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125 Moments: 034 Carlos Kleiber January 8, 2016 in Uncategorized | Tags: 125Moments, Carlo Maria Giulini, Carlos Kleiber, CSO125th, John von Rhein, Robert C. Marsh, Sir Georg Solti Carlos Kleiber made his U.S. debut with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on October 12, 13, and 14, 1978, conducting Weber’s Overture to Der Freischütz, Schubert’s Third Symphony, and Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. “Kleiber’s arrival here was preceded by almost as much excited anticipation and ecstatic European notices as greeted [Sir Georg] Solti and Carlo Maria Giulini when they gave their first performances with the Orchestra back in the mid-1950s. . . . Is the man really as good as everyone says he is?” asked John von Rhein in the Chicago Tribune. He answered his own question. “Thursday night provided the answer: No, he is even better.” Von Rhein continued, “He pays this orchestra the ultimate (and how seldom realized!) complimentby simply letting it play. He obviously values passion over deliberation, intensity over clinical perfection, spontaneity over calculation. He is a conductor of rare brilliance, and rarer humility. . . . It sounded in fact like an entirely different orchestra, and it delivered one of the most electrifying kinetic Fifths this reviewer has ever heard.” Carlos Kleiber and the Orchestra acknowledge applause following a performance of Brahms’s Symphony no. 2 on June 3, 1983 (Terry’s photo) Kleiber returned for a second engagement on June 2, 3, and 4, 1983, to lead the Orchestra in Butterworth’s English Idyll no. 1, Mozart’s Symphony no. 33, and Brahms’s Symphony no. 2. “Every score is seen both as a unity and as a series of flowing phrases, each one of which is to be shaped, colored, balanced, and accented as perfectly as possible,” wrote Robert C. Marsh in the Chicago Sun-Times. “There is never the slightest suggestion of routine, the lapse into the standard reading. Every bar is a fresh adventure, an invitation to discovery. His insight is exceptional. He can play music you think you know forward and backwards and show you one new vision after another.” Geoffrey Decker Are any of the Kleiber live performances available on special edition CDs? Frank Villella Sadly, no, due to permission issues. We hold the radio broadcast master of the 1978 performance here in the Archives, but Kleiber did not give permission for the 1983 concerts to be recorded. That’s very sad. I wonder if Kleiber’s son or daughter could be contacted asking for permission. I know a lot of live items have been released on the German Orfeo label, and I imagine they simply contacted his children. The conductor Charles Barber, who wrote the recently published Conversations with Carlos, might very well have a way to get in touch with them. It would make a wonderful release! Leave a Reply to Geoffrey Decker Cancel reply « 125 Moments: 033 Riccardo Muti and Community Concerts 125 Moments: 035 Metropolitan Opera »

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Egypt: Rediscovering a Lost World (2005) BBC The Search for Tutankhamun (4/9) F ← Video 4 of 40 → L 1: The Search for Tutankhamun (1/9) 2: The Search for Tutankhamun (2/9) 3: The Search for Tutankhamun (3/9) 4: The Search for Tutankhamun (4/9) 5: The Search for Tutankhamun (5/9) 6: The Search for Tutankhamun (6/9) 7: The Search for Tutankhamun (7/9) 8: The Search for Tutankhamun (8/9) 9: The Search for Tutankhamun (9/9) 10: The Curse of Tutankhamun (1/9) 11: The Curse of Tutankhamun (2/9) 12: The Curse of Tutankhamun (3/9) 13: The Curse of Tutankhamun (4/9) 14: The Curse of Tutankhamun (5/9) 15: The Curse of Tutankhamun (6/9) 16: The Curse of Tutankhamun (7/9) 17: The Curse of Tutankhamun (8/9) 18: The Curse of Tutankhamun (9/9) 19: The Pharaoh and the Showman (1/7) 20: The Pharaoh and the Showman (2/7) 21: The Pharaoh and the Showman (3/7) 22: The Pharaoh and the Showman (4/7) 23: The Pharaoh and the Showman (5/7) 24: The Pharaoh and the Showman (6/7) 25: The Pharaoh and the Showman (7/7) 26: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (1/8) 27: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (2/8) 28: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (3/8) 29: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (4/8) 30: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (5/8) 31: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (6/8) 32: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (7/8) 33: The Mystery of the Rosetta Stone (8/8) 34: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (1/7) 35: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (2/7) 36: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (3/7) 37: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (4/7) 38: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (5/7) 39: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (6/7) 40: The Secrets of the Hieroglyphs (7/7) Added: 9 years ago. Watch Part Number: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | Part one: Howard Carter. Episodes 1 and 2 deal with the discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamun by Howard Carter and the popular belief that the Curse of the Pharaohs came with its opening. The story of Carter's quest is interrupted at various points with short biographical segments on the life of Tutankhamun and how these account for some of Carter's discoveries. Episode one: The Search for Tutankhamun Tutankhamun vanished from history in 1324 BC following his hurried burial and the erasure of his name from all monuments. In the winter of 1898 Carter is at the temples of Deir el Bahri recording wall reliefs threatened by a freak storm when he is thrown from his horse and makes a discovery in the sand. Retired Boston lawyer Theodore M. Davis funds Carter's excavation of Queen Hatshepsut's tomb but it is found to be empty and Carter deprived of further funding is reduced to selling his paintings to tourists on the street. In 1905 Lord Carnarvon arrives in Luxor to convalesce after a road accident and is shown an artifact bearing the cartouche of the mysterious Tutankhamun discovered by Davis on his new dig. Tutankhamun succeeded his heretical father as pharaoh at the age of 8 and was named in honour of Amun to symbolise his mission to restore the old gods and save the empire from turmoil. An inspired Carnarvon employs Carter but they are denied access to the Valley of the Kings for which only Davis has a permit. Amidst the flurry of construction that marked the beginning of Tutankhamun's reign the most important to the boy Pharaoh would have been that of his tomb. An ailing Davis announces his discovery of this, the final Pharaoh's tomb, prior to his retirement. Carter doubts the find and convinces Carnarvon to take up the concession. The methodical and meticulous excavation commences in 1914 but is quickly interrupted by World War I. The Carnarvons return to Egypt at the end of the war and Carter recommences his excavation but with a continued lack of results leading to doubts that any undiscovered tombs are left in the valley the funding is finally cut in 1922. Tutankhamun's tomb was well concealed to ensure his undisturbed afterlife. Carter convinces Carnarvon to fund one last season during which the tomb is finally unearthed. When the tomb is opened in the presence of Carnarvon and his daughter it is revealed to be the only unplundered pharaoh's tomb in the valley. Documentary Description For the first time on British television, the stories of these amazing and truly unique individuals are brought to life in a six-part historical drama-documentary series, which will reveal how the mysteries of Ancient Egypt were uncovered piece by piece by these three incredible men. The first two, hour-long episodes feature the life and work of Howard Carter, the man who finally uncovered the resting place of Tutankhamun. The third and fourth episodes follow the archaeological adventures of Giovanni Belzoni - a real-life Indiana Jones – as he battles with his French counterpart to be the first to discover lost tombs and fantastic treasures. In the final episodes, the series follows Jean-François Champollion as he struggles to be the first to decipher Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Source: BBC Egypt is the title of a BBC television drama serial about various archaeological discoveries taking place in that country's history, with the occasional 'flashback' scene involving actors portraying the ancient Egyptians themselves. Focusing on three of the most important discoveries from the world of the ancient Egyptians, this series journeys back in time to explore Howard Carter's discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun, the Great Belzoni's finds from the reign of Ramesses II and Champollion's deciphering of the hieroglyphs. Join Carter, Belzoni and Champollion as they overcome immense obstacles to unlock the secrets of an as-yet undiscovered world and reveal their seminal finds. Then travel even further back, to the amazing period of history unveiled by their astounding work. The hour-long show originally aired on Sunday nights at 9pm on BBC1 in 2005. The first two episodes explored the work of Howard Carter and his archaeological quest in Egypt in the early part of the twentieth century. The next two episodes focused on the eccentric explorer "The Great Belzoni", played by Matthew Kelly. The final two episodes dramatise the discovery and deciphering of the Rosetta Stone by Jean-François Champollion, who is played by Elliot Cowan. Source: Wikipedia

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The Walking Dead Episode Four: Take Us Back March 28, 2019 March 27, 2019 lefranzine And so we have arrived at the end of the road for Telltale’s The Walking Dead. It has been a difficult series to play due to the events of the past few months which led to the studio closure and so many talented individuals being placed in such an awful scenario. Thanks to Skybound Games, the final episodes of The Walking Dead were delivered thus bringing a conclusion to Clementine’s story and I made sure to play it as soon as I could in order to share my thoughts. I have chosen to make this as spoiler free as possible so apologies for any vague or cryptic moments throughout. The end of ‘Broken Toys’ was explosive to say the least and as a result, we are immediately unsure of the fate of everyone who ventured out on the rescue mission. Depending on your choices, you may already be well aware of some of those who may be in worse shape than others. The episode throws you straight in as you try to regroup with a sequence of moments that require some quick timing. The mechanic of coming out of cover to fire arrows also returns in this episode. It hasn’t been my favorite in this series as Marlon’s bow doesn’t feel like it has a whole lot of power however it did feel a little more effective in this episode which made things feel a little smoother during combat sequences. The episode doesn’t really let up for the entire first half as Clem, along with a couple of others, desperately try to make it back to the school with a herd of walkers on their tails. It’s doesn’t let up for a few scenes so my pointer would be to keep your hands on your controller. When you do get a few moments to catch your breath, this is where the difficult conversations begin. It’s in these moments that I realised I had made some terrible decisions as Clementine as AJ started repeating back to me the things I had told him. Even I was confused and conflicted but then I had to make the choice of what to say to him next and that may have been the most difficult decision yet. You think it’s easy to make your dialogue choices but when they are repeated back to you, you suddenly remember that maybe they weren’t the best choices at all. What you say to AJ does matter and I know that I’ll have to go back at some point and do the opposite just to see what happens. Once you start making progress, you’ll find a friendly face and continue to make your way back to the school but it won’t be easy. Unfortunately a vengeful raider who is well known to your friends has been trying to catch up and wants Tenn to stay with them. You can see that it won’t end well but we return to another cover and fire sequence in which timing and paying attention is key. I died a number of times because I didn’t watch the onscreen prompts closely enough and Clem met with a nasty bullet related accident. Depending on what you have said to AJ, the scenario goes one of two ways but ultimately, Clem is hurt and the walkers are closing in. Running as best as you can is the only option and hopefully, you will keep hitting those quick time events and hits on walkers to make it through. Now, I don’t want to spoil anything but what I will say is that as in Guardians of the Galaxy, there are some pretty smooth sequences in which you swap between Clem and AJ as they try to keep safe. This was a nice touch and a mechanic that I really enjoyed in the Guardians series so it was a welcome change of pace and it did up the ante a little before the episode begins to slow down a little as it comes to it’s conclusion. It’s been quite fast paced up until this point, so it did feel like a welcome change otherwise you may have felt that you were almost racing to the finish when you could quite happily go for a few more miles. As always the music and design was great with only one small audio issue where a character was crying very loudly all of a sudden but that was the only thing that I noticed that was a little out of place. The return of some of the mechanics was welcomed but the popping out of cover aspect has never been one that I’ve been very keen on mainly because you have to get it right otherwise you’ll just go through an endless cycle of death but ultimately it doesn’t take away from the overall pace of this episode. It did feel like it was over too soon but there were a couple of choices that I made that may have shortened some of the conversation so at some stage I may go back and see whether that adds a couple of minutes to the overall length. It’s hard to say whether you would really want it to be any longer it would have almost feel like it was being dragged out so I was happy with the length of the episode which I completed in around 2 hours. I don’t think there is much else for me to say except that I thought this Final Season has been great all things considered. All who worked on the game should be incredibly proud of the story that they have told and I’m sure many fans are thankful to them for making it and for Skybound Games coming in. It’s been emotional, it’s been frustrating, it’s been exciting but overall, it has been Clem’s story and it’s been wonderful. I will miss the Walking Dead games and Clementine and am sure I will revisit them some day when I feel like I need to go through the emotional ringer again. The physical version of The Final Season is available now for you to pick up if you have been waiting for all of the episodes to be out so now is your chance to go through it all for yourself. Thank you Clem and thank you again to all those who worked on all of the Telltale games over the years. Tagged adventure, clementine, episodic, Final Season, Nintendo Switch, PC, PS4, skybound games, take us back, TellTale Games, The Walking Dead, xbox one Published by lefranzine I like gaaaaaaaaames! Have loved playing games all my life across console and PC but also enjoy tabletop and role play campaigns too! View all posts by lefranzine Previous postBetter Late Than Never: Inside Next postBetter Late Than Never: Night in the Woods

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Home / Blog / Taking on the Royal Parks Half Marathon Taking on the Royal Parks Half Marathon by DNF On 13th October, six runners took on the Royal Parks Half Marathon and were successful in raising over £10,000 for the David Nott Foundation. Their dedication and perseverance means we are now able to fund the training of ten more surgeons working in austere environments. Read more about our fantastic runners below. Anna-Lucia A 6th year medical student at the University of Cambridge, Anna-Lucia has a passion for global surgery and has wanted to be a surgeon since before she even applied to med school. Whilst going on runs to train for her first half marathon last March, Anna-Lucia listened to the War Doctor audio book. She was so enthusiastic about it, that she made her entire family read the book and bought it for friends as a birthday present. 67 year old Sima also took on the 13.1 mile course in support of the Foundation. Though she has previously completed a whopping nine full marathons, this was her first half marathon in five years. Ameera Over the last four years, Ameera, a senior A&E nurse, has volunteered with various organisations and has taken unpaid leave with the NHS to work in Lesvos, Iraq and Macedonia. Whilst looking for new NGOs to volunteer with, Ameera came across David’s book and was unable to put it down. She was even able to meet David in person at a book signing back in July! She told us: “David’s experiences and drive to improve training for surgeons in countries of war, conflict and poverty is what motivated me to run for the foundation.” As an added challenge, Ameera also ran the 13.1 mile course in a surgical gown and cap! After stumbling across David’s Desert Island Discs a few years back, Lindsey was deeply touched by Dr Nott’s humility and compassion. A medic herself, she said: “Like David I, too, as a senior GP see no borders, no one person better than any other.” Since the Foundation was first started by David and Elly in 2015, Caitlin has been working behind the scenes for us, and is one of our valued trustees. Faced with the frightening prospect of running non-stop for two hours, Caitlin nonetheless emerged victorious and crossed the finish line at 2 hours 13 minutes. You can read more about the work that Caitlin does for us here. As David and Elly’s neighbour, Jamie has long been a supporter of the David Nott Foundation and we are very grateful for everything he has done for us over the years. An avid long distance runner, Jamie managed to finish the 13.1 mile course in an incredible 1 hour 29 minutes! We are always excited to hear about anyone taking on a challenge event for the Foundation, so please don’t hesitate to get in touch! If you’d like to learn more about how you can fundraise for us, please visit out Get Involved page.

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Local band to play Summerfest Alli Heckert, Reporter Urban Rhode, a local band made up of Tristan Carlson, Quinn Dalton, Eli Nedden, and early graduate Aaron Bates, will be performing at Summerfest this year. The group submitted an audition to the statewide competition Rockonsin, qualified for the state finals, and won equipment for their band. Bands across Wisconsin from grades 7 through 12 submitted auditions through the Rockonsin websites, where the top 12 bands would qualify and move onto the state finals. Comprised of a group of friends, Urban Rhode’s ultimate motivation is spending time together and music. The group started getting together in winter of 2017, and spent most of their time “jamming out with the guys” said Carlson. A gradual transition from hangouts to band practices, they still describe their time as light hearted and fun. “I still wouldn’t say it’s serious at all, but really it’s a just us being ourselves,” said Dalton. Urban Rhode auditioned with the song “Take It Easy” by 1970’s rock band, The Eagles. Nedden said that the band has approximately 25 songs they have put together as a group, and “Take It Easy” is one of the favorites. They recorded a video submission originally for the Variety Show auditions, but then Dalton urged the other members to submit it to Rockonsin. Aside from the upcoming gig at Summerfest, they recently played at Newman Catholic High School. Paying for around 250 people, Nedden said that had been their biggest show to date. “Anything with music now, we have been doing this for so long, we aren’t really affected by nerves anymore,” Nedden said. However, Carlson admitted he still was slightly nervous in anticipation for the next level of the competition. With the group being made up entirely of seniors, Urban Rhode faces some challenges after this summer. Bates, Carlson, and Nedden plan on staying close to home this upcoming fall, but Dalton will be attending University of Wisconsin Platteville. Despite the distance, Dalton plans on coming home often to play music and see his friends Until this fall, the group plans to have fun and play together as much as they can. Further information on Urban Rhode’s set at Summerfest will be posted on their Facebook page said the band. Band member Aaron Bates was unable to be interviewed due to graduating at semester.

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International Trade Forecast Report – Nov. 2017 The California State University, Fullerton International Trade Forecast (Nov. 2017) by Dr. Mira Farka and Dr. Adrian Fleissig provides an extensive analysis of merchandise exports in the Southern California Region by total volume, main destination country, by region, and by main sectors for the Los Angeles-Long Beach-Anaheim Metropolitan Statistical Area (MSA), Orange County and the Inland Empire (Riverside-San Bernardino-Ontario) MSA. The Center for Economic Analysis and Forecasting (WCEAF) releases economic forecasts, provides policy advice on economic and environmental issues, and conducts regional economic analysis. The Center undertakes independent studies, and engages in sponsored research with private and public entities in the areas of its focus. It seeks funding for research and training; sponsors conferences and workshops; presents studies and reports of interest to business, government, academic and general communities. The Institute’s activities are structured to allow the participation of graduate and undergraduate students at California State University, Fullerton. Download Forecast Report >>> Dr. Mira Farka Associate Professor, Economics Co-Director, Institute for Econmic and Environmental Studies Dr. Mira Farka earned a Ph.D. in Economics from Columbia University and specializes in financial, macro and global economics. She has published in leading academic journals and received the Mihaylo College of Business and Economics 2013 Outstanding Faculty Award and CSUF Outstanding Researcher Award (2010 and 2013). As the Co-Director for the Institute of Economic and Environmental Studies at CSUF, Dr. Farka has developed national models that are used to forecast economic indicators, analyze economic trends, and provide policy recommendations. She is widely known for developing and presenting the CSUF Economic Forecasts for the Nation, Southern California and Orange County in the CSUF Economic Forecast Conference (annual and midyear update). Dr. Farka is routinely quoted by various media sources and she is invited as a key note speaker on economic and financial issues by various business, government, and educational organizations. Prior to joining Cal State Fullerton, Dr. Farka worked as a senior economist for Deutsche Bank, New York, where she was responsible for developing economic forecast models for key national and international macroeconomic variables, currency forecasts, and for providing financial market analysis. more Dr. Adrian Fleissig Professor, Economics Research Associate, Center for Economic Analysis and Forecasting CSUF Dr. Adrian R. Fleissig has a joint Ph.D. in Economics and Statistics and specializes in regional, macro economics and econometric analysis. He is a Professor of Economics at California State University Fullerton and is ranked in the top 1.4% (757 out of 55,000) of economists world-wide based on his academic research. He is well-known in developing economic theory and econometric methodology to better understand monetary policy decisions of the Federal Reserve Bank, consumer choices and regional economics. At CSUF, he has been awarded the Outstanding University Researcher Award (2001, 2004, 2007 and 2010). Dr. Fleissig works on many projects including the County of Riverside Forecasts and Economic Outlook, OC Strategic Financial Plan, Transportation Revenue Forecasts for Orange County and has developed the Southern California Leading Economic Indicator. As a former member of the Advisory Board for Monetary Services Index, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, he provided input for the construction of one of the monetary aggregates produced by the Federal Reserve Bank. Previous PostPrevious SMALL BIZ SATURDAY Next PostNext Programa [email protected] – En Español

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Kalaignar TV online - Tv živě Kalaignar TV Kalaignar TV 3.6 z 5 Kalaignar TV is a Tamil-language satellite television channel based in Chennai, India. One of the latest in the horizon of Tamil satellite TV's entertainment and information genre is KALAIGNAR TV, on the fast track right from when it took off on September 15, 2007. Registered under the Indian Companies Act of 1956, KALAIGNAR TV PVT. LIMITED has its registered office at No. 367 / 369, Anna Salai, Teynampet, Chennai – 600018. In setting benchmarks, KALAIGNAR TV is in a league of its own, having launched seven channels catering to varied genres of infotainment for a global audience. 9XM TV Indie - Hudba Bollywood Music at its best, that’s what 9XM is all about. We play it all, without any specific genre, 9XM is known for pure music pleasure. We play Indie - Zprávy Know the New Economy through Moneycontrol, India’s No.1 financial portal. Tune in for exclusive and breaking news, in-depth analysis, high-quality Indie - Obecné A free HDTV channel proclaiming the soon coming of Jesus Christ. The most popular Indian Christian Prophetic and Entertainment TV channel worldwide. Read CNN News18 breaking news, latest news from India & World including current news headlines on politics, cricket, business, entertainment and Doordarshan News, usually referred to by its abbreviation as DD News, is India's only 24-hour terrestrial TV news channel. The Prasar Bharati AAJ TAK is a 24-hour Hindi news television channel owned by TV Today Network. AAJ TAK loosely translates as "Till Today" or "Up to the

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Center for Digital Acceleration Partners with Award-Winning Tech Startup Skilllab By Krista Baptista Tags: Digital Inclusion • Mobile One of the ways DAI tackles global challenges is by partnering with other innovators to invest in promising solutions. In joining forces with tech startups that align with our mission, we bring the power of technology and entrepreneurship to bear on global development challenges. In 2016, for example, we supported four startups through our ‘Innovation into Action Challenge’, including education tech firm Laboratoria, renewable energy enterprise Solar Sister, and m-health platforms ClickMedix and ThinkMD. Earlier this year, we announced our investment in ClickMedix. We’ve also invested in Ghanaian startups that emerged from the Kosmos Innovation Center. Keeping with this tradition, DAI’s Center for Digital Acceleration is pleased to announce a new strategic partnership with our friends and colleagues at Skilllab. Skilllab was founded in Amsterdam in 2018 by Managing Director Ulrich Scharf and aims to create a more personalized and data-driven approach to career development and job placement, especially for marginalized populations. Using tailored artificial intelligence (AI) algorithms, it profiles the skills of marginalized people in the labor force and matches them to career and education opportunities that align with their abilities. Over the last year and a half, its efforts have focused on migrants and refugees in Europe partnering with local and national authorities in the Netherlands, Belgium, Finland, Greece and the United Kingdom, earning recognition as a best practice implementer of the European Skills, Competencies, and Qualifications framework (ESCO), but its technology is applicable in labor markets around the world. The Global Challenge Globalization, digitization, automation, climate change, and migration—all of these are long-term trends that directly affect labor markets struggling to cope with the breakneck pace of change. If education and labor markets don’t rapidly adapt, countless communities risk losing sustainable livelihoods. In particular, marginalized groups such as refugees, migrants, and internally displaced people face the biggest challenges: Language barriers make it difficult to convey experience and skills. Diversity of experiences can make it difficult for employers and career services to grasp a person’s skill set. Labor market complexity makes it difficult to situate a person’s skill set into a specific market. These challenges are hardly isolated to migrant jobseekers in Europe—we see them in places all over the world where DAI manages workforce development and economic growth projects. To help address the challenge faced by transient job-seekers, Skilllab has developed a mobile application that plays the role of a local career counselor. The app uses AI to perform a comprehensive skill and knowledge assessment of the user, based on a growing data model of more than 13,000 unique skills. In real time, the application automatically generates detailed skill profiles that match a user’s skill set to nearly 3,000 unique occupations, while also highlighting opportunities for ‘up-skilling.’ Already available in 27 languages, the mobile application can be used by job-seekers wherever they are, in their native languages and automatically generate professionally designed skill profiles in any of the available languages. A Syrian user tests the mobile application and provides feedback to the Skilllab team. Most importantly, the engaging app allows for this critical skills data to equip labor market actors—from employers to public services—with updated information needed to absorb, develop, and improve the skills of their labor force. Its innovative technology and approach has earned the company international recognition; it was recently named a winner of the inaugural Google AI Impact Challenge for organizations using AI to address societal challenges. Skilllab has piloted its technology across cities working to integrate migrant labor in Europe and is looking to bring its approach to new geographies. The CDA-Skilllab Partnership Like most young relationships, the CDA-Skillab partnership is evolving, but our main focus will be to bring this capability to new clients and geographic settings, combining Skilllab’s product development skills with CDA’s experience working with local communities as well as policy makers in emerging digital markets around the world. In addition to pursuing these growth opportunities together, we’re also keen to combine our software and app-building chops to co-develop products and services that meet the needs of job-seekers in a fast-paced, global marketplace. DAI works on the frontlines of international development. Transforming ideas into action—action into impact. We are committed to shaping a more livable world. RSS CONTACT Five Resources on Human Rights and Tech Digital Insights: How the Disability Community in Honduras Uses Digital Tools Digital Insights: El contexto digital de la población con discapacidad en Honduras Digital Identity Series Part 3: Barriers to Inclusion for All DAI Shaping a more livable world.

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The Coming Great Awakening Truth Matters Newsletters – August 2007 -Vol. 12 Issue 8 – The Coming Great Awakening – By Robert S. Liichow “IT IS TRUE THAT AMERICA IS IN A DESPERATE SPIRITUAL CRISIS. BUT, I HAVE ASSURANCE THAT WE ARE ON A COLLISION COURSE WITH GOD’S REVIVAL POWER.” RODNEY H. BROWNE In May 2007 I wrote about Steve Hill’s claim that the greatest outpouring of all times was about to occur…this revelation was based on nothing more than his own opinion. Now Charisma magazine is touting Rodney Howard Browne’s (RHB) assertion that America is on the verge of a third “Great Awakening.” Unlike Hill’s proclamation, Browne bases his belief on a “higher” authority, i.e. some comments President George Bush made at a luncheon back in September o 2006. President Bush said that he felt that America was on the brink of a third great awakening. In my days as a former charismatic extremist we would often be told that spiritual experiences, be they prophetic words, dreams, visions or new revelations must be authenticated/established by at least two witnesses, preferably three. We got this concept from the following text: One witness shall not rise up against a man for any iniquity, or for any sin, in any sin that he sinneth at the mouth of two witnesses, or at the mouth of three witnesses, shall the matter be established. Deut. 19:15 With Steve Hill’s declaration of the coming “greatest” revival and now Rodney Howard-Browne’s assertion of a third “great awakening” many charismatic sign-gift folks are beginning to salivate over the coming next great move of the Spirit. Using the charismatic paradigm I guess it is going to happen. Or is it? What if your witnesses are proven liars? What would two liars establish other than more lies? Why should anyone believe these two SINisters in particular especially in light of their forays into deception and well documented money-grubbing in the 1990’s? Rodney Howard-Browne aka “the Holy Ghost Bartender” is the individual who popularized the anti-biblical manifestation commonly known as holy laughter. RHB came to America from South Africa in 1989. He began as an itinerate preacher and as he was preaching about hell in Albany, New York in April, 1989 people began to spontaneously break out into uncontrollable laughter (some people cried as well). The harder RHB preached about eternal damnation the more people began to laugh. Without going any further one would think that if people responded with uproarious laughter at the topic of hell and damnation that surely Satan was at work and not the Holy Spirit. Yet RHB was not as surprised as he would like us to believe. DMI has in its film archive a clip of Benny Hinn ministering in South Africa in the mid 1980’s People are laughing and Benny is seen & heard declaring “this is holy laughter, holy laughter.” RHB is not seen in the clip, but it is extremely likely that he was there because not long after his meetings in New York RHB took his show on the road down south to Florida, starting off with a meeting at Hinn’s former Orlando Christian Center in 1992. (1) From there RHB moved to Carl Straders “Carpenter’s House Church” in Lakeland, FL. And there RHB held “revival” meetings from 1993-94. By RHB had incorporated his fledgling SINistry (after all the donations were on the rise) and a good thing too because at Lakeland RHB and his new “move” of the Spirit caught the eye and ear of Oral and Richard Roberts. They came to the meetings, received the “new wine” and prevailed upon RHB to come back to Tulsa with them. It was during the Tulsa meetings that Vineyard Pastor Randy Clarke who admitted he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Clarke got the “blessing” and took the highly portable and contagious delusion with him up to another Vineyard pastor friend’s church in Toronto. Once holy laughter broke out at the Toronto Vineyard church it morphed into what became known as the “Toronto Blessing” and the rest is charismatic extremist history. RHB had initially claimed that he was a former associate pastor of a Rhema Church (aka Kenneth E. Hagin/Word of Faith cult congregation) in South Africa; this lie can be seen in his earlier book publications. It is to be noted that Howard-Browne’s standard biography claims he once served as an associate pastor at Rhema. But according to Rhema church officials contacted, Howard-Browne was never an associate pastor-nor did he ever hold any pastoral credentials or responsibilities. Said Kelmeyer “Rodney was never an associate pastor here. He was an ordained minister by the state and a lecturer at our Bible school, but was not involved in any form of pastoral work.” (2) When the truth came to light RHB became to change his rhetoric regarding his past “ministry” in South Africa. Today his statement is as follows: In 1983 they pioneered a church in the Northeastern Cape and pastured there for two years. After that, Rodney taught classes in a leading Bible School for another two years. (3) Like most leaders in the charismatic movement when challenged with an uncomfortable truth, he simply ignores all inquires and moves on. At some point in the mid 1990’s Rodney began to refer to himself as “Dr.” Rodney Howard-Browne. This was also a complete fabrication. To begin with there is no evidence that Mr. Browne ever graduated from an undergraduate college, nor is there any proof that he earned a Master’s degree and then went on to speed two or three years earning his doctorate. The fact is that he obtained his degree from a diploma mill: Howard-Browne also claimed a “doctorate of ministry degree” from an obscure San Jacinto, California correspondence institution called “The School of Bible Theology.” A state Department of Education employee contacted likened the tiny school, which bills itself as “The Seminary to the World” and has no faculty, to a “diploma mill. (4) Why does this matter? It points to his willingness to deceive people by attempting to give himself a veneer of theological education and training which he simply does not have. Personally, I have always been amazed at how often people like the deceased Kenneth Hagin, Kenneth Copeland, and RHB have always discounted seminary educations (since they had/have none), yet, they all accept the title “Dr.” in front of their names and are always referred to as “Dr.” in conferences, books and televised programs. RHB wrote about knowing a man who was formerly “anointed” until he attended seminary, then, according to RHB, he graduated totally bereft of any “anointing” (SEE “The Apostles Are Coming”). As a personal eyewitness I saw that Mr. Browne is in ministry to transfer as many dollars fro those in front of him as possible. In Toronto my wife and I personally witnessed RHB berate people who dared to get up and leave during his impassioned plea for money. He publicly ridiculed those who left the auditorium, it was a sad and pathetic scene. I bring this up because of the comments he made in the article on the “Coming Great Awakening.” I guess if I was in a court of law I would declare to the Judge that my remarks go to “character” (or lack there of). Revival, Oh Really? It goes beyond the scope of this small article to detail the history of revivalism in America but suffice it to say that Pentecostalism (and all its sign-gift offshoots) owes its very inception to the concept of spiritual revival beginning with the Azusa Street “revival” of 1906. From there Pentecostalism split apart and formed into several denominations. Approximately forty years later we encounter the Post WWII revival called “The New Order of the Latter Rain (NOLR). The next eruption came in the form of Charismatic Renewal movement/revival where tongues, prophecy and other “signs and wonders” bled over into established mainstream denominations. The date given for this “revival” varies depending upon who you ask. Some say 1950, others 1960 in Van Nuys, CA and others look to 1967 an the formal start of the Roman Catholic Charismatic Renewal movement at the University of Notre Dame then moving over to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, where I encountered it via the Word of God Community. Nothing “revival-like” occurred between 1967 and 1994 until Mr. Browne popularized the alleged “new wine” of the Holy Spirit in the form of so-called holy laughter. This lasted for approximately eight years in full force and now it has pretty much petered out, leaving the masses of sign-seekers anxious and hungry for the next spiritual “high”. What is important to understand is that Pentecostal/charismatic believers are hardwired into the belief that God sends revivals to the Church. The overall purpose of these revivals is to impart spiritual power to hungry people in order to help hasten the return of Jesus Christ. They base their belief on the following text: Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord, and that he may send the Christ, who has been appointed for you–even Jesus. He must remain in heaven until the time comes for God to restore everything, as he promised long ago through his holy prophets. Acts 3: 19-21 RHB is a product of charismania and knows which hot buttons to push and one of the major ones is “revival.” Obviously the “Gospel-giggles” was not the be-all and end-all consummation of the ages, ergo God must have something else in store for the Church. Since He (in some peoples deluded minds) used RHB before, He will no doubt use him again (RHB is banking on his past revival record to draw the crowds). So now we have RHB touting the “coming great awakening.” What does he base this on? Apart from President’s Bush’s non-binding statement in his own words he says: It’s also very much needed. Although we have hundreds of thousands of churches in America and thousands of Christian radio and TV stations, America’s moral fabric is being torn apart–not just in the streets but also in the pulpits. People no longer have the fear of God, prayer and the Bible have been removed from our schools; the Ten Commandments have been removed from our courthouses and abortion, divorce, sexual perversion, sexual abuse and same-sex marriages are rampant. (5) RHB cites the standard litany of woes our culture is facing as proof that America needs “revival.” As bad as the lack of morality is in America it is far worse in other nations, especially in Europe, yet for some reason RHB does not say anything about the need for revival in those nations. For example in the Netherlands prostitution is legal, homosexuality is totally accepted, and people come from all over the world to legally get “high” in Amsterdam because soft drug use is accepted. (6) Not to mention euthanasia and abortion as being perfectly visible “choices.” One might add the state of the Christian Church throughout Europe is atrocious. Rodney also seems to have forgotten that as bad and as rampant as sin is the grace of God does even more abound (see Romans 5:20). As Christians we are to combat the decay around us by simply being who we are in Christ, i.e. salt (see Matt. 5:13) and light of the world (see Matt 5:14). This does not come about by a supernatural outpouring of power in a 3 day meeting. Christianity that impacts society comes about through the faithful preaching of Law & Gospel from pulpits. Societal change comes when God’s people after being equipped in Church go into the world and LIVE the Word the have received by the grace of God. The Church does not need “revival” we need faithful pastors and obedient congregations – it is just that simple. It is important to ask the question of whether or not the very concept of revival is a biblical one. The word is not used in the New Testament at all and only four times in the Old in the form of “revive.” Some people mistakenly point to Peter’s preaching and the three thousand men that were brought to faith in Jesus Christ (see Acts 2:14) as “revival.” That was not revival at all! That was evangelism, those coming to Christ were not “revived” they were brought from spiritual death to newness of life in Christ Jesus. There is not one example of the Church being “revived” in the New Testament. In fact, the concept of “revival” does not even come into play in Church parlance until the mid 1700’s. For 1700 years the Church never considered such an event, it is very simply – an invention of man. In the First Great Awakening what we saw were ministers, initially Jonathan Edwards and George Whitfield (an associate of John Wesley) primarily preaching to Christians who had grown lax in the Christian walk. Upon hearing “law” being preached to them they became afraid and felt condemned, which is exactly what the preaching of “law” does, it shows us our failure in light of a perfectly holy and righteous God. However, preaching the “law” does not bring about repentance or salvation that comes through the proclaiming of God’s grace in Christ as evidence by the cross and His resurrection. The first great awakening devolved fairly rapidly into rampant emotionalism, pietistic experientialism (mainly due to Wesley, Whitfield, Samuel Davies and others) and ungodly enthusiasm. There were good things that also transpired during this time period as well. In the minds of many people who looked back at the Great Awakening, it seemed to them to be the pattern in which God “moved” to further His kingdom. So if there was a “first” awakening, then naturally there had to be a “second” awakening! The Second Great Awakening which started around 1800 through the 1830’s was even more overrun by emotionalism, false doctrine and aberrant practices. The most recognizable name involved with the second awakening was Charles G. Finney, who was a total heretic and not a Christian. This second move of excess also helped give rise to Mormonism, Millerism (and later its offshoot the Jehovah’s Witnesses) and Seventh Day Adventism. The first awakening was primarily Calvinistic in theological tone, the second awakening was decidedly Arminian at best. The teachings of Finney have held sway on much of what is considered “evangelicalism” in America, I.e. decision theology, faith proceeded salvation, alter calls, etc… The next “revival” was that of Azusa Street in 1906, which as I have written extensively about, was almost total chaos, occultism, excited ignorance and doctrinal error. Every other subsequent revival has spiraled down even farther into doctrinal darkness and bizarre practices (much of which can be laid at the feet of RHB for popularizing it and calling it the work of the Holy Spirit). This meander through Church history brings us back to the present and Browne’s declaration of the next “great awakening.” He goes on to say in his article: We don’t need more life coaches and success motivators, running the same circuits, with messages that all sound exactly the same. We don’t need more people who treat ministry as a moneymaking business, publishing books that have a form of godliness but no power in them, and producing albums with wishy-washy lyrics void of the anointing. (7) Well I have to agree with Browne there, he is right we do not need any of the above. However, he is more than a little disingenuous when he makes his statement considering he is friends with Paula White (a life coach), Joyce Meyer (a success motivator) and of course Joel Osteen. He is guilty of treating ministry as a moneymaking venture. RHB has incorporated yet another non-profit corporation, this one is called “Revival Ministries International,” he has another organization called “River Bible Institute” his own non-accredited “Bible school, and he also has “The River Church,” where he is the senior pastor (how he can be a pastor and travel weekly is beyond me). He is currently going around America on what he is calling his “2007 Great Awakening Tour,” (8) and it is evident to me that RHB is not missing any chances to wrest a dollar from the unwary sign-seeker! RHB tells us what to expect during this next great move of the Spirit: The move of the Spirit in and through every believer, will result in signs and wonders taking place outside of the four walls of the church…God’s power will be demonstrated in all these places, resulting in mass conversions and whole regions begin shaken by the power of God!…The economy will be impacted; the educational system and the media will be transformed. (9) Does he base any of his statements on the Bible? No, he does not cite any text to buttress his argument for this alleged “great awakening.” The reason why he does not is simple, he CANNOT. There is absolutely not a shred of scripture to back up any of his assertions. The Biblical Witness of the “End Times” I have returned to a very simple worldview, if someone is proclaiming anything that is not founded within the context of the Holy Scriptures, then I personally do not care what is said by that individual, period. Here is the biblical picture of what the “last days” (keep in mind these last days have been going on for 2,000 years): “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” Jesus answered: Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Christ,’ and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains. “Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come…For then there will be great distress, unequaled from the beginning of the world until now–and never to be equaled again. If those days had not been cut short, no one would survive , but for the sake of the elect those days will be shortened. At that time if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ!’ or, ‘There he is!’ do not believe it. For false Christs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and miracles to deceive even the elect–if that were possible. See, I have told you ahead of time. Matthew 24:4-25 Just consider how Jesus responds to His disciples asking Him about the consummation of the ages. Our Master begins by saying (1) watch out that NO ONE deceive you. Deceive us how? (2) By coming in the name of Jesus, claiming to be Christ (or in charismatic extremist terms “I am Anointed” ) and WILL deceive many. Jesus goes on to say that in these very last of days that (3) MANY will turn away from the faith and hate each other. (4) MANY false prophets will appear and deceive MANY people. Due to all these things (5) the love of MOST will grow cold. He goes on to warn us that both false Christs and false prophets will appear and work GREAT SIGNS and MIRACLES to deceive even the elect if possible! He ends by saying “see, I have told you ahead of time.” What is missing from Jesus’ comments? He is warning His followers to be on the alert and to watch out for the very real possibility of being deceived. He says just because people come using His name does not mean that He sent them and the undiscerning (many people) will be deceived by these frauds. Jesus does not say “oh there will be great revivals and nations will be swept into My kingdom.” On the contrary, He says that MANY will become apostate and defect from biblical Christianity. Bill Hamon wrote in the 1980’s that “God” showed him that God was releasing 10,000 prophets into the earth. (10) Bookstores are filled with books by self-proclaimed prophets and alleged “anointed” ones. Sounds like a fulfillment of “Many false prophets” deceiving MANY. He closes by warning that some of these false Christs and false prophets will work lying signs and wonders of such a compelling nature that if it were possible they could mislead even the elect of God! Compare the words of Jesus with those of RHB. RHB contradicts everything Jesus plainly said about the end times, now who will you believe? What about the Holy Spirit’s warning through Paul to the Thessalonians? The coming of the lawless one will be in accordance with the work of Satan displayed in all kinds of counterfeit miracles, signs and wonders, and in every sort of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because they refused to love the truth and so be saved. 2 Thessalonians 2:9-10 Paul does not seem to be proclaiming revival or great awakening either in the last of days. He warns Timothy of the following: But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God– having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them. 2 Timothy 3:1-5 But mark this — in the last days there will be great times of mass conversions, all of God’s people working signs and wonders so much so that the government and media will be transformed! No, we read exactly the opposite. I really have to wonder what translation of the Bible RHB and his followers are reading. Near the end of his ministry the Apostle Peter warns his reads (and us) about what to be on guard against: But there were also false prophets among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you. They will secretly introduce destructive heresies, even denying the sovereign Lord who bought them–bringing swift destruction on themselves. Many will follow their shameful ways and will bring the way of truth into disrepute. In their greed these teachers will exploit you with stories they have made up. Their condemnation has long been hanging over them, and their destruction has not been sleeping. 2 Peter 2:1-3 This has ever been true, but how much truer it seems in our day! False teachers proclaiming every brand of heresy are on television, holding conferences, traveling the globe (in their private jets). Literally millions of people gladly follow these liars. How many people have been exploited by the likes of Mary K. Baxter, Jesse Duplantis, Cho Thomas and others regarding their alleged trips to heaven and hell? Countless others build their SINistries on personal encounters with Jesus (Kenneth E. Hagin) or meeting with angels (Roland Buck, Cindy Jacobs, etc.). Why doesn’t Peter tell us of the coming great wave of power and glory? Why is he so negative? I don’t see any of these statements as either positive or negative, they are simply statements of truth that we would do well to listen to. There are many other verses I could cite that deal with the dangers from false apostles and false brethren, but I think I have cited enough to demonstrate that what Mr. Browne is proclaiming is a lie. Please understand I am not some doom-and-gloom person, I have read the end of the Book and Jesus Christ returns and every knee bows to Him and He established everlasting righteousness on the earth and we His people are with Him! I am in total agreement with all legitimate forms of evangelism where God’s Word is accurately presented and the Holy Spirit is allowed to draw whom He will to faith. But do not be deceived by anyone who proclaims some tremendous “move” of the Spirit ( always just on the horizon) and cities and countries being swept into the kingdom of God by last day/end time super anointed spiritual warriors. Anyone who teaches such things is at best biblically ignorant and at worst is a person saying what he or she knows will “sell” even through they don’t believe it themselves. Make no mistake Rodney Howard-Browne is that type of calculating individual who is simply pandering something he knows will not come to pass, but he is willing to make money from God’s gullible saints who are looking for something beyond Word and sacrament. ♦ 1. Date obtained from an Ives Brault article for PFO. This article is located at : http://www.pfo.org/intoxic.htm 2. Ibid 3. Obtained from RHB’s officla website http://www.revival.com/www/r.aspx?p=54. 4. Obtained from http://www.deceptioninthechurch.com/lewd.html. 5. Charisma, July 2007, The Coming Great Awakening p. 53 6. “Soft-drugs” are not considered to be a problem by the Dutch this includes marijuana hashish, and basically anything other than heroin and cocaine. 7. Charisma, July 2007, The Coming Great Awakening p. 53 Underlining added for emphasis. 8. All of these organization are cited on his official website found at http://www.revival.com Charisma, July 2007, The Coming Great Awakening p. 55. 9. Charisma, July 2007, the Coming Great Awakening, 0p. 55. 10. Hamon, Bill The very corpulent king of “gospel giggles” is smiling all the way to the bank. As he preached about hell and eternal damnation the people laughed and RHB called it “revival.” Admittedly, Browne is not the “great apostasy” but he is indicative of it. Comments : Comments Off on The Coming Great Awakening Tags: anointing, Beeny Hinn, Bill Hamon, Charismatic extremistism, Cindy Jacobs, Cult, Discernment Ministries, Discernment Ministries International, Education, George Whitfield, Joel Osteen, Johnathan Edwards, Kenneth E. Hagin, Mary K. Baxter, Pentecostal, Randy Clark, Revival, RHB, Richard Roberts, Roland Buck, Sign-gifts, Steve Hill, Toronto Vineyard, Vineyard Church, WOF Categories : Benny Hinn, charismatic issues, Cho Thomas, Christianity, discernment, Discernment Ministries International, false doctrine, false teachers, Jesse Duplantis, Joyce Meyer, Lakeland, New Wine, Oral Roberts, Paula White, Revival, Rodney Howard Browne, Sign-gift christians, Theology, Toronto Blessing, Word of Faith

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Personal Branding on Social Media with Stapho Thienpont Aug 13, 2019 | Dreamchasers, Latest Welcome to episode 5 of Dreamchasers! Today we’re covering personal branding on social media, and how to be known as ‘the person with the answer’. Stapho Thienpont is a guest who gets zero-budget, human marketing, because that’s how he started his agency. Known as the ‘buff Harry Potter’, he was in Jiu Jitsu competitions around the world, and from his story, took it really seriously. Until one day he realized that all his grit and determination wasn’t adding anything to the world. So he returned home, and started reading, sharing, and contributing to the market by leaning on his skills. Today, his agency for B2B social marketing is doing extremely well. Join me and find out how to think about personal branding, why LinkedIn is like Tindr, what you can do with all that reading you’re doing, and a nugget of pure gold; a tried-and-tested formula for impressing and inspiring leads. Dreamchasers is the interview series for people who want human marketing on a zero budget. I’m your host, Dominic de Souza. Listen in for tips and insights, for 15 minutes a week. It’s the dreamers who make the future. Chase yours. Meet Stapho Thienpont salesrebellion.com | Linkedin Leading a Sales Rebellion Watch the SalesRebellion video Hey everyone! Thanks for joining us. It’s another episode of Dreamchasers the interview series for people who want human marketing on a zero budget. Stapho Thienpont lives in Bulgaria and he runs Marketing Family. This guy has this hilarious branding thing where he’s the buff Harry Potter, because he looks like Harry Potter, and a bunch of his background is in Jiu-Jitsu. So he does a lot of advising for companies with B2B lead generation consulting, that sort of thing. Thank you for joining us! Stapho I’m very happy to be here, because I also feel that I’m part of your audience or at least similar to your audience, and I’m also somebody who started my company we were actually in debt. So we really built this agency out from the ground up with no budget. You focus on personal brands. I should have brought that up. What is it with personal brands then that people are struggling with? How are they not getting that? So the thing is you want people to come to you because they know that they can trust you. Because they know that if they come to you, you’re going to solve their problem, whatever it is. A personal brand is a little bit like your reputation in high school, you know, like if everybody knows like “oh, that’s the guy that’s does Jiu Jitsu. Let’s not try to mess with him too much.” But when one of your friends is being beaten up, who is the first guy they’re going to call? So a personal brand is about making sure that the right people who should know you get to know you. A lot of personal branding happens on social media these days, and what makes that difficult is that they just stay in there. They post to their feed, and a couple of thousand people see it, and then they forget about you. Maybe the people that you have in your LinkedIn connections might be your colleagues or your ex-colleagues from high school. They’re not the people that need to know you, right? So the hard thing is structuring it and systemizing [your content] in a way so that you’re continuously attracting the right people by giving them the the correct ‘yummy contents’, but also making sure that you get to connect with them up front maybe one to one. That is the challenge I see. It’s like everybody is listening to Gary Vaynerchuk. They understand they got to hustle, to put out content. But how do you do that? You know, how do you take a structured approach? How do you make it so they’re not waking up going on social media posting all day and going back to sleep, and in the end of the month, you check your bank account and there’s no money in there? No, structuring it, being consistent, making sure there’s ROI… That is what I think is biggest difficulty for most people in the personal branding space. When it comes to building that personal brand, I keep hearing from people that it feels fake, like they’re creating a persona. Or it’s not really them, or who they are when they’re doing this kind of work is not who you’re going to meet at a barbecue. How do you respond to something like that? So it’s a really good question. In my opinion, personal brands is an extension of who you are. But that requires a little bit more context, because that’s kind of a used slogan. First of all, there’s many parts to your personality, right? There’s different parts of the brain, and you have how you act in different kinds of situations. Say for me, my personal brand is about helping people generate B2B leads. That’s really the main thing. But right now I’ve been thinking about this video game I’m playing, ‘God of War,’ right? You could say this is not authentic, but I wouldn’t say so. Personal branding – if you do it strategically – you take the parts of yourself that are real. You’re an expert, you’re knowledgeable about something, and you care about something. And you find a way to structure it correctly and systematically and consistently to match the stuff that your potential clients need to know, right? So it’s not about creating a fake persona that matches what your target audience wants. It’s about where does my personality and my expertise overlap with what my target needs to know. What is in that sweet spot inbetween? Amplify that. So it’s not about coming up with something new, because you’re because ‘that’s gonna bring the people.’ I don’t know if you’re fan or whatever, but you don’t have to be Conor McGregor and talk s*** all the time just because that will bring in attention. No, there is something already interesting about you. There is something that you already have. Usually that is of value. That should just be amplified that match the needs in the market Exactly. So it’s like you’re pulling into focus the parts of who you are that play well or that support properly your service. Like you said, you could be a complete gamer on the side, but that doesn’t really need to factor into your brand as B2B sales. Maybe it could, but then the takeaway is you could have multiple personal brands, depending on your audience and your channel and your outreach right? Because it’s different areas of you that you’re pulling into Focus for perhaps a different project. Yeah, I wouldn’t necessarily disagree with that. That would be correct. At the same time, there is so much effort that goes into building a personal brand, and there’s such a scarcity in terms of attention, that ideally you want to pick your message and just hammer that same message over time to the same people. When those people really start caring about you, then you can like become a little bit more broad. But in the beginning, let’s say the first year, I would really choose one audience and choose one message, and just keep keep repeating that one. Not that you couldn’t do it. It’s just that I that’s going to be like the biggest bang for your buck. Incremental efforts have exponential results, because every time you activate one little switch in the head, it’s going to activate other stuff as well within themselves, but also with them communicate with our people and just keep hitting those switches, it’s just going to be more than linear results. Absolutely. Let’s take a couple of minutes. I’d like to hear more of your story. Like how do you go from Jiu-Jitsu into creating Marketing Family? That’s a really interesting question. So before, I dropped out of college to go train Jiu-Jitsu full-time in Stockholm, Sweden. So I am from Belgium. For the people who don’t know, that’s really on the other side of Europe. It’s very far away. I went there and I lived in the gym, slept on the mats for a while. I was competing all over the world. I fought in Europe, in LA, all those kind of places. But one day, I realized that I’m developing myself, and gaining better skill, and my mindset is improving, and all this kind of stuff. But the actual physical output of what I’m doing is me choking my friends, you know? And my friends choking me. Ultimately, I had this moment where it’s like “what is the actual value I’m bringing it to the universe?” So I had no money. I had to move back to Belgium live with my mom again, and I figured I’m a pretty smart guy, and I can work hard. So I should use that to bring value to the market. So I started to think ‘what is this stuff that is good for you, that is important to me?’ In the beginning, I wanted to be location-independent, so that I can go wherever I want to go. That was what very important to me. So I wanted to work with my natural strengths which are systems and analyzing stuff. As well as psychology. Those are things that I’m naturally attracted to. So that’s how I just started with the Marking Family. I read a marketing book, and then I shared online the stuff that I learned, and then I made a group for people that wanted to hear the stuff that I learned about marketing. It was really funny, because I just read a book and then I put it out there. Then people start seeing me as an expert. I was like totally open about it, “I’m just getting this from this book.” But that accumulates, you know. People start seeing us as an expert, and they started to ask for help with this and that. Over time, it starts to turn into something that actually can drive revenue, attract customers, and attract those people that you can actually help. That’s what started happening. It was like, “I can’t do this by myself.” So then I moved to Bulgaria (where I am now), and I built my agency. We’re full-time and then there’s 15-ish people externally who help as well. But at all just comes from me wanting to advance in the market, figuring out how I can help myself by just reading, sharing what I’ve learned, and that’s turned into this crazy roller coaster. What a fantastic content idea, or way to start engaging discussions on LinkedIn: share what you’re reading, especially if you’re the kind of person who does that that a lot. I know that there’s a lot of people – I’ve met them – on LinkedIn who do a ton of reading, but they don’t share it as often. So it’s a really great suggestion. And then when you if you go this route you got to be sensitive to to how your own brain works. For example, me personally. I’m a pretty good synthesizer. So I could take lots of information and condense it into very very little words. So that plays really well into LinkedIn video, and LinkedIn short-form content. Somebody else they might want to be more elaborate and more specific in their language. Then they could go for the articles, or podcasts, or whatever. Then you can still use a short form to get that out there. But just don’t do what the next guy is doing because it works for them. Pay attention to how you like to consume and produce content, and use that. Don’t be like “he makes one-line posts, let’s do that.” Just follow what’s your natural strengths. Let’s wrap up with maybe a couple of suggestions. So you run a social media agency. You’re always thinking about engaging, short form content for a lot of your clients. So for the audience that we’re talking about here – remote, no budget, and looking to add a lot of value, and especially if they are refining their personal brand – what might be one place that you would recommend people to start? I mean apart from this great idea of maybe synthesizing what you’re reading. What might be another idea that these kinds of people could do to create engagement? So I’m gonna answer your question, but I’m going to spin it around a little bit. Over the last two weeks, I’ve been doing some experimentation. I haven’t talked about my results anywhere, and I think this is going to be a really good premiere for your audience. So I came up with a new method. Well, it’s not new, nothing is new, but something that’s new for me. I’ve created a new way of posting, or new way of writing, and I think people should do this when they’re at home. It’s a post that starts with a really specific and crazy result that I’ve created for myself or for my clients. It’s very important is that it’s just the one line. You can go to one of my posts, and you’ll see how for one of my clients, in one month’s time, we brought them 157,000 views on their LinkedIn profile content. So that is it is crazy amount to do in one month, for like the first month post. Nobody does this. So I start with the crazy results. Then the next step is to explain why it’s so crazy. I will say “okay, but look, this is how I’ve actually done it.” So I’ll give them three to four five steps so that you’re not only bragging. You dangle the results that they want a front of them, then you say “look, this is actually really crazy results, and this is how I’ve done it.” Then you link it back to your own service. And you add something of scarcity over there. So it’s like “I got this amount of views for my clients. It’s really crazy because the average is this. We’ve taken these five steps that you can just make at home, if you want, but it just so happen, magically, I actually have one opening for one client this week, or this month, or whatever. So if you want these crazy results for yourself, you can reach out to me over the DM.” This template has gotten me eight discovery calls, but out of those 8, 7 have turned into proposals. So the ratio there is pretty crazy. And that is something that I think people should take home to work on. How can you take a tiny piece of your work. Because it doesn’t matter if the whole project was a success or not. Just one detail that is really impressive. Put it out there in the world. Explain to the people why it’s crazy. Then show them how to do it, and give them some kind of call to action to reach out to you. This has been phenomenal for me and I’m now rolling it out for all my clients. It’s brilliant. I mean, it’s not even like a hack. You’re not even cheating. You’re leading with the results, helping people see how it’s possible, and then helping them. And like you said, especially if you’re an individual running their own business, it’s not totally a scarcity thing. You literally only have a set period of time available so like each week. There’s many ways to add the scarcity there, but it’s really the point is you got to give people urgency to act now. Out of this people that messaged me about it, they said, “oh, I guess it’s finally time to reach out to you.” “What are you talking about? We’ve been connected for a year and a half. Why reaching out to me ‘now?’ Because I told you I have an opening? Do you really think I didn’t have any openings over the last year?” It’s because I said “Now is the time” that people will act. It’s so important for your marketing. So you have a huge focus in the B2B space. Does that mean you live a lot on LinkedIn, or have you also built up other communities on other networks, like Facebook? So I have my own Facebook group, which is like 2,500 members, which is where most of my clients came from. I’ve actually also have the biggest Facebook group for videographers in Belgium. We’ve run a lot of different kind of Instagram accounts, especially with automation. So we really play with a lot of different platforms, but my main platform is definitely LinkedIn, and I can tell you why. Some might think this is funny. The reason I like LinkedIn is first of all, there was a huge opening because the platform was exploding right when I got into it. I got really good mentors there. But the real reason is that I feel like LinkedIn is a little bit like Tindr. You know, you’re there and you can ‘pretend’ like you just wanna be friends. But ultimately everybody knows why you’re there. I think LinkedIn is the same as saying that it’s like everybody knows you’re there for your business. It’s not necessarily a high intensity platform. You don’t necessarily go there to achieve specific goal. But you are there with the knowledge and the awareness that there’s some business going to go be happening there. It’s a great network because it has that purpose, as opposed to Facebook where it’s kind of all over the place. Nobody really knows why you’re there. It’s one of the reasons why having a bio like yours, which is, part hilarious part awesome. People don’t quite expect that because this is a ‘business network,’ and then you show up with a little bit of humor, a little bit of humanity. On Facebook, everybody’s doing everything every different way. So it’s harder to stand out. So thanks again, this was awesome. A lot of value that we just covered. Yeah! I really enjoyed being here. And anybody that needs some help, you can always reach out to me and if it’s something small that you’re struggling with, I’ll totally help you for free. So don’t don’t be afraid to reach out to me. I’m always doing my very best to help however I can. So it’s been awesome being here, and everybody’s welcome to reach out to see if they need any help Take him up on that. That is very generous. All right catch y’all soon! Dominic de Souza Born in New Zealand, raised in Australia, studied in Fiji and France, now living in the United States. After writing my first novel at 13, I spent 15 years in marketing and design. Today, I help wildly-passionate small businesses clarify their story to spellbind people. Subscribe to read these in your inbox! Helping you spellbind with story! Hi, I'm Dominic! Born in New Zealand, raised in Australia, studied in Fiji and France, now living in the United States. After writing my first novel at 13, I spent 15 years in marketing and design. Today, I help wildly-passionate small businesses spellbind people through storytelling their branding. Ever roadmapped your brand? Schedule a one-on-one with me today. Sign up for storytelling made simple! Once a week, get tips and ideas on storytelling, and how you can spellbind you branding and marketing. Sign up, and get the first issue of ‘Small, Smart, & Savvy!' Small, Smart, & Savvy: The microzine for real stories from real people marketing a small business Which of these 5 types of brand are you? (It impacts your content mission!) Why we need Small Business Stories. Lots of them. Fireside vs stageside: what storytelling is… and isn’t Branding and marketing to persuade, inspire, and motivate people. Build community by creating connection. Easy to use, modern, and beautiful, your website is built around your storymaking. Design to win hearts and minds. Simple and stunning so that you always stand out. Your brand must be striking & spellbinding. That’s why Dream Again isn’t just raising the bar, but redefining it. Get beautiful design, fanatical support, and storytelling. Stop dreading your future. Start dreaming again. Greenville, SC. Serving anywhere. Normal hours of operation: Mon–Fri: 10AM – 4PM © 2019 Dominic de Souza, DBA Dream Again Marketing – All Rights Reserved | Website: dreamagainmarketing.com | Contact

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Seraphim Falls 2007 R 1h 55m DVD Five years after the end of the Civil War, Morsman Carver -- a former Confederate colonel seeking revenge for a wartime atrocity -- leads a posse into the snowy mountains of the American West on a relentless hunt for an ex-Union officer. Liam Neeson, Pierce Brosnan, Michael Wincott, Xander Berkeley, Ed Lauter, Tom Noonan, Kevin J. O'Connor, John Robinson, Anjelica Huston, Angie Harmon David Von Ancken Action & Adventure, Westerns English, Spanish (Neutral), French English: Dolby Digital 5.1 R - Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. Contains some adult material. Parents are urged to learn more about the film before taking their young children with them.

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Durham City: Elvet and Shincliffe Aelfet-ee Elvet – the Swan Island Elvet, across the River Wear to the east of the Durham peninsula is bounded by the river on its western, northern and eastern sides so that like the ‘Dun Holm’ it forms an ‘island’ of sorts, although unlike the hilly peninsula, Elvet is flat riverside land. Records of Elvet’s existence actually predate the settlement of Dunholm in 995 AD so it may have been a place of importance. Anciently Elvet was called Aelfet ee which in a very old tongue meant ‘Swan Island’ . Elvet Bridge. Photo © David Simpson 2018 Aelfet ee is recorded in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles as the place where a certain Peotwine was consecrated as the Bishop of Whithorn in the year 762 AD. This consecration took place two hundred and thirty three years before the founding of Durham, as at this time the Dun Holm is thought to have been a densely wooded mostly uninhabited area. Elvet, flatter and more accessible may have been settled and cultivated. It is worth noting that Simeon of Durham, an eleventh century historian with access to ancient documents, suggested the existence of an earlier settlement in the vicinity of Durham. Simeon described the densely wooded Durham peninsula as containing a small cultivated plain which was regularly ploughed and sown by farmers before the settlement of St Cuthbert’s carriers in 995 AD. Perhaps the farmers came from a small agricultural settlement at Elvet. Pudsey’s Bridge The first mention of Elvet in Norman times was during the episcopacy of Bishop William St Carileph who granted the area to the Prior and Convent of Durham as a ‘free borough’ with licence to maintain forty merchant’s houses free from secular service. Elvet was seemingly a suburb of considerable size. In the twelfth century during the time of Bishop Pudsey (1153-1195) the growth of the borough of Elvet was further stimulated by the construction of Elvet Bridge linking Elvet to Saddler Street on the Durham peninsula. Elvet Bridge, Durham. Photo © David Simpson 2018 Repairs were carried out around 1500 by Bishop Fox and in 1771 further reconstructions were undertaken after three arches were destroyed in a great flood that wrecked most of the bridges on the Wear, Tyne and Tees. Elvet Bridge has seven arches of which three are dry land arches. Two of the arches are hidden by buildings. In medieval times a number of buildings were situated upon this bridge including two chapels which stood at either end. One building still exists on the bridge today above a dry arch and can be identified by its Dutch gabled exterior. It is situated at the Elvet end of the bridge on the site of the medieval Chapel of St. Andrew. Elvet Bridge is one of only three bridges in England with houses situated upon them. Ghost of a gypsy piper At the Saddler Street end of Elvet Bridge stood St James’s Chapel which was replaced by a House of Correction in 1632. Two prison cells associated with the long since demolished Great North Gate in Saddler Street can be seen beneath the western land arch of Elvet Bridge. The cells are reputed to be haunted by the ghost of Jimmy Allan, a gypsy piper who was one of the most notorious and colourful characters in the history of Northumbria. Jimmy was an adopted member of the Faas, a famous gypsy clan who inhabited the Cheviot Hills on the border between England and Scotland. Jimmy’s father, Wull Faa, had taught him to play the Northumbrian pipes at a very young age and the young man’s musical talents caught the attention of people far and wide until he eventually succeeded in becoming the official piper to the Duchess of Northumberland, a post he held for two years. Unfortunately Jimmy was a man of many diversions with a great love of drinking and gambling and an eye for pretty women, many of whom he conned out of purse. Cattle stealing was another of Jimmy’s vices but his favourite pastime seems to have been enlisting and deserting from British and Foreign armies, presumably for money. On the run for most of his life, Jimmy was pursued far and wide for desertion and other crimes. He was locked up twice and escaped twice, running off to Edinburgh and Dublin where he impressed the residents of those cities with his musical abilities. His journeys took him much further still to the Dutch East Indies via India and to the Baltic “without any passport but his pipes”. In 1803 Jimmy was finally arrested at Jedburgh in the Scottish Borders for stealing a horse from Gateshead in the County of Durham. From Jedburgh he was taken to Durham where he was tried and sentenced to death. Luckily for him someone intervened and his sentence was reduced to life imprisonment . Jimmy remained locked up in the cell beneath Durham’s Elvet Bridge for seven years where he eventually died in the year 1810 aged seventy seven. He was rather unfortunate because a pardon had been granted which arrived only a few days after his death. As for the cells underneath Elvet Bridge, it is said that if you listen carefully you may still be able to hear the eerie, haunting musical sounds of Jimmy’s Northumbrian pipes – it is Jimmy’s ghost of course! Old Elvet and the Shire Hall Elvet Bridge leads directly from Saddler Street on the peninsula into the wide street called Old Elvet which was once the site of the city’s horse fair. Many of the buildings in Old Elvet are of eighteenth century origin with one of the obvious exceptions being the Old Shire Hall, a Victorian red brick building topped with a green copper dome. The Old Shire Hall, built in 1895 was originally the County Hall for Durham before it was replaced by the modern County Hall to the north of the city in the 1960s. Old Elvet, Durham. Photo © David Simpson 2018 In 2018 the Shire Hall became Durham’s Hotel Indigo and inside it preserves many of the splendid features of the hall. From 1963, the Old Shire Hall had served as the administrative headquarters for the University of Durham. Historically the hall has an important place in the history of the British Labour movement, as it was here in 1909 that the first all Labour County Council in Britain assembled. The first chairman of this council was Mr Peter Lee (1864-1935) a former miner’s leader who had started his working life at Littletown Colliery to the west of Durham City at the age of only ten. Today, Peter Lee is commemorated in the name of Peterlee in the eastern part of County Durham, a new town that was designated in 1943. The other prominent building in Old Elvet after the Shire Hall is the Royal County Hotel, created from four existing buildings in the 1970s, one of which was already known as the Royal County. Further extensions have been made in more recent times but parts of the building date from the eighteenth century. The exterior of the hotel is noted for its balcony on which prominent members of the Labour movement view the passing crowds on Miner’s Gala Day. Inside, the hotel is notable for its impressive staircase dating from 1660. It is said to have been brought from Loch Leven Castle. Gala on the Racecourse Old Elvet leads towards the riverside sports grounds on the area of land once known as the ‘Smithy Haughs’, which means ‘the smooth meadow’ or ‘smith’s meadow’. In Durham this is commonly known as the ‘Racecourse’ being the former site of a racecourse though races have not been held here for many decades. Dating from at least the seventeenth century, the Durham race meetings were very popular with people from throughout the region and on one occasion on April 14, 1873 a crowd of 80,000 people attended. The crowd stunned the people of Durham and brought the little city to a stand still. To add to the problem a second meeting was to be held the next day and there was a desperate shortage of accommodation so that many of the townsfolk offered their homes as lodgings for the night. This crowd may have been huge for a small city, but in later years it was completely eclipsed by the massive attendances at the Durham Miners’ Gala which was also held on the Racecourse. Scene from the Durham Miners’ Gala. Photo © John Simpson 2015 Traditionally held on the third Saturday in July. The coal miners who flocked to the gala (pronounced ‘gayla’) went to demonstrate their unity and claim their rights to fair pay and safe working conditions. These men had little sympathy for those with right wing views and this was demonstrated by an amusing incident which occurred at the gala in 1925. In that year unemployment was particularly high in the County Durham coalfield at a time when a certain Hensley Henson was Bishop of Durham. Henson had become bishop in 1920 during a miner’s strike and strongly criticised the use of strike action which he argued should become obsolete. This won Henson few friends among the miners and at the gala of 1925 when a group of miners spotted the bishop, he was lifted from his feet and escorted to the river where it is said they attempted to throw him in. Fortunately the man fell into a boat, losing his hat and umbrella in the process. Lucky for him, because it turned out that this was not the Bishop at all but the Dean of Durham, Dr J Weldon, who was at the gala to give a speech about the evils of drink. Durham Prison One of Durham’s best known buildings is of course the prison which was built at Elvet in 1810 to replace the earlier gaol situated in the now long since destroyed Great North Gate. The new prison was constructed with the assistance of Bishop Shute Barrington who was keen to see the destruction of the old gaol which caused a great inconvenience to traffic. Barrington pledged £2,000 towards the construction of the new building and on 31 July 1809 the foundation stones were laid by Sir Henry Vane Tempest. The building was initially constructed by a Mr Sandys who also built the nearby courts but his work was criticised and he was dismissed before its completion. Most of the work of Sandys was removed and a new architect was employed by the name of Moneypenny but he died during its construction and the work was completed by the Durham architect Ignatius Bonomi. The prisoners were not transferred to the Elvet prison until 1819 but the execution of a murderer by the name of John Grieg took place here in 1816. Conditions in the new gaol were probably better than those in the Great North Gate but it is interesting to note that in 1827 the prisoner diet was confined to two helpings of oatmeal porridge and a pound of bread on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. On other days they were treated to potatoes and fish. Durham prison has about 600 cells and at least one ghost who reputedly haunts a cell on the ground floor of the main wing which had to be converted into a storeroom following complaints from prisoners who claimed to witness a ghostly murder in the cell during the night. It is said that a former occupant of the cell was stabbed to death by another inmate. Durham Gaol has been the long-term home to many notorious criminals and a short-term home to many lesser offenders such as Tommy Armstrong, a bow-legged miner from Tanfield who was known as the ‘Pitman Poet’ because of his talent for composing songs about life in the Durham coalfield. Tommy had a fondness for the drink and it was during a period of drunkenness that the incident occurred which resulted in his imprisonment at Durham. According to his plea he had stumbled, drunkenly, into the Co-operative store in the town of Stanley and pinched a pair of stockings which had a bow legged appearance that would have fitted him perfectly. During his time in prison Tommy Armstrong composed one of his best known songs entitled ‘Nee Gud Luck in Dorham Jail’ which gives an unusual insight into life in the prison, here are a some of the verses: “Ye’l awl hev ard o’ Dorham But it wad ye much sorprise To see the prisoners in the yard, When they’re on exorcise The yard is built eroond wi’ walls, Se’ noabil and se’ strang, Whe ivor gans there heh te bide Thor time be it short or lang There’s nee gud luck in Dorham Jail Theres nee gud luck at awl Whats the breed en skilly for But just te make ye small When ye gan te Dorham Jail They’ll find ye wi emploi, They’ll dress ye up se dandy In a suit o cordy roy; They’ll fetch a cap wi’oot a peak En nivvor axe yer size En like yer suite its cordy roy En cums doon ower yer eyes The Forst month is th’ worst of aal Yor feelins’ they will try There’s nowt but two greet lumps e wood, On which ye hae to lie Then eftor that ye gans te bed, But it is ard as stoanes It neet ye daresn’t make a torn In case ye break some bones” Tommy’s song finishes with a spoken passage about life in the Jail: “That’s the place te gan if yer matched te fight; Thorl fetch ye doon te yor weight if yer ower heavy. They feed ye on the floor broth ivory meal en thee put it doon at the front for e’ th’ hoose yer livin’ in. When the tornkey opens the door, upt yer hand oot an ye’l get a had iv a shot box we bee lid, an vary little inside it; its grand stuff for the women folks te paper their wall with. It sticks te yor ribs, but its not made for a man that hes te hew coals. Bide away if they’ll let ye.” New Elvet Bridge, Kingsgate and Hallgarth Street The street of New Elvet joins Old Elvet from the west and until the 1930s when new buildings were constructed it was of a very similar appearance to Old Elvet. Today, the most imposing buildings in New Elvet are the concrete Dunelm House which is Durham University’s Student Union building (1961-65), and the former Three Tuns Hotel. In days gone the Three Tuns was noted for Mrs Brown’s Cherry Brandy which was presented with the compliments of the landlady to any traveller who resided here for the night. This was an old English custom which had survived at the Three Tuns longer than anywhere else along the Great North Road. Other notable houses of refreshment in the vicinity include the Swan and Three Cygnets, the name of which reminds us that Elvet was once a ‘Swan Island’, on the opposite side of the bridge we can see an historic house built on the dry arch of Elvet Bridge. At Dunelm House New Elvet splits into two streets called Hallgarth Street and Church Street near the latter of which a lane leads the walker across the River Wear via Kingsgate footbridge. Used mainly by students, the bridge was built by the great Civil Engineer Ove Arup (1895-1988). Arup was responsible for many great projects including the Sydney Opera House but he always considered the Kingsgate Bridge his favourite work. The bridge dates from 1963 and is built of Shap granite aggregate. The road on the left fork from New Elvet signposted to Stockton is Hallgarth Street. It takes its name from the site of a hall belonging to the priors of Durham called Hallgarth. Associated with this hall was the Hallgarth tithe barn, a medieval structure that can still be seen near Durham prison. It was used to house the portion of the local harvest that the prior’s tenants owed to the monastery of Durham. St Oswald’s church and Kingsgate Bridge, Durham. Photo © John Simpson St Oswald’s church The road on the right fork leading from New Elvet is called Church Street and takes its name from the nearby Church of St. Oswald. The earliest part of this church dates from the twelfth century but the site is thought to be older as a number of Anglo-Saxon finds have been discovered here. The finds consisted of five pre-Norman Conquest sculptures incorporated into the wall of the church which were removed in the later part of the nineteenth century. Studies show that the sculptures may date from some time before the settlement on the peninsula of Durham called Dun Holm. It seems likely that this area was the place where Bishop Peotwine was consecrated in 762 AD. The fact that the church is dedicated to St Oswald may also be of significance as this is the only ancient church in Northumberland or Durham dedicated to him. St Oswald was in fact a king of Northumbria (634-641 A.D) who converted the people of his kingdom to Christianity with the assistance of St Aidan, a predecessor of St Cuthbert. It seems likely that Elvet was a place of importance in King Oswald’s time. St Oswald’s Church, Durham. Photo © David Simpson 2018 In the churchyard across the road from St Oswald’s Church we can find the grave of Dr John Bacchus Dykes, founder of Cambridge University Musical Society. Principally famous for composing the hymns Jesu Lover of My Soul and Nearer my God to thee, he was the Vicar at St Oswalds from 1864 until his death in 1876. Mount Joy and Maiden Castle From New Elvet, Hallgarth Street leads out of the city by the A177 (the Shincliffe Peth) into the surrounding countryside. The road leads past two very historic sites which lie just beyond the outskirts of Elvet on either side of the road. On the right to the west is the small hill called Mount Joy near to the Houghall Wood and to the left of the road on a hill to the east is the site of Maiden Castle which is completely surrounded by a beautiful old oak woodland. Mount Joy is of course the place associated with the legendary sighting of the Dun Cow by the carriers of St Cuthbert’s coffin in 995 AD but its name may also be connected with an old French term. In France ‘Mont Joie’ was the place where pilgrims heaped stones when they gained sight of their destination. Mount Joy, Durham was perhaps the place where Norman pilgrims to the shrine of St Cuthbert carried out a similar practice. Maiden Castle may be an Iron Age fortress belonging to the ancient British tribe called the Brigantes who were strongly associated with the southern part of County Durham. The name Maiden Castle does seem to originate from ancient times and may derive from ‘Moe Din’, Moe meaning grassy plain Din meaning fort. There are a number of other Maiden Castles in England including a gigantic promontory fort in Dorset and a similar example near Reeth in the northern part of Yorkshire. Another suggestion regarding the origin of Maiden Castle is that it is the site of an ancient fortress called Caer Weir. This is referred to by Welsh chroniclers as a place held by the Anglo-Saxons during their early battles against the Welsh speaking Ancient Britons who once inhabited the north. In reality the exact origins of Maiden Castle are unknown but its situation on a hill called Maiden Scaur or Nab End would certainly have provided good protection from attack. This is particularly so on the eastern side where there is a steep climb up an escarpment near the River Wear. It is perhaps not as well defended as it may have been in Iron Age times as by natural processes the River Wear which afforded it extra protection has gradually moved its course away from the site. There is very little to be seen of the ancient fort of Maiden Castle today as over the years the traces of its rampart ditch have slowly been eroded away. Maiden Castle is located close to a part of Durham called Old Durham which was inhabited in Roman times. Shincliffe The pretty little village of Shinclife, just south of the Elvet area of Durham City has a name that intriguingly derives from the Anglo-Saxon ‘Scinna Cliffe’ meaning ‘the hill of the ghost or demon’ although it is a pleasant old village that seems an unlikely setting for demonic activities. In medieval times Shincliffe belonged to the priors of Durham Cathedral monastery who seemed to have got involved in several quarrels with the bishop in this area. It is recorded that in 1300 the prior was attacked by the bishop’s retainers on Shincliffe Bridge and five years later the same prior complained that one of the bishop’s servants had stolen a horse from him at Shincliffe and taken it off to Durham Castle. The priors park lay just to the north of Shincliffe. Shincliffe. © David Simpson The neighbouring village of High Shincliffe lies just to the south of Shincliffe itself. It is now a modern estate but occupies the site of an old mining settlement called Bank Top. The miners who once lived here came from all parts of Northumberland and Durham but surprisingly none actually originated from Shincliffe. The pit had been sunk around 1837 and one of its later owners was Joseph Love, a former miner who married into wealth and became a coal owner. Despite his charitable donations to the church he had a reputation for undue harshness in his behaviour towards the miners. Love is said to have made a fortune from fining miners who in his opinion were not working hard enough and would also occasionally stop credit to miners at the local shops which he owned. Love’s colliery village at Shincliffe Bank Top had a population of around 3,000 but in 1874 the seams had been worked, the pit closed and the residents moved on. Durham City Origins | Durham Cathedral Durham Castle and The Baileys | Durham Market Place Durham : Gilesgate Durham : Framwellgate to Finchale Spennymoor and Croxdale Deerness Valley | Lanchester and the Browney valley

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International affairs / Cyberspace How safely do we behave online?; A study of the relationship between knowledge, opportunity, motivation and the online behaviour of Dutch citizens (full text only available in Dutch) Knowledge about how citizens behave online and how they (might) defend themselves against online crime is scarce. To date, it... Cybersecurity; A state-of-the-art review The NCTV (Nationaal Coördinator Terrorismebestrijding en Veiligheid – ‘National Coordinator for Security and... (Mis)connected in a smart society; The Internet of Things: opportunities, threats and measures (full text only available in Dutch) The Internet of Things (IoT) is a network of ’smart’ devices, sensors and other ob-jects, which are connected with each other... Cybercrime and money laundering; Bitcoins, payment service providers and other methods of laundering banking malware and ransomware (full text only available in Dutch) This study focusses on the money laundering process and maps the actors involved in banking malware and ransomware. Banking... Internet-facilitated drugs trade; An analysis of the size, scope and the role of the Netherlands This report aims to investigate the role of the Internet in facilitating drugs trade. Special attention will therefore be... Cybercrime in numbers; Exploring the possibilities to include cybercrime in the National Security Indices (full text only available in Dutch) This study examines whether and how cybercrime can be included in the National Security Indices. Cybercrime is generally used... The governance of cybersecurity; A comparative quick scan of approaches in Canada, Estonia, Germany, the Netherlands and the UK Cybersecurity is a particularly complex field, where multiple public and private actors must work together, often across... Investing in Cybersecurity Cybersecurity has had a prominent place in the spotlight for a while now, both in the Netherlands and abroad. Our digital... Inventory and classification of cyber security standards; (full text only available in Dutch) Deploying cyber security measures according to standardized norms is deemed sensible. Standards ensure efficiency of... Search on related keywords of 'Cyberspace' RT Electronic highway RT Internet

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Peshawar, April 27, 2010 – U.S. Ambassador Anne W. Patterson, President Asif Ali Zardari and Provincial Governor Owais Ahmed Ghani unveil a plaque during the ground-breaking ceremony for the reconstruction of a section of the Peshawar Ring Road. U.S. Ambassador to Pakistan Anne Patterson inaugurated the 25 million dollar reconstruction of 25 kilometers of the Peshawar Southern Ring Road. In late March, the United States and Pakistan, intent on broadening the relationship and co-operation between the two nations and reaffirming the long-term partnership, held their first strategic Dialogue at the Ministerial level. U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Pakistan's Foreign Minister Makhdoom Shah Mahmood Qureshi co-chaired the event. During the Strategic Dialogue, the two countries "took concrete steps to advance work in key areas, including addressing Pakistan’s urgent energy needs and helping rebuild communities damaged by violence," said Deputy Secretary of State for Management and Resources Jacob Lew. One of the achievements resulting from the meeting is the signing by Deputy Secretary Lew and Pakistan’s Finance Secretary Salman Siddique of a Letter of Intent regarding cooperation in construction of priority roads in Pakistan. The Letter of Intent pertains to a 40 million dollar project to upgrade two key roads: the Peshawar Ring Road and the road from Kanju to Madyan in Swat, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa. "This agreement will allow us to move forward with construction of roads in Pakistan that will help stimulate economic growth and enhance law enforcement access to remote areas, to improve public safety and security," said Deputy Secretary of State Lew at the signing. On April 27th, at a ceremony in Peshawar, U.S. Ambassador to Pakistan Anne Patterson inaugurated the first part of the project, the 25 million dollar reconstruction of 25 kilometers of the Peshawar Southern Ring Road. The plan is to widen and improve the Ring Road from two lanes to three lanes, construct service roads, green belts, center medians, and drainage on both sides. " To date, the United States and the Government of Pakistan have worked closely together to build nearly a thousand kilometers of roads in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas. These road projects are accompanied by over a thousand focused agriculture, water, and electric projects which have a multiplying effect on development," said Deputy Secretary Lew. "The United States and Pakistan both recognize that infrastructure development produces immediate and visible results for the Pakistani people, whether it's Pakistani farmers who need to get their crops to market or government officials who need to visit with their constituents. "This [road] is a tangible sign of the long-term partnership between our two nations," he said. "We are pleased to work with the Government of Pakistan to build roads and improve the security and livelihoods of the people of Pakistan." /dalet/Editorial_VO_255_015677_051210_Construction_in_Pakistan.Mp3 Strengthening Pakistan Strategy For Afghanistan, Pakistan Debt Relief For Afghanistan Aid To Pakistani Flood Victims Additional Aid To Pakistan Terrorism Strikes Peshawar Reflecting the Views of the U.S. Government as Broadcast on The Voice of America More Editorials Combating the Poison of Anti-Semitism U.S. Space Policy: Artemis is an International Effort International Holocaust Remembrance Day View From Washington: Death of Qassem Soleimani Cuban General Sanctioned For Rights Violations President Trump on Iranian Aggression and Way Forward U.S. Space Policy: To the Moon and Beyond Labor Rights are Human Rights

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Left wing views from Eastern Europe and around the world 24 March 2018 Ivaylo Atanasov European Commission: Devastating poverty and inequality in Bulgaria The “modestly redistributive effect of flat income tax” and “relatively low levels of social protection spending” mean inequality and poverty in Bulgaria are the highest in the EU, despite economic growth and low unemployment in the country. Despite strong economic growth and low unemployment, “poverty levels and income inequality remain very high” in Bulgaria, notes a report from the European Commission, which provides an in-depth review of the progress made in structural reforms, aimed at eliminating “excessive” macroeconomic imbalances. Between 2012 and 2016, the difference in the income of the richest and the poorest 20% of Bulgarians increased from 6.2 to 7.9, making Bulgaria the most unequal country in the EU. The reason for this is “low social protection costs, which are partly due to low tax revenues and the lack of progressive tax systems.” As a result, “social transfers have a very limited impact on the reduction of poverty and inequality,” leading to persistently high levels of poverty and inequality. Growth in recent years is “an opportunity for structural reforms that could accelerate the catching-up of the rest of the European Union and reduce persistently high levels of poverty and inequality”, but the country is missing this opportunity and the growth is not distributed equally. As of 2016, over 40% of the population was still at risk of poverty or social exclusion, and “the percentage of people experiencing severe material deprivation (31.9%) is four times higher than the average for the EU”. The situation regarding inequality and poverty, and the impact of social transfers aimed at reducing them is defined as “critical”. Worse, getting out of this situation is very difficult as a result of the so-called inequality in opportunities – education, health and access to quality housing. The report states that it “is among the highest in the EU, so success in life depends to a large extent on the achievements of the parents”. Exiting the poverty cycle in Bulgaria is particularly hampered by limited access to social systems from an early age. The European Commission notes that “kindergarten fees are a barrier to full participation in early childhood education and care”. The effect of this is carried over to subsequent educational stages, where “the difference in achievement is closely related to the socio-economic status of pupils and schools.” The dropout rate increased in 2012-16, which is also counter to the European trend. Bulgarians also experience significantly more serious difficulties than other Europeans in obtaining access to healthcare, which is related to the unusually high numbers of uninsured people (12% of the population) and to the extra payments made out of patients’ own pockets, which account for 47% of all healthcare costs, compared to an average of about 15% for the EU. The reason for this is the limited public resources: “the budget for social policies, education, and health is much smaller as a percentage of GDP compared to the EU average.” The state cannot allocate the necessary funds to these systems as a result of the “low tax-to-GDP ratio” and is limited to “providing public goods and services that are likely to reduce inequalities that promote social mobility and economic development.” The Commission’s report indicates that in practice the limited redistributive role of the state is a reason for high levels of poverty and social disparities. The inequality in market incomes in Bulgaria is approximately the EU average, which is a Gini coefficient of 50 points (1 is an indicator of full equality and 100 represents the concentration of all wealth in one person). However, when countries in the community tax market incomes and redirect them through social transfers, they reduce this ratio by 20 points, while Bulgaria reduces it by only 13, which is the most limited interference in the EU. The market creates the same level of income inequality in Bulgaria as in Europe, but our country is distinguished by the lack of social measures to mitigate it. According to the EC report, this is partly due to the relatively low redistributive effect of the flat income tax as well as the relatively low level of social protection spending. After the other problems in the tax system, the shadow economy “twice as big as the EU average” stands out, although the flat tax was introduced precisely on the grounds that it would limit this share. At the same time, the number of people working without a contract is increasing and every seventh worker declares that he receives money in an envelope that “hinders fair working conditions”. The report also criticized the management of the state-owned enterprises as “a source of uncertainty and risk to public finances”. Their indicators are considered to be worse compared not only with the private sector but also with similar enterprises in the countries of the region and other similar states. This suggests that the problem comes not from public property, but from the politicians who should be managing it. Therefore, with regard to these enterprises, the EC notes: “The presence and role of the political element are strong. This is often done at the expense of long-term vision and coordination, transparency and high-level management standards”. Ivaylo Atanasov Ivaylo Atanasov is a Bulgarian journalist, political analyst and teacher. He is one of the editors of the Baricada.org website. His research interests are focused on classical liberalism and political economy, French and German materialism, theory and history of science, etc. He is working on a dissertation exploring the origins of the power of English philosophers since the dawn of capitalism. He is a professional runner who has won a number of prestigious awards. Bulgaria Eastern Europe Economy & finance Info Labour The Balkans flat taxhighest poverty in the EUpovertypoverty levels Previous Post:Romania: The anti-corruption jihad in education leads nowhere Next Post:Exposing Anti-Left Rhetoric All rights reserved. Copyright © 2017 - Publishing House "Baricada", 30 William Gladstone Str. 1000 Sofia, Bulgaria. Any republication without prior permission will result in legal action.

