Bloodthirst Page 16

  ‘Ciao, doctor,’ Bruno replied and, turning the car, drove northwards.

  On the back seat of the bus a Lapp couple, in traditional dress of blue cloth trimmed with red and yellow, spoke softly together. In front sat a dozen English schoolgirls and their Finnish tour leader. At times the young woman read interesting facts from a guide book, but their main interest seemed to be giggling and casting wanton glances at Peter as he slumped wearily in his seat.

  Soon the bus growled out of Rovaniemi and followed the road which Bruno had already taken. After three miles Peter saw a gallows-shaped signpost on which were the words: ‘Napapiiri — Polcirkeln — Arctic Circle — Cercle Polaire’. Good-naturedly the driver stopped to allow the girls to photograph each other beneath it with their Instamatics.

  Tired from his long journey Peter dozed off and did not awaken until the bus was pulling out of Vuotso some hours later. As he tried to focus his eyes on forest moving past in a deep green blur, he heard the tour leader saying: ‘This is the most northerly stage where fir trees can grow and from now on the forest is made up of pine and birch only. Soon we will begin to climb the Raututunturi Mountains which rise to 1625 feet. The school party giggled afresh at this information and Peter began to feel sympathy for the young guide.

  When the bus laboured to the highest point of the range Peter, used to the confines of city life, was awed by the vista. Dark forest rolled to the horizon, dissected by threads of river mirroring the sky which, like all Lapland summer skies, was alive with fast-moving cloud formations.

  The tour leader stood up and said in her clipped English as the bus began its downward run to Lake Inari: ‘Girls, I will read you about the great lake we approach — “It is not hard to understand how the vast shining sheet of Lake Inari — the largest lake in Lapland and covering 424 square miles — is sacred to the Lapps. Among its three hundred islands is one called Ukonsaari which was vital in their pagan mythology. Here were held sacrifices to their elemental gods. To add an extra note of mystery to the island, ancient Arabian coins have been found there in recent times. The lake lends its name to the largest parish in Finland which covers 5945 square miles, but the population of this huge area is only 1000”.’

  She closed her book and added: ‘The driver tells me there used to be wolves here until the Lapps hunted them to extinction. Now, for no known reason, they have been coming back round the southern shores of the lake. If you go walking in the forest be careful.’

  When the bus, its orange paintwork dimmed by clay dust, came to a halt at its destination Peter found himself in a settlement reminiscent of the clapboard townships seen in Western films. The only modern note was a moored seaplane gleaming like a blue dragonfly on the tranquil waters of the lake.

  He slung his rod case across his back and took his bags down to the shore where a thirty-foot Fjord cruiser was tied up to a ramshackle jetty. The name Vlad was painted in ornate letters on its white transom. Gratefully he put down his cases on the planking and called: ‘Ahoy.’

  The lithe female figure in a peaked cap and white towelling shirt, which left no doubt as to the tautness of her breasts, appeared from the cabin. She had a narrow jaw and high cheekbones, giving her eyes a slightly oriental slant. Her skin was as black as coal dust.

  ‘You must be Dr Pilgrim,’ she said in American-accented English.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’m Saturday. Come aboard and I’ll take you to the clinic. There’s a road but it’s rough even for a jeep.’

  Peter lifted his luggage into the cockpit which was already piled with jerrycans of petrol.

  ‘If you smoke, go up front,’ advised Saturday. ‘I’ve a feeling one of them cans is leaking.’

  She settled herself on the helmsman’s seat and seconds later a blue haze billowed from the exhausts of the twin Volvo engines. At her command Peter untied the lines and the graceful craft slowly reversed until it was clear of the jetty. Saturday moved the gear into the forward position and steadily opened the throttles. With a subdued roar the Fjord leapt forward, its hull lifted and soon a long wake boiled behind it as it reached its cruising speed.

  After the drowsy heat of the bus, Peter was exhilarated by the run over the cool water.

  ‘This is a fine craft,’ he cried to Saturday.

  ‘Biggest we could get transported in by road,’ she answered. ‘Makes good time. We’ll reach the clinic in three-quarters of an hour.’

