Mostly the notes detailed how and when the land they referred to had been purchased, although what had actually been purchased was an option to buy, within varying timeframes, none less than twenty-five years, some fifty years, some seventy-five. The amounts paid out weren’t specified. They fell into different categories – lower, middle, higher, premium – of what were called disbursement levels. Nor were the sellers of the land named. They were described as accredited vendors. Dates and conveyancing lawyers’ names were recorded, though. And in almost every case the concluding phrase in the note was the same. Available for final stage with full title on exercise of option subject only to company lien.

Exactly what that meant Wada wasn’t sure. Final stage? Company lien? This was all part of some overarching plan, but the nature of the plan itself wasn’t referred to, probably as a security precaution.

In the hope of enlightenment, she delved into the few cases where the concluding phrase was different. Generally, the note indicated that some small legal snag was still being resolved but that the operative responsible was confident of early resolution, in any event no later than – and this was a date several times mentioned – Wednesday 17 April.

That was in just two days. It had to be the launch date for Emergence. Something was brewing, as Ragnar had said. But exactly what?

Wada found herself wondering if the answer was to be found in the single note that ended differently from all the rest. It referred to a piece of land about ten kilometres square about a hundred kilometres east of Reykjavík. There were no legal details and no indication of availability, just the curt phrase Refer to CEO. Presumably it wasn’t going to play a part in the launch on Wednesday. And the only person who seemed to know why was the CEO of Quartizon: Peter Driscoll.

Wada studied the satellite map of the plot of land. There were rivers, tracks, lakes and hillsides of densely bunched contour lines. And a habitation of some kind. A farmhouse, maybe. The map gave it a name. Stóri-Asgarbær.

Even at maximum magnification, though, the image was only that: an image. There was no way to tell from it what was going on there or who, if anyone, lived there. There was no inference she could draw that might explain Driscoll’s particular interest in the place. Refer to CEO. That was all she knew.

Wada must have fallen asleep at some point. She woke to find herself propped up on the bed, still fully dressed, with the phone lying beside her and daylight shafting through the window. She took a shower and tried to order her thoughts.

Order them how she pleased, however, the way ahead remained unclear. It was just gone seven and she decided to go down to breakfast in the hope that eating something might sharpen her reasoning.