Two hours later, they were all sitting in the customs shed at Svalbard airport, waiting for their transport flight back to the mainland. Dr Finsberg, Dr Lopez and their five henchmen were all handcuffed to a bench at the far end of the room. The tiny police department on Svalbard was not equipped to handle the investigation into a major international art theft racket, so specialist Norwegian Kripos officers would be on the plane to supervise their transport.

Binky was strapped to a gurney. The local doctor had stabilised his condition, given him a blood transfusion and pumped him full of painkillers so he could be flown back to Oslo to undergo surgery on his arm. The bullet had gone right through, but a surgeon would need to repair the damage. Ingrid sat with him, holding his good hand. The doctor had given him a green whistle to help with the pain and Binky was now very brain addled.

‘I don’t like guns,’ said Binky. His speech was a bit slurred.

‘That’s understandable,’ said Ingrid.

‘Too loud,’ said Binky.

‘Yes, they are,’ agreed Ingrid.

‘And . . .’ said Binky. He trailed off for a moment, and it looked like he might go to sleep, then his eyes opened. ‘. . . the bullets really hurt.’

‘I’m sure they do,’ said Ingrid. She brushed back his hair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. His eyes drifted closed again.

Friday, Ian, Uncle Bernie and everyone from the tour of the vault were waiting too. They had all had enough of Svalbard. It was beautiful, but as Binky had forewarned them – polar bears were not as fun in real life as they were in nature documentaries. And the encounter with the polar bear had been one of the more relaxing things to happen to them since arriving at the island.

‘I still don’t understand what happened,’ said Cassandra.

‘I never understand,’ said Melanie. ‘You get used to it after a while. It’s actually more relaxing than trying to make sense of things.’

‘It’s my fault,’ said Minister Mendoza. ‘I knew something was going on. That’s why I asked to tour the vault. There were strange anomalies with the shipments of seed to the Seed Vault. For a start, there were too many of them. One a month – that was more than was usual. I should have alerted the customs authorities, but I never imagined anything like this.’

‘We were onto it too,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘but from the other end. We knew Dr Lopez had smuggled the Bilbao paintings out of Spain through the Port of Barcelona, but they could have gone anywhere from there. It was Friday who tipped me off about Svalbard.’

‘So how did you know?’ Ian asked Friday.

‘It was Binky’s polar bear attack,’ said Friday.

Binky’s eyes flew open. ‘What bear? There isn’t another bear, is there?’

‘Shhh, no, there are no more bears,’ said Ingrid, patting Binky gently. Binky’s eyes closed again.

‘I figured out how Jonas staged the attack,’ said Friday. ‘But not why Binky went out into the snow in the first place.’

‘Because he saw a polar bear,’ said Melanie.

‘Yes, but how was that staged?’ asked Friday. ‘Someone else had to be involved. An accomplice. And there was only one other person at the Seed Vault that day – Dr Finsberg.’

Everyone looked at Dr Finsberg. He turned away in disgust. ‘I hate children,’ he muttered.

‘How did you do it? How did you create the visual illusion of a polar bear?’ asked Friday. ‘I couldn’t figure it out. That’s why I didn’t accuse you at the time. Was it a trick of the light? Some sort of projector?’

Dr Finsberg chuckled. ‘You’re an idiot,’ he said. ‘You think you’re so clever with your deductive reasoning, but you’re not very practical, are you? If you are on Svalbard and you want someone to see a polar bear, the easiest way to do that is to show them a polar bear.’

‘You used a real polar bear?’ asked Friday in amazement.

‘They’re everywhere here,’ said Dr Finsberg. ‘I went to the butcher and bought a big piece of brisket steak, then used it to lure a bear over to the Seed Vault.’

‘But it could have killed Jonas!’ said Friday.

‘That would have been a bonus,’ grumbled Dr Finsberg.

Binky opened his eyes again.

‘So, I really did see a polar bear?’ asked Binky.

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ said Ingrid. ‘Well done.’

‘Is there a polar bear in the room right now?’ asked Binky, pointing to Friday.

‘No, that’s just Friday. She’s wearing my big white coat,’ said Ingrid.

