At precisely that moment, headlights appeared in the distance. As the vehicle drew closer, a weight lifted from my shoulders. I recognised Lukas’s boxy black Mercedes 4×4. It slowed as it approached, and I realised there was something odd about the truck. Its headlights weren’t symmetrical. There were three lights on the right and only one, a spotlight high up, on the left. Lukas came to a halt beside me. The two main headlights on the left had been smashed, and the bull-bar beneath them was bent in. What’s more, there was blood on it. Lukas lowered his window and gave a one-word explanation. ‘Reindeer.’

  ‘You just hit one?’

  ‘Hard. It came out of nowhere. I was going too fast.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Me? Yes. But it isn’t. Wasn’t. I had to stop and put it out of its misery.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, wondering how he’d done it, and simultaneously not wanting to know.

  ‘What are you doing here alone, anyway? Where are the others?’

  This felt like a criticism, and an unfair one at that. I pulled my shoulders back. ‘When you weren’t at the meeting point, we split up to look for you.’

  ‘Why would I be anywhere else apart from en route to it?’

  ‘You could have got the location mixed up.’

  ‘Wrong, you mean,’ he replied, raising an eyebrow. ‘I suppose it’s a possibility.’ He scanned his dashboard. ‘As it is, I’m still 1.32 kilometres short of the rendezvous point, and so are you now. Dump that there. I’ll come back for it later. Jump in.’

  Lukas’s clipped certainty came as a huge relief, but it also constituted a challenge: he somehow made me feel that the failed rendezvous was my fault, not his. Nevertheless, I did as he told me. On the short journey back to Xander and Caleb, I filled him in on our disastrous trek. He said very little in reply. I wondered for a moment whether this was because he felt responsible for what had happened: he’d picked Kotler, after all. But after a pause he said, ‘Jonny explained to me,’ and I realised that what I’d told him wasn’t news to him. Lukas went on. ‘We’ll have your injured friend in Hammerfest hospital in no time, don’t worry.’ Under his breath, he muttered, ‘Provided I don’t run into anything else on the way.’

  39.

  Amelia wasn’t back yet, but Lukas ignored her absence and focused on Caleb. We pushed down a couple of seats in the back of the Mercedes so we could slide the stretcher straight into the warm truck. Caleb groaned as we picked him up but didn’t acknowledge Lukas, even when he stuck an electronic thermometer in Caleb’s ear and held his wrist to check his pulse. Having made his assessment, he pulled a sterile saline water pouch from a medical bag in the rear footwell, hung it above Caleb from one of the truck’s passenger handles, rolled Caleb’s hoody sleeve up above the elbow, calmly stuck a cannula into his forearm, and said, ‘Rehydrating him can only help.’

  As he finished this procedure Amelia’s snowmobile came into view. By the time she’d dismounted, Lukas, having helped Xander and me chuck our bags in beside the stretcher, was already back behind the wheel, ready to go. Amelia must have spotted the damage as she got in beside Lukas up front. When he pulled away, gunning the big car forward, she said, ‘More haste, less speed, perhaps?’

  Thankfully Lukas appeared not to take offence, but he didn’t slow down either. I checked my phone. A message had landed from Armfield. Sit tight Lukas inbound, was all it said. I texted back saying we’d met up and were en route to hospital. He must have hit a patch of proper signal as his one-word reply – Good – arrived instantly. To be in touch with him again felt immediately reassuring, and the fact that we were headed his way magnified the feeling. But again, his troubling lack of sympathy made it hard for me to relax, even in the warm, comfortable car.

  ‘The journey will take a few hours,’ said Lukas. ‘You may as well get some rest. You must all be exhausted.’

  He was fiddling with the car’s touchscreen as he said this, and it turned out he was choosing some music to play. It was the sort of mellow acoustic stuff Mum likes, and it made me think of her. We’d managed to take some pretty spectacular footage of the sledding, the snowmobiling, the ice fishing and the threatened tundra landscape for our On the Brink entry. If all was well with Caleb, we’d hopefully get some more good stuff aboard the Polar Flow. I wanted to step up for Mum with the film. But I also wanted to get to the bottom of what Armfield was doing for GreenSword Investments. Xander was beside me in the rear of the truck. Quietly I said, ‘The shockwave situation you mentioned: what does “serious” mean?’

