The sky is dark and the clouds are thick.
The snow hasn’t stopped since we landed in Switzerland and there’s a sense of a storm building. In the short time I’ve been queuing at the service station, our car has a fresh blanket of snow.
Driving conditions are becoming dangerous but that’s not the reason we pulled over. The thought of a restrictive macrobiotic diet for the next two days has me sprinting for the junk food aisle. Cradling my calories, I make my way to the till. Someone behind is whistling a tune I don’t recognize. I glance through the wide window onto the forecourt. Behind the driver’s wheel is the cameraman Grace assigned to keep tabs on me.
Reza Ahmadi stares contemplatively into the middle distance. Dark and naturally surly looking, he doesn’t appear the sort you’d instantly warm to. We worked together on a few episodes of Bad Medicine when he came on board for the more off-the-beaten-track locations. After initially rubbing each other up the wrong way, we came to an understanding and . . . I take a breath and wonder if he’s also thinking about the last time we saw each other.
‘Any fuel?’ The cashier brings me back inside with his Swiss German accent. Behind him, a TV screen looped in tinsel is on mute as downhill slalom skiers race for the finish line at a local championship.
‘Just these.’ I load the junk food onto a counter decorated with tinsel. He raises his eyebrows, a disapproving frown appearing as he notices my tattoos and piercings. AND? So what? But I bite my tongue; I suppose I stick out in a backwater place like this.
‘Here on holiday? Or for the tournament?’ he says.
‘We’re headed for the Ice Retreat,’ I say.
‘Oh.’ His features tense, there’s a pulse in his jaw.
‘In the mountains, about an hour from here.’ I watch him closely. ‘Do you know it?’
His hands grab at the snacks, quickly running barcodes through the till. Concentrating on what he’s doing so he doesn’t have to make eye contact.
‘You’ve heard of the retreat then?’ I study his reaction.
‘That’s fifty-three francs.’ His response is mechanical.
I cough, trying to make light of the crazy Swiss inflation but the mood has darkened further. The whistling has stopped dead. There’s no sound at all now.
The cashier won’t look me in the eye. I glance behind and the woman who was on my heels has inched away, staring at me with a quiet intensity, clutching a litre bottle of lemonade to her chest.
I wave the company card over the contactless reader and take my things while the others exchange looks. As I pass by, they lean away like I’m a walking contagion.
The weight of their gaze follows me, as heavy as rocks on my back. I re-enter the blizzard with a sigh of relief and indicate to Rez to get the engine started.
‘Well, that was fucking weird!’ I tip the food into his lap as I get in.
‘Hey. Be careful.’ He scowls and then notices the bottle of wine I’ve kept hold of. I pass him a look and he gives me one back, then picks out a chocolate bar.
‘I wondered if something was up,’ he says, tearing open the wrapping.
‘Things got weird right after I mentioned where we were headed. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I wanted to find out what they knew.’
‘So.’ He looks at me. ‘What do they know?’
‘Their silence told me everything.’ My brow creases. ‘They’re frightened.’
‘It’s probably your typical them and us attitude; all small towns have it.’ Rez puts the car into gear.
‘It’s more than that. Something’s scared them.’
The windscreen wipers squeak, working hard against the fresh layer of snow. We’ve hired a beast of a car with 4WD, snow tyres, heated seats and a boot big enough to fit Rez’s camera equipment, but still it’s struggling with the conditions.
We left Bern airport almost two hours ago, the landscape has been wide-open farmland up until now, but there’s a sense that things are about to change. According to Google Maps, this is the final petrol station for the foreseeable future.
Tinx has been drip-feeding us directions and, according to the new coordinates, we’re about to enter restricted land. I glance back as we pull off and I’m shocked by the dark silhouettes gathered at the window. The faceless shadows of the people behind me in the queue. Watching us.
I shudder, and then I notice something else. Raised up on a stone plinth, a carving of some sort, made out of dark knotty wood. Virtually untouched by the snowfall.
What is it? I squint.
It’s impossible to get a good look at it but it’s facing the way we’re headed, and then I’m thrown into my seat as Rez accelerates, skidding us back on course before the light fades. The road has turned into a track. A toboggan flume. Narrow and tunnel-like with snow built up on either side.
In the distance, the three iconic mountains, the Bernese Oberland of the Swiss Alps, rise up to greet us. Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau, towering above the valleys like sleeping giants. Their peaks spear the late afternoon sky, as sharp as the tip of a blade. The sudden realization of how thin the atmosphere will be up there makes me inhale sharply.
There’s still forty minutes until we reach the three valleys, but the landscape is changing rapidly as we move along roads less travelled where the snow is deeper, thicker, and the way ahead is waiting to be salted.
Small ski villages mark the route. Lodges made out of rough wood, ornately decorated with red shutters and sharply angled sloping roofs. Hot smoke billows from their chimneys, drifting into the cold air like dragon’s breath.
Lamps in the windows glow amber, preparing for nightfall. I glance up to the ramshackle sheds, perched precariously on rocky outcrops, and think, I couldn’t live out here, somewhere so remote. So isolated. What if there was an emergency?
Every so often the road inclines, threatening to scale the mountain path, but we remain low, navigating hairpin bends, curling around a frozen lake, as dazzling as cubic zirconia in the bright but cold light. We follow the route carved out by glaciers of aeons ago as it pulls us further into the mountains.
Reza grips the steering wheel, eyebrows knitted with concentration.
‘Red Bull?’
‘Good idea.’ He keeps his eyes glued to the road as I open a can for him and, when I pass it over, our fingers graze. The touch is like a mild electric shock, and I try to think about something else.
‘How’s relationship life, then?’ Rez says. Eyes still fixed on the road.
‘Never better. I broke up with Ed.’
‘Already? New record?’
I laugh. ‘And what about you?’ Although I know the answer. ‘Finally met someone?’
‘Been away filming most of this year. You know what it’s like. Nobody wants to date a guy who’s never around.’ He cracks a smile. ‘Except, maybe, someone like you.’
I slide down the window, letting the cool alpine air flood the car and drown out my thoughts.
Concentrate.
I must stay focused. With only a forty-eight-hour window to find Martyn, I have to stay alert. I squeeze my eyes shut and snap them open, rinsing away the exhaustion. Thank God I remembered to pack my pills.
‘How about you get me up to speed,’ Rez says, then drains half the can. ‘Grace told me a little – she says a boy’s gone missing – but what’s our plan? We don’t normally get invited into the places we’re about to pulverize.’
‘Plan is the same as always: to pulverize.’
‘OK. Anything else I need to know about?’
‘You know the drill. We’re out to disprove Ariel’s ice-healing claims and show the world she’s the leader of a dangerous cult that pushes people into death. I need to find out what she’s hiding. Four suicides is no coincidence. And there could be many more I don’t know about yet.’ Softly I add, ‘We need to bring Mrs Eves’ son home.’
‘I can tell you’re out for blood.’
‘A head on a stick will suffice.’
He nods slowly. ‘So you think this boy’s still up there, being held against his will?’
‘Either Ariel’s brainwashed him and he’s too afraid to leave or he’s too sick to leave. She must have done something to those people to make them want to kill themselves. They went up there full of hope of curing their pain and they returned completely different people. Emotional wrecks. That’s not normal.’
Rez clears his throat like he’s about to say something and then goes quiet.
I pull out my iPhone and I find Ariel’s most recent YouTube video. ‘You have to listen to this. You’ll know what I mean within seconds – it’s obvious. It’s fucking crazy what she’s planning.’ I press play. Ariel’s silken voice fills the car as we head deeper into wilderness.