaarnaq sized up the sea. The water was black, so it was impossible to spot any rocks under the surface.
‘You see, Matthew,’ Abelsen went on, ‘Bárdur is a very helpful man these days. He grew up here when this was a busy town, and he’s the last one still hanging around. He has always believed that one day he would get the opportunity to avenge the death of his father. That’s all that matters to me. He doesn’t give a toss about the notebook… or your lives. He just wants Jakob, and I can help him with that, now that you have been kind enough to track him down for me.’
‘Ignore him,’ Tupaarnaq whispered. Her dark eyes gleamed like the sea below them.
Matthew shook his head.
‘Matthew, are you there?’ Abelsen called out. ‘Bárdur has no use for you. He just wants Jakob. So if you give me the notebook and the film reels, I’ll let you go.’
The water broke in silent ripples as Tupaarnaq let herself slip through the surface. She looked up. ‘If they hear us, it’s over,’ she whispered.
Matthew nodded and lowered his feet and legs into the sea. The cold bit into his skin immediately, and he had to fight every instinct not to jump straight back out. Instead he submerged his whole body in the sea, leaving only his head free. Every part of him screamed in pain. His skin contracted. He gasped for air. Briefly. Silently.
‘Think happy thoughts,’ Tupaarnaq whispered. ‘Distract your mind and relax, then your brain will leave your muscles alone.’
He nodded. ‘Okay… Fuck… Okay.’
Her head started to glide slowly along the surface. She made no sound at all. Every movement happened underwater.
The rocks disappeared from under Matthew’s boots and he began to tread water. He followed her slowly. The skin under his clothes burned from the cold.
‘No sudden movements,’ she warned him.
Matthew’s throat was cramping too much to speak. He just carried on swimming. Carefully. As if drugged. Right under the surface. The salt water flowed around his face. It cut into his cheeks and lips. His thoughts were jumbling with thousands of images. Tine. Her belly. The red Mercedes. I’m going to die out here, he thought. This is it.
The cold ate him up. It tore chunks off his flesh. He closed his eyes. They were halfway at best. His legs stopped kicking. I’m coming, he thought. The blue Golf rolled over. His body surrendered. One ear hurt. Insanely. As if someone was trying to pull it off. His eyes opened. Tupaarnaq’s hand.
‘Get your shit together,’ she whispered. ‘We’re nearly there. Come on, you wimp.’
He nodded. He shook his head to clear his mind.
Somewhere behind them Abelsen was calling out into the early summer dawn. Matthew heard the words ‘bring in the boat’.
Seconds later, Abelsen’s boat, which was anchored not far from them, started with a roar. Tupaarnaq pushed Matthew’s head under the surface, and at the same time grabbed his jacket. They resurfaced soon afterwards. Matthew’s face felt as if someone was stabbing it with icepicks.
‘Come on,’ she ordered him.
Abelsen’s boat motored towards the shore. Matthew couldn’t hear what the three men were saying to one another over the engine noise.
He grabbed the stern of their boat and slowly pulled himself up. His body was shaking so badly that he could barely support his own weight.
Tupaarnaq came out of the water right after him and collapsed on the deck close to him, near the wheelhouse.
‘Do you know how to use a rifle?’ she stuttered.
He shook his head.
‘Well, now’s your chance to learn,’ she said, sitting up and taking the rifle from her shoulder. She pulled out the magazine and drained the water from it. Then she pulled the bolt back and checked the chamber, before she let the bolt slot into place again. She cocked the rifle and loaded it. ‘Here.’
Matthew took it and struggled to his knees, while Tupaarnaq raised the anchor.
‘I’ve just checked the battery,’ she said. ‘As soon as you hear me turn on the ignition, you fire at Abelsen’s boat. The distance is very short—you can’t miss.’
Matthew nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Don’t forget to press the butt hard against your shoulder before you pull the trigger. And don’t drop it—all right?’
He nodded again.
A few minutes later their engine made a noise. And then another one. Deeper. The propeller started whipping up the black water. Matthew raised the rifle to his shoulder. The icy steel bit into his fingers as he aimed the rifle at the silhouette on the other boat. Then he fired. One shot. Two.
The boat beneath him roused itself from the water so forcefully that he nearly toppled over the stern, and he grabbed onto the frame that had held the rubber dinghy. He brought the rifle back up to his cheek, but they were already so far away that shooting again was pointless.
63
It was just past eight in the morning when Matthew and Tupaarnaq knocked on Paneeraq’s door and hurried into the living room, where Jakob was waiting.
The first thing they had done on their return to Nuuk was to put on some dry clothes at Matthew’s place. The heater had been on full blast in the boat, but it hadn’t been enough to dry their clothing.
Tupaarnaq had pressed the boat harder than she’d wanted to, but the dawn light crawling lazily over the eastern mountains had helped her navigate the sea and the rocks.
As soon as they were close enough to Nuuk to have mobile coverage, Matthew had texted a summary of events to Malik, who had promised to forward it to Ottesen so that the police could despatch a helicopter to Færingehavn as quickly as possible. Matthew had then sent an email to jelly@hotmail.com:
You know that we saw Najak in the shipping container in Færingehavn—and we have the eight-millimetre films, one with you on it, from when she was alive. You’re finished. The notebook is nothing compared to that.
Tupaarnaq hugged Paneeraq, while Matthew told them about Færingehavn, Bárdur, Abelsen and the shipping container.
‘Did you see her?’ Paneeraq wanted to know, looking from Matthew to Tupaarnaq. The tears that had welled up in her eyes began rolling down her cheeks. ‘Did you see her. Properly?’ Her voice cracked.
‘It was her,’ Tupaarnaq whispered. ‘She was in the shipping container.’
Paneeraq dissolved in Tupaarnaq’s arms and slipped down on the sofa. ‘So she… she died… inside that thing… in that place.’ She looked up with a jolt. ‘How did she look?’
‘Yes, she died,’ Matthew said hoarsely. ‘She died soon after the film was recorded.’