‘Phew, that’s a relief,’ said Binky. ‘I would have wrestled a polar bear to protect you. But it would have been tricky.’

‘I know, sweetheart,’ said Ingrid.

‘When I ran Finsberg’s name through the database,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘it came up that he studied at the University of Amsterdam, which I just happened to know was where Dr Lopez had studied.’

Dr Lopez glowered at Bernie from the other side of the room. ‘You ruined my favourite blouse when you crash-tackled me,’ she accused. ‘I will have my lawyer press charges against you for brutality.’

‘Given that I was the one who got king hit,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘I think you’ll have a hard time winning that one. I looked into it further and discovered that Dr Lopez and Dr Finsberg had lived in the same residence for three years. They were old friends.’

‘But why ship the stolen paintings to Svalbard?’ asked Melanie.

‘To hide them,’ said Friday.

‘Stealing a famous artwork isn’t like stealing a car,’ explained Uncle Bernie. ‘The first thing you need to do is hide the painting and wait out the search.’

‘The Global Seed Vault is the perfect hiding place,’ said Friday. ‘It’s literally the end of the world. No one comes here. The vault is locked up most of the time. The boxes are sealed. The environment is perfectly controlled to ensure there are no moisture or temperature fluctuations. The artworks would be completely safe.’

‘Then why the break in now?’ asked Minister Mendoza.

‘Because Friday caught the mastermind behind the operation,’ said Uncle Bernie. He patted Friday on the knee and smiled proudly at her.

‘I did?’ said Friday.

‘Your little old lady from the Munch,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘The one with the trick walking stick?’ said Friday. ‘I’m not forgetting her! I’ve still got the bruise on my shin she gave me.’

‘Well, her name was Anita Finsberg,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘Dr Finsberg’s mother?!’ exclaimed Friday.

Everyone turned and looked at Dr Finsberg. He just sneered.

‘Mrs Finsberg has a criminal record six decades long,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘She’s on Interpol’s most wanted list. We thought she’d gone to ground, but really, she’d checked in to an old people’s home.’

‘So those other things in the box were stolen by her?’ asked Friday.

‘Objects have gone missing from every museum and art gallery visited by her nursing home in the last five years,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘Her son had the perfect place to hide them for her. It was so easy.’

‘So easy they decided to expand the operation?’ said Friday.

‘And a curator at the Bilbao was the perfect contact,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘It was brilliant,’ muttered Dr Finsberg. ‘Mother’s last great masterpiece of crime. And the whole thing was ruined just because you turned up.’

‘Friday does have a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ said Ian.

‘But using a submarine as a getaway vehicle . . .’ said Cassandra. ‘That’s just surreal!’

‘It makes sense if your final destination is Russia,’ said Friday. ‘The paintings were Kandinskys. A true Russian art lover would hate that so many of Russia’s great artworks are overseas. This was a chance to get them back. And since the fall of the Soviet Union, a lot of military technology has been up for sale on the black market.’

‘So what are you saying? A super-rich art collector bought themselves a decommissioned submarine?’ asked Ian.

‘We both know, from our time at Highcrest Academy, that the super-rich do very strange things,’ said Friday.

‘That’s true,’ said Ian.

‘But there is still one mystery I haven’t solved,’ said Friday.

‘What’s that?’ asked Uncle Bernie.

‘How did you find me?’ asked Friday. ‘I told you we were going to Svalbard, but it’s a huge island. It’s dark. You couldn’t have spotted us from the air, but you found us at the exact right tiny beach in just the nick of time.’

‘Oh, that was Binky,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘Binky saved the day?’

‘You’re wearing Ingrid’s coat,’ explained Uncle Bernie. ‘Binky told me there was a GPS tag in the pocket.’

Friday reached into the pocket and pulled out a red tag. It looked like a keyring.

‘This tag? The one Binky uses to find Ingrid when they’re out shopping?’ asked Friday.

‘Jolly useful thing,’ said Binky. ‘I’d hate to lose Ingrid.’

‘Well done, Binky,’ said Melanie.

‘You are the hero of the day,’ said Ingrid.