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Ministry of Social Services, Labour and Social Welfare To achieve equal opportunities for disabled persons by ensuring that they obtain education and employment, participate fully in sporting, recreation and cultural activities To enable disabled persons, so far as possible to lead independent lives To prevent discrimination against disabled persons resulting from or arising out of their disability To encourage and secure the rehabilitation of disabled persons within their own communities and social environment Encourage the use and development of forms of communication suitable for persons with physical or mental disabilities. The Disabled Persons Act came into force in 1992. According to the Act, a disabled person is, “a person with a physical, mental or sensory disability, including a visual, hearing or speech functional disability which gives rise to physical, cultural or social barriers inhibiting him or her from participating at an equal level with other members of society in activities, undertakings or fields of employment that are open to other members of society”. The Act makes provisions for the welfare of disabled persons as well for the appointment and functions of a Director for Disabled persons’ affairs. It provided for the establishment of a National Disability Board. Mainstreaming of disability issues in every facet of life Development of programmes for the welfare of people living with disabilities, especially work programmes consistent with their capabilities and acceptable to them or their legal representatives Fostering social organizations aimed at improving the quality of life of persons with all forms of disability Putting in place appropriate measures to ensure that buildings and amenities to which the public has access are accessible to persons with disabilities Having access to medical, psychological and functional treatment Provision of special facilities for their education Provision of State funded education and training where needed. Treasury allocation Culture in sustainable development frameworks National sustainable development policies and plans Namibia | 2001 Policy on Arts and Culture United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland | Protection of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions Canada | CARICOM Education for Employment Program (C-EFE) Bosnia and Herzegovina | Support for projects of the institutions contributing to sustainable development Mexico | Mexico, Culture for Harmony Zimbabwe | The National Constitution of Zimbabwe (Amendment No. 20) Zimbabwe | North – South Exchange Zimbabwe | Promotion of skills acquisition through vocational training. Zimbabwe | The Disabled Persons Act Zimbabwe | Cultural Exchange Programmes Zimbabwe | The 75% Local Content Policy Kenya | UWEZO FUND Djibouti | Théâtre national des Salines Burkina Faso | Mise en oeuvre de la Stratégie de valorisation des arts et de la culture dans le système éducatif burkinabè Rwanda | Agreement on funding between Rwanda Society of Authors and the Norwegian copyright development association.

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Sodium aluminium sulfate (Redirected from Aluminium sodium sulfate) Aluminium sodium bis(sulfate) — water (1:12) Sodium alum Soda alum 7784-28-3 (dodecahydrate) 3D model (JSmol) ECHA InfoCard 100.030.239 E number E521 (acidity regulators, ...) 0CM6A697VV Y CompTox Dashboard (EPA) DTXSID60890626 InChI=1S/Al.Na.2H2O4S.12H2O/c;;2*1-5(2,3)4;;;;;;;;;;;;/h;;2*(H2,1,2,3,4);12*1H2/q+3;+1;;;;;;;;;;;;;;/p-4 Key: ZEMWIYASLJTEHQ-UHFFFAOYSA-J InChI=1/Al.Na.2H2O4S.12H2O/c;;2*1-5(2,3)4;;;;;;;;;;;;/h;;2*(H2,1,2,3,4);12*1H2/q+3;+1;;;;;;;;;;;;;;/p-4 Key: ZEMWIYASLJTEHQ-XBHQNQODAL [O-]S(=O)(=O)[O-].[O-]S(=O)(=O)[O-].[Na+].[Al+3] Properties[1] NaAl(SO4)2·12H2O Molar mass 458.28 g/mol Appearance white crystalline powder Density 1.6754 (20 °C) Melting point 61 °C (142 °F; 334 K) Solubility in water 208 g/100 ml (15 °C) Refractive index (nD) Structure[2] Cubic, cP96 Pa3, No. 205 Lattice constant a = 1221.4 pm Coordination geometry Octahedral (Na+) Octahedral (Al3+) Flash point non-flammable Related compounds Other cations Potassium aluminium sulfate Except where otherwise noted, data are given for materials in their standard state (at 25 °C [77 °F], 100 kPa). Infobox references Sodium aluminium sulfate is the inorganic compound with the chemical formula NaAl(SO4)2·12H2O (sometimes written Na2SO4·Al2(SO4)3·24H2O). Also known as soda alum, sodium alum, or SAS, this white solid is used in the manufacture of baking powder and as a food additive. 2 Production and natural occurrence Properties[edit] Like its potassium analog, sodium aluminum sulfate crystallizes as the dodecahydrate in the classical cubic alum structure. Sodium alum is very soluble in water, and is extremely difficult to purify. In the preparation of this salt, it is preferable to mix the component solutions in the cold, and to evaporate them at a temperature not exceeding 60 °C. 100 parts of water dissolve 110 parts of sodium alum at 0 °C, and 51 parts at 16 °C.[3] Production and natural occurrence[edit] Sodium aluminum sulfate is produced by combining sodium sulfate and aluminium sulfate. An estimated 3000 ton/y are (2003) are produced worldwide. The dodecahydrate is known in mineralogy as alum-(Na).[4][5] Two other rare mineral forms are known: mendozite (undecahydrate)[6] and tamarugite (hexahydrate).[7] Uses[edit] In the US, sodium aluminum sulfate is combined with sodium bicarbonate and monocalcium phosphate in typical formulations of double acting baking powder.[8] Sodium alum is also used as an acidity regulator in food, with E number E521. Sodium alum is also a common mordant for the preparation of hematoxylin solutions for staining cell nuclei in histopathology.[citation needed] It is also used as a flocculant in water treatment and disinfection, but its relatively crude, caustic action makes it more suitable for industrial applications.[9] ^ Weast, Robert C., ed. (1981). CRC Handbook of Chemistry and Physics (62nd ed.). Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press. p. B-146. ISBN 0-8493-0462-8. . ^ Cromer, D. T.; Kay, M. I.; Larson, A. C. (1967), "Refinement of the alum structures. II. X-ray and neutron diffraction of NaAl(SO4)2·12H2O, γ-alum", Acta Crystallogr., 22 (2): 182–87, doi:10.1107/S0365110X67000313 . ^ Chisholm 1911, p. 767. ^ Burke, Ernst A.J. (2008), "Tidying up mineral names: an IMA-CNMNC scheme for suffixes, hyphens and diacritical marks" (PDF), Mineralogical Record, 39 (2): 131–35 . ^ Alum-(Na), WebMineral.com, retrieved 2009-11-28 . Alum-(Na), MinDat.org, retrieved 2009-11-28 . ^ Mendozite, WebMineral.com, retrieved 2009-11-28 . Mendozite, MinDat.org, retrieved 2009-11-28 . ^ Tamarugite, WebMineral.com, retrieved 2009-11-28 . Tamarugite, MinDat.org, retrieved 2009-11-28 . ^ Otto Helmboldt, L. Keith Hudson, Chanakya Misra, Karl Wefers, Wolfgang Heck, Hans Stark, Max Danner, Norbert Rösch "Aluminum Compounds, Inorganic" in Ullmann's Encyclopedia of Industrial Chemistry 2007, Wiley-VCH, Weinheim.doi:10.1002/14356007.a01_527.pub2 ^ "Products of the Sodium Hydroxide Tree" (PDF). WorldChlorine.org. Retrieved 17 June 2019. Sodium compounds NaAlO2 NaBH4 NaBH3(CN) NaBiO3 NaBr NaBrO3 NaCH3COO NaC6H5CO2 NaC6H4(OH)CO2 NaCN NaClO NaClO2 Na2FeO4 NaHCO3 NaH2PO4 NaHSO3 NaIO3 Na5IO6 NaMnO4 NaN3 NaNH2 NaNO2 NaOCN NaO2 NaPO2H2 NaReO4 NaSCN NaTcO4 NaVO3 Na2CO3 Na2C2O4 Na2CrO4 Na2Cr2O7 Na2GeO3 Na2MnO4 Na2MoO4 Na2MoS4 Na2N2O2 Na2O2 Na2O(UO3)2 Na2PO3F Na2S Na2S2O3 Na2Se Na2SeO3 Na2SiO3 Na2Si2O5 Na2Te Na2TeO3 Na2Po Na2Ti3O7 Na2U2O7 Na2WO4 Na2Zn(OH)4 Na3P Na3PO4 Na3VO4 Na4Fe(CN)6 Na4P3O7 Na5P3O10 Aluminium compounds Al(I) AlCl Al2O Al(II) AlB2 Al(III) Al(BH4)3 AlBr3 AlCl3 AlF3 AlH3 Al(NO3)3 Al2(CO3)3 Al(OH)3 Al(OH)2OAc Al(OH)(OAc)2 Al(OAc)3 Al2SO4(OAc)4 AlPO4 AlSb Al(C5H7O2)3 Al(MnO4)3 Al2(MoO4)3 Al2S3 Al2(SO4)3 Al2Se3 Al2Te3 Al2SiO5 Al4C3 AlOHO Al(OH)2CO2C17H5 NaAlH2(OC2H4OCH3)2 LiAlH2(OC2H4OCH3)2 (NH4)Al(SO4)2 KAl(SO4)2 NaAl(SO4)2 Organoaluminium(III) compounds (Al(CH3)3)2 (Al(C2H5)3)2 Al(CH2CH(CH3)2)3 Al(C2H5)2Cl Al(C2H5)2CN Al(CH2CH(CH3)2)2H Al(C2H5)2Cl2C2H5Cl Ti(C5H5)2CH2ClAl(CH3)2 Sulfur compounds As2S2 Au2S Au2S3 Bi2S3 Br2S Br2S2 C3S2 SCl2 S2Cl2 Cr2S3 Dy2S3 Er2S3 HfS2 P4S7 Sb2S3 Sm2S3 Y2S3 Ag2SO4 SOBr2 CSTe C2H4S C2H6S3 CaSO4 C32H66S2 CuFeS2 H2SO4 F2OS K2SO3 O3S3Sb4 Yb2(SO4)3 AlKO8S2 CHCl3S KSCN CdSO3 PSCl3 SOCl2 Cs2O4S Re2S7 H2S2O7 NH5S HgSO4 RaSO4 SnSO4 Zr(SO4)2 Ti(SO4)2 Tm2(SO4)3 AlNa(SO4)2 Er2(SO4)3 Eu2(SO4)3 CHNS Co(SCN)2 C2H3SN PSI3 ZrS2 CSSe This inorganic compound–related article is a stub. You can help Wikipedia by expanding it. Retrieved from "https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Sodium_aluminium_sulfate&oldid=902163928" Double salts E-number additives Inorganic compound stubs Chemical articles with multiple compound IDs Multiple chemicals in an infobox that need indexing Chemical articles with multiple CAS registry numbers Articles without EBI source Articles without KEGG source ECHA InfoCard ID from Wikidata E number from Wikidata Pages using collapsible list with both background and text-align in titlestyle Articles containing unverified chemical infoboxes Chembox articles without image

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(One intermediate revision by one user not shown) {{CES Country|CES Country Name=Germany |CES Country Capital=Berlin |CES Country Region=Europe & Central Asia |CES Country Region Europe and Central Asia = Europe & Central Asia |CES Country Coordinates=52.5167° N, 13.3833° E [[Category:Europe_and_Central_Asia]] [[Category:Country_Energy_Situation]] [[Category:Germany]] Countries Portal Germany Group All Germany Articles Capital Berlin Region Europe & Central Asia Coordinates 52.5167° N, 13.3833° E Total Area (km²) It includes a country's total area, including areas under inland bodies of water and some coastal waterways. 357,580 Population It is based on the de facto definition of population, which counts all residents regardless of legal status or citizenship--except for refugees not permanently settled in the country of asylum, who are generally considered part of the population of their country of origin. 82,927,922 (2018) Rural Population (% of total population) It refers to people living in rural areas as defined by national statistical offices. It is calculated as the difference between total population and urban population. 23 (2018) GDP (current US$) It is the sum of gross value added by all resident producers in the economy plus any product taxes and minus any subsidies not included in the value of the products. It is calculated without making deductions for depreciation of fabricated assets or for depletion and degradation of natural resources. 3,947,620,162,502.96 (2018) GDP Per Capita (current US$) It is gross domestic product divided by midyear population 47,603.03 (2018) Access to Electricity (% of population) It is the percentage of population with access to electricity. 100.00 (2019) Energy Imports Net (% of energy use) It is estimated as energy use less production, both measured in oil equivalents. A negative value indicates that the country is a net exporter. Energy use refers to use of primary energy before transformation to other end-use fuels, which is equal to indigenous production plus imports and stock changes, minus exports and fuels supplied to ships and aircraft engaged in international transport. 61.40 (2015) Fossil Fuel Energy Consumption (% of total) It comprises coal, oil, petroleum, and natural gas products. 78.86 (2015) Source: World Bank 2 Energy Situation 2.1 Primary Energy Consumption 3 Electricity Situation 3.1 Electricity Supply 4 Policy Framework, Laws, Regulations 4.1 Energy and Environmental Policy 4.2 Renewable Energy Law 4.3 Energy Concept 2050 Additional information on Germany on energypedia. Revived Water Voyage d'Etudes en Allemagne avec les Démultiplicateurs Technical Training for Renewable Energies and Energy Efficiency in Brazil Energy Auctions in Brazil Net Metering in Brazil Solar Revolution - The Role of Photovoltaics for the Energy Transition Permits - Wind Energy Political Framework Conditions - Wind Energy Synopsis of Experiences in the German Biogas-sector Generating Electricity from Biogas - Examples Potenzialatlas Erneuerbare Energien - Sonderausgabe Bioenergie Biomass Gasification (Small-scale) Electricity Generation from Biogas Micro Hydro Power (MHP) Haeusleberg Farm Grid/Mini-grid Renewable Energy Support Mechanisms: Feed-In Tariffs and Auctions Regulation to Foster Bulk Electricity Generation from Renewable Energy Feed-in Tariffs (FIT) Currently there are no articles under this heading. Energy Transition in Germany “Energiewende” Brazilian National Fund on Climate Change (Fundo Clima) Energy Efficiency Program (PEE) in Brazil Feed-in Premiums (FIP) When looking at the energy/electricity situation of developing countries around the world it is always helpful to have in mind a reference point for a better understanding, analysis and judgement of the respective challenges in the case at hand. The country situation Germany should help to provide this critical positioning. This article first briefly discusses the present energy situation in Germany in general terms, before adressing in more detail the electricity sector and recent political endeavours that link climate protection and long-term sustainable energy supply. [edit] Energy Situation [edit] Primary Energy Consumption Primary energy denotes the state of energy before any conversion or transformation process towards a more valuable energy form has taken place (e. g. solar energy, wind energy, fossil fuels, hydro power, nuclear fuels, biomass etc.). Primary energy consumption relates to the entire amount of primary energy used by an economy in a certain time period (usually a year). In Germany, primary energy consumption in 2009 amounted to 13398 PJ (= 3720 TWh). (As a yard stick: this is about 2-3 times the value of countries like Saudi-Arabia, Mexico, South Africa, Nigeria or Thailand; or about half the amount of primary energy consumption of the entire African continent.)[1] Although there has been a sharp decline in petroleum product consumption since 1995 (-14,4%), it still remains the most important primary energy carrier representing about a third of total primary energy consumption. Similarily, coal consumption has been decreasing during the last 10-15 years, but remains an important primary energy carrier. A substitution process in the direction of an increasing gas consumption has accompanied the decrease in consumption of the beforementioned energy sources. Germany is a net importer of primary energy with an increase of imports from 57% in 1990 to 70% in 2008.[2] This situation underlines the high degree of energy dependence the German state faces. The rising import quotas can largely be attributed to a rising demand of gas and substitution processes of German coal through coal from international markets. The following diagram offers an overview of the share of different energy carriers in primary energy consumption: Primary energy consumption.neu.JPG The following energy flow diagram offers insight into the shares of different sectors in total primary energy consumption in 2009. Very prominently, it visualizes the high degree of dependence on energy imports (~70%). Furthermore, it shows that approximately 25% of primary energy consumption are lost in conversion processes. Out of the 13398 PJ of primary energy consumption only 8714 PJ are available for final energy consumption. Final energy consumption is quite evenly distributed among the three sectors industry, transport and households. Only trade and services represent a minor share. [edit] Electricity Situation Needless to say, in comparison to developing and even emerging countries the German electricity sector is very proficient and works reliably. Power outage rates rank among the lowest in the world. Power outages affecting German customers totaled only 23 minutes on average in 2004. Therefore, Germany has the most secure power supply system in Europe. [edit] Electricity Supply Currently, the installed capacity of German power plants lies in the range of 143,3 GW electrical power. This means if capacity factors were assumed to be 100% (i. e. all power plants are in use throughout the whole year) the maximum amount of electricity generation would be 1255.3 TWh/year (143,3 GW x 8760h). Clearly, this is unrealistic due to high variable costs of power plants that are specifically designed to serve intermediate and peak loads only. Additionally, power plants depending on renewable energies like wind or solar radiation cannot decide when to generate. In reality, German electricity generation amounted to 597 billions kWh (= 597 TWh) in 2009 which lies in the range of emerging countries like Brazil or India.[3] This shows that the true value of the aggregated average capacity factor lies around 50%. Whereas nuclear, lignite and hydro power plants virtually run all the time to supply the base load, other electricity plants (such as coal and gas) only serve intermediate load. Peak load is mainly provided for by pumped-storage power plants and oil-fired power plants. To produce the abovementioned amount of electricity, fuels with an energy content of 5227 PJ were used in German power plants (~39% of primary energy consumption). Electricity generation in Germany is still based to a very large extent on coal. The generation mix in 2009 consisted of 28% from nuclear power plants, 26% from lignite, 18% from coal, 11% from gas and about 16% from renewable energies. The following diagram provides a brief overview of the situation. It should be noted that the share of renewable energies in electricity generation is considerably greater than in primary energy consumption. This can largely be attributed to the incentives created by the German Renewable Energy Law of 2000. Electricity generation.neu.JPG The webpage of SMA publishes a life view on the projected, current power output in Germany only based on PV Systems in Germany. [edit] Policy Framework, Laws, Regulations [edit] Energy and Environmental Policy In Germany, energy and environmental politics are strongly intertwined. The combined energy and climate protection program is only one obvious example. Many other regulations in the past to cut down the use of energy explicitly aimed at reducing environmental pollution at the same time. In the political debate on costs and benefits of the promotion of renewable energy technologies the macro-economic and employment effects of the renewable energy industry became an important line of argumentation in favor of the legal framework set by the Renewable Energy Law. The Federal Ministry of Environment (BMU) regularly monitors these effects and reports that the employment contribution of renewable energies rose to 340.000 jobs in 2009 (Report on Short and Long-term Employment Effects of Renewable Energy Promotion in Germany, 02/2011 - in German). Renewable Energy Law Most prominently, the German Renewable Energy Act of 2000 aims at considerably increasing the contribution of renewable energies in the electricity generation mix. In 2014 the german Federal Ministry for Economics Affairs and Energy published the latest version and additional documents of the RENEWABLE ENERGY SOURCES ACT here: http://www.bmwi.de/EN/Topics/Energy/Renewable-Energy/2014-renewable-energy-sources-act.html [edit] Energy Concept 2050 The Energy Concept 2050 is the latest political endeavour of the present German coalition government between CDU/CSU and FDP concerning a clean, reliable and affordable future energy supply. Wikipedia, Energy in Germany Wikipedia, Renewable Energy in Germany Wikipedia, Electricity Sector in Germany Wikipedia, Wind power in Germany Wikipedia, Solar power in Germany Renewable Energy Act ↑ cf. International Energy Agency (2010): Key World Energy Statistics, pp. 48-57. ↑ cf. ewi/gws/prognos (2010): Studie – Energieszenarien für ein Energiekonzept der Bundesregierung, p. 257. Retrieved from "https://energypedia.info/index.php?title=Germany_Energy_Situation&oldid=264282" CES Country

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HomePosts tagged 'ISIS' Time For Some Crude Talk. April 17, 2015 April 14, 2015 fasab Business, Current Events, Investing $20 per barrel, $200 per barrel, America, barrel, barrels, burned off at the oil wells, China, CNG, collapsing completely, collected, commodity, compressed into tanks, compressed natural gas, crude, Current Events, declined, diesel, domestic oil production, drilling equipment, dumping oil on the black market, fall in income, finance their war, imported oil, investment, Iranians, iraq, ISIL, ISIS, layman's answer, long term, low prices, market glut, natural gas, North America, oil, oil fields, oil industry, oil price, oil price declined, OPEC, OPEC countries, over supply in the market, predictions, pretty good guess, Random, scarce, secondary effects, shale-oil fields in the United States of America, supply is greater than demand, supply of oil, surplus, tar-sands in Canada, Terrorists, the price falls, the price rises, those in the 'know', Thoughts, vast reserves, vehicles It’s not so long ago that I was getting bombarded with emails about how great an investment oil would be. At that time the predictions by those in the ‘know’, who really know nothing, was that oil would hit $200 per barrel – maybe much, much more! Well, they almost got the number correct, except that oil actually hit $20 per barrel, not $200. As these things go it was a pretty good guess!!! So why has the oil price declined and, although it has recovered a bit, why are the predictions for today’s low prices to hold long term? The simple layman’s answer of course is that the oil price has declined because supply is greater than demand. When there is a surplus of a commodity the price falls and when it is scarce the price rises. The supply of oil has increased relative to demand for a number of reasons. The most obvious one is the vast reserves of oil found and now being recovered in the massive shale-oil fields in the United States of America and the tar-sands in Canada that have added more than 5 million barrels per day to domestic oil production since 2008. Able to produce more at home, North America has been able to reduce its demand for imported oil. The effect of this, of course, is that the OPEC countries have seen their annual revenues fall sharply during the same period. To try to rectify this fall in income, which they need to provide for their own citizens, they have been trying to replace lost revenue from North America by increasing production of their own oil supplies. In other words, they have created even more over supply in the market, which helps to keep the oil price down. Then there was the ISIS or ISIL terrorists in Iraq who had taken control of most of the oil fields and were dumping oil on the black market as fast as they could to help finance their war. Recently they’ve lost control of a lot of those oil fields so that part of the equation may no longer be in play to the same extent. However, if there is a deal ever done with the Iranians and they are able to trade without restriction again, no doubt they will be adding their oil to the market glut which will also help to keep the market over-supplied and the price suppressed. Then there is the increasing use of compressed natural gas or CNG. This is the natural gas that used to be burned off at the oil wells, but that is now collected, compressed into tanks and used to power vehicles and in drilling equipment, meaning less diesel is purchased. Despite all these over-supply pressures, the thing that is keeping the oil price from collapsing completely is the continued demand from China. This is a good thing because a long-term collapse in the oil price, whilst it may make life a bit easier financially for many with decreased heating and fuel bills, also has detrimental secondary effects on some parts of the country where the oil industry provides a living for a great many people. I haven’t had an email about investing in oil for a long time and I don’t expect them to start again soon. Now you know why. BREAKING NEWS: Man In Boxers Leads Police On A Brief Chase! January 15, 2015 January 2, 2015 fasab comedy, Humour, Language, Puns 7UP, amusing, animal attack on humans, Audi A4, bad jokes, barman, bending its legs, bring a lot to the table, car designs, chartered air freight, cinema, clinic, Comedy, Crisis, database, drone, Entertainment, extremely fat frog, father, first choice, food poisoning, funny, G rated, girl, good chef, government, holding my breath, Humor, Humour, in common, Invitro, ISIS, It's Reigning Men, Italian, jokes, lion, Little Miss Muffet, mother, movie about cheese, Narnia, noise, patriarchal societies, Plan B concert, play on words, pun, pun day, puns, roomy-toad arthritis, silly jokes, sketch on a piece of paper, Sprite, stupid, stupid jokes, terror bites, tickets, Very Impotent Person, viagra, walk into a bar, wardrobe, Whey, wife, witch, word play, word plays, World Hyperventilating Championship, writing a book If the title didn’t give you a clue, it’s Pun Day again. Some more word play to…. Reports that suggest has contracted food poisoning have been described as “Whey off”. I went to the cinema last night and saw a movie about cheese. It was G rated. What do my wife and a drone have in common? The noise. Most car designs start off as a sketch on a piece of paper. Like the Audi A4. I’m waiting to hear if I’ve got a place in the World Hyperventilating Championship. I won’t be holding my breath. Apparently the government has a database containing the details of every single animal attack on humans. Wonder how big it is, probably many terror bites. The girl in the shop told me she didn’t have any 7UP. But she’s just saying that out of sprite. I’m writing a book about patriarchal societies. It’s going to be called “It’s Reigning Men”. I’m known for being a really good chef. I bring a lot to the table. ISIS. Always in crisis. A lion, a witch and a wardrobe walk into a bar. “I’m serving Narnia!” I saw an extremely fat frog that was having trouble bending its legs. It was probably roomy-toad arthritis. Help, I am looking for my father, I was raised by my mother and all she told me was he’s Italian, works in a clinic, and goes by the name ‘Invitro’? My friend gets his Viagra delivered by chartered air freight. He’s a Very Impotent Person. I couldn’t get tickets for the Plan B concert. So I had to go with my first choice instead. December 31, 2014 December 30, 2014 fasab Factoids 2014, A N R Robinson, Acker Bilk, actor, Adolfo Suárez, adopted the Euro, Aiken, Air Algérie Flight 5017, air campaign, AirAsia flight QZ8501, airstrike campaign in Syria, Alabama, Alaskans, Albert Reynolds, Alfredo Di Stéfano, American actor, American actress, American actress and singer, American astronaut, American boxer, American businessman, American comedian, American film director, American politician and diplomat, American professional wrestler, American radio host, American singer, American television producer and writer, American tennis player, Anatoly Berezovoy, Andrea de Cesaris, Andriy Bal, annexation of Crimea, Arab partners, Argentine-Spanish footballer, Ariel Sharon, Atlanta, Augusta, Augusta National Golf Club, Australia, Australian race car driver, Austrian-Swiss actor, bag of macadamia nuts, Baghdad, Basketball, BBC Sports Personality of the Year, Beijing, Belgium, Billie Whitelaw, Birmingham, Björn Waldegård, blanket of snow, BMW PGA Championship, Bob Hoskins, Boeing 777, Boko Haram, Brazil, Brazilian footballer, British actor, British bass guitarist, British comedian, British driver, British jazz clarinetist, British novelist, British peer, British politician, British rock bassist, British writer, Bubba Watson, Bureau of Meteorology, Bureau of the Assembly, business, Business and Technology, California, canada, Casey Kasem, Cho Hyun-ah, civil unrest, coldest winter, Columbia, Comet 67P, commercial, commuter chaos, conflicting claims, Conflicts, conspiracy, Crimean crisis, currency, cyber attack, degrees Celsius, degrees Fahrenheit, departures, detonated bombs, diarist, diplomat, diplomatic, Donetsk, driest, Duke of Marlborough, Dutch astronaut, east-central Georgia, eastern Japan, Ebola virus epidemic, economic sanctions, economic sanctions against Russia, economist, Eduard Shevardnadze, education, Efrem Zimbalist Jr, Eisenhower tree, Elaine Stritch, Eli Wallach, England, English actor, English actress, English footballer, English Premiership, English singer, Entertainment, Europe, European Champions League, European Space Agency, Eurozone, Eusébio, events, facebook, fact, facts, Fedex, Fernandão, FIFA World Cup, film director, First Minister of Northern Ireland, Florida, Florida Panhandle, foreign domiciled businesses, forgotten, Formula 1, France, free fall, G8, Gamboru Ngala, Gaza Strip, Georgia, Germany, girls and women abducted, Glen A Larson, Glenn Cornick, golf, Gough Whitlam, ground invasion, Gulf Coast, Gulf of Thailand, Hamas, Harlingen, Harold Ramis, health, health scare, held hostage, Henry Hartsfield, Howard Baker, Ian Paisley, ice hockey, Indian Ocean, information, inversion deals, Iraqi capital city, Irish Taoiseach, Irishman, ISIL, ISIS, ISIS militants, Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant, Israel, Israeli filmmaker, Israelis, Italian actress, Italian race car driver, Italy, Jack Brabham, Jack Bruce, James Garner, James R Schlesinger, January, Japan, Japan's Antarctic whaling program, Japanese actor, Japanese Prime Minister, Jean-Claude Duvalier, Jimmy Ellis, Joan Rivers, Joe Cocker, John Spencer-Churchill, Johnny Winter, Jos, Ken Takakura, kidnapping and murder, Kiev, killed, King Felipe VI, King Juan Carlos I of Spain, Korean Air Lines, Korean ferry, Kronos, Kuala Lumpur, Kumagaya, Ladies Singles Champion, Latvia, Lauren Bacall, León, legalize euthanasia, Lewis Hamilton, life peer, literature, los angeles, Los Angeles Kings, Louise Brough, Louisiana, Low country of South Carolina, Luhansk, Mae Young, Malaysia Airlines Flight 17, Malaysia Airlines Flight 370, Malcolm Glazer, Mali, Manchester City, Manchester United, Marin Čilić, Martin Kaymer, Masters Tournament, Maximilian Schell, Menahem Golan, Men’s Singles Champion, Mickey Rooney, Midwest, militants, mining accident, missile strike, MLB World Series, motor racing champion, movie, Movies & TV, music, musician, MV Sewol, National Climatic Data Center, Nelson Frazier Jr, New South Wales, NHL, Nicholas Romanov, Nicolás Maduro, Nigeria, Niwatthamrong Boonsongpaisan, NOAA, North Carolina, northern Iraq, Northern Ireland man, Nouri al-Maliki, Novak Djokovic, Obama administration, oil and gas prices, Oleksandr Turchynov, Olympic champions, Olympic triple champion, Open Championship, Operation Protective Edge, P D James, PACE, PACE Presidential Committee, PACE Standing Committee, Palestinian, Panama, Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe, Pensacola, People's Republic of Poland, Pete Seeger, Petra Kvitova, PGA Championship, Philae probe, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Players Championship, playwright, political unrest in Thailand, politician, politics, Polly Bergen, Portuguese footballer, President Barack Obama, President of Georgia, President of Haiti, President of Trinidad and Tobago, President of Venezuela, President Viktor Yanukovych, Prime Minister, Prime Minister of Australia, Prime Minister of Israel, Prime Minister of Spain, Prince of Russia, pro Russian forces, pro-Russian, profit centers, Quantitative Easing, Queensland, Real Madrid, recollections, record, record hottest day, remember, resumption of normal relations between the US and Cuba, revenge killing, Richard Attenborough, Richard Kiel, Rik Mayall, Robin Williams, Roger Lloyd-Pack, rory mcilroy, Rosetta, Royal Thai Army, Russia, Russian Federation, Russian President, Ryder Cup, San Antonio Spurs, San Francisco, San Francisco Giants, San Jose, school in Nigeria, Seattle Seahawks, Serena Williams, severe Atlantic winter storms, severe snow storms, Shane Lowry, Shiite government, Shinzo Abe, ShipMatrix, Shirley Temple, Sid Caesar, smartphone application, soccer, Sochi, songwriter, Sony, South Carolina, South Korean, southern Australia, southern hemisphere, southern states, Soviet cosmonaut, space, Space Exploration, spacecraft, Spanish throne, sport, Sue Townsend, Sunni militant group, super-bowl, Swedish rally driver, tax friendly location, Team Europe, Team USA, technology, technology buys, television host, temporarily suspended, tennis, terrorism, Terrorists, Texas, The Interview, the Russian Ruble, Thoughts, three Israeli teenagers, Tokyo, Tom Finney, Tony Benn, tragedies, Turkey, Ukraine, Ukrainian football player and coach, Ukrainian parliament, Ukrainian sailor, Ukranian forces, United Kingdom, United Nations International Court of Justice, United States, United States military, UPS, US companies, US Open, Valentin Mankin, Valeri Kubasov, Venezuelan government, Virna Lisi, Vladimir Putin, warmest, Warren Clarke, wars, weather, weather extremes, well known people, West Africa, WhatsApp, Wilmington, Wimbledon Tournament, winter storm, Winter Storm Pax, world champions, world oil price plunge, world sporting events, writer, Wubbo Ockels, XXII Olympic Winter Games, Zbigniew Messner Last day of this year and time for my recollections of 2014’s main events. As always this is by no means meant to be a complete coverage of all the events that happened during 2014, just a personal blog post about some of the things I remember, and a few that I had forgotten until I started to compile this list. We will start off with the weather since so many of us seem to be obsessed with it. In the United States there were weather extremes. In California, for example, January was the warmest and driest on record in San Francisco, San Jose and Los Angeles. Only four other Januaries since 1878 had been completely dry in Los Angeles until January 2014. Alaskans experienced their third warmest January in 96 years of record, according to NOAA’s National Climatic Data Center. In many parts of the Midwest, on the other hand, 2014 was the coldest winter since the late 1970s or early 1980s. And some southern states of the US became the victims of, firstly, winter storm Kronos which brought a rare blanket of snow as far south as Louisiana, and sleet as far south as Harlingen, Texas and Pensacola, Fla. in late January, and then, just days later, a second winter storm, Leon, hit many of the same areas causing commuter chaos in both Birmingham, Ala. and Atlanta. Leon also spread ice and sleet to the Gulf Coast, including the Florida Panhandle, and the Low country of South Carolina. And worse was on the way. Winter Storm Pax deposited an inch or more of ice in a swath from east-central Georgia into South Carolina, including Augusta, Ga. and Aiken, S.C. Pax was the second heaviest ice storm dating to 1947 in Wilmington, N.C. The accumulation of ice from Pax claimed the famed “Eisenhower tree” at the Augusta National Golf Club. Pax marked the first time since January 1940 that Columbia, S.C. saw snowfall for three straight days. In complete contrast, the week after Pax, Columbia, S.C. tied its all-time February high of 84 degrees. Augusta, Ga. warmed into the 80s two straight days on Feb. 19-20. Elsewhere in the world, severe Atlantic winter storms took their toll on many parts of England which in 2014 experienced storms and rain not seen since the late 19th century. In Tokyo, Japan, which usually averages only about 4 inches of snow each year, there were also severe snow storms. In February, snow blanketed the city with 11 inches of snow in less than a week, the heaviest snowfall in 45 years for Tokyo and in 60 years for the city of Kumagaya, northwest of Tokyo. The following weekend, parts of eastern Japan, including parts of the Tokyo metro area, received another round of snow. Some smaller communities were isolated by more than 3 feet of snow. And in the southern hemisphere, Australia’s Bureau of Meteorology reported that more than 10 percent of Queensland and almost 15 percent of New South Wales experienced their record hottest day on Jan. 3. A second heat wave hit parts of southern Australia in mid-January, with temperatures peaking above 41 degrees Celsius (just under 106 degrees Fahrenheit) for four straight days from Jan. 14-17, and reaching a sizzling 43.9 degrees C (111 degrees F) on both Jan. 16 and 17. In the world of business and technology 2014 was the year the Obama administration decided to stop inversion deals, where US companies bought foreign domiciled businesses and moved their profit centers to a much more tax friendly location. In technology buys, one of the largest was Facebook’s purchase of smartphone application WhatsApp for $19 Billion. In other sectors 2014 saw world oil price plunge to around $50 per barrel, good news for consumers, not so good for producers. Under pressure from the fall in oil and gas prices, along with the economic sanctions imposed by the west because of the ongoing situation in the Ukraine, the Russian Ruble went into free fall in December. Also in 2014, in March, the United Nations International Court of Justice ruled that Japan’s Antarctic whaling program was not scientific but commercial and refused to grant further permits. With Quantitative Easing having been ended in the US (for the moment anyway) Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe announced plans for a new $29 billion fresh stimulus, including subsidies and job-creating programs, to help pull the world’s third-largest economy out of recession. After their embarrassing foul up last Christmas, this year both FedEx and UPS managed to deliver more than 99 percent of express packages as promised on Dec. 22 and Dec. 23, according to shipment tracker ShipMatrix. South Korean prosecutors arrested a government official who allegedly leaked information about an investigation into former Korean Air Lines executive Cho Hyun-ah, who forced a flight to return over a bag of macadamia nuts. Most of the rest of the world tends to think that the idiot executive should suffer the consequences of her stupidity, not the whistleblower. And finally, after their embarrassing hack attack and cringe-worthy capitulation to what amounted to a terrorist cyber attack which was rightly criticized publicly by President Obama, Sony finally decided to release its movie ‘The Interview’. Conflicts, Wars & Terrorism Unfortunately 2014 saw many conflicts and acts of terrorism. In April an estimated 276 girls and women were abducted and held hostage from a school in Nigeria. The following month, Boko Haram militants killed approximately 300 people in a night attack on Gamboru Ngala and terrorists in Nigeria detonated bombs at Jos, killing 118 people. June saw the emergence of a Sunni militant group called the ‘Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant’ (also known as the ‘ISIS’ or ‘ISIL’). It began an offensive throughout northern Iraq, with the aim of eventually capturing the Iraqi capital city of Baghdad and overthrowing the Shiite government led by Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki. The group has been responsible for beheading of hundreds of people including several from the United States. In July and August tensions between Israel and Hamas grew following the kidnapping and murder of three Israeli teenagers in June and the revenge killing of a Palestinian teenager in July. Israel launched ‘Operation Protective Edge’ on the Palestinian Gaza Strip starting with numerous missile strikes, followed by a ground invasion a week later. In 7 weeks of fighting, 2,100 Palestinians and 71 Israelis were killed. Also in July, Malaysia Airlines Flight 17, a Boeing 777, crashed in eastern Ukraine, killing all 298 souls on board. There are conflicting claims as to who was responsible, some blaming pro Russian forces for a missile strike and others blaming Ukrainian forces. In August and September the United States military began an air campaign in northern Iraq to stem the influx of ISIS militants and the following month the United States and several Arab partners began an airstrike campaign in Syria. Expect more on these stories during 2015. During 2014 we said farewell to many well know people from various walks of life. Here is just my selection of those I remember. From Literature British novelist and playwright (b. 1946) British writer and life peer (b. 1920) From Movies & TV Roger Lloyd-Pack British actor Austrian-Swiss actor American actress and diplomat American film director, writer, and actor Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. British comedian, writer and actor and voice actor American actress and singer Menahem Golan Israeli filmmaker American actor and comedian British actor and film director American comedian, actress, and television host American actor (b. 1939) Japanese actor English actor Glen A. Larson and writer Italian actress Billie Whitelaw English actress Golden Age actress “The Great Ziegfeld” From Music American singer, songwriter, musician, and activist American singer and guitarist Glenn Cornick British bass guitarist British rock bassist British jazz clarinetist English singer From Politics Zbigniew Messner 9th Prime Minister of the People’s Republic of Poland 11th Prime Minister of Israel British politician and diarist 138th Prime Minister of Spain James R. Schlesinger American economist and politician A. N. R. Robinson 3rd President of Trinidad and Tobago American politician and diplomat 2nd President of Georgia Albert Reynolds Irish Taoiseach (prime minister) Ian Paisley British politician and First Minister of Northern Ireland Nicholas Romanov Prince of Russia Jean-Claude Duvalier 41st President of Haiti John Spencer-Churchill 11th Duke of Marlborough, British peer and educator Gough Whitlam 21st Prime Minister of Australia From Space Exploration Valeri Kubasov Soviet cosmonaut Dutch astronaut and physicist Henry Hartsfield American colonel and astronaut Anatoly Berezovoy From Sport Mae Young American professional wrestler Louise Brough American tennis player Tom Finney English footballer Nelson Frazier, Jr. Jimmy Ellis American boxer Australian race car driver American businessman, owner of Manchester United Valentin Mankin Ukrainian sailor, Olympic triple champion and silver medalist Brazilian footballer and manager Argentine-Spanish footballer Andriy Bal Ukrainian football player and coach Björn Waldegård Swedish rally driver Italian race car driver The big health scare of 2014 that dominated the headlines was the of the Ebola virus epidemic in West Africa in February, that initially infected over 19,000 people and killing at least 7,000, the most severe both in terms of numbers of infections and casualties. In other news, also in February, Belgium became the first country in the world to legalize euthanasia for terminally ill patients of any age. On January 1, Latvia officially adopted the Euro as its currency and became the 18th member of the Eurozone. In February, the Ukrainian parliament voted to remove President Viktor Yanukovych from office, replacing him with Oleksandr Turchynov, after days of civil unrest that left around 100 people dead in Kiev. The pro-Russian unrest lead to the annexation of Crimea by the Russian Federation and an insurgency in the Donetsk and Luhansk regions. In March, Nicolás Maduro, the President of Venezuela, severed diplomatic and political ties with Panama, accusing it of being involved in a conspiracy against the Venezuelan government. Also in March, an emergency meeting, involving the United Kingdom, the United States, Italy, Germany, France, Japan, and Canada temporarily suspended Russia from the G8. In April, also in response to the Crimean crisis, the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe (PACE) passed a resolution temporarily stripping Russia of its voting rights; its rights to be represented in the Bureau of the Assembly, the PACE Presidential Committee, and the PACE Standing Committee; and its right to participate in election-observation missions. The same month, United States President Barack Obama began new economic sanctions against Russia, targeting companies and individuals close to Russian President Vladimir Putin. In May the Royal Thai Army overthrew the caretaker government of Niwatthamrong Boonsongpaisan after a failure to resolve the political unrest in Thailand. Back in Europe, in June, King Juan Carlos I of Spain abdicated in favor of his son, who ascended the Spanish throne as King Felipe VI. And the political year ended on a positive note, with U.S. President Barack Obama announcing the resumption of normal relations between the U.S. and Cuba after more than half a century. The major space event of 2014 happened in November when the European Space Agency’s Rosetta Philae probe successfully landed on Comet 67P, the first time in history that a spacecraft has landed on such an object. The two major world sporting events of 2014 were the XXII Olympic Winter Games, held in Sochi, Russia in February, and the 2014 FIFA World Cup held in Brazil, and won by Germany, during June and July. In American sport the Super Bowl was won by the Seattle Seahawks, the MLB World Series winners were the San Francisco Giants and in basketball the San Antonio Spurs came out on top. Ice Hockey had three champions in 2014, Canada becoming Olympic champions, Russia world champions and in the NHL the Los Angeles Kings were the victors. In tennis at the world famous Wimbledon Tournament in England Novak Djokovic became Men’s Singles Champion and Petra Kvitova Ladies Singles Champion, while the men’s and women’s winners of the US Open were Marin Čilić and Serena Williams respectively. In Soccer, as noted above, Germany won the 2014 World Cup. The European Champions League winners were Real Madrid and the English Premiership was won by Manchester City. The Formula 1 motor racing champion for 2014 was British driver Lewis Hamilton, who also picked up the award of the BBC Sports Personality of the Year. In golf’s major championships, the Masters Tournament, held in April, was won by Bubba Watson by three strokes. It was his second Masters championship. May saw the BMW PGA Championship where young Northern Ireland man Rory McIlroy birdied the 18th hole to win by one stroke over Irishman Shane Lowry, who also birdied the 18th hole. In June, U.S. Open winner was Martin Kaymer who won by eight strokes to become the first German player to win the U.S. Open, and the first player to win the Players Championship and the U.S. Open in the same year. In July, the Open Championship Northern Ireland man Rory McIlroy, was on top again winning by two strokes over Rickie Fowler and Sergio García. It was his third career major championship, and his first Open Championship. With the win, he became the fourth player ever of 25 years old or under to have won at least three majors. In August, McIlroy was back, winning the PGA Championship by one stroke over Phil Mickelson. He was having quite a year, it was his fourth career major and his second PGA Championship. Then in September, in the Ryder Cup, Team Europe (also including McIlroy) defeated Team USA by a score of 16½ – 11½. It was the third consecutive Ryder Cup victory for Europe, and also Europe’s fifth consecutive home victory in the Ryder Cup. In March Malaysia Airlines Flight 370, a Boeing 777 airliner en route to Beijing from Kuala Lumpur, disappears over the Gulf of Thailand with 239 people on board. The aircraft is presumed to have crashed into the Indian Ocean. In April Korean ferry MV Sewol capsized and sunk after an unmanageable cargo shift. More than 290 people were killed, mostly high school students. In May hundreds of workers were killed in mining accident in Turkey. In July, Air Algérie Flight 5017 crashed in Mali, killing all 116 people on board. And just a few days ago AirAsia flight QZ8501 crashed, wreckage has been found off the coast of Indonesia’s Kalimantan coast. Doing The Right Thing. September 14, 2014 fasab Crime, Current Events, Politics, Rants, War a consequence of ethnic strife, a dumb war, admit, advisors, arrogance, barbaric beheadings, Barrack Obama, civil strife, civil war, claptrap, clean up the mess, closer to doing the right thing, conflicting statements, confusion, continue fighting, cornerstones of his campaign, criteria, Current Events, deceit, decisions, deployment of US forces, despicable and godless terrorists, destined to be a disaster, deteriorated, dream, dumb American and British politicians, electorates, eliminated, failed initiatives, first Presidential election campaign, follow ISIS to the gates of hell, genocide, harsh reality, heinous crimes, helpless with laughter, hold Iraq together, honesty, humility, invade, iraq, ISIS, junior varsity basketball team, lie, manufacture an excuse, military action in Iraq, monster, nightmare, no moral objection, not launching a sustained US campaign against ISIS, Obama, Obama Administration officials, occupying forces in Iraq, Opinion, politician to start telling the truth, politics, potential act of genocide, predecessors, President, Rants, ring mightily hollow, Saddam, slaughtered, sovereign stable and self-reliant Iraq, speeches laden with moral indignation, strategy, strike fear, strong leader, the Congo, the Sunday Sermon, troops, US withdrawal from Iraq, Vice President Joe Biden, Winston Churchill, withdrawal, You can always count on Americans to do the right thing - after they've tried everything else Barrack Obama during his first Presidential election campaign Seven years ago a young fellow called Barrack Obama was running for President. One of the cornerstones of his campaign was a U.S. withdrawal from Iraq, which he called “a dumb war”. In that much he was right. It was a dumb war, instigated by the dumb American and British politicians who preceded him and who had the deceit and arrogance to lie to their electorates in order to manufacture an excuse to invade that country. It was always destined to be a disaster. Once Saddam had been eliminated there was no strong leader to hold Iraq together. He may have been a monster, no one is arguing he wasn’t, but without him, or someone like him, things have far from improved. That is just the harsh reality, like it or not. Seven years ago Obama had no moral objection to the fact that a withdrawal of the occupying forces in Iraq might leave the way open to civil war and genocide. In fact to quote him from that period he said, “[If] that’s the criteria by which we are making decisions on the deployment of U.S. forces, then by that argument you would have 300,000 troops in the Congo right now — where millions have been slaughtered as a consequence of ethnic strife — which we haven’t done.” He could have said the same about many other countries in the world where civil strife raged. So today the speeches laden with moral indignation, telling the world that he has ordered military action in Iraq “to prevent a potential act of genocide,” ring mightily hollow. It would be much better if Obama came clean. I know it’s a bit of a reach for a politician to start telling the truth, but it would help. Obama needs to tell the world that he will clean up the mess he and his predecessors made. He needs to admit that the “sovereign, stable and self-reliant Iraq” that he said he had left behind, when U.S. troops pulled out, was a dream that has deteriorated into a nightmare. And he needs to remove the advisors who prompted him to compare ISIS to a junior varsity basketball team when he was interviewed on the subject in January this year. That was just another thing they got completely and tragically wrong. Yes, I’m asking for a bit of honesty and humility, that’s all. What I’m hearing instead, however, is more claptrap and confusion. Vice President Joe Biden is telling everyone that the U.S. “will follow ISIS to the gates of hell”, while other senior Obama Administration officials are assuring us that America is, “not launching a sustained US campaign against ISIS…” Journalist James Foley minutes before he was beheaded by ISIS terrorists Conflicting statements like those, in the face of the continuing barbaric beheadings of men, women and even children, and other heinous crimes committed by these despicable and godless terrorists, will hardly strike fear into them. Perhaps the strategy is to have them so helpless with laughter that they cannot continue fighting? Winston Churchill once said, “You can always count on Americans to do the right thing – after they’ve tried everything else.” After all this time and after all these failed initiatives we must be getting closer to doing the right thing – surely??? Shock Headline – The President Agrees With Me! August 31, 2014 August 30, 2014 fasab Current Events, Politics, War Afghanistan, America, anti-Assad, Assad, Assad regime, attacked, beyond any and all doubt, blog, Christians, confused, correcting the mistake, crux, Current Events, cynics, debacle, does not understand the severity of the problem, fellow Muslims, fight against the terrorists, Foreign Policy, foreign policy failure on a grand scale, fundamentalist Islamic state, funding, hatred, humble pie, idiots, ill-informed politicians, iraq, ISIS, Islamic terrorists, long term threat, middle-east, militant, most powerful man in the world, most powerful military organization in the world, murdered, noise, none of our business, November elections, Obama administration, Obama team, Obama's team, Opinion, politicians, politics, President of the United States, process, Rants, Republican camp, same side, support ISIS, syria, targets, Terrorists, the president, the Sunday Sermon, Thoughts, US, US Administration's problem, US president, Vietnam, volte face, War, well armed, well funded, well supported, west, wrong move, wrong reasons I’ve been saying it for a long time – and now the President of the United States agrees with me – he doesn’t know WTF he’s doing! I can’t say as I take much satisfaction from his admission though. The US President is the most powerful man in the world and he has at his disposal the most powerful military organization in the world. Yet he doesn’t know what to do with it, when to do it, or even who to aim it at! A bit of it, belatedly and half-heartedly, is now pointing at ISIS targets in Iraq and Syria. Yes, you’re right, they are the very same Islamic terrorists he was funding for a while in Syria! He says he wasn’t, but in practice he was. Because the Obama Administration certainly is! Indeed Obama’s team of idiots have confused themselves to the degree that they don’t know what to do and are afraid to do it even if they did! The situation is not being helped by the noise coming from the equally ill-informed politicians in the Republican camp either. Some cynics would say they are doing a lot of it with the November elections in mind! As I’ve said before on this blog, America has never been good at foreign policy. There are so many examples over the years to prove this beyond any and all doubt (Iraq, Afghanistan, Vietnam, now Syria). But this latest debacle could turn out to be foreign policy failure on a grand scale. This is simply down to the fact that, even yet, the Obama administration clearly does not understand the severity of the problem. They haven’t managed to process the long term threat that a well armed, well supported and well funded group like ISIS can become. Everyone – except the President and his people apparently – knows that these terrorists will not be content even if they are allowed to establish a fundamentalist Islamic state in the Middle East. Their hatred of anything and everything in the West is total. In fact, as we have seen in Iraq and Syria, their hatred even extends to fellow Muslims who they do not consider to be ‘militant enough’ and they have attacked and murdered them in just the same ways as they have attacked and murdered Christians. In Syria, which is none of our business, the Obama team thought they wanted the Assad regime removed, and to get that done they thought they could support ISIS (or the anti-Assad fighters of whom ISIS were always destined to be a big part). Now the US may well find itself on the same side as Assad in a fight against the terrorists. And that may be the crux of the US Administration’s problem. They made the wrong move, at the wrong time, in the wrong place, for all the wrong reasons and correcting the mistake will require a major volte face and sizeable portion of humble pie. Are they big enough to swallow it? What A Flipping President – What A Flipping Mess!! August 17, 2014 August 16, 2014 fasab Current Events, Politics, Rants, War a simple reaction, a strategy, a tactical decision, act of genocide, administration's goals remain unclear, advisors, America is confused, America's global influence and standing, another lie, Assad, belated decision, bewildering situation, blundering, Bush's invasion, Christian community, city of Irbil, Current Events, deceitful, decision, defend US personnel, didn't see it coming, disingenuous premise, extremist group Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, false premise, fighting against ISIS in Iraq, fighting with ISIS in Syria, Foreign Policy, genocidal purge, GOPers, gung-ho Republicans, half-hearted, home, idiots, in the eyes of the world, indecisive, iraq, ISIS, ISIS's advance toward Irbil, ISIS's growth, Islamic state, Islamist militants, jumped on the bandwagon, latest debacle, lie, message to the world, moderate rebel forces, northern and western Iraq, Obama, Obama administration, Obama's inaction in Syria, Obama's withdrawal of troops, peace, politics, President Obama, President's Administration, protect religious minorities, Random, Rants, ratings plummet, religious conversion or death, score political points against the President, short sighted, spoiling for a fight, stupidity, syria, targeted and precise military action, the president, the Sunday Sermon, think it through before you speak, threatening Christians, too little too late, turning point, US troops, utter confusion, what a flipping mess, WMDs President Obama said in June that he would be prepared to “take targeted and precise military action” in Iraq, whatever that meant. But it’s taken him two months to make the decision. Two months during which Islamist militants have swept through northern and western Iraq and are now threatening Christians in that country with religious conversion or death. So far its not only too little too late, but half-hearted to boot, with Obama saying that the step was being taken to defend US personnel in the city of Irbil and protect religious minorities facing what he called a “potential act of genocide” from the Islamic State, the extremist group most recently known as the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS). There doesn’t seem much “potential” about from the reports I am reading. It’s as if the President’s Administration and his advisors didn’t see it coming! This belated decision is yet another turning point in the Obama administration’s dreadfully badly thought out foreign policy, which has seen his ratings plummet, both at home and in the eyes of the world. Even now his administration’s goals remain unclear. For example, is this latest move a tactical decision, or a simple reaction to the consequences of failing to act sooner, or is there a strategy behind it? I don’t know, and I don’t think anyone else knows, but I fear it is just the former. Sadly, a belated attempt to halt ISIS’s advance toward Irbil won’t be enough – and if I know that, why don’t Obama’s advisors? Of course, on the other side of the political fence, rather predictably, some of the gung-ho Republicans, always spoiling for a fight (somewhere other than in the US), have quickly jumped on the bandwagon and tried to use this latest debacle to score political points against the President. They have criticized Obama’s inaction in Syria and the failure to bolster moderate rebel forces there as contributing to ISIS’s growth. But hang on a moment GOPers, think it through before you speak (this will be new territory to most of them!). If the President had intervened (or rather, been allowed to intervene) in Syria he would have been intervening on the same side as ISIS, not against them. Then we would have had an even more bewildering situation where US troops would have been fighting with ISIS (effectively) in Syria against Assad and at the same time fighting against ISIS in Iraq trying to stop their genocidal purge of the Christian community there. It is this kind of utter confusion that has over the past few years greatly diminished America’s global influence and standing. The mess that was left in Iraq after Bush’s invasion on the false premise (the lie) of WMDs, and Obama’s withdrawal of troops on the equally disingenuous premise (another lie) that they had brought peace to the country, is a disgrace. And unfortunately it sends a message to the world that America is confused, indecisive, deceitful, short-sighted, blundering – in short all the things that you don’t want the world to think about you if you want to be taken seriously. What a flipping mess!

