The Arctic Railway Assassin Page 2

  ‘Just water, I think,’ said Uncle Nat. ‘We won’t be staying long.’

  The waitress nodded, leaning past him to pick up the empty glass from the piano, and moved away.

  ‘Shall we sit?’ Morti rose from the piano, draping her suit jacket over the back of an adjacent chair. Uncle Nat mirrored her, hanging his jacket on the back of another chair as he sat down beside her. Hal took the opposite seat, blinking his eyes to wake himself up. The dim lighting in the warm bar was making him feel sleepy.

  ‘Did Uncle Nat tell you that I like to solve mysteries as well as draw?’ Hal asked Morti.

  ‘Do you know, he didn’t.’ Morti smiled at Uncle Nat. ‘But I’ve read about a few of your cases in the newspapers. It seems you two are a lot alike.’

  ‘We are.’ Hal felt a little put out that his uncle hadn’t mentioned his detective skills to his friend. ‘When I arrived, I could see he was worrying about the inexplicable things that’ve been happening to you. I wondered if I could help?’

  ‘I’m not sure if you can.’ Morti shook her head. ‘The police haven’t been able to make sense of it.’

  ‘Let me try.’

  ‘All right then, well, this will sound peculiar,’ Morti said, folding her hands into her lap, ‘but my possessions keep disappearing.’

  ‘Which possessions?’

  ‘Let me start at the beginning. The first odd thing happened nearly two months ago. My apartment in Copenhagen was burgled.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hal exclaimed. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘It was an unpleasant experience.’ Mortimer nodded. ‘The place was turned upside down: my papers scattered, my drawers pulled out, my clothes on the floor, but the thieves must’ve been startled because nothing was taken.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘I went through everything carefully. Nothing was gone.’ She sighed. ‘The police found no fingerprints. Nobody witnessed anybody coming in or out of my apartment. There was nothing more anyone could do.’

  ‘You live on your own?’ Hal asked.

  A troubled expression passed over Mortimer’s face. ‘I do now.’

  Hal glanced at Uncle Nat.

  ‘You should tell him everything, Morti,’ Uncle Nat said softly.

  Mortimer reached out and struck a series of keys on the piano. ‘What do you know about the science of sound, Hal?’

  ‘I know sound is made of waves,’ Hal replied, ‘although I don’t really know what that means. Uncle Nat told me you’re a sonic scientist.’

  ‘A sonic scientist?’ She smiled at Nat, then turned back to Hal. ‘Sound is a vibration that moves invisible particles in the air. We call this movement a wave. Bats navigate in the dark using sonic waves. That’s how humans came to invent sonar, by learning from bats and how they use sound to see. Now we use ultrasound imaging to see things inside the human body. The first scan pictures of a baby are usually done using ultrasound. Sound waves can pass through fluid but reflect when they hit a solid surface. Multiple frequencies are used to create an image.’

  Hal thought back to the strange grey-and-white picture that his mum had brought home from the hospital when she’d been pregnant with his little sister Ellie. It had looked like a white blob surrounded by weird grey shapes. It took him a while to see the baby. He hadn’t realized the picture had been taken using sound.

  ‘Have you ever heard of someone being able to smash a glass by singing?’ Mortimer asked.

  Hal nodded. ‘Opera singers can do it.’

  ‘Ha! Well, no, it’s not exclusive to opera singers, but it is possible. If you tap a glass, you will hear a ringing noise; that is the frequency of the glass. If you can sing at the same frequency, loud enough and long enough, the glass will smash. It’s called a destructive resonant frequency.’

  ‘What does frequency mean? Is it the note? Like a middle C on a piano?’

  ‘Frequency is the rate per second of the vibration. The higher the frequency, the higher in pitch the sound. Middle C on a piano is –’ reaching out again, she played the note – ‘261.63 vibrations per second. That’s how frequent the vibrations are.’

  ‘Objects like a glass have a frequency?’

  ‘All things have a natural frequency, or a set of frequencies, at which they vibrate.’

  Hal’s mind reeled at this midnight physics lesson. ‘But what’s this got to do with your flat being burgled?’

