Rain battered down on the ferry as it made its approach to Norway. Few passengers were outside on the front deck. Ryker was. Even on a grim and gray winter’s morning, the view of the mountains as they closed in on Trondheim was spectacular. Sweeping up from the sloshing gray salt water, the pine-covered mountains were draped in a blanket of snow, just wisps of green and brown here and there, the mountaintops obscured by a thick layer of mist that hung in place like a halo.
Water – equal measure of rain and sea spray – cascaded off Ryker’s overcoat and trousers, but at least he was dressed for it with heavy-duty weatherproof gear. No point in coming to one of the wettest places on earth otherwise.
Despite the incredible scenery, memories of Prague and Simona burned in Ryker’s mind as the ferry jostled over the rough sea.
Should he have stayed longer? Should he go back?
‘It looks better on a clear day,’ came a voice next to him.
Ryker turned to face the woman. A foot shorter than his tall frame, she wore a thick red windbreaker, the fur-edged hood pulled over her head, hiding part of her face. Her English was good, though it carried an obvious Scandinavian twang.
‘It looks pretty good to me,’ Ryker said.
She laughed. ‘You don’t mind the weather?’
‘I’ve seen worse.’
She pulled the hood back a little to reveal more of her face. A nice face. He guessed she was late thirties, early forties. Her skin was soft and smooth-looking but held the finest of lines around the edges of her smile, and around her eyes which were a dazzling green – an attractive complement to her flowing red hair that was bunched around her face by her thick hood.
‘At least it’s not too cold,’ she said.
It’d been far colder in Prague. Here, the oceanic climate meant relatively mild winters, although every season was wet, and the further north he chose to venture, the colder and snowier it would become.
‘You’re here for a holiday?’ she asked.
Ryker paused a little before answering that one. ‘Yeah. How did you know I was English?’
She looked a little taken aback by the accusatory tone, but his mind was naturally whirring with thoughts. It wasn’t at all unlike his past to creep up on him wherever he went. Had this woman approached him with an ulterior motive?
‘Just a good guess,’ she said.
Ryker wasn’t so sure about that.
‘You’re staying in Trondheim?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t decided yet.’
She laughed and brushed the water off the front of her coat. A pointless exercise, really. More a gesture to emphasize whatever point she was about to make.
‘I’m soaked. I think I’ll go back inside. You can… come and tell me all about your trip.’
Ryker held her eye for a few moments. An image of Simona flashed in his mind. But what was he supposed to do? For all he knew he’d never be back in that city again, never mind in her bed.
‘Yeah, why not,’ he said.
* * *
An hour later and the ramps were down and the cars emptied out of the wide open jaws of the hull one after the other. Ryker was one of only four foot passengers. Heidi wasn’t. She was in her car somewhere within the mess of other vehicles behind him. A marine biologist, she lived a half-hour’s drive from the ferry terminal in the center of Trondheim. She’d offered to give Ryker a lift to wherever he was staying. He declined. Primarily because he didn’t yet know where he was staying, but also because he hadn’t even set foot on Norwegian soil yet and didn’t want to have any ties to this place so soon. Instead, they’d exchanged numbers, though her ability to contact him was dependent on him keeping his burner phone. Which was likely only in the immediate short term.
Still, the chat he’d had with her had been relaxed and natural and made him relish what was to come from this new land all the more.
Ryker made his way out over the ramp and onto the thoroughfare of the dock. The rain had lightened, the scene in front of him more clear. The city’s buildings rose into the mountains that closeted around them. The peaks of the mountains, way up high in the distance, had nothing but snow on them, covering the rocks and trees.
Beyond the expansive dock area, where two other large ferries were unloading, the water’s edge was dotted with quaint buildings with pointed roofs, and timber-clad walls that were painted a variety of vibrant colors. Pretty. But Ryker had already decided on his approach here that he wasn’t going to stay in the city. Not yet, anyway. His appetite had been whetted by those spectacular views of the mountains and fjords. And after Prague, he wanted to escape urban life for a while.
As he strode across the tarmac, the car next to him slowed. Heidi, of course. She wound down the window of her green BMW and beamed him a smile.
‘You sure you don’t want a ride?’
‘I’m good.’
She looked disappointed. ‘See you around, then.’
Was that a parting comment, or a hopeful question? Ryker wasn’t sure.
‘Yeah,’ he said before her window glided up and her car grumbled off toward the road.
Time for Ryker to find his own transportation.
Another hour and a half later and he was in a rented Volvo – he was in Scandinavia, after all – traveling further north, away from civilization, and into the snow and cold. The twisting road he found himself on was a good hundred feet from the rippling water of the fjord to his left. To the other side of him, the pine-covered mountain rose tall, no end in sight, such was the steepness of the elevation. Even after traveling for only a few miles from the city, he saw little sign of life, few cars on the road. A shame, in a way, that more people hadn’t experienced such a dramatic landscape.