  He slid his laptop from his backpack and opened it, angled my way, then clicked through a bunch of screenshots he’d taken from the recesses of the dark web. Under his breath, he talked me through them. ‘I managed to dig a bit deeper into the Valkoinen Karhu Energia Consortium that Finn Macmillan, via GreenSword, is so keen to invest in. There’s a load of Russian names connected to it, and the few leads I’ve got on them point mostly to subsidiaries of Gazprom. That’s the Russian oil and gas giant. Sure, they could be diversifying, looking to develop sustainable power initiatives, but they’re still also pretty keen to rip the Arctic up in search of, well, more oil and gas.’

  ‘Yeah, but where does the shockwave stuff come in?’

  ‘Remember I found references to a disruption event? That seems to be what “shockwave” refers to. At first, like Amelia said, I thought it might be some sort of corporate code word for launching a hostile takeover of a power company, or perhaps a demonstration involving a bit of public disorder, but look at this.’

  He clicked through to a blueprint for something that, if I’m honest, I couldn’t have deciphered in a million years. The best I could do was see what it wasn’t: a car, a computer, a clock, for example.

  ‘Er, what’s that?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you from looking at it either,’ he said, ‘but it’s linked to the disruption event. Here’ – he clicked through to another image – ‘this one was simply text in a language that I didn’t recognise. They go on about this thing, whatever it is, in the context of DEW and EMP.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘They’re acronyms, I think. DEW stands for directed-energy weapon, and an EMP is an electromagnetic pulse.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I whispered. ‘You think this thing is a weapon?’

  ‘A prototype for a new one, possibly,’ he said.

  ‘But what would they want a weapon for? Even if the consortium was as interested in fossil fuel projects as it is in renewables, that involves building stuff, not destroying it,’ I said. ‘Whose blueprint is this, anyway?’

  ‘I’ve no idea where it originated. But some of these “investors” have shared the file, and the electronic paper trail leads from this thing, whatever it is, to the “shockwave” or disruption event.’

  My mind was racing as fast as Lukas was driving. Ahead, the road was unevenly lit by our wonky headlights. Everything beyond the beams – and Xander’s screenshots – was in darkness. How much did slippery Macmillan – and indeed Armfield himself – know about the consortium’s wider activities? Though Xander is next-level with tech, it seemed impossible to me that he could have found out more than they knew. Did that mean they were in on whatever this ‘shockwave’ weapon was designed to do?

  ‘One other thing,’ Xander said softly. ‘The same date and time are mentioned in these two messages. Could be nothing, or it could point to when the shockwave will happen. Look.’

  He hovered the cursor over the date: midnight on 8 April.

  ‘Do they mention where it’s supposed to happen?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘No.’

  We had a possible date but no location, and I had no real clue what a directed-energy weapon or electromagnetic pulse could do. ‘Tell me what you know about this DEW and EMP stuff,’ I said under my breath, checking my phone. Midnight on 8 April was just seventy-eight hours away.

  40.

  Xander told me that an electromagnetic pulse is a bit like a lightning strike. That’s a huge, natural phenomenon, obviously. The most severe human-made EMP generator is a nuclear bomb, which is a bit like a million lightning bolts rolled into one. But as well as building these deadly, indiscriminate bombs, Xander explained that since the Second World War, weapons manufacturers around the world have been covertly developing targeted weapons that deliver smaller electromagnetic surges, capable of damaging electronic equipment and so on.

  Directed-energy weapons are a more recent development – still in their infancy, in fact. Xander made them sound a bit like lasers, capable of causing intense, precise damage to stuff. So far, they’ve mostly been used as a defence mechanism for targeting missiles and the like, but recently there had been rumours of new, more attack-orientated directed-energy weapons.

  ‘Do you reckon the blueprint has something to do with one of those?’ I asked.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said I knew, but it would be an odd coincidence if DEWs and EMPs were mentioned for no reason.’ He shrugged. ‘We could show it to Armfield, see what he thinks.’