  ‘I’m getting to that. My work, for which I was awarded the Nobel Prize this evening, was for finding what has been called the magic frequency: the destructive resonant frequency that can shatter cancer cells.’

  ‘You can cure cancer with sound?’ Hal’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Not yet, but at some point in the future . . .’ Morti nodded. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You definitely deserve a prize for that! That’s amazing!’

  ‘It has taken years, searching for the magic frequency. We tried thousands of different combinations.’ She played three notes on the piano, a chord. ‘But I wasn’t on this quest alone. My husband, Björn, worked with me.’

  ‘Did he get the Nobel Prize too?’ Hal frowned, wondering why Mortimer had taken Uncle Nat to the awards and not her husband.

  ‘No. Björn is in prison,’ Mortimer said flatly. ‘Before I discovered the magic frequency, I discovered that my husband was collecting data on other frequencies. Resonant frequencies with dangerously destructive powers.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘If we can shatter cancer cells, Harrison, we can shatter other types of cells inside a human.’ She dropped her head, closing her eyes as she drew in a long breath. ‘Björn was collecting frequencies that, when used together, would kill a person instantly.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hal was shocked.

  ‘When I realized this, I confronted Björn. He admitted to trying to create what he called a Kill Code. A pattern of frequencies that could be channelled through a sonic weapon and sold to the highest bidder.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Hal was suddenly hanging on Morti’s every word.

  ‘I could see that Björn’s mind had been infected with greed. I pretended to be excited by the money such a weapon might bring us. Then, once he was asleep, I called a good friend.’ She smiled at Uncle Nat. ‘He had a contact in the Danish government. Secret service officers came in the night and arrested Björn.’ She wrung her hands. ‘We’d only been married a month.’ She gave her head a little shake. ‘I immediately went to our laboratory and destroyed my husband’s work. Every scrap of research he’d ever created, I deleted or burned. I wiped the hard drive of his computer.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’ Hal could see that Mortimer was still upset by what had happened.

  ‘Nearly two years.’

  ‘Have you seen Björn since that night?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to.’

  ‘Do you think the burglary has something to do with him?’

  ‘How can it be? He’s in a high-security prison.’ Her eyes dipped as she thought about him, but then she took a breath and looked up. ‘The burglary is only the first in a series of strange incidents. A week or so later, I started to feel like I was being watched when I walked to work. I changed my route several times, I’d turn suddenly, slip down alleyways. I never saw anyone, but I’m certain somebody was following me.’ She curled her fingers into a fist, which she held to her chest. ‘I felt it here.’ She looked at Hal intensely, as if daring him not to believe her. ‘In my laboratory, at the end of the day, I always lock the window and the door before I leave. But every morning, the window is unlocked. How can this be?’ She paused, but not long enough for Hal to make a suggestion. ‘Nothing is ever out of place. But I knew someone was coming in at night and monitoring my work. So I set up a camera, directed it at the window.’ She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. ‘It shows nothing. Nothing comes near the window. And yet in the morning it is unlocked.’

  ‘That’s creepy,’ Hal glanced at Uncle Nat.

  ‘Sometimes, when I’m with a friend at a bar or restaurant, and I look in my handbag, all my possessions are tumbled around, as if someone’s been through my bag when I wasn’t looking.’ Mortimer let out a heavy sigh of frustration. ‘And when I arrived in Stockholm airport on Monday, my suitcase came off the baggage conveyor looking like it had been slashed with a knife!’

  ‘Do you think someone is looking for the Kill Code?’

  ‘That is what I thought at first, but why would they follow me to Stockholm? I don’t have it. As far as I know, Björn didn’t complete his project. And I have systematically destroyed everything of his both in the lab and at home. There is no Kill Code.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Uncle Nat asked.

  ‘Positive.’

  The clock behind the bar struck one.

  ‘It’s late.’ Uncle Nat looked at Hal. ‘Bedtime.’

  ‘I’ll think about everything you’ve told me,’ Hal said on the way through reception.

  ‘Thank you, Hal. I appreciate your help.’

  They bid Mortimer goodnight as she got out of the lift, arranging to meet her at breakfast, then carried on up to their floor.

