Meltwater (Fire and Ice)

eyes on the entrance to Thórsgata and waited.
    The moment the last policemen was out of the door, Freeflow got down to work, which for most of the team meant powering up their computers. It was pretty clear that the police
had not found anything of value, although they had taken the clothes everyone was wearing the night before for analysis. After some discussion, Erika and Viktor had agreed to allow the team to give
DNA swabs, and the others had complied. The police had been considerate: they had left the place in more or less the same mess it had been in when they arrived.
    ‘Hold on, hold on,’ Dieter said, interrupting the activity. ‘Everyone turn off their computers. Now.’
    ‘Why?’ Erika asked, but as soon as she uttered the question she knew the answer.
    ‘We don’t know what little bugs they’ve planted in them.’
    ‘They’re not allowed to do that,’ said Viktor.
    ‘Governments do a lot of things they are not allowed to,’ said Erika. ‘That’s why Freeflow exists. Can’t you check them out?’
    ‘It would take far too long,’ said Dieter. ‘And even then, I might miss something. We are going to need brand-new machines.’
    ‘Oh, Christ,’ said Erika. ‘That’s going to delay us some more.’
    ‘And cost money,’ said Dieter.
    ‘How much?’ asked Viktor.
    ‘I don’t know. A few thousand dollars. We can get by mostly with netbooks,’ said Dieter. ‘I’ll need a more powerful laptop. All the software we need is stored
remotely.’
    ‘Probably a good idea to get some prepaid cell phones as well,’ said Erika. ‘I’ve got a couple, but they could be compromised.’
    ‘OK,’ said Viktor. ‘Give me a list, and I’ll go with Dúddi to buy whatever you need right away.’
    ‘We should discuss nothing related to Project Meltwater aloud,’ Dieter said. ‘Only by chat. They could have planted listening devices in the house.’
    ‘No. Dieter, that’s ridiculous,’ Erika said. ‘It will be impossible to get any meaningful work done that way. The whole reason we came to this godforsaken country in the
first place was so we could talk face to face.’
    ‘My country might be godforsaken,’ Viktor said, ‘but it isn’t a police state. I know the judge who granted the search warrants. Bugs like that would need a warrant from
him, and if he had granted one I would know about it. And the Police Commissioner is a smart guy: he wouldn’t want to risk getting caught planting unauthorized listening devices. In fact, I
doubt very much they have bugged the computers.’
    ‘No way are we using those computers now that the police have been all over them,’ Dieter said.
    ‘OK,’ Erika said. ‘We get new computers. But we have to assume the house itself isn’t bugged. And, Viktor, thank you so much for buying the new machines. This is an
important thing you are doing here. It will make a difference.’
    Erika wondered why Viktor had dug into his pocket this time. Perhaps it was the urgency of the situation, or maybe just the smaller amount that was required. Either way she was grateful. She
smiled at him, giving it the full force of her conviction. Viktor was clearly touched. They always were, in the end. He was a handsome man, much smoother than her normal type. He probably had a
beautiful blonde wife at home, but then he might like a change. Many men did.
    But Freeflow still needed fifteen thousand euros for the Swedish ISP. Perhaps she’d leave it for a bit and try him again the next day. Never give up, that was the rule she lived by.
Something would turn up; it always did; if it didn’t come from Viktor it would from someone else.
    Dúddi and Viktor were quick. In less than an hour and a half they had returned with the computers and four prepaid phones and a handful of SIM cards. While Dieter supervised setting the
machines up and downloading the backed-up software, Erika dialled Washington on one of the new phones.
    ‘Alan? It’s Erika.’
    ‘Hey, what’s up? Where are you? I don’t recognize the country code on your phone number, not that that means anything.’
    ‘Iceland,’ Erika said. In the past she had used elaborate means to disguise which country she was in, but at that moment there was no point. ‘What are you doing this
week?’
    Alan Traub was a freelance journalist in his fifties. He had been a staff reporter for the Washington Post for twenty years, but had parted company after one blazing row too many with the
editor. He was a