Oddur had sent him a message, saying he would make a remote-control detonator, but it would cost half a million krónur. He seemed to be surprised when Anton replied and accepted the offer. More than likely Oddur had thought that this would be so much that Anton would not be able to raise the funds, and the matter would be forgotten. But it actually wasn’t so much that it would make a dent in his father’s cash reserves. He probably wouldn’t even notice that anything was missing. It wasn’t as if he sat there and counted the cash every week. And if he were to notice, then Anton would reply with what his father was always telling him: money in itself had no value; money was a tool.

Anton spun the combination lock a couple of times. He didn’t need to be a genius to crack this lock. His father used Anton’s date of birth as the key to practically everything.

50

María picked up her phone and took a picture. She could hardly believe her eyes. In another small town in another state was a warehouse identical to the first; the only visible difference was that this one was branded OR Metals Inc. Even the fence around the perimeter was exactly the same as the one surrounding Meteorite Metals.

María sent a picture to Marteinn with a short message:

Another metal storage unit in Ohio, the name is OR Metals. Can you check it out for me?

If anyone could find something out, then that person would be Marteinn. The question was whether he was so disappointed with her, he wouldn’t bother to reply.

She waited for the truck to emerge on the other side. She didn’t need to check that there was an exit, like there was at the other place, so she parked by the side of the road near the entrance so the driver wouldn’t see her when he drove out. She wondered if this warehouse was also stuffed full of aluminium, but didn’t have the courage to go inside and check it out. Meteorite had a night watchman, and this place was exactly the same. The prospect of another cold pistol muzzle in her face wasn’t an attractive one. She rubbed her wrists and decided that she would continue to follow the truck to see if it made a call at yet another warehouse.

Twenty minutes later the truck appeared, driving back past the perimeter fence. María waited a moment before starting the engine and following it through the town the way it had come. It was getting dark now, and after a monotonous hour on Highway 90, heading east, she was struggling to stay awake. She opened a pack of potato chips and a bottle of water, and reflected that if the truck didn’t make a stop soon at a diner, then this would have to pass for dinner. She wound down the window to let in more air and set the radio to search, hoping for a station that offered something other than country and western and advertisements.