  ‘That’s strange.’ Uncle Nat patted his pockets as they stood outside the door to their room. ‘I could’ve sworn my phone and room key were in this jacket pocket.’ He paused, trying to remember the last time he had them. ‘Oh blast! I’ve been all over the city this evening. They could be anywhere!’ He scratched his head. ‘Hal, I’m going to have to go down to reception, see if anyone’s handed them in, and get a spare key.’

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ Hal said, but as the lift doors opened, he heard a noise inside their hotel room. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. ‘Wait,’ he called out, hurrying after his uncle, ‘on second thought, I’ll come with you.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE CHRISTMAS MARKET

  When he woke up, Hal stretched, inhaling the smell of fresh cotton sheets, and sat bolt upright as he remembered where he was. Today he would board the night train to Narvik with Uncle Nat and Morti, to travel to the Arctic. Hal had questions he wanted to ask Morti over breakfast. He was excited about investigating the mysterious things she’d described last night, and a little annoyed that he’d let his imagination get the better of him when Uncle Nat lost his key. The hotel room had been empty when they’d finally got inside, and his uncle was certain nothing had been touched. Hal sighed happily as he looked around the grand room; the adventure had begun.

  Leaping out of bed, Hal drew back the curtains and saw that an icy mist had settled over Stockholm. He listened at the adjoining door connecting his room to Uncle Nat’s but heard nothing. Carefully, he opened it an inch.

  ‘Ah, you’re up.’ Uncle Nat was sitting at a desk in the window, writing in his journal. ‘I wasn’t sure how long to leave you. It was a late night last night.’

  ‘Have I missed breakfast?’ Hal asked, seeing his uncle’s bag was on the bed, already packed.

  ‘No.’ He looked at his left wrist, where he wore three watches. ‘In fact, if you throw some clothes on, we’ll be in time to meet Morti.’

  Hal scrambled out of his pyjamas, got dressed and followed his uncle out of the room.

  Breakfast was served in the hotel restaurant. Hal ate a bowl of muesli with berries and yogurt, while watching Uncle Nat eat crispbread he called knäckebröd, covered in slices of cheese and red peppers, and a hard-boiled egg with a fish roe-paste garnish. Hal thought it was an unusual breakfast.

  ‘Mr Bradshaw?’ A porter from the reception desk approached their table.

  ‘That’s me.’ Uncle Nat wiped his mouth with the linen napkin.

  ‘Ms Sorenson left this with reception, early this morning. She asked that we made sure you got it before you left.’ He handed Uncle Nat an envelope.

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone has handed in my phone this morning?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  ‘And did you manage to get through to City Hall?’

  ‘We’ve left a message about your missing phone.’

  Uncle Nat thanked the porter and turned to Hal. ‘I was wondering where Morti had got to.’ He opened the envelope and tipped it upside down. A pair of keys on a ring with a fob dropped into his hand, accompanied by a hotel compliments slip. He read it aloud.

  A handwritten letter from Mortimer to Nat.

  The content of the letter reads, Dear Nat, I’m sorry for my sudden disappearance. Something urgent has come up that means I can no longer travel with you to Kiruna. Here are the keys to my cabin. Make yourself at home. I am hoping to be there when you return from the Aurora Sky Station. If for any reason we miss each other, please leave the keys at the reception of the Ice Hotel. They will look after them for me. Thank you for coming to Stockholm, the awards ceremony and the banquet. It meant a great deal to have you there. You must also thank your nephew, Hal, for listening to my strange stories last night. It was good of him. You are a true friend, and I hope I am yours. Mortimer.

  Uncle Nat turned the slip of paper over, but the back was blank. He looked at Hal, and the three horizontal lines returned above his dipping eyebrows. ‘How odd.’ He turned the keys in the palm of his hand.

  To his surprise, Hal found that he was disappointed Morti wouldn’t be travelling with them. He had questions about her burglary, and he wanted to know more about the terrifying Kill Code. ‘What’s odd?’

  ‘That something should come up so early in the morning. And why didn’t Morti come to my room and give me the keys herself?’

  ‘The note says it was urgent. Perhaps a relative is sick and she didn’t want to wake us.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Uncle Nat conceded, putting the keys down on the table and picking up his coffee. His eyes glazed over as he fell to thinking.