  Ahead Peter could see a small archipelago of pine-covered islands. They were so low his first impression was of trees growing out of the water. Saturday steered through them without condescending to throttle back. Waves caused by the flying craft washed their shores like miniature rollers.

  Past the islands Peter saw another craft, a long, high-prowed Lapp canoe powered by an outboard motor. As the Vlad neared it, a blue and red figure stood up in the boat and shook his fist but Saturday ignored the gesture and left the canoe bobbing over her wake.

  They passed more islands, some dotted with boulders of red granite, and on one Peter glimpsed a long, windowless building which he guessed was Dr Stromberg’s special annexe. Beyond the bows of the Fjord a headland surmounted by a huddle of white buildings began to increase in size.

  The many windows reflected the Arctic sun hanging low over the lake.

  Saturday steered to starboard and headed for a pier with the engines still thundering at full throttle. At exactly the right moment she slowed, put the twin screws into reverse to swing the stern in, and the Vlad rubbed its fenders against the low wall. The noise of the Volvos brought several people down to the pier. A negro in a dark green tunic took the mooring lines and made the cruiser fast to heavy iron rings.

  With a nervous constriction of his throat, Peter saw the tall, white-coated figure of Dr Stromberg stride towards him.

  ‘Welcome, Dr Pilgrim,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘Welcome to my kingdom.’

  * * *

  Bruno Farina slowed the Citroen and, seeing a suitable clearing, ran it off the dirt road. He turned off the ignition and leaned forward with his face in his hands, overcome with fatigue. After a couple of minutes he straightened, and felt in the pocket of his bush jacket for a crumpled packet of Disque Bleu. He climbed out of the car and kicked pine needles over the marks left by the Michelin tyres on the soft forest floor.

  He then took a small axe from the boot and cut branches which he laid against the car to hide its blue metallic paint. He then set out in an easterly direction through the trees, a compass in his hand. After walking over the springy reindeer moss for ten minutes he saw the sparkle of water between the papery trunks of silver birches. He cautiously stepped forward in the shadow of red granite rocks and looked across a bay of blue water to a headland on which stood cube-like buildings.

  Congratulating himself on his map-reading, he looked about for a camping site. Between the rocks and first rank of forest trees was a small space completely hidden from the lake, where it would be ideal to pitch his tent.

  He returned to the car and unloaded his equipment. Although the sun was low, the exertion of humping it to the lakeside covered his face with sweat which attracted a maddening swarm of midges. He rested briefly before erecting a small green pup tent in which he laid his sleeping bag on an air mattress. Over this he carefully suspended a mosquito net.

  Next he unstrapped a couple of large canvas cases containing the components of a collapsible canoe large enough to hold two people. As he struggled to fit this together he heard the sound of distant engines, and peering round the shoulder of rock saw a white cruiser tracing a line of foam towards the headland. Guessing Peter was aboard he gave it an ironical thumbs-up sign and returned to bolting the canoe’s struts together. When the slender craft was ready for service he hid it in a patch of undergrowth.

  By now the sun was almost touching the horizon, the lowest it would go in this latitude, and checking his watch Bruno realized it was midnight. He brought out a jar of Nescafe, lit a smokeless butane c
amping stove and was soon sitting with his back against the warm granite and a steaming mug in his hand. He was so tired his head nodded and it was the pain of the hot drink spilling on to his leg which woke him.

  He crawled into the tent and thankfully sank on the air mattress. From a long distance away there came a strange yelping and his hand felt for the reassurance of the high-velocity Hornet.22 rifle which had been brought from London under the rear seat of the Citroen. He wished it was a heavier calibre weapon, but this was the only type he had been able to buy.

  After waking and shaving with a battery razor, Bruno unpacked his Pentax to which he attached a massive telephoto lens. This he mounted on a heavy duly tripod and set up in the shadow of the rock, aimed at the clinic buildings. By looking through the reflex viewfinder, he could observe them as well as if he had binoculars. Tiny figures walked on terraces surrounding the clinic. He noticed a pencil line of smoke rising from the tall chimney of a building some distance from the main block. He surmised this was the power house where diesel-driven generators provided electricity for Dr Stromberg’s community.