  That made sense, particularly given the deadline of 8 April, yet something in me resisted the idea. ‘Let’s think about it,’ I whispered.

  Up front, a flamenco guitar performance was playing on the car stereo. The music reminded me of somewhere hot, and since it had started to snow – swirling flakes our headlights bored through, making our speed seem faster still – it felt totally out of place. But Lukas seemed to like it, tapping the steering wheel in time to the music as we ploughed on into the night. I checked on Caleb from time to time: he lay there beside me, out of it for most of the journey, but as we pulled into the town of Hammerfest, I could see in the light cast by its streetlights that he had woken up. The saline bag Lukas had hooked up to him was three-quarters empty; maybe it was doing Caleb some good.

  Lukas speared straight through town to the hospital and slewed to a stop immediately in front of it. We wasted no time in lifting Caleb out of the truck and carrying him through the hospital’s sliding doors. An orderly met us there with a trolley: it seemed that someone had warned them we were coming.

  ‘You three wait here,’ Lukas told us. ‘I’ll get him seen to.’

  It crossed my mind to insist that one of us went with Caleb. He’d want to wake up and see a familiar face, surely? But he was instantly wheeled away into a consultation room. As its door opened and shut, I glimpsed the reassuring sight of a white-coated doctor. She was wearing a name badge. I wasn’t close enough to read it but noticed one detail: her badge was shaped like a polar bear.

  We had been waiting less than an hour when Armfield arrived: the Polar Flow had evidently made good time. He brought a blast of cold air in with him, marching straight past the triage desk to where we were waiting. I stood up and he clapped me on both shoulders, meeting my eye with what, unless I was mistaken, seemed to be warm relief in his. Taking in Amelia and Xander, he said, ‘Well done for making it safely to Lukas. How’s Caleb?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Amelia, her voice brittle. Caleb mattered to her. ‘He’s in there,’ she went on. ‘Can you find out?’

  Armfield spun on his heel. ‘Of course,’ he said, and with the air of somebody used to going unchecked wherever he pleased, he headed for the door through which Caleb had disappeared.

  If Lukas conjured a sense of capability, Armfield radiated it. Though it’s daft, I even felt like Caleb’s chances of a swift recovery were better now that he was on the case.

  Soon Armfield, and Lukas, returned. Armfield looked serious. Perhaps I showed my fear at this, because he instantly tried to put us at ease. ‘You did well to get Caleb here when you did. Bacterial sepsis, they think, caused by the wolf bite. Untreated, he could have gone downhill very quickly indeed. But he’s on intravenous antibiotics and they’ve started to hydrate him. Rest and the treatment should knock the infection on the head soon enough.’

  ‘Is he awake?’ I asked.

  ‘More or less.’

  Amelia said exactly what I was thinking. ‘Can we see him?’

  ‘In the morning would be best. Lukas has sorted rooms for you in a nearby hotel. It’s late now. Let’s get you there so you can have a well-earned rest.’

  ‘But what about you?’ I blurted, hating myself for sounding so desperate. ‘You’re not leaving already, without us, are you?’

  Armfield turned to me, an amused glint in his eye. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘We’re here overnight too. I’m afraid that Caleb won’t be well enough to come with us on the ship, but Lukas has offered to stay here in loco parentis while we set sail. If you guys still want to come, that is?’

  Relief swept through me, but it came out as, ‘Let’s see in the morning, shall we?’

  ‘Right you are,’ he said. ‘Follow me. The hotel’s just a short walk away.’

  41.

  We all had our own rooms in the hotel, and they were quite a contrast to the igloo where Amelia and I had spent the previous night. I was so relieved that it looked like Caleb would be OK that I’d have crashed anywhere, but a double bed in a warm room didn’t hurt. I crashed out straight away and woke with a start, having slept past nine. Immediately I jumped out of bed, showered and got dressed, irrationally worried that Armfield might sail without us if we failed to show up early enough.

  Amelia was already up and in the breakfast room downstairs, tucking into a plate of steaming scrambled eggs. ‘Did you know that this is the northernmost town on Earth?’ she asked as I sat down.

