Meltwater (Fire and Ice)

shoulder.
    ‘They’re going to kill Erika. They’ve tried twice and failed, but they’ll get her next time. And then they’ll kill me.’
    ‘No, they won’t,’ said Ásta. ‘You’ll be safe here. The police are outside.’
    ‘We’re talking about Mossad here!’ said Zivah. ‘If they want me dead, I’m dead. Believe me.’
    ‘But why would they want to kill you?’
    ‘Because I’ve betrayed my country. At least in their eyes.’
    ‘No, you haven’t. All you have done is translate the words that Israeli soldiers actually used. Erika’s right: you are helping Freeflow reveal the truth. If that looks bad for
Israel, that’s Israel’s fault, not yours.’
    ‘You know my brother is in the army?’ Zivah said. ‘He actually fought in Gaza last year. He had no choice, of course, but he wanted to go. We had massive rows about it; I told
him I hated him. But the whole time I was scared sick that he would die.’
    ‘Did he come out of it OK?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Zivah. ‘We don’t talk any more, but he was OK. But now it’s me who’s going to die, not him. And I’m going to be killed by an Israeli, not a
Palestinian. I think I should just leave now. Go right to the airport. I’ve translated everything for them downstairs; they don’t need me any more.’
    ‘You can’t, I’m afraid,’ said Ásta. ‘All flights are cancelled. The volcano.’
    ‘No!’ Zivah brought her fist up to her mouth and bit it. ‘So I’m trapped here, with those killers. They’re going to get me. They will get me.’
    She leaned into Ásta and burst into tears. Ásta stroked her hair.
    ‘It’s not necessarily the Israelis who tried to kill Erika,’ Ásta said quietly.
    ‘Of course it is,’ said Zivah. ‘Who else could it be? I know it must be them.’
    ‘And I know it isn’t.’
    Zivah sat up and looked at Ásta in puzzlement. ‘You know? How can you know?’
    ‘Trust me,’ said Ásta. ‘I know.’ She looked Zivah straight in the eye. ‘Do you trust me?’
    Zivah’s eyes were wide. She nodded. ‘I trust you.’
    ‘Good,’ said Ásta. ‘Now, do you believe in God?’
    Zivah hesitated and then nodded again.
    ‘Perhaps we should pray?’ Ásta said. ‘Together.’
    ‘That won’t do any good,’ said Zivah.
    ‘I find it generally does,’ said Ásta.
    Ten minutes later they came down the stairs together. Zivah was still sniffing, but she seemed less desperate. Everyone was tapping away on their computers, apart from Franz, who had his head in
the fridge. ‘Hey, Ásta, have we got any milk?’
    ‘No, we need some,’ said Ásta. ‘In fact, I’ve got a list of lots of stuff we need. Do you want to come to the shop with me, Franz? You can help carry.’
    ‘Sure,’ said Franz.
    Ásta checked her list, and added a couple of items. Zivah was sitting in front of her computer. Ásta gave her a smile of encouragement, which Zivah returned. She was going to be
OK. Ásta couldn’t blame her for being scared. She was scared.
    She grabbed the list and she and Franz left the house and walked up the hill. Krambúd, the nearest convenience store, wasn’t far, just opposite the statue of Leifur Eiríksson
at the top of the hill.
    Franz was chatting excitedly about the editing he was doing for the end credits, but Ásta wasn’t listening. She had too much on her mind.
    She glanced up at the spire of the Hallgrímskirkja, bold, clean and strong. She took a deep breath. She needed some of that strength.
    As she turned back towards Franz, she caught a glimpse of a man staring at her out of a parked car, a Suzuki four-wheel drive. As soon as he saw that she had noticed him, the man looked away and
started up his engine.
    Ásta realized that she was still wearing her clerical collar, which always attracted attention. Perhaps that was what he was staring at. In any case, the Suzuki pulled out of its space
and drove away.
    They went into the shop.
    ‘This is ridiculous! I spoke to you yesterday. Why you want to speak to me again?’
    Teresa Andreose was angry at being dragged from her hotel to the interview room in the heart of police headquarters. Somehow, Magnus had expected that. A swirl of expensive perfume had
surrounded her as she swept into the room, as out of place there as its wearer.
    ‘This is a murder inquiry, Signora Andreose. We need to ask you some questions.’
    ‘Well, you had better not take long. I have a flight booked this afternoon. I cannot stand another day in this horrible