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Keep an Eye on Korea While the world remains focused on the U.S. debt ceiling crisis, North Korea may be preparing for another military provocation against its southern neighbor. South Korea's Chosun Ilbo, citing recent intelligence data, reports that Pyongyang may soon launch a major military exercise along its western coast. "... government sources say, based on information from intelligence teams, North Korea appears poised for a rare, large-scale military drill. Government officials, who do not want to be named, say they are "observing closely" North Korean positions. But they say there are no indications the massing of military personnel appears to be anything more than a drill. The chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, Navy Admiral Michael Mullen, addressing reporters in Washington on Monday, did not make mention of the apparent preparations in North Korea for a military exercise. But the admiral did express concern that Pyongyang’s military will conduct some sort of action against the South again, at some point. According to South Korean intel reporting, North Korea has assembled a "significant" number of troops and MiG-21 fighters at two bases along the Yellow Sea coast, along with more than 20 naval vessels. The military build-up is in the same area where ROK forces and the North Korean military have clashed in recent years. There was a major naval engagement in 1999 that resulted in the sinking of a DPRK patrol vessel. In March of last year, one of Pyongyang's submarines torpedoed and sank a South Korean corvette, killing more than 40 sailors. And just six months later, DPRK artillery units shelled South Korea's Yeonpyeong Island, killing two soldiers, and triggering the latest standoff between the two rivals. North Korean preparations come ahead of the annual Ulchi Freedom Guardian exercise conducted by U.S. and South Korean forces. Pyongyang has long protested the drill, claiming that it is a rehearsal for an invasion of the North. Never mind that Freedom Guardian (and its predecessor, Ulchi Focus Lens) are purely defensive in nature. Kim Jong-il will use any excuse to ratchet up tensions on the peninsula, and attempt to milk more assistance from Seoul and Washington. While such tactics are hardly new, the reported level of North Korean military activity is highly unusual for this time of year. Traditionally, DPRK troops spend their summers engaged in "agricultural projects," trying to help eek out their country's meager harvest. Following the end of Pyongyang's annual Winter Training Cycle (December-March), military activity slows dramatically and comes to a virtual standstill during the late spring and summer. Given North Korea's chronic shortages of food, fuel and electricity, it's rather doubtful that Kim Jong-il would authorize these preparations merely to rattle the sabre. More disturbingly, ROK intel officials claim the elder Kim and his son (designated heir Kim Jong un) recently visited DPRK naval command headquarters in Pyongyang. The Kims conducted a similar inspection of coastal artillery units last November, just hours before they opened fire on Yeonpyeong Island. A master of brinkmanship, Kim clearly sees an opportunity on the Korean Peninsula. He believes the U.S. is pre-occupied with domestic issues and unlikely to respond forcibly to his next provocation. He is also counting on a restrained response from Seoul, similar to the one that followed the loss of the corvette and the shelling of Yeonpyeong last year. In both cases, South Korea did not respond with direct military force, and Kim Jong-il expects a similar reaction this time around. Recent military moves in North Korea--virtually unreported in the U.S. media--remind us that the world is still a dangerous place. And that danger is multiplied by an administration which refuses to confront our adversaries. Labels: North Korea; military activity The War on Military Benefits, Redux During the current debt limit battle, we've heard several Democratic politicians vow that "any deal" will not come at the expense of the nation's seniors, or working families. But military members, retirees and their dependents apparently don't fit in those categories, regardless of age or family status. As we noted in a recent post, there's a war on military benefits underway inside the Beltway, and the conflict has only begun. Last week, we reported on a proposal to end subsidies to military commissaries, where most members of the armed forces buy their groceries. The subsidies (a little over $1 billion a year) allow military personnel and their dependents to buy food and other household staples at prices below civilian grocery stores. The benefit is particularly important for young enlisted members and their families who reside in high cost-of-living areas. Without reduced prices at the commissary, more military personnel will wind up on food stamps, or other forms of assistance. While the number of troops who qualify for the federal programs remains relatively small, DoD officials reported a 25% jump in food stamp use at military commissaries between 2007 and 2009, an increase that out-paced the general population, even during dire economic times. A more recent survey by the Tulsa World found that food stamp purchases at the four base commissaries in Oklahoma climbed by 187% over the past two years. Under various proposals now being discussed in Washington, military commissaries would be merged with base exchanges and prices would move closer to those in off-base stores. There has also been talk of providing a $400 yearly payment for military families (to compensate for rising grocery prices). Unfortunately, that subsidy won't come close to replacing the average $4,000 in yearly savings that most shoppers receive at the commissary. But the eroding benefits don't end there. Earlier this week, Oklahoma Senator Tom Coburn unveiled a plan for $9 trillion in budget cuts, including $1 trillion from the military. While we've long admired Mr. Coburn's crusade against government waste, some of his proposed reductions make little sense, and will ultimately impact morale, welfare and military readiness. Among his suggestions: -- Slash Military Tuition Assistance by 90%. Military members currently receive up to $4500 a year to fund their off-duty education, allowing many to earn their college degrees while in uniform. Senator Coburn says the TA program largely duplicates GI Bill benefits. Gutting TA would save almost $5 billion over a 10-year period. Unfortunately, there are some serious drawbacks to Coburn's education plan. For starters, it would encourage more first and second-term troops to leave the service and enter college, since the GI Bill pays the highest benefits to veterans who have separated from the military. Secondly, the Senator's assertion that TA is an ineffective recruiting and retention tool is simply wrong. Today's U.S. military is the best-educated in history and the tuition assistance program is one of the primary reasons. For example, over 90% of senior non-commissioned officers in the U.S. Air Force have at least an associate's degree, and the vast majority of those were earned while on active duty, using TA benefits. And, you can make the case that tuition assistance is cost-effective as well. Since its inception in 2009, the Post-9-11 GI Bill has served more than 50,000 veterans, at a cost of $11.4 billion dollars. During the same period, the Pentagon spent just over $1 billion on TA, a program that benefited six times as many military members, at a fraction of the cost. To be fair, contrasting TA to the GI Bill is something of an apples-and-oranges comparison, but to dismiss the former program as inefficient and ineffective is simply mind-boggling. Along with tuition assistance, Mr. Coburn also wants to slash these military programs: -- Close on-base schools at DoD installations in the U.S. This proposal would save an estimated $10 billion over the next decade. At first, this proposal seems like a no-brainer; the 26,000 military dependents now enrolled in those schools would simply transfer to local public schools. But what if the local schools are lousy, and ill-prepared for a sudden influx of hundreds of new students? Are military parents supposed to simply sacrifice their childrens' education? Sadly, we know the answer to that one. -- Overhaul military health care, and prevent retirees from signing up for TriCare Prime, the health insurance option with the lowest out-of-pocket costs. Coburn's proposal would save a projected $115 billion over 10 years, but retirees would pay an additional $3500 a year in additional medical expenses. That probably sounds like a bargain to many in the private sector, but it's worth remembering that the average military retiree is an E-6 with an average "take home" pension of just over $20,000 a year. Increased out-of-pocket costs will place a significant burden on the largest pool of military retirees. Clearly, military spending must endure its share of cuts and Senator Coburn's plan is not without merit--just slightly mis-guided. Instead of merging commissary and BX functions, we'd simply shutter the exchanges, except at overseas locations. The BX's price advantage over civilian competitors has been largely erased in recent years, as the stores went upscale in their merchandising. Getting rid of the exchanges in the CONUS would more than cover the cost of subsidizing the commissaries, and providing savings that military members can really use. In terms of education program, we'd put more emphasis on tuition assistance, encouraging more troops to earn degrees while on active duty. Even in an era of frequent deployments, it's quite possible to start--and finish--your degree in two tours (or less). At an average cost of $250-300 per credit hour, a degree earned using tuition assistance costs the taxpayer $30-40,000. Using the GI Bill (including housing allowance), the "price" for the same degree is $100,000--or more. Under our proposal, the GI Bill would stress degree completion for veterans, with elimination of the "transferability" clause for dependents. For the Tri-Care issue, we recommend an even more radical solution: fully fund on-base health care. Many have forgotten that Tri-Care was created because Bill Clinton slashed the budget for base health care facilities and was promised illusory savings by sending dependents and retirees to off-base facilities. As a former Air Force Surgeon General later commented, the cost for many procedures in DoD hospitals was nominal, compared to civilian health care centers. He cited a simple appendectomy as a case-in-point. On-base, the tab for the surgery was (at the time) about $300--the cost for a surgical pack. If the military sends the patient downtown, the same appendectomy runs about $7,000. Multiply that by thousands of beneficiaries and procedures, and you can see why military health care costs have skyrocketed. The Coburn plan is unlikely to pass anytime soon, but unfortunately, some of his proposals may endure. We first heard talk about gutting the TA program more than a year ago, long before the Senator raised that option publicly. It's almost certain that some of his "ideas" will eventually find their way into an eventual DoD down-sizing bill. Mr. Coburn's heart is in the right place, but he needs to adopt a smarter approach in cutting military spending. ADDENDUM: And for what it's worth, we're still waiting for someone (other than Paul Ryan) to tackle the real budget-busters: Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid. From our perspective, it looks like military personnel (and retirees) are being asked to shoulder more cuts than the general population. But then again, the military community is a very small voting block. Go after the folks who can't hurt you at the ballot box. What a surprise. Labels: Tom Coburn; DoD budget cuts; What a Delicious Moment We don't watch MSNBC very often, so I missed today's on-air exchange between anchor Contessa Brewer and Alabama Republican Congressman Mo Brooks. During a discussion about raising the debt ceiling, Ms. Brewer pointedly asked Congressman Brooks if he has a degree in economics. Based on the response she, got it's pretty obvious that the MSNBC anchor never reviewed Brooks' biography. His response? "Why yes, I do." If Ms. Brewer had done a little bit of homework, she'd discover that Mo Brooks graduated from Duke in only three years, with a double major in political science and economics, earning highest honors in that latter subject. He later earned his law degree at the University of Alabama. Here's the actual exchange, via Real Clear Politics. Heh, heh, heh. Of course, no one ever accused Contessa Brewer of being the sharpest tool in the media shed. For the record, she has a degree in broadcast journalism from Syracuse, which has one of the better programs in that particular area. But as a J-school grad myself, I know the curriculum is (ahem) less challenging than engineering, the hard sciences or economics. So, the typical journalism graduate has vast holes in their education that must be filled through additional reading and study. Unfortunately, most journalism school products believe that courses in "communications theory" and "investigative reporting" leaves them well-prepared to explain such complex topics as the U.S. economy. So, they're quite content to share their ignorance with the masses. That's why Contessa Brewer was trying to "educate" Congressman Brooks just before asking about his education. In her learned opinion, the country will fall into a "depression" if the debt ceiling isn't raised. Gee, Ms. Brewer, a lot of people would say we're already in a depression, and the prospect of adding another few trillion to the national debt won't exactly help our economy. But such points are clearly lost on TV hosts like Contessa Brewer, whom Don Imus once famously described as a fat a--. Substitute the word "dumb" for "fat" and you've got a much more accurate description. Labels: Contessa Brewer; MSNBC; Mo Brooks Two scandals, very different outcomes. But in both instances, journalists (with the assistance of government personnel) obtain sensitive information. Printing or broadcasting the material could create serious security risks, both at home and abroad. Without much regard for those consequences, the material finds its way into the press, generating both shock and outrage. But there any similarities between the two episodes. When The New York Times, The Guardian and other publications printed excerpts from the Wikileaks cables (facilitated by the theft of classified material by a U.S. Army Private), those outlets were hailed as heroes. But when the former British tabloid News of the World hacked into phone voice-mails--with the assistance of police officers--and published details, the public furor resulted in the closing of the 148-year-old paper. The scandal has sent shares of its parent (News Corp) plummeting, and just today, the company's CEO and Deputy CEO (Rupert and James Murdoch) were grilled by a British Parlimentary committee. Is there more than a touch of hypocrisy at work here? Bret Stephens of The Wall Street Journal certainly thinks so: In both cases, secret information, initially obtained by illegal means, was disseminated publicly by news organizations that believed the value of the information superseded the letter of the law, as well as the personal interests of those whom it would most directly affect. In both cases, fundamental questions about the lengths to which a news organization should go in pursuit of a scoop have been raised. In both cases, a dreadful human toll has been exacted: The British parents of murdered 13-year-old Milly Dowler, led to the false hope that their child might be alive because some of her voice mails were deleted after her abduction; Afghan citizens, fearful of Taliban reprisals after being exposed by WikiLeaks as U.S. informants. Both, in short, are despicable instances of journalistic malpractice, for which some kind of price ought to be paid. So why is one a scandal, replete with arrests, resignations and parliamentary inquests, while the other is merely a controversy, with Mr. Assange's name mooted in some quarters for a Nobel Peace Prize? The easy answer is that the news revealed by WikiLeaks was in the public interest, whereas what was disclosed by News of the World was merely of interest to the public. By this reckoning, if it's a great matter of state, and especially if it's a government secret, it's fair game. Not so if it's just so much tittle-tattle about essentially private affairs. Of course, it also depends on which media outlet(s) are involved in the episode. If it's The New York Times, exposing a previously-classified government surveillance program, why alert the Pulitzer Committee. If it's News Corp, alert the authorities. One final note: the American press isn't above the illegal intercept of phone calls in pursuit of a good story. We recall that both the Times and the Washington Post ran articles based on information from a Democratic activist, who monitored phone calls between then-Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich and John Boehner. And in the late 80s, a reporter from the Cincinnatti Enquirer hacked into the phone system of Chiquita Brands. Material he gleaned from the calls formed the basis for an 18-part "expose" of the company's activities in Central America. Labels: News Corp; phone hacking scandal The Forgotten Man? With the pending closure of Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, Deborah Joel is worried that her father may be forgotten. For more than 20 years, the main auditorium at Walter Reed has been named for her father, Lawrence Joel, who received the Medal of Honor for Heroism in Vietnam. In November 8, 1965 Joel was a combat medic, assigned to the 173rd Airborne Brigade which was participating in Operation Hump, near Bien Hoa. As they attempted to push the Viet Cong from defensive positions in the area, Joel's unit was ambushed by a larger enemy force. For the next 24 hours--and despite being wounded twice--Joel (then a Specialist 5) risked his life to care for scores of wounded men, saving many of them. When his medical supplies ran out, Joel improvised a bandage from a plastic bag to cover a serious chest wound on an injured GI, preventing him from bleeding to death. Shot twice in the right leg, Specialist Joel defied orders to stay on the ground and kept going out to help his fellow soldiers. At least a dozen survivors of the battle owe their lives to Lawrence Joel and his heroism. Specialist Joel received the CMH from President Johnson at the White House in March 1967, becoming the first living African-American recipient of that award since the Spanish-American War. Joel retired from the Army as a Sergeant First Class in 1973, after 27 years of service. He died of complications from diabetes in 1984, and received a hero's burial at Arlington National Cemetary. A few years later, the auditorium at Walter Reed was named in his honor. But there are no plans for a similar honor at the Bethesda Naval Medical Center or the new Army Community Hosptial at Fort Belvoir, which will replace Walter Reed as the primary military health care facilities in the nation's capital region. Deborah Joel told the Washington Post that she was shocked by the decision, and the lack of an explanation from the Army. Make no mistake: Lawrence Joel is a hero in the greatest sense of that word; a soldier who put his own life on the line to save wounded GIs. From our perspective, his place in the pantheon of America's heroes is secure, based on his service in two wars, and his intrepid actions on that fateful day in November, 1965. But it's also worth noting that there is no guarantee that the naming of a base (or particular facility) will continue in perpetuity. There are plenty of military installations that were closed--without the name being transferred to another base or facility. For example, there are no plans to name another Army post "Fort Monroe," after the iconic base in Hampton, VA is shuttered later this fall. We should also remember that the name of Lawrence Joel will live on long after that auditorium at Walter Reed closes its doors. Not only will Joel be memorialized as one of the the handful of brave Americans to receive the MOH, the Army has done its part to honor his legacy. You see, there's an important element missing from the WaPo account: along with the auditorium in Washington, military clinics at Fort McPherson, GA and Fort Bragg, NC are named for him, as is the street that encircles the Army hospital at Fort Campbell, KY. Additionally, the coliseum in Joel's hometown, Winston-Salem, NC, is named in his honor. Lawrence Joel has been gone for more than a quarter-century. But as long as this nation honors and reveres its war heroes, he will never be forgotten. Posted by George Smiley at 12:46 PM No comments: Labels: Lawrence Joel; Congressional Medal of Honor Barely 24 hours after the Pentagon announced a massive security breach earlier this year, the story has all-but-disappeared from the media. True, the "hacker attack" (which resulted in the theft of more than 20,000 pages of classified documents) got some play in morning editions of the Washington Post and The New York Times--and it was the lead story last night on the CBS Evening News--but there has been remarkable little follow-up. After all, reporters, editors and producers must move on to bigger stories, like the J Lo/Marc Anthony split and Casey Anthony's impending release from jail. Too bad, because this has all the makings of a major scandal. This much we know: earlier this year, hackers (read: foreign intelligence operatives) penetrated the secure computer network at a defense contractor and made off with some of the nation's most sensitive information. Among the material pilfered: war plans for Iraq and Afghanistan, and detailed technical information for the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter. When the breach was announced yesterday by Deputy Defense Secretary William Lynn, he confirmed that the operation was almost certainly the work of a U.S. adversary, most likely China or Russia. That's hardly a surprise; Mr. Lynn suggested the "hackers" got their information in a limited probe, suggesting they knew exactly how to enter the network, and were looking for specific information. But what's missing from the "official" account (and media reports) is another, equally disturbing element: the theft was, most likely, an inside job, carried out by individuals with access to the classified networks that links the Defense community, SIPRNET (which handles SECRET-level traffic), and JWICS, which carries TS/SCI data. That assessment is based on a rather simple fact. SPIRNET and JWICS are separate from the internet. The Pentagon has spent billions wiring the world for transmitting classified information, avoiding the use of commercial networks that could be more easily targeted. DoD also invested heavily in encryption systems and security protocols that provided added layers of protection. So, what's the easiest way to penetrate that type of system? Put a spy on the inside, with the a security clearance and ability to look for information and download it. We're hoping that arrests will be announced in a few days. But there's also the chance that the cyber-raid represented the capstone assignment for a Chinese or Russian operative. Once the data was stolen, the spy may have simply hopped onto an overseas flight and disappeared, long before we realized what happened. In fairness, it is more difficult for spies to download information from secure computer networks--but not impossible, as illustrated by the Wikileaks scandal. All it takes is a disaffected American, or someone planted in the defense establishment, with access to machines that allow users to copy classified data to portable storage devices. Lest we forget, Bradley Manning was a mere Army private when he copied hundreds of thousands of pages of collateral-level information and sent it to Wikileaks. From what little we know about the latest security breach, it's hard to say if the penetration occurred on SIPRNET or JWICS. War plans for on-going conflicts are often classified at the collateral level, as are some technical details for allied weapons systems. But given the sensitive technology contained in the F-35, it is possible that the penetration occurred on a Top Secret system or (God forbid), a network reserved for special access programs. Posted by George Smiley at 7:44 PM 3 comments: Labels: Security breach; hacker attack; DoD Kiss the Commissary Goodbye? Who says you can't have entitlement reform? Certainly not Congress and the Obama Administration. True, they won't talk much about fixing Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid, but when it comes to military entitlements--we prefer the term benefits, since they were actually earned--everything is apparently fair game. Consider these recent developments: -- In one of his final speeches before leaving the Pentagon, Defense Secretary Robert Gates reiterated the need for military pension reform. Mr. Gates doesn't like the current system, which allows members of the armed forces to retire after 20 years of service and begin collecting their pension immediately. Never mind that the typical military retiree is an E-6 who receives a little over $1600 a month, after taxes--far less than the pension check of your typical state or municipal employee, or retired CIA Director. And it's almost inevitable that Mr. Gates's successor, Leon Panetta, will take up the cause, creating some sort of "corporate" system that would grant a nominal pension after only 10 years of service--but beneficiaries wouldn't start collecting until the age of 60. Hmmm... has anyone considered the negative impact from the loss of a tremendous recruiting tool and the loss of experienced personnel from the middle ranks? Put another way, how many military members with marketable skills will hang around for another 10 or 20 years when they can bolt for the contractor world or certain federal agencies. And, with a projected decline in recruiting (due to force reductions), it will be more difficult to fill their shoes. -- If the retirement system overhaul isn't bad enough, the cost of military healthcare is also going up. Tri-Care co-pays are scheduled to increase under the 2012 DoD funding bill. True, the fees have remained unchanged for the past 16 years, but (as the Democrats are fond of saying), the higher co-pays will affect the most vulnerable in the military community, retirees and dependents living on fixed income. -- Want more? How about higher costs for troops trying to earn their college degree. Colorado Congressman Mike Coffman has asked the SecDef to look at cutting the tuition assistance rate for eligible personnel, from 100% to 75%. Coffman, a retired Army reservist, believes the rate reduction would give military members more "ownership" of their higher education, forcing them to do more research in selecting schools and degree programs. Representative Coffman earned one of his college degrees using TA (as did your humble correspondent), but his proposal ignores an important fact: college tuition rates have exploded over the past 20 years, so a 25% cut in TA would force many junior enlisted members out of the education market--the very group that benefits most from the program. -- How about higher grocery bills? The Senate Veterans Affair Committee recently passed a bill that would end subsidies for base commissaries, which currently total about $2 billion a year. And for good measure, the legislation calls on DoD to eventually merge commissaries with base exchanges, creating an on-base version of your local Wal-Mart. Unfortunately, the commissary proposal has a number of flaws. Being able to buy groceries on post (at reduced prices) helps many military families make ends meet, particularly in high-cost-of-living areas. Without the subsidies, prices will inevitably rise, creating hardship for junior enlisted members and their dependents. According to various studies, each dollar in subsidies translates into three dollars in benefits for patrons (and the benefits are even higher for service members below the grade of E-6). Indeed, the commissary program is one of the most effective managed by DoD. Additionally, the idea of merging commissary and BX/PX functions makes even less sense. The commissaries and exchanges have completely different business models, and merging supply chains and personnel systems (while eliminating waste) would be very, very expensive and it would take years to recoup the savings. Besides, the proposed commissary/BX changes are nothing more than a money shuffle. Money that now subsidizes base commissaries would be shifted to a program that treats former Marines and dependents from Camp Lejeune, NC, who were exposed to hazardous drinking water for more than 30 years. As MOAA observes, victims of the water problem at Lejeune deserve treatment, but raiding the commissaries isn't the way to pay for it. Virtually everyone who wears (or has worn) the uniform is willing to make sacrifices to get the nation's fiscal house in order. But it's dismaying to see Congress erode key military benefits, while ignoring the larger programs that threaten our fiscal solvency. But then again, the number of active duty military, dependents and retirees is relatively small, in comparison to the population as a whole. Better to go after the military crowd instead of enraging the membership base of AARP. After all, we know that members of the armed forces community don't vote, or more accurately, many of them can't vote (see next article). Labels: DoD benefit cuts; military commissaries Disenfranchised Over There (2010 Edition) For years. we've been chronicling the systematic disenfranchisement of U.S. military members (and their families), attempting to vote by absentee ballot. By various estimates, armed forces personnel and their dependents are more likely than any other group to have their votes negated by absentee ballots that arrive too late or can't be returned in time to meet state election laws. So, why should 2010 be any different? It wasn't, according to Hans A. von Spakovsky, writing at NationalReview.com: Members of the U.S. military and their families who were stationed overseas during the 2010 elections were disfranchised at an alarmingly high rate, according to a new report released today by the Military Voter Protection Project. MVPP surveyed 24 states. Of the 2 million military voters covered by the report, 15.8 percent requested absentee ballots, but only 4.6 percent cast absentee ballots that were counted. This is at least partly due to the difficulty and uncertainty of the process. Both numbers were below the 2006 midterm election figures, when 5.5 percent of military and overseas voters cast absentee ballots that were counted. MVPP also found that local election officials in 14 states and the District of Columbia failed to comply with the federal requirement that all absentee ballots must be mailed at least 45 days prior to the election. That requirement, imposed by the 2009 Military and Overseas Voter Empowerment Act (MOVE Act), was intended to ensure that voters had enough time to receive and mail back a ballot, given the long transit times for overseas mail, particularly in war zones. These failures affected more than 65,000 voters. Most of the states did a good job counting the ballots they actually got back — the overall acceptance rate was more than 94 percent. However, there was one glaring and shameful exception: The state of New York rejected nearly one-third of all absentee ballots from military voters. Based on a combined estimate of military members who voted in person in the U.S. as well as overseas voters, MVPP concluded that the overall turnout rate of military voters was 11.6 percent. Since the turnout rate of all voters was 41.6 percent in the 2010 election, this means that military voters were 3.5 times less likely to vote than other voting-age citizens. This is simply shameful. The very Americans who ensure our right to vote are the very ones most likely to be disenfranchised. And while some military members are apolitical, others have grown tired of the tricks and simply given up on the idea of absentee voting. It's also worth noting that many of the problems occurred in the blue states with close elections (Illinois comes to mind) a few red states--including Alaska--asked for waivers as well. As detailed in the MVPP report, the Obama Justice Department only added to the confusion, ignoring requests for guidance on the waivers from DoD, while telling the state of Maryland that it could avoid a waiver by simply mailing out a ballot for federal races. A federal judge eventually overruled the Maryland opinion, but it was still a scramble to get a complete ballot to military personnel from the state who were serving overseas. Assessing data from last year's election, MVPP analysts believe 2010 represented a step backward for military voters--and it's hard to disagree: On the individual state level, as set forth in Appendix A, the percentage of military voters whose absentee ballots were counted ranged from 1.3 percent in North Carolina, where only 8,323 of 111,550 eligible military voters had an absentee ballot that counted, to 15.7 percent in Washington. In total, 18 of the 24 states had military absentee voting participation rates that fell below 5 percent. Nine states had a participation rate below 3 percent. While the 2010 survey data does not include military members who voted in person (with two exceptions discussed below), that percentage has been relatively small in the past. In 2006 for example, only 7 percent of military members voted in person. If a similar percentage voted in person in 2010, the total military voter participation rate for 2010 would have been 11.6 percent. The Heritage Foundation will hold a conference on this matter July 19th in Washington. In attendance will be Admiral Edmund Giambastiani, Jr., a former Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. His comments should prove illuminating, though he never said much about the issue while serving in the Pentagon. Indeed, DoD has never paid more than lip service to the issue, afraid of running afoul of Democrats in Congress and the White House. Indeed, the military voting problem is referred to as "disenfranchisment" and not something more descriptive like "suppression." Yet, as the MVPP research team notes, how would we describe a system that produced similar voting totals among members of a minority group. Rest assured, it wouldn't be referred to as "disenfranchisement," and DOJ lawyers would already be in court, standing up for the victims. Labels: military voting; MOVE Act Slithering Out the Door Colonel Jeff Smiley has resigned as Commander of the Alabama National Guard's 187th Fighter Wing, but questions still remain about his status and past conduct. According to Air Force Times and WSFA-TV in Montgomery, Smiley submitted his resignation on 21 June for "strictly personal reasons." His departure came three months after an investigation by the Alabama Guard revealed that Smiley had used his unit's F-16 aircraft for personal trips and received more than $96,000 in extra pay for unauthorized compensatory time. National Guard Bureau officials would not say June 23 whether Smiley had been reassigned or would retire. Smiley has been in the Air Force for 31 years. Smiley was investigated during the third year of his command after an anonymous complaint was filed with the Air Force Inspector General’s Office. After multiple investigations, four of eight allegations were deemed to have merit. The investigation concluded Smiley accumulated excessive comp time and converted it into flight training time, for which he received nearly $96,000. The IG also found that he used government property — an F-16 — to visit family several times in 2006; neglected to conduct a semiannual climate survey of the unit for three years while he was installation commander; and improperly coerced his officers to join the National Guard Association of the United States. A few years ago, we remember an Air Force Technical Sergeant (E-6) being court-martialled for claiming an extra $75 on a do-it-yourself move. So will Smiley face any charges for fraud or theft? Don't bet on it. After investigators from the Alabama Army Guard found merit in four of the eight charges, Colonel Smiley received a mild letter of counseling--even by senior officer standards--from Brigadier General Paul D. Brown, Jr., commander of the state air guard. Brown conducted the initial investigation of the allegations and found none to be substantiated. He referred to his own interpretation of the allegations in his letter to Smiley. “By a ‘preponderance of the evidence standard,’ a recent Alabama Army National Guard Inspector General investigation has substantiated four allegations of apparent misconduct on your part,” Brown wrote. “While my own review of the allegations and available evidence lead me to conclude that the substantiated allegations are primarily of a technical nature, devoid of any malicious or fraudulent intent, I want to emphasize to you, a senior officer under my command, conditions can develop and/or exist which cast doubt on your overall judgment and create an appearance of impropriety.” Brown went on to write that he considered “the totality of the circumstances leading up to this counseling” and concluded that he was confident that Smiley was capable of accomplishing his duties as wing commander. But as Smiley began to feel the heat from the media and the public, he decided to step down. A graduate of Texas A&M, Smiley is said to be living in the Houston area and preparing for retirement, after a career that spans 31 years of active duty and guard service. Back in February, Air Force Times demanded that Smiley's record be made public, wondering how he retained his job when other wing commanders have been fired for lesser offenses. Obviously, the guard does things a little differently, but it's stunning that Smiley is (apparently) walking away with an extra $96,000 in his pocket, and his pension and benefits intact. We'll go the Times one better. Smiley should not be allowed to retire until the entire matter has been investigated by the Air Force or DoD Inspector General, with subsequent referrals for criminal prosecution, as required. As a guard officer, Colonel Smiley can be recalled to active duty, even if he is currently on terminal leave, or actually retired. One hundred thousand dollars in undeserved compensation and the misuse of government aircraft are serious offenses, serious enough to warrant a wider probe. Since the Alabama Guard is unwilling to do the job, it's time to move the matter up the chain of command. Sadly, the Smiley case appears to be the latest example of the "different spanks" rule that is painfully evident in all Air Force components, active duty, Guard and Reserve. Too many senior officers have been allowed to skate on serious charges over the last 20 years, and that only encourages the next generation. Such behavior will continue until someone finally court-martials an Air Force general and sends them to Leavenworth. That's the kind of shock required to restore ethical standards in the USAF. ADDENDUM: While we don't know Colonel Smiley, we've followed his career. He is one of the best pilots in the F-16 community. As a First Lieutenant at Shaw AFB, SC back in the early 80s, (not long out of RTU) he won the wing's "Top Gun" competition, bettering dozens of far more experienced Viper pilots. Later, he took top honors in two categories at the Air Force's worldwide Gunsmoke competition. Smiley is also a graduate of the USAF Weapons School and is one of only 10 pilots with more than 4,000 hours in the F-16. Regrettably, Smiley's misuse of government aircraft--and his undeserved compensation--have stained what should have been an exemplary career. Labels: Colonel Jeff Smiley; Alabama ANG The Size Myth It's been a hallmark of education reform plans since the 1950s. Reduce class size in public schools, the argument goes, and student achievement will improve dramatically. And we've been on a crusade to achieve that goal for six decades. As Larry Sand notes at City Journal, the number of public education employees has increased more than 300% since the mid-1950s, while the student population has grown by only 60%. True, not all of the additional staffers work in the classroom. Much of the growth in our public schools has been at the administrator level, with increases in other areas as well. But even when you factor in all those additional bureaucrats, bus drivers, cafeteria workers, secretaries and security personnel, the number of teachers has also increased dramatically, producing a corresponding decrease in the average class size: "..according to the National Center for Education Statistics, teacher-pupil ratios across the nation have diminished steadily since 1955, when the ratio of public school teachers to students was 26.9 to one. By 1970, the ratio was 22.3 to one. And by 2007, the last year for which federal government statistics are available, the ratio came down to 15.5 to one. In California, going back to 1999, the student-teacher ratio across all elementary and secondary schools was 20.9 pupils. Today, it’s 21.3—a paltry 1.9 percent increase." But does a smaller class mean greater student achievement? According to Mr. Sand, a retired California teacher, the most famous study that advanced the "smaller-is-better" argument was conducted in Tennessee more than 20 years ago, and its methodology has been question. More recent research openly challenges that assertion: In a 1998 study, for example, Stanford’s Caroline Hoxby found that “reductions in class size from a base of 15 to 30 students have no effect on student achievement.” In 1998, Hoover Institution senior fellow and economist Eric Hanushek released the results of his impressive review of class-size studies. Examining 277 separate studies on the effect of teacher-pupil ratios and class-size averages on student achievement, he found that 15 percent of the studies found an improvement in achievement, while 72 percent found no effect at all—and 13 percent found that reducing class size had a negative effect on achievement. While Hanushek admits that in some cases, children might benefit from a small-class environment, there is no way “to describe a priori situations where reduced class size will be beneficial.” Mr. Sand believes the real solution may lie with slightly larger classes, taught by better teachers: If we accept Hanushek’s numbers and dismiss the lowest-performing 5 percent of teachers without hiring replacements, a class of 20 would then increase by just one student. Ask any parent if he’d rather have his child in a class of 21 kids with a high-performing educator or in a class of 20 with a mediocre one. With only a finite amount of money available for education, fewer working teachers would free up funds for increased salaries, books, computers, or whatever the individual school district chooses. And, as a bonus, retaining fewer teachers would also mean fewer central-office bureaucrats and a smaller pension-fund burden on cash-strapped states. Unfortunately, no politician is going to take up the rallying cry of "bigger classes for our schools." Already locked in a death battle with public employee unions, governors are afraid of handing their adversaries a weapon that might impede (or even reverse) current reform efforts. Indeed, most governors believe the problem will somehow take care of itself; with districts forced to lay off teachers because of funding problems, class size will almost certainly increase. But not without a fight. As teacher layoffs begin to take effect, expect even more stories about harried teachers trying to manage unwieldy classes, and ensure that all students are actually learning. It's a sure bet that coverage won't talk about how much class rolls have shrunk over the last 30 years, and expected increases are modest, at best. Instead, reporters will go for the heart-strings, claiming that indifferent politicians (read: Republicans) are sacrificing our schools to help their wealthy friends. It's a baseless charge; without reform of public education and employee pension plans, many school districts are facing bankruptcy in the coming years. What's more heartless: teaching kids in slightly larger classes, or shuttering the entire district? Still, the argument advanced by the teacher's union and their Democratic allies does have some traction. At a Navy event, I recently met a Petty Officer Second Class, stationed in New Jersey. She has four school-age children; a civilian husband who's looking for work, and an unsold home at their last duty station. In her current financial situation, the Petty Officer qualified for food stamps. While acknowledging that Governor Chris Christie's reforms are needed, she worried about the loss of art and music programs at her children's schools. I'm sure she would be sympathetic to New Jersey teachers and their arguments about increased class size. Research affirms that our schools can survive with slightly larger classes. Fact is, we have no other choice. Meanwhile, there's the matter of getting rid of teachers who shouldn't be in the classroom. In today's edition of the New York Post, there's the story of Yvonne Chalom, a teacher in the city school system who was recently dismissed for leaving threatening messages on the voicemail of three administrators at Murry Bergtraum High School where she taught Spanish. Getting rid of Ms. Chalom, 49, took eight years and more than $1 million in taxpayer dollars. Labels: school class size ...From Elise Jordan, a National Security Council staffer writing at National Review on-line. Her column is devoted to something we've written about extensively in recent months: the Obama Administration's absolute refusal to confront Iran, on issues ranging from human rights abuses, to its nuclear weapons program. A few excerpts: Iran is feeling pretty confident these days. The Americans are leaving Afghanistan and leaving Iraq, while showing just how far they’re not willing to go in Libya. A handful of former enemies in the Sunni Arab world — regimes that for decades acted as a pro-U.S. counterweight to Iran’s regional ambitions — have fallen in the wake of the Middle East’s democratic uprising. Others Gulf states with significant Shiite populations, such as Bahrain and Saudi Arabia, seem a little shaky. Tehran, meanwhile, rockets ahead. Literally. Last week, the U.K. foreign minister announced that Iran had tested missiles and rockets that can “deliver a nuclear payload.” The recipients of that delivery, by the way, would be Israel and Europe. It was a not-so-subtle message to the ever-feckless international community: We’re going to get a nuclear weapon. Your sanctions have not worked. There’s nothing you can — or will — do about it. The White House’s response to the tests? Silence. Sound (or no sound, as it were) familiar? Flashback to 2009: The Green Revolution sweeps the streets of Tehran. Ahmadinejad and his thugs brutally crack down on protesters of Ahmadinejad’s contested electoral victory. The White House decides to keep quiet. The same pattern unfolded following the democratic revolutions of this past season. It’s not just “leading from behind,” as one of Obama’s advisers memorably described his leadership style, but speaking from the rear. The result? Tehran survived its brush with democracy, further emboldening the regime. Now they see the Arab Spring as another great opportunity. “[Iran] didn’t create the Arab Spring or start it, but they are clearly trying to exploit it wherever they can,” Secretary of Defense Robert Gates has observed. To be fair, Mr. Obama and his team aren't the first administration to kick the Iranian can down the road. Pre-occupied with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the Bush White House was more than happy to let diplomacy "run its course," a process that resulted in wasted years--and Iranian progress towards a nuclear weapon--while European negotiators labored in vain to dissuade Tehran. Now, we're literally at the point of no return. Iranian efforts to join the nuclear club will soon hit pay dirt, and its campaign to prop up it allies in Syria and Lebanon appears to be working as well. The mullahs and Ahmadinejad are on the march; our remaining allies in the region are getting very nervous and its time for a new approach to Iran. And the response from the White House? [crickets] Labels: Iran; U.S.; Obama Administration If you need proof that our justice system is broken, look no further than the verdict just rendered in the Casey Anthony trial. In case you missed it, a Florida jury found Ms. Anthony not guilty of murdering her two-year-old child in 2008. Not guilty on manslaughter charges. Not guilty on various counts of aggravated child abuse. In fact, she was only found guilty on charges of lying to a police officer. While she may receive a short sentence for that crime, it's worth remembering that "Tot Mom" (as Nancy Grace calls her) has already spent three years in jail. With credit for time already served, she may walk out of the courtroom on Thursday morning, a free woman. But even if she spends a few more months in the slammer, Casey Anthony will emerge from jail a rich woman. Book and movie offers will be pouring in (in fact, they already are) and forget about those laws that prevent the accused from profiting from a crime. There are plenty of ways to structure a deal to avoid the statutes, and besides, she beat the rap on the most important counts. Say what you will about the lack of DNA and fingerprints. At the end of the day, there is--as prosecutors argued--only one person who benefited from the death of that beautiful little girl. The same woman who partied while her daughter was missing, without an apparent care in the world. The same woman who created an elaborate web of lies to conceal the child's disappearance. She is the same woman who will now profit from the death of her daughter. Only in America. Labels: Casey Anthony; not guilty verdict

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Catholic Spain and the Nasrids (1212 – 1502 CE) Toledo: Deciphering Secrets of Medieval Spain University of Colorado System 4.6 (5 évaluations) | 1.2K étudiants inscrits This course evaluates the medieval history of Toledo from the era of the Visigoth Kingdom (6th-8th centuries) through its Islamic period (8th to 11th centuries) and into its reintegration into Christian Spain (after 1085 c.e.) In particular, we take note of the cultural and religious transformations that characterized the city with a special effort to understand how many peoples and religions came to settle and live amongst one another. We will virtually-tour the Islamic and Christian structures of the Museo de Santa Cruz, Iglesia de San Román, Sinagoga del Tránsito, Mezquita de Bab al-Mardum, Archivo Municipal de Toledo, and the Archivo Historico de la Nobleza. We examine the Visigoths transition from Christian Arianism to Catholicism and the harsh treatment of the Jewish population. We explore Islamic governance and development of the medieval city of three faiths, with a special interest in its cultural achievements. We will study King Alfonso “The Wise” (1252-1284)’s efforts to characterize himself as the “king of three religions” via his legal codices, the creation of the Cantigas de Santa María, and his intellectual endeavor known as the Toledo School of Translators. We evaluate the robust Jewish and converso noble families of the city and appreciate their intellectual, religious, and economic contributions to Castilian life. We will bear witness to the rise of anti-Jewish blood purity statutes, the creation of the Inquisition, and the expulsion of the Jews. We also briefly introduce and study Spanish manuscripts from the municipal and cathedral archives to make new scholarly breakthroughs relating to the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim interrelations. No knowledge of Spanish is needed to participate in the course or in our transcription efforts. 4.6 (5 évaluations) Jews, Christians, and Muslims in Medieval Toledo After 1212 CE This week we study Jews, Christians, and Muslims in Medieval Toledo and in the broader Iberian Peninsula. We will evaluate the rule of Castilian King X "The Wise" and his legal codes and the Cantigas de Santa Maria. We will also visit the Museo Sefardi and consider how "cleanliness of blood" statutes impact recent converts to Christianity (conversos). Catholic Spain and the Nasrids (1212 – 1502 CE)12:43 Christian Toledo and Material Culture10:02 The Museo Sefardí - Director Santiago Palomero Plaza9:12 Moving from Judaism to Catholicism: Re-Appraising the Santa María7:22 Cultural Backlash: Blood Purity Statutes and Intolerance6:29 Dr. Roger Louis Martínez-Dávila [MUSIC] Spain's future was now in the hands of the christian kingdoms. Under the rule of Castilian kings like King Alfonso X, The Wise, who ruled between 1252 and 1284. Christians would encounter the own world of positive coexistence. Alfonso would shower the intellectual arts and sciences with funds. And create his own center of learning, the School of Translators in Toledo, where Greek knowledge was revived previously by Muslims. And now Jews and Christians worked alongside of each other to revitalize the sciences, astronomy, medicine, and philosophy within the Christian kingdoms. Further, the wise king, who fashioned himself the king of three religions, Jews, Christians, and Muslims. Would make his mark in legal affairs with the publication of the Seven Parts Law or La Siete Partidas, a comprehensive legal code. As well as in the religious arts, where he supported the creation of Cantigas de Santa Maria, or the Canticles of Holy Mary, a collection of 420 narratives, devotional, and liturgical poems. The Cantigas are dedicated to the Virgin Mary, an important figure in the Catholic faith, who is honored by the church to this day. The compositions were writ in Medieval Galatian Portuguese under Alfonso's direction. One excerpt we might enjoy is from Cantiga number 10. In this Cantiga, Alfonso speaks of the beauty and power of Mary. Rose of roses and flower of flowers, lady of ladies, Lord of lords. Rose of beauty and fine appearance and flower of happiness and pleasure, lady of most merciful bearing and Lord for relieving all woes and cares. Through these commitments to cultural arts, to conquest, and reclaiming Iber for the Christians. Castile was on the march and would determine the future. Just 70 years after the death of King Alfonso the Wise, unforeseen events transpired in the kingdom of Castile and Leon, and across the broader European continent. The plague, a dead king, and anti-Jewish sentiment would be on the rise. From 1347 to 1350, approximately 25 million people died from the plague in Europe, or about 25% of the population. In fact, the pandemic returned multiple times to Castile, resurging in 1374 and again in 1384. Over the course of the 14th century, the Iberian population withered from an estimated population of about 5.5 million down to about 4.5 million people. Across Europe, Jewish communities were implicated as the cause of the illness. Complicating this natural phenomena, was a persistent division separating Christians and Jews. And as scholar Samuel Cohn Jr. reminds us, Jews were accused of poisoning food, wells, and streams. They were tortured into confessions, rounded up in city squares, or at their synagogues, and at times exterminated en masse. This was particularly the case in Germany, southern France, and Spain, and was known as, the Burning of the Jews. Compounding the problems inside of Spain was the death of King Alfonso the 11th. While laying siege to Gibraltar and and after the battles and conquests by the noble prince Lord Kind Alfonso of Castile and Leon. It was at the village in the noble, notable, and very strong castle of Gibraltar, the plague entered among the Muslims and Christians. By the will of God, this pestilence of the greatest mortality returned and fell upon our most noble King Alfonso. With the death of the king, Castile fell into civil war, pitting Pedro I, known as The Cruel, against his half-brother Enrique II of Trastamara. The war lasted from 1350 until 1369 when Enrique killed his brother. With a new king, Castile seemed to be back on its feet, but it wasn't. Castile was bankrupt and broken. To find new footing for the end of this 14th century, King Enrique II elected to pursue a new policy. A policy of promoting Jewish families inside of his government and his nobility. Specifically, he told them, if you will convert to Christianity, I will bestow upon you many riches and many opportunities. And this is what happened, a new nobility was created inside of Castile. New families, like the Estunigas, and the Mendozas, and the Santa Maria's would rise inside of Castile. The late 1300's and early 1400's and recreate a new Castile crafted from old Christian and new Christian families. And this was accomplished through a system known at the Mayorazgo system, or the Mercedes enriquenas. And in this system, the king would allow his nobles both old and new, to pass wealth and titles to their children. It fundamentally would reshape Castillo as the elite became a mixture of Jewish and Christian heritages. This message and his change was not well received by the general populace. And then during the 1390s massive anti-Jewish riots swept across Castile and Aragon as well, known as the Anti-Jewish Pogroms of the 1390s. And which extended well into the early 1400s. Many Jewish populations were annihilated and effectively ended inside of Castile. It is said, perhaps inaccurately, but to give us a sense of the scale of the problem and the devastation. That as many as 100,000 Jews were killed, 100,000 chose to convert to christianity and another 100,000 chose to leave Iberia altogether. We certainly can't know the exact numbers, but we know that it was a fundamental shift again inside of Castile. Change had come, and change was difficult for this community. What would happen in the future? Would Jews be allowed to enter into the Christian society as Conversos, or recent converts to Christianity? Or would they be separated from other populations, would they always be suspect? These questions were soon resolved and by 1450, with Castile and Leon, the strongest kingdom on the Peninsula on the march. These divisions within Castilian society worsened, specifically in the city of Toledo. New municipal laws were passed that banned Conversos from holding public office. These new laws known as Limpieza de sangre laws, or blood purity laws would exclude those individuals and those families that hailed from Jewish and, in the future, Muslim heritage, from ever holding public office. This discrimination extended, eventually, into many cathedral systems and many churches across Spain. As old Christians became increasingly skeptical about the religious pedigree and beliefs of new Christians. Just a few years later, in 1469, another major event occurred inside of Christian Spain. Castilian princess Isabel would elope with Prince Fernando of Aragon, preparing in a new way, for a Catholic Spain. Their marriage allowed for the unification of Christian Spain in 1479. Queen Isabel claimed her territories of Castile and Leon, and Fernando, Aragon and Catalonia. Collectively, they would rule Spain together and there was just one last element they needed to pursue, the Nasrid Kingdom of Granada. In existence since 1231, the Nasrids of Granada had been a compliant and tributary state at the Castilians, it had been allowed to exist. And from time to time, the Nasrids would support the Castilians and their objectives to finish off other Islamic cities inside of Spain during the 13th century. For example, in 1236, the Nasrids assisted Castile in the retaking of the city of Cordoba. And in 1248, they did the same with Sevilla. After these two entities were lost, the Nasrids were the only Islamic kingdom inside of all of Spain. And now, at the end of this period in 1492, the Nasrids would be effectively eliminated as well. This was the twilight of positive coexistence inside of Spain. In this last 20 years of the 15th century we will witness the creation of the inquisition in 1478, which pursued Christian heretics who returned to their former faiths of Judaism or Islam. And in 1492, as we know, the Jews would be expelled from Spain, their homeland of over 2,000 years. Thus the end of the 15th century was quite incredible for a number of reasons. To give you a sense of just how exceptional this year was, 1492, consider this. By that year, the martch of history claimed its Christian victories and Muslims, Jewish and Native Americans losses would be felt. After a 10 year war to reclaim Islamic Granada, the Spanish monarchs took up residence in the luxuriously ornate Alhambra Palace on January 1st. The remaining 250 to 300,000 Jews were exiled from Spain on July 31st. And Christopher Colon and his crew landed on Espanola in the Americas on December 25th. All in the course of a year, this transpired. Medieval Spain had reached it's twilight and it's end. And we would be remiss not to remember that, in 1502, the Muslims were expelled from Spain, as well, completing this effort to purify Spain of its Jewish and Islamic past. An Imperial Spain, an early modern Spain, was now on the horizon and could be easily seen. In 1519, the grandson of Isabelle and Fernando assumed the mantle of power. He was Charles V, and he would become the king of united Spain and the Holy Roman Emperor. [MUSIC]

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Friends of the Museum of Somerset The Friends of the Museum of Somerset bring together people who are passionate about Somerset's past and future. The Museum of Somerset The RMS Empress of Ireland Disaster Posted on March 19, 2015 by Friends of The Museum of Somerset Our meeting on 17 March 2015 gave us an interesting talk by Janet Tall about the sinking of the RMS Empress of Ireland following a collision on the St Lawrence River around 2am on 29 May 1914. The Canadian Pacific passenger liner in transit from Quebec City to Liverpool collided with a Norwegian collier named SS Storstad, causing the former to sink in 130 feet of water in around 14 minutes. There was a great loss of life totalling 1,012, including 134 children, making this the worst Canadian maritime accident in peacetime. By comparison RMS Titanic had sunk two years earlier with a loss of 1,503 lives. RMS Empress of Ireland Independent enquiries in Canada and Norway reached different conclusions as to which ship was to blame, the Canadians finding for the liner while the Norwegians found against it. There were complex issues raised in regard to changing course in foggy conditions, and separately concerning the closing of watertight doors and portholes. Empress of Ireland had adequate lifeboats but not all of them could be launched due to the ship listing. This disaster led to an improvement in the design of ships’ bows, bringing on the raked bow. We learned that the sinking of RMS Empress of Ireland is not as well known as RMS Titanic because Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated on 28 June 1914 and WW1 was set in motion. Lord Mersey’s Commission of Inquiry on the liner sinking began on 16 June 1914 and lasted for eleven days. The captain of RMS Empress of Ireland was Captain Henry Kendall, well known in those times as the person instrumental in the arrest of Dr Hawley Crippen in 1910 after recognising the murderer as a passenger aboard RMS Montrose and setting in train his arrest. Captain Henry Kendall This entry was posted in Meetings by Friends of The Museum of Somerset. Bookmark the permalink. FOLLOW THE FRIENDS ON FACEBOOK FOLLOW THE MUSEUM ON FACEBOOK

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The Mission Inn – The End of a Perfect Day May 26, 2016 By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments (continued from Monday) Will Rogers probably defined the Mission Inn best when he said, “It is the most unique hotel in America. It’s a monastery, a museum, a fine hotel, a home, a boardinghouse, a mission, an art gallery and an aviator’s shrine. It combines the best features of all of the above.” The Chapel and our Docent The chapel at the Mission Inn is stunning and is a National Historic Landmark with two original stained glass windows by Lewis Tiffany, yes, that Tiffany, and an alter that is 25 feet tall and 16 feet across completely covered with three coats of 18-karat gold leaf. The ‘Garden of Bells’ has over 800 bells including one dating to 1247 described as the ‘oldest bell in Christendom’. In 1932, son Frank Miller, who had by then taken over for dad, C. C., put up a ‘Famous Flyers Wall’ recognizing over 150 notable aviators. There are so many nooks, crannies, artifacts and stories that go with them that I couldn’t begin to cover them all here; those who have been there know what I mean and I’m not a good enough writer to describe it to those who haven’t – just go! Our docent worked overtime as after our tour she took us to the Presidential Lounge and asked us to get an adult beverage and follow her to a roof-top terrace where we watched the sunset. She told us that a song popular at the beginning of the 20th century, was written by Carrie-Jacobs Bond, a hotel guest in 1909, and was composed as she watched from the hotel as the sun set behind Mt. Rubidoux, just as we were doing. The song is called ‘The End of a Perfect Day’ and I think it accurately summed up my time there. The Mission Inn during the holidays Most visitors like to go to the Mission Inn during the holidays when it is resplendent with nearly 4 million Christmas lights and 400 animated figures, but I’d never gone thinking that I hate crowds and Google has lots of pictures, but now, after seeing how amazing this place is, I can’t wait to see it over the holidays this year. Besides, I know there’s some secret tunnels and catacombs just waiting to be uncovered . . . that would make it ‘The End of a Perfect Day’. Top of Mt. Rubidoux today and an Easter Sunrise Service back in the day Bridge over the Santa Ana River (If you don’t see any water, no need to adjust your glasses, it is now dry, so Riverside should be renamed ‘DryRiverBedside’) On the left is the Chamber of Commerce photo of the view from Mt. Rubidoux, my photo is on the right Interior Stairwell and Chapel at night at the Mission Inn Tagged Famous Flyer Wall • Garden of Bells • Mission Inn • The End of a Perfect Day • Tiffany The Mission Inn and Mt. Rubidoux Tunnels? May 23, 2016 By Sparrow/WatsonComments:16 Comments A mountain to climb and a visit to an iconic California hotel that has been rumored to be haunted was all I needed to inspire my trip to Mt. Rubidoux and the famous Mission Inn, just 45 minutes away in Riverside. I had no visions of having a paranormal experience or even finding the secret catacombs that supposedly connected these two landmarks which are a mile apart, but it might be fun looking for them and I thought you’d enjoy the journey. Mt. Rubidoux – notice the air duct My day starts with the hike of Mt. Rubidoux, to be honest, it was more of a stroll than a hike, as it was only about 3 miles of paved trails with a total elevation of 1,399 feet – women pushing baby carts passed me by. The mountain looks like a small geological burp – a boulder outcropping rising out of an otherwise flat terrain. In 1903 the mountain was the site of the first non-denominational Easter sunrise service in the U.S., so it’s got that going for it. I hiked every trail and non-trail on the mountain looking for the entrance to the secret tunnel that leads to the Mission Inn. Just as I was about to give up I discovered an out-of-the-way rock formation that looked like an entrance AND it had what looked like an air duct pipe coming out of it. As I started to move towards it, a female park ranger asked where I was going. I looked at her knowingly, hiked up my pants and gave her that Barney Fife sniff and said, “I found it, didn’t I?” She replied, “You found an old sewer line, now move on.” Where does this go??????? Unable to use the ‘secret passageway’, I was forced to drive the mile to the Mission Inn for my docent-led 75-minute tour – well worth the $13 price tag I might add. The docent, who fortunately had a great sense of humor, introduced herself and asked our group if there was any part of the Inn that was of particular interest to us. I saw this as my opportunity to broach the subject of the ‘secret passageways’ and asked, “Are we going to get to see the passageways, catacombs, tunnels or whatever that connects Mission Inn with Mt. Rubidoux?” The docent rolled her eyes, ignored the question and started the tour. Mission Inn courtyard We are first told what the Mission Inn is not; it is NOT part of the chain of 21 historic Spanish Missions in California, but rather it was built as a small hotel by Christopher Columbus Miller in 1876, and because Miller was a world traveler (not a surprise with a name like Christopher Columbus), the 30-year construction of the inn was influenced by many architectural styles: Spanish Gothic, Spanish Colonial, Moorish, Renaissance and Mediterranean Revival to name just a few. To my layman’s eye it looked like six committees from six corners of the earth worked on this project independently and Miller just glued them all together for the finished product, but somehow it works – it’s magnificent! If you’ve never heard of, much less visited, the Mission Inn, let me start your edification of this unique hotel with a list of a few of the august luminaries who have stayed there. US Presidents: Benjamin Harrison, William McKinley, Teddy Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, Herbert Hoover, John Kennedy, Gerald Ford and George W. Bush. Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan were married and honeymooned there. Let me rephrase that; Richard and Pat Nixon were married there and Ronald and Nancy Reagan honeymooned there. Glad we cleared that up! Why so many presidential visitors you ask? Not that I’m obsessed or anything, but I think it goes back to those tunnels as a security measure; if we ever had an emergency that required us to go to ‘DefCon4’ while a president was staying at the Mission Inn, they would have a secret underground escape route. OK, maybe that’s just the conspiracy theorists in me talking. Industrialists: John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie, William Randolph Hearst, Henry Ford Entertainers: Clark Gable, Spenser Tracy, Harry Houdini, W.C. Fields, Bette Davis, William Boyd (Hopalong Cassidy), he actually worked there for a while as a chauffeur. Numerous movies have been shot there. Other notables: Amelia Earhart, John Muir, Booker T. Washington, Albert Einstein, Helen Keller Will Rogers probably defined the Mission Inn best when he said . . . (Continued on Thursday) Tagged C.C. Miller • Frank Miller • Mt. Rubidoux • The Mission Inn • U.S. Presidents LIFE BEFORE MODERN CONVENIENCES I’ve just read a book by a sociologist about the divergence of the American population. The book is alternately fascinating, frightening and boring as hell, but since I was a Sociology major in college I found it mostly interesting. And, as an added bonus, it goes a long way toward explaining how we ended up with the current slate of Presidential candidates. But that’s a story for another day. What caught my interest was the author’s timeline for changes to the American culture, beginning in the early 60’s. He described a world back then that is barely recognizable today. It got me thinking about all of the conveniences we take for granted that are, historically speaking, really rather new. I’ve always thought that our parents lived in the most rapidly changing time – going from Model T’s to the International Space Station – but for us Baby Boomers (and let’s face it, our subscriber base tilts to grey hair) the changes in how we live our daily lives has been just as extraordinary. In case you’ve forgotten, here’s some reminders of what life was like 50 years ago. Television – First of all, if you were lucky, you had a console TV with an antenna on the roof that received signals from FOUR stations. We thought we had all the choice in the world! At 6 pm one could watch Huntley/Brinkley, Cronkite, Amos n’ Andy or the local weather on the independent station. For those who did not have an antenna, tin foil wrapped around the “rabbit ears” was the next best solution. As a kid, I often had two jobs – stand at the TV and move the rabbit ears around to improve reception (which varied by the moment) and change the channel. No remote control, no 500 channel cable packages, and no “smart” TV’s. Telephones – By the early 60’s almost every American household had a telephone. All of them were black with a rotary dial. It would be a few years before we marveled at the colored “Princess” phones with touch keys. Phone numbers started with names. Ours was TWinbrook 2-3537 (it’s amazing I can remember that but not my current computer password). Usually there were just one or two phones in a house, permanently secured to the wall in a central location. As a teenager the major drawback to this was that anyone could – and did – listen in on your conversations. Although land-line technology hasn’t changed all that much in 50 years there is one difference in how we use phones – answering systems. Back then if you called someone and they weren’t home, the phone just rang and rang until you gave up. In business, you would leave your office for an hour and return to find your desk papered with those pink “While You Were Out” notices. We somehow managed without answering machines, voicemail and cell phones. Computers – Nothing has changed everyday life in America like the advent of the home computer. We now can know anything. All the information you might want is a Google search away (see Research below). But computers have also changed the way we communicate. Fifty years ago if you wanted to send a quick note to someone you hand wrote or typed it. You then placed it in an envelope, put a stamp on it, deposited it in the corner mailbox and waited a week for it to arrive at its destination. At the office you received mail once a day. If something you needed to work on didn’t arrive in that day’s mail it was the perfect excuse to spend the day wandering around the office chatting with co-workers and taking an extra-long lunch. The advent of email has made social interactions much easier and probably increased the national productivity tenfold. As for looking things up…see the next section. Research – Back in the day, when teenagers wanted to escape their parents for a few hours they would say “I’m going to the library to look something up”. Some families were fortunate to have an Encyclopedia Britannica (sold to them by a door-to-door salesman) but most of us had to go to the library, which was code for meeting friends, goofing off and checking out some random book to take home as proof that we were actually there. Today, 78% of homes in America have computers and we can assume that if we just counted households with children that number would be much higher. So now kids have all the information they need at their fingertips right in the comfort of their own home. I wonder what excuse they use these days to get out of the house? Photography – Almost every household in the 1960’s had some model of a Kodak Brownie camera. They required rolls of film and blue flash bulbs that usually rendered the subjects blind and resulted in pictures where everyone’s eyes were closed. In 1963 the Polaroid camera became a sensation because the photo spewed out of the camera. The photographer waited one minute and then pulled the negative portion away from the “positive” photo and VOILA! – you had a grainy, wet memento. Serious photographers still use real cameras with real film, but most photos today are taken with a cell phone. No film, no taking it down to the drugstore, waiting a week for it to be developed, and no more half a roll of useless pictures that end up in the garbage (or, in the case of our mother, kept in a drawer until she died so we could throw them in the garbage). We’ve come a long way in 50 years. Kids growing up today must cringe at how primitive our lives were back then. But on the flip side, we could play outside in the neighborhood until dark and our parents didn’t have to worry. We had more chores than homework, which instilled a good work ethic. We learned how to read maps without GPS and to cook food without ‘nuking it. On the whole, our lives were lived at a slower pace and without access to everything all the time. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t change that for the world. Tagged American culture in the 1960's • Brownie camera • computers • Encyclopedia Brittanica • Polaroid camera • Princess telephone • telephone Treasures in the Desert May 9, 2016 By Sparrow/WatsonComments:10 Comments My formal introduction to the ‘treasures of the desert’ probably took place in the early 70s, when brother, Jack took a job as restaurant manager at Ironwood Country Club in Palm Desert and he invited me out for a weekend. I believe it was in March and I was teaching school in southern California at the time; I remember thinking as I made the drive to Palm Desert just how close the desert really was – only about an hour and half drive and yet, I was to find out, a world apart. And while the weather was certainly nice in Orange County in March, it was amazing in Palm Desert, especially the nights. I remember sitting out on a beautifully clear evening with a billion stars all around, wondering how long this had been going on – apparently for quite some time. ‘Painter’s Palette’ Death Valley My love and fascination with the desert and its flora and fauna has continued to this day. I was amazed at the colors and the shear beauty of the desert on my first visit to Death Valley where I was also intrigued with ‘desert stories’ like that of ‘Scotty’s Castle’. My two treks through Joshua Tree National Park introduced me to unique rock formations, eerie hidden caves and spectacular views. My hike through Havasupai introduced me to the extraordinary water features in what was seemingly a dry, desolate desert. I recently visited the Desert Museum in Tucson with niece, Shelley Watson and continued to be amazed at all the beauty and life that exists in the Arizona-Sonora desert. The Raptor Show, featuring Ravens, Great Horned Owls and Falcons was remarkable! Aside from the ‘family treasures’ in the desert, such as my sister, Suzanne living in Scottsdale and my sister-in-law, Starlet in Apache Junction, there’s a small oasis about three-and-a-half hours from home that calls to Linda a couple of times each year; you might know the place . . . Las Vegas. Linda has not met a Top Dollar slot machine that she doesn’t think she can hit the ‘big one’ on, so for her birthday each year, I ‘surprise’ her with a trip to visit our money. This year we did manage to salvage a little education out of the trip with an excursion to Hoover Dam, the building of which was amazing. Primm, Nevada With all the hikes, excursions, timeshare in Palm Desert and trips to Vegas, you’d think I’d have my fill of the desert, but no, there is yet another pilgrimage that we make each year and from which I have just returned – Primm. Primm, or what used to be called Stateline, is on the California-Nevada border, and at first passing you wonder why anyone would stop there with Vegas just 30 minutes away. The answer is Primm’s two 18-hole golf courses, which have a unique history of their own. Famous golf course designer, Tom Fazio, was contracted by Steve Wynn to design the golf course at the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas, under the condition that he would not design another golf course in the state of Nevada. Thus, the two magnificent courses he designed at Primm are just over the border in California. South Point Hotel & Casino, Las Vegas, NV A group of 12 couples from Yorba Linda Country Club have been going to Primm on ‘Derby Weekend’ since 1996. The outing was originally put together by Debbie Osborne, who with husband Russ, still attend, along with two other original members, John & Judy VanBoxmeer and Don & Marilyn Spradling, who made the trip this year from their home in Fresno. Linda and I have been lucky enough to have been part of this ‘gang that couldn’t shoot straight’ for the last 12 years Rodeo at South Point Equestrian Center A small wrinkle in the Primm trip this year was, for the first time, we didn’t stay in Primm. While the golf courses are top quality, the Primm Resort & Casino would be lucky to get the tip of one star in a five-star rating. So, one of this year’s organizers, Chuck Sager, who has ‘connections’ at South Point Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas, suggested a change of venue. The South Point Hotel is very unique among Las Vegas hotels – it has 124 bowling lanes as well as horse stables and a full equestrian center, where, last weekend, many of us witnessed our first rodeo. It is truly an amazing place. Thank you Chuck! We also changed golf courses to Rhodes Ranch, another ‘treasure in the desert’. Sometimes a ‘winner’ is a ‘loser’ A tradition at this gathering is a large bet on the Kentucky Derby. We have two legitimate ‘pony players’ in the group, Jack Budd and Russ Osborne, so everyone gives them $105 and they make some sort of boxed, parlay, quinella bet to heighten our interest in watching ‘The Derby’. We actually won about $24,000 in 2011, of course it was split amongst 24 people, but still, it was a lot more fun than losing, or winning the way we did this year. Jack & Russ actually picked the top 4 finishers, but because they were mostly favorites, our $105 bet got us a $30 return, so ‘winning’ produced a $75 loss. But it was exciting for a moment, before we realized that winning was actually losing – more mysteries of the desert! Whether I’m hiking, exploring, golfing or just losing money, the desert continues to lure me to its hidden treasures. Tagged Death Valley • Hoover Dam • Joshua Tree National Park • Kentucky Derby • Palm Desert • Primm • South Point Hotel & Casino • Yorba Linda Country Club DASH GETS A JOB Dash at his usual station Dash the Wonder Dog is three years old which, for a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, equates to 28 human years. In other words – he is a millennial. But it’s not only his age that puts him in that category. He also fits into that demographic through his actions, or better put, his inactions. To wit: he still lives at home with his parents, he lies around all day on the couch watching television, he expects to be served his meals (on time) and he does not contribute one cent to the household coffers. To add insult to injury, he has never barked so he’s not even a respectable watch dog. In fact, the welcome mat our on our front doorstep says “Warning – Dog Can’t Hold His Licker”. Something had to be done. I began to research how he might contribute – nothing too taxing, after all he is the Royal Dog of England. As luck would have it, I stumbled upon “Pets on Wheels” in Scottsdale and decided we should give it a go. Pets on Wheels was founded in 1990 as a visiting therapy dog organization with the mission of enhancing the lives of the elderly and/or infirm in special care centers. Volunteers visit once a week, providing a bright spot in the day for all of the patients they visit. For obvious reasons one has to jump through some hoops before being approved by Pets on Wheels, so on a bright Saturday morning in March Dash and I attended the orientation meeting. Two delightful women talked about the history of the group and showed heart-warming pictures of dogs (I think some people were in them too) and explained what was required of a dog to be approved for the program. They assured us that the qualifications weren’t too hard – respond well to petting and touching, ignore loud noises, reject any food that may be on the floor, and walk well on a leash. I began to panic. Maybe these two ladies felt that was a rather low bar, but I know that Dash has never rejected a morsel of food in his life. He sits at my feet every night as I prepare dinner, not looking up at me but instead staring straight ahead so that he can best sight any falling crumb. Nothing escapes his steely eyed gaze. As for walking on a leash – I have rotator cuff damage from all the pulling and tugging on our daily walks. But on the plus side, Dash does have his Canine Good Citizen certificate so somewhere, deep in the recesses of his brain, he does know how to use his party manners. I prayed that those recesses would come to the fore. So we started the test, him happily unaware and me nervous as a tick. Of course he loved being petted and didn’t flinch a bit at loud noises. Next we had to walk down a long hallway so they could see if I had him under control. Under control???? Are you kidding? He has had me under his paw since the day we brought him home. He treats my commands as mere suggestions, and usually obeys only if there is a snack involved. But, here we were, being tested and as if the heavens had opened up and angels were sitting on his shoulder, he walked down that hallway like he owned the place. Whew! We made it through the first round. Dash in his uniform The second phase of approval took place at our assigned care facility, Vi at Silverstone. An experienced observer met us there so he could evaluate how Dash interacted with the inhabitants. Let’s be honest, I think I was also being evaluated but the observer was too kind to tell me that. As we walked into the building Dash immediately lurched to the right. Unfortunately, the nice people at Vi put out a plate of cookies every day for visitors. So Dash, assuming he was an invited guest, thought the warm, fragrant oatmeal cookies were up for grabs. So much for first impressions. The evaluator gave me a look I couldn’t quite place – it was either “Lady, you are dreaming if you think you’re going pass this test” or “Hey, my dog does that too”. Regardless, on we went, visiting the people in the assisted living unit and then the skilled nursing area. Finally, we entered the memory care quarters which requires a five digit code to enter and exit. I am expected to remember it which, considering I am constantly forgetting our four digit security system code, could result in me permanently being locked in. Well at least that would save my family the trouble of having to officially commit me. Luckily my Swiss Cheese brain remembered the code so we returned to the lobby where the evaluator told us we passed. Dash got his official “uniform” – a Pets on Wheels bandana, a leash and a badge. I got one of those oatmeal cookies. In the weeks since being approved we’ve made several visits and Dash has been a champ. I’m not really surprised. As much as he can disobey me at times, he is the very picture of obedience when he is around strangers. He is always patient and quiet, accepting of whomever comes his way. He contentedly sits on laps, savouring every scratch behind the ear or rub on the belly. But of course, the best part of his new job is seeing the faces of people that he visits. Most of them light up when he jaunts into the room and many want him to sit on their bed so they can get a snuggle. Even in the memory unit he is petted and loved and for that instant has made someone happy. As for me, I love doing it too. I think about the day, hopefully very far in the future, when I might find myself in similar circumstances. How joyful it will be to once again feel a furry paw on my hand or a moist lick on my cheek. For now, I’m just happy to accompany Dash to work. Tagged Canine Good Citizen • care centers • Pets on Wheels • therapy dog • Vi at Silverstone

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You Won't Believe All the Stupid Ways Cops Are Using Face Recognition Tech Filed to:Facial Recognition There’s plenty of evidence indicating that facial recognition tech is far from serving as a fair and accurate identification tool but because the sector is mostly lawless, this technology is easily weaponized. And according to a new report, in the hands of many cops, it is being used in profoundly dumb and irresponsible ways. A report from The Center on Privacy & Technology at Georgetown Law Center published on Thursday details a number of ways in which law enforcement agencies are taking their own creative liberties when it comes to photos being fed into facial recognition databases, furthering the likelihood of an inaccurate and unjust arrest. An NYPD presentation detailing suggested methods for using facial recognition was unearthed in the report. It described some unnerving ways of getting creative with the technology that have actually worked but did not detail any cases or approaches that have failed. One example detailed in the report is that detectives from an organization that runs facial recognition searches for the NYPD used an image of actor Woody Harrelson from a Google image search to run through the system because the suspect looked like him. When the algorithm detected a match in the system to the photo of Harrelson, investigating officers used that to find a suspect (not Harrelson). This same organization that works with the NYPD, Facial Identification Section (FIS), also used a photo of a New York Knicks player that looked like the doppelganger for an assault suspect. The report also states that at least six police departments in the country are running forensic sketches through facial recognition systems. So, rather than cross-check someone in the system with a photograph taken of a suspect’s face, they are trying to find matches based on semi-realistic drawings or computer mock-ups. And these aren’t generated based on actual photographs, they are created based on what an eyewitness remembers, which is not a particularly reliable account. Aside from using celebrity doppelganger’s photos and sketches, cops are also reportedly editing photos before feeding them to the algorithm. For example, according to the report, the NYPD has replaced entire facial features with ones they found on Google image search—like switching out an open mouth with an image of lips found on the internet or closed eyes with open ones found online. Detectives have also combined two different people’s faces that look alike into one (think “what would our nonexistent child look like?”) in order to find one of the included people. They’ve also used both the Blur effect and the Clone Stamp Tool to augment photos before searching it through the system. Sergeant Jessica McRorie, a Deputy Commissioner Public Information spokesperson, didn’t deny in an email to Gizmodo the claims that the NYPD used doppelgänger photos for its facial recognition system to identify a suspect, as well as replaced facial features in some suspect photos with features found on Google Image search. She did characterize facial recognition as “merely a lead” and stated that “it is not a positive identification and it is not probable cause to arrest,” but did not state whether the department had an explicit regulation prohibiting officers from using it as a positive ID, rather than just an assist. “No one has ever been arrested on the basis of a facial recognition match alone,” McRorie said. “As with any lead, further investigation is always needed to develop probable cause to arrest.” She continued: The NYPD has been deliberate and responsible in its use of facial recognition technology. We compare images from crime scenes to arrest photos in law enforcement records. We do not engage in mass or random collection of facial records from NYPD camera systems, the internet, or social media. In each case, whether it is to identify a lost or missing person or the perpetrator of a violent crime, facial recognition analysis starts with a specific image that is compared to other specific images to develop a possible lead. That lead will need to be investigated by detectives to develop evidence that will verify or discount it. The NYPD’s use of facial recognition has generated leads that have ultimately led to the recent arrest of one man for throwing urine at MTA conductors, and another for pushing a subway passenger onto the tracks. The leads generated have also led to arrests for homicides, rapes and robberies. The NYPD has also used facial recognition for non-criminal investigations, for example a woman hospitalized with Alzheimer’s was identified through an old arrest photo for driving without a license. The NYPD constantly reassesses our existing procedures and in line with that are in the process of reviewing our existent facial recognition protocols. There are several unsettling consequences to this experimental approach to facial recognition systems. As Georgetown Law Center points out in the report, these tweaks and unorthodox photo choices can lead to inaccurate identification. For investigative purposes, this means that the wrong person might be arrested. And that’s why, within the list of recommendations at the end of the report, the center urges these agencies to clearly delineate for officers what “sufficient corroboration of a possible match” looks like as well as completely banning facial recognition as a measure of a positive identification “under any circumstance.” In other words, cops can’t blindly take the word of an algorithmic match as the definitive suspect. The recommendations also suggest banning the use of doppelgangers and forensic art as legitimate data to be run through these facial recognition systems. “As the technology behind these face recognition systems continues to improve, it is natural to assume that the investigative leads become more accurate,” the report states. “Yet without rules governing what can—and can not—be submitted as a probe photo, this is far from a guarantee. Garbage in will still lead to garbage out.” We’re very much in the early stages of deploying these surveillance systems on a massive scale, and we’re already seeing how they can be weaponized against ethnic minorities and biased against women and people of color. These algorithms are also sometimes just comically bad at their job. And when the facial recognition space is mainly lawless and unregulated, it’s crucial to make sure there’s not only transparency and accountability on how powerful agencies are using the tech but that they have clearly outlined the ways in which they can use it. Otherwise, we’re going to see more of these idiotic use cases that only exacerbate systemic issues for the most vulnerable. Can We Make Non-Racist Face Recognition? Cops Are Trying to Stop San Francisco From Banning Face Recognition Surveillance Man Hiding Face From Police Facial Recognition Test Fined for Telling Cops to 'Piss Off' 'Automated Racism': Chinese Police Are Reportedly Using AI to Identify Minority Faces

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Oregon utility seeks 100 ‘average megawatts’ of renewables UPDATED: Oregon-based utility Portland General Electric Company (PGE) has issued a request for proposals (RfP) seeking 100 average megawatts (MWa) of renewable energy capacity. Conrad Eustis, director of Retail Technology Strategy at PGE, said that 1MWa is equivalent to 8,760MWh – adding: “Thus to get 10MWa from rooftop solar in our service area you would need about 91MW of rooftop solar installations, or 62MW of solar with single-axis tracking, or about 50MW of solar with single-axis tracking if installed in Eastern Oregon (but then you’ll need a transmission path).” Projects must be a minimum of 10MW in size and can use a range of technologies including geothermal, biomass, biogas, solar, wind and hydroelectric power. Bids can also be structured in a variety of ways, including power purchase agreements (PPAs) or proposals for facilities that PGE would own and operate. PGE shared the RfP in draft form with potential bidders and stakeholders earlier this year, and on 16 May received final approval from Oregon Public Utility Commission to move forward with the competitive bidding process. “We are committed to reducing our greenhouse gas emissions,” said Maria Pope, PGE’s president and CEO. “Continuing to add renewable resources to our mix while keeping electricity affordable for our customers is key to that effort.” Portland and the entire county of Multnomah have pledged to transition to 100% renewable energy by 2050. Article updated to clarify that RfP is for 100 average megawatts. Read the entire story May 23, 2018 PV-Tech 0