  Hal examined the key fob. It was a piece of folded leather with three golden rings. A large and medium-sized ring were attached to the end of the leather fob with two keys dangling from them – a bronze key with a circular barrel and fork-shaped end, the other a flat silver key with a jagged, zigzag edge. A small decorative gold ring hung flat against the folded leather fob. Pulling the folded leather apart, Hal searched for any hidden message or suspicious marks. But it looked like an ordinary well-worn leather key fob with a pair of door keys on it. Disappointed, he laid them on his opened sketchbook, picked out a pen, and drew a speedy study of them as he shovelled the rest of his muesli into his mouth.

  With Morti went his hope of solving a crime on this trip. ‘Do you think someone stole the room key from your jacket pocket to break into our hotel room? I did hear that noise last night,’ Hal said, grasping at the last dangling thread of a mystery.

  ‘No.’ Uncle Nat smiled at Hal. ‘My Mont Blanc pen was sitting on the desk in plain view of the door. If someone had gone into the room and had a root around, I would have noticed. Nothing was touched, moved or taken, and if anyone had broken in, they would have stolen my pen.’

  ‘Your pen?’ Hal scoffed.

  ‘Yes. It’s worth more than all of my six watches combined.’ Uncle Nat chuckled at Hal’s astonished expression.

  ‘What? I didn’t know pens could be that fancy. Well . . . perhaps the thief was after your mobile phone, then. You said it was in the same pocket.’

  ‘Ha! That old thing?’ Uncle Nat drained the last of his coffee. ‘It barely connects to the internet. It’s only good for calls and texts. You couldn’t give it away. It’s about time I got a new one.’ He sighed. ‘No, I’m afraid something horribly dull happened to my phone and the room key. You see, Mortimer and I were at a banquet last night, and there was dancing. I fear I may have lost my phone and the key while doing the funky chicken.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hal couldn’t disguise his horror at the idea of his uncle dancing, and Uncle Nat laughed.

  ‘We should get a move on. Stockholm is a beautiful city and I wanted to take you for a wander around the Christmas market in Stortorget. I need to get a gift for James.’

  ‘I could get something for Mum.’

  ‘Perhaps a Dala wooden horse? They’re hand-carved and painted – a symbol of Sweden, and they’re meant to bring good luck.’

  ‘Mum likes horses. Will they have them at the market?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Uncle Nat picked up Morti’s keys and her note, putting them into his inside jacket pocket, and got up. ‘Our train isn’t until five o’clock, so we’ve plenty of time to explore.’

  Once they’d packed, they left their bags in a luggage room behind the hotel’s reception desk, and travelled through the revolving doors out into Stockholm.

  ‘The snow has settled,’ Hal exclaimed with glee, looking down at his footprints.

  ‘We’re heading to that island opposite,’ Uncle Nat said as he buttoned up his peacoat and tucked his cherry-red scarf inside the neck.

  They crossed the bridge to Gamla Stan and entered a spider’s web of medieval streets lined with little shops. As they made their way through the winding lanes, Hal enjoyed the festive windows. In one, toy penguins in Christmas hats were dancing before a fluffy polar bear sucking its thumb. Fourteen days till Christmas, Hal thought to himself and smiled. This was going to be the best Christmas ever.

  The street widened into a cobbled market square, hemmed in by old buildings painted rust red and blushing orange. Shoppers bustled between rows of red-painted wood cabins with snow-covered roofs strung with evergreen garlands. A huge fir tree sprouted up on one side of the square, decked with lights and dusted with snow. The scents of cinnamon and chocolate tempted Hal forward.

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Uncle Nat said with a happy sigh. ‘You’d never guess this square was home to the 1520 Stockholm Bloodbath, when King Christian II killed all who opposed him.’

  Hal snorted with surprise at this gruesome nugget of history and followed his uncle into the maze of stalls. They passed vendors selling porcelain holiday decorations, cured meats, candles, and homemade jams.

  ‘Look at these!’ Hal exclaimed, going to a cabin displaying beautifully painted wooden horses of all sizes. ‘I think Mum would like a red one.’ He picked up a wooden horse as big as his hand. ‘She can put it on the mantelpiece in her Christmas display.’