‘I am?’ said Binky. ‘That’s a relief. I usually make a hash of things. Nice to get something right.’ Binky winced. His arm clearly hurt badly.

‘Just go to sleep, Binky,’ said Ingrid. ‘You need to rest.’

‘Don’t like to leave you alone,’ said Binky.

‘I’m safe now. We all are,’ said Ingrid. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘Okay,’ said Binky. He closed his eyes and his head rolled to one side. The powerful medication was pulling him under when, suddenly, his head snapped back up. ‘Got to say something before I forget.’

‘I’m sure it can wait,’ said Ingrid.

‘No,’ said Binky. He took Ingrid’s hand with his good hand. ‘Got to say – you’re the most wonderful, beautiful woman in the world. Would you please do me the honour of marrying me and making me the happiest man alive?’

Binky let go of Ingrid and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a rock and offered it to her.

‘A rock?’ said Ingrid.

‘It matches your necklace. It’s a ring,’ said Binky. He held it up so she could see that the rock was set into a gold band. ‘Let me be your rock.’

‘Oh, Binky, yes,’ said Ingrid. ‘Yes, I will marry you.’ She gave Binky a careful kiss, so as not to crush his sore arm.

‘Oh phew,’ said Binky. ‘I’m so happy.’ His eyes drifted shut again. ‘When I wake up, can you remind me we said this? It’ll be a relief to know I finally found the courage.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll remember for the both of us,’ said Ingrid, kissing him goodnight.

‘Well done, Binky,’ said Melanie.

Ian noticed Friday blinking. ‘Got something in your eye?’ he asked.

‘Shut up,’ said Friday, ‘it’s been an emotional day.’ She wiped her eyes with the cuff of her coat.

‘So, what are you going to do now?’ asked Ian. ‘Are you coming back to Bilbao with us? Or are you going to stay here and take over the Norwegian Police Service?’

‘I’m sure Father would be very happy to arrange an appointment for you, if that’s what you’d like,’ said Ingrid.

Friday didn’t know what to say. She was still in shock from the attack at the Seed Vault, being kidnapped and confronting a polar bear. She wasn’t really in the mindset to make major life decisions.

‘You’re not doing either,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘I’m not?’ said Friday. For a horrible moment, she thought Uncle Bernie meant that she wasn’t welcome to join his family. She’d had enough rejection from her own immediate family. She didn’t think she could take any more.

‘No, because we’re not going back to Spain either,’ said Bernie.

‘What?’ exclaimed Ian.

‘That job is done,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘We’ve got all the culprits arrested right here – aside from the buyer. Our Russian office is going to try to nab him for that. Although I think we’re more likely to get him for misuse of a submarine.’

‘Then where are we going next?’ asked Ian.

‘Do you know anything about the Mona Lisa?’ asked Uncle Bernie.

‘Everyone knows something about the Mona Lisa,’ said Ian. ‘It’s the most famous painting in the world.’

‘Well, it was stolen,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘No way!’ said Ian. ‘When?’

‘In 1911,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘That’s over a hundred years ago!’ said Ian.

‘I’m explaining the background,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘I’ve read about that,’ said Friday. ‘It was found two years after it was stolen. It was hidden in the apartment of Vincenzo Peruggia, an Italian artist who had worked at the Louvre. It was returned to Paris.’

‘That’s right,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘But here’s the twist – new evidence has turned up. We have reason to believe that, during that two-year absence, it was copied. The painting that has been in the Louvre ever since is a fake. If that’s true, we’ve got to find the real one.’

‘So we’re going to Paris?’ said Ian.

‘Yay!’ said Melanie. ‘That’s the perfect place for you two. The city of love!’

Friday and Ian looked at each other.

‘I’m game if you are?’ said Ian.

‘Well . . . I have always wanted to see Madame Curie’s laboratory,’ said Friday.

‘Of course,’ said Ian. ‘Because when you think of Paris, you think of radiation.’

‘Marie and Pierre Curie were the first married couple to win a Nobel Prize together,’ said Friday. ‘That is romantic.’

Ian smiled. ‘I guess so. I guess if you can find radiation romantic, then there is hope for you after all.’

 

To be continued . . .