Free Operation Napoleon by Arnaldur Indridason

killers? And what if the ministry she worked for was also implicated in the murder? She fumbled at her jacket, feeling for the wallet in her pocket.
    What if they had killed Elías the way they had killed Runólfur right in front of her eyes? she thought. What kind of men were they?
    Gradually anger got the better of her fear, allowing her to think more logically. She must find shelter somewhere; acquire clothes, information, maybe even go to the glacier herself and try to help her brother, if he was still alive. She did not dare contact the authorities; not as things stood, not until she knew more, until she was sure it was safe. But where was she to go? If they knew about her, surely they would know about her father too, in which case she could not go to him. The thought suddenly struck her: should she not warn him in case they paid him a visit next?
    She dashed out of the rubbish store and over to the terraced houses where she hammered on the door of the nearest and leaned on the doorbell. The man of the house answered quickly, his wife and two children hovering behind his shoulder. They had been watching television and had evidently sprung to their feet when they heard the banging and ringing. Kristín barged her way inside the moment the door opened.
    ‘I have to make a phone call,’ she cried. ‘Where’s the phone?’
    ‘Just a minute, miss,’ the man said, looking at her in horror. She was sweating in spite of the cold, her chest was heaving, her face a mask of terror, her clothes soaking wet and blood was oozing from one ear, caking the right side of her head.
    ‘I asked you, where’s the phone?’ she repeated as he staggered back before her into the little kitchen, where he pointed dumbly to the telephone. His family clustered around him.
    Three rings, six. He did not answer. She tried to think clearly: where could he be? His answering machine kicked in and she waited impatiently for the tone, then spoke hurriedly.
    ‘Dad? You’ve got to hide. The moment you hear this, disappear. I don’t know what’s going on but they’ve killed a man and tried to kill me, and they’ll almost certainly come after you. Elías may be dead. There are two of them, dressed like Jehovah’s Witnesses. I know this sounds insane but please do as I say and go into hiding. Don’t worry about me, just hide! And don’t try to make contact with me.’
    The little family were gaping at her. The man exchanged alarmed glances with his wife and both looked down at the children, huddling closer together, their eyes fixed on this wild woman as she ended her message. When Kristín put down the receiver and turned to face them, they all stepped back simultaneously.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, seeing the terror on the children’s faces. ‘It’sall true, I swear to God. They were going to kill me. Can you lend me some clothes? But please don’t ring the police – they may be involved. Try to forget this happened.’ She shivered involuntarily as the adrenalin began to ebb from her body, her teeth chattering together. ‘Do you have any clothes you could lend me? God, I’m so cold. Do you have any shoes and socks?’
    ‘If we give you some clothes,’ the woman said, speaking as calmly as she could, ‘will you leave?’
    ‘I’ll leave right away,’ Kristín assured her. ‘Just please don’t call the police.’
    A few minutes later she emerged from the house dressed in an outfit belonging to the woman: a pair of jeans, a thick jumper and winter boots. Under normal circumstances she would have found it odd and uncomfortable to be wearing someone else’s clothes which smelt of a strange, alien perfume, but there was no time for such thoughts now. The door slammed behind her. They had given her a plaster for her ear as well. As she walked slowly out of the cul-de-sac and on to the main road, the occasional car drove past cautiously in the snow. Kristín loathed snow; it reminded her of nothing more than Icelandic winters and the