‘Anything special going on?’ Ingimar asked. They didn’t meet often, so there had to be something behind Jón’s suggestion that they get together over coffee. For security reasons, they made a point of not speaking on the phone. If there was something that needed to be discussed, they’d meet in person.

‘There’s this Squirrel website,’ Jón said.

‘Yeah.’ Ingimar pushed the plate and the remains of his sandwich away. There was a third of it left, but there was too much, and the mayonnaise was too thick. It was more than he could manage, even though he was enjoying seeing Jón shudder. ‘María doesn’t change, does she?’

‘She’s been calling our press officer constantly, and sends emails with all kinds of questions.’

‘That’s nothing new.’

‘No. But just to be sure, it might be worth seeing her credibility damaged a little.’

‘That would be sensible,’ Ingimar said, wiping his mouth with a serviette. ‘Especially if she keeps this up.’

‘It shouldn’t be difficult,’ Jón said.

Ingimar nodded his agreement. He could easily update Wikipedia, adding an entry about her departure from the special prosecutor’s office, and including a link to the media speculation at the time.

Then there was the guy on the journalistic ethics committee who owed him a favour. Knocking holes in María’s credibility would be almost too easy. She was just one of the puppets on a stage, and he was the master.

Ingimar finished his coffee and pressed himself back into his chair, feeling the pain in his back.

Remember you are mortal, the heat in his scourged back told him. Remember you are mortal.

22

What surprised María the most was that Agla appeared to be telling her the truth. Although there was something unreal about a drinks giant, an aircraft factory and a computer manufacturer joining forces to offer a convict in an Icelandic prison a massively well-paid consultancy, there was something about Agla’s demeanour that convinced her it was all true. Having interviewed the woman at least twenty times while she was working for the special prosecutor and having made endless failed attempts to interview her since turning to journalism, María felt she knew Agla well. She had become familiar with the arrogance, the evasions and the tricks, and also the rare moments when Agla would drop her defences and tell the truth. On top of that, she had badgered the right people and been allowed access to Agla’s visiting schedule, and there she found George Beck’s name. A Google search had confirmed that he worked for a drinks manufacturer, just as Agla had said.

What tipped the balance of her decision was the electricity at The Squirrel’s office going off. It had been quite a few months since she had last paid a bill and now the power company had cut off the supply. If she didn’t bring in some cash soon, the same would happen at home before long. All her doubts were pushed aside, and within a few minutes she had persuaded herself that the best thing to do was join Agla’s team – for the moment at least; she would be able to nail her later on. The ease with which she made this decision shocked her slightly; but she realised it was chiefly because like most people, when cornered, she looked for the simplest solution.