  Having taken several photographs, he left the equipment as it was and went through the forest to make sure the car was still safely hidden. As a precaution he carried the .22. After this the only break in the monotony was when he cooked himself a meal.

  *

  He read and dozed through the bright day until the sun approached its nadir and he unpacked a small Hitachi two-way radio purchased from a Tottenham Court Road hifi shop. He connected it by a lead to the pocket tape recorder on which he had played Holly’s taped diary and extended the telescopic aerial. Looking at his watch, he saw it was five minutes to midnight. The set hummed slightly as he switched on.

  The sun threw a long, blood-streaked reflection across the glassy lake, and the tranquillity of the scene affected the Italian’s quick imagination — he began to sense that the still timber about him was alive. He knew it would be ridiculous to think a tree had a soul, but perhaps such a vast multitude could have a collective entity …

  His musing was interrupted exactly at twelve o’clock by Peter’s voice whispering from the walkie-talkie: ‘Hello, Bruno. Hello, Bruno. Can you hear me?’

  Bruno held the device up to his mouth and answered: ‘Bruno here. This thing works fine. I’ve got it hooked up to the tape to keep a record.’

  ‘Good. The fishing gear provided an excuse for leaving the clinic. I’m in a cove on the lakeshore, but I’ve got the rod out just in case anyone comes along. Are you set up all right?’

  ‘Sure, but I heard a damn wolf last night. What has been happening at the clinic?’

  ‘I was brought over here in Stromberg’s power cruiser, the Vlad, with a sexy-looking Haitian girl at the wheel by name of Saturday. Stromberg also has three Haitian men as general factotums.’

  ‘I heard a whisper about them when I was researching the doctor. In the heyday of Papa Doc on Haiti they were all Tontons Macoutes — including the girl.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Tontons Macoute was Papa Doc’s secret police. The Haitians believed that Papa was a voodoo high priest as well as dictator, and some of the Tontons were his zombies. You know, animated corpses. It’s appropriate the girl should call herself Saturday because the voodoo God of the Graveyard is Baron Samedi. Have you found any trace of Holly?’

  ‘Not a thing, but if she’s up here I’ll bet she’s out on that island. The clinic is all above board. There are about twenty patients and each has a private room complete with a concealed infra-red TV surveillance system. Most of the staff don’t speak English, but I’ve been working with a nurse who can translate for me. Apart from Britt, there are two other narcoleptics here and I’ve been busy setting up behaviour-recording systems. Britt woke briefly but I don’t think she recognized me. No sign of the bloodthirst in her today.

  ‘In fact, Bruno, if the World Health Organization sent an investigating team here they’d only find things to praise. Most of the patients are in psychosis, but they are very well cared for. There’s plenty of well-trained staff, and they have great respect for Stromberg.’

  As Bruno gazed at the small box from which Peter’s voice hissed there was a look of disappointment on his face.

  ‘Having said all that,’ it continued, ‘I must tell you I believe you’re right. I just sense there’s something evil here! I’m sure the answer is on the island. I questioned Stromberg about it, but he just said there were dangerous patients there but they didn’t come within my scope.

  ‘I’d better get back to my fishing now. If I can catch something it’ll strengthen my alibi. I said I was going angling because, not being used to twenty-four hours of day light, I couldn’t sleep.’

  Slowly Bruno telescoped the aerial and put the radio and the tiny recorder into the pockets of his jacket. He felt lonely and in the distance he heard the cry of a wolf.

  Chapter 20

  It seemed to Peter he had only closed his eyes when the distant rumble of the Vlad’s twin engines roused him. Disorientated by Lapland’s nightless summer days he got a shock when he glanced at his watch. Still only half awake, he reached for his clothes, scattered about the room which was furnished in the impersonal style of a modem hotel, with bleached wood furniture and neutral wall colours.

  A few minutes later he was alone in the staff dining room, breakfasting on black coffee and the usual smörgaasbord.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Pilgrim.’