Ryker’s distraction got the better of him. As he rounded a slight bend in the road, he only spotted the moped at the last second. The road was hardly wide, but it was certainly wide enough for two cars to pass, but the driver of the tiny moped came way over the central line. Ryker pumped the brake pedal, honked his horn. The moped swerved and missed the front of Ryker’s car by all of a few inches before shooting off past him. Ryker, his car slowed right down, glanced in his rearview mirror to follow the moped as it whizzed away. Except, despite avoiding the crash, the driver wobbled about all over. The back and forth worsened, the brake light came on… The next second the moped flipped to the side and the driver skidded off onto the greasy road as the bike smacked up against the rocky verge.
Ryker slammed the brakes and was out of the car a second later, rushing over to the fallen figure.
‘Hey!’ Ryker shouted out. ‘You okay?’
The figure groaned – a man or a boy? – and rolled over, then propped himself up. He was slight. Dressed in jeans and a thin jacket, both of which were now sopping wet. Hardly adequate attire for riding a two-wheeler. The low-speed fall had at least saved him from serious injury. Ryker kneeled down as the guy pulled the helmet from his head. Not a man at all. A teenager. All of fourteen, fifteen. His youthful face was creased in pain. He blurted something angrily at Ryker.
‘Sorry? My Norwegian isn’t too good.’
‘Asshole,’ he said to Ryker, shrugging him off.
Ryker was about to bite back at that but didn’t. The kid had been on his side of the road. What had Ryker done wrong?
‘Are you okay?’ Ryker asked again. The kid groggily stood up. He seemed fine. Probably a few bruises, a few scrapes where he’d rattled across the tarmac, but his clothes had no obvious bloody tears.
The boy said nothing. How much English did he have? He was scrawny. His skin pale. He was a bag of bones. He went to walk away.
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ Ryker said as he grabbed his arm.
‘Fuck off,’ the kid said, whipping his arm away. Ryker noted the graze down the left side of his face. His eye was swollen up.
Those weren’t from the crash.
‘What happened to you?’ Ryker asked as the boy stormed toward his crumpled motor.
A blast of a siren from behind Ryker. He turned to see a police car coming past his Volvo. Its lights weren’t on. The siren had been to get their attention. Ryker remained in position as the car came to a stop. A few yards away the boy had reached his moped and hastily tried to pull it up and untwist the front end.
A portly policeman got out of the car, popped a hat over his head.
He rattled off something in Norwegian. It wasn’t clear if he was speaking to Ryker or the kid.
‘It’s okay,’ Ryker said. ‘He fell off, but he’s fine.’
The policeman glared at Ryker for a second before turning to the boy.
‘Henrik,’ he shouted out.
The boy took no notice. He was on the moped now. He tried to start it up. The motor chugged away but to no avail. What was the kid doing?
A pickup truck approached at speed from the opposite direction. Had they not seen? Ryker waved his arms about and at the last moment, the black Nissan Navara came to a sudden, rocking stop. Ryker peered beyond the glass. Two men up front. The diesel engine remained grumbling. Both men remained in their seats. He didn’t like the looks on their faces.
Henrik groaned in frustration and kicked the moped before stepping off and tossing it to the ground. He looked from the pickup to Ryker to the policeman. Desperation in his eyes.
The policeman spoke to him again, a little more conciliatory this time. Henrik didn’t budge.
‘What’s going on?’ Ryker asked the policeman.
‘It’s fine,’ the policeman said. ‘I know him. I’ll take him back to his home.’
Except the kid didn’t seem too interested in that.
The policeman walked toward Ryker.
‘What’s your name?’ he said.
‘Carl.’
‘Carl what?’
‘Carl Logan.’
He seemed to contemplate something.
‘Okay, Carl. You don’t need to worry about this. It was an accident. Where were you going anyway?’
‘North.’
An odd look from the policeman. ‘Well, you keep on going then. Let me sort this out.’
Ryker didn’t budge from the spot. The policeman huffed then moved over to Henrik who was standing, jittery, like a rabbit surrounded by a hungry skulk of foxes.
‘You good?’ Ryker shouted over to him.
The boy held Ryker’s eye but didn’t answer. The policeman said something to Henrik before taking his arm and ushering him toward the police car.
‘Are you okay?’ Ryker asked Henrik as they approached. Henrik held Ryker’s eye but didn’t say a word.
Moments later he was stuffed into the back of the police car.
‘What about his moped?’ Ryker shouted to the policeman.
‘I’ll sort it. You carry on with your day.’
Behind him, the two men stepped from the pickup truck. One was big and bulky. Or maybe the bulk was just his clothing. The other was more wiry. He was the one who glared over at Ryker and mumbled something under his breath. Ryker glared back as the two of them grabbed the moped and hauled it into the back of the pickup truck. A brief shouted exchange followed between the wiry man and the police officer.
Moments later the police car swung around and headed off out of sight, the same way it’d come.
Ryker remained out in the cold as the pickup rumbled by him. The wiry man did his best to keep his eyes facing forward, paying no attention to Ryker at all.
When they were out of sight, Ryker moved back to his Volvo.
Then he set off after them.