‘He’s not approved for access. But I’m pretty sure he could get in if he wanted to. That would be some kind of breach of company rules. It could mean dismissal. And it’s not worth the risk if he can’t read what’s in the files. But with you it is worth the risk. He knows what they’re doing at Quartizon is bad for Iceland. I think he’ll cooperate. We just have to persuade him. What do you say?’

Wada didn’t have to think long. ‘Yes. I say yes.’

‘Great. I’ll call him now. Try to set up a meeting.’

Kristjan grabbed his phone. Wada watched Erla rubbing her hands together nervously. She didn’t like what they were doing. Maybe she knew Kristjan’s friend only too well. A few moments passed.

‘He’s not picking up,’ said Kristjan. ‘I’ll text him.’

‘Have you met this man, Erla?’ Wada asked as Kristjan thumbed out his message.

Erla nodded. When she spoke, it was in an undertone. It seemed to Wada she was hoping Kristjan wouldn’t listen to what she said. ‘Ragnar’s like the stool in my kitchen.’

‘And what is that like?’

‘It wobbles.’

‘Yeah,’ said Kristjan, finishing the text and grinning thinly at Wada. ‘Ragnar’s a wobbly stool. But he’s our wobbly stool.’

‘What did you tell him?’ asked Erla.

‘I told him we have someone he’s absolutely got to meet. As soon as possible. For his sake, our sake, everyone’s sake.’

A brief silence fell. It was as if they were all waiting for Ragnar to respond. But Wada hadn’t stopped thinking about what they were up against. ‘Where does Driscoll stay when he’s in Iceland?’

‘The Borg, I expect,’ said Kristjan. ‘It’s our classiest hotel. But I don’t actually know.’

‘You’ve seen him, though?’

‘No. Not with my own eyes. He comes. He goes. Some guy in a suit in a limo with tinted windows and a private jet waiting at Reykjavík airport. Our lines don’t cross, Wada. He’s part of the international capitalist set. I’m … one of the little people.’ There was a beep from his phone. ‘Hold on.’ He looked down. ‘Ragnar’s come back.’

‘What does he say?’ asked Erla anxiously.

‘We’re on. Jarđfræđingur, ten o’clock.’ Kristjan looked at Wada. ‘It’s a bar. It’ll be noisy. But that’s good. No one will hear what we say.’

‘He’ll be drunk by ten,’ said Erla dolefully.

‘That’s not so bad,’ said Kristjan. ‘We need him a bit drunk to agree to do this.’

‘Maybe he’ll be more than a bit drunk.’

‘Give the guy a chance. Give us a chance. And you don’t need to come anyway. But you’ll come, won’t you, Wada?’