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Except it’s not.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There are places further north, but they’re not as big as Hammerfest. Longyearbyen, on Svalbard, is the most northerly permanent settlement, but the good people of Hammerfest call it a village and get to keep their title.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Hammerfest also has a polar bear on its heraldic crest, but there haven’t been any seen here for ages. The archipelago of Svalbard, on the other hand, is full of them.’

  ‘How do you know this stuff?’ I asked. ‘We’ve been here less than twelve hours.’

  ‘How do you think?’ she replied, tapping her phone. ‘You don’t need a guided tour to find stuff out these days.’

  ‘Fair enough. Anything else?’

  ‘Er, yeah. Following on from what Xander told you about Valkoinen Karhu Energia Consortium’s oil and gas interests, I found that that stuff – especially liquid natural gas – is pretty central to Hammerfest’s economy these days. The town lives and breathes it. They’re developing a massive new site to process more of the stuff pulled from wells beneath the Barents Sea.’

  ‘Could be an unfair coincidence,’ I said.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s kind of ironic, given that Hammerfest was the very first town in Europe to install electric streetlamps, when everyone else was still using gas or oil to light their towns at night. Very long, dark winters this far north, I suppose: necessity is the mother of invention and all that.’

  I helped myself to a mountainous cooked breakfast from the buffet: we’d barely had anything to eat in twenty-four hours and I was ravenous. Xander appeared, bleary-eyed, and did the same. We were just finishing up when Armfield and Lukas came into the breakfast room from the hotel lobby, their pace brisk as usual.

  ‘I’ve come from the hospital. Caleb’s condition has improved overnight. He’s awake and making sense, but he’s still very weak. They’ll need to keep him in a while to be sure he snuffs out the infection entirely and regains his strength. The research voyage we’re embarking upon is scheduled to last three days. It’s up to you if you want to come with us – the offer is still on the table – or wait here with Caleb.’

  ‘Let’s ask him what he wants,’ Xander said between mouthfuls.

  ‘OK. In that case, we’ll pay him a visit straight away.’

  Xander was being diplomatic. He knew as well as I did that Caleb would definitely not want to stand between us and whatever we might discover – film or otherwise – on the Polar Flow. If he was in his right mind, that is. We headed over to the hospital to find out, Amelia leading the way. My cousin was sitting up in bed. He still had a drip in his arm and his face was as pale as the bedsheets, but his eyes were focused and he smiled at each of us in turn. ‘I can’t thank you guys enough for getting me here.’

  ‘No big deal,’ I said.

  ‘Actually –’ Amelia began, then cleared her throat and changed tack. ‘Lukas drove us most of the way.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Xander.

  ‘Not too bad,’ Caleb said, his voice papery. ‘Weak. Spaced.’

  ‘They’ve got you on quite a cocktail of drugs,’ Lukas explained. ‘But the prognosis is good now, eh?’

  Needless to say, I had been right: the hell we’d been through in the Congo had turned Caleb’s former cockiness into selfless grit, and he wouldn’t hear of any of us missing out on our voyage towards the ice cap. We’d be returning to Hammerfest in a few days anyway. He insisted that we go, and he’d use the time to recuperate. Provided he was well enough then, we could all return home together. Lukas confirmed that he’d stay in town until we made it back to port, and would check in on Caleb.

  ‘I’ve done enough icy boat trips for one lifetime,’ Lukas said wryly. ‘Dry land’s preferable, believe me.’

  Armfield had been looking at something on his phone. Now he put it away. ‘Right, we should board,’ he said briskly. We made short work of our goodbyes to Caleb and hurried out of the hospital into the town, heading for the quay. It wasn’t far – just a couple of streets away. I took in the town around us as we made our way there. Many of the houses were painted – shades of red, grey and yellow – and they all had white, snow-dusted roofs. There was a delay before we could board the Polar Flow. While we were waiting on the dockside Xander launched the drone to film the frost-bitten port encircled by the town, itself cradled by a ring of hills. On the monitor the land was a bleached grey-white, the sea black. He sent the drone up high and Amelia pointed out an island just offshore, full of pipes and chimneys and industrial clobber.