Free The White Mountain by David Wingrove

old men, offering him the earth.

Chapter 69
    IN THE OPEN
    T olonen stood there at Haavikko’s bedside, looking down at him, a faint smile on his lips. It was only two days since his own operation and he was still feeling weak, but he had had to come.
    A nurse brought him a chair and he sat, content to wait until the young man woke. His new arm ached at the shoulder, despite the drugs, but it was feeling better than it had.
    Besides, he was alive. Thanks to Haavikko.
    The nurse hovered but he waved her away, then settled to watch the sleeping man.
    All his life he had been self-reliant. All his life he had fought his own fights, keeping himself one step ahead of his enemies. But now he was growing old. At last he had proof of it. His old eyes had missed the discrepancy of the colour codings on the soldiers’ chests – his reactions had been just that fraction of a second too slow – and he had lost his arm as a result. Almost his life.
    He smiled, studying the young man. Haavikko was cradled in bandages, special healants creating new skin growth on his badly burned shoulder and back.
    Tolonen shook his head as if to clear it, feeling both sad and happy at once. He had been told what Haavikko had done for him, like a son for a father; risking himself when all bonds of duty or obligation had long ago been severed between them.
    Yes, he had sorely misjudged the boy.
    Haavikko stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Marshal…’ He made to sit up, then winced and eased back, closing his eyes again. The blast had removed most of the skin at the top of his back and taken off his ear.
    â€˜Lie still, boy. Please. You need your rest.’
    Haavikko opened his eyes again and looked up at the Marshal. ‘Your arm…’ he said, clearly pained by the sight.
    Tolonen laughed gruffly. ‘You like it? It hurts a bit just now, but that doesn’t matter. I’m alive, that’s the thing.’ He sat back, his right hand reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his left cheek; an awkward, embarrassed gesture, indicative of just how hard the old man found it to deal with this. The warmth he felt towards the other man – that depth of reawakened feeling – brought him close to tears. He looked away a moment, controlling himself, then finished what he had meant to say. ‘Thanks to you, Axel. Thanks to you.’
    Axel smiled. His hands lay above the sheets. Long, fine hands, undamaged in the incident. Tolonen took one and squeezed it.
    â€˜I misjudged you, boy. I…’
    Haavikko shook his head, a slight grimace of pain crossing his face. ‘It doesn’t matter. Really, sir. I…’ He turned his head slightly, looking across the room to where his clothes hung on a peg. ‘But there’s something you must know. Something important.’
    Tolonen smiled. ‘Rest, my boy. There’s plenty of time for other things…’
    â€˜No.’ Haavikko swallowed drily. ‘Over there, in my tunic, there’s a package. I was bringing it to you when it happened. I’d pieced it all together.’
    Tolonen shook his head, puzzled. ‘Pieced what together?’
    Haavikko looked up, pleading with his eyes. ‘Just look. Please, sir. You don’t have to read it all right now. Later, perhaps, when you feel up to it. But promise me you’ll read it. Please, Marshal.’
    Tolonen let go of Haavikko’s hand, then got up heavily and went across. Just as Haavikko had said, there was a small package in the inner pocket of the tunic. He tugged at it until it came free, then went back, taking his seat again.
    He held the package out, a query in his eyes. ‘So what is this?’
    Haavikko swallowed again and Tolonen, taking the hint, set the package down and picked up the glass by the bedside, giving Haavikko a few sips.
    â€˜Well?’
    â€˜Long ago you asked me to do something for you – to make a list of people who might have been