Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

trip. But Soto had managed to find out from his wholesale suppliers who the big guys in drugs in Iceland were, and to make an introduction. They were Lithuanians, which was some kind of country in Russia, and they would help him.
    He looked out over the black wasteland. No snow. Certainly no igloos. And not even a goddamned tree. The place already gave him the creeps.
    After half an hour or so of driving, they pulled up in the parking lot of a Taco Bell. Sweet. Diego insisted on getting himself a burrito, even though it was early. When he returned to the car, there was another man waiting for him in the back seat. Thirties, also short-cropped hair, small blue eyes.
    ‘My name is Lukas,’ he said, by way of introduction, in a strong accent that wasn’t quite the Russian that Diego knew from Boston.
    ‘Joe,’ said Diego, shaking the proffered hand.
    ‘Welcome to Iceland.’
    ‘Have you got the piece?’
    Lukas hesitated and then pulled a Walther PPK out of a black shoulder bag. Diego examined it. It looked like a PPK/S but it had a blue-steel finish. Some European model, perhaps. It was in good condition. Serial number filed off. Not a revolver, but this job would be bang bang and outta there.
    ‘Be careful with this,’ the Lithuanian said. ‘There are no handguns in Iceland. This one was bought in Amsterdam and smuggled in.’
    ‘Other than the cops. They got guns, surely?’
    ‘Cops don’t have guns either. Except at airport.’
    Diego smiled. ‘Man, that’s cool. And the ammo?’
    Lukas handed it to him.
    ‘How about the getaway?’
    Lukas reached into his bag and took out a mobile phone. ‘Take this. The first name on the address list is “Karl”. Call that when you want to get out. If you are for real, say “Can I speak to Óskar?” Got that? Otherwise we think cops have you and you are on your own.’
    ‘What happens then?’
    ‘We’ll meet your car. Get you out of Iceland.’
    ‘Will it be quick?’
    ‘It will be very quick. Trust me, we don’t want you caught. And if you do get caught, don’t tell them we help you. We don’t want start war with police.’
    ‘I get it,’ said Diego. ‘So where do I find Magnus Jonson?’
    ‘You know what he looks like?’
    ‘Uh huh.’
    ‘Then I suggest you hang around outside police headquarters until you see him.’
    ‘Oh, great. Can you ask some questions for me, man? Find out where he lives?’
    ‘No,’ said Lukas. ‘If you shoot policeman on the streets of Reykjavík it will be big deal. Very big deal. If they learn we have been asking questions about cop there will be big trouble for us. You understand?’
    ‘I guess so,’ said Diego.
    ‘Good. Now we take you to hotel and then you go to small airport in centre of city to hire car. There is bus station opposite police headquarters. I suggest you go there to watch.’
    Árni was exhausted. It was amazing how sitting in one place for so long could be so tiring. He was very glad to be back in Iceland, although his body clock was completely confused.
    He had been really looking forward to interviewing Isildur. He had planned all kinds of clever strategies to prompt him to finger Steve Jubb as the murderer. And he had hoped to see a bit of California – the drive to Trinity County had promised to be spectacular. He might even have got to see some giant redwoods. As it was he hadn’t even made it in to San Francisco, spending the night at an airport Holiday Inn and the following morning organizing the flight back, via Toronto.
    He had never been to Canada before. Not impressed.
    The only good thing was that he was whipping through The Lord of the Rings . He was on page 657 and going strong. It was a great book. And all the more interesting for having read Gaukur’s Saga .
    Keflavík Airport was crowded – all the flights from North America arrived back in Iceland at the same time. Árni ignored his compatriots stocking up at the duty free shop and went straight through immigration and customs. As he came through the door into the main concourse, he spotted a man he recognized, Andrius Juska, stocky with short hair, a foot soldier in one of the Lithuanian gangs that sold amphetamines in Reykjavík. Árni only recognized him because he had tailed him for three days a couple of months before, while he was helping out the Narcotics Squad.
    The ‘yellow press’, as Iceland called its popular newspapers, had whipped itself into a bit of a frenzy over Lithuanian drug dealers, seeing them