  Peter looked up and saw Dr Stromberg looming above him. As usual he was immaculately groomed with his glossy hair curling carefully over his brow, though no matter how closely he shaved the bristles beneath his pallid skin gave it a dark tinge.

  ‘You will find the continuous daylight upsetting at first,’ he said, ‘but do not worry, you will soon be acclimatized. The winter night is more difficult; then people sometimes get the “black sickness” which can only be cured by going south where they can see daylight.’

  ‘Really?’ Peter said. Now his mind harboured suspicions — and he admitted they were fantastic suspicions — about the neuro-surgeon, he felt uneasy in his presence, almost afraid he could read his thoughts.

  ‘I have very good news,’ Stromberg continued. ‘You have seen our operating theatre, which has never been put to use.

  ‘That can now be rectified, because a fully qualified neurological theatre sister has arrived. Miss Saturday has taken the cruiser to collect her. You may even know her, as she recently qualified at the London Hospital for Diseases of the Nervous System. A French woman by the name of Clair.’

  Peter’s heart accelerated, but he kept his eyes on his plate.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll recognize her when I see her,’ he muttered.

  ‘Perhaps. And how are you settling in here?’

  ‘Very well. I hope to start the iontophoretic programme soon,’ said Peter. ‘Do you want to see any preliminary reports on the Hallström girl and the others?’

  ‘There is no hurry, Dr Pilgrim. I am happy to leave everything connected with that research in your capable hands. Are you having any luck with your fishing?’

  ‘I live in hopes. But the fish don’t come in close. I don’t suppose you have a small boat I could borrow?’

  ‘Regrettably, no,’ Stromberg said with a slight smile on his full lips. ‘The Vlad is the only craft we have here. To be frank with you, I have no wish for any of our walking patients attempting to row over to the annexe. That is, what you call, out of bounds.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Peter. ‘Now if you will excuse me … nurse will be waiting for me to start today’s tests.’

  ‘Certainly, doctor. If you find there is extra apparatus you require, please let me know within the next two days. After that I have to spend a week in Helsinki at a conference.’

  Peter nodded and walked down a spacious corridor to the suite where his subjects were sleeping peacefully. He spoke into a wall microphone connected to a room which appeared like the control centre of a television
studio. Racks of monitors showed a controller the well-lit interiors of the patients’ rooms. Some bedridden patients had electronic sensors taped to their bodies so heart-beat, temperature and respiration appeared as rhythmic patterns on green oscilloscope screens.

  When Peter’s voice issued from a loudspeaker, the controller pressed one of a score of illuminated keys on his console and the door to Britt’s room slid open electrically. As most of the patients were potentially dangerous, the doors were without conventional handles.

  Nurse Bergman was sitting beside the bed, reading a story to Britt who was in one of her rare periods of wakefulness.

  ‘Good morning, doctor,’ said the nurse. ‘Our little patient is awake, so I am reading her the story of the Little Snow Princess. I told her she is like a snow princess herself.’

  Peter agreed. The sunlight flooding through the hermetically sealed window shone on Britt’s silver blonde hair and her delicate Nordic features. It was hard to imagine such a child was capable of sinking her teeth into a man’s throat.

  ‘Please continue,’ Peter said. ‘I’d hate to interrupt. I’ll go through these graphs, and when you are ready we’ll start the phased electromyograms.’ While nurse continued the tale in Swedish and Britt held a troll doll, Peter was grateful for time to think. He sank into an inflated plastic chair and, as he pretended to study a sheaf of papers, let his mind digest Stromberg’s words.

  Anne-Marie was on her way to the clinic!

  At first it seemed incredible, but as he thought about it the more logical it became. Stromberg needed theatre staff now his clinic was fully operational, and no doubt he had contacted Anne-Marie through the London. Her course was over, she needed a job and perhaps Scandinavia had appealed more than Paris. He wondered if she had broken with her husband?

  Could she have known he was here?

  A sinister suspicion entered his mind. Had Stromberg guessed of his relationship with Anne-Marie and decided to get them both to Inari because of the conjectures he held over the behaviour of Britt and Lionel Tedworth in London?