Free Meltwater by Michael Ridpath Page A

Magnus. ‘Did you hear what he called my colleague?’
    Ásta winced. ‘That was bad. But he is a good guy really. He’s an idealist, and our country needs more of those.’
    ‘I should know who he is, but I’ve only been back in Iceland a year,’ Magnus said. ‘Which party is he?’
    ‘The Movement. He was elected in 2009. He’s ambitious: I’m sure he’d like to be a minister.’
    ‘Well connected?’
    ‘I think so. Well, he’s good friends with the Prime Minister.’
    ‘So, I’ll take that as a yes.’ Magnus sighed. A bad enemy to make. He had hoped that there would be less politics in Reykjavík than Boston. Silly idea. The politics were just different.
    ‘What’s this Icelandic Modern Media Initiative?’ he asked.
    ‘It all started when Freeflow came here last year. Erika was on TV saying that Iceland should become a kind of offshore centre for free speech and a haven for investigative journalists worldwide. Viktor was watching and got very excited. He and some other MPs believe that Iceland’s troubles during the credit crunch of 2008 are the result of secrecy among the establishment of bankers and politicians. So he got in touch with Erika and Nico the next day.’
    ‘So it’s all Freeflow’s idea?’
    ‘That’s where it started,’ said Ásta. ‘But my uncle is the driving force behind it here in Iceland. The initiative itself is a resolution before Parliament to amend Iceland’s laws to make all this happen. It’s a good idea, actually.’
    ‘So has he kept in touch with Freeflow?’
    ‘Oh, yes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was involved in the Ódinsbanki leaks. Oh!’ Ásta paused. ‘I shouldn’t have said that to a policeman.’
    ‘I think there’s a lot more you should be saying.’
    ‘I have to keep a confidence.’ Her voice was firm.
    ‘Look, Ásta. When I get to Reykjavík I will go to the District Court and get a warrant to search the house those people are staying in, and their computers. By lunchtime I will know what they are working on. It would help me a lot if you could tell me now. In a murder investigation every hour counts.’
    Ásta turned away from him and looked out across the snow-covered moor.
    ‘Suit yourself,’ said Magnus.
    Magnus was expecting silence for the rest of the trip, but after a minute, Ásta spoke. ‘Are you really in the CIA?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Magnus said. ‘Erika Zinn is paranoid. That’s an absurd idea.’ He glanced across at the priest in the seat next to him, whose big blue eyes were watching him closely. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
    ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘But even I could tell that your English accent was very good. Or rather American accent. And you said just now that you came back to Iceland a year ago?’
    ‘I was born here. My dad was an academic – he taught mathematics at the University of Iceland, and then he got a job at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge. My mother died when I was twelve and so I went over there to live with him. Went to the local high school, went to college. Then, after he was . . . after he died, I decided to become a cop. I ended up as a homicide detective in Boston. But no, I never joined the CIA.’
    ‘Are you glad to be back? In Iceland?’
    Magnus hesitated before replying. ‘It’s hard to say.’
    ‘Do you think of yourself as an Icelander?’
    Magnus smiled ruefully. ‘That’s probably why it’s hard to say.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean in the States I definitely saw myself as an Icelander. I read and reread all the sagas, I kept up with the language, I loved coming back here with my father on vacation: this was my homeland. My younger brother was completely different, he became an American through and through and was happy to do that, but I felt I was different from the other kids, and I liked that.’
    ‘So what was the problem?’
    ‘When I came back I felt like a foreigner here as well. I spoke Icelandic with a bit of an American