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На главную » Sigurðardóttir Yrsa » The Silence of the Sea. Читать онлайн The Silence of the Sea. Sigurðardóttir Yrsa. Yrsa Sigurðardóttir THE SILENCE OF THE SEA Translated from the Icelandic by Victoria Cribb This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Þorsteinn Eyjólfsson, ship’s captain (1906–2007) Special thanks are due to Michael Sheehan for explaining various points in relation to yachts and sea voyages; Arnar Haukur Ævarsson, first mate, for sharing his knowledge of telecommunications at sea, steering systems and other aspects of navigation; and finally Kristján B. Thorlacius, advocate to the Supreme Court, for information on the legal side of missing persons’ cases. The responsibility for any mistakes is entirely my own. Brynjar hugged his jacket tighter around him, thinking longingly of his warm hut and wondering what on earth he was doing out here. It just went to show how dull his job was that he should jump at any chance of a diversion, even if it meant having to endure the biting wind. As usual at this late hour the port he was supposed to be keeping an eye on was deserted, and it suddenly struck him that he didn’t know it any other way. He avoided its daytime bustle, preferring it like this – black sea, unmanned ships – as if seeing how it came to life when he wasn’t there brought home to him his own insignificance. He watched an old couple walk out onto the docks, leading a little girl between them. Not far behind them was a young man limping along on crutches, which struck Brynjar as no less odd. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly midnight. Though childless himself, he knew enough about parenting to realise that this was a strange hour for a toddler to be up and about. Perhaps, like him, these people were braving the bitter cold to see the famous yacht that was due any minute now. Come to think of it, they were probably here to meet a member of the Icelandic crew. Brynjar decided not to approach them in case he was right. After all, they had a reason to be there, whereas he was simply being nosy. Of course he could invent some official business, but he was a hopeless liar and there was a risk the explanation would come out all wrong. Rather than stand there like a spare part, he walked over to a small van marked ‘Customs’, which had driven onto the docks half an hour ago and parked with a good view of the harbour. With any luck the driver would invite him to sit inside in the warm. As he tapped the window he noticed with surprise that it contained three customs officials instead of the usual one or two. The glass rolled down with a squeak, as if there was grit in the frame. ‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘Evening.’ It was the driver who replied. The attention of the other men remained riveted on the harbour. ‘Here about the yacht?’ Brynjar regretted approaching the van and felt his hopes of being offered a seat fading. ‘Yup.’ The driver looked away and stared in the same direction as his companions. ‘We’re not here for the view.’ ‘A lot of you, aren’t there?’ Small clouds of steam accompanied his words but the three men took no notice. ‘Something’s up. Hopefully nothing serious, but enough to warrant dragging us out of bed.’ The driver zipped up his anorak. ‘They haven’t been answering their radio. Probably a technical fault, but you never know.’ Brynjar gestured to the people waiting on the quay. The child was now in the older man’s arms and the young man with the crutches had perched on a bollard nearby. ‘I expect they’re here to meet the yacht. Want me to go and check them out?’ ‘If you like.’ The man clearly didn’t care what he did as long as he kept out of their way. ‘But I doubt they’re here to receive smuggled goods. We watched them arrive and none of them could so much as outrun a wheelchair. They’re probably just relatives.’ Brynjar straightened up, removing his arm from the window. ‘I’ll wander over anyway. Can’t do any harm.’ He received nothing in reply but a squeak as the window was rolled back up. He turned up his collar. The group on the quayside had to be better company than the customs men, even if they didn’t have a warm car to invite him into. A lone gull announced its presence with a squawk as it took off from a darkened streetlight and Brynjar quickened his pace, watching the bird vanish in the direction of the looming black shape of the new concert hall. ‘Evening,’ he said as he drew close. The group returned his greeting in a subdued manner. ‘I’m the port security officer. Are you waiting for someone?’ Even in the dim light the relief on the faces of the old couple was obvious. ‘Yes, our son and his family are due in shortly,’ said the man. ‘This is their youngest daughter. She’s so excited about Mum and Dad coming home that we decided to surprise them.’ He looked slightly embarrassed. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’ ‘Of course.’ Brynjar smiled at the little girl, who peeped shyly from under the brim of a colourful knitted hat as she cuddled up to her grandfather. ‘So, they’re on the yacht, are they?’ ‘Yes.’ The woman looked surprised. ‘How did you know?’ ‘She’s the only vessel we’re expecting.’ Brynjar turned to the younger man. ‘You waiting for someone too?’ The man nodded and struggled to his feet. He hobbled over, seeming grateful to be included. ‘My mate’s the engineer. I’m giving him a lift home. Though if I’d known how cold it was I’d have let him take a taxi.’ He pulled his black woolly hat down over his ears. ‘He’ll certainly owe you big time.’ Brynjar caught sight of the doors of the customs van opening, and glanced out to sea. ‘Well, looks as if you won’t have to wait much longer.’ A handsome white prow appeared at the harbour mouth. The stories he’d heard about the yacht had been no exaggeration. Once the entire vessel had come into view, it didn’t take an expert to recognise that she was quite out of the ordinary, at least by Icelandic standards. ‘Wow.’ The exclamation was inadvertent and he was glad the customs men weren’t there to hear it. The boat rose almost three levels above the waterline, and as far as he could tell she had at least four decks. He had seen bigger yachts, but not often. Her lines were much sleeker, too, than the usual craft that called in here, evidently designed for more exotic purposes than mooring in Reykjavík harbour or braving northern waters; rather, she evoked visions of turquoise seas in balmier climes. ‘She’s a beauty,’ he murmured, but then he leant forward and frowned. Anyone would have thought the skipper was drunk; the yacht seemed to be heading perilously close to the harbour wall, moving much too fast. Before he could say another word there was a rending screech. It continued for a long moment, before tailing off. ‘What the hell…?’ The young man on crutches was staring aghast. He sagged towards the harbour wall for a moment, then straightened up and set off with a clatter. The customs officials had broken into a run, and the old couple’s mouths were hanging open. Brynjar had never seen anything like it in all the years he had worked at the port. The strangest thing was the lack of any movement on board. No figures were visible behind the large windows of the bridge; no crew members appeared on deck, as one would have expected in the circumstances. Brynjar told the bystanders to stay put, adding hurriedly that he would be back. As he raced away he caught sight of the little girl, her eyes even wider than before, but with sadness now rather than timidity. By the time he reached the other side of the harbour mouth, the yacht had come to rest against the end of one of the jetties. He was just envisaging a long, taxing night filling in forms when the massive steel hull crunched against the timber. The noise was ear-splitting, but over the din he caught a faint cry from behind him and felt a pang for the people waiting in the knowledge that their family and friends were on board. What on earth could be happening? The customs official had mentioned an equipment failure, but surely even a yacht with engine trouble could be steered better than this? And if not, what was the captain thinking, attempting to bring her in when he could easily have idled outside and radioed for assistance? The bewilderment on the faces of the three customs men was probably mirrored on his own as they made their way warily along the jetty. ‘What’s going on?’ Brynjar grabbed the shoulder of the man bringing up the rear. ‘How the hell should I know?’ Though the man’s reply was curt, his voice sounded shaky. ‘The crew’s probably drunk. Or stoned.’ They reached the end of the jetty where it had been splintered by the ship’s bows, which were no longer streamlined and glossy but scratched and splintered. The shouts of the customs officials had gone unanswered and their leader was now on the phone, conversing in harsh tones with the police. Breaking off the call, he peered up at the bows looming over them. ‘I suggest we board her. The police are on their way and there’s no reason to wait. I don’t like the look of this. Fetch the ladder, Stebbi.’ The Stebbi in question didn’t look too thrilled, but turned and ran back to the vehicle. Nobody spoke. Every now and then they called out to the crew, but to no avail. Brynjar felt increasingly uneasy about the silence that met their shouts and was relieved when the man returned with the ladder. The eldest, who was evidently in charge, led the boarding party. Brynjar was given the role of steadying the ladder while the other three scrambled on board, and was still standing there alone when the police arrived. He identified himself while the officers shook their heads over the situation. Then one of the customs men appeared and leant over the rail again, looking even more incredulous than before. ‘There’s nobody on board.’ ‘What?’ The police officer who had spoken now prepared to climb the ladder. ‘Bullshit.’ ‘I’m telling you. There’s no one on board. Not a soul.’ The policeman paused on the fourth rung, craning his head back to see the customs official’s face. ‘How’s that possible?’ ‘Search me. But there’s nobody here. The yacht’s deserted.’ No one spoke for a moment. Brynjar looked back down the jetty at the old couple, the little girl and the man on crutches standing at the landward end. Unsurprisingly, they had ignored his order to stay put. Realising that the police hadn’t noticed them and were otherwise occupied, he decided to handle the matter himself. He started to walk towards them, picking up speed when he saw they were coming to meet him. Though of all those present they had the most to lose, they had no business approaching the yacht. The police must be allowed to carry out their investigation unhindered. ‘Don’t come any closer, the jetty could give way,’ he called. This was highly unlikely but it was all he could think of on the spur of the moment. ‘What’s going on? Why did that man say there was no one on board?’ The old woman’s voice quavered. ‘Of course they’re on board. Ægir, Lára and the twins. They must be there. They just haven’t looked properly.’ ‘Come on.’ Brynjar didn’t know where to take them but plainly they couldn’t stay here. ‘I expect it’s a mistake. Let’s just stay calm.’ He wondered if they would all fit into his hut. It would be a squeeze, but at least he could offer them coffee. ‘I’m sure they’re all fine.’ The young man met Brynjar’s eye. When he spoke his voice shook as badly as the old woman’s. ‘I was supposed to be on board.’ He was about to say more when he noticed the little girl following his every word. But he couldn’t stop himself from adding: ‘Jesus!’ The old man was staring blankly at the smashed bows yawning mockingly over their heads, and Brynjar had to take hold of his shoulder and physically pull him round. ‘Come on. Think of the little girl.’ He jerked his head towards the man’s grandchild. ‘This is no place for her. The main thing is to get her out of here. We’ll soon find out what’s going on.’ But he was too late; the damage had been done. ‘Mummy dead.’ The child’s pure treble was uncomfortably clear. It was the last thing Brynjar – and doubtless the others – wanted to hear at that moment. ‘Daddy dead.’ And it got worse. ‘Adda dead. Bygga dead.’ The child sighed and clutched her grandmother’s leg. ‘All dead,’ she concluded, and began to sob quietly. The repairman scratched his neck, his expression a mixture of exasperation and astonishment. ‘Tell me again exactly how it happened.’ He tapped a small spanner on the lid of the photocopier. ‘I can’t count how many of these I’ve dealt with, but this is a new one on me.’ Thóra’s smile was devoid of amusement. ‘I know. So you said. Look, can you mend it or not?’ She resisted the temptation to hold her nose in spite of the stench rising from the machine. In hindsight it had been an extremely bad idea to hold a staff party in the office but it had never occurred to her that someone might vomit on the glass of the photocopier, then close the lid neatly on the mess. ‘Maybe it would be best if you took it to your workshop and carried out the repairs there.’ ‘You could have limited the damage by calling me out straight away instead of leaving it over the weekend.’ Thóra lost her temper. It was bad enough having to put up with this disgusting smell without enduring a ticking-off from a repairman as well. ‘I assure you the delay wasn’t deliberate.’ She immediately regretted replying; the longer they stood around talking, the longer it would take him to get on with the job. ‘Couldn’t you just take it away and repair it somewhere else? We can hardly work for the smell.’ On entering the office that grey Monday morning they had been met by a foul stench. It was surprising no one had noticed it during the festivities on Friday evening, but perhaps that was some indication of the state everyone had been in, Thóra included. ‘That would be best for us,’ she continued. ‘We can manage without it for a day or two.’ This was not strictly accurate; it was the only photocopier in the office and the main printer to boot, but right now Thóra was prepared to sacrifice a great deal to be rid of the machine and the accompanying miasma. Not to mention the engineer himself. ‘You’ll be lucky. It’ll take more than a couple of days. I might have to order in new parts and then we could be talking weeks.’ ‘Parts?’ Thóra wanted to scream. ‘Why does it need new parts? There’s nothing wrong with the workings. It just needs cleaning.’ ‘That’s what you think, sweetheart.’ The man turned back to the machine and poked at the dried crust with his spanner. ‘There’s no telling what damage the stomach acid may have caused. The vomit has dripped inside, and this is a delicate mechanism.’ Thóra mentally reviewed the books, wondering if the firm should simply shell out for a new copier. They had been on a roll recently thanks to the economic downturn, which meant plenty of work for lawyers. Indeed, this had happened while they had been celebrating their success with their staff, who now numbered five in addition to herself and her business partner, Bragi. ‘How much would a new one cost?’ The repairman mentioned a figure that was surely a quote for a share in his company, not a new photocopier. Despite their recent success, she wasn’t prepared to splash out on such an expensive piece of equipment simply to avoid a slight inconvenience. Reading her expression, the engineer came to her rescue. ‘It would be ridiculous to have to fork out for a whole new machine just because of a little accident like this.’ He put the spanner back in his toolbox. ‘If you have home contents insurance, it may well cover the cost of the repairs.’ ‘How do you mean? The photocopier belongs to the office.’ ‘No, that’s not what I was suggesting.’ The man’s mouth twitched disapprovingly. ‘The vomit – you know. Your home insurance might pay for the damage you caused when you… you know…’ Thóra flushed dark red and folded her arms. ‘Me? How could you possibly think I was responsible for this? It has nothing to do with me.’ Nothing she had said since showing him the machine had implied that she was in any way responsible. But then again, no one else had owned up and it was unlikely anyone would now. The engineer seemed surprised. ‘Really? Then I must have misunderstood. The girl in reception mentioned your name.’ Thóra was livid; she might have guessed. Bella. Of course. ‘Did she, indeed?’ She couldn’t say any more since there was no point arguing with the engineer. It wasn’t his fault he had been misled by her malicious secretary. She plastered on her best smile, smothering a desire to storm out to reception and throttle Bella. ‘Well, you needn’t take any notice of her – she’s a bit slow on the uptake. It’s not the first time she’s got the wrong end of the stick, poor thing.’ Judging by the man’s face, he thought they were both mad. ‘Right, well, I’d better get on. I’ll have the copier picked up later today. I expect that would be the best solution.’ He picked up the toolbox and clasped it to his chest, apparently eager to return to other, more conventional jobs. Thóra couldn’t blame him. She escorted him to reception where Bella sat grinning behind her desk. Thóra shot her what she hoped was a meaningful look, but saw no sign of apprehension in the secretary’s smirk. ‘Oh, Bella, I forgot to tell you – the chemist rang earlier. The colostomy bag you ordered has arrived. Size XXL.’ The repairman stumbled over the threshold in his haste to leave, almost knocking down an elderly couple who had materialised in the doorway. Flustered, they apologised in unison, then dithered outside the door; either they expected someone else to land in their laps or they were getting cold feet. If Thóra hadn’t swooped on them with profuse apologies for the collision, they might well have turned away, using the incident as an excuse to back out. She recognised the look on their faces: she had lost count of the clients who’d worn that expression the first time they walked into the office. It was a combination of surprise at being compelled to seek out a lawyer and fear of having to leave the office, humiliated, when the subject of the fee came up. Ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. When the awkwardness occasioned by the repairman’s departure had passed, Thóra asked if she could help, moving to block their view of Bella behind the reception desk, in a black T-shirt with a picture of the devil emblazoned over her ample bosom and a coarse English epithet underneath. ‘We wondered if we could speak to a lawyer.’ The man’s voice was as colourless as his appearance; it was impossible to tell if he had noticed the foul reek. Both looked around retirement age. The woman was clutching a faux leather handbag, the reddish-brown surface worn through here and there to reveal the white canvas beneath. The man’s shirt cuffs were a little frayed where they were visible under his jacket sleeves. ‘I tried to call but there was no answer. You are open, aren’t you?’ Bella seemed to think the phone in reception had been connected so she could spend all day gossiping with her friends, especially if they lived abroad, judging by the bills. At other times she generally left it to ring unanswered so she could go on surfing the Internet in peace. ‘Yes, yes, we’re open. Unfortunately our receptionist is ill, which is why no one answered.’ At worst this was a white lie, since no one could claim Bella was fit for work, though unfortunately in her case the condition was chronic. ‘I’m glad you decided to come by anyway. My name’s Thóra Gudmundsdóttir and I’m a lawyer. We can have a chat now if you like.’ As they exchanged greetings, she noted that both had decidedly limp handshakes. The couple introduced themselves as Margeir Karelsson and Sigrídur Veturlidadóttir. Thóra recognised neither name. On the way to her office she observed their puffy features and although she couldn’t detect any alcohol on their breath, their appearance hinted at drink problems. Still, it was none of her business, at least not at this stage. Declining coffee, they came straight to the point. ‘We don’t really know why we’re here,’ said Margeir. ‘Well, that’s not uncommon,’ Thóra lied, to make them feel better. Generally her clients knew precisely what they expected of her, though their expectations were often far from realistic. ‘Did someone recommend us to you?’ ‘Sort of. A friend of ours has a business delivering coffee to offices and he mentioned you. We didn’t want to go to one of those big, swanky firms because they’re bound to be far too pricey. He thought you’d almost certainly be on the cheap side.’ Thóra forced a polite smile. The office clearly hadn’t made much of an impression on the coffee delivery man and she would stake her life on Bella being the main reason. ‘It’s true that our rates are lower than the large legal practices. But won’t you begin by telling me what the problem is? Then I can explain what it’s in our power to do and perhaps discuss a fee for the service you’re after.’ The couple stared at her in silence, neither willing to take the initiative. Eventually it fell to the woman, after she had adjusted the handbag in her lap. ‘Our son has disappeared. Along with his wife and twin daughters. We’re at our wits’ end and need help with the stuff we simply can’t cope with ourselves. We have enough trouble getting through the day as it is and dealing with the basic necessities. Their two-year-old daughter’s staying with us…’ They were not alcoholics: the bloodshot eyes and puffy features had a far more tragic cause. ‘I see.’ She could guess the context, though in general she paid little attention to the news. For the past two days the media had been full of the unexplained disappearance of the crew and passengers of a yacht that had crashed into the docks in Reykjavík harbour. Among them had been a family, a couple with two daughters. Like the rest of the nation, Thóra had been glued to reports about the baffling case, though her knowledge was limited as little of substance had been released as yet. But she did know that the incident was linked to the resolution committee appointed to wind up the affairs of one of Iceland’s failed banks. When the luxury yacht’s owner proved unable to pay back the bank loan with which he had purchased it, the committee had repossessed the vessel. As a result the yacht had been on its way from the Continent to Iceland, to be advertised for sale on the international market, but this process would presumably be delayed now by repairs and other matters arising from the dramatic manner of its arrival. Apparently there were no clues as to what had happened to the people on board, or at any rate none had found their way into the media. The disappearance of the seven individuals had shocked the nation to the core, but the case had attracted even more attention since the young Icelandic woman married to the yacht’s bankrupt owner was a regular in the gossip columns. To judge by the coverage, the reporters possessed almost no hard facts, but this didn’t prevent them from speculating, the most popular theory being that the crew and passengers had been washed overboard in a storm. ‘Are you the parents of the man from the resolution committee who was supposed to be on board the yacht?’ ‘Yes.’ The woman gulped. She looked close to breaking down, but managed to carry on. ‘You mustn’t think we’ve given up all hope of finding them alive, but it is fading. And what little the police can tell us doesn’t give us any grounds for optimism.’ ‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’ Thóra wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to offer her condolences when they were still clinging to some hope that the family would turn up safe and sound. ‘We don’t specialise in marine claims at this practice, let alone employ an authorised average adjuster. So if that’s what you had in mind, I’m afraid I don’t think there’s much I can do for you.’ The man shook his head. ‘I don’t even know what an average adjuster does.’ ‘They’re experts in marine insurance, and can advise on claims arising from marine casualties.’ ‘Oh, no, we don’t need anything like that, just general assistance. For example, with writing a letter in English. We’re no linguists, so rather than make a hash of it ourselves, we thought it would be better to hire someone who speaks the language and knows the ropes to act for us. We also need help with talking to social services about our granddaughter as we’re not in any fit state to argue with the authorities at present.’ ‘Are they trying to take her away?’ ‘Yes, they are. The only thing stopping them is the uncertainty. You see, her parents entrusted her to us before they went abroad, so there’s still a chance we’re just looking after her for them. But the state is gearing up to take action and we’re afraid they may knock on our door any day now armed with a court order.’ The man broke off, distressed. ‘Ægir was our only son. Sigga Dögg is all we have left.’ Thóra steepled her fingers on the desk in front of her. There was no easy way to break it to the couple that they probably wouldn’t be allowed to keep the child. They were too old, and no doubt too badly placed financially. ‘I really don’t want to upset you, but nor do I want to give you any false hope that you’ll be allowed to keep your granddaughter in the event that your son and daughter-in-law are dead. The fact is that it’s extremely unlikely you’d be granted custody. The law isn’t on your side, as the permitted age bracket for family adoptions is very narrow and you fall outside it; I’m afraid I don’t know of any cases in which the child protection service has made an exception to this rule.’ When they opened their mouths to protest, she added hastily: ‘But now’s not the moment to discuss this. Do you live here in Reykjavík?’ ‘Yes. Just round the corner. We walked here,’ said Sigrídur. ‘It’s still a bit nippy out, though at least it’s sunny.’ It was extraordinary the details people felt compelled to share when discussing an uncomfortable subject, as if by this they could avoid the topic. Thóra wasn’t about to be sidetracked into talking about the weather. ‘What about your grandchild? Were your son’s family based in Reykjavík too?’ This time they merely nodded. ‘It’s relevant to the question of which local authority will decide the case. If you like, I can assist you in trying to gain access, and – if you really think it’s in the child’s best interests – to obtain full custody. But let me repeat that the latter is highly unlikely. There are countless examples of close relatives being denied custody due to their age – it seems horribly unfair, I know.’ Margeir and Sigrídur sat as if turned to stone. ‘Could I give you a word of advice, ignoring the legal side for a moment? If I was in your shoes I’d try not to worry about this right now. You’ve got more than enough on your plates and it’s important for the little girl’s sake that you bear up. Take it one day at a time.’ ‘Of course.’ The man looked up. ‘We’re well aware of that.’ Naturally they knew far more about grief and shock than she did. ‘You mentioned a letter in English. What’s that about?’ Thóra hoped this would prove a less emotive issue. ‘Our son and daughter-in-law had a life insurance policy with an overseas company,’ said Margeir. ‘He gave the papers to us for safekeeping before they set off on their trip and left instructions about what to do in the event of an accident. From the little we can understand, we need to inform the company immediately in the case of death. So we’d like you to write them a letter explaining what’s happened.’ Thóra considered: why the hurry? ‘I wouldn’t have thought any notification would have to be sent until the initial inquiry is complete. Your son and daughter-in-law are officially still only missing.’ ‘I know. And I can tell you think we’re motivated by greed, since the first thing we’ve asked about is the insurance money.’ Margeir met Thóra’s gaze unwaveringly and she hoped she had managed to disguise the fact that this was precisely what she had been thinking. ‘But it’s not like that. If we’re to have any chance of keeping Sigga Dögg, we’ll need the financial security that the insurance money would bring. I have nothing but my pension and Sigrídur works part time in a canteen, so it wouldn’t be easy for us to provide for the child. The money would almost certainly improve our bargaining position.’ ‘Did you bring the policy documents with you?’ The woman burrowed in her handbag, pulled out a see-through plastic file stuffed with papers and handed it to Thóra. ‘These are the originals, so we’d need them back. Could you take a photocopy?’ ‘Not at present, I’m afraid. Our copier’s out of order. Maybe later.’ Thóra hid her blush by bending over the documents. There were two sets: a life insurance policy in the name of their son, Ægir, and another in the name of their daughter-in-law, Lára. The beneficiary would be Lára in the case of Ægir’s death and vice versa, but Ægir’s parents were named if the prime beneficiary was unavailable. The sums insured were the same in both policies and Thóra raised her brows when she saw the figures. The couple had insured their lives for a total of two million Euros. It would be perfectly feasible to raise a child on that amount. She cleared her throat. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, how come your son and daughter-in-law are insured for such a large sum? Were they heavily in debt?’ ‘Isn’t everyone?’ Sigrídur looked at her husband. ‘Do you know?’ ‘No. They have a sizeable mortgage on their house, I think, but I have no idea exactly how much. I doubt it’s in negative equity, though. They don’t live above their means and it’s only a terraced house. But you never know – perhaps all the life cover would go towards paying off the mortgage if it was sold. We’re living through strange times.’ ‘You do realise that two million Euros is equivalent to over three hundred million krónur? It’s highly unlikely they would owe that much on a modest terrace.’ ‘What?’ the couple blurted out as one. Margeir stared at Thóra uncomprehendingly, tilting his head on one side as if this would help. Since his world had been turned upside down, this might well have been a more suitable angle at which to view it. ‘Did you say three hundred million? I’d worked it out at thirty something.’ ‘You missed a zero.’ Thóra reached for a bulky old calculator and tapped in the numbers, then turned the screen round to show them all the noughts. Perhaps they would leap to their feet and head straight over to one of the big, expensive solicitors. But for the moment these were just numbers on a screen. ‘It’s a substantial sum.’ Little of any interest emerged after this bombshell. Still dazed by the news, the couple went through the formalities of instructing her and, in spite of the potential fortune that could land in their laps, Thóra offered them the lowest rate. The money would be better spent on the little girl’s upbringing or kept safe in the bank until she was older. Besides, the case promised to be rather interesting and at least she would be free of the smell of sick for a few days. Before they rose to leave, Thóra posed a question that she was not sure they would be able to answer. ‘You don’t happen to know why your son and his wife put you as beneficiaries on their insurance policies? You’d have thought it would be more usual to name their daughters.’ The couple exchanged glances before Margeir replied. ‘It’s not really a secret, though it’s awkward discussing it with strangers.’ ‘I assure you it won’t go any further.’ ‘Lára’s younger brother is a real dropout, who’s always after money to fund his lifestyle. If the girls came into money, Ægir was afraid he’d hassle them or try to scrounge off them, or even wangle his way into becoming their financial guardian. It might sound far-fetched but that brother of hers is capable of anything – even of cleaning up his act for just long enough to appear reliable. But Ægir knew we could be trusted to look after the money for the girls and that we wouldn’t let that bastard manipulate us. Lára’s parents are another matter. They let him fleece them, so it’s clear they’d never have been suitable.’ ‘I see. That does sound like a sensible precaution.’ Thóra accompanied them to the door and asked them to get in touch as soon as there was any news. In the meantime, she would investigate the life insurance situation. While they were standing in reception, two men appeared with the photocopier on a dolly and tried to manoeuvre it round the corner. The reek was more overpowering than ever. ‘Maybe you could pop into a shop and take a copy of the insurance documents. Our machine is on its way for repairs, as you can see. I could fetch them tomorrow morning, if that would be convenient.’ ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Sigrídur. ‘You have our address and phone number. It would be best to ring ahead, though we’re almost always in.’ The couple said goodbye and made their exit before the photocopier blocked their path. Thóra stood there, preoccupied, until she was jerked back to the present by one of the removal men tapping her on the shoulder. ‘You might want this.’ He handed her a sheet of A4. ‘It was in the machine.’ He grinned and winked at her before turning back to assist his colleague. Thóra inspected the piece of paper. Although the image was dark, almost black, there was no question of what the flash had revealed. The culprit had leant on the machine in the act of retching and inadvertently pressed the button. Thóra peered at the dim, blurry outline: Bella. Of course, who else? She turned round to give her a tongue-lashing but the secretary was nowhere to be seen. She could evidently move fast when required. Triumphant at acquiring this piece of evidence, Thóra marched back to her office. One thing was certain: when Bella came back she would have to be confronted, but until then Thóra needed to get some work done. Thanks to the yacht affair, though, it would be hard to concentrate on mundane matters. It was all very peculiar and the high life insurance policy did nothing to lessen the mystery. Heavy drops of rain began to rattle against the window and gooseflesh prickled her arms as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to be trapped on a boat in a storm, or to fall overboard and struggle to stay afloat, knowing that help was unlikely to arrive. She hoped the passengers would be found alive, adrift in a lifeboat. If not, the odds were that they had met a sudden, tragic end. She turned to the computer screen. Her current cases could wait half an hour or so; she wanted to refresh her memory of the yacht incident. As she trawled the Internet, it occurred to Thóra that she had failed to ask the couple a crucial question: why had their son gone on the trip in the first place – and taken his family too? It was still winter; hardly ideal cruising season, even on a luxury vessel. And why had the bank’s resolution committee allowed one of its employees to make use of an asset for a family holiday? There must be more to this than met the eye. Not for the first time on this trip, Ægir felt he had been born in the wrong place; surely he wasn’t meant to go through life bundled up against the cold in Iceland? The weather may have been cool for Lisbon, but it was nothing like the arctic conditions at home and he relished the sensation of walking the streets in light clothes. Underfoot were the white cobblestones from which all the city’s pavements seemed to be made. There was something oddly pleasing about negotiating their uneven surfaces, though his wife, Lára, would probably not have agreed as she teetered along in high heels at his side, barely keeping her balance. They were wandering the steep, narrow lanes of the old city centre, built long before the invention of the motor car. They were a little lost but the square they were looking for was near the riverfront, so they knew they should be heading downhill. Glancing round, Ægir saw that his daughters were lagging behind. ‘Hurry up, girls. We’re going to be late. I’m supposed to meet the man in ten minutes.’ They picked up speed a little, but ten minutes is a lifetime to eight-year-olds, so they saw no need to rush. As usual it was Arna who decided the twins’ pace; she had entered the world first and although the order in which they were born was probably coincidental, Ægir often got the impression that they had worked out their roles in the womb. Arna, daring and extrovert, usually charged ahead, while the comparatively reserved and introverted Bylgja took things more slowly. Where her twin rushed in, she would pause to consider. In appearance, however, they were almost identical; had it not been for Bylgja’s glasses, it would have been virtually impossible for strangers to tell them apart. ‘How many stones are there in this pavement, Daddy?’ Bylgja was walking behind her sister, her eyes fixed on the ground. ‘I don’t know, darling. A million and seven. Something like that.’ Ægir wished he had never mentioned the number of cobbles when they set out from the hotel. He should have known his daughter would become obsessed with the idea, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she would actually try to count them. ‘Hey! There it is.’ Lára pointed down a side street. ‘There can’t be many squares that big in the city.’ As if they had been waiting for this moment, the girls broke into a run. They were extraordinarily like their mother: their dark wavy hair, green eyes and prominent front teeth, their build, even their hands were miniature versions of Lára’s. A feeling of melancholy stole up on Ægir, though he couldn’t put his finger on the cause; melancholy about what lay ahead, perhaps, in the magnificent square that opened out at the end of the street. It could simply have been the awa reness that life was perfect right now, that it couldn’t get any better, and from now on it could only go downhill. He was reluctant to let go of the moment. ‘Do you think we should do this another time?’ ‘What?’ Lára looked astonished. ‘What do you mean?’ Ægir was sorry he’d mentioned it. Or was he? ‘I mean, maybe we should just extend our holiday here and forget about the cruise. They don’t really need me and I’m sure the crew problem can be sorted out some other way.’ A strange note had entered his voice; he didn’t know where it had come from. A few minutes ago he had been looking forward to the voyage, seeing it as a godsend, but now he felt reluctant to leave dry land. Despite its opulence, the yacht didn’t actually have much room on board. Besides, they were well off here, with little restaurants and cafés on every corner and no end to the delights on offer. What would they do with themselves all day on the boat? Play cards? He didn’t want to leave this bright city that seemed to radiate light. Everywhere one looked there were vibrant colours to raise the spirits; tiled walls in pastel hues that he couldn’t recall having seen anywhere else. It must be good for the soul to live among them. How could anyone be unhappy here? Whereas at sea they would probably spend the entire voyage hanging over the rail, being wretchedly sick. What had he been thinking of, volunteering when he learnt that one of the crew had dropped out? Why hadn’t he just said no and flown home as planned? His wife and daughters were staring at him. He thought he detected a hint of understanding in Bylgja’s eyes, though her glasses were smeary as usual so he couldn’t be sure. She lowered her gaze again and resumed her stone counting. ‘You mean you don’t want to go on the boat, Daddy?’ Arna turned up her nose. ‘I told everyone on Facebook that we’re coming home to Iceland by yacht.’ As if that alone would be enough to clinch the matter. ‘No, I didn’t really mean it.’ Perhaps he was simply reluctant to meet the captain. Their telephone conversation the previous day had got off to a bad start when Ægir had reacted with consternation to the news that the cost of moving the yacht to Iceland threatened to be much higher than expected. The arrangements were his responsibility. He didn’t want to go back to his boss with the information that they would now have to hire a local to replace the missing crew member, which would work out far more expensive. He had lost his temper when he heard what level of pay the possible replacements were demanding, but the captain had given as good as he got and Ægir had been forced to accept that people were not exactly queuing up to take a short trip north to the arse end of nowhere. At what point in the conversation he had suggested making up the shortfall himself, he couldn’t remember, but he hadn’t expected to be taken literally, despite half hoping he would. However, when the captain heard that Ægir held a Pleasure Craft Competency Certificate he had latched onto the idea and dismissed all the other man’s attempts to retract. He said it made no difference that Ægir had never sailed outside Nauthólsvík bay in Reykjavík; all they needed was to meet the conditions for the minimum safe manning of the ship; the certificate was irrelevant, as was his lack of experience. After all, he wouldn’t be on board in the role of skipper, mate or engineer, if that’s what he thought. Back when he was working towards his pleasure craft certificate, Ægir had entertained no thoughts of becoming a substitute crew member on a luxury yacht. He had been motivated by an old dream of saving up for a share in a small sailing boat, but this had had to go on the back burner since his and Lára’s salaries combined were barely enough to make ends meet. The little money they had managed to put aside had been used to pay for his wife and daughters to accompany him to Lisbon for this impromptu winter holiday. There had been no plans for a sea voyage. The captain had been rather taken aback when he heard there was a family in tow. But by then Ægir had become fired up by the idea; this might be their only chance to sail the ocean in a luxury yacht, and the voyage would also solve a specific problem that had been troubling him. In his capacity as representative of the new owners, therefore, he had presented the captain with a fait accompli; there was nothing further to discuss. In the meantime Ægir had told his manager on the board of the resolution committee that he himself would assist in bringing the vessel home. His boss had been so preoccupied when he gave the green light that he had dismissed the financial implications, being long inured to far higher sums. He made it obvious during their brief phone call that other, more urgent matters awaited his attention. It seemed that the only reason he had agreed to speak to Ægir in the first place was to find out if he had succeeded in registering the yacht in the committee’s name. He had cut Ægir off in mid-sentence, muttering that he would see him when he got back from Spain. In other words, he didn’t even remember which country Ægir had travelled to to collect the yacht, let alone realise that he had agreed to his wife and daughters’ going along for the ride. The memory of his boss’s lack of concern over his absence only intensified Ægir’s odd sense of trepidation about the voyage. By rights he should be bursting with anticipation like Arna. Father and daughter had both been wild with excitement the night before, whereas Lára and Bylgja’s response had been more muted. Lára’s main worry had been that she wasn’t that strong a swimmer, and of course Bylgja had not revealed what was going on in her mind. Eventually, however, Lára had been infected by their enthusiasm and become the prime mover in organising the trip. She would be terribly disappointed if it didn’t go ahead. He would have to shrug off his apprehension, especially now that he was about to meet the captain face to face. He braced himself. ‘Well, let’s go. The man’s waiting.’ Again his wife and daughters looked at him in surprise over this sudden volte-face, but they followed him without a word. As they drew near the picturesque square, which Ægir had read was the largest in Europe, they were greeted by a warm gust of wind – a harbinger of spring. Ægir’s doubts evaporated. In the distance the innocently calm sea sparkled as if to reassure him that everything would be all right. Indeed, what could go wrong? He smiled to himself: what had got into him? It would be an adventure, and he had successfully won round trickier customers than this captain in his time. In fact, it was his reputation as an accomplished mediator that had secured him the job of sorting out the red tape surrounding the yacht. He had spent the last two days going from one Portuguese office to another, settling unpaid harbour fees, obtaining licences and submitting documents to confirm the transfer of ownership. On the other side of the river, Christ opened his arms to the city. The statue, magnificent on its lofty pedestal, was a smaller scale version of Rio’s famous ‘Christ the Redeemer’. ‘Look, Daddy. There’s Jesus again.’ Arna pointed to the monument. Bylgja shaded her eyes and contemplated it in silence. She had been very impressed when their mother told them that the city’s human and animal inhabitants lived under Christ’s protection. Ægir didn’t know for sure whether his daughters believed in God, but he assumed so. Despite counting themselves as Christian, neither he nor Lára were practising or ever discussed religion at home, but his parents were churchgoers and he trusted them to talk over such matters with the girls in a tactful manner. ‘Why don’t we have a Jesus to protect Reykjavík?’ Arna tugged at her father’s sleeve. ‘Isn’t that silly?’ ‘Yes, probably,’ Ægir replied distractedly, scanning the square in search of the café the captain had suggested for their meeting. Once inside the small establishment his eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. The captain, who was sitting alone at a table, rose as they approached. He introduced himself as Thráinn. Ægir noticed how calloused the man’s hand was, though the captain kept the handshake as brief as possible without seeming positively rude. Perhaps he was ashamed of his workman’s fist. While Lára was at the bar buying soft drinks for the girls, Thráinn asked: ‘Is the paperwork sorted?’ His voice was as brusque as his handshake. ‘I’d like to sail this evening if possible. The sooner we leave port, the sooner we’ll be home.’ ‘I see no reason to hang about. I’ve got all the documents that were stipulated. If it turns out something’s missing, we’ll just have to chance it.’ Ægir drew his chair closer to the table. One of the steel legs had lost its rubber guard and it screeched across the tiled floor. ‘Can you be on board by six?’ The captain had yet to meet Ægir’s eye. ‘It’s as good a time as any and I’d like to leave while it’s still light. It gets dark between seven and eight.’ ‘Fine by me.’ Ægir tried smiling at the man. This was going to be easier than he’d expected. If Thráinn had been intending to renew his objections, he had evidently changed his mind; perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to refuse them passage in the girls’ presence. ‘All we need is to buy some supplies. Apart from that we’re ready.’ When Thráinn didn’t respond, Ægir decided to plough on regardless. Lára was being served, which meant that she and the girls would be back any minute. ‘So you’re okay about my wife and girls coming along?’ The man’s expression did not alter; his eyes remained fixed on something behind Ægir. ‘I’ve told you my opinion. I strongly object to taking kids along on this trip. You never know what they’ll get up to. As I made clear on the phone, now that it turns out you’re not travelling alone I’d rather have hired a local.’ Lára and the girls came over, the twins grinning above their glasses of fizzy orange as they took care not to spill the contents. ‘I’m aware of that,’ Ægir assured him, ‘and we’ll keep an eye on them. The girls will be our responsibility. So, it’s okay, then?’ The man grunted. ‘Did I miss something? Do I have any choice?’ ‘No, not really.’ Ægir took Bylgja’s glass and placed it on the table. Arna put her drink down with less care and a small orange puddle formed around the base. Lára wiped up the mess immediately, as if to demonstrate that they would treat the yacht with respect. ‘Will you have room for us, Thráinn?’ She gave the captain a charming smile. Ægir hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her about their disagreement. For all she knew, the man was well disposed towards them. ‘I haven’t seen the boat yet but Ægir tells me she’s amazing.’ ‘Yes, we should have. There are enough empty cabins, if you can call them cabins. They’re more like staterooms. The boys and I are so stuck in our ways that we automatically took the crew quarters, so you’ll have several cabins to choose from. No one should have any cause for complaint.’ ‘Are there boys on board?’ Arna made a face as she released the straw. The day was still a long way off when the girls would go crazy about the opposite sex. ‘Well, they seem like boys to me, but you’ll probably think they’re grown-up men.’ To Ægir’s relief, the captain winked at Arna. Once they were at sea their little teething troubles would no doubt be forgotten. ‘They’re in their twenties.’ He winked at Arna again. ‘And both a bit soft in the head.’ ‘Oh.’ Arna giggled. ‘What are their names?’ ‘One’s called Halli – short for Halldór, I guess – and the other’s known as Loftur, because he’s lofty.’ Arna didn’t understand this attempt at humour and frowned. ‘He’s joking, darling.’ Ægir put an arm round her shoulders in case she showed signs of answering back. ‘Loftur’s his proper name, and neither of them is really soft in the head.’ In fact, he hadn’t a clue whether the man was joking. Perhaps the boys were idiots, though if so he doubted the committee would have hired them. Thráinn, at any rate, came very highly recommended. He hadn’t seen the reference himself as he hadn’t been involved in hiring the crew, but the committee would presumably have chosen a crack team for a trip with such a valuable vessel at stake. ‘How’s the man who was injured?’ The captain scowled again. ‘I don’t suppose the stupid bastard’s having much fun. Broken his leg, apparently. No doubt during a pub crawl, though his friend Halli denies it. That lot can’t be trusted to set foot in a foreign port without getting smashed out of their skulls. He’s on his way home now, I hear. And you’re taking his place.’ A sardonic smile accompanied his words. ‘And bringing an army along for the ride.’ ‘Yup. It’s your lucky day.’ Ægir would have liked to say more but bit his tongue. He didn’t want the girls to witness a quarrel, even one disguised as pleasantries. Bylgja sat in silence, watching the captain. The only sound she made was a quiet slurping as she drank her orangeade. She was a pretty sharp judge of character and Ægir longed to know what she was thinking, but it would have to wait. Ægir and Lára had assumed they had plenty of time to get ready, but in the event the family turned up at the harbour nearly half an hour later than arranged. As a result there was no time to admire the white yacht from shore, though Lára did remark that she was much larger than she had expected. There was a mad scramble to carry the stores on board, but his wife was too anxious about leaving the girls behind on the docks to be of much use. Neither Thráinn nor the two younger men lifted a finger to help. They lounged against the pilot house, watching the family’s activities with suppressed grins. By the time the last box was on board, Ægir was in a muck-sweat and longing to root around in their shopping for a beer. But judging by the face the captain had made when he’d appeared carrying a case of wine, this would not be a good idea. At least, not straight away. ‘Well, well.’ Thráinn came over to where Ægir stood panting beside the provisions. His gaze fell again on the wine, which happened to be at the front and therefore embarrassingly conspicuous. ‘It’ll make quite a difference to this job to have passengers along for a pleasure trip. I hope you aren’t under the illusion that we’re your staff.’ He nodded towards Halli and Loftur, who were looking on impassively. ‘I know what I said, but you may have to take the odd watch, so it wouldn’t do for you to drink too much.’ ‘Don’t worry.’ Ægir didn’t intend to let the man rile him. ‘I won’t overdo it, and we’ll cook for ourselves. For you too, if you’d like.’ He hoped the man’s attitude would soften; they had a long voyage ahead of them and however spacious the yacht, it would soon become claustrophobic if there was a poisonous atmosphere. He watched Lára and the twins easing their way down into the boat. The gleaming deck emitted a hollow boom as Arna landed, as if the yacht were nothing but a shell – handsome packaging around an empty space. Ægir knew this wasn’t true, but the sound reverberated in his head and he couldn’t help thinking that under all the surface gloss the yacht was little more than a tub. But since his own experience of seagoing craft amounted to the battered dinghy on which he had taken his competency certificate and a small boat belonging to his cousin, perhaps he simply didn’t know how to appreciate quality. He helped his wife and daughters on board and was surprised to find Lára’s palm sweaty, though the temperature had dropped as evening fell. In contrast, Bylgja’s hands felt cold and dry. ‘Will you look at this?’ Lára drank in her surroundings, grinning from ear to ear. She handed him his briefcase, which had been entrusted to the girls at their request, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Wow.’ Seen up close, the ship appeared even bigger and swankier than she had from the quay, though most of the furnishings and equipment on deck were swathed in white covers and there was not actually much to see. Nevertheless, it was possible to glimpse the shapes of the items under the canvas, which gave an idea of how the deck would usually look. ‘This is incredible.’ Lára went forward and peered under a cover draped over what appeared to be a table and a set of bench seats lining the bows. ‘Look. We can eat out here.’ She addressed her words to the girls who were gazing around, wide-eyed. Arna seemed as enthusiastic as her mother but Bylgja’s glasses gave her a remote look that was harder for Ægir to fathom. Still, he was used to being unsure what was going on in her head. Her features often wore a stony expression, but for the moment she seemed curious about the amenities on board, which was a good sign. Lára had noticed too and cheerfully began to pull the covers off the furniture. ‘This is going to be great.’ ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It’ll be cold once we’re under way and you won’t be doing much sitting or eating outside.’ Thráinn was standing in the doorway of the pilot house. It was admirable how he managed to suppress the irritation in his voice. ‘Better leave them be as it’s a bit tricky to fix the covers so they don’t leak.’ Lára glanced round with a blithe smile. ‘Don’t worry, we’re a hardy lot. I bet it’ll be fun to picnic out here, even if it is chilly.’ She tugged at the cover with renewed vigour and managed to pull it off to reveal a large oval table. Ægir thought he had better distract Thráinn before the man made some unguarded comment. Lára could be very unforgiving and was quite capable of bearing a grudge for the rest of the trip. ‘I’ll put it back afterwards. The girls can help me.’ The captain’s expression did not change. Ægir looked out over the harbour and beyond to the deep-blue expanse of sea that awaited them. ‘Is that everything, then?’ ‘Where are Halli and Loftur? I want to see them.’ Arna addressed this comment to Thráinn. The boys seemed to have vanished. ‘Halli’s down in the engine room getting ready for departure and Loftur’s giving him a hand.’ The captain raised his eyes from Arna to meet Ægir’s gaze. ‘The yacht’s hardly been moved since the trouble began with the owner, so I had them check the engine even more thoroughly than usual. We don’t want to break down in the middle of the ocean now, do we?’ The question did not appear to be rhetorical. ‘No, I don’t suppose we do.’ A gull took flight from the smooth surface of the sea beside the boat, spreading its long wings to soar lazily over the harbour. Ægir realised he was still clutching his incongruous briefcase, which made it look as if he was about to take himself off to his office and stop getting under the professionals’ feet. He was unwilling to put it down, though; the deck was slippery and there was a risk it might slide overboard. ‘By the way,’ said Thráinn, sounding disgruntled, ‘the Internet doesn’t work and neither does the satellite phone. Weren’t you supposed to take care of that? At least, I was told you were here to deal with that sort of thing.’ He glowered at the briefcase as if it were to blame. ‘Not that it’s essential to have it working – but it would be better.’ Ægir took his eyes off the gull, realising to his chagrin that he felt guilty, as if Thráinn were a strict teacher and he had failed to hand in his homework. The briefcase only heightened the impression. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t manage to sort it out. The owner owed the telecom company a fortune and they were reluctant to open a new account for us unless the debt was paid off. They were being completely unreasonable and would probably have backed down in the end, but I didn’t have time to argue. To arrange it for this trip I’d h ave had to find another service provider and I have to admit that, not knowing the ropes out here, I didn’t have a clue.’ ‘You could have asked me. I’d have found out for you.’ Thráinn glared at Ægir, then at the clock. ‘Well, too late to worry about that now. We’ll be off shortly. You’d better find something to hold on to at first. You’ll soon get used to the motion but there’s no point taking a tumble.’ He disappeared into the pilot house. Ægir hurriedly stowed his briefcase in a safe place amidst the pile of shopping, glad to be rid of it. He rubbed his upper arms: the air was growing colder and his thin jumper provided little warmth. His wife and daughters were sitting on one of the padded benches in the bows. Lára was tentatively stroking Bylgja’s hair as the girl snuggled up to her chest, apparently intent on the other yachts moored in a seemingly endless row along the docks, but since he couldn’t see her face, her eyes might have been closed behind her smeary glasses. He went over to them and when Lára looked up he kissed her on the brow. ‘What do you say, girls? How do you like it?’ He ran his eyes over the sailing boats that Bylgja was studying and couldn’t help marvelling at how much money there was in the world and how unevenly it was distributed. ‘It won’t be like this all the way. We’re heading north, so it may get a bit rough.’ ‘This is fantastic.’ Lára shifted Bylgja’s head. As she smiled, tiny wrinkles appeared round her eyes. Ægir found them charming, though to her they were a source of endless grief. She pressed her lips to Bylgja’s head and spoke into her hair. ‘By the time we’re out on the ocean we’ll have developed our sea legs and the motion will seem like fun.’ She gave her a smacking kiss. Ægir put his arms round Arna and they sat in silence, watching the activity on shore. Halli came out on deck and jumped up onto the docks, where he cast off the moorings before hopping back down. Again, the hull emitted a booming echo. He disappeared below and shortly afterwards the yacht moved off. She glided smoothly downriver to the sea. In the evening sunlight the city appeared tranquil, the warm pastel hues of the buildings lovelier than ever. ‘Aren’t you excited, little Miss Speccy?’ Ægir took hold of Bylgja’s soft chin and turned her face towards him. She met his gaze with a woebegone look. ‘Who’ll take care of us now, Daddy?’ She pointed to the huge Christ monument which was rapidly receding into the distance. ‘Jesus, of course. He takes care of everyone, doesn’t he? Wherever they are.’ ‘He won’t look after us at sea. He only looks after the city.’ Ægir smiled. ‘No, he doesn’t. He protects everyone, no matter where they are.’ Ahead the ocean waited, vast, rough and pitiless. For the first time in his life he wished he was religious, that he believed in something. Who would watch over them at sea? ‘Hey, are you okay?’ Lára reached over and squeezed his shoulder. ‘You look so sad.’ He shook off his sense of foreboding, making an effort to appear happy. ‘What? Of course. Everything’s fine.’ She didn’t seem to believe him, but turned back to the view without comment. He tried to snap out of his gloom; it would be absurd not to make the most of this moment. It would be fine. According to the captain, the voyage was about one thousand six hundred nautical miles, so if all went to plan they should reach Iceland in five to six days. The weather forecast wasn’t bad and there was no reason to believe this would be anything other than an enjoyable experience. The time would pass quickly enough. Besides, what could possibly go wrong? Winter refused to relinquish its grip. Spring kept making fleeting appearances only to vanish again almost immediately, the brief thaws merely serving to kindle false hopes and remind people what they were missing. Thóra shivered as she stood down by the harbour, waiting to meet a representative of the bank’s resolution committee and look around the yacht. Her thin summer coat provided little protection against the north wind, which succeeded now and then, with admirable persistence, in whipping up drops of moisture from the sea, leaving an unpleasant tang of salt on her lips. ‘Oh, why haven’t I been to the hairdresser?’ Thóra’s hair, unusually long for her, kept whipping over her face and plastering itself against the lip-gloss which she now regretted having applied before she got out of the car. ‘How should I know?’ Bella was coping better with the gale than Thóra. No doubt her khaki army jacket was made of thicker fabric than her boss’s coat, and the bulging pockets must have provided good ballast. And her hair was so short that she probably couldn’t mess it up if she tried, even with her hands. Only the enormous baubles dangling from her ears rocked to and fro. ‘When’s this bloke coming, anyway?’ ‘Soon.’ It was worse than travelling with her daughter and tiny grandson. Are we there yet? She should never have given in to Bella’s nagging. She was still furious with the secretary about the photocopier, and the fact that Bella couldn’t care less only made her angrier. In point of fact, Thóra herself hadn’t given in; it was Bragi who had insisted that Bella should be allowed to tag along to see the yacht. Thóra had consented with bad grace, aware that this was his revenge for the previous month when she had persuaded him to take Bella to the district court. Thóra had been expecting an important client and the only ploy she could think of to remove the secretary from reception was to ask her to assist Bragi with his case. According to him, far from helping she had contented herself with sitting beside him, alternately fixing the judge and the counsel for the prosecution with a menacing glare. In spite of this they had won, and Bragi, in his modesty, put it down to Bella’s presence, saying that from now on he would always take her along as a mascot when there was a lot riding on a case. ‘There’s something spooky about that boat. Did you hear about it?’ Bella spat in the direction of the yacht, much to Thóra’s disgust, but missed her target and the gobbet of saliva floated briefly in the sea before dissolving. ‘There’s something weird about it. I read it on-line. Apparently you shouldn’t even go on board.’ No doubt Bella was referring to the sensationalist article Thóra had also skimmed over. The report, if you could call it that, had implied that the ship was under a curse, which had supposedly originated when one of the shipbuilders had an accident and bled everywhere. From then on the calamities had multiplied during her construction: a welder had lost a hand, an engineer was severely burned, and other such incidents. Just before the yacht was launched the owner of the shipyard had committed suicide, and as if that wasn’t enough, on her maiden voyage one of the passengers fell overboard and drowned. There were no sources cited, though, and Thóra regarded the accounts as dubious, to say the least. Even if the stories contained a grain of truth, it was clear that they had subsequently taken on a life of their own; and, understandably, they had affected the sales value of the yacht. When the last owner bought her with a loan from the bank that had now repossessed her, the price had been fifty per cent lower than at her launch ten years earlier. By then she had passed through four pairs of hands and as many name changes. The most recent owner, not to be outdone, had rechristened her Lady K after his wife, Karítas, which Thóra found a bit naff. She hoped the next purchaser would keep up the tradition and change the name. She didn’t know Karítas personally but the woman was a regular in the gossip columns thanks to her glamorous lifestyle and penchant for designer clothes. Significantly perhaps, as long as all was going well there had been no hint in the Icelandic media of any curse on the yacht; they had simply lavished praise on her magnificence and high price tag. ‘You shouldn’t take any notice of half the stuff you read on-line, Bella. The journalist responsible for that piece was probably just desperate for material because the investigation’s not getting anywhere. He must have googled the yacht and found all sorts of nonsense. Why on earth did you come along if you believe that crap?’ ‘Are you kidding? I came because of the curse.’ Bella studied the vessel, her face unreadable. Thóra shook her head; there was no end to the girl’s idiosyncrasies. A small car pulled up nearby. It was dirty and missing a hub cap. Thóra watched it closely, though she did not for a minute expect it to contain the man from the committee. As the driver’s door was flung open, a Coke can tumbled out and was instantly snatched away by the wind. It was still clattering over the tarmac when the driver himself emerged: a smart young man in a suit, who made a startling contrast to the scruffy vehicle. He strolled over to them. ‘Sorry I’m late. Been waiting long?’ Avoiding their eyes, he busied himself with extracting a bunch of keys from his coat pocket. Thóra’s innate courtesy kicked in: ‘No, not at all. Don’t worry about it.’ What she should have said was that they had nearly died of exposure during the twenty minutes they had been hanging around out here, but it would be better to keep the man sweet. ‘So you’re Fannar?’ The young man nodded. ‘Wow. This boat is something else. Every time I see her I’m struck by how awesome she is.’ He put a hand on the rail of the gangplank, swung athletically onto the steps and gestured to them to follow suit. ‘Come on. See for yourselves.’ His black coat flapped like a cloak. Bella scowled as only she knew how, obviously unimpressed by such acrobatics. Thóra, on the other hand, copied his move as if there were nothing to it, then picked her way up the steps and down onto the ship’s deck. A heavy thud on the gangplank behind her indicated that Bella was on her way. The deck was larger than Thóra had expected: it occupied two levels, divided by the pilot house. The upper or foredeck extended to the bows, the lower or aft deck to the stern where there were hatches that looked as if they gave access to the sea. In addition to these main decks, there were two smaller platforms on the upper levels, one just large enough to hold a Jacuzzi. The pictures in the papers had failed to do justice to its opulence, and Thóra felt faintly bemused as she surveyed her surroundings. This was a fairy-tale vessel, yet somehow the glitziness didn’t appeal to her. But then she had no experience of yachts in the circles she moved in, so she couldn’t imagine what life on board was like. Her thoughts automatically turned to the missing passengers. Perhaps that was why she wasn’t blown away by the boat like Fannar; in Thóra’s opinion there were plenty of other things in life that fell into the ‘awesome’ category. If anything, she found the surroundings unsettling; a shiny white setting for pain and misery, like an operating theatre. She hadn’t a clue why that image should have sprung to mind. Perhaps it was because of the events she was now trying to piece together. ‘I’m assuming the police have been over the whole place with a fine-toothed comb.’ She glanced around her but couldn’t see any obvious signs of a recent investigation. ‘The police, the Marine Accident Investigation Board, and a representative of ours as well. I was sent to accompany him, so I know my way about.’ Fannar stuck a key in the lock of a door that presumably led to the pilot house and passenger area. ‘Enough to realise that nobody knows what the hell happened here and I doubt they’ll ever find out. Unless your attempt to solve the mystery for Ægir’s parents uncovers something the others overlooked.’ His grin showed how little confidence he had in that happening. ‘Did you know Ægir at all?’ Thóra didn’t really expect him to say yes. He was so breezily cheerful that it seemed impossible the two men could have been close. ‘Yes, of course I did – we worked in the same office. But we weren’t involved in the same projects, so I can’t say I knew him well. Though well enough to find the whole thing totally bizarre. He wasn’t the type you’d expect this to happen to.’ Fannar made a wry face. ‘He was a family man, you know. He rarely came out for a drink with us; he was always in a hurry to get home.’ Thóra resisted the temptation to point out that there was little correlation between being a responsible family man and suffering an unexplained accident at sea. It seemed inappropriate too to refer to his colleague in the past tense, though she had to admit it was perfectly understandable. ‘Of course there’s still a chance that he and the other people on board will be found alive. It’s faint but we can’t rule it out.’ Fannar gave her a look as if she wasn’t quite right in the head. ‘Maybe,’ he said sceptically, then added: ‘Let’s hope so. Of course, it would be best for everyone if you could solve the mystery and find them alive.’ ‘Yes. Though I fear the chances are slim.’ She didn’t need Fannar’s mocking grin to tell her that the prospect was highly unlikely. Where on earth was she to begin, and what was she actually looking for? Her job was to prove to the overseas insurance company that although their bodies had not been recovered, Ægir and his wife Lára were dead. It was unlikely that the proof would turn up on the yacht, and even if it was there she might easily overlook an important piece of evidence. She knew nothing about boats and the answer to the riddle almost certainly lay in conditions at sea: a storm or a leak, for example. ‘If it’s any help, the Marine Accident Board were perfectly happy for you to get involved,’ said Fannar encouragingly, which was an improvement on his earlier derision. ‘When I went over to fetch the keys, the guy I talked to even said he hoped you’d spot a new angle that the people who deal with this stuff every day might have missed. He doesn’t believe this was your standard accident and thinks the trouble with the experts is that they’ll try to fit this into a conventional box. He also said that this isn’t a unique case – this kind of thing happens fairly frequently but no one ever manages to find an explanation that satisfies everyone. People come up with all kinds of theories but none that are obviously right.’ This did little to raise Thóra’s morale. Looking round, she saw Bella picking her way gingerly across the deck towards them. ‘Did he happen to mention any theories about this incident?’ The key seemed to have jammed in the lock and the young man jiggled it to and fro until finally it turned. ‘No, and I didn’t like to ask. But the opinion going round the office is that they must have freaked out – thought the boat was sinking and flung themselves overboard, thinking it was their only hope. But nobody can imagine what would have made them crack up like that. Sunstroke, maybe.’ ‘Is that plausible?’ Thóra peered around. ‘I doubt people would jump into the sea if there were lifeboats available.’ She couldn’t see them anywhere, though they should still be in place according to the report Fannar had sent that morning. ‘Have they been removed?’ ‘No, they’re still here. See the container that looks like a barrel lying on its side?’ Thóra followed his finger and nodded. ‘The life raft’s inside that. There are four of them. One on each side, this one, and then one in the bows. They haven’t been touched, as far as I know. Maybe they panicked and couldn’t work out how to launch them. It seems a bit odd, to say the least, that the yacht should have been deliberately designed to disguise the life-saving equipment. I suppose it didn’t go with the décor. And perhaps the passengers didn’t take the time to study the safety procedures before they left port.’ Thóra turned to Bella. ‘Take some pictures of that barrel, would you? There are three more that you’ll find if you do a circuit of the ship. And photograph the instructions that should be displayed near them, and any lifebelts, that kind of thing.’ The presence of the life rafts on board was the clearest indication that something extraordinary must have happened. Thóra tried to envisage the kind of circumstances that would force her to abandon ship with her children in the knowledge that another child was waiting at home. Her own daughter, Sóley, was a similar age to the twin sisters who had in all likelihood perished with their parents. Her son, Gylfi, was almost twenty but still a child in her eyes, for all that he was a father himself. She tried to picture herself seizing the two of them by the shoulders, forcing them to the side and urging them to throw themselves into the icy waves with her. No, it didn’t make sense. You didn’t need much knowledge of the sea to realise that there would be little hope of survival. And she doubted sunstroke would make that much difference. ‘Come inside. That’s where things really get spectacular.’ Anyone would have thought Fannar was trying to sell her the yacht. ‘Check this out. Smarter than any hotel, don’t you think?’ Thóra nodded distractedly. Rather than being impressed she was struck by the stale air inside, mingled, she thought, with a faint trace of perfume. ‘Is there a funny smell in here?’ Fannar sniffed. ‘Hm, you may be right. Like soap or something. Maybe they’ve been cleaning in here, though I can’t think who would have arranged that without my knowledge.’ His nostrils flared as he inhaled. ‘Nope, it’s gone. But don’t take any notice of me; I haven’t got much sense of smell.’ He was right; the scent was no longer there. While she recognised that the interior was extremely stylish and finely crafted, Thóra’s attention was mainly drawn to the signs of human occupancy. An open paperback lying face down on the table beside an armchair upholstered in black leather; a DVD case and some magazines on a coffee table towards the back of the room. Beside them were a wine glass and an open bottle that had rolled over. The dried-up spillage had stained the glass table-top pink. Items of clothing lay in a heap on a chair, presumably placed there by the police during their search. ‘Can I touch this? Are the police coming back to conduct any further examinations?’ No sooner had she spoken than she noticed the white fingerprint powder coating the surfaces. ‘No, they’re not coming back; they spent almost an entire day here. You can poke around wherever you like. At least, nobody warned me not to touch anything. It’s not as if it’s a murder scene. I gather they’re treating it as an accident. Or at most, a missing-persons case.’ The boat kept up a continual gentle movement and Thóra noticed the wine bottle rocking slightly without moving from its place. From the description of the yacht’s collision with the docks one would have expected the bottle to have rolled off the table onto the floor. The police must have replaced it there during their inspection. ‘Wasn’t everything sent flying when the yacht crashed into the jetty?’ Two paintings, one of which looked like it might be of Karítas, hung askew on the walls. ‘Yes, it certainly was. There was stuff littered all over the place. I saw the pictures taken at the beginning of the investigation and it was a real mess in here.’ Looking round, he added: ‘Actually, the yacht’s furnishings are designed to resist fairly heavy seas before they start falling over or being knocked off the walls, but it’s a different story with the passengers’ own belongings.’ Thóra ran her gaze around the room. ‘What happened to the pictures that used to hang here?’ The dark wood panelling on two sides bore traces of missing frames. ‘Might they have fallen off and not been replaced?’ ‘No, the former owner took them down and had them valued when his money troubles began. The yacht was on the market with all her contents, but this was at the height of the crash and even the people who could afford expensive toys like this weren’t in the mood for buying. It didn’t help that the boat was mortgaged to the hilt and the bank hadn’t agreed to a sales price. The loan didn’t cover the pictures, though, so the guy was free to sell them and I gather they went for a small fortune. Apparently they included some serious art. But the sale didn’t raise enough cash, so towards the end he must have sold off paintings from his other homes too. It’s unbelievable how quickly even a vast fortune like that can vanish into thin air. Must be a traumatic experience.’ ‘No doubt.’ Thóra may have lacked the imagination to visualise the lives of the super-rich but she had no trouble guessing what it would feel like to lose a fortune. It was easy to grow accustomed to money; quite another matter to lower your standard of living. One didn’t have to be rich to know that. ‘I took the pictures you wanted.’ Bella reappeared, her cheeks ruddy. She glanced round, evidently unimpressed. ‘God, this is tacky. I thought this boat was meant to be classy.’ She examined the portrait of Karítas. ‘Look at that bimbo. I went to school with her, she was a total moron.’ Thóra couldn’t suppress a grin when she saw the indignant expression on Fannar’s face. But experience had taught her that it wouldn’t pay to allow Bella to make any further comments; she had a tendency to be foul-mouthed, especially when least appropriate, and Fannar didn’t seem the type to appreciate it. ‘Where are the guest quarters? Should we maybe look at them next? Bella, could you take some pictures in here, including the belongings left behind by the passengers?’ Thóra and Fannar descended below decks to the cabin area. As he had pointed out, the bedrooms were more lavishly appointed than in any hotel, at least the type of place Thóra frequented. According to him there were four luxury staterooms, as well as five cabins for the crew and chambermaid, and another adjoining the engine room for the engineer. There had been no maid along on this trip, since it wasn’t a conventional cruise, so her cabin hadn’t been used. However, two of the staff cabins did show signs of occupancy, and Fannar told her the engineer’s quarters had also been slept in. Two of the guestrooms had clearly been used, while the other two had not been touched. Fannar confirmed that the married couple had occupied the master suite; not that Thóra had really needed to ask, since the clothes overflowing from the suitcase on the floor could only have belonged to Lára. Two identical colouring books and a jumble of wax crayons littered the unmade bed. Picking up the books, Thóra flicked rapidly through them. The girls had managed to colour in a fair amount. The first page of each was labelled with their names, Arna in one, Bylgja in the other, and both girls had taken a great deal of trouble over this mark of ownership. From what Thóra could tell, they had each begun with the first picture and progressed in order through the book, and both had finished twelve and embarked on the thirteenth. When the books were compared, it transpired that all the pictures had been coloured in almost exactly the same. The thirteenth stood out as neither girl had had time to complete it. It showed a jolly elephant balancing a large ball on his extended trunk, his childish appearance in shocking contrast to the unknown fate of the little girls who had begun to bring him so vividly to life. They had each coloured in the ball and half the cloth on the elephant’s back. In one place Bylgja had drawn something in the margin, perhaps while waiting for her sister to catch up. Thóra had trouble working out what the girl had intended to depict; she seemed to have drawn a ring around a long-haired woman with a gaping mouth and sprawling limbs. The lines were black but the woman’s dress was green and she was surrounded by blue. Giving free rein to her imagination, Thóra saw it as a person falling, viewed through a lifebelt. But no doubt she would have interpreted it quite differently if she had come across the book in other circumstances. Closing it, she laid it back on the bed with the other one. The door of one of the closets stood open, revealing a densely packed row of dresses. Thóra couldn’t resist a closer look, although the clothes could hardly have belonged to Lára. They were all designer pieces that probably cost more per garment than Thóra’s entire wardrobe. She thought about all the hassle involved in owning clothes like that; the endless trips to the dry cleaner and constant fear of damaging the expensive fabrics. Indeed, she noticed some stains on the skirt of one of the dresses; clearly even these exclusive garments were not immune to accidents. She thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have to lug around a suitcase full of designer gear, however much she enjoyed looking at it. Something shiny caught her eye in the murky depths of the closet. Thóra removed a long dress from its hanger and saw that a pair of glasses was tangled in the fringe on the hem and hung from the skirt like an abstract ornament. The lenses appeared intact, but the glasses looked rather small to have been worn by the boat’s former mistress. ‘Do you know who these belonged to?’ She held up the dress to show Fannar her discovery. He shook his head. ‘Not a clue. Maybe Karítas wore reading glasses.’ ‘They don’t seem quite her style.’ Thóra inspected the small red frames. She thought she had better return the dress to its place and leave the glasses where they were. They couldn’t be very important: people didn’t jump ship en masse on account of a lost pair of glasses. They had probably been dangling there long before the missing family even came on board. She shut the wardrobe door and continued her exploration. Again she came across an empty wine bottle, this time lying on the floor beside the bed. It appeared that someone had been drinking during the trip. Apart from that, the contents of the bedroom were very ordinary, at least those that belonged to the missing couple. The interior design was another matter, as imposing and ostentatious as the rest of the ship’s furnishings. The dark, polished mahogany gleamed in the glow of the spotlights recessed into the ceiling. The en-suite bathroom was in chaos, with cosmetics, towels, bathrobes and bars of soap scattered all over the place, presumably as a result of the collision. She made do with peering inside but saw no point in picking her way through the mess just to admire the bathroom suite and mixer taps. The cabin told her nothing except that the couple had been comfortably accommodated on board, at least for most of the time. Personally, however, she wouldn’t have chosen to sleep in the bedroom of a woman she knew, if only by repute. It felt uncomfortable, especially when the closets were still full of her clothes and there was a box on the pretty dressing table that could only have belonged to her. Ordinary people like Ægir and Lára did not carry heavy, elegant jewellery cases with them on holiday. But when Thóra took a quick look inside, it turned out that Karítas had filled it with photos, postcards and other mementos of her life and travels rather than valuables. Thóra closed the case again. The former owner’s young wife could hardly be implicated in the mystery, and while she may have been a favourite of the tabloids, Thóra did not have the stomach to snoop around in her private affairs. Even so, on her way out of the bedroom she couldn’t help staring at the giant mirror that covered most of the wall and picturing Karítas admiring herself in it. This was unfair, given that Thóra had no idea what she was really like, and she resolved to make an effort to be more impartial next time the young woman entered her thoughts. The two girls had slept in the smallest of the guest cabins, next to their parents. The instant Fannar opened the door they were struck by a pungent smell of strawberries, so sickly sweet that Thóra had to turn away. ‘A shampoo bottle burst in here,’ he explained. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want their hair to smell like that but maybe it’s not as overpowering once it’s been rinsed out.’ The girls had shared a double bed. Two cuddly toy rabbits lay abandoned amidst the tangle of bedclothes. Thóra was overwhelmed with sadness at the sight. To enhance the poignancy still further, it appeared that the twins had stuck a photo of their little sister on the headboard; a child who would one day grow up to thank her lucky stars that she hadn’t been old enough to accompany them on the voyage. Lifting the corner of the picture, Thóra saw that it had been fixed up with blu-tack, which suggested her guess was right. Karítas did not seem the blu-tack type. She picked up a pink Hello Kitty sock and put it on the bed. ‘God, this is harrowing.’ ‘I know.’ Fannar sounded sincere. ‘It would be best if they were found alive. Adrift at sea. Or maybe they’ve done a bunk to another country.’ ‘Done a bunk?’ The possibility hadn’t even occurred to Thóra. ‘Has anyone seriously suggested that?’ Fannar turned pink, obviously regretting having blurted it out. ‘No, not really. I’ve heard whispering at the office but it’s nothing. Someone was talking crap about Ægir, saying maybe he’d been embezzling funds from the committee and had done a runner. That he’d faked his own death and was living it up abroad.’ ‘Is that likely? I’d have thought you kept strict tabs on the assets the committee repossesses or has at its disposal.’ ‘Of course we do. It’s just gossip. Ægir didn’t embezzle any money, that’s for sure. The management will have carried out a thorough check, and if any misconduct had come to light it would have been all over the office. It would be impossible to hush it up – it would have leaked out somehow.’ Thóra looked back at the photo of the little girl on the headboard. ‘Irrespective of the money, I would stake my life on the fact that they didn’t deliberately disappear. People don’t leave a child behind – they either take all or none of them. And what about the crew? Is he supposed to have dragged three men into exile with them?’ ‘It was just a stupid theory, as I said. Firstly, Ægir didn’t steal anything and secondly, as you say, it doesn’t make sense.’ Thóra peered under the bed and, spotting the other sock, felt an impulse to pair them. As she bent down, she took the opportunity to change the subject. She didn’t want to discuss the family’s tragic fate with a big-mouth like Fannar. ‘What’s the committee going to do with the yacht? Won’t the repairs cost a fortune?’ The sock was just out of reach, so she had to contort herself still further. ‘Yes.’ From where she was kneeling, Thóra saw Fannar come two steps closer. ‘The way things have turned out, it would have been better to leave her berthed in Portugal. They’d get a better price for her on the other side of the Atlantic these days, but even so the amount wouldn’t be enough to cover the repairs.’ ‘Why do you think you’d get more for her in America than Europe?’ Thóra glanced round in search of a pen or some other implement. ‘There’s a chance her reputation won’t follow her over there. Most European brokers know her history and that affects the price. In their eyes what’s wrong with her can’t be mended. Whereas in the US and Central or South America, she’d have a clean slate.’ ‘I don’t suppose this latest incident has helped at all.’ Having failed to find anything with which to hook the sock, Thóra almost wrenched her arm out of its socket stretching under the bed. She brushed the sock with two fingers. Now all she needed was to reach a tiny bit further and pinch it between them. ‘No, that’s clear enough. And now that Ægir’s not here, the problem’s landed on my desk. I should be grateful really, as it represents something of a promotion for me.’ Thóra stretched her fingers out in vain. ‘Did you take over from him, then?’ She was now so obsessed by the idea of retrieving the sock that she couldn’t give a damn what Fannar thought of her crawling around on the floor. She had to pair those socks and wouldn’t leave until she’d succeeded. ‘Yes. I’d just finished a sale, so it was perfect timing. At least it’ll be interesting. The curse may sound ridiculous to us but sailors are notoriously superstitious and if her reputation carries across the Atlantic, I’m in deep trouble.’ At last Thóra got hold of the sock. The muscles in her armpit were burning but she didn’t want to lose it again, so she looked under the bed to make sure of her grip. What she saw caused her to start back so violently that she bashed her head. The pain was excruciating but her attention was distracted by the pounding of her heart, which felt as if it would burst its ventricles. ‘Christ.’ She rubbed the sore spot. ‘Did you bang your head?’ Fannar sounded concerned. ‘Can I see? Are you bleeding?’ Thóra showed him the back of her head and felt him parting her hair in search of a wound. ‘What happened?’ ‘I misjudged the space.’ She wasn’t going to tell him what she thought she’d seen. Especially not now that Bella had appeared in the doorway. No doubt the hallucination was the result of all Fannar and Bella’s talk about a curse. That was all. There was no denying that the atmosphere on board was a little creepy, but that was only natural given recent events. Unsolved mysteries were grist to the imagination’s mill, she knew that. It had been nothing but her mind playing tricks on her. What else could explain the little feet she thought she’d seen on the other side of the bed, in Hello Kitty socks? ‘I want to stick the picture of Sigga Dögg here. Then we’ll see her every time we go to bed and can kiss her good night.’ Arna held the photo of their sister up to the headboard. ‘Is that in the middle?’ Lára came over to the foot of the bed. ‘Yes, that’s perfect.’ She sat down beside her daughters. ‘Lift it off so I can fix it.’ She stuck small greyish lumps of blu-tack under the corners and pressed them firmly down. ‘There.’ She put the packet of blu-tack back in Bylgja’s school bag and closed it. ‘You must do some homework tomorrow. I promised your teacher you’d keep up while you were on holiday, and this extra cruise is no exception.’ She leant back a little to see how the photo looked. Her two-year-old daughter beamed back at them, happy and carefree, sitting on the swing Ægir had installed in the back garden. Gazing as if hypnotised by her little daughter’s round face, Lára felt suddenly sad. It was probably the after-effects of the unsatisfactory phone call to her in-laws, who were looking after the child. She had rung them from on deck just after the yacht left port so they could all say goodbye to Sigga Dögg before they lost reception. But, as was only to be expected, the little girl hadn’t grasped what was happening. Now Lára wished she had said more and made a greater effort to help the child understand. She should have told her how much they all loved her and that she should be a good girl. A good person. Lára shook herself. She was being melodramatic, and besides it was too late to start having regrets now as, according to the captain, they wouldn’t have reception again until they were within a few nautical miles of the Icelandic coast. And since Ægir hadn’t managed to organise a satellite phone connection on board, there would be no more conversations with Sigga Dögg on this trip. ‘Mummy, I’ve got a tummy ache.’ Bylgja was lying beside her sister, her glasses perched crookedly on her small nose, looking even paler than usual. Lára only had to compare her with her sister to realise that this was not down to the mood lighting in the cabin. ‘You’re seasick.’ Arna gave her sister a disgusted look. ‘You’re going to puke your guts up.’ Lára laid her hand on Bylgja’s forehead: it was damp. She had no idea if there was a cure for seasickness. They should have read up on it before setting off, but the voyage had been sprung on them with so little notice. Doubtless this would not be the only such problem to arise but it couldn’t be helped. Surely the captain must know how to deal with all kinds of contingencies, including nausea? ‘Just because you feel queasy it doesn’t mean you’re going to throw up, darling.’ Bylgja looked relieved at this piece of spurious wisdom. ‘Now, wait here and I’ll bring a wet flannel to put on your forehead. Maybe you should drink a little Coke too. It can help when you’re feeling sick.’ ‘No, thanks.’ Bylgja grimaced; she didn’t like the idea of swallowing anything. ‘My tummy feels strange.’ She met her mother’s eyes imploringly. ‘I don’t want to puke my guts up.’ ‘No one likes being sick, darling. If you stay lying down, I’m sure it won’t happen.’ She fetched a flannel from the bathroom, grabbing the small bin just in case. She wasn’t feeling too well herself; the drone of the engine and the rolling of the ship caused a sensation not unlike breathing in cigarette smoke when one had a hangover. ‘Bylgja thinks we’re going to sink.’ Arna’s voice held the aggrieved note that both resorted to when complaining about each other to their parents, though, to be fair, Arna did this rarely and Bylgja almost never. Lára was aware that her smile failed to reach her eyes. She too had been assailed by a vague sense of unease. It was only natural, given that this was her first time at sea apart from a few ferry trips to the Westman Islands. Their surroundings were unfamiliar; she had swapped the security of dry land for life on shipboard. There would be no going to hospital if anyone fell ill out here. No dentist if they developed toothache. And no shop to run out to if they realised they’d forgotten something. But that wasn’t the worst; the worst was the seemingly infinite vastness of the Atlantic. Lára had often seen maps of the world that showed the size of the oceans relative to the landmass, but representations like that simply could not do justice to the huge flat expanse that now confronted them on all sides. Sea, sea, endless sea. They had better notice if someone fell overboard, or that person wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being rescued. ‘Of course we’re not going to sink. Nothing can happen to a boat like this.’ Seeing that the girls were unconvinced, she added: ‘I asked Captain Thráinn and he said this boat is unsinkable. So you needn’t worry – about anything.’ That seemed to work. She wished she believed her own words. Bylgja closed her eyes behind her wonky glasses and lay back on the pillow. Arna darted her a rather resentful look, fiddling with the Snakes and Ladders game she had been hoping to play before lights out. ‘Read your book, darling. Bylgja needs to rest now but she’ll be fine in the morning.’ Lára lifted the glasses gently from Bylgja’s face and placed them on the bedside table. ‘What about you? Won’t you play?’ Arna already knew the answer: Lára had many excellent qualities as a parent but playing games with her daughte rs was not one of them. ‘No, darling. I’m going to see Daddy for a while, but we’ll come down and check on you before you go to sleep.’ She kissed them both on the cheek, adding to Arna in an undertone: ‘Come and find us at once if Bylgja starts throwing up. We’ll be on deck.’ From the doorway, she blew them each a kiss, then added a third, directed at the picture of Sigga Dögg. The toddler stared back at her from the glossy paper with lifeless eyes, her fat fingers clasped firmly around the ropes of the swing. ‘Do you know anything about seasickness?’ Lára flopped down beside Ægir on the padded bench on the foredeck. He had opened a bottle of red wine and rustled up two glasses. ‘I think Bylgja’s suffering. Or heading that way.’ She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. ‘You can pour me a little wine – or a lot, actually. I’m feeling a bit woozy myself but it can’t hurt.’ Ægir half-filled their glasses, as they had learnt on the wine course Lára had given him as a birthday present. ‘All I know is that there’s no cure, except to get some fresh air, I think, and stay on deck.’ He couldn’t remember where he had learnt this, as there had been no mention of seasickness on his sailing course. He sipped his wine. ‘God, that’s good. We chose well there.’ He looked forward to being able to allow himself such luxuries more often; most of their money worries were now over and the prospect of a comfortable future lay ahead. Growing older wasn’t as bad as people said. Lára followed his example, but took a much larger gulp. ‘Should we fetch her? She could lie here beside us. She was asleep, though, or just dropping off, so maybe it’s not such a good idea.’ She replaced her glass on the table. It had a wide bowl and an unusually long stem; presumably not cheap – probably ludicrously expensive. ‘Maybe I should ask Thráinn’s advice?’ ‘Oh, no.’ Ægir put his arm round her. ‘Leave him be for now. He might want to join us and I can’t face having to deal with him at the moment. Let’s just enjoy being alone together.’ It was very dark; next to nothing could be seen beyond the rail. The night might have been concealing anything; they could have been on shore were it not for the slapping of the waves and the soothing pitching of the yacht. Lára averted her gaze from the blackness and concentrated on Ægir’s dimly lit face. ‘Bylgja’s afraid the yacht’s going to sink.’ She tried to laugh as if it was funny but could hear how fake it sounded. ‘I told her there was no chance. I am right, aren’t I?’ ‘Of course you are.’ Ægir ran a finger down the stem of his glass, making it squeak. ‘I mean, there are circumstances in which the yacht could founder, but we’re talking major storms or collisions with other ships, that kind of thing.’ He realised this was not what Lára wanted to hear. ‘But there’s no likelihood of that on this voyage. None at all.’ Lára was reluctant to pursue the subject. She didn’t want to look out into the encroaching darkness either, to be reminded of how alone and abandoned they were. It would have been different if she could have hoped to see the lights of other ships or stars twinkling between the clouds. They had seen any number of larger and smaller vessels as they left the coast of Portugal, but the further they had travelled from land, the fewer other ships they had seen, until at last they might have been alone in the world. ‘I’d have preferred to sit on the aft deck.’ She glanced up at the large windows of the pilot house. ‘It makes me so uncomfortable to think of those three up there spying us.’ ‘They’re not.’ Ægir turned to look at the pilot house, which was on the level above them. ‘Take a look. There’s no one there. I think Thráinn’s gone to bed and Loftur’s reading in the saloon, so Halli must be manning the bridge alone and it’s not as if he has to stand at the helm, staring ahead. It’s all more or less automatic.’ No sooner had Ægir turned away from the bridge than Halli’s dyed thatch of hair appeared. Lára couldn’t discern his face properly but she could tell that he was watching them. ‘He’s looking our way.’ She murmured the words as if afraid he could lip-read. ‘What on earth’s the matter with him?’ ‘Stop it. He can’t even see us. He’s inside a brightly lit room and we’re outside in the dark. Just because we can see him doesn’t mean he can see us.’ Nevertheless Ægir blew out the tea-light in the little candle-holder he had found in the galley. ‘There, now it’s impossible for him to watch us. I can scarcely make you out and you’re right beside me.’ Although what Ægir said sounded sensible, Lára could have sworn that Halli was peering at them. ‘He makes me uneasy somehow. I was trying to catch his attention earlier but he pretended not to notice and didn’t even look round. He never speaks either, just stares when he thinks we’re not looking. He does it to the girls too and it makes my flesh crawl. His expression’s so sinister – as if he’d like to throw them overboard.’ ‘Stop it, will you? He’s just an ordinary bloke who doesn’t have much time for kids. I’ve yet to meet a young man who dotes on them if he doesn’t have children himself. You’d be more worried if he was over keen.’ Lára bit her lip but couldn’t tear her eyes away from that white head. She didn’t relax until he had vanished from the window. Then she took another sip of wine and leant against Ægir. ‘What do you think it’s like to be stinking rich and live like this all the time?’ ‘All right, I suppose. Though it must be stressful too. Imagine what the guy who owns this boat felt like when his world came crashing down. It must have been horrendous. Especially as he must have been aware that no one manages to amass a second fortune like that.’ ‘Did he lose the lot?’ ‘I doubt it. It’s unbelievable how many smokescreens people like him manage to erect when it comes to money. Stashing it away here and there, using all kinds of shell companies and front men, so it’s impossible to get to the bottom of it all. What we have managed to recover from his bankruptcy suggests that he’s got a fortune hidden away somewhere. Probably in so many different places he’s lost count.’ The yacht gave a sudden lurch before resuming her former lazy rocking. Ægir had to grab the back of the bench to keep his balance. ‘Apparently his wife Karítas possessed some information that she was prepared to share with us on condition that she got to keep what was registered in her name. But she changed her mind – no doubt in return for a substantial bribe. Or maybe she had nothing to gain because it turned out that the whole lot was in her husband’s name after all.’ ‘She changed her mind?’ Lára loosened her grip on the table edge. ‘How terribly convenient.’ ‘You’re telling me.’ Ægir took another sip of wine, with a look of satisfaction that even the darkness could not hide. ‘In spite of that we’ve managed to seize a considerable proportion of the guy’s assets. Like this yacht, for example. At least he can’t cruise around in luxury any more, with staff to cater to his every need. But I bet he’s still pretty comfortably off. Our life is a hard grind by comparison.’ ‘Her dresses are still hanging in the closets in our cabin. I was going to unpack but there’s no room to put anything away. Do you think she minded losing all those clothes? I’d have taken them with me.’ Ægir drained his glass, leaving only the dregs behind. ‘The yacht was sealed off without warning. They didn’t have time to remove any belongings. Anyhow, I bet she’s got so many clothes she wouldn’t even notice. Having said that, Thráinn did mention that the seal had been broken when he came on board, though nothing appeared to have been taken. The lock was intact, so whoever meant to break in probably gave up. Maybe he was disturbed or lost his nerve.’ ‘Unless it was Karítas or her husband. Someone with a key.’ Lára took another mouthful of wine, shooting a quick glance at the bridge: Halli was nowhere to be seen. ‘Though come to think of it, it can hardly have been her or she’d have taken the clothes.’ ‘I doubt Karítas needs those dresses. I’m sure she’s perfectly well off.’ ‘Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you don’t have clothes that you’re really attached to and want to wear again and again. Especially evening dresses like those.’ Reaching for the bottle, she took Ægir’s glass and refilled it almost up to the brim; she had learnt less than him on the wine course. ‘Do you think I’d fit into them? If I get bored perhaps I could amuse myself by trying them on.’ ‘I think you should leave them alone.’ Ægir took the glass back, looking a little disapproving when he saw how full it was. ‘I’d rather we didn’t touch more than necessary.’ He smiled. ‘Just the essentials, like these glasses. We couldn’t have drunk fine wine like this out of coffee mugs.’ A loud knocking sounded above their heads, causing Lára to jump so badly that she slopped her wine and nearly swept everything off the table. ‘What on earth was that?’ Looking up, she saw Halli standing at the window, banging on the glass. He beckoned to them. Ægir raised his brows. ‘What do you suppose he wants?’ ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Lára stood up. ‘Bring the bottle; it’s getting chilly out here. Let’s go inside after we’ve spoken to him. We’ll be more comfortable in the saloon. And we won’t have to put up with his spying any more.’ ‘Have you forgotten that Loftur’s lying on the sofa in there?’ ‘We’ll scare him away by coming over all lovey-dovey.’ She grinned and gave him a long hard kiss on his unshaven jaw, until she was forced to do a sudden sidestep by the plunging of the yacht. Apparently the sea didn’t approve of such intimacy. ‘I told you we’d be on deck, darling. Why didn’t you go there?’ Lára tucked Arna into bed and picked up her book from the floor, where it must have fallen when the little girl nodded off. ‘I couldn’t remember if you said you’d be at the front or the back, and I didn’t dare go out and end up on the wrong side. I thought I’d better find the captain and ask him for help. But he wasn’t there, only Halli.’ ‘That was a good idea.’ Ægir stroked the hair from Bylgja’s brow and felt it with his hand. ‘She hasn’t got a temperature; she just feels a bit clammy. Maybe it’s passed. She hasn’t thrown up, has she, Arna?’ The other girl shook her head. ‘She was asleep. I was going to wake her up but I was afraid she’d puke all over me. That’s why I ran – I didn’t want to leave her alone here too long. Not with that woman.’ ‘Woman?’ Lára felt Arna’s forehead, to check if she too was coming down with a fever. Perhaps both girls had caught a bug during the holiday. ‘What woman?’ ‘The woman in my dream. She wanted to hurt me. And Bylgja.’ ‘You were dreaming. There’s only one woman on board, and that’s me. You don’t think I’d hurt you?’ She pressed the tip of her daughter’s nose. ‘Never in a million years.’ Her words had no effect. ‘She doesn’t want us here. Maybe it’s her bed.’ Arna sat up. ‘Can we sleep with you?’ ‘Hey, it was just a dream, poppet. No one owns this bed, except maybe the people at Daddy’s office. And they don’t mind in the least if you sleep here. No mysterious woman has any say in the matter. If you close your eyes, I’ll sit here beside you until you go to sleep. But the moment you open them, I’m going. Deal?’ Arna agreed and after turning out the light Lára sat down beside her. Ægir tiptoed over to the door, bracing himself against the wall in the steadily increasing swell. As he pulled the door quietly to behind him, Lára opened her mouth to ask him to leave it open a crack but changed her mind; the door would only bang if it was left ajar. She put her arm round her daughter and before long the girl’s breathing was deep and regular. Unable to bring herself to get up straight away, she stayed on, listening to the girls sleep. When she finally eased herself carefully to her feet, Arna stirred, frowning as if she was having another nightmare. Lára considered staying with her but then Arna quietened down again, and Ægir was waiting above. Pausing in the doorway, she wrinkled her nose. She smelt a waft of strong, heavy perfume that seemed to emanate from the corridor. But that couldn’t be right, because when she stepped out of the cabin to sniff the air, the scent seemed fainter outside. And when she checked again it had gone. She shrugged, closed the door to the girls’ cabin and made her way out along the narrow, dimly lit corridor. There were few things Thóra found more tedious than cooking. In this she differed from most of her friends and their husbands, who seemed to have become increasingly interested in food over the years. One had even bought tickets for Thóra and her partner, Matthew, to attend a cookery course as a Christmas present and seemed very pleased with her own idea. They had dutifully attended the course, which was called Middle Eastern Magic, but the instructor had failed to infect them with any enthusiasm. By the end of the classes they were as clueless as they had been at the beginning, apart from having learnt how to prepare a decent couscous. This proved rather embarrassing when the friend in question demanded to be invited to dinner to taste the fruits of her gift. As the only Middle Eastern restaurants in Reykjavík were takeaway kebab shops, they decided to buy an Indian meal, shove it in a pan and serve it with couscous. Then they looked up an appropriately Arabic name for the dish on the Internet. Their friends were impressed, especially with the Al-Jazeera Chicken. Thóra’s only worry was that their deception had succeeded too well and that she and Matthew would receive another cookery course for Christmas next year. The course had made no more difference than the countless recipe books and magazines they had acquired over the years. Thóra was quite simply a hopeless cook. As a result, the other members of the household – apart from her grandson, Orri – rallied around the task of feeding the family. Sadly, these attempts proved no more successful than her own. Sóley showed the most promise but lacked the patience to cook proper meals. She was mainly into baking muffins, but while the family’s eating habits left a lot to be desired they had not yet sunk so low as to eat cake for supper. Besides, the kitchen always looked like a bombsite after Sóley had been at work. Thóra’s son, Gylfi, and his girlfriend, Sigga, had reached an age when they would soon be setting up home together, so they should have shown more interest in cooking, but no such luck. They were also the fussiest eaters, vegetarians one minute, on a raw food diet the next, if not both at the same time, and everyone had long ago given up trying to remember which craze they were following – they couldn’t always remember themselves. This evening they had taken Orri and their faddy eating habits to supper with Sigga’s parents, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to decide what to make. If only the fridge hadn’t been empty. ‘How about a Chinese?’ Thóra closed the fridge. ‘We can order a takeaway or have noodles.’ ‘Takeaway.’ Matthew started clearing away the knives and forks he had just laid on the table. They had become pretty adept at using chopsticks by now. ‘I can’t eat any more pot noodles. Not this year, anyway.’ ‘I could bake something.’ Sóley looked up from the homework she was trying to finish before evening. She was supposed to hand in a page on occupations in India for her social studies class, but the sheet of paper in front of her was blank apart from drawings of elephants, tigers and snakes which had at best a tenuous connection to the topic. ‘No, really, there’s no need.’ When he saw Sóley’s hurt expression, Matthew clearly regretted having jumped in so quickly. ‘All I meant is that you need to finish your homework and that’s more important than supper right now. You can do some baking at the weekend if you’re still in the mood. How about chocolate liquorice whips?’ He knew these were her proudest achievement, though her pride was not necessarily justified by the outcome. ‘How would you like to take a little break and come with me to fetch the food?’ Sóley was quick to push aside her zoologically inclined essay on Indian society, and Thóra felt a warm glow of pleasure at how well these two got on. Gylfi and Matthew were friendly enough but they weren’t especially close. If her children had rejected Matthew, it would have been the end of her relationship with him, at least in its current form; the happiness of Sóley, Gylfi and now Orri took precedence. That’s just the way it was and so far no one had had any cause for complaint, least of all Matthew who entirely respected her priorities. Thóra tried to ensure that their life did not entirely revolve around the younger generation, and she and Matthew were quite good at making private time for themselves, but this had become harder since her ex-husband had taken it into his head to start working alternate months in Norway. She made an effort to be understanding about this since Hannes had been forced to start again after their divorce, and had been saddled with a hefty mortgage as a result of buying in the middle of the housing bubble. Working abroad meant he could pay off some of his debts. The upshot was that the children now spent half as many weekends as before with their father, but this was compensated for by the fact that her parents had moved out at long last. They had finally managed to solve their money troubles by selling their timeshare in Spain, which they had had little use for anyway. With the departure of Thóra’s mother, however, the family had lost the cook they so badly needed. After Sóley and Matthew had left to fetch the takeaway, Thóra pulled out the file on the yacht. She was filled with a profound desire to solve the mystery, but knew she was unlikely to succeed. The vessel itself had fired up her imagination as much as the unknown fate of those on board. She was fairly down-to-earth by nature, yet she simply could not shake off the image of those little pale legs. It wasn’t that she believed there had been anything supernatural about the vision; on the contrary, she was sure it had been conjured up by her own brain. The passengers may have vanished but the signs of their existence were so ubiquitous on board that it had been easy for her mind to fill in the gaps. Before Fannar had said goodbye on the dockside, he’d told her Ægir’s boss would do everything in his power to help solve the case. The man felt partly responsible for what had happened since it had been he who sent Ægir on the fateful voyage. Thóra had asked Fannar to find out if his office had any documents that she could have copies of, in addition to the damage report compiled by the committee following the yacht’s arrival in Reykjavík. He had promised to look into the matter but Thóra hadn’t really expected to hear any more. Yet she had hardly sat down at her desk before her mobile rang: Fannar, calling to say they were making up a file for her. She had collected it from the committee offices on her way home. The sheaf of documents that she pulled out of the envelope was not particularly thick. There were several pages on top containing lists of those who had crewed the yacht at various times. They were in French, so had presumably been acquired from abroad. This figured, since the yacht had been registered in Monaco until the com mittee repossessed it in Lisbon. As she perused the lists, Thóra could tell from their names that the crew members were of various nationalities, few of them French. She paused at one that had been highlighted: Halldór Thorsteinsson . An Icelander. Clearly she needed to talk to this man. The Halldór in question had only worked on the boat for three months. It was a short spell of duty compared to others on the list, but he must be well acquainted with the yacht nonetheless. Of course, there was always the possibility that he had either resigned or been sacked, which would be unfortunate since it might affect his testimony if he held a grudge against the former owner or other crew members. Still, he would almost certainly be able to fill her in about safety procedures, life-saving equipment and any other aspects she needed to have straight before she laid the matter before the insurance company. Any gaps in her report would lead to delays: it was a common tactic by insurance companies to reply by questioning a particular item and then, when that query had been answered, to flag up another, and so forth. This could hold up proceedings by months, so it was vital to present a well-argued case from the beginning. Following the crew lists she found the yacht’s registration certificate, which confirmed what Thóra already knew, that Karítas and her husband had not been the first owners and that they were responsible for christening her Lady K . The name still struck Thóra as crass. She wondered if she would have done the same, but Lady T sounded even more absurd. Turning back to the crew lists, she noticed that Halldór had worked on the vessel while it was owned by Karítas and her husband. It was probably irrelevant, but she made a mental note. Her attention was also caught by an inventory of the yacht’s furnishings, if that was the correct term for ships’ contents. The letterhead on the document belonged to an overseas ship broker that apparently specialised in the sale of maritime vessels, and the value of all the items was noted over many pages. The document was dated a little over four years ago, so it would not necessarily be representative of the yacht’s present contents. Thóra raised an eyebrow as she read. Never had she imagined that everyday objects could be so expensive: a sofa that cost more than her car; knives that were worth more than the entire contents of her own kitchen, including the table and chairs. The inventory also contained gadgets, instruments and other equipment associated with sea travel, such as jet skis, wetsuits and fishing gear. She had noticed the jet skis, in a storeroom with a hatch that opened to give access to the sea, but she didn’t remember any diving suits or fishing rods. This might not mean anything, as they had made a whistle-stop tour of numerous storerooms and cupboards, and there must be plenty she hadn’t seen. Thóra supposed it was always possible that somebody had walked off with the stuff, since it was certainly valuable enough to tempt a thief. She hadn’t been particularly surprised to discover what the angling gear was worth because Matthew had recently developed an interest in salmon fishing and the price of the equipment he coveted had made her eyes water. She hoped to God he would steer clear of sailing. The contents of the next page brought her up short. It was blank apart from one line: the name Karítas Karlsdóttir, a telephone number and an e-mail address. She frowned, surprised that this information should have been included, and wondered if it was by accident or design. Reaching for the phone, she tried the number – but it had been disconnected. Similarly, when she tried to send an e-mail it bounced straight back. The details must have been included in error. She was still thoughtfully contemplating the pile of documents when Matthew and Sóley got home with the food. Throughout supper her mind kept returning to the yacht and the papers and she responded automatically to Sóley’s comments without taking in what she said. After supper, Thóra resumed her reading. She was longing to discuss the case with Matthew out of earshot of Sóley, but had to wait until they left the table and her daughter returned to her homework. For all she knew the little girl might be turned off boats for life if she got wind of the yacht affair. Ever since seeing a news item about a flight attendant who saved a child from choking on a gobstopper, Sóley had refused to touch boiled sweets – and that had been three years ago. ‘What do you know about boats, Matthew?’ ‘Next to nothing. They’re used to catch fish, carry freight and travel by sea or on inland waterways.’ He smiled. ‘Any help?’ ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘I’ve taken on a case connected to the mystery yacht. I was allowed on board this morning, and the atmosphere was really eerie. Maybe it was just because I’m unused to boats in general, let alone luxury yachts. But that’s not the main point. The case involves a life insurance claim and it’s bound to be trickier to pursue than it would be for a death in normal circumstances.’ ‘I imagine you’d need to know quite a bit about boats.’ ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Thóra fetched her laptop. As it was early in the month, Gylfi had not yet managed to use up all their foreign download credit, which meant they were not restricted to browsing Icelandic pages. ‘Do you think it’s common for people to vanish from a boat and never be seen again?’ Matthew shrugged. ‘It’s not unheard of but I’ve no idea how common it is. I remember one story that had a big impact on me as a boy, though I can’t vouch for it. It was about a ghost ship that went on sailing the seas long after her crew disappeared. I can’t remember her name, though. Why don’t you try searching on-line? If nothing comes up, presumably that’ll mean this type of incident is unusual or a one-off. Though I don’t really see how that’ll help you.’ ‘I’m just curious. I can’t get that creepy atmosphere out of my mind.’ She paused before adding: ‘I can’t really describe it but I felt as if the people were still there, as if they didn’t realise they were supposed to have vanished. Silly, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes and no.’ Matthew didn’t smile, clearly not finding the idea all that ludicrous. ‘There can be an odd feeling associated with a place where someone has recently died. In my experience it can muddle your thoughts and give you odd fancies. When I visited a murder scene for the first time, in the police, I caught myself hearing non-existent noises and thinking someone was touching me. It was only because I was new to the horror of it all.’ Thóra felt comforted. It sounded sensible; although she had seen a few scary things – including dead bodies – in her line of work, she was hardly an old hand and her mind simply hadn’t been able to process the unfamiliar situation in a rational manner. In other words, she wasn’t going mad – or hopefully not. It was a pity she couldn’t ask Bella if she’d had a similar experience, but that was out of the question: Thóra was not prepared to expose any weakness that Bella might exploit. She searched for information about Karítas’s foreign husband, Gulam. It was unlikely to help, but she wanted to know more about the background to the case. The Icelandic papers had carried reports of his bankruptcy because of his links to the local banking crisis, but business news bored her so she had only skimmed the headlines at the time. When she tapped his name into the search engine, remarkably few results came up considering the scope of his activities. Presumably he was keen to keep a low profile. It seemed he was a major investor in other people’s companies rather than an empire-builder on his own account, and this allowed him to operate largely under the radar. The articles that did come up divided roughly into three categories: Icelandic schadenfreude over his financial collapse, passing references to his investments in international business news items, and finally foreign gossip columns about the jet set in which he featured more or less as an extra. Thanks to Karítas’s presence, these stories tended to find their way into the Icelandic news, where the couple’s importance was inevitably exaggerated. Icelanders were fascinated by any of their countrymen who moved in exalted circles abroad, especially if they had done well for themselves, and that was certainly true of this young woman who seemed, moreover, to enjoy basking in the limelight. It was this third category that drew Thóra’s attention most; she had felt a certain curiosity about the woman since Karítas had indirectly entered her life. These articles made no mention of the stock market or share prices, focusing instead on gala dinners and glitzy parties, largely from the point of view of which designer labels the guests were wearing. Gulam was not a big enough fish to earn the couple a starring role; when they appeared in a picture it was almost invariably as a filler at the end of a series of photos. Gulam never appeared without Karítas on his arm and Thóra suspected that without her the photos wouldn’t have been published at all. His Icelandic wife was unusually glamorous, but where she could easily have been a model with her statuesque physique, her husband was short and squat with a fleshy face and a comb-over that must have been the first thing she saw every time she looked down at him. Nevertheless, one would have thought he was a fairy-tale prince by the way she clung to him in all the pictures; her slender arm, in a succession of expensive dresses, crooked round his plump, black-sleeved elbow. The contrast was striking: where he was pallid and invariably dressed like an undertaker, she was perma-tanned and clothed in vibrant hues; where he was balding, she had a long, thick mane of blond hair, generally worn loose. His jowls were flabby, her cheekbones high. He shunned all ornament, she was adorned with jewels on every available part of her body. Where his teeth were small and not particularly well cared for, hers were large, straight and a brilliant white, as if ordered from a catalogue. It was hardly surprising that she was always baring them in a grin for the photographer, while her husband scowled. Their union was a true marriage of opposites. When it became clear that her trawl through the celebrity news was not throwing up any leads, Thóra abandoned this tack and started searching instead for information about Karítas herself. A stub article in the Icelandic media revealed that she was nearly thirty years younger than her husband and had met him while she was working for a Reykjavík hotel where he had been a guest. Her exact position was not specified, but three months later they were married; he for the third time, she for the first. She had no children from this marriage or any other relationship. Another article claimed that when her husband was threatened with bankruptcy, Karítas had demanded a divorce. Thóra vaguely recalled having seen a headline about this when she was at the supermarket. The divorce can hardly have come out of the blue since it was painfully obvious what had attracted her to her husband in the first place. It was the same old story, and all talk of love at first sight rang rather hollow; strange how Thóra had never heard of any marriages between beautiful young women and penniless older men. Still, what did it matter? People were attracted to different things; as long as the arrangement made both parties happy it didn’t do any harm, whatever their motivation. But in this case their happiness had been short-lived: Karítas had sued for divorce after only four years of marriage. However, further searches indicated that the couple must have sorted out their differences since they had not apparently separated after all. Thóra suspected that the fact there was nothing left in the coffers for Karítas’s settlement had played its part, though it was rumoured that her husband had concealed a considerable sum from his creditors, including the Icelandic bank’s resolution committee. No doubt sticking with him had seemed preferable to going back to her job at the hotel. The narrowness of Iceland’s social circle was its main drawback: after featuring in the celebrity gossip columns it can hardly have been a tempting prospect for a young woman to return home so ignominiously. Initial reports that Karítas intended to cooperate with the bank had proved unfounded, but when the media subsequently asked questions, they received few answers. Karítas had been uncontactable when the yacht story broke; in fact, she seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. A representative of her husband had announced that she was staying in Brazil to avoid the press furore, but her mother, who lived in Iceland, was unable to confirm this. ‘Matthew.’ He was glued to his laptop. ‘Have you heard any talk at the bank about the couple who owned the yacht? I know the guy didn’t do business with you directly, but is there any water-cooler gossip about them? About where Karítas might be living at the moment, or whether she’s intending to shed any light on her husband’s business arrangements?’ It took Matthew a while to work out what Thóra was talking about. Although he had made great strides in the language, it sometimes took him a moment or two to switch from German to Icelandic mode. ‘Yes, I’ve heard things, though nothing worth repeating. The women tend to gossip about her; the men, about him.’ ‘What do they say?’ ‘Nothing very interesting. He’s supposed to have squirrelled away a fortune in assets, which no one’s managed to trace despite an exhaustive search, and apparently she doesn’t want to come home because she won’t be able to flaunt her wealth any more if they have to keep a low profile. The word is that she’s afraid of being questioned by the financial authorities or special prosecutor. I don’t know how seriously to take that, though. It’s probably just speculation.’ Thóra considered. ‘I’m going to try and contact her parents or siblings. They may know how I can get hold of her. I bet she’d be able to provide some useful background on the yacht. Maybe there was a problem the crew weren’t aware of when they set out. Karítas and her husband hadn’t used the boat for a while before she was confiscated – perhaps because of a fault.’ ‘Or because a boat like that costs millions of krónur a day to run. They’ve had to tighten their belts in the recession like everyone else.’ Matthew yawned. ‘Why on earth would she talk to you, anyway?’ Thóra closed her laptop. ‘I doubt she’ll have the slightest interest in doing so. But it’s worth trying.’ She stretched lazily. ‘Is her husband a criminal?’ ‘What do you mean? The kind with a gun or the kind with a credit rating?’ ‘A gun.’ ‘I doubt it. What makes you think that?’ ‘I just find it incredibly convenient that she should disappear completely at the time most convenient for her husband. One minute she’s on her way home to testify against him; the next, she’s vanished. I started wondering if she might actually be dead. Supposing they’ve bumped her off? It’s quite a while since the press last managed to take any pictures of her, though they’ve been pulling out all the stops over the last few days. Whatever her financial woes, it’s unlike her to lie low – she’s usually so eager to be seen in the media. So maybe it’s all connected. The documents from the resolution committee included a piece of paper with her name and an out-of-date phone number and e-mail address, which started me thinking. Perhaps they’re onto something that they can’t reveal for reasons of bank confidentiality, and her details were a hint to steer me in the right direction.’ ‘I find that highly unlikely.’ Matthew looked incredulous. ‘Just because you’re given a piece of paper with a woman’s name and contact details, it doesn’t mean she’s dead. Anyway, you’d be a fool to speak to her family if you do believe she’s been murdered. What are you going to do? Ask her relatives to pass on a message, and assume she’s dead if you don’t hear back?’ He smirked. ‘Not exactly brilliant, is it?’ ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. It would be enough to meet one close relative for a chat. If it turns out the family hasn’t heard from her, then that would support the idea that there’s something wrong. After all, it’s one thing not to talk to the press, but quite another to leave your loved ones in the dark. If there’s any truth in the quotes from her mother in the papers, she doesn’t have a clue where Karítas is. On the other hand, it’s perfectly possible that they know exactly where she is and will be able to put me in touch with her. Which is what I’m hoping for.’ Matthew shook his head, still unconvinced, but at that moment Gylfi and Sigga appeared with Orri asleep in his father’s arms. Sigga took the little boy from him and carried him into the bedroom, but Gylfi hovered. It was obvious that he was bursting with news. ‘Dad rang from Norway.’ ‘Oh?’ said Thóra. ‘How’s he?’ ‘He’s had an idea. A brainwave, actually.’ Gylfi perched on the arm of Thóra’s sofa. Recently he had shot up to his full height, though he had yet to fill out. Before she knew it, he would be an adult. ‘He’s met a guy in Norway who works for an oil company and apparently he could sort out a job for me if I wanted.’ ‘A job?’ Thóra sat bolt upright. ‘This summer, you mean?’ ‘Yes. And winter. It’s insanely well paid.’ ‘Just hang on a minute.’ There were so many questions racing round Thóra’s head that she didn’t know where to start. ‘I thought you were going straight to university after you’d finished school. This is a crazy idea, isn’t it? And what about Sigga? She’s got a year left of sixth form – are she and Orri supposed to go with you or stay behind?’ ‘Sigga can take her final year by distance learning. And I’d be up for taking a gap year. It would give me time to work out what I really want to study. We’d save some money too. I said the pay was unbelievable, didn’t I?’ There was no mistaking his elation; he looked ready to go on-line and buy his ticket right away. ‘Wages may be high in Norway, but the cost of living is astronomical. All your money would go on day-to-day expenses. I mean, what do you think it costs to rent a flat there?’ Thóra racked her brain for a way of dampening his enthusiasm, of making him wake up to the fact that this was an appalling idea. The last thing she wanted was to lose them to a foreign country, though she had been aware for some time that it would not be long before he, Sigga and Orri moved out to set up their own home. She had even assumed it would happen soon after he started university that autumn, but it had never crossed her mind that they might take Orri to live abroad. ‘That’s what’s so fantastic. Dad’s got this big flat, which he only uses every other month. We could share it with him when he’s there and the rest of the time we’d have it to ourselves.’ Gylfi beamed. ‘It’s a brilliant arrangement. And the job’s awesome. I’d work for two weeks, then have three weeks off.’ Thóra exclaimed: ‘That can’t be right. What kind of job is it anyway? ‘On an oil rig. They fly you out there by helicopter.’ He couldn’t stop grinning at the thought. ‘I see.’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all her ex’s idiotic ideas, this took the biscuit. Gylfi on an oil rig. He had hardly ever left Reykjavík, let alone experienced the sort of conditions he could expect on a floating steel platform in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, or wherever this oil rig happened to be. ‘You know, Gylfi, this is a terrible idea.’ She looked to Matthew for support but he didn’t say a word, and hi s face was unreadable. ‘The reason it’s well paid is that it’s incredibly dangerous, and anyway you’re far too young and inexperienced. The journey alone would be too risky. It’s out of the question.’ The smile fell from Gylfi’s face. ‘It’s not “out of the question”.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway, it’s not up to you. I’m going to put together a CV and send it to Dad to pass on to the guy. There’s no guarantee he’ll agree to take me on, but if he does, I want to do it.’ Gylfi’s eyes sought out Matthew but he encountered the same shuttered expression. He turned back to his mother: ‘You’ll just have to get used to the idea. Why are you always so negative?’ He stomped into his room. Thóra sat in silence, trying to bring her emotions under control before she spoke. ‘What the hell’s he going to do on an oil rig? He can’t even fill up the car with petrol; he always gets the attendant to do it.’ Matthew shrugged. ‘I expect there are plenty of jobs for lads like him. I think it might do him good.’ Thóra glared at him. ‘You can’t be serious?’ But he clearly was. It looked as if she was the only person opposed to the plan. She would have to find some way of stopping it on her own – prevent her son from taking on a job that could well be the death of him and would, moreover, rob Orri of the stability Thóra believed she herself represented in his life. Although Gylfi and Sigga were good parents and keen to take proper care of their son, they lacked the necessary maturity to raise a child. She was brought up short by the realisation that she had become a mother at about the same age. That had worked out all right. Great, now even her own brain had turned against her. She opened her laptop again, angry with everyone and everything. She didn’t want to waste any more energy thinking about it now, since the chances were that Gylfi would have changed his mind by morning. To distract herself, she started searching for instances of abandoned ships. The results turned out to be quite a mixed bag. The weather had deteriorated overnight and the yacht kept plunging, at the mercy of the waves. Heavy, dark clouds obscured the sun, presaging a downpour, and the sea had changed from blue to a threatening grey, reflecting the leaden sky. The mood on board was similarly muted, the girls scowling with boredom. It appeared the voyage was not going to be the adventure they had anticipated. ‘Why are the waves white on top, Daddy?’ Bylgja sat peering out of the window in the saloon where the family were gathered. ‘Because when the sea rears up like that the water mixes with air. And that’s good for the fish because they get their oxygen from the sea.’ Ægir didn’t actually know why – he had never gone in for natural history – but thought this sounded plausible. Arithmetic and mathematical problems were more in his line; a logical discipline with no room for exceptions. ‘Careful, sweetheart. Try to choose a route where there’s something to hold on to.’ He watched his daughter walk unsteadily across the saloon towards the sofas. The yacht pitched and rolled violently; they had all lost their footing at some point that morning. Ægir guessed he himself probably looked as peaky as the rest of the family. They were trying to put a brave face on things but their stomachs revolted at every new movement. Lára was prostrate on a sofa, her face buried in her arms. She had complained of a headache and been unable to eat much breakfast. The girls in contrast had tucked in as if they didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, and Ægir hoped this meant their nausea had passed, at least for the time being. Seeing how wan and lethargic they looked now, however, he realised he had been optimistic. This time Bylgja was not the only one to be subdued; Arna seemed little better. ‘Does my head look bigger than normal?’ Lára shifted one hand. Her head appeared its usual size; the only difference was the red mark left by her arm across her cheek. ‘No, it looks perfectly normal to me.’ Ægir breathed out sharply to combat a sudden stomach cramp. ‘I think it looks bigger.’ Arna had leant forward to get a better view. Lára groaned. ‘You know what we should do?’ Ægir slapped his knees in an attempt to summon up the courage to move. ‘We’ll feel better if we go out on deck. Remember what Thráinn said? Fresh air works wonders and I reckon it wouldn’t do us any harm to try it. Afterwards we’ll have a nap and wake up feeling like new.’ The captain had not in fact mentioned anything about lying down, but Ægir felt confident that it would help. Nothing on the sailing course had prepared him for this. At the time he had thought of asking one of the instructors about seasickness but had been reluctant to expose his lack of experience, which was ridiculous considering that most of the other people on the course were amateurs too. No experienced sailor would need a pleasure craft competency certificate. ‘Come on, then.’ Their movements were slow. Ægir had to help Lára to her feet; her eyes were glassy and flickered as if she was having trouble focusing. ‘I think I’m dying,’ she mumbled in his ear as he helped her outside. ‘Aren’t there any drugs you can take to stop this torture?’ ‘I’m afraid it may be too late now. But perhaps we should take some pills before we lie down. I’d throw up if I tried to swallow one at the moment, however small they were.’ Ægir paused to undo the catch on the door to the deck. It had taken him a while to get used to the fact that all the outside doors were fastened with catches both inside and outside, but he had finally learnt not to grab the handle and jerk it in vain until he remembered. ‘Halli’s out there.’ Ægir peered through the porthole in the door at the back view of the young man who was leaning over the rail. The smoke from his cigarette scarcely rose above his head before the wind snatched it away. This was just as well, as Ægir suspected that in their present state cigarette smoke would be the final straw. He opened the door, keeping a tight grip on it. Halli turned his head. ‘Morning.’ He had still been in bed when they themselves got up, but now he was standing there with his short white hair flattened in whorls, his eyes a little puffy with sleep. They exchanged greetings, the girls barely audible over the roar of the wind and waves, Lára hoarse and throaty. Only Ægir managed to sound more or less his normal self. ‘We’re hoping some fresh sea air will perk us up.’ ‘Well, watch out. It’s very windy.’ Pinching his cigarette stub between finger and thumb, Halli flicked it into the sea. ‘People can be blown overboard – kids especially.’ The girls were uneasy under his gaze. Ægir felt Bylgja’s small paw slip into his hand and clasp it tight. ‘I’ll look after them.’ He reached for Arna’s hand as well. ‘How long does it take to get used to it? The seasickness, I mean.’ Halli shrugged unsympathetically. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been seasick.’ Ægir choked back the urge to swear at him. ‘And you’ve never seen anyone else suffer from it?’ ‘Yeah. I just don’t remember how it turned out. Anyway, you look pretty chirpy for people who are sick – you should be hanging over the rail, chucking up your insides.’ ‘Please, not another word.’ Lára clamped her lips shut as soon as she had spoken. She retched as Halli headed past her on his way inside, but managed to hold it down. ‘Deep breaths, darling. He’s gone and there’s nothing but clean sea air.’ Ægir kept a firm hold on his daughters although they seemed eager to pull free now that Halli had gone. ‘You must hold my hands – you heard what he said. We don’t want you to be blown into the sea.’ Immediately the small fingers ceased their wriggling. ‘There’s something wrong with that man. It’s as if he had a grudge against us.’ Lára inhaled deeply. ‘He’s just a bit uncouth.’ Ægir practised breathing steadily and it seemed to work. The discomfort in his abdomen abated slightly and the pain in his temples dulled. ‘Try to breathe like this, girls. It’ll help.’ ‘If I breathe like that I’ll have to close my eyes and I don’t want to.’ Bylgja was even paler now than when they had first come outside. ‘If I do, I’ll see that woman.’ ‘What woman?’ Ægir bent down, taking care not to release Arna’s hand. ‘The woman in the picture. I dreamt about her and if I close my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll dream about her again.’ ‘What picture, sweetheart?’ ‘The one in the saloon. In the frame on the wall.’ Her glasses were covered with tiny droplets from the spray that splashed over them at regular intervals. Ægir tried to think which picture Bylgja could be referring to. He had limited interest in people, unlike Lára who could spend hours poring over pictures of strangers in the tabloids. She also spent an excessive amount of time on Facebook, studying her friends’ photos, a habit he found incomprehensible. ‘What’s she talking about, Lára?’ ‘The painting of Karítas. The wife of the man who used to own the yacht. It’s on the wall beside the television. You must be off-colour if you haven’t noticed it.’ She gave a ghost of a smile, which made her look a little less wan. ‘Or are you so mad about your wife that you don’t have eyes for any other woman?’ Ægir didn’t know how to reply. He was afraid of agreeing in case that would be the wrong answer. Instead, he turned back to Bylgja who was pulling at his hand. ‘The woman with the necklace, Daddy. In the painting. She was wearing it in my dream. But her face looks different somehow.’ ‘The necklace, right.’ Ægir had even less interest in jewellery than in people. He squeezed Bylgja’s hand. ‘We often dream about things we’ve seen during the day. That’s why the woman turned up. It’s perfectly safe to close your eyes, darling; dreams can’t hurt you. They’re only thoughts – thoughts that are a bit muddled because we’re asleep and our guard is lowered.’ He was about to add that it was like being drunk – when common sense goes out of the window and all kinds of foolish things seem like a good idea – but he caught himself in time. It would only have confused her. ‘I had a nightmare about that woman too. I told Mummy last night.’ Arna looked up at her father, who smiled and pressed both their hands. Instead of returning his smile, she added anxiously: ‘My friend Helga says dreams are trying to give you a message. If we both have the same dream it must mean something. Perhaps the woman’s hiding on the boat.’ ‘I very much doubt it. You have the same dreams because you’re twins. You think alike even when you’re asleep. It’s not the first time, is it?’ He received no reply because at that moment the door suddenly opened outwards with a crash. Halli appeared in the gap and pinned the door back with one foot. ‘Take these. They might make you feel better.’ He held out his fist and waited for them to come over. ‘They’re seasickness tablets I found in a cabin. Thráinn says they’re all right. The plasters work better but we couldn’t find any.’ Lára took the pills. ‘Thanks.’ She examined them, before closing her fingers over them. ‘I hope they work fast.’ Halli shrugged, removed his foot and let the door swing to behind him. They heard the catch snap back. ‘Oh, great. Are we locked out now?’ Lára asked. ‘No,’ Ægir reassured her. ‘The catches inside and outside both work on the same hinge. I’ve tested them.’ He had been afraid the girls might be locked in or out; you never knew what they would get up to when they wanted attention. ‘Now, how about grabbing a few more lungfuls of air, then going inside and taking the pills? I’m sure they’ll go down better if we wash them down with a drink.’ He expanded his chest as far as he could and exhaled gustily. As he repeated this, he fixed his gaze on the heaving sea in the hope that it would help. But he couldn’t interpret the movements of the waves and brace himself for what was coming next; their behaviour was too unpredictable. One minute everything appeared calm, the surface of the sea smooth; the next, the ship was tossing about like a cork. He wondered how deep the water was at this point but couldn’t come up with a plausible figure. They had left the continental shelf behind some time ago, so it might be several kilometres to the ocean floor. Or perhaps not that much. Again he was stymied by his lack of knowledge about the natural world. It was the sort of fact that he should probably have picked up along the way but his mind was blank; perhaps even at its deepest it was only a few hundred metres down to the sea bed. He hadn’t the faintest idea. It had probably never formed part of the school syllabus. In any case, what did the depth of the ocean matter? If you sank, you sank; you would be just as dead whether you ended up a hundred or a thousand metres down. Such reflections were hardly designed to raise the spirits, so Ægir banished them from his mind. There was no point letting his thoughts run away with him. He knew from experience that if he gave his worries free rein they could take on extremely colourful forms. Like the time he had let himself be talked into scuba diving while on a beach holiday with some university friends, long before he met Lára. The first day’s training had consisted of a short course in the swimming pool. But that night while his friends snored away, oblivious to the danger they were about to expose themselves to (and at considerable expense), Ægir had not got a wink of sleep. Countless possible variations of death in a diving accident passed through his mind as he tossed and turned, until eventually he decided it would be best not to go on the dive. But the following morning, unwilling to lose face in front of his friends, he had agreed to go out on the boat after all. When it came to it, he had not done badly at all, perhaps because he had already resigned himself to drowning in the clear, aquamarine water. The instructor had even singled him out for praise because he had kept his head and remained relaxed during the dive. The only time he had come close to panic was when they reached the bottom and, viewing the alien surroundings and strange life forms through his goggles, he had experienced a strong aversion to the idea of leaving his bones there. However, by concentrating on taking deep, regular breaths through his mouthpiece, he had managed to master his fear. It was not until his ascent, when he saw the approaching light above him, that he was seized by an uncontrollable urge to breathe through his nose and had to force himself to look down and wait until he had reached the surface. A further shock had come when the instructor swam with them to the place where they could see the sea bed fall away into true darkness and barren depths. It had made his flesh creep. Why was he thinking of that now? ‘Let’s go inside.’ Lára pulled at him. ‘If I inhale any more, my lungs will fill up with salt.’ ‘Let’s go, Daddy,’ Bylgja pleaded. ‘I don’t want to stay out here any longer.’ Ægir tried to hide how fervently he agreed with her. Suddenly, he felt a longing to sweep up his daughters in his arms and lock them as deep inside the yacht as possible. Keen as he was to avoid ending up on the sea bed, his fear that his daughters might share the same fate was infinitely stronger. Later, Ægir thought the pills had probably helped. They had managed to take them before anyone was sick and that may have made all the difference. The Coke was tepid, and barely drinkable, but Ægir had insisted they each finish a can, if only to have something to throw up if the worst came to the worst. ‘Is that the picture you were talking about?’ Only now had his wooziness receded sufficiently for him to notice his surroundings. He pointed to an offensively ornate gilded frame containing a canvas of a young woman, presumably Karítas. The rather kitsch subject matter was totally out of kilter with the frame, which would have been more appropriate for an old master. ‘Yes. Beautiful, isn’t she?’ Lára was watching him beadily for his reaction. ‘I can’t really tell from here. She’s all right, I suppose.’ Lára reached out a foot from the armchair where she was sprawled and gave him a little kick. ‘Don’t talk rubbish. Take a better look.’ Ægir rose with difficulty. He felt weak, as if after a strenuous effort, perhaps as a result of constantly having to ride the waves. ‘The things I do for you.’ The twins looked up from the colouring books that had been hurriedly purchased for them in Lisbon. They had recovered much quicker than their parents and had soon grown bored of lying on their sofa. Karítas’s eyes seemed to follow Ægir, growing slightly larger once he was close to the painting. Although there was no denying that the young woman was gorgeous, she was not Ægir’s type: too perfect, too manicured, too conscious of her own beauty. Too plastic. Or at least that was the impression she gave. Her hair was what Ægir had chiefly noticed when he leafed past pictures of her in the papers. From what he recalled it was extraordinarily thick and healthy, perhaps the only part of her that hadn’t been artificially enhanced. The artist had clearly been of the same opinion, judging by the painstaking care he had taken over this feature. While the rest of the painting was executed in a rather perfunctory fashion, her blond mane cascaded over her shoulders in perfect waves which may well have been due to artistic licence. Ægir couldn’t remember whether her hair had been straight or wavy in the photos he had seen. The light paint tones were fairly successful in capturing her natural colour, so different from the bleached-out effect that so many young women seemed to favour these days. But the other colours in the painting were cruder and more garish, like the huge red jewel in the necklace Bylgja had mentioned, which looked more like a Christmas-tree decoration than a precious gem. The same applied to her clothes and the matching nail polish on her fingers and toes. Her tanned skin also seemed too uniform and flat, as if her slender limbs had been modelled on those of a Barbie doll, with unnaturally smooth joints. There was a hint of Barbie, too, in the way her bust was completely out of proportion to her slim figure. He bent closer to examine the necklace, puzzled as to why it should have made such an impact on the women in his family. The chain was a simple affair of gold or white gold and the massive red jewel in its heart-shaped setting nestled between the sitter’s splendid breasts. It was studded all around the edge with white stones that Ægir took to be diamonds. Suspended from the bottom of the heart was a blue teardrop – presumably also precious. ‘What are red gems called again?’ ‘Rubies,’ Lára replied, with surprising promptness for one who did not own much jewellery herself and as a rule took little interest in it. She had a few pieces she’d received as Confirmation gifts, as well as a ring and necklace he had given her when they were courting. Later she’d told him that it was a testament to the strength of her love that their relationship had survived those presents. He had not seen her wear any proper jewellery for years, not since the twins were born by caesarean section, when she had put on the necklace and forced the ring onto her swollen finger in the belief that they would bring good luck. Perhaps she hadn’t needed any luck since then, but Ægir found himself wishing suddenly that she had brought them along on this trip. ‘There was an article on that necklace in The Week . It cost her husband a fortune and she’s never parted from it. He gave it to her as a wedding present.’ ‘What?’ Ægir swung round. ‘You mean I was supposed to give you a wedding present? For some reason I thought the guests took care of that.’ Lára grinned, looking much brighter. ‘No. Anyway, don’t ask me. Maybe it’s a custom among the super-rich abroad. Don’t worry, you didn’t commit any faux pas. Though, strictly speaking, according to Icelandic tradition you should have given me a bridal gift the morning after. Still, it’s not as if the wedding night was our first time and I needed some sort of reward.’ She sat up properly. ‘So, what do you think of her? Be honest.’ ‘Nice looking, but not my type.’ ‘Yeah, right.’ Lára’s disbelief was obvious. The girls looked from one to the other, waiting eagerly for their father’s reaction. ‘No, I mean it. She looks too perfect to be any fun. Besides, beautiful people tend to be a bit odd; everyone treats them differently, so they never develop their inner self.’ As he turned away from the painting he felt the woman’s eyes boring into his back. ‘I’m not saying it applies to everyone and it’s not based on any kind of scientific evidence, but I’m sure it’s true. She lacks some quality.’ Lára looked delighted. ‘You’re a pretty good judge of character. From what I can gather she’s a complete airhead. In interviews she comes across as really shallow and conceited.’ Arna was reproachful. ‘You’re always saying we’re beautiful, Daddy. Does that make us bad?’ His daughters’ little faces under their soft, fine hair were the most beautiful he had ever laid eyes on. But that beauty lay in their small imperfections: the slightly too-big teeth, the crooked smiles, the freckles and uneven eyebrows; Bylgja’s smeary glasses that she had wiped with her fingers after coming inside. ‘As I said, the rule’s not infallible. Far from it. But people who think about nothing but their appearance soon lose their charm. Not you, though. Never you.’ ‘Good.’ Arna seemed satisfied. Bylgja was pensive. She was holding a red wax crayon, which lay quite still in her unusually steady hand. ‘The woman in my dream wasn’t bad, just unhappy. Maybe it wasn’t her.’ ‘Or I’ve got it all wrong and she’s actually a really nice person.’ Ægir grinned. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I was mistaken.’ The red crayon sank towards the half-completed picture. ‘I hope so, Daddy. I hope she’s nice.’ Bylgja began colouring again. The red wax covered an ever-larger area of the page; from where Ægir was standing it looked as if the crayon was slowly bleeding to death. It turned out that it was far from unheard-of for people to vanish without trace at sea. The stories Thóra discovered on-line kept her glued to the screen for ages, so it was not only exasperation with her menfolk that kept her up long after everyone else had gone to bed. The fascination of the stories lay in the very aspect that presented the greatest problem for her: without exception they remained unexplained. The fate of the Lady K ’s crew and passengers would no doubt be the same: to live on as characters in a tale of mystery, their names and the other facts of the case gradually forgotten. The most famous example she came across was the disappearance of the crew and passengers of the Mary Celeste . In 1872, a month after leaving New York bound for Genoa in Italy, the brigantine was found abandoned and adrift under full sail in the Atlantic. One of the lifeboats was missing but the ship was still seaworthy and contained six months’ supply of food and water. Neither the cargo nor the personal belongings of the eight-man crew and two passengers had been touched, but the ships’ papers were missing, with the exception of the captain’s log, though unfortunately this shed no light on what had happened. The story of the Mary Celeste was uncomfortably similar to that of the Lady K , not least because the captain’s wife and one-year-old daughter had been on board. It was as if the crew and family had vanished into thin air. No reason for this had ever been found and the mystery remained one of the most perplexing in seafaring history. But the stories Thóra unearthed were not only historical; there were also more recent cases, including five in the last ten years. The most striking was the disappearance of three people from the yacht Kaz II off the coast of Australia in 2007: the boat had been in perfect condition when found and everything looked normal on board, apart from the absence of the crew. There was food on the table, a laptop was switched on and the engine was still running. Moreover, the life jackets and other safety equipment were all in place and there were no signs of violence or robbery. The only real difference from the situation on the Lady K was the discovery of a video camera on the Kaz II , containing films taken of the crew before they vanished. Of course, now that Thóra came to think of it, it was quite possible that a similar find had been made on the Icelandic yacht, since at least one of the passengers must surely have had a camera or camera phone. She would have to ask the police. Admittedly, the films from the Kaz II had not helped to solve the riddle but it might be a different story with the Lady K . Thóra was less interested in the articles that dealt with the disappearance of entire ships’ crews than she was in the large number of articles and reports about individuals who had vanished without trace from cruise-liners. Apparently, this occurred on average about ten times a year, which was not really that often considering the enormous volume of cruise passengers, but it was striking nonetheless. The statistics were of secondary importance to Thóra, though, compared to the fact that the missing people’s relatives tended to hit a brick wall when it came to payment of their life cover. The insurance providers refused to pay out on the grounds that it was impossible to prove the insured party’s demise, and this argument seemed to satisfy the courts. This did not bode well for Ægir’s parents, though with any luck the fates of Ægir and his wife would be deemed sufficiently different to avoid the same outcome. Where one person might conceivably have absconded to start a new life abroad, it would seem far-fetched to claim a conspiracy involving seven people. In addition to which, it was unthinkable that anyone could have jumped ship and survived since the yacht had been a long way from land for most of the voyage, unlike cruise ships, which tended to call at a string of ports. ‘What time are you meeting the old couple about the life insurance case?’ Bragi came over to join Thóra by the coffee machine where she was helping herself to her second cup of the day. ‘Two. Why do you ask?’ She added a splash of milk. ‘Oh, I was wondering if you could take a look at some correspondence I’ve entered into in relation to a case that looks as if it’s heading to court. You might be able to see a way to soften up the litigants. I’ve run out of ideas and would welcome your insight.’ He pushed the button to release a stream of black liquid into his cup. ‘I’d have copied it for you but… well… and I’ll need to review it myself before lunch.’ ‘I’ll take a quick peek now.’ Bragi nodded, pleased. ‘By the way, any idea when we can expect the photocopier back? The situation’s driving me spare. I almost went down to the stationery shop to buy carbon paper, then realised it probably wouldn’t work in the printer.’ ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you to print out two copies?’ Thóra grinned and took a sip of coffee. ‘But I agree. The situation’s intolerable; I’ll check what’s happening. In the meantime, why don’t you get Bella to pop out to the copy shop for you? Preferably with one sheet at a time. The whole thing’s her fault, so it would be only what she deserved.’ She went back to her office to ring the workshop. As she picked up the receiver, she decided to call Karítas’s mother too on the off-chance that, in spite of Matthew’s dire predictions, the woman might prove amenable. It couldn’t hurt to try. Bella slammed the door so hard Thóra thought the car would fall apart. It was still cold outside; on the news that morning they had forecast snow in the north, though spring was supposed to be just around the corner. For some unaccountable reason Thóra had been anticipating a good winter followed by an early spring, though this had not been based on any meteorological evidence or gift of prophecy. The bitter wind now blowing her hair in all directions reminded her yet again how wrong she had been. She could hardly see a thing but managed with difficulty to drag her hood over her head, which considerably improved visibility. They had succeeded in arranging this meeting with surprising ease and were now standing outside Karítas’s mother’s house in the suburb of Arnarnes, south of Reykjavík. Thóra had tracked down the woman’s name on-line, then looked her up in the telephone directory and tried calling her. She had drawn a blank, however, when it came to Karítas’s father. Her patronymic was Karlsdóttir but there was no Karl registered on her mother’s phone number. Perhaps her parents were divorced or her father was dead. At any rate, her mother was evidently lonely enough to view a meeting with a lawyer as a welcome diversion. ‘God, what a hideous house.’ Once again, Bella seemed unaffected by the wind as she stood on the pavement, critically surveying the property in question. It was a Spanish-style villa and Thóra had to agree that it looked totally incongruous in the Icelandic climate. ‘Shh!’ Thóra made a face at the secretary. ‘She might hear us.’ ‘Are you joking?’ boomed Bella, peering around. ‘I can hardly hear you in this gale and you’re standing right next to me.’ ‘All the same.’ Thóra was about to ask Bella to watch her tongue when they went inside, but decided not to bother. It wouldn’t do any good. She was hoping the secretary’s presence might come in useful, since she and Karítas had been in the same year at school. When Bella had let this slip during their visit to the yacht, Thóra had failed to follow it up, assuming that Karítas was irrelevant to the case. It had also seemed unwise to encourage Bella to talk in front of Fannar, since the secretary had looked as if she had some inappropriate comment on the tip of her tongue. Later, however, after finding the page with Karítas’s contact details, Thóra had asked Bella about their acquaintance, only to receive an angry lecture on how the fact that they were in the same year at school did not mean they were friends or had known each other at all. Thóra had waited for Bella to simmer down, then tackled her again. She turned out to remember Karítas well, which was hardly surprising given that the other girl had been the queen bee of the school. Far from belonging to the same gang, however, Karítas had hung out with the cool kids, Bella with the misfits. Not that Bella had put it quite like that but Thóra could read between the lines. ‘Do you think her mother will remember you?’ They entered through a wrought-iron gate far too fussily ornamental for its Icelandic setting. A paved path led down to the house, which stood on a plot by the sea. ‘No way. I bet she’d like to forget those days. She didn’t live in a posh house like this then. From what I remember Karítas and her mum lived in a small flat that probably belonged to the council. Her mum used to work in the local shop.’ ‘Things have obviously looked up for her since then.’ Thóra lowered her voice as they approached the front door. ‘Remember to drop in casually that you used to know her daughter,’ she whispered, ‘but for goodness’ sake don’t badmouth her. Pretend you were her number one fan.’ Bella snorted disgustedly but didn’t refuse outright as Thóra had feared. In the large white concrete tubs flanking the entrance, the yellowing stalks of last summer’s flowers poked up out of the dry earth and trembled in the wind. Thóra thought statues of lions would have been more in keeping. She rang the bell, adding as an afterthought: ‘Otherwise I’ll never take you out with me again, not even to the recycling centre.’ ‘Is that supposed to be a threat?’ Before Thóra could reply the door opened and a woman emerged. ‘Oh, do come inside, quick. There’s such a draught that everything will go flying.’ She beckoned them in with a tanned, somewhat leathery arm, jingling with gold bracelets. They didn’t look genuine but then Thóra was no judge. ‘I was smoking out of the downstairs window when you rang the bell. Come in, come in.’ Thóra and Bella hurriedly closed the door behind them and the three of them crowded into an entrance hall that was surprisingly poky in comparison to the rest of the house. Thóra was afraid of elbowing the owner in the jaw as she removed her coat; a bad start like that could ruin everything. ‘What a beautiful house.’ She followed the woman down the hall. In fact, the décor was not at all to her taste, but she knew that there were people who regarded gilt and velvet as the height of sophistication. The hallway and sitting room were so cluttered with occasional tables, vases, pictures, shelves and knick-knacks that Thóra pitied the poor woman having to dust them all. On closer inspection, she realised the place could do with a good clean, but she didn’t dare spend too long examining the surfaces in case it looked rude. Perhaps the woman’s cleaner had left, which was not unlikely if she was dependent on her daughter for money. ‘Do sit down. I’ll bring us some coffee.’ While she was out of the room, Thóra and Bella had a good look around. To judge from Bella’s expression, she was even less impressed with the furnishings and ornaments than Thóra. Her upper lip curled as if she had noticed a bad smell. Really, it was hardly possible to imagine less suitable surroundings for Bella. Her attention was fixed on the photographs of Karítas, alone or with her husband, which no doubt brought back teenage memories she would rather forget, even though – interestingly – the pictures all dated from the time after Karítas had married into the jet set. There were none of her as a child or teenager. ‘Here we are.’ The woman bore in a silver tray laden with rose-patterned china cups and a large matching coffee pot. There was even a cream jug and a sugar bowl with a dainty silver spoon. ‘Would you both like some? I’m dying for a cup myself, though I’m trying to give up as my blood pressure’s sky high at the moment.’ Thóra and Bella had both nodded while she was sharing this information, so she poured them each a cup as well as one for herself. ‘Now, which of you is Thóra?’ ‘Me,’ Thóra blurted out loudly in her eagerness not to be confused with the secretary. ‘I’m Thóra – I spoke to you on the phone. This is Bella who works for us.’ The woman extended her hand to Bella: ‘Hello, do call me Begga.’ Still maintaining eye contact, the woman studied her intently. ‘I recognise you. Do I know you from somewhere?’ ‘I used to live in the same neighbourhood as you when I was a kid. Karítas was in my year at school. You probably remember me from those days.’ Begga instantly became very twitchy, clearly uncomfortable at being reminded of her former life, and Thóra cursed herself for not considering this possibility. ‘Bella happened to mention to me that she remembered your daughter because she was so stunning. Still is, of course.’ The woman relaxed a little. The same could not be said of Bella, but at least she refrained from making a face. ‘Karítas was always special. Even as a baby she looked like an angel.’ Her mother smiled fondly at the memory. The lipstick she had applied, perhaps in their honour, had bled slightly into the small lines that fanned out from her mouth, making her appear older than she probably was. While it couldn’t be said that her daughter took after her in looks, there was a certain resemblance, particularly about the eyes, though the woman had trowelled on such a ridiculous amount of make-up that it was hard to tell what she looked like underneath. Perhaps she had been a beauty in her youth and found it difficult to reconcile herself to ageing. Her legs were still slim and elegant, a fact she was apparently aware of as she was dolled up in a knee-length skirt and high heels that were far too smart for the occasion. In comparison to her legs the rest of her body appeared almost bloated, and she seemed to be in low spirits. ‘I can’t begin to describe how much I miss her. We’re so close. It was always just the two of us. Her father was never in the picture and that made us all the more important to each other. We’re more like best friends than mother and daughter.’ Begga’s tone sounded increasingly hollow. ‘I can believe it,’ said Thóra. ‘Does she stay here with you when she’s in the country?’ ‘Usually, yes. If she’s alone. They own this house, though I live here – as a favour to them really. Otherwise they’d keep getting burgled. But when Gulam’s with her, they stay at a hotel. Not that he comes very often – or at all nowadays. It’s hardly surprising.’ Begga tossed her head. ‘Even Karítas can’t face it any more.’ ‘You mean because of the business with the bank?’ Thóra didn’t dare breathe a word about debts or bankruptcy for fear the woman would take offence. ‘Yes. It’s so awful.’ Begga took a sip of coffee, and when she put down her cup there was a scarlet smear on the rim. ‘I can’t discuss it for obvious reasons – you never know what might get back to that vile special prosecutor. How could they dream that a man as rich as Gulam would commit fraud for money? He has absolutely no need to, I assure you.’ She sniffed and ran a hand over her badly styled hair. ‘Not that I suspect you of being in the pay of that prosecutor. You both seem far too nice.’ That the woman could mistake Bella for a nice person was testimony to how few visitors she received. She must have a tough time of it socially if she had shed her old friends and acquaintances, only to discover that she was not welcome among the new Icelandic elite. Too obviously nouveau riche herself, she would serve as an uncomfortable reminder to others in the group that they were no better. ‘Karítas is okay, isn’t she? Financially, I mean.’ Incredibly, Bella managed to sound genuinely concerned. Begga paused to consider for a moment, then waved a hand over her shoulder as if dismissing her troubles. ‘Well, don’t spread it about but Karítas is fine. It isn’t like when ordinary people go bankrupt; she and Gulam have all sorts of funds and that sort of thing, but they’ve had some problems as a result of this cash-flow crisis – you know, all that unpleasantness caused by those Lehman brothers. It’s so unfair, really, because if they’d been allowed to take out more loans, it wouldn’t have been an issue. If you want my opinion, it was nothing but jealousy. They had so much that people were determined to take it away. But fortunately it didn’t work. Not completely.’ Thóra assumed an expression of sympathy. At least Begga won points for mistaking Lehman Brothers Holdings for a couple of fraudsters and trying to blame the whole disaster on them. ‘As I explained on th e phone, we’re here to ask you a few questions about the yacht that Karítas and her husband used to own. We don’t actually know anything about their finances, though naturally we’re pleased to hear they’re doing well. The thing is, as you’ve no doubt heard, the yacht turned up empty the other day, minus the crew and passengers who were supposed to be delivering her to this country. I’m working for the relatives of the missing family.’ The woman’s face revealed scant pity for the victims, so Thóra tried another tack. ‘I gather that even without this tragedy the yacht would have been hard to sell.’ ‘Oh?’ Begga raised heavily pencilled, over-plucked eyebrows. ‘Was she damaged? Karítas and Gulam shelled out a fortune for her back in the day.’ ‘Yes, she was crippled, but after this latest incident it’s her reputation that’s likely to bring down her price. Apparently they’re a superstitious lot in the seafaring world.’ ‘Will Karítas lose out as a result of this?’ Anxiety shone from the woman’s eyes as she glanced at them both in turn. ‘No, not exactly.’ Thóra took extra care over the phrasing of the next part, as she didn’t know whether the woman was aware of the change of ownership. ‘The bank’s resolution committee has repossessed the boat. I gather that part of Karítas’s husband’s loan was used to pay for the yacht, which gave the bank a claim to her. You know what financial institutions are like…’ She stopped herself from adding ‘ruthless’, in case it seemed over the top. Begga nodded but seemed distracted. ‘Yes, I knew about that. Karítas was staying with me when she heard.’ She paused. ‘I do believe it was the last time she was in the country. It was the final straw really as she was already in a state about whether she should divorce Gulam. And it didn’t help that the authorities here wouldn’t stop pestering her and kept summoning her to interrogate her about their finances.’ She looked disgusted. ‘Can you believe it? As if there was anything more private than one’s personal finances!’ Without waiting for an answer, she continued: ‘It was driving her frantic; she even considered handing over all her papers, just to get some peace. Then the news came about the yacht and I swear I thought it would push her over the edge. But she’s got a backbone, has Karítas, so she simply left the country. Of course I miss her terribly but it’s better for her to stay away until all this fuss has died down.’ ‘Do you have any idea where she went?’ ‘She went to Lisbon, where the yacht was moored. She needed to pick up all kinds of stuff that was on board – personal belongings that the bank had no right to confiscate. She has a maid she could have sent instead, but she wanted to go through everything personally. The maid isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I can understand why Karítas preferred to do it herself.’ ‘Is she still in Lisbon? Do you think she’d be prepared to talk to me on the phone? I don’t suppose there are many people who know as much about the yacht as she does, so there’s a chance she might be able to help me piece together what happened to the crew and passengers. Perhaps she could tell me if there was a lifeboat on board that other people didn’t know about, for instance, or testify to the fact that there wasn’t one. There’s also a chance that Karítas knew about some fault that the crew were unaware of. I could use any information that would lend support to the idea that there was a problem with the boat. The case I’m dealing with concerns a life assurance policy that will only be paid out if it can be proved that the people who were on board are dead.’ She deliberately avoided referring to Ægir or his family by name in case Begga had heard about them on the news and realised that he had worked for the resolution committee. A grandfather clock chimed once to mark the half hour. Looking at her watch, Thóra saw that it was only twenty past ten. Clearly, the dusting wasn’t the only thing that required attention around here. Begga was suddenly keen to offer them more coffee. They accepted, and then, ignoring the woman’s evasion tactics, Thóra repeated her question. ‘I don’t know if she’ll talk on the phone. She’s been badly burnt by all this and I think she’s afraid her phone’s bugged. I mean, she hasn’t rung me once since she left, though usually she makes an effort to stay in touch.’ She began to rearrange the cups and pot on the tray, turning them all to face Thóra and Bella. ‘I am her mother, after all.’ ‘Where is she now? I promise you we have absolutely nothing to do with the Financial Supervisory Authority or any other official body.’ Thóra put down her cup, taking care to position it correctly on the saucer. ‘In Brazil. I think.’ Begga watched Bella drain nearly a whole cup in one go. ‘I got a postcard from her this morning. She’s sent me cards before on her travels. On my birthday last year, for instance. She was in America at the time.’ ‘Could we see the one you received this morning?’ Bella came straight to the point and Thóra could have kissed her. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Begga was affronted by the request. ‘It’s private and I really don’t see what it could have to do with the yacht.’ It would be odd, to say the least, to send a private message on a postcard that anyone could read, but there was no easy way of breaking this to Karítas’s mother, and not even Bella could bring herself to do so. Besides, the woman was right; the card had nothing to do with their business. ‘Have you been on board the yacht yourself?’ Thóra deftly changed the subject. ‘Yes. Twice, in fact.’ Begga reminded Thóra of her cat at its smuggest. ‘It’s absolutely amazing,’ she added, on an indrawn breath, leaning back a little and fluffing up her hair, inadvertently revealing grey roots. ‘Did anyone happen to mention the life-saving equipment while you were on board? Did Karítas or her husband point it out to you?’ ‘I haven’t met Gulam that often and when I did we didn’t discuss the yacht. For one thing, my English isn’t good enough, and anyway the subject wouldn’t have crossed my mind. The few times we’ve been together since Karítas married and moved out, I’ve tried to discuss more important matters, like whether they’re planning to have children. I keep hoping she’ll come home for a long holiday or that I’ll be able to visit her abroad for more than a few days at a time, but it never seems to be the right moment. Her husband’s always so preoccupied with business and I suspect him of wanting to have Karítas to himself. Understandably, of course.’ She gave a cloying smile. ‘But he didn’t always get his own way as I do perhaps have more of a claim on her when it comes down to it. After all, she is my daughter.’ She apparently regretted having said anything negative because she added hastily: ‘Don’t misunderstand me; it’s not that I bear a grudge against him. Not at all. Gulam’s a wonderful man and quite devoted to Karítas. She can have anything she wants.’ ‘He’s a bit old. Isn’t that kind of weird? He must be about your age.’ Again, Bella took it upon herself to ask the difficult question. Wham bam. Straight to the point. Begga’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘He’s a little older than me. But it’s quite different with men. They’re slower to mature than women, so an age gap like that can work perfectly well.’ An embarrassed silence ensued; clearly none of them believed that men lagged almost thirty years behind women in maturity. ‘In any case, there was no need to make a fuss about life-saving equipment. That yacht’s unsinkable.’ She gave them a scornful look. ‘And it didn’t sink, did it? I don’t know what safety equipment could have stopped those people from going missing.’ There was no reply to this, so Thóra and Bella simply sat there sheepishly. This seemed to cheer the woman up. ‘Not that I had the time or inclination to do anything but enjoy myself while I was on board. I don’t know when I’ve eaten so well or drunk so much good wine. It was as if the meals arrived on a conveyor belt.’ Again she looked like the cat that got the cream. They continued chatting until the clock struck eleven (at ten to, of course). Little of importance had emerged so Thóra seized this opportunity to end their visit and thanked Begga for her hospitality. They were walking away from the house when Begga suddenly called after them: ‘If you do manage to get in touch with Karítas, you might ask her to give me a ring. I need to get hold of her rather urgently about a small misunderstanding over the property tax.’ Thóra turned and looked back at the woman standing in the porch of her daughter’s house, a house that must have required endless outgoings that Begga almost certainly couldn’t afford on her own. Perhaps a smaller home and a larger social circle would have been preferable if the daughter had really wanted to make her mother happy. ‘I’ll do that. Of course.’ They carried on walking but did not hear the door close. No doubt the woman was still standing there, watching them leave, as if to eke out this unremarkable visit. Thóra felt bad as they drove away. ‘What’s the betting that Karítas’s old man has killed her to prevent the divorce or shut her up?’ Bella abandoned the attempt to fasten her seatbelt and turned to face Thóra. ‘Postcard, my arse. Anyone can send a postcard: Having a great time in Rio – kiss, kiss, Karítas . I bet he just copied a sample of her handwriting, then used Google Translate to put it into Icelandic. Think about it – no one’s seen her since she went to fetch the stuff on the yacht.’ In spite of her dislike, Bella had clearly been following the news about her old schoolmate with avid interest. Thóra was no gambler but she wouldn’t have taken that wager even if she’d been an inveterate risk-taker. ‘Let’s hope that’s not true.’ If only for her mother’s sake. ‘God, this is good, if I say so myself.’ Lára spoke with her mouth full, but swallowed before continuing: ‘To think that only this morning I was sure no food would ever pass my lips again.’ The family had spent most of the day languishing in the enormous bed, the girls sandwiched between their parents, each with a book that they glanced at whenever they weren’t dozing. Ægir had nodded off a few times himself, only to start awake again immediately, without knowing why. Lára, meanwhile, had slept like a log for at least two hours, untroubled by her husband and daughters’ movements. The pills had made them so drowsy and lethargic that they had wasted the whole afternoon, but thanks to them they were now feeling almost as well as before they had left harbour. Almost – but not quite. They were all seated in the galley apart from Loftur, whose turn it was to stand watch on the bridge. The family had taken so much trouble over the meal that anyone would have thought it was a celebration. No sooner had the girls revived than they were itching for a distraction, so they were given the task of laying the table for supper. They took the job seriously, unearthing a white tablecloth, stiff with starch; linen napkins which they inserted into silver napkin rings that could have done with a polish, and elegant glasses to match the rest of the tableware. Ægir brought out some wine to complete the party atmosphere. Thráinn had immediately accepted their invitation to dine with them, perhaps because the girls asked him and it was harder to say no to them. Halli had refused at first, but relented when Thráinn dismissed his talk of grabbing a sandwich to eat in his cabin. It was difficult to tell if he regretted his decision but although he hung his head and stared at his plate for most of the meal, he did at least seem grateful for the food. Lára and Ægir had taken care of the cooking, setting to once they had searched the fridge for something they felt up to digesting. The outcome of their efforts lay before them in large dishes. ‘Cheers.’ Ægir raised his glass and waited for the others to follow suit. ‘Pity we didn’t have the sense to bring along a few bottles of white. We should have known there’d be fish.’ ‘That’s all right.’ Thráinn took a deep gulp. ‘We’re not fussy, are we, Halli?’ ‘No.’ The young sailor was as taciturn as ever. Perhaps it was his age, or simply that he was unused to having families on board. Ægir would have felt the same if a family of four had invaded his office. Halli sipped his wine, but did not look particularly appreciative. Maybe he was more of a beer drinker; after all, he was considerably younger than the other three adults. ‘It is okay for you two to have a little drink, isn’t it? I mean, if you’re on duty?’ Lára forked up another piece of fish. ‘Sure. We’re on autopilot and cruising at a gentle speed. We go as slowly as possible at night, but make up for it during the day. Since we’re just pottering along at the moment it doesn’t matter if we have something to drink. I’ll be my usual self when I take over the watch later. Don’t worry – it takes more than a couple of glasses of wine to get me drunk.’ ‘Who sails the boat at night?’ asked Bylgja. ‘We take it in turns to keep watch, but there isn’t much to do. We just lie on the couch within reach, and plot our position at hourly intervals in case anything goes wrong.’ ‘Like what?’ Arna looked up from the search for fish bones that had delayed her from starting her meal. Her tuna steak had been shredded to pieces. Thráinn looked ill at ease; evidently he hadn’t been prepared for the question. ‘Well, mainly it’s so we’ll know where we are if there’s a power cut and the GPS drops out. But if the electricity did go, it’s unlikely to be serious, and it’s not going to happen anyway. And even if something else went wrong, we’d be all right; in the worst case scenario we’d have to request assistance from another ship.’ ‘But there aren’t any other ships out here.’ Bylgja was eating more dutifully than Arna and had more colour back in her cheeks, perhaps because she had succumbed to the sickness first. Neither had mentioned Karítas or nightmares again, which was a relief. ‘We haven’t seen any and can’t hear any either.’ ‘They’re out there even if we can’t see them. The sea’s very, very big. But if you’re interested I can show you the equipment on the bridge that tells us what vessels are nearby. We’ve got radar too, of course.’ ‘To find our way?’ Bylgja looked up from her plate. Thráinn smiled. ‘Yes, you could say that. Radar shows us what’s in the sea around us so we don’t collide with anything.’ Lára topped up Thráinn’s glass. Until now the men had behaved as if the family were not there. They would reply if asked a direct question but never volunteered any comment. Halli and Loftur were still rather aloof but Thráinn at least seemed to be thawing. ‘Have you crewed this yacht before?’ Although she didn’t let on, Lára was hoping they might be able to share some indiscreet titbits of gossip about Karítas. She had read so many articles and news items about her in the tabloids that she almost felt she knew her. ‘No, I’d never set eyes on the boat till the other day. I must say I wouldn’t have minded sailing her round the Med in summer. Or the Caribbean.’ Thráinn peered out into the darkness. It had begun to rain as they sat down to eat and the drops rattled on the windows, making it feel quite cosy inside. ‘Though I gather it’s almost a charity gig to crew these yachts; they don’t pay half as well as the trawlers. People with money tend to be pretty tight with the purse strings.’ ‘What about you, Halli?’ Ægir made an effort to include the young man in the conversation. ‘Yes.’ It looked as if this monosyllable would be their only answer, but suddenly he added: ‘Only for three months. That’s why I’m here; they thought it would be better to have someone who knew their way around.’ ‘Wow. What was it like?’ Lára hoped it wasn’t embarrassingly obvious what she was fishing for. ‘It seems amazing that a yacht like this should have belonged to an Icelander.’ ‘It depends what you mean by belonged,’ interjected Ægir. ‘The yacht was registered in her husband’s name. Or rather a company owned by her husband.’ He couldn’t work out what his wife was up to but saw that his comment had annoyed her. ‘You know what I mean.’ Lára turned back to Halli. ‘What was it like?’ Halli dropped his gaze to his plate and toyed with a lone potato. ‘Oh, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.’ ‘But it must have been out of the ordinary.’ Lára tried and failed to make eye contact with him. ‘Do tell us. What was Karítas like, for example? And her husband?’ ‘They were just like anyone else. That’s all I can say. I had to sign an agreement not to discuss my time on board, especially not the guests or owners, so I can’t really talk about it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mind you, it might not count any longer, now they’re bankrupt. I wouldn’t know. But it doesn’t make any difference, because nothing interesting happened, so there’s nothing to say.’ ‘Are you going to tell me they made you sign an agreement not to share your knowledge of the engine either?’ Thráinn folded his arms. ‘Anyone would have thought so, judging by how little you seem to know what you’re doing.’ He winked at Lára without Halli noticing. The young man flushed to the roots of his white hair. ‘Were there any children?’ Either Arna hadn’t grasped the part about the confidentiality clause or she dismissed it as irrelevant. ‘He doesn’t know, darling.’ Ægir worked with confidentiality agreements every day at the committee and the subject made him uncomfortable. It was to the young man’s credit that he wanted to keep his promise. Such matters ought to be honoured, and Ægir tried to convey as much to Lára by sending her a sobering glare. She ignored him. ‘Yes, he does. He can answer yes or no, can’t he?’ Arna put down her fork and returned to the attack. ‘Were there any children?’ She had inherited her mother’s friendly interest in people, whereas Bylgja took after her father. So alike on the outside; so different inside. ‘No.’ It was unclear whether Halli was answering or trying to put a stop to any further questions. ‘You could at least tell us if you enjoyed it.’ Lára wasn’t going to give up so easily. ‘No.’ At first the others weren’t sure whether he was refusing to answer or referring to his experience, but his next comment removed all doubt. ‘I wasn’t happy on board and I was in two minds about accepting this job when it came up.’ ‘Oh.’ This was not the reply Lára had been hoping for. ‘Were you seasick?’ For the first time since they had embarked, they saw Halli genuinely amused. ‘No. I wasn’t seasick.’ ‘What was wrong then?’ Lára pretended not to notice when Ægir trod warningly on her foot. ‘There’s something weird about this yacht. I can’t really explain. There’s just something wrong with her.’ He gave Thráinn a nasty smile. ‘The captain was a real loser as well, not that that’s unusual.’ Thráinn snorted. ‘Rubbish. As if you know anything about a boat like this. You’ve only been at sea for what, three, four years? This yacht is one of the finest vessels I’ve ever sailed and I know what I’m talking about.’ Halli turned red again, this time from anger, not embarrassment. ‘I didn’t criticise her performance, did I?’ He took a slug of wine. ‘It’s the atmosphere. There’s something creepy about her and I’m not the only one to thin k so.’ ‘Really?’ Ægir said, then wished he hadn’t. This conversation was the last thing the girls needed to hear. They were sitting rigid with attention, hanging on every word instead of eating their supper. ‘Some of the other crew members told me the stories that were going round about her. They were all the same. I’m not particularly superstitious but all that talk about a curse made me uneasy. It was obvious they weren’t joking.’ Halli broke off abruptly and concentrated on shovelling the last potato into his mouth. ‘Thanks for the food.’ He stood up and went out. Ægir walked into the pilot house and was surprised yet again at how different it was from what he had been expecting when he first came aboard. It reminded him more of a radio repair shop than the bridge of a ship, with its rows of computer screens and gadgets, all with a mysterious role to play. The only detail consistent with his preconceptions was the handsome wooden wheel below the window, though Thráinn had told him on the first day that it was only there as backup in case the automated navigation system failed. Generally, if the crew needed to steer the ship manually for any reason, they would use a joystick that was no bigger than the controller for a computer game. In addition to all the navigation equipment, the yacht had a sizeable telecommunications system, and although Ægir didn’t trust himself to repeat Thráinn’s explanation of how it all worked, he remembered more or less what role each system played. Still, he hoped he would never have to operate any of the technology in here; if he did, there was a risk the yacht would end up sailing in circles. ‘Isn’t it hard to keep an eye on all those screens and monitors?’ Ægir plonked a cold beer on the table that stood in the middle of the pilot house. It was covered with a non-slip cloth and had a raised chrome edge around it to prevent objects from sliding off in heavy seas. The bottle was wet with condensation, so he took care not to place it too close to the chart that was spread out on the table. He had seen similar charts on his sailing course, covered with lines and numbers that he had understood when sitting in the classroom but which now seemed to bear little relation to the sea they were supposed to represent. ‘I brought you a beer. Thought it would be okay since Thráinn’s relieving you soon.’ ‘Thanks.’ Loftur reached for the bottle, after what looked like an internal struggle about whether to keep up his surly manner. ‘I’ve had just about enough anyway. The sodding radio’s playing up and I can’t fix it. It’s doing my head in.’ He took a swig of beer. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Endless bloody interference, a couple of weird calls.’ He nodded towards what looked like a card machine, from which a strip of paper protruded like a tongue. ‘There was an alert on the NAVTEX about a container falling off a freighter not far from here. That may have something to do with it.’ ‘What’s the NAVTEX?’ Ægir went over to the machine and read the short English text on the printout, which was accompanied by a sequence of numbers and letters. ‘It receives messages about navigational alerts, like weather warnings, ice reports and notifications about other hazards such as drifting containers – like now.’ ‘We’re not in any danger, are we?’ Ægir’s tone was ironic as he assumed the answer would be no. Loftur seemed far too relaxed and would surely have fetched Thráinn if it was serious. Ægir took a sip of cold beer. ‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’ Loftur’s attention was fixed on the radar. ‘Have your wife and kids gone to sleep?’ ‘Well, Lára hasn’t but the girls are in bed. She’s reading to them in the hope that there won’t be a repetition of last night’s bad dreams. I must say, I wouldn’t mind turning in myself though we’ve been lying down most of the day. This sea air’s making me sleepy.’ Ægir toyed with the beer bottle. ‘Are you a family man yourself?’ Loftur looked up from the radar, and at first it seemed as if he had taken offence at the question. Perhaps he didn’t like discussing his private life with strangers, or maybe Ægir had touched a nerve. Young though he was, he might recently have split up with a girlfriend. Ægir immediately regretted having asked, but he must have misread Loftur’s reaction because the other man eventually replied: ‘No, not yet.’ The yacht dived suddenly and as she came up there was a resounding thud that made the entire vessel shudder. Ægir had to grab the table to keep his balance. The sea had been relatively quiet for the last hour, so he had been completely unprepared. ‘Whoa!’ As he straightened his knees, he noticed that Loftur was unaffected by the movement. Next minute all was calm again and the yacht righted herself. ‘Can any of those smart gadgets give advance warning of that kind of thing?’ ‘If you mean can I warn you when a wave’s coming, the answer’s no. Your best bet’s to look ahead over the bows.’ Loftur glanced over his shoulder at the various monitors. ‘If you want to have a look around, it’s fine. Just don’t touch anything.’ Ægir didn’t like to decline the invitation and point out that Thráinn had already shown him the ropes. He was afraid this would be interpreted as lack of interest and expose his true nature, that of the wimpy office worker. Besides, it would be a pity not to respond to the man’s friendly overtures now that he seemed to be coming out of his shell at last. ‘That’s the radar, isn’t it?’ Ægir asked, standing in front of a large, multi-coloured screen whose function he knew perfectly well. The screen showed a disk with a radial sweep that revolved slowly, trailing an illuminated area that gradually faded away. ‘Yes.’ Loftur came over. ‘It shows the magnetic waves of the radar spreading out from the yacht’s transmitter. If they hit anything, they bounce back and it shows up on screen. We’re in the middle of the circle, here.’ Ægir nodded, feigning ignorance, and Loftur continued: ‘As you can see, there’s nothing in the vicinity, which is pretty unusual, and I was beginning to wonder if we’d drifted off course – if the GPS was programmed wrong.’ ‘What did you conclude?’ ‘That we’re on course. It’s just a coincidence.’ ‘Could the radar be malfunctioning? Could there be ships out there that aren’t showing up?’ ‘I doubt it. It’s not exactly a busy sea route, so it’s probably not significant. We’ll see other vessels once we enter the fishing grounds. The sea underneath us is dead; all the life has been hoovered up. It’s kind of depressing.’ ‘What about the container? Would it show up?’ Loftur shrugged. ‘Depends how high it’s riding in the water. The radar waves have to bounce off something and if the container’s mostly submerged, they wouldn’t pick it up. Actually, it would be better if the sea was rough, because then it would move up and down with the waves and be more visible.’ He showed Ægir another screen. ‘This is the echo sounder. It’s no use here as the ocean’s so deep, but it’s an important instrument when you’re sailing in shallower waters.’ Remembering his earlier musings, Ægir asked: ‘How deep is the sea here?’ Loftur bent over the screen and pointed: ‘About 3,200 metres. At that depth sunlight doesn’t penetrate to the sea bed, so the life forms are really strange. It’s amazing anything survives down there at all. The pressure is almost three hundred times what it is on the surface. It’s too far down even for deep-sea fish.’ Loftur looked out of the window, as if he expected to see something in the darkness. ‘Deep-sea fish are bizarre enough as it is. I’ve never seen it myself, but occasionally they get caught in the nets and blow up like balloons because of the change of pressure. I expect the same would happen to us if we were dragged out of the earth’s atmosphere.’ Ægir recalled a picture he had seen of a fish with a lantern dangling in front of its jaws. It had been a deep-sea species that used the light to lure in other curious fish, before snapping them up. He didn’t dare mention it in case the fish was fictional, a maritime hoax invented by sailors to trick landlubbers like him. A rasping sound came from the speaker grille at Loftur’s side. ‘There the bugger goes again.’ He stooped slightly towards it. For a while they heard nothing but the raindrops on the windows and their own heavy breathing. Then the machine crackled again and this time it was accompanied by another noise, which reminded Ægir of the popping of air bubbles when he’d been diving. ‘Is that the radiotelephone you were talking about?’ Loftur nodded, his attention riveted to the machine. ‘Is it making those noises because it’s broken?’ The radio was now completely silent. ‘Well, I think it’s faulty. You shouldn’t hear a thing unless someone’s transmitting. But no one would waste time transmitting stuff like that. I don’t know – it’s a VHF 16 channel with a very limited range, barely as far as the horizon. Maybe we’re receiving feedback from a message that wasn’t intended for us. There’s no vessel within thirty nautical miles according to the AIS, so I suppose it’s possible.’ He noticed that Ægir was looking blank. ‘All vessels are equipped with a transmitter that sends out information about which ships are in the area, where they’re headed, their position, and so on. The AIS is an automatic tracking system that receives all transmissions within a radius of thirty-five nautical miles. The Coast Guard and harbour authorities use it as well, to keep an eye on marine traffic.’ The radio emitted more static and they both stared at it. ‘Perhaps the radio transmitting the message is faulty?’ Ægir felt absurdly pleased when Loftur looked at him with a hint of respect. ‘You know, maybe someone’s trying to send a message but failing because there’s a glitch at his end.’ ‘That could be it.’ Loftur seemed about to say more when the noises began again. This time instead of crackling they heard the sound of air bubbles and what may have been a human voice, but it was so distorted that it was impossible to tell. Silence fell again. Yet it was not complete silence; Ægir had the feeling that the channel was still open, as if the person at the other end was sitting there, staring at the transmitter. Loftur snatched up the microphone. ‘Hello.’ There was no answer. ‘Hello. This is the Lady K . Our position is 316 nautical miles north-west of Lisbon. Please identify yourself. Over.’ Although Loftur had a thick Icelandic accent, his English was perfectly comprehensible. There was no answer. ‘Please identify yourself. Over.’ Still no answer. Loftur replaced the microphone. ‘It must be some twat messing about.’ ‘A twat with access to a radio, though.’ Ægir tried to sound jovial, to lighten the atmosphere. The air felt oddly charged; perhaps someone was in trouble but unable to call for assistance due to a broken radio. It might even be a yacht like theirs, with children on board. ‘Should you try again?’ ‘Lady K .’ They both froze and stared at the loudspeaker. Now the sound was crystal clear, with no crackling or air bubbles, just those two words, unmistakably the name of their yacht. ‘Lady K ,’ it repeated, and Ægir felt a cold shiver down his spine. The voice sounded vile, oozing malice, as if uttering an obscenity. The words were pronounced without haste or any hint of desperation, each letter enunciated precisely. Whoever it was, this person was not in any trouble. The radio fell silent again, and this time it was obvious that the channel had been switched off. Ægir looked at the beer in his hand and decided against drinking any more. Given the way his imagination was working overtime, the alcohol obviously wasn’t doing him any good. Seconds ticked past, the radio now silent, and the whole thing began to seem ridiculous. Of course it must be some idiot mucking about, as Loftur had said. He glanced at the young mate, intending to smile or crack a joke, but stopped short. Loftur’s expression was not unlike the one he himself must have been wearing a moment ago; naked fear. Ægir was badly shaken to see this taciturn man looking so scared, and he remembered what Halli had said over supper about the yacht’s being cursed; that explained a lot, though it did nothing to console him. Their attention was suddenly attracted by a bleeping from the radar – too fast and too urgent. A winking black blur had appeared on the screen right beside the yacht, where a moment before there had been nothing. ‘I recommend you apply to the district court for Ægir and Lára’s property to be declared their estate. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon, unless the situation changes significantly. If the court rules in your favour, a decision will be made about when they’re presumed to have died.’ It was clear from their faces that Sigrídur and Margeir were upset by Thóra’s suggestion, but she ploughed on regardless. She had suggested meeting at their house rather than her office for precisely this reason. They would cope better with the harsh facts in familiar surroundings. ‘It’s covered in the first article of the 1981 Missing Persons Act, the purpose of which is primarily to safeguard the interests of the individual who has disappeared; that is, to protect their property and other rights. I will then present all the facts relating to the disappearance to the court, and the judge will decide whether the evidence is satisfactory. You probably won’t be made to pay costs, as cases like this are covered by legal aid.’ ‘That’s a relief. As you’re aware, we don’t have much money, so if the case went against us we’d have problems paying.’ Margeir waved his hand as if to draw attention to the small, plain flat. Thóra had already noted that the furniture was old but well cared for. In the sitting room a boxy television set stood on a crocheted cloth, which fell in a neat white triangle over the edge of the table. Family photographs, old and new, had been arranged on either side of the TV, the cheerful smiles of the subjects looking utterly out of place in the gloomy atmosphere. There was a vase containing what looked like supermarket flowers on the small, old-fashioned dining table, and Thóra guessed they had been sent with condolences by a friend or relative. The petals were drooping, their beauty wilted, their purpose done, but no one had thought to throw them away. Everywhere there were signs of mourning. Thóra paused briefly before carrying on. She wanted them to absorb the message, and to keep it separate from the next matter she needed to raise. ‘But there are other things you should bear in mind. I went over the terms and conditions in Ægir and Lára’s life insurance policies and see nothing to preclude their being paid out. There are no clauses about death having to occur after a certain period, as is common in these contracts, nor is there anything about the right to make a claim being declared void if the insured party commits suicide. I know this isn’t suicide but it would complicate matters if the insurance company tried to claim that it was. The case is not straightforward, however.’ ‘Isn’t it?’ said Margeir, though he didn’t appear all that interested. ‘No. For example, the rule is that the insurance company has to be notified without delay if an event occurs for which a claim is to be made: in this instance, Ægir and Lára’s deaths,’ said Thóra. ‘The notification would have to be accompanied by more or less the same proof as that required by the district court, so at least that simplifies matters. But the most likely scenario is that the insurance provider will reject the initial claim. It’s very common – there was a recent case here in Iceland. A man disappeared when sailing a yacht from America to Iceland and the foreign insurance company refused to accept that he was dead. So the case went before the district court here in Iceland, which ruled that the man was missing presumed dead, and after that the insurance company was forced to pay out his life cover. I’m confident that your case would go the same way, which would mean that the court would examine the facts, but also that relatives and anyone else who might possess any relevant information could potentially be summoned to appear.’ ‘Would the case have to be heard overseas, what with it being a foreign company? I’m not sure we’d feel up to appearing before a foreign court.’ Margeir sounded oddly detached, as if he were reciting lines from a play. ‘No, the Icelandic court has jurisdiction in cases in which the missing person was most recently domiciled in this country, regardless of where the insurance company is based. So it would go before the Reykjavík District Court.’ Thóra awaited further questions and when none were forthcoming, she carried on: ‘I know it’s a lot to take in and that this isn’t the best time, but I propose that I set about obtaining the documentation required by the insurance provider, then inform them of what’s happened. There’s no point delaying. If Ægir and Lára do turn up safe and sound, hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later, and in that case we’d simply send the company a correction. If the cover had already been paid out, it would have to be returned – subject to a reasonable depletion of the sum, which would be non-refundable.’ ‘We’re not planning to use the money; we told you that the first time we met.’ Sigrídur ran a hand through her hair, which looked greasy and unwashed. There were two obvious stains on her shirt and her jeans could have done with a wash as well. Margeir’s grey stubble and dirty hair gave him the look of a man recovering from a serious illness. There was nothing to choose between them for suffering. ‘The money belongs to Sigga Dögg; we’d only use it for her upkeep. And to pay for all the legal proceedings you’re describing.’ ‘That won’t make much of a dent in the money.’ ‘Won’t it?’ snapped Sigrídur. Margeir laid a hand on his wife’s knee, as if afraid she would offend Thóra. But Thóra knew it wasn’t personal; the woman was angry with the world in general. Sigrídur continued: ‘You mentioned proof that would have to be sent with the letter. What did you mean?’ ‘Documents showing when they left port, the route information they supplied on their departure from Lisbon, the weather conditions, where the yacht was last sighted with the crew and passengers on board, and so on. We’d also have to send a report detailing any signs that might indicate that the yacht had been abandoned in a hurry or that the passengers had been washed overboard, along with other material relating to the inquiry, which I should be able to obtain from the police. If they’re unwilling to cooperate, I’ll have to apply for a court order to compel them.’ The couple looked even more disheartened. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of all that. You have enough on your plate.’ ‘You can say that again.’ Margeir made no attempt to play down their distress. ‘We’re on the verge of… well, I don’t really know what.’ ‘Of madness,’ said Sigrídur emphatically. She flushed a little, then went on, candid in her grief: ‘The worst thing is hearing about the case on the radio and seeing it in the papers. I keep thinking about all the news of deaths and accidents I’ve heard over the years without really comprehending the pain they bring. Of course you think: Poor things , but it never occurred to me that this would happen to us – that we ’d be the “poor things”.’ She sniffed loudly and sat up straighter. ‘But luckily the news has quietened down a bit now. And there’s another thing; I know it’s futile, but I can’t stop brooding over how it came about in the first place. They’d never intended to sail home.’ Her eyes slid sideways, as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at Thóra while getting this off her chest. Perhaps she was ashamed of these thoughts, though they were only natural in a grieving woman. ‘If that crew member hadn’t injured himself, they’d have flown home as planned. And if Ægir hadn’t taken that sailing course – no one could understand what had got into him at the time – he’d never have been asked to step in.’ Her eyes welled up and she broke off briefly. ‘And I would still have a son and a daughter-in-law and the twins.’ Margeir sat very still, staring into space. No doubt the same thoughts had been running through his mind, but he preferred not to share them with a stranger. Thóra picked up a brightly coloured Duplo brick and handed it to the little girl who had sidled up to her. The child stared down at it as if expecting it to do something entertaining. Thóra knew she was two years old – it felt like only yesterday that her grandson, Orri, had been the same age. There was an air of sadness about the girl. ‘And how has she taken it?’ Thóra smiled warmly at Sigga Dögg, who looked surprised. ‘Is she too young to grasp what’s happened?’ ‘She hasn’t a clue what’s going on. She cries for her mother every night.’ The woman shivered. ‘I don’t know what to do. How do you explain something like that to a baby? We had a visit from a child psychologist and a social worker but neither of them could give us any advice.’ ‘It must be very unusual. It’s not every day that almost an entire family goes missing. Perhaps they don’t know how to deal with it.’ The child held out the brick to Thóra, having decided it was no fun, and she took it back. ‘I mean, I can’t begin to put myself in your shoes, so I can’t claim to fully understand. This is a tragedy no one should have to go through. Maybe it’s a good thing she’s too young to comprehend what’s happened.’ Thóra couldn’t tell from the grandmother’s expression whether she agreed or not. Her face looked as if it had been turned to stone; as if the corners of her mouth were doomed to turn down for the rest of her days. It was harder to interpret her husband’s state; if anything, he appeared even more destroyed. ‘Have you had any further thoughts about her future? I imagine you still want access, at the very least.’ ‘Of course,’ replied Sigrídur. ‘But we still haven’t decided whether we should apply to keep her. Of course it’s what we really want, but we appreciate that there’s no guarantee we’d be granted custody, or that it would be deemed in her best interests. As I told you on the phone, the social workers came round yesterday and again this morning, and we feel as if they hold all the cards. They’ll take her away, regardless of what happens about the money, and leave us empty-handed. It doesn’t look good. They haven’t had the guts to break it to us yet but I can see it in their eyes.’ Sigrídur looked at the little girl, who was still gazing silently at Thóra. ‘Sadly, there are no uncles or aunts; Ægir was an only child and Lára had no siblings apart from that no-good brother of hers. It would be out of the question for him to adopt Sigga Dögg. And Lára’s parents are no better off than us, they say they can’t take her. Naturally we’ve been to see them and talked a great deal on the phone, but Lára’s mother is so distraught she can’t even have Sigga Dögg round to her house for a few hours. I know it’s not fair on the child but I can’t help praying every night that we’ll be allowed to keep her. I’ve handed in my notice at work, and together we could give her all our attention.’ She wiped the corners of her eyes angrily, as if furious with her own grief. ‘She’s named after me. It’ll be so unfair if she’s taken away from us. If she vanishes from our lives as well, it’ll be as if we never had any children. As if those pictures were only borrowed.’ She gestured at the framed photographs. The child extended her hand for the brick again and Thóra laid it on the little palm. She had a sudden urge to take in the child herself, to guarantee that her grandparents would be allowed access. But it was only a momentary impulse; a decision like that couldn’t be made in a hurry, quite apart from the fact that Thóra was in no position to add a small child to her household. ‘As soon as you’re ready, I’ll look into it for you. Even if they allow Sigga Dögg to stay here for a while, you won’t have long to make up your minds. Once Ægir and Lára are declared dead, you can expect the child protection authorities to take up her case.’ She couldn’t say any more than that. While she was fairly confident that the formalities relating to the will and Ægir and Lára’s life assurance policies would eventually be dealt with in a reasonable manner, a question-mark hung over the child’s fate. In her opinion, the best solution would probably be for the child to be adopted by a nice young couple and for her grandparents to be allowed regular contact with her, though it was unlikely to be frequent enough to satisfy them. She decided to turn to more pressing matters. If they asked her to act for them in their application for custody or access, the little girl’s case would of course take precedence, but right now there were other concerns. ‘If you can face it, I’d be grateful if you could answer a few questions relating to the points I need to cover in my letter to the insurance provider.’ They both agreed, apparently relieved by the change of subject. ‘Had Ægir or Lára been diagnosed with a critical illness, either recently or before they took out their life cover? If they failed to disclose any information about their health when they took out their policies, it could invalidate them. Any recent illness could be used to cast suspicion on their deaths.’ ‘They were both fighting fit. Never suffered a day’s serious illness.’ Margeir sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. ‘Neither of them smoked and they only drank in moderation,’ he added, as if that alone were enough to provide a watertight bill of health. ‘Good. Could I have the name of their GP in case I’m asked for documentary evidence?’ ‘I don’t think we know which surgery they went to,’ replied Sigrídur. She looked at her husband hopefully, but neither could answer. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can probably find out from their local health centre. Let’s turn to the incident itself. Was there no suggestion at all before they set out that Ægir and his family might sail home to Iceland?’ Margeir appeared irritated but when he spoke his voice was as flat and empty of feeling as before. ‘Not a word. They would have told us. After all, we were taking care of their daughter. No, I’m positive it wasn’t planned.’ ‘People often discuss possibilities, then change their minds – they could have toyed with the idea before deciding against it. But it’s good to hear they didn’t. It’ll support your claim that Ægir was forced to step in.’ Thóra was keen to remove all doubt; she didn’t like to raise the matter, but the insurance company’s potential assertion that the family had arranged their own disappearance would be undermined if it could be proved that the voyage had been a last-minute decision. Conspiracies required considerable preparation; it was highly unlikely that they could be organised at extremely short notice. Either the decision to vanish without trace had been taken before they left Iceland, or they had made no such plan. In any case, the idea was patently ridiculous. What kind of person would abscond like that and put his parents through such anguish? The same anguish that Lára’s parents must be experiencing right now. ‘Is it at all conceivable that they were considering returning by sea but forgot to tell you?’ The woman plucked at a loose thread on her shirt cuff. Her nails were badly bitten and her hands veiny; her fingers a little crooked, perhaps from arthritis. ‘Obviously we can’t answer that. Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told; all I can say is that if they were intending to come home by boat, they didn’t breathe a word about it to me. Not a word.’ She glanced at her husband for corroboration. ‘Nor me.’ His voice was firm now. ‘And they had plenty of opportunities to raise the idea. Presumably they didn’t because it was never part of their plan.’ From his body language, it appeared he had a better command over his feelings than Thóra had imagined. ‘Fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.’ Thóra regretted having created any doubt in their minds. They had enough worries as it was. ‘Did they send you any e-mails or other messages that would confirm their travel plans? With phone numbers, for example, or information about the hotel they’d be staying at, in case of emergency?’ ‘We’re not on e-mail,’ Sigrídur replied, ‘but Ægir gave us a list of dates and hotels, as well as their mobile numbers. They were very anxious because it was the first time they’d left Sigga Dögg on her own. The list is still on the fridge. Do you want me to fetch it?’ Thóra nodded and the woman rose to her feet with an effort. As she went into the kitchen she held a hand to her hip as if it was painful. The sight did nothing to boost Thóra’s confidence about their chances of gaining custody. But her spirits rose when she saw the list, because it supported the current interpretation of events. The family had been intending to fly home and resume life as normal after their holiday. The neatly written itinerary with the phone numbers of the two hotels they would be staying at, one in London, the other in Lisbon; their flight numbers and departure and arrival times – this was all evidence that they had wanted to be absolutely sure they could be contacted and that Ægir’s parents would be in no doubt about where to find them at any given time. They gave her permission to take the note away with her, as long as she promised to return it afterwards. ‘Did you hear from them at any point while they were away? Before they left port, for instance?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said Sigrídur. ‘They rang often. The last time was to tell us they were coming home by ship. They’d actually embarked by then and were just leaving harbour. I spoke to them both. Ægir gave me a brief account of how it had come about but they were mainly ringing to speak to Sigga Dögg.’ She reached down and picked up the little girl. ‘They said they’d ring back before they lost their signal but they never did. I don’t know why. Maybe they lost reception sooner than expected. I’ve no idea how far out at sea mobile phones stop working.’ ‘Neither have I.’ Thóra had hoped to hear that they’d been in touch with Ægir or Lára during the voyage, via satellite phone or radio. That would have made it easier to ascertain when the family had gone missing. But it couldn’t be helped; doubtless the police had information that would narrow the time frame, like the captain’s communications with shore. Sigga Dögg laid her cheek against her grandmother’s chest and cuddled up to her. After a bit of wriggling to find a comfortable position, she turned her head to watch Thóra. The toddler’s large grey eyes observed her intently, though it was unclear what she was expecting. Perhaps she thought Thóra was yet another social worker come to set her a test or ask her questions – not that she seemed capable of answering; she hadn’t said a word since Thóra arrived. ‘Has she started talking yet?’ The girl’s grandfather answered. ‘Oh, yes. She can say plenty. Though she’s been much quieter since… you know. She understands more than you’d think. Actually, that’s why we’re unhappy with what the experts have been saying to her. You’d have thought professionals like them would know better.’ ‘What do you mean?’ Thóra was puzzled. ‘Are you saying you’ve witnessed inappropriate behaviour?’ ‘No, we weren’t allowed to be present during yesterday’s visit.’ He reached out and gently stroked Sigga Dögg’s leg. ‘But it doesn’t alter the fact that she’s suddenly started coming out with things she can only have heard from other people, and since it wasn’t from us, it must have been those jumped-up government flunkeys. We haven’t felt up to receiving visitors, so she doesn’t really see anyone else.’ He withdrew his hand. ‘Not that we’ve had to turn many away.’ ‘What’s she been saying that’s led you to that conclusion?’ They both pursed their lips as if reluctant to answer. Then their eyes met and Sigrídur silently urged Margeir to speak. ‘Things connected to the accident. Things she can’t have made up herself. A two-year-old knows nothing about d-e-a-t-h, let alone d-r-o-w-n-i-n-g.’ He laboriously spelt out the words. ‘She must have heard that from someone else and, as I said, there aren’t many obvious candidates.’ Thóra’s mind kicked into action. Was it possible that the child had heard this not from the social worker or psychologist, but from her parents? Could they have been plotting in front of the little girl? It was just conceivable that it might emerge now, when the child grasped that all was not well with her parents and sisters. Thóra opened her mouth to ask a leading question but couldn’t frame one. If Lára and Ægir were lying on a beach somewhere, soaking up the sun, then his parents were plainly not in on the secret. Their grief was too real, their bewilderment too palpable for them to be acting a part. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. No one would do that to their parents or child. ‘Children are easily distracted,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she’ll soon become interested in something else.’ She caught the little girl’s gaze. ‘Maybe pussy-cats? Do you like pussy-cats? I’ve got one. She’s rather fat.’ Sigga Dögg raised her head from her grandmother’s chest, her lips slightly parted, a trickle of saliva glistening between them. It looked almost silver in the strange light from the window. ‘Mummy.’ Thóra felt the blood rise to her cheeks. What had she been thinking of to talk about cats to a child in this situation? She knew nothing about child psychology, despite having almost completed the practical when it came to her own children and grandchild. That clearly wasn’t enough, however. ‘Yes, sweetheart.’ Unsure what else to say, she hoped the child would stop talking, or that one of her grandparents would jump in. But they sat in silence, perhaps disconcerted by how much they had revealed to a virtual stranger. ‘Mummy got water in mouth.’ The little girl’s own mouth turned down. ‘Oh, dear.’ Thóra coughed, flustered. She glanced at Sigrídur and Margeir. ‘Is this what you meant?’ They nodded, their eyes perturbed. ‘There’s more,’ said Sigrídur, almost in a whisper. ‘Just wait.’ The child didn’t seem to notice that she had her grandparents’ full attention. She sat with eyes wide open, gazing at Thóra who had the feeling that the little girl was frustrated at being unable to communicate what she wanted to say. ‘Oh, dear. Poor Adda and Bygga.’ She stuck out her lower lip to indicate sadness. ‘Bad water.’ Thóra wasn’t sure if she had heard right; it sounded as if the little girl was referring to her sisters Arna and Bylgja. ‘Bad water?’ The child nodded. ‘Poor Adda and Bygga.’ She inclined her head towards Thóra, the gesture uncomfortably adult in such a young child. ‘Big bad water. Water in mouth.’ Thóra’s mobile bleeped in her bag; a pale blue light was visible through the opening. Profoundly grateful for the interruption, she fished for it apologetically. The office number flashed up. She put it on silent, though the screen continued to glow. ‘It doesn’t sound as if she’s repeating anything that adults would say.’ ‘Well, who else could she have got it from? She hasn’t met any other children since…’ Sigrídur clutched her granddaughter tight as if she was afraid Thóra would snatch her away. Her voice was shrill and she placed her hands solicitously over the little girl’s ears to protect her from hearing her agitation. ‘Is it possible she could have heard someone discussing the family’s fate and is trying to understand it in her own way?’ The big water must surely mean the sea and water in mouth could be a child’s understanding of drowning, though a two-year-old couldn’t be expected to comprehend such a word. ‘I wouldn’t know; as far as I’m aware no one’s discussed it in front of her. But whatever’s behind it, it’s terribly distressing. She woke up crying last night, stammering these words between sobs and calling for her mother. The same thing happened this morning. She’s quiet now, but last night she was out of her mind with terror. What can you say to a child who calls for her mother, when no one knows what’s happened to her?’ ‘I can’t begin to imagine.’ Thóra realised it was time to call a halt. These people were seething with suppressed rage and grief over what had happened and with anxiety about the future. It must be a terrible strain to live with such uncertainty. She pitied the psychologist and social worker who had to advise them. ‘Look, I know it’s naive of me, but I really hope they’re found drifting in a lifeboat somewhere and that everything will soon be back to normal.’ They regarded her suspiciously at first, then seemed to accept that she was sincere. Margeir stretched. ‘So do we.’ He clenched his fists until the knuckles whitened. ‘As you can no doubt imagine.’ The phone on Thóra’s lap had gone dark. When she darted a glance at it, it flashed once to indicate a text message. ‘Excuse me.’ It might be Bragi or one of her other colleagues needing to get hold of her urgently. But the message was from Bella: Saw online body turned up – prob from yacht. Instantly all hope of finding them adrift in a lifeboat vanished. Thóra was far from satisfied when she hung up. It wasn’t that she had expected to be supplied with exhaustive detail about the body that had been washed ashore but she had hoped to get a little more for her trouble. In the event, the news websites proved more informative. The police had stonewalled all her enquiries with: I’m afraid we can’t reveal any information at present. She was still in the dark about the gender and age of the deceased, and could receive no confirmation that the body was even connected with the yacht. ‘Who is it? Do you know?’ Bella appeared in the doorway and leant against the frame, holding a steaming mug of coffee. The aroma wafted across the room, and Thóra realised she was in dire need of caffeine. For a split second it crossed her mind to ask Bella for a sip, but she was not that desperate. ‘They refused to say.’ Thóra turned back to her computer and checked in case there was any more news. There wasn’t. ‘Those bloody cops are useless.’ Bella scowled. ‘Oh, I expect they’re just following protocol; no doubt they have to notify the next of kin before they can discuss it with all and sundry.’ Thóra’s thoughts flew to little Sigga Dögg, who probably had a greater interest than anyone in knowing the identity of the body. But then again, the crew members might also have children who were now waiting in fearful suspense. The papers had just published the names of the missing men but not their family circumstances. No doubt those would follow in the next reports, along with the promise of interviews with loved ones desperately waiting for news. She had tried googling their names but they were too common, though one had been familiar: Halldór Thorsteinsson, the sailor who had worked on the yacht for a three-month period while it was owned by Karítas and Gulam. It must be the same man – anything else would be too much of a coincidence – so that ruled out the possibility of picking his brains about the yacht’s life-saving equipment or what he thought had happened. Thóra was torn between hoping that the body was not from the yacht and praying that it was. At least the recovery of a body would make it easier to secure the insurance money. Presumably it would also be a comfort of sorts for the families if the remains of their loved ones were found. Though what did she know? If it were her children, would she want closure or would she rather cling to hope for years, for the rest of her life even? On balance she’d probably prefer to live with the uncertainty. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but I get the impression from the news reports that it’s a man. There’s something about the way it’s phrased. Even though it’s the twenty-first century, people still write differently about women – with more delicacy somehow.’ ‘Is there a picture?’ Bella’s eagerness struck Thóra as tasteless. ‘No, of course not.’ No on-line media source had published any photos with a direct link to the incident; one showed the crippled yacht moored in Reykjavík harbour; another the coastline where the body had been discovered; the rest made do with vague sea-related visuals. The police had managed to evade the vigilant eyes of photographers while carrying out their duties, helped by the fact that the beach where the body had washed up was well off the beaten track. It was located some way to the south of the village of Sandgerdi, on the western tip of the Reykjanes peninsula, about forty-five kilometres south of Reykjavík. Anyway, even if reporters had stumbled on the scene, it was unthinkable that any news site would publish a picture of the corpse. ‘I reckon it’s a woman.’ Bella slurped her coffee. ‘And I bet I know who.’ ‘Well, it wouldn’t take a clairvoyant: Lára was the only woman on board.’ ‘I don’t mean her. I think it’s Karítas.’ Thóra looked up from the screen. ‘What on earth makes you say that? That would be really weird.’ ‘Well, firstly, I’m sure she must of snuffed it.’ ‘Must have ,’ Thóra corrected her automatically – it came from living with three children. She might get away with it this time but it was excruciating when she caught herself doing the same to clients or colleagues. The worst occasion was the time she had corrected a judge. She was still convinced her client had received a heavier sentence as a result. ‘Must of, must have. Whatever.’ ‘Never mind that, why do you think so?’ ‘I’ve been combing the Internet for any news or blogs mentioning Karítas. However hard I search, I can’t find a single photo or any other information about her since she left for Portugal to sort out her stuff. Which is kind of suspicious.’ ‘She’s hardly big enough news for the papers to go chasing her halfway round the world in hope of a story. Surely she’s simply lying low in Brazil like her mother said? Just because she’s managed to disappear so effectively doesn’t mean there’s any cause for concern. She hasn’t been gone that long.’ ‘I have zero concern for her. I couldn’t care less whether she’s lying in a body bag in the morgue or on a sun-lounger somewhere in South America.’ Bella’s tone belied her words. People rarely forgave others for what they did to them when they were children, and the secretary wasn’t exactly the magnanimous type. ‘I’m not just talking about the Icelandic sites – I’m talking about the Internet as a whole. There’s a ton of pictures and websites recording that she attended various parties, but they all pre-date her visit to Portugal. What’s more, there were two fairly recent articles that mentioned her old man and his agreements with his creditors, but not a single word about her. If you ask me, that’s fishy. I can’t believe she’d voluntarily steer clear of the limelight, wherever she is. She gets off on the attention.’ Bella gulped down her coffee with an exaggerated relish that made Thóra green with envy. ‘She’s a goner. Her old man’s killed her.’ Although the possibility had already occurred to Thóra, it sounded implausible when spoken aloud. Indeed, she now understood Matthew’s sceptical reaction when she had voiced a similar idea. ‘We know nothing for certain about this woman apart from one thing: it’s not her body. It just doesn’t fit. For one thing, if her husband had killed her, how could she have been on board?’ ‘Maybe he’d hidden her body on the yacht and the passengers found it, freaked out and threw it overboard. Then maybe they regretted it and tried to recover her body but something went wrong and they ended up in the sea themselves.’ Thóra bit back a mocking riposte. Ever since she had started working on this case, Bella’s attitude towards her had been unusually mellow. Their relationship had been strained for a while, and this armistice made a welcome change. It felt like ages since Thóra had been able to relax at the office without worrying about what the secretary might be plotting behind her back, so she had everything to gain by keeping the peace. She had even refrained from giving Bella too much of a bollocking about the photocopier, which they were having no success in recovering from the workshop. ‘Who knows? Maybe.’ Bella frowned. ‘Or maybe an alien swallowed her whole and puked her up in the sea just off Reykjanes – by total coincidence.’ Her gaze was fixed provocatively on Thóra’s. ‘I know when you mean what you say and when you don’t. I’m not a total idiot. If you think my idea about Karítas is bullshit, just say so.’ ‘I don’t know what’s bullshit in this case, Bella. That’s the trouble. I’d be surprised if you were right, but then I’d probably be surprised by all the possible alternatives. The explanation’s bound to be extraordinary, so there’s no need to take offence.’ ‘I’m not offended.’ Clearly, she was. Her coffee was no longer steaming and the delicious aroma had gone, to be replaced by the familiar smell of stale vomit. Though it had faded, the miasma still seemed to linger and Thóra was beginning to wonder if it was in her imagination. If so, she would never be rid of it. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Could you give the workshop a ring about the photocopier? I’ve tried calling but they seem very relaxed about the parts that are supposedly on their way. If we keep bugging them maybe they’ll make more of an effort to chase them up.’ It went without saying that Bella was better qualified for that role than anyone else in the office. ‘If you can get the copier back by the end of the week, I’ll install that high-speed broadband you keep going on about.’ Bella screwed up her eyes, apparently regarding this as an unfair exchange. But in that she was wrong; they’d had no plans to upgrade their connection, so Bella only stood to gain by making an effort. After all, she was the only employee who complained about the current connection speed and download capacity, and they all knew that the secretary’s desire for an upgrade had nothing to do with work. Indeed, that was why Thóra and Bragi had been dragging their feet: it would be extremely embarrassing if the firm ended up being investigated by the police for illegal downloads on an industrial scale. ‘Okay. Deal. But I haven’t been going on about it – only asking.’ Glowering, Bella took herself off, no doubt to seek out the most powerful upgrade on offer but hopefully also to launch a major campaign of harassment against the repair shop. Thóra had difficulty concentrating after Bella had gone. She still had to collate a lot of documents to enclose with the notification to the insurance provider but simply didn’t know where to begin. It didn’t help that if the newly recovered corpse turned out to be Lára or Ægir, this would render some of the paperwork unnecessary. There was a possibility the postmortem might reveal the cause of death to have been a disease, as it wasn’t out of the question that the crew had fallen ill or been poisoned. She picked up the phone to dial the number of her ex-husband, Hannes, then changed her mind. This was not because she thought he would take her request badly – on the contrary, he was usually helpful on the rare occasions she sought his advice on medical matters. Since the divorce this was about the only subject they could discuss without constantly having to watch their words as if negotiating a minefield. No, she was afraid of losing her temper with him over his ridiculous notion of sending Gylfi to an oil rig in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. Even if she had deliberately sat down and made a list of all the ways Hannes could possibly screw up as a parent, this would never have crossed her mind. An oil rig. She sighed aloud and replaced the receiver. The conversation would only descend into a slanging match and she would never get round to asking about infectious diseases. Besides, it was unclear what good a list of them would achieve. They would still be left with the problem of why the passengers were unaccounted for, since surely there was no illness that triggered a longing to fling oneself into the sea. Thóra refreshed her browser and realised a new article had been posted about the body. It was high time Brynjar changed jobs, and no one knew this better than him. He was finding the night shifts no easier now than when he had started work as a port security officer five years ago, back when he still believed he would get used to them. It had never been his plan to get stuck in this job; he’d only meant to bridge the gap after dropping out of university, earn a little money before enrolling in a course that suited him better. He’d intended to use the nights to ponder his future, but now, some thousand night shifts later, the only conclusion he’d reached was that he didn’t want to work here any longer. The arrival of the yacht had opened his eyes: no doubt the people on board had believed, like him, that they had their whole lives before them, but they were wrong. He didn’t want the life he was living now to be his lot forever, but only he had the power to change it. He’d become socially isolated, as if he lived in a different time zone from his friends, and if he didn’t take action soon he would end up a lonely old weirdo, interacting only with the undesirables who roamed Reykjavík’s streets by night. Like these two. ‘You shouldn’t be here. This area is restricted.’ He walked briskly towards a couple who were staggering along the quay. The girl was wearing high heels, hopelessly inappropriate to the terrain, which made her walk like a zombie, at least when viewed from behind. Her companion was little better, though he couldn’t blame his footwear. Brynjar hoped he wasn’t the type who became violent when drunk. He’d had enough of those. The girl turned, bleary-eyed, her lipstick smeared. ‘Eh?’ She called to her companion who had continued walking. ‘Lolli! Talk to this bloke.’ Her tongue sounded thick and swollen in her mouth. ‘You what?’ The man appeared older than the girl, probably around Brynjar’s own age. He swayed as he tried to get his bearings. ‘Who are you?’ He paused to do battle with the forces of gravity. ‘Wanna party?’ ‘Sure, why not.’ Brynjar beckoned them over. ‘Come on, or you’ll end up in the sea.’ ‘The sea?’ The girl didn’t seem to know where she was. ‘Whaddya mean?’ she slurred. ‘We’re going to a party.’ ‘There’s no party here. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ll have to head back into town – or home.’ ‘No. There’s a party. We saw it.’ The man had reached the girl’s side and was leaning on her. They seemed steadier like that than separately. ‘Then you must be seeing things. There are no buildings here, just boats. And no parties.’ The man smiled idiotically. ‘Yes, there is. We could see it.’ He turned and pointed into the air. ‘On that posh boat over there.’ Brynjar realised at once which vessel he meant; the couple would hardly describe the fishing boats or trawlers as ‘posh’. He must be referring to the yacht that was berthed in the Coast Guard area. ‘There’s no party there. You’ll have to leave. Come back tomorrow when you’re in a better state.’ ‘There is a party. I saw it. One of the guests was on deck.’ The girl sounded like a spoilt child who had got hold of an idea and wouldn’t let go. ‘You can’t ban us from going to a party.’ ‘You’re mistaken. There’s no one on board and no party. That ship is damaged; no one would throw a party on board.’ Brynjar felt his heart begin to pound, pumping the blood round his body in readiness for danger. ‘I repeat, you’ll have to leave.’ ‘There is someone there.’ The girl swung her head clumsily to her companion, stumbling as she did so. Brynjar put out a hand to prevent her from falling flat on her back, but the man didn’t notice. He seemed in an even worse state than when Brynjar had first spotted them. Initially he had contented himself with watching them from his hut, hoping they’d turn back and spare him the bother of dealing with them. He didn’t recall noticing any movement on the yacht, though come to think of it the couple had stopped and stared at it when they first entered the harbour area. The girl had nudged the man and pointed, but Brynjar had assumed she recognised it from the news. It went without saying that he would have shot out of the hut the instant he spotted an unauthorised visitor on board. It must have been an illusion. ‘I think I’d better go home.’ The man’s face had turned grey. ‘I don’t feel well. I reckon I’m seasick. Is the dock moving?’ Brynjar couldn’t be bothered to point out that they were standing on solid concrete. The man was leaning most of his weight on the skinny girl, who was not amused. ‘Thanks, mate, it was cool – be seeing you.’ He had forgotten who Brynjar was. They tottered away, in spite of the girl’s protests that they were missing out on a ‘wicked boat party’. When he was sure they had really gone, Brynjar finally braced himself to look over at the yacht. She was listing a little towards the dockside, presumably as a result of the damage she’d sustained when she hit the jetty. Was it possible that a drunk had climbed aboard without his noticing and was now wandering about on deck? He couldn’t see any movement, or hear any sound but the quiet lapping of the waves, but there was a chance someone might be standing out of sight. They couldn’t be below decks unless they had broken in, since all the doors were securely locked. Perhaps the drunk had left or passed out, if he or she was ever there in the first place. Still, Brynjar was duty bound to investigate, however little he relished the task. He started walking. Recently the yacht had dominated conversation in the coffee breaks between shifts, so Brynjar had heard all the tales about her supposed curse. While he didn’t necessarily believe such nonsense, he couldn’t ignore the fact that there was an odd atmosphere about her, one which couldn’t be put entirely down to the lurid stories or the unknown fate of her passengers. He had witnessed with his own eyes the way the birds shunned her, never perching on her, not even flying over her if they could help it. Of course it could be – must be – coincidence. And yet. The night after she had been moved to her current mooring he had noticed several fish floating dead in the water by her hull. This was abnormal; he couldn’t remember ever having seen more than one dead fish at a time before. As his job demanded, he had made a note of the incident and learnt the following evening that a team from the Matís food research institute had collected the dead fish for testing. Brynjar’s informant had added that although some of the white coats put it down to pollution or poisoning, people in the know believed it was linked to the yacht. There was no sign of any figure on deck. Switching on his torch, he shone it along the ship but could see nothing but fleeting shadows. ‘Hello!’ His shout pierced the stillness but faded instantly. The ensuing silence felt heavier, more tangible, as if it resented the disturbance. ‘Hello!’ Brynjar called again, wondering how often he would have to repeat this before he could be said to have done his duty. There was no answer. He took a step backwards to get a better view and began to shine his torch back and forth along the white aluminium hull, at which the shadows resumed their jerky dance. He tried to illuminate the waterline to check that the uninvited guest hadn’t fallen overboard but could see nothing unusual. A red Coke can was floating lazily beside the ship; otherwise the sea looked as if it had been vacuum-cleaned. When he directed the beam further away he noticed a narrow white ribbon of mist curling in over the surface of the water from the harbour mouth, only about a metre above sea level. While it was not particularly common, he had often experienced misty conditions in the harbour before without being alarmed. But this time it was different. He didn’t want to be standing beside this notorious ship if the mist thickened into a fog and closed in on him, reducing visibility to zero. Enough was enough. He hurried back towards his hut, not looking round even when he thought he heard a whisper from the deserted yacht. He couldn’t make out the words but was fairly sure that, despite their similarity, there were two voices. Female, but not those of grown women; more like children. Two children. Twins. His mouth felt suddenly dry and the torch weighed heavy in his hand. He stopped and strained his ears, though his brain was screaming at him to keep moving. He could hear nothing now, yet that did little to lessen his terror. He hadn’t a clue what he was afraid of; until now children had roused little emotion in him, and certainly never fear. Perhaps it was the mental image of the dead sisters roaming the yacht in a vain search for their parents or a way out, forever trapped aboard the vessel that had robbed them of their future. Brynjar started walking again. One thing was certain: he wasn’t putting a word about this in his report, or people would think he had finally cracked. He quickened his pace and once safely inside the hut locked the door behind him for the first time since he’d started the job. Then he rang the police and reported a possible break-in on the yacht, not mentioning the voices. If something untoward was happening, let the police sort it out. He really needed a new job. The young man on the other end of the line sounded subdued and distracted. He was the only Snævar Thórdarson in the telephone directory whose occupation was listed as ship’s engineer. Thóra had been running out of ideas about who to ask for background information on the yacht when she suddenly remembered the crew member who had dropped out, and Fannar had supplied her with his name. With any luck, she thought, his account of the accident that had caused him to be left behind might also come in useful for her report. Snævar readily admitted that he was meant to have sailed with the Lady K to Iceland but his replies to Thóra’s questions, though so swift and to the point they almo st seemed rehearsed, were not actually much help since his involvement in the preparations for the voyage had been minimal. At first she found it odd that his answers should be so fluent, but it turned out that he had already given the police three separate statements. When Thóra persisted, Snævar became more uncomfortable, especially on the subject of how Ægir had come to take his place on board; but then, it can’t have been much fun to be the indirect cause of a whole family’s disappearance. He started off trying to give a sober, factual account, but as he progressed he became increasingly choked with emotion. ‘I’m still in shock, to be honest. I’m not usually easily upset, but when I saw the yacht sail straight into the docks with none of the crew doing a thing to prevent it, I knew something was seriously wrong. I was so nearly on board myself. It should have been me, not that couple and their poor little girls.’ ‘Disasters are impossible to predict; you can hardly blame yourself for what happened. This time you were lucky, and others less so.’ Thóra was aware of the futility of her words; his conscience would continue to gnaw at him whatever she said. ‘Why were you on the docks when the yacht was due in? Surely that wasn’t by chance?’ ‘I’d come to pick up Halli. We were mates; he’s the one who sorted out the job for me. We were both between tours on the trawler and he thought it would be a good idea to take me along. They were dead keen to hire him because of his previous experience, so he had no trouble fixing it for me. Personally, I wasn’t that bothered, but I didn’t mind going. You know – the pay was all right and I reckoned it might be a laugh if Halli was going too. We could have a bit of an adventure; the flight was free and we could hit the nightlife in Lisbon. But even that went wrong, though the first couple of days were awesome.’ ‘Because of your accident?’ ‘Yes. Breaking a leg is no joke. And it was a real bummer for Halli to have to go through it all with me.’ ‘May I ask what happened?’ Silence greeted her question. ‘You don’t have to tell me unless you want to, but if you don’t I’ll simply have to find out by other means. It’s vital for me to know why Ægir ended up on the boat if I’m to sort out his and his wife’s affairs. May I remind you that they have another little girl, and for her sake it’s essential that the settlement of their estate goes through as smoothly as possible. Which means we need to clarify the sequence of events.’ ‘All right, I can tell you what happened.’ He briefly turned his head away from the receiver to cough. ‘Though I don’t really like talking about it because the accident was so stupid.’ ‘Most accidents are, so you needn’t worry about that.’ ‘Maybe not.’ He took a deep breath, then the words came out in a rush as if to give them less time to leave a bad taste in his mouth. ‘I was drunk. Totally off my face, and I tripped and fell down one of those really steep streets in Lisbon. Actually, I was lucky it didn’t turn out worse because I rolled quite a long way and nearly ended up getting run over. If I had, it might have changed everything for the better. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.’ Thóra could think of nothing to say. If Snævar had been killed, his friend Halldór would almost certainly have pulled out of the voyage, and then the captain wouldn’t have been able to get away with using Ægir as a replacement. The committee would have been forced to hire two new crew members instead. Still, it was no use crying over spilt milk. ‘And there’s another thing,’ Snævar continued. ‘I don’t know if it has any bearing on this case, but I was pushed. The Portuguese doctors didn’t want to hear it – no one was listening to me because I was totally out of it. But I was pushed. It all happened very fast, but I’m almost a hundred per cent positive.’ ‘If you could give me some proof of the accident, I’d be very grateful. Regardless of whether you were pushed.’ ‘What, you want my leg?’ It must have been meant as a joke, though Snævar did not sound particularly amused. ‘Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of hospital notes or maybe a signed statement from you.’ ‘I can give you a statement but I might need your help to put it together. I don’t have any documents, though; the whole thing was handled by the Social Insurance office. If you like, I can ring them and ask if they have the papers. It’s not as if I have much else to do at the moment. If they can’t help, you’ll just have to contact the hospital in Lisbon.’ ‘Okay. When would suit you? Is there any chance you could come to my office tomorrow or the day after, so I can type it up? And it would be helpful if you could have a word with the Social Insurance people first.’ Thóra was pleased with the way this phone call had panned out, though she hadn’t had high hopes beforehand. ‘On a tangent, since you knew Halli, I wanted to ask if you have any idea why he originally quit after working on the Lady K for such a short time. Could it have had anything to do with inadequate safety procedures? Or a problem with the yacht’s engine?’ ‘Oh, it was nothing like that. According to him, everything was fine. All the equipment was present and correct, and the engine was as good as new; he had no complaints on that score.’ ‘So what was it?’ ‘I gather it was to do with the captain. Halli said he was a complete tosser and really tight-fisted. I haven’t crewed any yachts myself but according to Halli, the way it works is that at the end of every tour the captain is given a tip that he’s supposed to share with the crew. But there are two kinds of captain – those who divide the money equally between all the crew members, and those who take sixty per cent to share with the mate and chief engineer, then give what’s left to the rest of the crew. It might not sound so bad but when you’re working for the jet set there can be as many as twelve employees sailing the boat, cooking, cleaning and working as waiters. Then it really matters how the tip’s shared out. The Lady K usually had a staff of ten and the officers took twenty per cent of the tip each, leaving the rest of the poor sods to share the other forty per cent. Halli was employed as an engineer, so he was one of the unlucky ones. We’re not talking peanuts either. The tip was often higher than the wages – and tax-free, too.’ That sounded a bit dodgy to Thóra, but she refrained from commenting. ‘Under normal circumstances Halli would only have done two tours with a captain like that. But he stayed on a bit longer because he got the impression that the Icelandic woman who owned the yacht liked having him around so she could chat to him in Icelandic – you know, take the piss out of the guests without them understanding. But of course that wasn’t enough in the long run, so Halli left. Quit as soon as he found another position.’ ‘Did he stay in touch with Karítas afterwards?’ ‘Are you joking?’ Snævar laughed, genuinely this time. ‘It wasn’t that sort of relationship; you’ve got it all wrong if that’s what you think. The crew doesn’t really mix with the owners and guests on vessels like that. Halli may have enjoyed a laugh with Karítas, but not every day. As far as I can remember, he only saw her once after that, from a distance. He caught sight of her on the deck of the Lady K when she was moored off some island in the Med just after he left – he was working on another yacht by then. Not long afterwards he quit the luxury yacht business and went back to the trawlers.’ ‘So he wasn’t in contact with her on Facebook?’ ‘He wasn’t on Facebook.’ Of course not. ‘Tell me something.’ She hesitated for fear Snævar would lose patience and refuse to come to the office if she kept him on the phone too long. ‘What do you think happened? You’ve been on board, so you must have more insight than most into what might have become of them.’ Snævar hesitated before answering; perhaps he was trying to run through all the alternatives he’d considered. ‘Look, if one or two or even three of them had vanished, there would be all sorts of possible explanations. But all of them? There aren’t many answers to that. The only sensible theory I can come up with is that they believed the yacht was sinking and thought their only chance was to abandon ship. Maybe they were afraid she was about to blow up, though it’s unlikely the crew or captain would have thought that. They would have known better. In fact, they’re trained in risk assessment, so I’m guessing the crew weren’t around when it happened. I have no clue what became of them – I still can’t come up with a plausible explanation.’ ‘Let’s just say they did believe she was sinking – why wouldn’t they have launched a lifeboat?’ ‘How would I know? Maybe they didn’t think they had time. Maybe there was another boat nearby that picked them up.’ ‘One final question. What could cause a crew or passengers to misread the situation so badly? Is there an alarm that would go off if the hull was holed, for example? I’m wondering if the system could have malfunctioned and given them the wrong message.’ ‘Naturally, there’s an alarm system on board, but even if it went off by mistake, the crew wouldn’t just jump overboard. The passengers, maybe – but not the sailors. They’d check what was up and wouldn’t abandon ship unless she was literally in flames. Either somebody forced them to leave the yacht or they died by some other means. Nothing else makes any sense.’ Thóra thanked him and said goodbye, satisfied even though she was none the wiser. Although the police were very understanding, Thóra had a tough time persuading them to answer any of her questions. She supposed they would need to double-check what information could be released to her. But at least the officers she spoke to seemed to appreciate the gravity of the situation and were keen to make things easy for her out of sympathy for Ægir’s parents and their little granddaughter. Admittedly, eyebrows were raised when she mentioned the life insurance policies, especially when it came to revealing the level of cover. She could have kept quiet about it, but that wouldn’t have been in her clients’ long-term interests. She persisted for a while in trying to find out whether the body recovered from the sea had any connection to the yacht, but gave up when she realised the police’s patience was wearing thin. ‘I appreciate that you can’t hand over the papers today, but would you be able to give me an idea of what there is? I’m particularly interested to know if the ship’s documents were on board and, if so, which ones?’ She decided to mention a few essential items but avoid listing them in detail in case she left something out. ‘I’m particularly interested in the official logbook, any other logbooks and any certificates of seaworthiness. As well as any compliance certificates connected to the yacht’s safety equipment.’ ‘That I can tell you.’ The detective to whom she had finally been passed unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and put it in his mouth. ‘I’d offer you some if it wasn’t nicotine gum. I’ve just given up smoking. Apparently you just get addicted to this stuff instead but it’s not as bad for you as cigarettes, or so they claim.’ From his expression it would obviously be some time before he became reconciled to the flavour. ‘Most of the ship’s papers were on board and we should be able to release copies to you shortly. Just bear in mind that there are a few pages missing here and there, so the versions you receive will be incomplete.’ ‘Pages missing?’ The ship’s documents were official papers that the vessel was required to carry by law. Removing material from them would be highly irregular. ‘Were they the ones relating to the Iceland trip?’ ‘Yes, in all likelihood. Though there’s no way of telling when they were torn out; it may have happened before the captain took over, in which case they wouldn’t have included his notes. The problem is, we don’t know when the captain disappeared. There are a few entries from the beginning of the voyage, but it looks as if some of the older ones – if that’s what they were – have been ripped out. At any rate, the pages haven’t turned up. There’s no telling whether it’s significant, but it certainly looks odd.’ Thóra noted this down. ‘Next, have you had a chance to examine any cameras or phones? It would help my report if I could establish when the passengers were indisputably still alive.’ ‘No.’ The detective kept chomping at the gum, his jaw muscles bunching. ‘Do you have any idea when you might have a chance to look into it?’ ‘Never.’ ‘Never?’ Thóra was taken aback. ‘That’s right.’ His facial muscles relaxed as he shifted the gum to lodge under his upper lip. ‘There were no mobile phones or cameras on board.’ ‘Isn’t that a bit odd?’ ‘I don’t know. They probably took all that stuff with them when they abandoned ship, or didn’t bring any along in the first place – though I admit that’s unlikely.’ ‘Very.’ Thóra hastily scribbled ‘phone’ and ‘camera’ in her notebook, followed by three question marks. Ægir and Lára had included their mobile numbers on the list they gave his parents, so they must have intended to take them. And Lára had rung them from on deck, hadn’t she, as they were leaving port? So they could hardly have forgotten them in the hotel, or anywhere else in Lisbon. The crew must have had theirs with them too – there was hardly anyone under seventy who didn’t own a mobile phone these days. It was more than a little suspicious. ‘Another thing that would be helpful, if it’s available, would be the data from the yacht’s GPS system. Though I can’t work out what format I could access it in.’ ‘We’ve already plotted their course using the GPS data. If we’re permitted to release this to you, it would probably make sense to give you a printout of the maps. That would save you the effort of duplicating our work.’ ‘That would be great. Then there’s one further matter and after that I promise not to bother you any more for the time being. Do you have a summary of the yacht’s communications with shore or other vessels after she left port, including the dates and times? If I don’t submit exhaustive records, I’m afraid the insurance company will take advantage of the fact to delay proceedings.’ ‘Hmm. Good question.’ He pushed his tongue under his lip to reassure himself that the gum was still there. ‘That’s a bit of a funny one too, actually.’ ‘Oh?’ Thóra’s first thought was that the yacht’s communications system must be missing. Nothing about this case was quite as it ought to be. ‘Either the radiotelephones broke down or gremlins got into them during the voyage. Or so we gather from what the captain wrote in the logbook. The satellite phone wasn’t working either, though according to the captain’s notes that was because they hadn’t set up an account for the trip. We’re in the process of examining both radios but we do know they were working when the yacht left port. At least, the captain ticked the box stating that they had been tested and were in working order. What hasn’t yet emerged is whether they were sabotaged or it was simply coincidence that both broke down.’ ‘Don’t they have two radios precisely to avoid that kind of communications breakdown?’ ‘Possibly, but I gather they also have different ranges. The short-range radio or VHF can only communicate with nearby ships but there is also a long-range one, although I’m not really clued-up on the technology. At any rate, they managed to make contact at least once. The connection was poor so the message was a bit garbled, but about thirty hours out of port the captain spoke to a mate on a British freighter. The conversation took place in English, so there may have been a misunderstanding due to language difficulties, but we aren’t ruling out the possibility that the message was correct.’ ‘What was it exactly?’ Thóra resisted the urge to cross her fingers. The detective dislodged the gum from under his lip and began to chew with renewed vigour. ‘The captain asked the British ship to report the discovery of a body on board to the Icelandic authorities because their own long-range radio was broken and their satellite phone was out of action. From what the English mate could understand, the body was female. Their conversation touched on some other matters too, which I’m not presently able to divulge. Going by what was said, it seems unlikely the woman was Lára, though we can’t completely rule it out. And whoever it was, we have absolutely no idea how she died.’ The policeman stopped chewing and regarded Thóra levelly. ‘In other words, since we’ve found no trace of the dead woman, we may be dealing with not seven but eight missing people.’ ‘It’ll have to wait till morning.’ Thráinn hauled himself back on deck after leaning so perilously far over the rail that Ægir moved instinctively closer to grab him if he fell. ‘I can’t get a good enough view. It looks like it’s that sodding container, or at least part of it. You should have called me sooner, Loftur. When there’s debris like that in the sea you’re lucky if it shows up on the radar, as you should know. We might have been able to avoid the collision if we’d spotted it at the point when it became visible. This isn’t what we need right now.’ ‘It was too late.’ Loftur looked shamefaced. ‘We hit it almost immediately after the radar picked it up. I was keeping an eye out but then he came in and distracted me.’ He indicated Ægir, his expression distinctly unfriendly. ‘Don’t try and blame it on him.’ Thráinn wiped his hands on his trousers. Ægir ignored them, not wanting to create trouble between the two men. The outcome was inevitable; sooner or later they would make up and then they would both resent him even more than they did before. He bent over the rail and peered into the gloom below, where he could see the gleam of water but little else. ‘Won’t it have drifted free by morning?’ ‘Maybe. That would be the best outcome.’ Thráinn turned to Loftur. ‘I think we should let her drift tonight rather than trying to hold our position. But Halli had better keep watch with me in case there’s any more wreckage about. You go to bed and we’ll take it in turns to keep an eye on the bugger and see if we can get any sense out of the VHF. The transmission you heard was probably someone repeating a warning about the container.’ He looked over the side again. ‘With any luck it’ll break away during the night; if not, we’ll sort it out by daylight.’ Loftur nodded, still looking sullen. The moment they spotted the container he had sent Ægir to wake the captain. The thud when they struck it had not been loud, nor had it noticeably checked the vessel’s progress, but Loftur was alarmed and insisted on putting the engines in neutral until Thráinn had assessed the situation. The captain had taken it seriously too, which did nothing to reassure Ægir. If Thráinn was worried, there was every reason to be afraid: he didn’t seem the type to make a fuss about nothing. ‘If we’re just going to idle, I could take the watch with you.’ Ægir let go of the rail and instinctively stood up straighter. ‘Wouldn’t that make more sense? Loftur and Halli need their sleep and this may be the only time on this trip that you can trust me with a night watc h.’ The two men said nothing; their expressions were hard to read. ‘If it turns out that you do need to sort it out tomorrow, wouldn’t the sleep do them good? We can always wake them if anything happens.’ Still neither man broke the silence. Loftur was apparently waiting for Thráinn to come to a decision, but it was unclear whether he hoped the captain would choose Ægir over Halli, or vice versa. A wave drove the flotsam against the side and another low boom broke the silence. Ægir couldn’t help wondering how strong the hull was and how many blows of that magnitude it could withstand. Perhaps his idea of taking the watch was foolish; if the yacht was holed his presence on the bridge would be worse than useless. Even as these reservations occurred to him, Thráinn accepted his offer with a decisive nod. ‘If anything goes wrong, Loftur, we’ll wake you or Halli. With any luck the current will carry it away and solve the problem for us, so there’s no need to have two men on watch. It’s probably an unnecessary precaution, but you never know when it comes to junk like this.’ ‘No problem.’ It wouldn’t be the first time Ægir had stayed up all night. ‘I’ll just nip below and fetch my book.’ Lára was asleep in the cabin with the duvet bunched up around her. Her breathing was heavy and her eyelids flickered as if in a dream. Ægir perched gently on the side of the bed and whispered that he would be on the bridge for the rest of the night. She murmured something incomprehensible and turned over. He doubted she had taken in the message and wondered if he should wake her, but then she might not be able to get back to sleep and would lie awake for the rest of the night. On his way out he stuck his head into the girls’ cabin and saw that they were lying oddly entwined in the middle of the double bed. Sigga Dögg beamed at him from the headboard as if to reassure him that everything would be all right; she would watch over her twin sisters while he did the same for the yacht. He closed the door, plunging their cabin back into darkness. Ægir hesitated and considered opening the door again, either to turn on the light or at least to leave it open a crack so that the blackness would not be so profound. But neither was a good idea. If he turned on the light, the girls might wake up, and the constant motion of the yacht would make the door bang if he left it open. After a brief pause he set off down the corridor, only to stop by the door at the end. Everything looked as it should; the ceiling lights glowed dimly and all the doors were closed. They fitted so tightly that not a sound could be heard from the cabins and even the drone of the engines seemed more muffled down here than in any other part of the yacht. Even so, Ægir couldn’t rid himself of the unsettling feeling that he was abandoning them somehow. Perhaps it was instinct warning him to make the most of every second he could spend with them while they were on board this boat. As if the future was measured in minutes, not years. Thráinn was waiting for him in the pilot house. His back was turned and Ægir had the impression that he had been speaking into the radiotelephone but was now trying to hide the fact. ‘Was there another message?’ ‘What?’ Thráinn frowned as if he didn’t understand the question. Then realising what Ægir was referring to, he said: ‘You mean on the VHF? Oh, no.’ He ran a hand lightly over the screen. ‘It seems to be buggered – at least, I’m having trouble getting through. It’s a pain in the arse that the long-range radio’s playing up as well. I expect what you heard before was the result of a short circuit. Maybe a fuse has blown and affected both radios. On the plus side, it means you won’t have to worry about them. You won’t hear a peep out of them, not until I’ve given them the once-over tomorrow with the boys. The problem’s too complicated for me to fix tonight.’ ‘I won’t mind that.’ Ægir stared at the VHF, fervently hoping the captain was right; the last thing he wanted to hear when he was alone was that sinister voice echoing through the bridge. The captain’s explanation struck him as a little odd, though; how could a short circuit cause the ship’s name to be transmitted over the loudspeaker? But the man must know what he was talking about. Ægir couldn’t afford to start doubting his expertise at this stage. He watched as the captain checked the screens, and wondered about the man. He still hadn’t come to any conclusion about his character; one minute he was friendly, the next gruff. Even his age was hard to guess. His appearance offered only vague, contradictory clues; thick, dark hair contrasted with a lined or weather-beaten face, and his powerful frame made his height even more striking; Ægir only reached up to his ears. His arms were tanned a dark brown and the back of his right hand was criss-crossed by a network of mysterious white scars. Perhaps they were an accumulation of many different small cuts. Ægir was too ignorant about life at sea to know whether they went with the territory. As he stood beside this big, strong man it occurred to him how sheltered his own life had been – how different from the life of a sailor. Every morning he went to the office where the greatest peril he faced was paper cuts, while this man wrestled with unpredictable currents and ferocious storms. There must have been times when he doubted he would make it home alive. Nothing like that had ever happened to Ægir in his line of work. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you want me to start outside or inside?’ ‘Probably best if I take the outside watch to start with.’ ‘Anything in particular I should keep an eye out for?’ Thráinn surveyed the bridge. ‘Well, there’s no need for you to touch the console since we’re idling, so I won’t waste time teaching you how to use the equipment. If anything happens, just come and get me.’ Ægir was left alone in the pilot house. His book seemed to have lost all its power to entertain and he could barely make out the print in the semi-darkness anyway. Despite Thráinn’s absence, Ægir couldn’t bring himself to occupy his seat like a fully grown man playing at being captain. Instead, he huddled in the corner with his feet propped on a side table. He put his book down, not even bothering to check whether it was open at the right page. It didn’t matter, as he was unlikely to return to it during the voyage; if he didn’t feel like reading it when alone on night watch, when would he? It was going to be a long night. He sat with his hands in his lap. Outside there was nothing but impenetrable darkness; there were no stars and the moon was hidden by cloud. Night in the city was nothing compared to this dense, unrelieved blackness. It seemed almost palpable; if he thrust his arm far enough over the rail he imagined he would be able to feel its texture, yielding and slippery, like cold slime. Rising, he moved into the circle of light in the middle of the room. Mercifully, the VHF remained dormant but that malevolent voice still rang in his ears. He regretted not having asked if it would be all right to step outside now and then for a breath of fresh air or a drink. Surely it would only take him a couple of minutes to dash down to the galley and grab a can? He longed for a cold beer but decided against it, not because he was indirectly in command of the ship but because he was afraid it would make him drowsy. For some reason he felt a strong aversion to sleeping alone in here. No doubt it was the fear of being caught by Thráinn. The galley lights came on after an instant’s delay. He hadn’t noticed the humming of the fridge before; perhaps it was because everything was quieter now. He was assailed by a sudden feeling of loneliness and wondered if he should wake Lára to keep him company, but dismissed the idea at once. If he did, the girls would be alone while their parents slept off their fatigue in the morning, and it would be unforgivable to leave them unsupervised on deck. Though they were growing up faster than he liked, they were still young and foolish enough to do something silly. The fridge, a big double-door model, was half empty. The stores they had lugged on board could not fill the deep shelves and it was almost alarming to see how little they had to eat. Supposing they ran out of food before the voyage was over? Then again, they had the world’s biggest larder right underneath them, so they were unlikely to starve. He pushed aside a bottle of ketchup in the hope of finding a can lurking behind it. No such luck. The same went for all the other possible hiding places in the roomy interior. For a moment he was glad Lára wasn’t there to tick him off for failing to replace the can he had taken out earlier. It was an endless bone of contention between them; they both took drinks out of the fridge, but he took it for granted that she would replace them. And the last thing he wanted right now was a tepid Coke. How stupid to have a big fridge like that with no ice-maker. That would have saved the day. Feeling grumpy, Ægir fetched a Coke from the larder, but his spirits revived when he caught sight of the huge chest freezer whose existence he had forgotten. They had chucked a couple of loaves in it to ensure they would keep for the entire voyage, along with some packets of chicken breasts and mince. He had been in a hurry at the time, so couldn’t recall if he had seen any ice cubes, though he did remember that the former owners had left the freezer stuffed to the brim – they had barely been able to squeeze their own food in on top – so it was quite possible there was ice in there somewhere. The large lid creaked as he opened it. He was met by a puff of arctic vapour and recoiled for an instant before bending over to root around among the frozen contents. At first he was able to shift the packets without much effort, but couldn’t find any ice cubes. Determined not to give up straight away, he carried on digging, deeper and deeper, hampered by increasingly numb fingers. While he rummaged, he reflected on the inadequacies of freezer design; it was impossible to reach the contents at the bottom of the cavernous chest except by removing the upper layers. He was only halfway down when he encountered a black bin-bag, which seemed to fill the rest of the interior. He prodded it in the faint hope that the owner of the yacht had been planning a mega party and had bought in several kilos of ice for the occasion. Unsurprisingly, this turned out to be over-optimistic. Whatever the bag contained, it was much larger; the entire carcase of a suckling pig, perhaps, or a side of beef. Snatching back his hand, he blew on his fingers. He would have to make do with lukewarm Coke. Food packets of various sizes were now heaped at either end of the chest and Ægir set about replacing them. It wasn’t easy as the freezer had been crammed to bursting. As he tried to stuff some fish fillets down beside the bin-bag, his hand was forced up against the cold plastic, making him uncomfortably aware of its contents. Withdrawing his arm slowly, he peered into the chest, from which a cold mist rose as if it were exhaling. What the hell had he touched? It wasn’t a side of beef, that much was certain. Nor a suckling pig either. It had felt almost like rigid fingers. Waving the vapour away, he tried in vain to make out the shape of whatever the black plastic was covering. He felt an urgent desire to slam the lid, take his Coke and return to the bridge without exploring any further, but he couldn’t. In the lull before he acted he was acutely aware of his solitude. He yearned for the warmth of Lára’s body under the thick duvet and the sound of her gentle breathing. The last place on earth he wanted to be was here, with whatever was in that bag. Suddenly, losing patience with himself, he tore open the plastic where he had touched it. The light picked out a white finger, sparkling slightly with frost, tipped with red nail varnish. They jostled for space in the small larder, nobody wanting to stand too close to the freezer. ‘What are we going to do?’ Lára’s voice was husky from sleep, her hair tousled, her cheek still creased by the pillow. Loftur and Halli were in much the same state, also newly woken, though they succeeded better in keeping their cool. ‘What are we going to do?’ she repeated in a trembling voice. ‘We can’t sail home with a dead woman in the freezer as if nothing had happened.’ ‘Who do you think it is?’ Thráinn bent over and peered into the chest. The contents were just as Ægir had left them; no one apart from the captain had liked to touch the bin-bag after Ægir had opened the lid to convince them it wasn’t a delusion. ‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ said Halli. ‘And personally I have no desire to see the woman’s face. What difference would it make, anyway? It wouldn’t be anyone I know.’ He shuddered. ‘At least I hope not.’ Lára chewed her lip. ‘Answer me, somebody – what are we going to do?’ Ægir opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. He hadn’t the faintest idea; besides, Thráinn was in charge, so it was his problem. He didn’t envy the man; he was finding it hard enough to get a grip on himself let alone take responsibility for other people. Ever since he had realised what was in the bag, he had been obeying a stream of orders issued by his brain without any apparent intervention from his conscious mind: close the lid, fetch the captain, wake Loftur and Halli, and take them up to the bridge without disturbing his wife and daughters. Lára had, in fact, woken up, but the girls were still sleeping peacefully. Thráinn spoke then with a firmness that brooked no disagreement. ‘We won’t do anything. Just close the freezer and hold to our course. If we try to deal with this ourselves, we’ll probably end up destroying vital evidence.’ ‘Shouldn’t we call the police and ask them to come and remove the body? We could wait for them, or maybe sail to meet them.’ Lára hugged her cardigan more tightly around her in the chill from the freezer. Thráinn snorted. ‘We’re not waiting for the police. Where do you think they’d come from? We’re in international waters, hundreds of miles from any police station or any country’s jurisdiction.’ This was true – Ægir had noticed from the course plotted on the chart in the pilot house that they had long since left Portuguese waters. ‘So what, then? Are you suggesting we do nothing at all? Aren’t there any laws in force at sea?’ Lára darted a glance at the freezer and shuddered. She had been unable to bring herself to take more than a brief peek inside; the only reason she had followed the men into the larder was to avoid being left alone in the galley. ‘Of course there are laws.’ But Thráinn didn’t elaborate, or explain how they were supposed to comply with them or organise an investigation. He must know, though; even Ægir had been given a brief overview of international maritime law on his sailing course. Perhaps Thráinn simply wanted to shut Lára up. Ægir decided not to intervene. He could always explain the situation to his wife once they were alone together. But in the event there was no need because Thráinn took pity on Lára and clarified: ‘We have no choice but to hold to our course. Close the lid. I’ll report the body and we’ll continue to Iceland as planned. When we get there the authorities will take over. This is an Icelandic ship and when in international waters you’re under the jurisdiction of the flag you sail under.’ He addressed his next comment to Ægir. ‘All the papers are definitely in order, aren’t they? You haven’t bungled the registration of the yacht like you did the satellite phone?’ Ægir met his eye and didn’t require a mirror to guess that his own expression must be idiotic. ‘Yes, I mean no. She’s Icelandic now.’ He sincerely hoped he was right. After all, he had never registered a ship before and it hadn’t helped that the documents were all in Portuguese or French. He could conceivably have made a mistake, though everything should be in order. ‘Just as well. Otherwise it’s possible we’ll be turned back.’ ‘Where to?’ Lára looked at him in alarm. ‘Portugal?’ ‘Yes, or Monaco where the yacht was last registered. That’s a risk if the change of ownership hasn’t gone through and she’s not registered as Icelandic.’ ‘But…’ Loftur broke off as suddenly as he had interrupted. ‘But what?’ Lára sounded as if she feared even worse was to come. Though what could possibly be worse? ‘No, I was just thinking.’ Loftur looked embarrassed as all eyes turned to him but realised he had better continue despite his reluctance, since Lára looked quite capable of extracting his words by violence. ‘That body must already have been in the freezer when we embarked. Mustn’t it?’ ‘Obviously.’ Ægir was disappointed by the banality of the observation. Against his better judgement, he had been hoping for more, for the insight of a sailor with experience under his belt. ‘No one’s missing from our group.’ He added hastily: ‘And we didn’t bring a body on board with us.’ He remembered that Thráinn had seen them stashing food in the freezer and wanted to remove all suspicion that he and Lára might have put the bin-bag in there. Loftur nodded. ‘In which case the body was on board before the ship was registered as Icelandic. Does that make a difference?’ Thráinn’s lips thinned. ‘There’s no way of knowing. It could have been brought aboard somewhere else entirely. Icelandic jurisdiction only covers crimes committed on Icelandic vessels in international waters, so if it happened in territorial waters, I’d be duty bound to report to that country. The rule applies to all countries with a coastline, so the nationality of the ship is of secondary importance in those circumstances.’ He reached out and closed the lid. ‘Look, there’s no point discussing it any further as we haven’t a clue how, when or where it happened. Or even if a crime’s been committed. There may be a perfectly natural explanation.’ ‘A natural explanation?’ Lára sounded a little bolder now that there was no danger of inadvertently catching sight of the corpse. ‘What could possibly be natural about finding a body hidden in a bin-bag in the freezer of a yacht?’ ‘Well, maybe not.’ Thráinn left the larder and beckoned to the others to follow. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that I’m in charge and I’m going to turn the matter over to the Icelandic authorities. I’ll report the incident, then leave it in their hands.’ Lára realised it wouldn’t be in their interest to object. Thráinn wanted to carry on, as they all did. In Portugal they would be taken in for questioning and maybe even banned from leaving the country until the investigation was over. ‘I’m going to try and make radio contact,’ Thráinn announced. ‘You two go below and get some kip,’ he said to Loftur and Halli, adding to Ægir: ‘I won’t be requiring your assistance again anytime soon.’ Ægir didn’t reply; it would be a long time before he offered to stand watch alone again. There was something very wrong with this yacht. Once in bed he and Lára lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. They hadn’t discussed the body since coming below, just brushed their teeth and got ready for bed as if nothing had happened. They exchanged inconsequential comments in a way that made Ægir feel as if he was acting in a bad play. ‘I know who it is.’ Lára didn’t turn towards him. ‘Oh?’ Ægir lay very still. ‘Who?’ ‘It’s Karítas. I recognised her scent just before the lid was shut.’ ‘Somehow I doubt a corpse smells the same as a living person. Your mind’s playing tricks on you.’ ‘It wasn’t the smell of decomposition, it was perfume. The bottl e’s in a drawer in the dressing table. It was the same scent.’ ‘Surely millions of women wear that perfume?’ ‘No. It’s a very exclusive brand that I’ve never come across in any shop. That’s why I had a sniff. I was curious because I’d never heard of it.’ ‘I expect that’s because they sell it in the kind of luxury stores abroad that we never go into. For all you know it may be popular with rich ladies. Perhaps the woman’s one of the hundreds who must have been guests on board over the years.’ Ægir closed his eyes. ‘Though the body can’t have been there for that long. If the previous owners had hidden it in the freezer, they’d surely have disposed of it at sea, which means it must have ended up there fairly recently.’ Ægir opened his eyes wide again. Whenever he closed them he couldn’t get the image of the blue-white hand out of his mind. ‘Or just before the yacht was confiscated.’ After a brief, pensive silence, he continued: ‘Unless they hid it there when the yacht was in port. The seal was broken, remember? Maybe someone smuggled the body on board – someone with keys, because there was no sign of a break-in. That doesn’t leave many suspects – apart from the couple who owned the yacht.’ ‘Not Karítas – she’s lying in the freezer.’ ‘You can’t be sure. In spite of the perfume.’ ‘It wasn’t just the perfume. When Thráinn was poking around down there with the wooden spoon I could have sworn I caught a flash of red. I didn’t realise until I smelt the perfume, but it must have been the necklace. The red jewel in the painting.’ Ægir gave up. He couldn’t be bothered to argue with her by pointing out that Karítas’s necklace was not the only object in the world that was red. It wouldn’t make any difference. Whoever it was, Karítas or some other unidentified woman, she had been doomed to a premature death and an ice-cold grave. Breakfast tasted odd; perhaps it was the atmosphere. No one mentioned the events of the previous night in the girls’ presence, but they seemed to sense the tension between the adults. They pushed their cereal around their bowls, saying little and asking no questions. When the occasional spoonful found its way into their mouths, they chewed it for an unusually long time. Heavy rain beat on the windows and the yacht was rocked by the violence of the weather so that all loose objects had to be fixed to the table. ‘I’ve got more seasickness pills if you want them.’ Thráinn’s attention was fixed on his half-eaten slice of toast. He looked weary and the dark circles under his eyes hinted at a bad mood, though one wouldn’t have known it from his tone. ‘We might well take you up on that.’ Ægir hadn’t experienced any discomfort until now, but at the mention of seasickness he became aware of an uneasy sensation in his stomach. If the ship carried on pitching and tossing like this all day, one if not all of the family would be retiring to bed. ‘Take them now rather than waiting until you feel queasy. It can’t do you any harm.’ Thráinn lifted his toast as if to take a bite, then put it back on his plate. He took a gulp of coffee from a heavy mug that even the rolling of the ship had failed to stir. ‘It would be better to have you fit later on if we need to tackle the container. With the weather this bad, it’ll take three men, and Loftur could do with some shut-eye; we were up nearly all night trying to get the communications system to work.’ Lára’s eyes widened when she heard this. She had said to Ægir earlier that morning that none of them should go out on deck in this weather. The risk of being washed overboard was too great. He squeezed her thigh to reassure her that she needn’t worry. ‘Don’t you want a rest yourself?’ he asked Thráinn. ‘Weren’t you on watch all night? It’s okay by me if we wait a bit before taking a look.’ ‘Okay by me too.’ Halli was the only person whose appetite seemed unaffected. He reached for a slice of toast and began, with difficulty, to spread it with a thick layer of cold, hard butter. ‘I’ll take a look in the meantime and try and work out what to do. There’s no rush – even if we do manage to free it now, we’re not going anywhere in a hurry while the sea’s this rough. We can idle a bit longer. It won’t change anything.’ ‘Maybe not, but I want to sort this out as soon as possible. There’s no point hanging about and I can’t pick up the transmissions from shore well enough to get a weather forecast. The NAVTEX issued a storm warning but there’s no telling how long it’ll last. It could be several days. The forecast has changed since we set out so I have no idea how it’s going to develop.’ Thráinn swallowed another gulp of coffee. ‘There are waterproofs in the store cupboard – unless you’ve brought your own.’ Neither Ægir nor Halli had had the foresight; Ægir hadn’t anticipated a sea voyage, and Halli had probably assumed that all the gear would be provided. The idea of having to don someone else’s smelly waterproofs made the prospect of going out on deck even less alluring and Ægir’s appetite dwindled to nothing. ‘I think it’s ridiculous to go outside in this weather.’ Lára pushed Ægir’s hand off her thigh. ‘It’ll end in disaster.’ Her gaze strayed to the larder door, which was now secured with a padlock. Thráinn must have locked it during the night to prevent the girls from accidentally looking in the freezer, and perhaps also to ensure that none of the adults tampered with the evidence. ‘Why can’t we just accelerate and leave the wreckage behind?’ Thráinn’s expression did not alter; he merely contemplated Lára with weary, dispassionate eyes. ‘Because it’s risky. The debris could get caught up in the propeller or damage the hull and I don’t suppose you’d find that much fun. The fact it hasn’t already floated away suggests it’s caught, maybe hooked onto us, and that worries me. You have no reason to doubt my judgement on matters like this.’ Apparently realising how harsh this had sounded, he tried to mitigate the effect: ‘But you needn’t worry about us going out on deck. I wouldn’t take your husband if I thought there was any danger.’ ‘I once saw this guy get swept overboard. Talk about unlucky. A big wave came and… whoosh. He was gone.’ Halli spoke with his mouth full, having emptied his plate again. ‘But that was in a much worse storm than this.’ Lára narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Poor man! What happened to him?’ Halli shrugged. ‘Dunno. We never saw him again.’ The twins were gaping. ‘Did he die?’ said Arna. ‘No, he didn’t die,’ Ægir interjected quickly, before Halli could scare the living daylights out of the girls. ‘He was picked up by a lifeboat from a passing ship.’ His daughters seemed to accept his improvised happy ending. Indeed, they often seemed to believe what suited them. ‘Now finish your breakfast. I don’t suppose it’s a good idea to take seasickness pills on an empty stomach.’ He glared at Halli to stop him from contradicting the rescue story. The young man looked mortified, as if he wished the floor would swallow him up; his blush was even visible between the roots of his dyed hair. Ægir ignored Halli’s discomfort and concentrated on his daughters. ‘Finish your milk but leave enough in your glasses to wash down the pill.’ ‘Ugh.’ Bylgja made a face. ‘It was disgusting. I don’t want another one.’ Ægir was so relieved by the change of subject that he didn’t bother to point out that the pill was flavourless. ‘Finish your breakfast.’ The talk of the unfortunate man who had been washed overboard was an uncomfortable reminder of what lay in the chest freezer behind the larder door. His mind was haunted by dead white fingers clutching at thin air. Somehow, not seeing the whole body made it worse. He leant back in his chair and put the last piece of toast in his mouth. He would have more success in making them eat if he set a good example but the bread was as dry and unappetising as when he’d taken the first bite and the butter tasted like rubber. Perhaps he was fated to find everything he ate equally off-putting for the rest of the voyage. So much for luxury: inedible food and second-hand waterproofs. ‘Did you make contact yesterday?’ Ægir had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the crashing waves, wind and rain. Contrary to his hopes, conditions were even worse on deck than they had appeared from inside. The only ray of light in the darkness had been the waterproofs, which turned out to have hardly been worn. He and Halli had been offered a choice of gear, all of it virtually untouched, presumably because the yacht had chiefly been used for cruising in warm waters. ‘Did you receive any clearer instructions about what we should do?’ Difficult though it was to carry on a conversation against the wind, this might be his only chance. Some of what he wanted to discuss was not for the girls’ ears and he would rather keep Lára out of it too, as far as possible. She had been badly shaken by the turn of events. ‘I couldn’t get through to the Icelandic Coast Guard,’ Thráinn replied, ‘but I managed to raise a British ship on the VHF. I couldn’t hear much because of all the static but I’m pretty sure they got the message and will pass it on to the Icelandic authorities. With any luck we’ll manage to get the long-range radio working, so I can call home myself and repeat the message. Still, we’ll hold to our course regardless, as I said last night.’ Thráinn no longer looked like a ghost; he seemed to have been revived by the roaring elements. There was colour in his cheeks and his eyes were alert. The same was true of the well-rested Halli who looked full of beans, as if he was positively eager to do battle with the forces of nature. The difference between these two men and Ægir could not have been starker; they relished hard physical labour and a hint of danger, whereas he preferred to work in a safe indoor environment. ‘You didn’t tell them about the container and the fix we’re in?’ Ægir received a slap of spray across his face, and the salt stung his freshly shaven cheek. Volunteering to replace the injured crew member was without a doubt the most serious error of judgement he had ever made. He managed to banish this thought by concentrating on the idea of going home. All they had to do was hold out until they reached Iceland, where a new and better life awaited them. ‘No. It was more important to pass on the other message. I didn’t want to risk confusing them. Besides, what are they supposed to do? Is your committee prepared to pay to have us rescued?’ ‘Probably not.’ Ægir took hold of the long pole with a hook on the end that Thráinn now handed him. The wet wood felt slippery in his hand. ‘But you reckon they understood and will report the news about the body?’ ‘I hope so, but I can’t be sure. We’ll just have to wait and see; hopefully we’ll find out sooner rather than later. It all depends on how successful we are in repairing the long-range radio – or the VHF, for that matter. Then at least we’d be able to make contact with other vessels. Fortunately, the navigation system seems to be unaffected, which suggests it’s not caused by an electronic fault. To be honest, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.’ ‘Want me to take a look at it?’ Halli was holding open the lid of a white chest while Thráinn pulled out various pieces of equipment. He had a job keeping his grip on the lid in the buffeting wind. ‘I know a thing or two; I was going to train as an electrical engineer once.’ ‘That would be great. But Loftur seems to know a bit about radios too and he was stumped.’ Thráinn straightened up, keeping one foot on the tools he had taken out so they didn’t roll away. ‘Maybe it’s just a coincidence – the storm pissing us about.’ He handed Halli two poles similar to the one Ægir was holding and took two more for himself. ‘I hope this’ll be enough.’ He also picked up a tangle of straps from the deck and held it out to the others. ‘Put this on. I don’t think your wife would be too pleased with me if you were washed overboard, and I can’t afford to lose you either, Halli.’ Ægir put down the pole and untangled the straps, which turned out to be a harness for attaching to a safety line. Copying Halli, he eventually managed to pull it on after a clumsy struggle. It appeared that Thráinn didn’t intend to fasten himself to anything, although Ægir had noticed more harnesses in the box. Perhaps it was beneath his dignity. Although the harness was rather uncomfortable he felt much better for wearing it and would be even happier once it was clipped to the lifeline. His courage rose and he no longer dreaded what was to come. ‘Right.’ He picked up the pole and his new sense of daring was bolstered by the heft of the powerful implement in his hand. Perhaps he was in the wrong profession at home, and would have done better to choose a job that tested his physical endurance and manliness rather than his knowledge of debit and credit. The gust that buffeted him sideways as he thought this jerked him smartly back to reality. In weathering it, he banged his elbow so hard that his funny bone screamed in agony. The deck was running with water, which made crossing it treacherous, and his waterproofs acted like a sail. He took care to tread down heavily to keep his balance on his way to the rail. It was as if the wind was intent on knocking him over but couldn’t decide in which direction. ‘Clip this through the loop.’ Thráinn handed Ægir a hook, then fastened the other end of the lifeline to a steel ring on the rail. After that, he took a firm grip on the line where it hung down from Ægir’s body and yanked it. He did not offer Halli the same treatment. ‘Ready?’ Both men nodded. They now embarked on an operation that Ægir found baffling and counter-intuitive for much of the time. The aim was to push the debris away from the ship, ascertaining, as they did so, whether there was anything lurking under the surface that might damage the propeller or rudder when they started moving again. But no matter how hard they strained and how far over the rail they hung, nothing worked: the rusty, slimy container refused to budge. It made no difference whether their efforts were coordinated or not. The wreckage clung like a limpet to the side of the yacht, and the only visible change was that several cardboard boxes bobbed up and floated alongside it. ‘It looks as if the bloody thing’s come open.’ Thráinn pulled in his pole. ‘Fucking hell.’ ‘Is that bad?’ Ægir hauled in his pole too, glad of a chance to rest his arms. ‘Potentially.’ Thráinn wiped his forehead to stop the water streaming into his eyes. ‘It depends what’s inside and which way the doors are facing.’ ‘Can this piece of junk really be caught on something?’ Halli spat out a mouthful of briny saliva and nearly had it blown straight back in his face. ‘There’s something fucking weird about this.’ Thráinn wiped his forehead again. ‘I don’t know what’s going on down there. There shouldn’t be anything on the keel for it to snag on. Unless there’s a hole. You did check below yesterday, didn’t you?’ This was directed at Halli. ‘There was nothing wrong. Not then, anyway, and I doubt the hull’s been holed since. We’d have noticed. The container’s just too bloody heavy and we can’t get a proper purchase on it from up here. You can’t see a fucking thing either.’ He bent over the side again, using the pole to give the wreckage another prod. ‘I’ll go below when we’re finished here and do another check.’ ‘Are you positive it was only one container?’ Ægir scanned the heaving sea as it dawned on him that there could be more debris on the way. ‘And where’s the ship that lost it? Surely it’s their duty to recover it or make sure it sinks?’ Thráinn and Halli exchanged mocking glances. ‘It doesn’t work quite like that.’ Thráinn gave Ægir’s shoulder a punch. ‘Not such a dumb question, though. According to NAVTEX there was only one container. If more had fallen overboard, there’d have been another alert. So, no need to worry about that, just concentrate on finding out how we can get rid of this bugger without doing any damage.’ ‘Shouldn’t we simply chance it? Start sailing and see what happens?’ Ægir was desperate to prevent the captain from saying the words he dreaded most; that they should launch a dinghy and try to take a closer look. The deck felt as secure as a padded cell compared to the thought of braving the ferocious sea in a flimsy little tender. He was suddenly aware of the seasickness pill lodged in his throat, refusing to slide down into his stomach. Thráinn shook his head without speaking. Halli vacillated at his side, then spoke up when it appeared that the captain was not going to. ‘I reckon we’ve done what we can from up here. The weather won’t make any difference.’ He tapped his pole lightly on the rail. ‘Why don’t we go inside since this obviously isn’t going to achieve anything? I’ll check the engine room and the bottom deck. If everything’s okay down there, maybe it wouldn’t be such a crazy idea to get going again.’ Ægir was facing into the wind, which made it difficult to see the men’s faces. The gale seemed to be growing stronger and the drops that lashed his face were halfway between rain and hail. Turning away from the weather, he saw one of his daughters watching him through a porthole. The glass was covered with spray so he couldn’t see which of the twins it was; Arna, or Bylgja without her glasses. The little face looked somehow different, more dejected than a child’s face should, unless it was a distortion caused by the streams of water coursing down the glass. He hoped her father’s performance on deck was not the cause of her misery. His heart grew heavy and the bravado that had been fuelling him until now evaporated. ‘I’m all for going inside.’ His voice betrayed neither agitation nor eagerness; he was simply stating a fact. The wind snatched the hood from his head and water trickled down his neck, forming an icy river down his spine. The cold triggered a mental image of the thin hand in the freezer and suddenly he could do no more. ‘I’m completely knackered.’ His words seemed to galvanise Thráinn, though it was possible he had been intending to call it a day anyway. They unclipped the lifelines and stowed the equipment and poles in the box without speaking, too exhausted to yell above the noise of the wind. When they entered the storeroom where the waterproofs were kept, Halli was the first to break the silence. It was as quiet as a church inside after the roaring of the storm. ‘I reckon my waterproofs are even wetter on the inside.’ He wrestled with the trousers, which clung obstinately to the legs of his jeans. ‘Don’t know why I bothered putting them on.’ ‘This stuff’s crap. Useless in these conditions.’ Thráinn beat most of the water from his jacket and hung it up. ‘We’d have been better off wearing this thing.’ He yanked at the leg of a wetsuit hanging from one of the pegs. An oxygen cylinder, mask and buoyancy compensator were stowed underneath. ‘Then you wouldn’t have needed the lifeline either.’ ‘No, thanks.’ Halli grimaced. ‘No one’ll ever talk me into diving. It’s unnatural to breathe underwater.’ ‘Me either.’ Thráinn’s voice sounded as worn and hoarse as it had at the breakfast table. ‘I’ve never understood the attraction.’ Ægir stopped rubbing at the wet patches on his sleeves. At last here was a chance to prove himself braver than these men. ‘I can dive. I even have a certificate.’ He omitted to point out that it was a certificate for beginners, which had involved little more than learning how to expel water from one’s mask. ‘You can dive?’ Thráinn eyed him with an expression he didn’t much like, as if the captain was investing his words with a deeper meaning than he would wish. Halli also stood and gawped at him for a moment, then caught the captain’s eye. ‘Er, yes.’ Ægir hesitated. Didn’t they believe him? Was he so pathetic in their estimation that they believed he was capable of making up a lie like that to impress them? ‘I went on a course a few years ago while on holiday abroad.’ ‘Then isn’t it time you gave it another go?’ Thráinn poked the oxygen cylinder with his toe; it didn’t budge. ‘There’s no point trying to see what’s happening from up on deck but it would be child’s play for a diver. How about it? It should only take a few minutes.’ Once again Ægir was conscious of the pill burning his dry throat. What kind of moron was he? He had absolutely no desire to plunge into that angry, grey sea, which had nothing in common with the warm turquoise waters where he had learnt to dive. Here he would be enfolded in an icy grip about as comforting as the embrace of the body in the freezer. He gulped and the pill shifted infinitesimally further down his throat. He was transported back to the time he had lied to some boys he used to look up to as a kid, by claiming that he could jump between two garage roofs. They had taken him at his word. He had climbed up onto the neighbour’s garage and tried to leap over to the next one, about ten metres away, as he claimed to have done often, aware all the time that he would never make it. He had spent the rest of the summer stuck at home with a broken leg. Had he learnt nothing since then? Ægir’s thoughts returned to that summer as Halli and Thráinn lowered him into the sea. If the worst happened, broken bones would be the least of his problems. His only comfort was the knowledge that he was attached to the rail, so he could be hauled up in case of emergency; a fact he kept repeating to himself in the hope that it would help him master his terror. There had been no lifeline when he leapt off that garage years before. But this consoling thought evaporated the instant his feet dipped into the pitiless sea and the cold began to tighten its iron grip on him. It was no better when his whole body was submerged. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, preventing him from yelling with all the breath in his lungs that he wanted out. He was here now and would simply have to complete his task: even as he told himself it should only take about five minutes, he knew he was lying. Checking the pressure gauge, he saw that there was still enough air in the tank, which was hardly surprising as he had barely had time to use any. Why couldn’t the cylinder have been empty? Then no one could have expected him to do this. He deflated his buoyancy compensator, the BCD, a little and began to sink. Such was the shock of the cold when the surface closed over his skull that he felt as if he’d been hit over the head with a plank. Everything went silent and he realised he was holding his breath, so he concentrated on his respiration for a while. In. Out. In. Out. After a minute or two he was breathing instinctively, which was a relief. Yet it was as much as he could do right now, with the murky grey waves heaving just above his head, to focus on not panicking. He tried to calm himself, this time by closing his eyes and listening to his own breathing magnified by the mask. Feeling slightly better, he resolved to get on with the job, but even as he moved, warning bells began to go off in the most primitive part of his brain. This would end badly. This was bound to end badly. He opened his eyes. ‘I want eight eyeses .’ Orri did not explain his choice of number. Perhaps it was the highest he knew. ‘What do you want with eight eyes, darling?’ Thóra parked in the only free space in front of the nursery school. ‘Isn’t two enough?’ ‘I want to see lots and lots.’ Orri gazed out of the window, his face thoughtful. The view outside offered little to engage the interest of a four-year-old, even if he had quadruple the number of eyes; only some spindly poplars, not yet in bud. ‘I’m not sure you’d see any more with eight eyes than you do with two.’ Thóra got out and opened the door for the little boy. ‘And I bet it would be much harder to get to sleep at night if you had to close all those eyes.’ ‘I want eight eyeses anyway.’ Thóra unfastened his seatbelt and moved aside so that he could climb out. ‘There isn’t any room for them, darling. Your face isn’t big enough.’ ‘Spiders are small but they’ve got eight eyeses .’ That explained it. ‘Spiders have eight legs, not eight eyes.’ The wind shook the poplars, rattling a few dry leaves left over from summer. As she led Orri to the entrance they were met by a crescendo of noise created by dozens of parents tugging anoraks off whimpering children, mingled with the shrieks of those who were already playing inside. When Thóra opened the door, she felt like following Orri’s example and putting her hands over her ears. Stooping down to him, she freed one hand and whispered: ‘It’s a good thing you haven’t got eight ears, sweetheart, or you’d need eight hands.’ As she got back behind the wheel and slammed the car door, she experienced a familiar pang of guilt. Was the child really all right in the care of non-family members? It wasn’t that she suspected the staff were anything but kind – quite the contrary. It was the sheer number of children that worried her; at home there were five of them to see to Orri’s needs but at nursery school the ratio was almost reversed. Still, it couldn’t be helped. She should be grateful for all the time she got to spend with her grandson, unlike many grandmothers. For the moment, at least. Gylfi was still obsessed with the terrible oil rig idea and it was becoming infectious. Only this morning she had heard Sóley asking her brother whether summer jobs were better paid in Norway. And considering how keen Matthew was on the idea, it wouldn’t surprise her if he sent in an application next. ‘Any more news about the body?’ Thóra hung up her jacket, trying to mask her surprise that Bella should not only have arrived punctually but already be seated at her computer in reception. ‘No idea.’ Bella didn’t raise her eyes from the screen. The bluish glow illuminated her broad, chalk-white face, rendering her pallor more corpse-like than ever. ‘But there’s no point wasting any more time thinking about it. I’ve already told you – it’s Karítas.’ ‘Well, perhaps.’ Thóra closed the cupboard and picked up her briefcase. She hadn’t told Bella what the police had disclosed about the possibility that a dead woman had been found on board. She didn’t quite trust her, though as far as she was aware the secretary had never leaked any information. In any case, the details were as yet unconfirmed, so there was no need to give Bella further grounds for believing that Karítas was dead. ‘Why are you here so early?’ Perhaps the secretary was so gripped by the case that she felt compelled to come to work before the day’s regular business began. ‘I owe money on my home Internet account.’ Bella flung Thóra a scornful look. No doubt it was meant to convey that they didn’t pay her a wage fit for a human being. But to earn that, of course, one would have to do some actual work. ‘I’ve put in a bid on eBay that I want to keep an eye on. The time’s nearly up and I don’t want anyone jumping in at the last minute and outbidding me.’ Thóra paused and turned. ‘You say you can’t afford to pay for the Internet, yet you’re always shopping on-line. If I were you I’d concentrate on paying off those little debts first.’ Bella rolled her eyes. ‘They’re not “little”.’ She fiddled with the mouse and puffed out her cheeks. ‘Look, I’m doing deals, okay? If I buy this box for the right price I can sell it on afterwards for a profit. So I’m making money, not spending it.’ ‘Box?’ Thóra was puzzled. ‘What kind of box can you buy and sell for a profit?’ ‘Batman Lego. Arkham Asylum.’ Thóra didn’t trust herself to repeat this. ‘How can it be an investment to buy boxes of Lego?’ Perhaps Bella had finally gone round the bend, but, then again, it was probably no worse than putting one’s money in Icelandic shares if the experience of the last few years was anything to go by. ‘Is it a collector’s item?’ Bella nodded. ‘Yes, and this bloke obviously has no idea what he’s got his hands on.’ She grinned and squinted at the eBay screen. ‘The packaging is intact, all the booklets are included and there isn’t a single piece missing. There were seven figures in the box.’ Thóra gave a tentative smile, unsure whether seven represented an unusually large or small number. ‘Good luck.’ She decided this brief insight into Bella’s world was quite enough to be going on with and went into her office. If she had found a box of Lego at home she would doubtless have handed it to Orri, probably even helped him tear open the packaging. Unable to resist the temptation, she pulled up eBay to see what all the fuss was about. When she finally managed to track down the precious box it turned out to be a real anti-climax. It consisted of a small Lego figure in a Batman costume, a selection of his enemies, and some bricks for building a house or prison. An investment was not the first thing that sprang to mind. Noticing that the auction was due to close in half an hour, she felt tempted to outbid Bella by a fraction, just for the hell of it, but didn’t have the heart. Instead, she knuckled down to work. After spending half an hour studying the laws relating to life insurance and missing persons, and reading the Reykjavík District Court’s verdict in the case of the Icelander who had vanished from a sailing vessel, she was still unsure what to advise Ægir’s parents about how long the process might take. All she could say with confidence was that it would take time and, if no new evidence emerged, the case would probably be delayed by the court. The one encouraging sign was that the life cover had eventually been paid out in the case of the missing Icelander. If she presented sufficiently careful arguments, the same result could probably be achieved for Ægir and Lára. She rang the police to chase up the documents she’d requested and to her delight was informed that after lunch she could pick up all the papers they were currently prepared to release. However, they warned her to ring ahead to avoid a wasted journey as they were rushed off their feet and unsure when they would have time to make the copies. Before hanging up, she asked if there was any new information about the person who had been washed up on shore but was told again that they were not prepared to release a statement as yet. Well, all would be revealed eventually and in the meantime she could occupy herself by working on the letter and report for the insurance company. The document soon filled up with a feeble attempt to explain a set of circumstances so implausible that there was a risk her letter would be dismissed as a bad joke. After wrestling for ages with a recalcitrant sentence, Thóra gave up, stood and stretched. It troubled her that she didn’t know why Ægir and Lára had insured their lives for such a vast sum. Ægir’s stepping into the breach to replace the injured crew member also struck her as highly irregular. When she had spoken to his manager on the phone, it turned out that the man had a vague memory of agreeing to the suggestion in order to cut costs, but when she pressed him for a concrete figure that she could quote in her report, he hesitated. In point of fact, the saving had been negligible; the cost of around a week’s wages for one foreign sailor, possibly with a bonus, and a flight ticket home. Ægir’s boss admitted that this was an insignificant amount in the context, and therefore an unnecessary economy. He concluded by saying what she did not want to hear; that it had been Ægir’s personal decision to make up the shortfall as he had been very keen to make the voyage. In other words, it had been his idea. This was the weakest link in the entire case. It would have been better, from Thóra’s point of view, if Ægir had been given no choice in the matter. As it was, his decision raised the possibility that the family’s disappearance had been premeditated. If she subsequently discovered that their debts were sky high, there was a risk the circumstances would appear even more dubious, so she had better find out the worst as soon as possible. Sitting down again, she picked up the phone to Ægir’s parents and asked them if they could discover how much their son and daughter-in-law owed the bank, as well as any other financial institutions and the tax authorities. The old couple baulked at this, pleading ignorance and raising so many potential objections that in the end Thóra extracted their permission to dig out the information herself. She was unlikely to succeed as they still needed a court order to declare Ægir and Lára dead before the family would be permitted to administer their estate. As a last resort, they might have to search their house for receipts or paying-in slips. Sigrídur, who had answered the phone, received this suggestion with even less enthusiasm, and the upshot was that once again they agreed that Thóra should undertake the task. If it did come to that, Sigrídur asked Thóra to fetch more clothes and toys for Sigga Dögg because she and her husband still couldn’t bring themselves to set foot in their son’s house. Thóra was about to fetch herself a coffee and check on the results of the eBay auction when the phone rang. ‘Some old woman for you.’ Bella’s voice was replaced by that of an older lady who introduced herself as Begga, Karítas’s mother. ‘You came round to see me, remember? You left your card in case I needed to get in touch.’ ‘Of course. Hello. How are you?’ Thóra asked. ‘Oh, fine,’ the woman replied, sounding falsely hearty. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I heard from Karítas yesterday.’ Unable to think of an immediate response, Thóra allowed a silence to develop, which the woman obviously found uncomfortable. ‘You asked after her? I just thought you’d like to know.’ ‘That’s right, I did. And I’m very pleased to hear this news. I’d begun to wonder if something had happened to her, though I didn’t like to mention it.’ Thóra hoped her surprise was not too obvious. She had thought it more than likely that the body purportedly found on board had been that of Karítas, whether because of Bella’s insistence, or because Karítas was the only woman connected to the case apart from Lára. The police had now confirmed that the body which had been washed up was not Lára. Begga let out a short laugh, almost a giggle. ‘To tell the truth, I was getting a bit worried myself. But it turns out she’s absolutely fine and there’s nothing wrong.’ ‘Did you happen to ask if she’d be willing to have a quick chat with me? I can ring her if she’s abroad; I wouldn’t want her to have to pay for the call.’ ‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind that.’ Begga’s confidence rang hollow; evidently she no longer knew what her daughter could or could not afford. ‘I did mention it but unfortunately she couldn’t answer because she had to dash. I’ll bring it up next time I hear from her, which should be soon now that she’s got Internet access again.’ ‘Internet access?’ Thóra wondered if Karítas was in the same mess as Bella but avoided referring to it, so as to preserve the illusion of a luxurious lifestyle that Begga was keen to maintain. ‘Has she been away from civilisation then?’ ‘Yes, she’s been on the move. Trying to get her bearings. You know.’ Thóra didn’t know. When she had problems, she couldn’t afford to take off to the Galapagos to work them out. ‘But she’s home now?’ she said, then added quickly: ‘Which is where?’ Begga tittered again. ‘Oh, I might have known you’d ask that. But, seriously, she’s in Brazil – I think. The subject didn’t actually come up but they own a house there and although it’s autumn now, it’s warmer than here. So I assume that’s where she is.’ ‘Do you have her phone number?’ There was no laughter this time. ‘No. She didn’t tell me and I forgot to ask. She changed her number when this whole thing blew up because the Icelandic press wouldn’t leave her alone. She even got rid of her mobile – can you imagine? But unfortunately I didn’t ask and I don’t actually know if she has a mobile now. It was such a brief conversation, as I said.’ ‘So you didn’t see what number she was calling from?’ ‘Oh, no, she didn’t call. This was on Facebook. Didn’t I explain?’ ‘I must have misunderstood.’ This struck Thóra as decidedly odd. If she hadn’t spoken to her mother for weeks she would almost certainly have found the time to have a proper chat with her, on the phone rather than through social media, though that didn’t necessarily mean anything. On the other hand, if someone was posing as Karítas to throw dust in her mother’s eyes, the conversation would have to be kept as short as possible and naturally could not have been conducted over the phone. The longer the communication, the more chance there would be of making a mistake – particularly if Google Translate was involved. She longed to ask the woman if they had discussed anything personal, anything that no one else would know. But that would only worry her and it would be a pity to undermine her obvious relief over the Facebook exchange. ‘Did she say anything in particular, apart from that she was okay?’ ‘Not really. Just that she was fine and the weather was good. Then she asked about the weather in Iceland. I don’t remember the details.’ ‘No, of course not. It’s great that she’s safe and let’s hope she contacts you again soon. When she does, perhaps you’d remember to mention my request?’ Suddenly it dawned on her – if someone was impersonating Karítas, that person must be an Icelander. Google Translate was all right as far as it went, but a foreigner wouldn’t be able to put together so much as two sentences without betraying him- or herself. ‘I forgot to ask last time, does Karítas have any Icelandic friends who visit her abroad?’ ‘Well, not many. She’s always so rushed off her feet when she’s abroad that she has no time to socialise with friends from before. She hardly even has time for her old mother.’ Begga laughed again, failing miserably to sound amused. ‘The only Icelanders she associates with when she’s travelling are the ones who work – or used to work – for her. If I recall, there was once an Icelander crewing the yacht, and she had an Icelandic maid or PA or whatever you call them. She’s always been well disposed towards her country and people, which is why all the negative press about her and Gulam since the crash is so unfair.’ ‘Do you happen to remember the name of the PA who worked for her? Is she the girl who accompanied her to Portugal?’ Thóra jammed the receiver under her chin and reached for a pen. She turned over the page where she had been writing notes on the case of a family who were about to lose everything they owned. It seemed singularly appropriate as the family’s misfortunes were the result of financial shenanigans by the global super rich – unscrupulous r ogues like Karítas’s husband. ‘Since I can’t speak to Karítas directly, I could try to get hold of the PA. Is she with her in Brazil, by any chance?’ ‘I don’t think they’re together, though Karítas didn’t say. At least, she said she was alone, but then perhaps she doesn’t count the staff – she’s as used to having help as we are to having dishwashers. And I wouldn’t describe my dishwasher as company.’ Thóra was unlikely to start comparing people to household appliances any time soon, but she checked her impulse to retort as much. ‘If she’s not in Brazil, there’s a good chance she’s here in Iceland. That would be even better, and all the more reason for me to try and track her down.’ ‘Well, I don’t know what she’d be able to tell you. The people who work for Karítas and Gulam have to sign a strict confidentiality agreement and I’m sure she wouldn’t want to break it. Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past her . I always found the girl impossible but Karítas couldn’t see it. I even offered to help out myself so she could get rid of her, but Karítas didn’t like to. She didn’t want to take advantage of me or hurt the girl by giving her the sack. She’s always been so kind-hearted.’ Thóra chose to put a different construction on this: Karítas obviously didn’t want her mother tagging along on their trips abroad. ‘You don’t happen to remember her name?’ ‘Aldís. I don’t know her patronymic.’ Well, that was a great help. After Thóra had said goodbye, she discovered that there were 219 women called Aldís in the telephone directory, and no clues to help her identify the right one. At a loss for ideas, she tried logging onto Facebook to see if Karítas would accept a friend request, though Thóra’s own page was neglected and contained little of interest except an album of pictures of her kids that she’d posted when she joined, so there was little reason for Karítas to want to befriend her. With any luck, she would be one of those people who accepted all requests indiscriminately, but if she sifted her friends carefully, Thóra was unlikely to make the grade. Karítas’s page turned out to be public, so Thóra was able to examine it without hindrance. The first thing she checked was whether Aldís was among the hundreds of friends the owner of the page had deigned to accept, but she was nowhere to be found. That told its own story about their relationship; staff obviously didn’t count as friends – any more than dishwashers would. There was little else of interest on the page apart from the photo albums. They contained such a vast number of images that either the woman must employ someone to upload them for her, or else the busy schedule described by her mother was pure fiction. Thóra decided to scroll through them in the hope of finding a picture of Aldís and any other information about her. After several hundred photos, however, her interest waned. They were generally taken at gatherings of smartly dressed people, the women drooping under the weight of their jewellery, their emaciated figures hardly built to carry such burdens. Despite the silver trays of canapés none of the photos showed any of the women eating, whereas the opposite applied to the men; they came in all shapes and sizes, and were often caught by the photographer in the act of stuffing their faces. A few photos featured Karítas either alone or with her husband in more informal surroundings. What they all had in common was that they were carefully posed to show off her figure to the best advantage. She never had a hair out of place or appeared in casual clothes. Even stranger was the fact that although it was clear from the background to many of the pictures that Karítas had travelled all over the world, the photographer apparently had no interest in anything but people. People, people, people and more people. Just as Thóra was about to give up, she came across a picture of Karítas getting dressed with the help of a young woman who was carefully zipping the evening gown up her employer’s long, slender back. Only part of her face was visible but there was no mistaking the fact that the girl looked as if she wished she were elsewhere. The caption read: ‘Late for the charity ball in Vienna – Aldís saves the day!’ Her second name was missing but at least Thóra now knew what the girl looked like. Perhaps her full name would emerge if she checked through the rest of the photos. The prospect wasn’t exactly tempting; she’d had quite enough of this display of narcissism, so she picked up the phone and put a call through to Bella. As an Internet addict, the secretary should be grateful for the assignment. Before raising the subject, Thóra asked about the Lego set but learnt that some bastard had jumped in at the last minute and massively outbid Bella. ‘Oh, dear. Better luck next time.’ Thóra hoped this was what Bella wanted to hear. All she got back was a grunt that was impossible to interpret. Thóra received the same reaction to her request that Bella trawl through Karítas’s Facebook page. When she hung up, Thóra still wasn’t sure whether the secretary had agreed to the task, but then that was par for the course. The photo of Karítas dressing with Aldís’s assistance was still up on her screen when Thóra turned back. She stared at it, sighing in exasperation and slowly shaking her head over the whole affair. Although she might have been reading too much into what she had seen and heard, she had come to the conclusion that Karítas was a nasty, social-climbing snob. She had risen from rags to unimaginable riches and handled the transition badly – unless she had always been a bit of a bitch, which was certainly the impression Bella gave. On closer inspection, Thóra found the expression of the girl who was taking care not to pinch her employer’s skin in the zip even more informative. At first glance her face betrayed irritation and suppressed anger at having to fuss over this spoilt princess. When Thóra zoomed in on the image, however, she saw something more telling: Aldís’s expression revealed not just anger but hatred. Visibility in the depths was minimal. The beam of Ægir’s diving torch swung around wildly as he juggled it in his inexpert hands. The constant motion of the surrounding water seemed menacing, as if anything could happen. His one experience of sea diving had had nothing in common with this sense of infinite vastness; on that occasion he had felt fine and succeeded for the most part in forgetting the fragility of his existence. But now his heart was hammering in his chest and he had to focus on every breath he took, on remembering to inhale sufficient air through the mouthpiece and telling himself that everything would be fine as long as he kept his head. But he couldn’t make himself relax. With every loud breath, impregnated with the taste of plastic, he grew increasingly panicky. He hoped the sight of the surface just above his head would have a calming effect, but the light aroused in him an uncontrollable desire to breathe through his nose. He looked down again so quickly that he felt the bones of his neck creak in the numbing cold. The sound was muffled, and seemed to travel through the water at a snail’s pace. Why hurry? No one was listening. The yacht too emitted a constant creaking, perhaps caused by tension in the aluminium, and this was even less likely to soothe Ægir’s taut nerves. What if there was a problem with the ship’s hull? Would they insist that he went down again with tools to repair the damage? He pushed away this thought by squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling three times. As the air bubbles rose past his ears he envied them for being on their way to the surface. Then he opened his eyes wide and steeled himself. The sooner he set to work, the sooner he would escape this hell. He tightened his grip on the torch, doing his best to hold the beam steady. Once he had got the knack, he swept the light back and forth in search of the container that must be somewhere nearby. Thráinn had not wanted to lower him too close in case his equipment snagged on it or was damaged. Mindful of the captain’s words, Ægir wondered what would happen if the air cylinder caught on the container when he swam closer to investigate. Would he be able to free himself? It was one thing to don the gear with help on deck; another to remove it underwater in a frenzy. The beam landed on the floating container and Ægir kicked himself cautiously forwards using his fins. He did what he could to illuminate the entire structure but the water was cloudy and his torch inadequate for the task. Although he reminded himself that everything appeared much larger through his diving mask, it was nevertheless clear that he had underestimated the size of the container from on deck. The captain had known what he was talking about; there was every danger that the massive steel crate would smash the propeller or rudder if it collided with them. The container was leaning against the ship, as if hooked onto it by the corner. One of the double doors at the end had opened and was hanging down, while the other still appeared to be tightly shut. Doubtless that was why the thing hadn’t sunk; air must be trapped in the corner on which they had been expending most of their energy. And when he saw the structure from the side, it was easy to see why they hadn’t been able to push it away; while they had been shoving against the part that was visible from above, the lower edge of the same side had been wedged against the hull. Even from this new perspective, he found it hard to judge whether it would be safe to set the yacht in motion again with the wreckage still clinging to her side; he would have to consider the bigger picture. Although he himself would not like to be dragged over the rough steel surface of this huge contraption with nothing but his flimsy wetsuit for protection, he thought the ship would probably not sustain too much damage from metal grinding against metal. So as long as it didn’t hit the propeller or rudder, they might be able to risk sailing full steam ahead. He was moving his legs with slow deliberation, yet found himself approaching the container much faster than he liked. Suddenly he had to free one of his hands from the torch to stop himself hitting the side. His palm made contact with icy steel while his legs kicked frantically against the current. The open door stirred beside him as if in a gentle breeze. Shining his light into the black opening, he glimpsed brown cardboard boxes, still marked for the recipient with white sticky labels that were beginning to peel off. Ægir shifted his hand to get a better grip. Foolish though it was, he was afraid of being sucked into the container, afraid of perishing inside it with the goods that would never now reach their intended destination. He jerked the line round his waist to reassure himself that it still connected him to the world of the living. It was still securely fixed, but this did nothing to raise his spirits; the line would be of little use if he became trapped down here. Still, he was not here to investigate the contents of the container or to let his imagination run away with him; he was meant to be inspecting the hull for holes and searching for a way to detach this vast piece of flotsam – a feat even the powerful current had been unable to achieve. He felt like an ant faced with moving a mountain. He made a half-hearted effort to drag the container away from the side, but although the open door stirred a little, the rest did not budge. It would take a stronger man than him – a team of men, more like. He had nothing to brace against either, which rendered his effort pitifully feeble. At the second attempt he put more of his strength into it, but the result was the same, the door flapping slightly but the rest not shifting so much as a centimetre away from the hull. It didn’t help that he had to hold onto the torch at the same time, but he didn’t dare search for a fastening on his belt to which he could attach it. All his attention was fixed on avoiding the sharp metal edges of the crate. Then, out of the blue, he had a brainwave that was both simple and obvious. If he opened the other door, the container would fill with water and the air that was holding it afloat would disperse. Then the bugger should sink and they would be able to continue on their way. The only difficulty might lie in unfastening the bolts, especially if they had warped. He would have to dive down to the handle in the middle of the door and undo the catches on the locking bars. The task shouldn’t be beyond him, but Ægir couldn’t work out how he was to achieve it with one hand while the other was occupied with holding him steady. He was still too terrified of being sucked inside to let go for a moment. As it was, his grip on the door would be weakened by having to clamp the torch under one arm. He would just have to work it out as he went along. Deflating his buoyancy compensator a little, he descended until he reached the handle, which fortunately looked in fairly good shape. Then he gripped the torch under his arm and hung on for dear life to the side of the door. His feet drifted slowly into the black aperture and he kicked with all his might to pull them out. To prevent this from happening again, he took the time to adjust his position until he could press his body against the closed door. That way he would be supported by the metal while he worked. It was a struggle to turn the lever one-handed, without the advantage of body weight. The muscles of his upper arms ached, already sore from wielding the poles earlier that morning. He felt as if that had been hours ago, if not yesterday, but then every minute of the dive was like an hour on the surface. Taking a deep breath, he exerted all his strength. The handle screeched and to his wild elation it yielded and turned all the way. He had managed to unlock the door. But his joy was short-lived and his mind and body froze at the sudden realisation that the container might sink before he managed to swim clear. The door would fly open and the wreckage would plunge into the depths, taking him with it, screaming into his mouthpiece. In desperation, Ægir shoved himself off as hard as he could and eventually felt reassured that nothing of the kind was going to happen. His fear had probably been unnecessary, but it had opened his eyes to the potential hazard. He swam cautiously back and pressed his body against the door. He tried to tug it towards him but no matter how hard he strained, nothing worked. The resistance of the water and weight of the door made it impossible for him to budge it. There was no point continuing; he was quite simply incapable of achieving the feat on his own. But disappointment was a luxury he could not afford. He must finish the task he had undertaken; even if he couldn’t free the container from the hull, he still had to ascertain whether it would be safe to set the yacht in motion again. To do so, he would have to swim along and underneath the keel. Ægir checked his pressure gauge and saw that it registered over a hundred bars, but all that told him was that he was fifty bars away from the needle dipping into the red, at which point he had to return to the surface. He shook inwardly with idiotic laughter at the thought that he hadn’t a clue what the figures meant. The fact that he was no longer conscious of the cold – hardly a good sign – filled him with even more mirth. But if he laughed aloud he would spit out the mouthpiece and drown, and this had the effect of sobering him. He deflated his BCD again and sank deeper. There was no point wasting time; the sooner he swam underneath, the sooner he would be restored to his family and his proper element. The idea of swimming on his back struck him as most appealing because that way he would be able to look up and wouldn’t risk catching his air cylinder on the bottom of the container, but he wasn’t sure it would be physically possible. To be on the safe side, he descended further than necessary; he had no desire to go down this deep but it would at least mean he was further from the dangers above. His ears popped and he pinched his nose to relieve the pressure. Sore ears would be a small price to pay compared to what he faced now, but he would still rather avoid the ill-effects. He wanted nothing to spoil his euphoria once he was safely back on board. In the event, the air tank turned out to be too heavy. Despite all his efforts to swim on his back, he kept rolling over and losing control. He would have to reconcile himself to gliding along on his stomach, looking up at regular intervals to examine the keel for damage. Every time he did glance up, the adrenaline pumped through his veins at the realisation that he was rising ever higher and closer to the container. But by concentrating on swimming a little deeper, he managed to steer clear of it. All of a sudden he jerked to a halt. At first he thought he had been run through by a steel spar or sharp splinter of wood and flung out his limbs, unable to control himself. He floated upwards in the commotion, breathing rapidly, unable to see for the bubbles all around him. When his air cylinder bumped into the container he froze momentarily before managing to get a grip on himself. The realisation that he was still holding the torch brought him to his senses and he worked out that the reason for his abrupt halt had been the tightening of the line around his waist. So he hadn’t gone completely mad. With unsteady fingers, he transferred the torch to his left hand and used it to fend himself off while he fumbled at his waist with his right hand. The lifeline was taut, which meant either that they wanted him to come up or that it had entangled with some impediment on the way. Clearly, he could go no further. One option would be to unfasten himself from the line and continue without it, but it would be difficult to swim back against the current. If the men on deck didn’t spot him, he might drift away and never be found again. It was out of the question. Life was too precious – both his own and the lives of his family. Who gave a damn what the others thought of his performance? Just let them try and do better themselves. He craned his neck as far as he could to peer into the distance. The beam couldn’t penetrate the murky water, yet he glimpsed what looked like the end of the container and darkness beyond it, which meant that he had in fact made it all the way. This cheered him a little. Now no one could find fault with his attempt to solve the problem. The thought lent him courage and he decided to try to ease the container away from the hull from underneath. Swimming to a point he guessed was somewhere near the middle, he positioned himself so that he could brace against the ship’s keel and then pull at the lower edge of the crate with all his might. He trapped the torch between his thighs and bent double so that his feet were on the keel and his hands clamped around the edge of the container. Then he tried to straighten out his body while pushing against the metal, but the wreckage still wouldn’t budge. His further attempts produced nothing but a dawning sense of surprise at his own determination. He had forgotten everything else in the struggle but reality returned with a jolt when he finally abandoned the endeavour. His sense of time was muddled; he hadn’t a clue how long he had been wrestling with the crate or how many minutes he had been underwater. His pressure g auge registered sixty bars and he felt a sickening stab of fear. He had probably used up too much oxygen and would have to return to the surface immediately. As calmly as he could, he turned and began to battle against the current, grateful now to have the container overhead since it made his progress easier. But the torch was a nuisance as he really needed both hands free, so he tried to tie it to his belt in such a way that it would shine upwards. That way he would still be able to see but would be in a position to grab any available handhold on the bottom of the container. Too scared to release his grip on the metal, he fumbled one-handed at his belt, with disastrous consequences. Finally, believing that he had secured the torch, he risked letting it go, only for it to drop away from him. Panic seized him as he watched the beam descending slowly and inexorably through the gloomy water. Suddenly it illuminated a white arm floating in the depths below him. The iron taste of blood filled Ægir’s mouth; he had never experienced such a powerful impulse to look away but he couldn’t. For an instant the torch beam lit up the water around the arm and he glimpsed part of a body; a thin, twisted torso clad in drab-coloured material that billowed gently like a jellyfish. The head was at an odd angle to the body, so Ægir could only make out the profile. But it was enough to see the eye staring through the tendrils of long hair that waved upwards as if reaching out to him. Everything went black, and Ægir felt the blood flooding into his fingers and toes. Instinctively, he began to fumble his way, panic-stricken, in the direction he had been heading. He was moving probably twice as fast as before and for all he knew he had not taken a single breath during the entire manoeuvre – or flight – that brought him unexpectedly to the end of the container. He sucked the mouthpiece hard and the chemical taste of compressed air filled his mouth as it poured into his lungs. Vile as it was, it felt so good that he allowed himself the luxury of taking several more breaths before inflating his BCD with steady fingers and beginning his ascent. His relief was so great that he almost lost control and it took all his willpower not to rip off his mask, he was so desperate to breathe naturally again. When his head finally broke the surface, he felt an uncontrollable urge to scream. The rope ladder was still hanging in its place and Ægir clung for dear life to the bottom rung as he spat out his mouthpiece and fully inflated his BCD to keep him afloat. Only as he hauled himself out of the sea did he remember the weight of the air cylinder and for an instant wondered if he would make it. The way up offered life, while there was nothing below but a cold grave, so up he would go. He flexed the chilled muscles of his upper arms and heaved himself upwards groaning with the pain of it. Had the woman he saw in the water been a hallucination? Now that he had escaped the ocean, it all seemed so unreal that he was no longer sure. Yet it must have happened. ‘This is the best beer I’ve ever tasted. Pass me another.’ Ægir emptied the bottle as he sat there wrapped in a blanket, which seemed to be having no effect. He didn’t usually drink before midday but now all he wanted was to get plastered. Strange though it might seem, the chilled beer was exactly what he needed and it made no difference that he shook like a leaf with every gulp. His body did not seem particularly grateful, but he couldn’t give a damn; any more than he had cared about the fuss Lára had made. She had freaked out when they came inside and explained why he was in such a state. She exclaimed that he had betrayed her and the girls by taking such a decision without consulting her, and generally behaving like a selfish shit, either because he was an adrenaline junky or out of a pathetic desire to please the others. And so it went on. In his present state there was no question of persuading her to listen to reason; he couldn’t move from the galley chair where he sat shivering. Keen not to miss anything, the girls had remained behind when their mother stormed out. They were sitting opposite him, their large dark eyes filled with wonder. It was a sign of the state he was in that he didn’t mind their witnessing such an unpleasant scene. The one part he was determined to keep to himself was the woman; it would be too difficult to explain through chattering teeth. In any case, it had almost certainly been a hallucination brought on by excessive loss of body heat, and he didn’t want to detract from his own heroism by telling a story that would make them shake their heads and roll their eyes when he wasn’t looking. He had got out alive – nothing else mattered. For now. ‘Are you cold, Daddy?’ Bylgja received a jab from Arna’s elbow for asking such a stupid question. Her glasses were knocked askew and she winced. ‘I’m so cold that if I tried to pee, it would come out as ice cubes.’ Ægir took another swig of beer from the newly opened bottle that Halli had passed him. ‘Did you see any fish?’ Arna leant forward over the table and rested her head in her hands, stretching her eyes into slits. ‘You should have caught them.’ ‘I didn’t see any fish. It’s too cold even for them. They’re all dead of cold, I reckon.’ Thráinn did not look amused. He stood on the other side of the galley, propped against the sink with arms folded. ‘I’m not sure I follow. You managed to undo the bolts but failed to open the door? And you saw no sign of any damage?’ Ægir nodded, his head jerking in time to the shaking of his body. ‘No. I couldn’t see any holes. There were scratches all over the place, but none of them looked deep enough to be dangerous. I unlocked the door but I couldn’t open it, not on my own. Perhaps it would be possible to attach a rope to it and drag it open with a concerted effort from on deck. I don’t know. But it can’t be done from below.’ ‘Not by the likes of you, at any rate.’ Halli winked at Thráinn. Spray had plastered the white hair to his forehead. Loftur, who had joined them while Ægir was underwater, added with a sneer: ‘I thought everything was supposed to be so light underwater. Obviously not light enough.’ ‘Oh, shut up. If you’re such tough guys how come you’re not strapping on tanks yourselves and going to sort it out?’ Ægir took another swig. Losing his temper had warmed him up a little. ‘I’m just describing the situation. I haven’t a clue how to solve the problem. You’re the sailors. You sort out this mess instead of giving me a hard time.’ ‘You’ve had enough beer.’ Thráinn pushed himself suddenly upright. ‘Why don’t you go and talk to your wife? She didn’t look too happy when she ran out. Then you’d better take a hot shower and get into bed. It’s the only way to beat the cold.’ ‘Mummy went mad.’ Arna grinned. ‘She won’t want to talk to you yet.’ It was obvious that Arna wanted to stay and listen to the grown-ups quarrelling. It didn’t often happen, so the opportunity was too good to miss. ‘I’d wait if I was you.’ Bylgja looked reproachful. ‘She wasn’t angry, Daddy, just upset. When you were away so long, she thought you’d fallen in the sea. She looked out of the window and could only see two men – not you, Daddy – and she thought you’d drowned. She sent us below so we couldn’t watch. I wish I’d seen you come up again.’ Ægir discovered that his lips were dry. When he ran his tongue over them, he tasted salt. ‘Mummy’ll get over it.’ ‘I want to try being that cold.’ Arna leant even further over the table. ‘If I ate a ton of ice cream and chewed loads of ice cubes, would I be as cold as you?’ ‘Yes, I’m sure you would. But I don’t recommend it.’ ‘There is no ice cream.’ Thráinn took the rest of the six-pack from Halli and put it back in the fridge. ‘There is,’ Arna retorted obstinately, unwilling to bow to the captain’s authority. To her eyes he was just another bossy grown-up. ‘I saw ice lollies in the freezer when we put our food in there. Can I have one, Daddy?’ ‘No.’ Ægir put his beer down with a clunk. Her question had jolted him back to reality and the predicament they were in. ‘Let’s go below and find Mummy. Thráinn’s right.’ He met the captain’s eye, then his gaze travelled onwards to the larder door. At that point, the effects of the alcohol wore off completely. The padlock was lying on the floor and looked as if it had been clipped through. It had been intact and locked when they went out on deck. He coughed. ‘Have you been fiddling with the lock?’ He nodded as casually as he could towards the larder. The three men shook their heads. ‘Somehow I doubt Lára or the girls did that.’ Arna and Bylgja stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Did what?’ ‘Nothing.’ Ægir watched Thráinn walk over and open the door. He caught a quick glimpse as the captain slipped inside and gasped when he saw the state the larder was in. The freezer lid was open and the food that had been in the top of the chest was scattered all over the floor. Ægir had no need to see inside the freezer to realise that the body was missing. The captain’s expression was enough. What the hell was going on? Actually, he knew where the body had ended up; the woman in the sea had been no hallucination. What an idiot he was not to have mentioned it immediately; now his story would seem both unconvincing and suspicious. Who could have thrown the body overboard and why? It wasn’t him, and presumably neither Thráinn nor Halli could have done it without the other noticing. Which did not leave many people. He stared at Loftur, who immediately averted his eyes. The dog-eared bundle of photocopies on the desk in front of her showed evidence of rough handling. When she unfolded them she discovered flakes of tobacco and fluff that suggested they had been stuffed into a less than pristine anorak pocket. ‘Thanks for bringing these. It must be difficult getting around in weather like this with your leg in plaster.’ She smoothed out the papers and had a quick leaf through them. At first sight everything appeared to be present. She looked up at Snævar and smiled. ‘Did you have much trouble getting hold of them?’ ‘Oh, no, not really. I looked through my junk and found these hospital forms. Halli must have chucked them in my bag when he packed it for me. I fetched some documents from the Social Insurance office too, in case you needed something official. I’ve nothing better to do at the moment. They probably won’t be much use to you; they’re just payments linked to my European Health Insurance card, but there’s also a bit about what they did at the hospital and so on. Anyway, you’ve got them now. Give me a shout if there’s anything else I can do for you. It makes a nice change to be busy.’ ‘You obviously won’t be going to sea for a while. Do you have any idea when your leg will have healed?’ ‘No, but hopefully in a couple of weeks.’ Snævar shrugged, and the stretched-out neckline of his garish jumper gaped to reveal a white T-shirt. He was wearing dirty tracksuit bottoms that in no way matched the shapeless, bobbly acrylic jumper. His dark hair, though shaven to within a millimetre of his scalp, smelt as though it was in need of a wash, and a close encounter with a razor around the jawline wouldn’t have hurt him either. Thóra tried to avert her attention from the young man’s slovenly appearance. After all, the way he looked now was probably not habitual. It must be difficult to find trousers with bottoms wide enough to fit over the plaster cast, and taking a shower couldn’t be easy either. ‘I go to sea every other month. The accident happened during my time off, so I’d better be mobile again before my next tour or I’ll be off work for another two months. Unless I can make a deal with the bloke who works opposite me.’ Peering under the desk, Thóra noticed that his plaster cast was wrapped in a plastic bag from Ríkid, the state-run off-licence. ‘Well, you certainly won’t get far like that.’ ‘No.’ He smiled briefly without showing his teeth. ‘Do you know whose body it was on the beach?’ Evidently he did not have much time for small talk. Thóra understood his concern; his friend Halldór was one of the few likely candidates. ‘Yes. It wasn’t your friend.’ Earlier that morning Ægir’s father had rung to let her know that the police had told him the body was not that of his son or any other family member. The postmortem had confirmed this and the person in question’s next of kin had been notified. Since a statement would be issued to the press at midday, Thóra thought it wouldn’t matter if she revealed the man’s name to Snævar. ‘It was the mate, Loftur.’ She observed his relief, followed almost instantly by apparent shame at his selfishness; naturally it was still a tragedy, whoever was involved. ‘You didn’t know him?’ Thóra asked, though the answer was obvious from his reaction. ‘No. Never met him, as far as I know. But I’m not very good with faces. We may have worked on a short tour together, though I don’t think so.’ ‘So you didn’t see him in Lisbon?’ ‘No. Nor the captain either. I had my accident before they arrived, though of course I’d have met them if things had gone according to plan. I think I know who Loftur was, though. At least, I’ve heard people talk about him.’ ‘Oh? What have you heard?’ ‘Nothing bad, far from it. I forget exactly what it was but nothing like that. Just that he was a bloody good ship’s mate. He passed his certificate quite young, if I remember right.’ Snævar raised his eyes to the ceiling in an effort to recall. ‘That was it – they said it was a pity he turned his back on the fishing industry because he was very promising. He used to work on the same trawler as me but quit just before I started. He got on the wrong side of the first mate or something stupid like that, and people were wondering what he’d do instead. That’s all, I think.’ ‘Did your friend Halli know him?’ Snævar shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so, though I can’t be sure.’ He craned his head so far back that Thóra had a momentary fear that his Adam’s apple would pop out of his neck. ‘God, it’s all so awful.’ ‘It certainly is.’ Thóra watched him return his head to its normal position, wondering if people like him coped better with grief than those who wore their hearts on their sleeves. But going by Snævar’s expression, she thought maybe the silent type found it harder. ‘I suppose you realise that this greatly reduces the chances of finding the others alive.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘None of them are alive. I don’t know how anyone could believe they were.’ Thóra folded her arms. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s incredible what people can endure.’ Snævar shook his head. ‘There’s no chance they’re drifting somewhere in a lifeboat, if that’s what you think. It would have capsized long ago.’ ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Although she did not say as much, Thóra thought Snævar’s response to the news that the dead man was Loftur indicated that he too was holding out hope that Halli was alive. But he had a point; they must all be dead by now. The official search had been called off; there were no more helicopters hovering over the sea where the yacht had passed. Instead they were combing the beaches – in search of the dead, not the living. ‘When did you last hear from your friend Halldór? Ægir and his family called Iceland as the yacht was leaving port in Lisbon, but nothing was heard from them after that. Did Halli get in touch with you after the voyage had begun?’ ‘No,’ Snævar said without hesitating. ‘Before he left he brought me painkillers, Coke, sweets, and so on. Then we said goodbye at the hotel the day he was supposed to sail. I didn’t hear from him again after that. He was great; bought me a plane ticket home and all that. We didn’t have our laptops with us so I couldn’t do it myself but luckily there was a computer in the hotel lobby. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to repay him; I don’t like to get in touch with his family yet in case they’re still hoping he’ll be found alive. I’d rather wait a bit. But I’m afraid I’ll forget and then they won’t understand what’s going on when his credit card bill arrives.’ Thóra had noticed the travel documents as she leafed through the pile of papers, and quickly turned back to them. She found a receipt from Expedia for a flight to London and another onwards to Iceland. The name of the card holder was Halldór Thorsteinsson. She showed it to him. ‘I’ll return this when I’ve taken a copy and then you’ll have the receipt to remind you.’ She put the papers down again. ‘One question that might sound a bit daft. Did Halldór have a mobile phone? Or a camera?’ Snævar looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘Of course he had a phone. But I’m sure he didn’t have a camera. At least, I never saw him carry one. If he’d wanted to take a picture, he’d have used his phone. Though why he’d have wanted to take one, I don’t know.’ He tilted his head on one side. ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘Oh, it’s only – they didn’t find any phones or cameras on board, which seems rather odd. If they abandoned ship in a hurry you’d have thought at least one of them would have left their phone behind, not to mention if they were washed overboard.’ She changed the subject. ‘Did it never occur to you to sail home yourself? To take the boat instead of flying, so you didn’t have to hang around in the hotel? Your leg wouldn’t have prevented you from taking your turn on the bridge, would it?’ ‘I wouldn’t have been much use for the first forty-eight hours but after that I could have helped out, as you say. I went home after three days and the flight was just as tiring as if I’d taken a watch on board. It’s a nightmare travelling in this state but it’s not as if there’s any physical effort involved in sitting on the bridge. Once I was alone I remember being pissed off that Halli and I hadn’t slept on the yacht instead of wasting money on a hotel. I was sure they’d have given me a ride home if I’d been on board already. Though now I’m thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t, as you can imagine.’ ‘Was sleeping on board an option?’ ‘Yes, why not? We had the keys and no one would have complained. We were supposed to start making her ready and running checks on the engines and equipment before the others arrived, so I can’t see why anyone would have kicked up a fuss.’ ‘You didn’t ring the captain to suggest it?’ ‘No. He was so pissed off that I couldn’t face talking to him. I’ve learnt it’s pointless trying to reason with people when they’re angry. Halli did mention it in passing but the captain wasn’t having it. Anyway, by then it had been decided that the family should go instead. I have to admit I’m glad I didn’t try harder – the pain in my leg is nothing compared to what Halli must have gone through.’ Thóra brought out a file containing the documents that the police had released to her late the previous day. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask your opinion on something.’ She showed him the file. ‘This is the route that was programmed into the yacht’s GPS.’ She ran her finger along a line that followed a rather circuitous course between Lisbon and Reykjavík. Then she turned over the next two pages, which showed, on the one hand, a blown-up picture of the route within Icelandic territorial waters and, on the other, some circles the yacht had made not far from her destination. ‘I can’t get hold of the man who gave me this but the way I understand it, the yacht started sailing in circles around about here.’ She pointed at the first blown-up page. ‘I take this to be the date, which would mean that she made these manoeuvres about twenty-four hours before she careered into the harbour. Have you any inkling what might be going on here?’ Snævar, looking surprised, studied the chart. ‘I suppose it’s possible that the autopilot developed a fault or the rudder jammed, though that’s pretty unlikely. The captain would never have let her sail round and round like that before he took action. It’s more likely that someone fell overboard and they were looking for him. Or her. Or them.’ ‘That’s what occurred to me too. It’s a pity the printout doesn’t say who it was.’ ‘The navigation system isn’t that sophisticated.’ ‘I was joking.’ Thóra turned over to the enlarged chart. ‘What about the final part of the voyage? That looks odd too. If I have this right, there’s a change of course as the yacht approaches Iceland and she’s brought in very close to the shore at Grótta before heading back out to sea where she sails in another large circle before making a beeline for Reykjavík harbour. This is a blown-up picture of her final movements.’ Snævar pored over the chart. ‘What’s this?’ He pointed to the text at the top of each page. ‘I’m guessing they’re the dates which tell us when the course was plotted on the GPS.’ Snævar seemed to agree. ‘In other words, someone must have been alive on board as the yacht approached land?’ He pointed at the date on the second chart. ‘Yes. If my interpretation’s correct.’ Thóra ran her finger along the line of the ship’s course. ‘Is it possible that this person abandoned ship near Grótta and went ashore there? Do you know anything about the currents in that area?’ ‘Jesus.’ Snævar ran both hands through his hair with such force that he pulled his eyes out of shape. ‘Jesus.’ ‘I know.’ Thóra’s initial reaction had been the same, not least because it would considerably complicate her case. How was she to persuade a judge to rule that Ægir and Lára were dead if there was a chance they could have sneaked ashore? In fact, any of the people on board could probably have abandoned the yacht at that stage. All of them, even. Except Loftur, of course. Unless they had all lost their heads for some reason and drowned right by the shore. But that did not tally with the fact that Loftur’s body had turned up on the Reykjanes peninsula, some forty-five kilometres to the south. It could hardly have been carried all the way there from Grótta, which was a small isthmus crowned by a lighthouse that jutted out from the coast of Seltjarnarnes, Reykjavík’s westernmost suburb. ‘What’s the sea like off Grótta? Is it possible to swim ashore there?’ ‘Yes. No. I really don’t know. It would depend how strong a swimmer you were and what the sea was like. You’d have to ask someone who’s experienced at swimming in the sea.’ Snævar was apparently still having trouble getting his head around this latest development. ‘Jesus. I wouldn’t trust myself to do it.’ ‘How about in a diving suit?’ He smiled. ‘You’re asking the wrong man. I tried it once and it wasn’t for me. I’d never dive in the sea round Iceland, though maybe it wouldn’t be a problem for a pro.’ ‘Another question. Is there any reason to sail close to land there? To avoid reefs, shallows or currents, that sort of thing?’ ‘Nope. None at all.’ ‘Okay.’ Thóra ran her finger round the loop that extended from near the lighthouse at Grótta and out into Faxaflói bay to the north of Reykjavík. ‘What about this? Do you have any idea why the yacht didn’t make straight for port?’ Snævar shook his head. ‘No. I can’t make head or tail of it. It’s crazy. Completely crazy. Unless someone fell overboard again. But that wouldn’t explain this loop because the circle’s too wide and doesn’t go back over the same area. It’s just mental.’ ‘That’s what I thought.’ Thóra pulled the file back towards her. ‘Could someone who doesn’t know how to use the system enter the coordinates? Does it work like the GPS in a car?’ ‘No. That is, the GPS works the same but you’d need to know how to set the autopilot – the specific system they had on board. If not, you wouldn’t be able to make it do tricks like that. Well, unless the strange manoeuvres were caused by the fact that the person fiddling with the system didn’t know how it worked. I suppose that’s possible.’ ‘Yes.’ Thóra was thoughtful. ‘What about someone who has a pleasure craft certificate? Would he know how to use the system?’ Snævar snorted contemptuously. ‘No. They learn sod all on those courses. They don’t even teach them about magnetic variation when they’re plotting their coordinates on a chart. You would have as much chance of working it out as some genius with a pleasure craft certificate.’ That ruled out Ægir, as well as Lára and the twins, of course. Not to mention Loftur. Which only left Thráinn and Halli. Google Translate had its uses. Thóra had tried typing in the comments that the doctor or nurse had scribbled on what she took to be Snævar’s admission form for the casualty ward in Lisbon. One box turned out to be marked Description of Incident , and when to the best of her ability she typed the text it contained into the translation program, her curiosity was piqued. It emerged that, when being admitted, the seriously intoxicated patient had claimed that the person who pushed him had been an Icelander. He had not known who it was and when asked if it had been his companion, Halldór, he had denied it and begun to ramble incoherently. The doctor’s verdict was to postpone reporting the incident to the police until the patient was sober enough to make sense. Since there was no further mention of this in the accompanying documents, it was impossible to tell what the outcome had been. Snævar had not said a word about his assailant being an Icelander when describing the events to her. Thóra rang when she guessed he would have reached home, to avoid catching him in a bus or taxi. People tended not to talk as freely on the phone when strangers were listening. After apologising for bothering him again so soon, she described the contents of the hospital report. ‘Do you remember it at all?’ ‘Yes. Vaguely.’ Snævar sounded rather embarrassed. ‘Do they quote you correctly? That you were pushed by an Icelander?’ ‘Well… That’s what I thought at the time, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it. I was pissed out of my mind. But I’m fairly sure the man who pushed me said something in Icelandic just before the blow sent me flying.’ ‘Surely it must have been Halldór? You were out together that evening, weren’t you?’ ‘No way. He was inside paying the bill. I’d gone outside for some fresh air – I was totally wasted, like I said. So it definitely can’t have been him.’ Thóra was silent for a moment. ‘Was it reported to the police?’ ‘No. I couldn’t face getting involved with the police in a foreign country, and nothing would have come of it anyway. What were they supposed to do? Take his fingerprints from my jacket?’ ‘Was the hospital satisfied with that?’ ‘Yes, they were just relieved to be able to discharge me. Halldór stayed with me overnight and in the morning I got him to lie to them that I was going home that day. I couldn’t be bothered to go back for a check-up either. They’d sorted out my leg and there was nothing more to do but wait until the bones knitted. They swallowed the story and gave him the forms to hand in at home.’ ‘Then why have I got the originals? Haven’t you been to see a doctor since you got back?’ ‘No.’ Snævar sounded even more sheepish than he had at the beginning of the conversation. Thóra felt like his mother. ‘I keep meaning to go.’ ‘You should do it. I’ll photocopy these and return the originals to you. I could have them dropped off at your GP’s surgery if you like.’ But Snævar asked her to give the papers to him and Thóra suspected he would delay the doctor’s appointment as long as possible, probably until it was time to remove the cast. Or perhaps tough guys like him removed it themselves. ‘Tell me another thing: do you have any idea when Loftur and Thráinn arrived in Lisbon?’ Given that there were no direct flights between Iceland and Portugal, it was unlikely there would have been many Icelandic tourists around at that time of year. And it was extremely implausible that Ægir and his family would have attacked a fellow countryman who they didn’t even know. ‘They were supposed to arrive three or four days after us, I think.’ ‘When was that?’ Thóra dug out the copy of Snævar’s flight ticket to Lisbon and compared the date with that of his hospital visit. They were three days apart. ‘The day after your accident?’ There was a pause as Snævar apparently searched his memory, then he replied: ‘Yes, I have a feeling it was the day after.’ He paused again. ‘I can’t remember the dates for the life of me. Wait a minute. Yes, they were supposed to arrive on the afternoon of 3rd March. So that was probably the day I broke my leg.’ Thóra checked the date on the hospital admission forms: 3rd March. So it was conceivable that either Thráinn or Loftur might have been involved. She decided to ask Bella to type the hospital report into Google Translate in case the nursing staff had recorded any further details about Snævar’s statement. Since his own memory of the events was hazy in the extreme, they might have more luck in finding out the story there. She thanked him and rang off. All this was very bad news for her case; there would be no call now to refer to the hospital report or attach it to her summary as she had intended. In fact, she would be better off persuading Snævar to go to his GP and get a signed letter stating that his leg was broken and avoiding all mention of the mysterious Icelander who might have caused his fall. If the insurance company got their hands on the report, they could well use it to concoct an explanation for Ægir and Lára’s disappearance. It would be a simple matter to claim that they had planned it all in advance and that their decision to take the boat home was no coincidence: Ægir must have pushed the man deliberately in order to take his place on board. Highly improbable as it sounded, the theory couldn’t be ruled out entirely. Oh, why was nothing ever simple? Thóra sat up and stretched. Perhaps there were jobs for lawyers on the oil rig. A twitching tail was the only sign of life from the cat on the windowsill. She glared out into the garden where the gale was flattening everything in its path. Storms and rain were beneath her dignity; she might have been lashing her tail to show her disgust at the elements for daring to behave in this way. ‘Cats are rubbish.’ Sóley watched the animal, bored. Mother and daughter were lying on the sofa together, Sóley with a library book open on her stomach. ‘They never do anything.’ ‘They do lots of things.’ Thóra felt compelled to stand up for their pet. ‘But only what they want to do, not what you want.’ She gave Sóley a gentle kick. ‘Don’t be mean to the poor kitty. It’s not her fault the weather’s like this.’ Sóley was supposed to be playing in a football match later that day against a team from Egilsstadir, in the east of Iceland, but their flight had been cancelled. She and her friends had been convinced they were going to thrash the other team, so they were crushed by disappointment. ‘In fact, I’m sure she’s as disappointed as you. She wanted to go exploring but I was afraid she’d be blown out to sea.’ ‘I can’t stand the wind either. Why does wind have to exist?’ Sóley seemed to be burdened by all the world’s injustices today. ‘Perhaps it was invented to drive sailing ships in the old days – or windmills,’ Thóra suggested. Sóley rolled her eyes to indicate that these were nothing compared to a match in the junior girls’ fourth division. Thóra sat up and hugged her daughter. ‘Well, it’s lovely to have you here even though you’re in a grump.’ She disengaged and stood up. ‘And don’t you dare dream of applying for a summer job in Norway.’ ‘Talking about me?’ Gylfi came in yawning. Sigga had taken Orri to a birthday party at a relative’s house but the youthful father had announced that he had a cold and didn’t want to infect the horde of children. Thóra had bitten back a comment, recalling how Matthew had been driven to distraction by the children’s parties they had held for Orri. She didn’t know which annoyed him most, the noise of the kids or the chattering of the mothers. So she could well understand Gylfi. More to the point, she had recently taken the decision not to interfere in his relationship with Sigga. Although they all lived under the same roof, the young couple had to learn to sort out their own affairs without her constantly acting as referee. ‘No, we weren’t.’ Thóra smiled at him. ‘Norway can come up in conversation without its having anything to do with you.’ She studied him, aware that he was transforming with terrifying speed from the child she had brought into the world. There were still glimpses of the old Gylfi in the young man before her, but the next stage in his development to adulthood would doubtless be even more dramatic, and Thóra realised that if he did go abroad for a year, he’d probably be unrecognisable when he returned. Perhaps that was why she was digging her heels in. She wanted him to grow up, to live his life, take risks. But she didn’t want to miss it, any more than she would want to watch him walk the tightrope without a safety net. ‘You do know how close Norway is, don’t you, Mum?’ Gylfi had obviously read her mind. ‘No.’ She would just have to face facts. The little family would move abroad and learn to stand on their own two feet and she would have to resign herself to going through airport security every time she wanted to visit her firstborn and her grandchild. ‘How close is it?’ Gylfi looked evasive. ‘I’m not absolutely sure. But it’s not far. And you can visit Duty Free.’ So if they did go, at least she’d have the compensation of cheap alcohol and chocolate. ‘Great. I hadn’t thought of that.’ Gylfi’s relieved smile indicated that he had failed to detect the sarcasm. ‘When are you expecting to hear?’ They might turn him down and then all her worrying would have been for nothing. She had heard that people spent most of their time getting anxious about things that would never happen, but then again the statistic probably applied to people like her mother who were forever lying awake at night, fretting over the silliest things. Whatever was reported on the news immediately constituted a major risk to her mother’s loved ones. In her mind, a national campaign against speeding meant that her family were all more or less doomed, either because they might suddenly take to driving recklessly themselves or because they would fall victim to some crazed road hog. When the president of the Ukraine was poisoned with dioxin, her mother was convinced that Thóra would accidentally buy a canned drink destined for a foreign dignitary and suffer the same fate, and so on. No wonder Thóra had kept her parents in ignorance of Gylfi’s plans; she had enough trouble coping with her own anxieties without having to put up with her mother’s as well. ‘I’m not sure. If I don’t hear by the beginning of next week, Dad’s going to call them for me. He’s got the flat all ready for us, apparently, so we could go over as soon as school finishes. It won’t take us long to pack.’ Thóra closed her eyes and counted up to ten. Her son had never packed so much as a pair of socks himself; she had always done it for him. But it was not this that caused the anger to flare up inside her, since she had only herself to blame. No, her main gripe was with her ex-husband. Why did he have to stick his oar in? If he had kept out of it, no one would ever have dreamt of such an idea; Gylfi would now be applying to university and Sigga would be enjoying the fact she was a year younger and still in the sixth form. But in fairness Thóra knew her ex meant well; doubtless he was lonely in Norway and wanted the company of his only son. It couldn’t be easy to spend every other month alone in a foreign country. ‘You can’t plan a long stay abroad at such short notice. Don’t forget that although you two may be able to rough it, the same isn’t true of Orri.’ She made an effort to compose her features. Lecturing the boy and laying down the law for him was exactly what she had promised Matthew not to do. Gylfi was responsible for his own life and the sooner she accepted the fact, the better. Perhaps she should be directing her anger at herself, not his father. She had often wished her son would take more risks, live life to the full. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. There’s no need to make a fuss about it now.’ ‘There’s no need to make a fuss about it at all,’ muttered Gylfi, flopping down on the sofa where Thóra had been lying. Sóley didn’t react, as if it was nothing to her that her brother and nephew were leaving the country. The cat turned her head in a leisurely manner and yawned at the brother and sister, utterly indifferent to any undercurrents. A metallic female voice announced a storm warning for the south-east Iceland shipping area. Thóra had lost count of the number of times she had heard these words but only now that she had become interested in boats did the full implications sink in: she thought about those out on the ocean, pictured waves breaking over bows, vessels plunging in the heaving waters. One thing was certain; she had no inner sailor struggling to escape. ‘Turn here.’ She directed Matthew down to the harbour side. ‘He’s going to meet us by the yacht.’ She glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that they were early. ‘Let’s park and wait. He’s bound to need help getting up the gangplank so it would be better to go together.’ ‘The lock can’t have been much good if someone’s managed to break in.’ Matthew backed into a parking space to give them a view over the harbour. ‘And it’s asking for trouble, leaving the ship unguarded at night over the weekend.’ Fannar had rung Thóra to tell her that a port security officer had reported a break-in on board the previous night. The police had found no sign of any theft or vandalism, and after performing his own inspection Fannar had concurred with their findings. Yet from his tone it was evident that he was concerned about this burglary in which nothing had been stolen. Thóra was pleased he had rung her and even happier when he offered her the keys in case she wanted to survey the scene for herself. She accepted with alacrity and asked if he would mind her taking along Snævar, the crew member with the broken leg, who might well notice some detail that those unfamiliar with the vessel had overlooked. After the briefest pause, Fannar had given his consent and told her where to pick up the keys. ‘Do you think it’s all right for me to come too?’ Matthew asked. The water streaming down the windscreen blurred their view of the yacht, making it look as if she was moving. ‘Of course. You’re here as my assistant.’ Thóra turned on the windscreen-wipers. ‘I’m sure it’ll be good to have you there if Snævar needs help. I tend to forget about things like that and would probably charge off without t hinking and leave him behind.’ Condensation crept up the glass and Thóra was about to ask Matthew to switch on the heater when Snævar appeared in an old banger that could have done with a clean. ‘I thought fishermen were well paid.’ Matthew couldn’t disguise his disgust as the car drove up. It was covered in dents, some of them rusty. ‘Maybe he’s a rally driver.’ ‘I doubt it.’ Matthew’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Rally cars have souped-up engines. That’s nothing but a rust-bucket. It wouldn’t make it a hundred metres from the starting line.’ ‘Shh. He might hear you.’ Thóra watched as Snævar opened the car door and, after a considerable tussle to pull a plastic bag over his cast, clambered out. They walked over to the yacht together and waited while Thóra dug out the keys. She was struck by how out of place the elegant vessel looked in the dismal rain, as if she should have been protected by covers. The lavishly appointed interior only intensified this impression, especially when Snævar managed to locate the light switch. However, the dim illumination did little to enhance the expensive furnishings, whose sheen was now obscured by a layer of dust. Thóra looked around, wondering what it would be like to be cooped up in here for days at a time. Of course it was impressively spacious in comparison with most yachts, but even so there was not much room; staying here for long periods would probably be like living under house arrest in a small chateau. ‘Is it really much fun cruising on a boat like this?’ Snævar didn’t seem to understand what she was getting at. ‘Oh, yes, I expect so. I mean, I don’t actually know what it’s like to be a passenger, but I bet it’s cool to sail her. Whether you’re crew or passenger, the main thing is that you enjoy sailing in the first place.’ ‘You said the crew didn’t mix with the passengers or owners, so where do they hang out? Is there a special deck where the staff can sunbathe and let their hair down?’ Thóra tried to remember how many decks there were but couldn’t picture the layout. She knew there were more than two, though, so it seemed reasonable that the crew would have one to themselves. Snævar burst out laughing. ‘The crew don’t spend their time sunbathing, if that’s what you think. They work flat out pretty much round the clock and grab sleep whenever they can between watches. The kind of people who’d pay a fortune for a fancy vessel like this aren’t going to fork out for an extra deck for the staff. And who can blame them?’ Matthew seemed more impressed with the yacht than Thóra. Then again, he was seeing her for the first time, unaffected by the sadness that she felt about the fate of the passengers. She couldn’t gush over the design or craftsmanship when everything reminded her of that little girl who was now almost certainly an orphan. ‘How fast does she go?’ Matthew ran his fingers over the window frame, which he seemed, for some inexplicable reason, to find interesting. ‘Around sixteen knots, I imagine. Though she’d rarely cruise at that speed. She’d make around twelve as a rule.’ Thóra allowed her gaze to wander, bored by the talk of knots and certain that any minute the conversation would turn to engines. ‘I’m going to take a look around, see if I can spot anything unusual. It’ll be quicker if we split up, and you’ll be in better hands with Matthew.’ Leaving them in the saloon, she made her way down to the bedroom wing, if that was the right word. No doubt the sleeping quarters should be referred to as cabins but her own term seemed more appropriate for rooms that large. The moment she entered the corridor, she regretted her decision. Turning on the lights made her feel a little less uneasy, though they flickered alarmingly: as they had approached along the dock Snævar had remarked that the yacht’s batteries might be running low since the engine had not been used for a while. The corridor was empty and all the doors were closed, which made it seem all the more sinister, and Thóra couldn’t shake off the fear that the person who broke in might be lurking behind one of the doors. She tried to dismiss this thought as nonsense – the police could hardly have overlooked the presence of a burglar. Pulling herself together, she started checking the cabins, one by one. She couldn’t remember exactly what they had looked like before this peculiar break-in, but they appeared to be completely untouched. It wasn’t until she opened the door to the master cabin that she realised something was amiss. She stood in the doorway, surveying the scene, before hesitantly stepping inside. The door slammed behind her. Thóra jumped, her heart racing, but forced herself to carry on. She knew the door had only slammed because of the movement of the boat; she had even expected it. This was a perfectly normal ship, she told herself; a terribly smart one, but only built of steel and aluminium. No different from her car, or her toaster; neither of these frightened her, so there was no reason to behave as if this yacht bore her any ill will. Yet even so she couldn’t quite rid herself of the uncomfortable sensation that there was something evil in the air. There was no obvious sign of any illegal entry in the master bedroom. The bed had been made in a perfunctory manner, and a large bath towel hung from the back of the chair by the dressing table, but apart from that everything looked the same. Only the couple’s belongings had been removed, which may have accounted for the change she sensed. She turned a slow circle in the middle of the room but could detect no difference. The yacht must have sent her imagination into overdrive again. She refused to let her mind stray to the child’s feet she thought she had seen last time. Instead, she went over to the imposing wardrobe and forced herself to open it. She could have spared herself the effort. Everything looked exactly the same as before. The other closets also turned out to be packed with clothes, elegantly displayed on citrus-wood shelves and in compartments, or suspended from substantial hangers on rails that she would not have been surprised to learn were made of silver. The feminine garments emitted an overpowering floral fragrance that made her feel slightly queasy. A single unused hanger formed an odd contrast to all the rest. If Karítas had really gone to retrieve her clothes from the yacht when it was berthed in Lisbon, she had either abandoned the effort or only coveted one particular garment. In the double wardrobe that had evidently belonged to Karítas’s husband, Thóra caught sight of a dial behind a row of shirts. Pushing the shirts aside, she discovered a sturdy-looking safe built into the back of the cupboard. Naturally it was locked and Thóra knew better than to turn the dial on the off-chance. But this did not prevent her from speculating about what it might contain; cufflinks sporting diamonds the size of cherries perhaps, or bundles of banknotes. Since neither Ægir nor his family were likely to have been able to open the safe, it could not possibly be concealing any evidence of relevance to the inquiry, but Thóra suspected that its contents, rather than any clothes or personal effects, were what had drawn Karítas to Portugal. No doubt it was empty now. After checking the remaining drawers, which contained rolled-up ties, socks and belts, she turned her back on the closets. As she was berating herself for her own foolishness, she realised what had been niggling at her. It was nothing remarkable: the wooden box on the dressing table was missing. It had contained nothing but photographs and bits of paper that Karítas had wanted to keep for whatever reason, perhaps as mementos of the high life, and who would be interested in that? Hardly the police. Thóra went over to the dressing table and peered in the drawers and cupboards, in case the box had been tidied away. It was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would break into a luxury yacht to steal an item like that with all these other valuables lying about. The only people who could possibly be interested in its contents were tabloid journalists, and she doubted that even they would resort to burglary. There was nothing much to see in the corridor, so Thóra felt she had done her duty there. She hurried out, switching off the light with her back to the darkness, then hastily climbed the stairs in search of Matthew and Snævar. She finally tracked them down in the bowels of the ship, where they were investigating a garage-like storeroom, which housed jet skis, fishing tackle and other equipment she could not identify. On the wall there was a large hatch that could presumably be opened outwards when people wanted to use these toys. Judging from the interest with which Matthew was examining the jet ski, they were no longer searching for signs of the break-in, or had at least allowed themselves to be sidetracked. Though, to be fair, Snævar was standing by the hatch, resting his injured leg and apparently inspecting the catch. As Thóra stepped in, the yacht rocked without warning and she had to grab the door frame to prevent herself from falling. Her palm came away smeared with thick grease. ‘How are you getting on?’ She walked past Matthew, barely glancing at the jet ski, and headed for the large sink on the wall behind him. ‘It looks to me as if there’s a box missing from Karítas’s dressing table. It contained nothing of obvious interest, so I don’t understand what the thief was up to. Perhaps he thought it was a jewellery case, but I checked inside the first time we came on board and found only personal papers.’ She rubbed her hand under the freezing jet of water and watched the sink fill as if the plug was down. ‘Perhaps he thought it was a jewellery case and grabbed it. All the same, it’s strange that he didn’t open it.’ Matthew frowned. ‘It doesn’t sound very convincing. Surely the police must have taken it when they were here this morning? Perhaps they wanted to empty the yacht of valuables in case of further break-ins.’ ‘Then why only take that box?’ Thóra inspected her hand and decided it was clean. She watched the water slowly drain away and when the sink was almost empty, tried to pull out the plug to speed things up. The filter underneath was clogged with blond hairs. She showed it to the others. ‘Who on earth would have been shaving or cutting their hair down here?’ Snævar looked round and shrugged. ‘Anyone. One of the crew, maybe. It’s probably been there for ages. I doubt the guys who sailed her home would have come down here to use the sink. It’s not as if there’s any shortage of basins or bathrooms elsewhere.’ Matthew made a face; he was fastidious about hair in plugholes. ‘Put it back. It can hardly have anything to do with the burglar.’ Thóra did so, then dried her wet hands on her trousers. Her attention shifted to Snævar, who was attentively examining the hatch again. He unfastened the heavy steel catch, reached for the handle and eased the door out with a creaking sound. ‘What are you doing?’ For a split second Thóra almost thought he and Matthew were planning to go for a jet-ski ride. ‘I can’t quite work this out.’ Snævar pointed at a slender nylon rope, one end of which was tied to a ring on the wall, while the other ran out through the hatch. ‘This line can hardly have been hanging outside while the yacht was moving. I’m just going to check it out. Perhaps it’s attached to a float, or something connected to these jet skis.’ He waited until the hatch was almost horizontal, giving them a view out over the harbour where the surface of the sea was jumping under the relentless pelting of the raindrops. There was no float visible; the rope simply disappeared into the dark water. ‘Could you help me a sec?’ Snævar said to Matthew. ‘I’m having trouble bending. Let’s haul it in.’ Matthew hurried over and took a firm grip on the rope. A look of surprise crossed his face. ‘Either it’s stuck or there’s something heavy on the end.’ Snævar scowled. ‘There can’t be.’ He stooped, with difficulty, and gave the rope an experimental tug. ‘You’re right.’ He straightened up. ‘I don’t know what the hell it could be. The line must have been left outside the hatch by mistake and snagged on the keel or something.’ He scratched his chin. ‘We’d better not try and sort it out ourselves. They’ll find out what’s going on when they take the yacht to the shipyard for repairs.’ Matthew jerked the rope. ‘It’s not fixed. There’s something on the other end.’ Thóra craned her head out and stared down to where the line vanished into the water. ‘Could it be a net? Perhaps they were trying to fish.’ Snævar’s expression showed what he thought of this theory. ‘I think I’ve got it.’ Matthew heaved, coiling the slack around a low steel post as they hauled in the wet rope. Finally, they glimpsed a bundle of pale-green canvas attached to the nylon line with a steel hook. ‘What the hell is that?’ Snævar asked. Once Matthew had managed to drag it up to the hatch, Snævar reached out and seized the tarpaulin. With a concerted effort they swung the load on board and stood there panting, surveying their catch. ‘Do you think it’s advisable to open it?’ Thóra had taken two steps backwards when the entire bundle came into view. Of course, she could be wrong but all the signs pointed to its containing a body. As the seawater poured from the waterproof surface onto the gleaming metal hatch the canvas moulded more and more closely to its contents and the shape bore an ominous resemblance to the last thing they wanted to find. Neither Snævar nor Matthew answered her. Instead they stared in shock at the dripping tarpaulin. Then Snævar broke the silence. ‘I’m going to take a look.’ He bent down, slowly and carefully, and tackled the rope and clasp with practised ease. Now nothing remained except to pull the folds of canvas apart. ‘Shit.’ He looked at them, exhaling. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. Do we want to see this?’ Neither Thóra nor Matthew replied. Snævar lowered his eyes to the bundle and breathed out again with determination. Then he whipped the canvas aside, only to throw up all over the body of his dead friend. ‘Did you always want to go to sea?’ Still furious with Ægir, Lára was ignoring him and focusing her attention instead on the young man who was sitting in the saloon with them, playing a game of patience. Thráinn had gone to find out if Loftur knew anything about the disappearance of the woman’s body, and Ægir suspected that Halli had been ordered to keep an eye on them in the meantime, in case Lára was implicated. Nobody had informed her of the woman’s fate as yet. It had been tacitly agreed that this should be Ægir’s job, but there was little he could do when she wouldn’t even look at him. He knew her well enough to understand that she was not angry so much as upset, as Bylgja had said, which was harder to deal with. What made it worse was that he knew she was in the right; he should never have taken a risk like that without consulting her. Even so, he felt it was unnecessary to kick up such a fuss about what might have happened, given that everything had turned out all right. As so often when they quarrelled, he had no idea how to behave; whether to try and bring her round or obey her command to leave her alone. On occasions like this she sometimes said one thing and meant another, but at other times she meant exactly what she said. He still hadn’t learnt to read the signs. Generally, whatever he said only made matters worse, so the best course was to hold his tongue and wait out the storm. Consequently, he was keeping unusually quiet now while Lára focused on Halli, who did not seem to be enjoying the unexpected attention. The conversation limped along, since all Lára actually knew about Halli was that he was a sailor and this imposed strict limits on her search for a suitable topic. ‘To sea? Uh, I don’t know.’ The hectic colour in the young man’s cheeks owed nothing to the temperature in the saloon, which was on the chilly side, though none of them had remarked on the fact or dared ask Thráinn to turn up the heating. ‘I suppose so.’ ‘Are you from the countryside?’ Lára smiled, pretending not to notice his reluctance to engage with her. ‘Nope. Kópavogur.’ ‘Oh.’ Lára fiddled with her hair and racked her brains for something else to say. ‘Are you a family man?’ ‘No, not yet.’ Halli sneaked a look under one of the piles and risked taking off the top card. ‘It’d be difficult, what with me spending so much time at sea.’ Lára seized on the fact that his answers had become less monosyllabic, spying an opening to penetrate his shell. ‘Wouldn’t you like to change job then?’ Halli made a dismissive noise. ‘And do what?’ He gave Lára a puzzled glance. ‘It’s perfectly possible to work at sea without being away as much as I am.’ He immersed himself in his game of patience again, once more stealing glimpses under the piles. ‘The big trawlers pay better but then the tours are longer. And it depends what the catch is like too, of course; you can be lucky or unlucky. That’s true whatever the size of vessel.’ ‘Are you saving up for something?’ Lára smiled encouragingly, though he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Are you maybe thinking of putting a roof over your head?’ ‘What? What for?’ The colour in Halli’s cheeks deepened. ‘No. I’m saving up for something else.’ Ægir felt an urge to come to his rescue by changing the subject but all that came to mind was the question that had been consuming him ever since he had found the body. ‘If the British ship has reported the discovery of the woman’s body, won’t there be a big furore when we get home? Police interviews and all that?’ ‘Probably.’ Apparently Halli wasn’t going to take advantage of this conversational lifebelt. ‘I guess we’ll soon find out.’ Ægir hastily interjected again, before Lára could pounce from the sidelines with further personal questions. ‘How can we let them know when we’re arriving in port if the radiotelephone can’t be repaired?’ ‘We’ll show up on their radar as soon as we approach land. If they received the message I expect they’ll have a reception committee waiting. We won’t be allowed to go straight home, that’s for certain. So you can forget about smuggling your wine ashore.’ Ægir’s heart sank. This was not what he wanted to hear. He could think of nothing he wanted less than a homecoming marred by police interrogations and a customs clampdown. His dream of being greeted on the threshold by the familiar smell of home, of sleeping in their own bed, faded. Why the hell hadn’t they simply flown back? Taking advantage of his silence, Lára leapt in and returned to her line of questioning. ‘Anyway, what were you saying – what are you saving up for?’ From Halli’s expression one would have thought Lára had asked him to strip off. Ægir was astonished that she should be oblivious to the fact that this diffident young man had no wish to talk to her at all, let alone answer such personal questions. Usually she was much more adept than Ægir at reading social situations. Perhaps her fury with him had blunted her instincts. ‘I’m saving up for a motorboat. With a mate of mine.’ ‘Great.’ Ægir smiled encouragingly at Halli who had given up on his game of patience, in spite of his cheating. The yacht bucked and rolled, and Ægir doubted he would ever want a motorboat, even if he were offered one for free. He was fed up with the se a, with the constant wallowing and pitching, and was pretty sure that his former dreams of owning a share in a small sailing boat would never be resurrected now. The money would go towards something else: a new car, foreign holidays, some decent jewellery for Lára; anything really, so long as it had nothing to do with boats. It was ironic then that he seemed to have developed his sea legs at last, thanks no doubt to the captain’s pills, and the ship’s incessant rocking no longer bothered him the way it had for the first two days. He had begun to ride the waves instinctively, as if he and the yacht were one. Perhaps he would find that the land was moving up and down when and if they reached Iceland. The smile faded from his face as he tried to work out where that if had come from. Of course they would reach land safely. He forced his mind back to the conversation. ‘I’m sure you’ll be successful.’ ‘Hope so.’ Halli stood up, walked over to the window and stared out, as if he expected to see something other than the infinite ocean. In profile he looked despondent and Ægir wondered if the young sailor also had his doubts about their chances of reaching home safely. ‘I sure hope so,’ Halli repeated. Lára shifted impatiently on the sofa, annoyed with Ægir for butting in on the conversation. She licked her lips as was her habit when she was considering her next move. ‘Do you know what the weather forecast is like, Halli? I was thinking of taking the girls up on deck for some fresh air, so I was hoping this storm would die down soon.’ Halli didn’t look round. ‘I reckon it’ll stay like this all day. That’s what generally happens. It’s the good weather that changes quickly.’ Ægir reached across the sofa and tentatively took Lára’s hand. She didn’t reject him and that was the sign he had been waiting for, the sign that soon he would be forgiven. Exactly how the process worked remained a mystery to him; he was simply grateful that his punishment was over. The situation on board was disastrous enough without his having to tiptoe around Lára as well. He risked moving closer to sit beside her and was relieved when she didn’t object. Daring now to take the next step in the reconciliation process, he cuddled up to her and whispered an apology in her ear, adding that he needed to tell her something that was rather serious but not dangerous. This last comment went completely against his intuition; given recent developments, it looked as if they might indeed be in very real danger on board. It had been bad enough that there was a body in the freezer, but at least its presence there had seemed to be unconnected to them. But now that an unknown person had taken the trouble to throw the body overboard, it was clear that the culprit was still on board and that he was trying to protect his interests. Perhaps he had needed to dispose of the body in case it carried traces of his DNA or some other evidence that could implicate him. The thought filled Ægir with such misgiving that, reluctantly, he had decided he would have to share it with Lára. Of course it would be better to pretend nothing had happened, but that would be neither right nor fair: he was so afraid she might unwittingly act in a manner that would cause the culprit to feel threatened. He met her wide, questioning eyes. ‘What?’ she asked aloud, and Halli glanced round, as if he thought she was addressing him. He turned back to the window when Lára ignored him and repeated her question. ‘What? Is anything wrong?’ ‘Yes, actually.’ Ægir forced a wry smile. ‘The body’s disappeared. Someone tipped it overboard while I was diving and it floated past me. I thought I was seeing things but it turns out the freezer’s empty.’ Lára opened her mouth and shut it again. Her eyes implored Ægir either to retract his words or admit he was pulling her leg. Clearly, she overestimated his sense of humour. ‘How could that happen?’ Without waiting for an answer she leapt to her feet and tugged at him. ‘Where are the girls?’ ‘They’re below. Where we left them.’ Ægir rose too, cursing himself for leaving them unsupervised. He had wanted to shield them from witnessing the tension between their parents. When he last saw them they had been sitting up in bed watching a film whose rating neither he nor Lára had had the presence of mind to check. The girls had been so absorbed, and hopefully still were, that it was unlikely any attempt to drag them away would have succeeded. Besides, there was a world of difference between disposing of a dead body and harming living children. ‘Wait here; I’ll check on them.’ He almost shoved Lára back onto the sofa. Though there was no reason to suspect any harm had come to them, he didn’t want her to be first on the scene. Halli had cottoned on to what was happening and dragged his attention away from the window, which suggested that Thráinn had indeed ordered him to keep an eye on them. When they stood up, he looked around in confusion, as if he was considering forbidding them to leave the saloon. But once Ægir had induced Lára to sit down again, Halli seemed reassured. Plainly, she was the one under suspicion, since there was no way he himself could have thrown the body overboard when he was underwater at the time. Still, he found it so ludicrous that the captain could imagine for one minute that Lára had had anything to do with it that he almost burst out laughing. Then he realised that just as he had automatically assumed that a member of the crew must have been responsible, so the captain had almost certainly sought outside his own ranks for the guilty party. People never suspect those closest to them. But the captain’s relationship with his crew was completely different from Ægir’s with Lára. They had known each other for a decade, while the crew were strangers to one another who had been assembled to perform a specific task. Perhaps it was a sign of Thráinn’s leadership skills that he should automatically side with his men. Or perhaps it was a sign that he was a fool. ‘I’ll fetch the girls. Don’t worry – Halli will wait with you.’ Ægir walked calmly out of the saloon, quickening his pace as soon as the door closed behind him. He did not run, however. Rationally, he knew his worries were unnecessary. Under normal circumstances he would not even have been moving this fast, but the situation could in no way be described as normal. Only now did he truly acknowledge to himself that something was seriously amiss on board and that the corpse in the freezer was only part of it. This boat was quite simply a bad place. He breathed more easily as he approached the twins’ door and heard the sound of the film. They were still sitting where he had left them, side by side with their backs bolt upright against the headboard. When he appeared in the doorway they muttered a barely audible greeting but did not raise their eyes from the screen. The film must be incredibly gripping since he usually merited at least a grin. ‘What, not even a hello?’ He pulled a sad face. ‘It’s a really good film. Don’t talk to us now.’ The yacht lurched suddenly and Ægir grabbed the door frame. ‘Sorry, girls. I’m afraid you’re going to have to turn it off and come upstairs to join me and your mother. You can pause it, can’t you?’ They turned their heads, their faces frightened. For the thousandth time he marvelled at the magic of genes. He took it for granted that they were identical in appearance but it was beyond him to understand how a cluster of cells could be arranged in such a way as to make the responses of two individual human beings so alike. At times they moved in unison, as if performing synchronised swimming on dry land. This was one of those moments. They even blinked simultaneously, under furrowed brows. ‘Why?’ Uttered with one voice, naturally. ‘It’s nearly finished.’ ‘Because the sea’s so rough that we want to have you near us. You can watch the film any time you like; it’s not going anywhere.’ They ceased to act as one; Arna folded her arms mutinously while Bylgja drew up her legs and said with relentless logic: ‘If we can watch it any time why can’t we watch it now?’ ‘You know what I mean. Don’t twist my words. Your mother’s waiting upstairs and she’ll be worried if we don’t hurry back.’ He picked up the remote control. ‘There’s a TV in the saloon, so you can carry on watching it there if you like.’ When he switched off the television, the room was plunged into darkness. ‘Why have you drawn the curtains? Was the light shining on the screen?’ ‘No. We didn’t want to see out. It was gross.’ This time it was Arna who answered. ‘Gross? That’s hardly the right word, sweetheart. The weather may be rough or stormy, but it’s not gross.’ ‘We’re not talking about the weather.’ ‘Oh?’ Ægir was puzzled. ‘What then? The waves?’ ‘No.’ Bylgja shook her head, frowning. ‘The woman. She fell past the window into the sea. We both saw her when we came downstairs earlier. I’d seen you getting in the water and we wanted to watch you dive. We weren’t allowed out on deck so we had to come down here to watch out of our window. Upstairs you only get a view of the deck. But it turns out that our window faces the other way, so we couldn’t see you – only the woman falling. We thought it was Mummy at first but when she was lying in the sea we got a better look and realised it wasn’t her.’ Ægir swallowed a lump in his throat. ‘Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?’ Now at least it was possible to establish that the woman had been thrown from the deck above the girls’ cabin. He had been lowered into the sea on the other side of the ship, so for him to have caught sight of it the body must have been pulled under the keel by the current. ‘No, we weren’t,’ they replied in chorus. ‘There’s no woman on board apart from your mother and she’s sitting upstairs in the saloon.’ Perhaps this was the wrong thing to say; they might have to give a statement to the police later and it was unfair to confuse them like this. ‘It wasn’t Mummy, it was the woman in the painting. Wearing the same dress and everything.’ Bylgja shuddered. ‘Her face looked horrible. Then she sank.’ Ægir took a deep breath, making a heroic effort to control his features. If this was true, the woman in the freezer must have been Karítas. He recalled the material of the garment that had been billowing about the gruesome body and conceded that it may well have been the same dress. The colours had looked duller but then the sea would mute them, as it did sound. ‘I told you they wouldn’t believe us.’ Arna got up from the bed. ‘You never believe us.’ ‘Of course I do.’ Ægir groped for the right words, for some way to distract their attention. His mind was blank. ‘Why didn’t you fetch your mother? Or someone else?’ ‘We didn’t dare leave the cabin at first but when we finally went upstairs Mummy was panicking because she thought you’d fallen in the sea. We tried to tell her you were diving but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want to hear about the woman either.’ Arna looked doubtfully at her father. ‘Are you angry?’ ‘Angry? No, not in the least. But do you know what? It was actually a good thing you didn’t mention it. Very good, in fact. I want to ask you to keep this a secret. You mustn’t tell anyone – anyone at all. It’s really, really important. Do you understand?’ He had been overwhelmed by a sudden terror that if it became common knowledge, the person who disposed of the body might think the girls had spotted him. He would have to be a complete monster to attack children, but Ægir wasn’t taking any risks. ‘Not Mummy. And not any of the crew. Okay?’ They exchanged surprised glances. ‘Why not?’ Bylgja had obviously detected something odd in his behaviour and her voice betrayed alarm. ‘Because this must be our secret. I promise to tell you why after we get home. I promise.’ He knelt down beside them. ‘We three know it happened, but nobody else must know. So we won’t tell anyone until later.’ But of course he was wrong: the perpetrator knew where and when it had happened. And he was one of them: Thráinn, Halli or Loftur. All equally implausible, yet all equally plausible. ‘What time did you come down here, Bylgja? Was it straight after you saw me lowered over the side?’ She nodded, worried that she had done something wrong. Ægir tried to work out what this meant. Bylgja must have left the window and told her sister what she had seen. Then they had spoken to their mother and told her they were going below, before coming down here and taking up position by the window. So about ten to fifteen minutes must have passed between his entering the sea and the body being thrown overboard. Which meant he couldn’t even rule out Thráinn or Halli. Although they had been out on deck with him to start with, he hadn’t been able to see if they were still there during the time he was underwater. Ægir rose to his feet. He couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand the sea a moment longer or the thought that he had placed his family in jeopardy. The decision to sail home was the stupidest of his life. His eyes strayed to the briefcase leaning against the wall by the desk, which reminded him of what felt almost like a previous existence; the daily grind that may not have put much in his pocket but was at least neither strenuous nor risky. He had been a fool. Looking down at the twins’ dark heads, he knew he had failed them. And Lára. And Sigga Dögg, who was waiting for them at home. He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. They had to get back to Iceland – the sooner the better. In his mind he kept reciting the names of the crew as if they were a nursery rhyme: Thráinn, Halli, Loftur. Halli, Loftur, Thráinn. Loftur, Thráinn, Halli. Which one had done this? Please God, don’t let them all be in it together. The discovery of the body had placed the mystery of the yacht in a whole new light. When Loftur’s corpse washed up on shore it had merely lent support to earlier speculation that the disappearance of the passengers must be due to a single catastrophe, but a dead man wrapped in a tarpaulin and left hanging on the end of a rope was quite another matter. This was Thóra’s third visit to the police station in the wake of the discovery; Matthew and Snævar had only been summoned twice. Perhaps they would be asked to come back too, but Thóra suspected the police were daunted by having to question Matthew in English, and Snævar doubtless needed time to recover from the shock of witnessing his friend Halldór in such a horrific state. Strong emotion presumably would not make for a clear statement. Thóra followed the detective along a corridor that had clearly not been decorated with a view to pleasing the eye. He was the same man she had originally spoken to about the yacht, but this time she herself was a witness and the case had taken a far more serious turn. The officer looked tired and preoccupied; his nicotine gum was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. With cuts to the police budget putting extra pressure on her contacts, she imagined they would hardly welcome a complicated, time-consuming case like this. The man didn’t let it show, however, and Thóra was grateful. For some strange reason she felt as if she was to blame for the whole affair and kept having to stop herself from apologising for the nuisance. The detective halted before the door to a small interview room that looked even less inviting than the corridor. Thóra sat down on a hard chair, feeling very upright and unrelaxed, not because of the chair so much as her own desire to get the conversation over with as soon as possible. The room was hot and stuffy. She undid the top button of her coat and loosened the collar a little so her face wouldn’t turn scarlet during the interrogation. ‘Have there been any developments?’ ‘Yes and no.’ The man’s face was impassive as he placed a file on the table and took a seat himself. ‘We’ve finally had the initial results of the tests on the body samples. As you can imagine, things were considerably delayed by the fact that someone had vomited over the evidence.’ ‘Tell me about it.’ Thóra was about to share her photocopier experience but caught herself in the nick of time; her cheeks turned pink at the thought that this should even have crossed her mind. ‘Have you been able to verify that it’s Halldór? Snævar was adamant but the body was such a mess that I don’t know how he could tell for sure.’ Pictures of the crew and passengers had just been published; their black-and-white faces had met her gaze that morning as she read the paper over her tea and toast. She had already seen photos of Ægir and his family but this was the first time she had laid eyes on the other three men and learnt about the families they had left behind. The captain was a widower with three grown-up children; the other two were unmarried and childless but had parents and siblings. The picture of Halldór had rung no bells. ‘Yes, we’ve received verification.’ He leafed through the file. ‘There’s no further doubt.’ He focused unusually intense green eyes on Thóra. Was he wearing tinted contact lenses? He didn’t seem the type. His irises were probably naturally that colour. ‘Just as importantly, we’ve also established the cause of death, though the postmortem results have only complicated matters. You see, it appears that the man drowned, regardless of how he ended up hanging on a rope. That’s why I called you in – to consult your opinion on a few details.’ Thóra was wrong-footed. It had never occurred to her that the man might have died in an accident. She had been convinced that he had been murdered and that the postmortem would reveal stab wounds or signs of violence. She hadn’t noticed any injuries on the part of his body that had been visible; her assumption had been based entirely on the way the corpse had been disposed of. Which is not to say that she had examined him very closely; she had merely gaped at the grisly vision for the instant it took her brain to register the badly decomposed head, then she had looked away to avoid following Snævar’s example. Her stomach turned over at the memory. ‘Ah. I was thinking something new must have come to light.’ ‘Quite. We haven’t made this public yet. And I trust you won’t discuss the matter with anyone apart from those working on the case with you?’ ‘No, of course not.’ She couldn’t exactly see herself posting the news on Facebook or gossiping about it with her friends. ‘I’m glad to hear it. The postmortem results are indisputable: the man drowned and there’s nothing to suggest coercion. His body showed grazing and contusions but not in the places you’d expect if force had been used. What’s more, he seems to have incurred these injuries at an earlier stage because they’d already begun to heal by the time he died.’ ‘I see.’ Thóra didn’t really expect an answer to her next question. ‘Have you made any progress in finding out how he came to be wrapped in canvas and sunk in the sea?’ ‘Well, I can’t go into any detail,’ the detective replied, ‘but rest assured that the investigation’s in full swing. Though it doesn’t help that all the people involved are either dead or missing. It’s going to be tricky, but we hope to get to the bottom of it eventually.’ ‘I hope you do.’ Thóra undid another button on her coat. The police budget cuts did not seem to extend to the central heating. ‘I don’t know if you ’re aware but when we boarded the yacht after the crash, the only door we found locked was the one to the storeroom where Halldór’s body was suspended from the hatch. It’s hard to tell if it’s significant but the key was discovered in the corner of one of the stairwells.’ Thóra had not heard this before but regarded it as of secondary importance. ‘What about Loftur? Was he drowned as well?’ ‘The same applies to this as to what I told you before; you must treat the information as confidential.’ Thóra merely nodded. ‘His body was in pretty bad shape after being immersed for so long in the sea, which means the postmortem results weren’t as unambiguous, but we’ve established that he drowned as well; the question is how he managed to do so in chlorinated seawater.’ ‘Chlorinated?’ ‘So it appears. We had to send some tissue samples abroad for testing to be absolutely certain and we haven’t had those results back yet, but I’d be surprised if they contradicted the earlier findings.’ ‘What about Halldór? Did he drown in chlorinated seawater too?’ ‘No. His lung tissue and other physical evidence indicate that he drowned in the usual manner.’ The man linked his hands behind his head and tipped back his chair. ‘Do you remember the Jacuzzi on one of the smaller decks?’ Thóra realised what he was implying. ‘Loftur drowned in that?’ ‘In all likelihood. In fact, it’s the only real option.’ He lowered his arms, sat up in his chair and moved closer to the desk. ‘Of course it could happen to anyone, especially if they’re drunk, but that wasn’t the case with Loftur. There was next to no alcohol in his bloodstream. Yet somehow the poor sod ended up drowning, stone-cold sober, in one metre of water.’ ‘Are you suggesting he was given a helping hand?’ ‘No. Not necessarily. It’s possible, but of course it’s also conceivable that he had some kind of fit when he was in the tub and passed out, or couldn’t save himself for some other reason.’ The policeman seemed to be waiting for her to comment. When she didn’t, he added: ‘Aren’t you going to ask what he was wearing?’ ‘What was he wearing?’ Thóra took the hint; if Loftur had been wearing clothes, he was unlikely to have died from natural causes. Nobody would get into a hot tub with their clothes on. ‘He was fully dressed.’ The man arched an eyebrow. ‘Which is rather odd, as people don’t usually bother to dress corpses. And how could he have come to fall in the sea after drowning in the Jacuzzi? It seems clear to me that somebody else was involved. And perhaps that person killed the others on board as well.’ He clicked his tongue and smiled. ‘Or not, as the case may be.’ Thóra was silent. The news had filled her with horror and for a moment she forgot how hot she was. ‘I can hardly bear to think about those little girls. It was bad enough before but everything looks much blacker now. Somehow it’s easier to accept the idea that they died in an accident than that they fell victim to a murderer.’ She sighed. ‘Though the outcome is the same.’ ‘It’s certainly not looking good.’ The policeman’s expression was grave again. ‘But to get down to business, your part in the case seems straightforward, so I see no need to ask you any further questions. Unless there’s something you want to add?’ ‘No.’ Her first interview had been long and rigorous, and the police had extracted all the information that mattered or that she was able to tell them. Not that she was hiding anything out of confidentiality to her clients, sadly. If she had been it would at least mean that she had some inkling about the fates of the passengers. ‘Our interests are not incompatible – would you agree?’ he continued. Thóra nodded; their goals might not exactly coincide but the difference was negligible. She needed to provide persuasive grounds for believing that Ægir and Lára were dead, and in order to do so she had to acquaint herself with as many details of the case as possible. The police needed to go a step further; probability was not enough for them, they needed to prove what had happened beyond reasonable doubt. The detective continued: ‘So we were wondering if we should join forces. I’m not insisting that you work for us since that would be inappropriate for both parties, but we were hoping you’d keep us abreast of any information you uncover that might be of relevance to our inquiry. That way we won’t have to keep hauling you in for a grilling. I don’t believe this arrangement would be in conflict with your duty to your clients. In fact, I assume it’s in all our interests to solve this case.’ ‘Yes, I agree.’ Thóra paused before continuing: ‘Of course, I’ll need to inform my clients, but I assume they won’t object. It’s not as if I’m working on anything major; I’m merely trying to establish that the missing couple are dead. Since my last visit to the police station I’ve sent the insurance company formal notification of their presumed death and explained that a report will follow. I don’t know whether to expect a response before they receive the full report but we’ll soon see. I’m not exactly optimistic that they’ll accept the documentation as sufficient proof, in which case we’ll have little option but to take the matter to court. But obviously it would be better if we could avoid that by presenting a watertight case to start with. It’s quite possible that my investigation will uncover something that might be of benefit to you.’ ‘But you do take my point? We can’t pay you for your time, and anyway it’s your public duty. You’re a lawyer so I need hardly remind you of article 73 of the Act on Criminal Procedure.’ He cleared his throat and for a moment Thóra thought he was going to quote the whole article from memory, but her fear proved unfounded. ‘You are obliged to render assistance to the police in their investigation of matters in the public interest. And it’s also important to bear in mind that you’re required to surrender any documents and other items in your possession should the police request them for their investigation.’ ‘I assure you I’m not sitting on any evidence. I’ve already handed over copies of all the papers Snævar gave me connected to his hospital admission and flight tickets; that’s all I’ve acquired so far. In the next few days I’m expecting to obtain documents relating to Ægir and Lára’s finances, as well as a declaration from their GP that they were both in good health. It goes without saying that you can have copies of those too if you want. Then I’m going to try and persuade Snævar to obtain a certificate from an Icelandic doctor stating that his broken leg made him unfit for work, as confirmation that the crew was one man short. I won’t do that immediately, though, as I want to give him a chance to recover from his shock.’ Thóra had the uneasy feeling that the detective suspected her of concealing evidence, though nothing could be further from the truth. ‘Just to be completely clear about this, there are exceptions to the article you cited, as I’m sure you’re aware. I only raise the fact because I might have to resort to them at some stage and it would be better to establish from the outset that I reserve the right to assess each point on its own merits. But of course I’ll help as far I can.’ The detective seemed satisfied, perhaps even more satisfied than if she had simply acquiesced without reservation. ‘Fine. It would be good to receive copies of everything you get hold of. Better too much than too little.’ He turned back to the file. ‘About the box or case you mentioned in your statement following the discovery of the body; it transpires that it wasn’t among the items we removed from the yacht. So it looks as if it must have been taken by the person or persons who broke in. Perhaps they mistook it for a jewellery case.’ ‘Perhaps, but it wasn’t locked. They would only have had to open it to realise there were no valuables inside.’ ‘Are you sure? Did you go through all the contents? Valuables don’t necessarily consist of gold or money.’ Thóra was forced to admit that she had not made a very thorough inspection. ‘There’s one thing I forgot to mention. I noticed a safe in one of the wardrobes in the master bedroom. Were you aware of its existence?’ ‘Yes. We had it opened but it was empty. It wasn’t stuffed with handy clues, more’s the pity.’ His tone was ironic. ‘Before I let you go, I’d like your opinion on a couple more matters that you must keep to yourself for the time being. They’re unlikely to have any bearing on your case, but you never know. Perhaps you’d keep your eyes open for any evidence that might relate to them.’ ‘Good.’ Before going on, he met her eyes searchingly, as if scrutinising her for proof of her honesty. When he stared intently like that his green irises appeared even more unnatural. ‘You said the body was only partially uncovered, so all you saw was the head. Is that correct?’ ‘Yes and no. It’s correct that all I saw was the head, because I looked away at once. I gather from Matthew that Snævar tore the canvas off in a frenzy, then threw up. I can’t stand corpses or people being sick, let alone both together, so I only caught a glimpse of the body. And that was more than enough. If I explained badly during questioning, I assure you it wasn’t deliberate.’ The man was reading the page in front of him, which probably contained one of the statements she had given. ‘No, no. It’s all down here. I just couldn’t quite recall.’ He looked up again. ‘So you didn’t notice that an attempt had been made to dismember the body?’ ‘No. I wasn’t aware of that.’ Yet again she found herself completely thrown. It was bad enough that the yacht mystery should have developed into a murder inquiry, without people being chopped up as well. ‘Matthew didn’t mention it either.’ ‘He may not have noticed or the canvas may have concealed the lower half of the body. We have photos from the scene, so I can easily check. But that’s not the issue. What I wanted to know was whether you remember hearing a splash as they were hauling the bundle on board.’ He drew a deep breath and fiddled with his shirt collar, apparently feeling the heat as well. ‘No. Should I have done?’ Confused, she couldn’t grasp what he was driving at. ‘It appears that someone intended to dismember the body but was either disturbed in the act or abandoned the attempt for some other reason. At any rate, he or she managed to sever the legs at the knee and they’re missing. I suppose they could have been amputated accidentally, though it’s hard to see how. At present we’re assuming human agency, but it would be easier to establish the cause if we had the legs. We’ve had divers out dragging the sea around the yacht but with no success. I was trying to find out if you remembered hearing anything that might indicate that the legs had fallen out of the tarpaulin. It’s not crucial, but if they were thrown overboard separately, it begs the question: why not the whole body? It seems illogical but hopefully we’ll find an explanation. We had forensics inspect the boat again for traces of this… procedure. Even if Halldór was already dead, there would have been a considerable amount of blood, and we believe we’ve found the place, though the perpetrator cleaned up afterwards. It’s pretty clear that the dismemberment was carried out on board.’ Thóra tried weakly to imagine the sequence of events. ‘Where?’ ‘Below decks, in an out-of-the-way corner between the water tanks. Which suggests that the culprit was at pains to hide the fact.’ ‘Implying that one or more of the others were still alive at the time?’ ‘Exactly.’ His gaze was almost hypnotic. Perhaps he did wear lenses, just to achieve this effect. ‘That’s the theory we’re going with for now. But as I said, we’re not a hundred per cent positive; the blood may have resulted from a completely different incident. We’ve also found traces elsewhere, but it had been more carefully cleaned up, so it’s harder to work out what was going on. We’re currently running tests.’ ‘Where was this?’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘All over the place, to be honest. On the bridge, by the exit to one of the staircases and in the saloon. Although we can’t find any sign of it now, chances are that the deck was running with blood too. But the sea would wash away the evidence pretty fast. The yacht hit bad weather and there would have been a great deal of spray, not to mention rain. The man’s legs may have been cut off on deck, for that matter. If you think about it, that would be by far the most logical place.’ Thóra remembered that most of the deck was overlooked by one or more of the yacht’s windows. ‘Wouldn’t the others have noticed?’ She corrected herself before he could reply. ‘Ah, not if it was night, of course, when most people would have been asleep. But why do it in the first place? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to throw the body overboard? Out in the middle of the ocean like that, surely it would have sunk without trace or been eaten?’ ‘You would have thought so.’ ‘One more question. Is it possible that the captain was referring to Halldór’s body when he contacted the British vessel? Could he or one of the others have surprised the murderer in the act, meaning he didn’t have a chance to finish the job?’ ‘It’s conceivable. But the message referred to a woman – unless that was a misunderstanding. The connection was poor and when you factor in the language difficulties it wouldn’t be surprising if the sense had been muddled.’ ‘I have to confess I’m totally mystified.’ He gave her a friendly smile. ‘If it’s any comfort, we’re having just as much trouble getting our heads round all this. Why was the body hung overboard? There are any number of places on board where it could have been hidden without being spotted or given away by the smell.’ Thóra couldn’t immediately think of anywhere that a man’s body could have been concealed, though she recalled from the plans that there were storage spaces and tanks on the bottom deck where they had found the blood stains. ‘Could it have been hidden in one of the water or oil tanks in the keel?’ ‘We’re examining the water tanks. But I gather the oil tank’s out of the question.’ He tapped his pen on the file. ‘Perhaps I should share one more bizarre detail with you.’ ‘I doubt I’ll faint, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Nothing would surprise me now.’ He ceased his tapping. ‘The postmortem revealed that the body had suffered frost damage.’ ‘Frost damage?’ Thóra had to admit that in spite of what she had just said, she was nonplussed. ‘Did the temperature drop below freezing at any point during the voyage?’ He shook his head. ‘No. There was a storm but no really cold weather. A more likely explanation is that the body was stored in one of the freezers on board. But since we’ve found no traces of DNA or fibres from the tarpaulin, there may be some other explanation. Alternatively, the body may have been wrapped in plastic. Since I’ve told you this much, I may as well add that the woman’s body was apparently found in a freezer – if the captain’s message was understood correctly. But forensics can’t find any evidence of that either.’ Thóra would have given a great deal to see her own dumbfounded expression in a mirror. ‘I don’t know what to say. Nothing I’ve discovered has suggested anything like this.’ She longed for some sensible, concrete information. ‘Do you know when Halldór died?’ The detective shook his head again. ‘I’m afraid not. Most if not all of the methods used to establish time of death take account of conditions after the person has died. In this case the body seems to have been stored in a variety of environments, so we don’t have much to go on. It’s been submerged in the sea, kept in a freezer and maybe in a crate as well, so unfortunately the time of death is very imprecise. He could have died at any point on the voyage, though it’s obvious he can’t have been murdered after the yacht reached harbour. The postmortem showed too advanced a breakdown of various biological compounds that I’m not qualified to explain. So it can’t have been submerged there for long, at least not while the yacht was moving, or it would have been in a much worse state. In fact, it would be a miracle if it had still been there when the yacht reached the harbour.’ ‘I’m afraid this is outside my area of expertise.’ Thóra was boiling by now and experiencing a desperate desire to fling off her coat. ‘Of course.’ He studied her as she sat there, her face scarlet, dreaming of the cold air outside. ‘Well. That just about wraps up what I have to say, so now I can get on with reprimanding the officers who conducted the original inspection. I try to do so at least once a day.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘It beggars belief that not one of them noticed the rope or realised it didn’t belong there. Of course, they should have taken along an experienced sailor or at least someone who was remotely acquainted with boats, but I don’t tell them that because I enjoy giving them a bollocking. It’s good for the circulation.’ He stood up and escorted Thóra to the door. She drove up Skólavördustígur in a daze, then went into her office and sat there for a while deep in thought. Eventually, she leant over her desk and shouted: ‘Bella! Could you pop in here a minute?’ It was time to abandon all conventional approaches. Since common sense had proved nothing but a hindrance in this case, it was time for some muddled, left-field thinking, and when it came to that Bella was an expert. Mother and daughters were deep in slumber in the big double bed. They lay cuddled up together, their hair mingling on the pillows so that Ægir couldn’t tell their locks apart. Their cheeks were flushed, not from fever but almost certainly because someone had finally turned up the heating to compensate for the onset of chillier weather. Ægir had no idea who had done so and, to be honest, he didn’t really care. Beside him lay his family, the only thing that mattered. Arna murmured but he couldn’t distinguish the words. Her eyes were quivering under their pale lids and her legs twitched. Then all was quiet again. He hoped she wasn’t having a nightmare. He and Lára had done their best to behave as if nothing was wrong, masking their fear and apprehension, but perhaps their manner had seemed too forced. Neither could bear the thought that the girls might sense the sudden seriousness of their situation. At least not yet. Soon, though, they would be forced to tell them exactly what was going on, to ensure the girls never left their side. Ægir listened to the sound of footsteps overhead. He stared up at the ceiling as if he expected the man to start sawing through it at any minute, showering them with plaster. Although the cabin door was locked, the security it provided was illusory as a full-grown man could easily force his way in. Besides, they must keep a master key somewhere safe; perhaps on the bridge. If the man wanted to get in, he wouldn’t need to break the door down. But Ægir was not worried about this eventuality; he didn’t believe the man had the slightest interest in them – for the moment. More than seven hours had passed since he had dragged Lára and the girls down to the cabin where they had locked themselves in. In all that time no one had so much as knocked on the door or called out, as if the crew had forgotten their exi stence. Which suited them fine. Even though it would mean going hungry, Ægir was almost prepared to lie low in their cabin until they reached port. The water in the bathroom taps would be sufficient for him, but he was less sure about the girls; they probably wouldn’t be willing to go without food for days on end. Besides, he would have to put in an appearance at some point, not to appease his daughters’ complaints so much as to prevent the crew from wondering what was up. If they did, someone was bound to put two and two together and conclude that the family knew more than they were letting on. It would be pathetically easy for that person to finish them off here in the cabin, especially when they were defenceless in sleep. The footsteps ceased and Ægir felt the adrenaline start to course through his veins. When the man stood still it was even worse than when he was pacing. It suggested that he was plotting. Ægir knew the idea was ludicrous but that didn’t change how he felt. He even held his breath while he waited for the man to start moving again. Nothing happened. Then there was a scraping sound from what he took to be a chair or sofa, and he tried to work out which room was directly overhead. Most likely the saloon, which suggested that there were two men up and about, one on the bridge, the other busy with something in the saloon. Ægir sat up and pushed the duvet aside gently so as not to wake his wife and daughters. It might make sense to go out and talk to the men; then the family wouldn’t have to show their faces again until lunchtime tomorrow. Their absence must appear as natural as possible; for example, he could go up at regular intervals to complain that the girls were seasick. That way he would be able to fetch the necessities – as long as he disciplined himself to appear relaxed, as if nothing had happened, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that one of the men must be linked to the dead woman in the freezer. Although such naivety would seem pretty far-fetched in the light of recent events, it would have to suffice. If he betrayed the slightest fear, there was a danger he would do or say something with irreversible consequences. He climbed out of bed and balanced for a moment to accustom himself to the motion. About an hour after they had locked themselves in, the engines had abruptly kicked into life again. Perhaps the crew had managed to free the yacht from the container, or the captain had simply decided to chance it before the situation on board deteriorated even further. There was no question now of hanging around in the middle of nowhere, waiting for rescue: with their communications system crippled, they couldn’t even send out a distress signal, and it was so long since they had seen another ship that Ægir believed, admittedly without good grounds, that they might wait there for weeks without being spotted. Then he remembered the emergency button Thráinn had shown him, which was designed to transmit an SOS with their location. Thanks to that, their fate was unlikely to consist of drifting over the ocean for the rest of their days. Perhaps he should simply go up to the bridge and activate the button right now, and take the gamble that the foreign crew who responded to their call would believe him. But supposing they weren’t convinced and refused to take the family on board? In that case it would be better not to chance it. If things got any worse, at least there was security in knowing the button was there. Ægir scribbled a quick note to Lára, explaining where he was going and stressing that neither she nor the girls should come looking for him. Then he slipped on his shoes and quietly left the cabin. As he was closing the door, he wondered if he ought to wake his wife. She and the girls had been sleeping for over two hours and might find it hard to drop off tonight if they slept for much longer now. Their eyelids had begun to droop during the second film and Ægir alone had managed to stay awake. He would have liked to have followed suit but felt compelled to stay on guard in case one of the crew tried to enter the cabin. How he was to make it through the night was another matter; clearly, he couldn’t stay awake for days on end and even if he did, he would be of little use exhausted if it came to a fight. Lára would have to share the watches with him, so it would be better to allow her some more sleep now. The incident with Karítas’s perfume bottle had shaken her badly. When she had gone to fetch it in order to convince him that the smell was the same as the one in the freezer, the bottle had gone. What’s more, it was nowhere to be found in their cabin or bathroom, and Lára had started imagining all kinds of conspiracies. Ægir, on the other hand, had signally failed to work up any concern. He had other, more pressing matters on his mind than missing perfume bottles. As he closed the door, he took care not to click the lock too loudly. On his way upstairs he found himself keenly aware of every step. Until now his body had moved about the ship on autopilot, but now he sensed the gleaming wood under his soles and was acutely conscious of lifting his feet. For the first time he noticed the handrail, cold and hard under his palm. The sounds that carried from above also seemed more distinct than before, though none were particularly loud or penetrating: a squeak, a low humming which, though his ears had not picked it up until now, had no doubt been there since the beginning of the voyage; the scraping of a chair. This sudden hypersensitivity must result from a primitive urge to protect his family, for he quickly realised that his taut nerves were not for himself; all that mattered now was to bring his wife and daughters safely home. The realisation gave him courage and he walked up the stairs full of a new self-confidence. The man who was not afraid for himself had a definite advantage. He decided to check the pilot house first. There he would at least learn what progress they were making and what the weather forecast had in store. Despite hoping fervently that the crew would have found some means of repairing the telecommunications system, he knew this was unlikely. It was a safe bet that whoever had thrown the body overboard had also sabotaged the equipment. It would have been too great a coincidence otherwise. And that was a bad sign. How was the perpetrator intending to enforce their silence after they reached land? There was only one sure method that Ægir could think of. Thráinn turned out to be alone on the bridge. He sat in the pilot’s chair, staring into space as if in a trance. Ægir had to cough to attract his attention. The older man looked round, his eyes bloodshot. There was no sign that he had gone for a rest after lunch, which meant that he must have been awake for thirty-six hours straight. ‘Hello. I’d begun to think you lot weren’t going to show your faces again.’ Thráinn stretched and rubbed his jaw as if to loosen it up for conversation. ‘Lára and the girls are a bit under the weather. Seasick again.’ ‘Right.’ Thráinn was not deceived. ‘Let’s hope they feel better soon.’ Ægir saw there was no point in trying to convince him; he would believe whatever he wanted to. ‘Yes, let’s hope so. I was just fetching them some Coke and a bite to eat in case they get their appetites back, so I decided to look in and see how it’s going. Find out if there’s any good news for a change.’ Thráinn grunted. ‘Good news.’ He shook his head slowly, suppressing a yawn. ‘As you’ve no doubt noticed, we’re under way again – that should count as good news.’ ‘Yes. I realised. What happened?’ ‘The container sank. Presumably because you loosened the door. It must have shaken open with the movement, letting the air escape. So you fixed it. Bravo.’ From the taciturn Thráinn, this was high praise. ‘Anyway, the main thing isn’t how it happened but the fact that we’re on our way home. I’m going to push her faster than I have up to now, since it’s vital we get to port as soon as possible.’ Ægir opened his mouth to ask if he was referring to the discovery of the body and its subsequent disappearance, but the answer was glaringly obvious. ‘How far have we got left?’ Thráinn reached for the chart and showed him their most recent position. Iceland was further away than Ægir had hoped; in fact they were more or less equidistant from all the nearest landmasses, which meant they would have nothing to gain by heading anywhere but home. ‘All being well, we’re about forty-eight hours from home.’ Thráinn put down the chart. ‘All being well.’ He regarded Ægir levelly. ‘Actually, I’m glad you came up. I was thinking of looking in on you. We need to have a chat.’ ‘Oh?’ The yacht plunged sickeningly and Ægir gripped the handle on the wall. When the captain finally released Ægir’s gaze, he turned back to stare at the black expanse of glass that extended the width of the bridge. ‘As you’re aware, we’re in a serious situation. There’s something very strange going on and, as matters stand, I can’t trust Halli or Loftur.’ ‘So?’ Ægir hoped Thráinn wasn’t going to propose they join forces to overpower the other men and lock them up. He had no way of determining which of the three crew members was guilty. What on earth would he do if there were only the two of them left and it turned out to be Thráinn? Tackle him with Lára’s help? Hardly. ‘I haven’t a clue who moved the body and chucked it overboard – Halli, Loftur, your wife? The girls?’ He silenced Ægir’s protests with a wave of his hand. ‘All I know for sure is that it wasn’t me and it wasn’t you. I didn’t leave the rail the entire time you were underwater, but Halli did, and so did Loftur, who had come to watch. I know nothing about your wife, though I admit it’s far less likely that she was responsible than one of the boys, if only because your daughters seem to follow her everywhere. And they can hardly have done it.’ Ægir chose not to mention that the twins had gone below at around the time the body ended up in the sea. If the captain was planning to take action, the last thing he wanted was to cast suspicion on Lára. He knew it was crazy to imagine she could be involved but his gut instinct was unlikely to satisfy Thráinn. ‘Were Halli and Loftur away long enough to have done it?’ ‘Well, Loftur wasn’t around to begin with, so he would have had the opportunity then. And Halli went off for a while but I didn’t take any notice because there was no reason to. If you’d told us straight away that you’d come face to face with the dead woman in the sea, I’d have taken a different view of his absence.’ ‘I’ve told you already – I thought I was seeing things.’ ‘All right, I know I shouldn’t be bawling you out; I’m just tired. So tired I can’t be bothered to be polite.’ He spoke as if manners were usually his strong point. ‘Never mind that. What I’m trying to say is that I know you can’t be involved because you were diving, so you’re the only person apart from myself that I can trust. Since I can’t stay awake for the next forty-eight hours, I wanted to see if I could persuade you to help me get this ship to port. All you’d have to do is stand watch while I bunk down in here – you could give me a nudge if there were any problems.’ ‘I see.’ Relieved as he was that the request had not involved tackling the other two men, Ægir was still uneasy. ‘What about Lára and the girls? Where are they supposed to be in the meantime? I’m not prepared to leave them alone while I stand here gawping out of the window.’ ‘No. Fair enough.’ The captain scratched his stubble and yawned again without even trying to suppress it. ‘They could stay in here with us. The mattress is in the back room, so I wouldn’t be in your way.’ He gestured to a door behind him. ‘It may be cramped but there’s no need for them to be uncomfortable. We could easily move a small table and chairs in here.’ ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Ægir surveyed the pilot house. ‘Still, I don’t know.’ ‘Well, don’t waste too much time thinking about it. I need a rest and if you’re not manning the bridge, whoever disposed of the body is bound to do it. I don’t know about you but I’m not too thrilled with that prospect.’ Ægir lost his temper. ‘And what about you? How can I be sure you’re innocent? You could have done it yourself for all I know – I couldn’t see if you were at the rail while I was underwater. And what then? If I help you, I’d be siding against the others who may well be innocent. I’d rather stay out of this; concentrate on keeping my family safe and leave you lot to sort it out among yourselves.’ ‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question. If you barricade yourselves in your cabin, the next time you come out there may be one less person. Then two less. Where will you stand then? And your wife and daughters? I’m not sure you’d enjoy that.’ The captain’s expression, which had hardened at these words, mellowed again and the signs of fatigue returned. ‘As captain I could of course order you to keep watch – I assume you realise that? But I expect I’d be more successful if I managed to convince you without resorting to threats.’ Thráinn smiled faintly. ‘Though don’t think I’ll hesitate to use force if pushed.’ The sailing course hadn’t covered the captain’s remit in any detail, so Ægir had no idea what the consequences of disobeying his orders might be. ‘And if I still won’t obey? Will I be made to walk the plank?’ ‘No. Nothing that dramatic. I’ll simply tell Halli and Loftur to lock you up. And I don’t mean in the cabin with your family. Your wife and daughters would be free to come and go. And as you know, the company on board is not exactly desirable. This is no joke, my friend.’ Ægir was afraid to speak for fear he would hurl a storm of abuse at the captain and find himself under lock and key as a result. In other words, the captain was saying, either he helped him or they would separate him from Lára and the girls. If the man didn’t get his own way he was actually prepared to expose them to danger. Ægir’s rage subsided. For Thráinn this was only a means to an important end: to make it home safe and sound. ‘I’ll help.’ He didn’t smile or give any other sign that he approved of the plan. ‘I’d better fetch Lára and the girls. They’re asleep below. You’ll have to stay awake in the meantime.’ ‘No problem.’ Thráinn made no more effort than Ægir to restore the fragile rapport that had recently been established between them. ‘I’ve stayed awake longer than this in my time.’ Before Ægir could respond, the door opened and Halli appeared in the gap. Neither Thráinn nor Ægir spoke and at first the young man did not seem to sense that anything was amiss. Then he picked up on the atmosphere and his face reddened, either from embarrassment or anger. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘I was asking Ægir to take over for a while. I need some kip and I reckon you do too.’ Thráinn looked straight at Halli and Ægir couldn’t help admiring his seemingly indomitable spirit. He betrayed no sign of awkwardness or nerves when it came to informing one of his subordinates that he was out in the cold. ‘I see.’ Halli’s red face clashed badly with his dyed hair. He jutted his chin. ‘If you think I had anything to do with it you’re mistaken. Badly mistaken.’ ‘No one knows anything for sure, so there’s no point discussing it. Everyone will simply have to obey my orders for the next couple of days; that way we’ll make it home safe and sound. I assume we’re all agreed that that’s our goal?’ said Thráinn. Halli clenched his teeth, his jaws whitening. ‘Of course.’ Then relaxing slightly, he looked puzzled. ‘Where’s Loftur?’ ‘Loftur?’ Thráinn repeated wearily. ‘As you can see, he’s not here. Last time I saw him he was going to fire up the hot tub. I expect that’s where he is now.’ ‘Oh?’ Halli dithered in the doorway, unsure whether to stay or go. ‘From what I could see the tub still had its cover on. And he’s not below.’ ‘Could he be in the saloon?’ Ægir’s words came out in a rush as they tended to in fraught situations. ‘I heard someone there earlier.’ Halli shook his head. ‘That was me. He hasn’t been in. I checked his cabin but he wasn’t there either.’ He licked his lips repeatedly. ‘Perhaps we missed each other. Or he’s out on deck.’ ‘What the hell would he be doing out there?’ Thráinn rose from his chair. Going over to the console, he fiddled for a moment with his back to the two men. Careful not to meet Halli’s eye, Ægir feigned interest in the captain’s back. Thráinn turned again, having finished whatever he was doing. ‘We’d better look for him.’ He glanced at each of them in turn. ‘We’ll stick together.’ Neither objected. In silence they followed the captain out of the pilot house, their clumsy movements betraying the lack of trust between the members of their little party. It did nothing to lessen their paranoia when they finally found Loftur: submerged, fully dressed, under the closed lid of the Jacuzzi. The darkness inside was pierced by a sunbeam. Motes of dust glittered in the ray of light, vanishing where it faded out. As she breathed in the stagnant air, Thóra was struck by how quickly buildings betrayed the signs of being uninhabited. After their three-week holiday last summer her own house had greeted them with cold, dry air and an unfamiliar musty smell; not until they had given it a good airing and then turned up the radiators had it felt like home again. Ægir and Lára’s house had stood empty for the same amount of time, and although this was her first visit she was sure they too would have made a face on entering the hall. ‘Shall I turn the lights on?’ Margeir stood in the doorway, looking bemused, momentarily arrested, like Thóra, by the play of dust in the light. ‘Or should I just open the curtains?’ ‘Turn on the lights. It would be better.’ Thóra adjusted a sock that had been half pulled off when she removed her leather boots. ‘We should take the precaution of touching as little as possible, though of course we’ll have to rummage around in drawers and so on. But with any luck we’ll find the bank statements and other stuff straight away, so that won’t be necessary.’ ‘They were over the moon when they bought this house.’ The old man groped disconsolately for the light switch. ‘I helped them with the painting before they moved in.’ Thóra was at a loss how to reply. The whole situation was so depressing that words would be inadequate plasters for the man’s wounds. Besides, the decorating job didn’t really deserve any praise. The house boasted a monochrome colour scheme of the type popular among young people. Yet unlike many similar homes now on the market, here the couple had not spent much on the furnishings. Most of the furniture looked like standard Ikea issue, and there were no paintings on the walls, only a few prints, which were probably wedding presents. Thóra was glad at any rate to see no evidence that the couple had been living beyond their means. That made it less likely that they had serious money troubles, unless the interest rate on their mortgage had recently shot up. And if their finances were in order, it would strengthen her case. They began by sorting the post from the newspapers that lay piled up in the hall but, with the exception of a recent credit card bill, found nothing of interest. The family had gone abroad at the beginning of the month and there was still a week or so to go before the end. No doubt bank statements would pour in then but Thóra would rather not wait for these if she could use older ones to establish their financial situation. Mortgage payments didn’t rise that much from month to month. ‘Do you have any thoughts about how we should do this? Like whether we should start upstairs or downstairs?’ She averted her gaze from a withered pot plant that was crying out for water. There was no point in prolonging its death struggle by a few more days. ‘I’d rather start down here. I’m not sure I can face the bedrooms. I couldn’t cope with seeing the twins’ empty bunks.’ His head drooped. ‘This is all just unbearable.’ ‘I know. It’s awful.’ Thóra looked around for a suitable place to begin. ‘Should we start in the kitchen? Perhaps they stuck their credit card statements to the fridge door?’ It was a long shot; she certainly wouldn’t display her own in such a place. She wouldn’t want Sóley, let alone a visitor, to see the sums that went on paying off loans and other expenditure every month. But they might be kept on top of the fridge or somewhere else in the kitchen. Neither she nor Margeir were keen to prolong this visit. ‘If we find the bills, will that give you enough evidence for the court?’ Margeir led the way into the kitchen. She suspected him of talking as a way of distracting himself from the empty husk of the missing family’s life. ‘Yes, as far as that side’s concerned. It’s essential to be able to demonstrate that they weren’t in dire straits financially because this will undermine any attempt by the insurance company to claim they’ve absconded. After all, what would they have to gain if everything was fine at home? Details like this will weigh heavily with the judge, if we have to go down that road. It’s also worth including this information with our request to have their property recognised as their estate.’ ‘It’s preposterous that anyone could believe they did this deliberately. Preposterous. If I was in better shape, I’d sue the insurance company for putting such disgusting insinuations on paper.’ ‘Unfortunately, the insurance company has probably had direct experience of similar cases where people have done a runner. Ægir and Lára may have been honesty personified but there are others who have no scruples about making fraudulent claims. By raising objections, the company isn’t trying to blacken your son and daughter-in-law’s reputations. But it’s a great deal of money and they can’t pay it out unless they’re entirely satisfied that Ægir and Lára really are dead. If our application to the court is successful, they’ll accept the verdict and release the money. Who knows? They might even pay up straight away.’ Instead of answering, Margeir started opening drawers at random and shutting them again immediately without even examining their contents. Using a clean knife she found on the kitchen table, Thóra opened the envelope containing the credit card bill. The transactions covered two sides but the total was within normal limits, neither strikingly high nor low. If their debit card and cash transactions showed the same pattern of spending, the couple’s outgoings could be deemed relatively modest. She ran her eyes quickly down the payments, most of which were to supermarkets or petrol stations. There were also several to a company whose name Thóra didn’t recognise, but the amounts were small. A separate summary of overseas transactions was printed at the bottom. Thóra couldn’t identify any of the recipients so she had no idea what the payments entailed but it seemed fair to assume that they all involved food and drink. None of them was particularly high, except the payment that was processed the day they left port, which was almost certainly the hotel bill. ‘I don’t know if you’d like a look but their credit card bill is pretty modest. You’ll need to contact the bank about paying it off, as well as covering the interest on any loans they have. If you like, I can talk to them. I’m sure they’ll be amenable, despite the fact that they refused to release the bank statements. All you need to know is whether there’s enough money in their accounts to cover the payments. I can speak to the resolution committee too and find out if they’ll be paying Ægir’s salary as usual next month.’ ‘Thank you, that would be helpful. I don’t really know what to do if there isn’t enough. We haven’t got any savings; they ran out a long time ago.’ ‘I doubt it’ll come to that. This is an unusually complicated situation and I’m sure everyone will be willing to take that into account.’ Thóra walked over to a large white fridge covered with a motley assortment of drawings and notes, among which were two bank giros, one for a magazine subscription, the other for the dentist. ‘The girls liked drawing, didn’t they?’ She detached a picture signed by Bylgja and showed it to her grandfather. It was the typical offering of a contented child, depicting the five family members all smiling broadly and holding hands, standing on a line of green grass. ‘Do you think I could borrow this? It’s useful evidence that they were a happy family, though naturally it wouldn’t be sufficient on its own.’ ‘Take it. Take anything you think will help. Of course, it would be nice to have it back afterwards but we’re not intending to sort through their things any time soon. It’s still too upsetting.’ He reached out for the picture and studied it. ‘They both loved drawing. Used to occupy themselves for hours with their crayons, ever since they were tiny. Sigga Dögg’s the same, though she’s too unsettled at the moment. The poor little thing, she can sense that something’s terribly wrong.’ ‘Have the child protection authorities been in touch at all since I had a word with their lawyer?’ Thóra looked back at the picture, which Margeir had put down on the kitchen table. The figures’ black eyes were staring at the ceiling, their scarlet mouths grinning crazily. The sight was somehow disturbing and she felt an impulse to cover it up with the credit card statement. But they would continue to smile and nothing would change. She tried to rekindle the hope inside her that the girls would be found alive; perhaps they’d been taken ashore at Grótta and hidden away, or secretly conveyed abroad. The hope was faint, but it was there, nonetheless. ‘Yes, I think so.’ The old man took hold of another drawer handle and dithered, unable to remember if he was opening or closing it. ‘Sorry, my memory’s not working at the moment. They keep ringing. My wife’s on the verge of collapse and I feel as if I’m heading the same way. I keep being overwhelmed by a feeling of hopelessness; we’re not capable of raising her in the long term, and we should just force ourselves to accept it. The money won’t make much difference. There’ll come a point when we open the door to those people and hand her over. It’s so hard when your love for someone harms the very person it’s supposed to protect.’ Thóra laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I do think it’s true that she would be better off with a younger couple. But it’s equally clear that it would be in her best interests to have as much contact with you as possible. You’re her only link to her family and it’ll be incredibly important for her to have you there.’ She withdrew her hand and continued, ‘I’ve been promised a meeting this week with the head of the relevant social services department and I’m optimistic that we’ll be able to arrange things to be as painless as possible for you and Sigga Dögg, while being for the best in the long run. The authorities would have to be heartless to deny you access. Not only heartless: stupid.’ After that they said little. Margeir sat down at the kitchen table, excusing himself on the grounds that he needed to rest for a moment. Thóra continued to search the kitchen but without finding any paperwork relating to money matters. It was the rotten food in the larder that caught her attention; half a loaf of bread covered in green mould and two flat-cakes in the same condition. She closed the door at once but the sour smell lingered in her nostrils. ‘I wonder if it would be okay to chuck out the old bread and stuff?’ She opened the fridge. The situation there was less grim; nothing looked obviously mouldy, though the date on the milk cartons didn’t exactly whet the appetite. ‘I let the police know we’d be looking in and they didn’t object. Apparently they haven’t been round yet and it didn’t sound as if they were planning a visit any time soon. But it would be unfortunate if we threw away something that turned out to be important.’ ‘Why should they want to see the house? It’s not as if there’s anything of relevance here.’ Margeir sounded as if he had rallied again; his anger at those who were trying to cast aspersions on the family blazed up, momentarily overshadowing his grief. ‘Anyway, I can’t see what difference an old loaf of bread could make.’ Thóra closed the fridge again and smiled. ‘No. It’s not immediately obvious. Unless to prove that they haven’t been here recently, or to confirm when they left the country.’ Her words sounded so lame that she wished she could add an intelligent comment, but nothing sprang to mind. ‘I’m going to take a quick look upstairs. There’s nothing here.’ Margeir nodded but made no move to stand up. ‘I’ll be here when you come down.’ Thóra suspected that if she left the house without telling him, he would remain sitting at the table for hours, alone with his thoughts and memories. Upstairs the carpeted landing muffled her footsteps, making it seem even quieter than the floor below. She walked past four open doors, peering into the rooms as she went. There were two fairly tidy children’s rooms, one with bunk beds, presumably the twins’ room, the other full of baby things, which must belong to Sigga Dögg. It contained no bed, only an old chest of drawers and a white-painted table with two small matching chairs. She saw no reason to enter the children’s rooms as it was highly unlikely that she would find what she was looking for in there. The clothes and toys she had promised to fetch for the little girl’s grandmother would have to wait until her main search was over. It wouldn’t help to have to lug around two bursting shopping bags. She also left out the large bathroom that had apparently been shared by the whole family. It was a mess, which seemed to furnish the most convincing proof that the family had intended to come home. Personally, if she had been planning to abscond she would have washed all the dirty laundry, not left the basket overflowing with socks, T-shirts and underwear. She would also have tidied up the shampoo bottles and thrown away the empty toothpaste tube that lay by the sink, its top on the floor. All the indications were of life being carried on as normal. The master bedroom seemed smaller than it was due to all the furniture it contained. A cot, its bedclothes unmade, had been fitted in beside the king-size bed. Thóra squeezed between them to reach the bedside table. It didn’t take a genius to work out that it had been used by Lára; on top lay a cheap necklace and reading glasses with pink plastic frames that no man would have been seen dead in. The two drawers contained nothing of interest, only an empty pill card and some dog-eared romantic novels with pictures of muscular men embracing long-haired beauties on their covers. No bank statements. Ægir’s bedside drawer proved more rewarding. Under some foreign magazines featuring watches and sports cars, she discovered not bank letters but all kinds of work-related papers. Conscious of their fate, Thóra felt that the couple should have used the bed for other activities besides reading love stories, car magazines and work documents. She leafed through the pile of papers in case any of them related to the family’s accounts but found nothing. Instead, she was brought up short by a drawing. It looked like the plans of a ship that bore a striking resemblance to the yacht. Summoning up a mental picture of the cabins on board, she decided that this was indeed a plan of the different decks on the Lady K . The yacht’s name did not actually appear anywhere, but the page had been badly photocopied: the drawings were at a slant and it was possible that they had been part of a larger sheet. She sifted through the rest of the papers more attentively, noticing a few other pages that struck her as odd. All contained information about the yacht’s furnishings and equipment, and it was hard to imagine why an employee of the resolution committee would have been reading them in bed. She decided to take the whole pile of papers with her to study in more detail; if there was an explanation for this, it wasn’t immediately obvious. Perhaps Ægir had been required to study the make and design of the vessel for the valuation. But in bed? When she put her head round the door of the last room on the landing, she hit the jackpot. It had been used as a study and she glimpsed a stack of bills on the small desk beside the computer. Flicking quickly through them she found bank giros for two mortgage payments and the interest on a car loan. The balances on the three loans were higher than she had hoped, but not alarmingly so. Next she scanned the shelves where she spotted several files marked ‘Tax – home’, together with the year, and took away the most recent, which turned out to be full of receipts and bank statements. When she went downstairs Margeir was still sitting in the kitchen. A battered wallet lay on the table and he was gazing at a photo in a clear plastic pocket. ‘Is that a picture of the girls?’ Thóra put down the file and took a seat opposite him. The chair creaked as if weakened by standing idle for three weeks. ‘Yes, the twins.’ He turned the wallet so that Thóra could see the photo properly. When she picked it up, the smooth, shabby leather felt slippery to the touch. She focused on the picture. ‘Which one of them is this?’ She pointed at the solemn little girl standing beside her exact replica, who in contrast was smiling and had slung an arm round her sister’s shoulders. Leaning over to see, Margeir replied: ‘Bylgja.’ ‘Did she always wear those glasses?’ Thóra pointed at the bright-red frames on the child’s nose. ‘Yes. They were almost identical except that Bylgja was very short-sighted. She hated wearing glasses but she was too young for contact lenses or a laser operation. Her mother went to great lengths to find a pair she was reconciled to. Cheerful, don’t you think?’ Thóra smiled stupidly and agreed. Failing to notice her odd expression, Margeir carried on talking: ‘But there aren’t many pictures of her wearing them. She generally took them off when the camera came out. That’s why I’m so fond of this picture; it shows her the way she usually looked.’ Thóra took another glance, then returned the wallet without comment. Although the photo was small and the quality poor, the red frames were beyond a doubt the pair she had found in the wardrobe on board the yacht. How on earth could they have ended up there? What was the child doing in the cupboard? Almost certainly hiding. The question was: from who? ‘I’m not wasting your time. They were there.’ Thóra stood crimson-faced behind the police officer as he rooted around in the artfully fitted wardrobe with his backside in the air. The fragrance of citrus wood did nothing to alleviate her discomfort, nor did the mirrors on the cupboard doors, which reflected her embarrassment back at her. ‘It was a red and orange cocktail dress and the glasses were tangled up in some dangly bits on the hem.’ ‘Could you be mistaken about the colour?’ His voice emerged muffled from among the evening gowns. ‘No. Definitely not. I remember thinking it was hardly surprising the glasses hadn’t been spotted because they were almost the same colour as the dress. But I was preoccupied with Karítas at the time – it didn’t occur to me that they could be significant.’ He didn’t respond, merely continued to dig around among the clothes. ‘You see, I assumed the glasses must have ended up there before the yacht was repossessed.’ The officer extricated himself and rose stiffly to his feet. ‘You should have informed us immediately.’ Thóra blew the fringe out of her eyes, annoyed. It was at least the tenth time he had mentioned this since she met him by the yacht. The same went for his colleague to whom she had reported the discovery of the glasses. She missed her friend with the green eyes and suspected that this man and the one who had answered the phone were the officers he had bawled out for their oversight in relation to Halldór’s body. That would explain their conduct towards her; they must be pleased to be in a position to offload the blame onto somebody else. ‘As I explained, it slipped my mind. I didn’t work out the connection until this morning when I saw a photo of the girl wearing the glasses. She didn’t have them on in the few other pictures I’d seen of her. To give you an idea of how little importance I attached to them, I didn’t even check to see if they were still there the second time I came aboard – even though I opened the closet.’ ‘You should have let us know anyway. It’s not up to you to decide what is or isn’t significant.’ ‘No. You’re right about that.’ Thóra gritted her teeth and tried to keep her cool. She was aware of a throbbing behind her eyes that threatened to develop into a full-blown headache if she didn’t leave the boat soon. She was clearly not cut out to be a sailor if she was in danger of feeling seasick in port. ‘Of course, I should have rung and told you about every single thing I saw, shouldn’t I? Like the towel in the bathroom. Two towels, actually. But I forgot.’ The policeman stood up straight and although Thóra was tall, he towered over her. The cabin may have been luxurious but it had a low ceiling, which had the effect of accentuating his height and making him seem almost a giant. ‘There’s no call for sarcasm.’ ‘No, sorry.’ She relaxed her jaw. If she didn’t want to ruin her good relations with the police she had better find a way to lighten the atmosphere. Better drop the matter and get to the point. ‘Anyway, I don’t understand what can have happened to the dress.’ She opened the wardrobes one after the other and peered inside, though they had already conducted a thorough search. ‘Someone must have taken it.’ She took a step back to get a better view of the one that was open. ‘I couldn’t swear to it, but now I come to think of it some of the other dresses may be missing as well.’ She rubbed off the fingerprint powder that had coated her hands when she opened the doors. A forensics officer had gone round first, taking prints from the cupboards, light switches and the chest of drawers in the cabin, in case any new ones had appeared since the initial examination of the yacht. He had also vacuumed all the wardrobes in search of biological material which might prove that Bylgja or Arna had been hiding inside them. While he was working, Thóra and the policeman had been forced to cool their heels in the corridor, exchanging small talk that became increasingly strained with every moment that passed. Perhaps that was why, once they entered the cabin, they had quickly begun to get on each other’s nerves. ‘They took photographs in here when the yacht first arrived in port, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’ The man looked at the sea of colour suspended from the hangers. ‘Though I don’t unders tand how you can tell. The wardrobes are so full it doesn’t look as if there’d be room for anything else.’ ‘There were more dresses.’ Thóra stepped back still further and made an effort to picture the contents as she had originally laid eyes on them. There was still only one empty hanger, but the garments did not seem as tightly packed. ‘Yup, there were definitely more dresses.’ She closed the door. The policeman surveyed the cabin with a frown. ‘If you’re right and there are dresses missing as well as the glasses, the question is who could have removed them?’ Thóra smiled at him patiently, feeling her headache intensify. ‘These are designer clothes – some of the dresses are worth a fortune.’ ‘But they’re used. Who wants second-hand clothes, even if they are expensive?’ ‘It’s not unheard-of, you know.’ Personally, she would not have wanted any of the dresses in that cupboard, not because they were second-hand but because she never had the occasion to dress up in glamorous, floor-skimming evening gowns. ‘I’d hazard a guess that the owner of these clothes or somebody close to her would be the most likely suspects. How have you been getting on with tracking down Karítas and her PA?’ ‘I wouldn’t know.’ ‘I see.’ She kept her thoughts to herself. Bella had had no luck in contacting Karítas, let alone finding out where her assistant, Aldís, was living. At least she had succeeded in discovering the latter’s full name, by pestering Karítas’s mother with phone calls until the woman had caved in and taken the trouble to dig out Aldís’s patronymic. Thóra suspected she had in fact known it all along. But when Thóra had used the information to contact the girl’s family, they seemed utterly indifferent, claiming they often didn’t hear from Aldís for months as she was kept very busy by her employer. Bella was not exactly known for her psychological insight, but even Thóra had to agree when she said there was clearly no love lost between the PA and her family. However, the fact that she hadn’t crawled home with her tail between her legs could indicate that she was in Brazil with Karítas. Another possibility was that both women had come to a sticky end. And a third, that Aldís had played a part in Karítas’s demise. These things did happen. This conjecture was lent more substance by the expression of hatred Thóra had seen on the young woman’s face in the photo where she was helping her employer into her dress. She’d looked as if she’d rather be planting a knife between Karítas’s shoulder blades than doing up her zip. ‘Do these numbers mean anything to you?’ Watching Snævar struggle to decipher Ægir’s almost illegible handwriting, Thóra was disappointed by his blank expression. She had felt considerably better once she was back on dry land, but her headache still lingered in spite of the painkillers she’d swallowed on returning to the office a good two hours ago. ‘No. I doubt they’re connected to the yacht. Maybe it’s a registration number. Though not like any I’m familiar with.’ As he put down the piece of paper he looked as frustrated as Thóra. He had agreed at once when she rang to ask him to drop by, and it was all too apparent that he was fed up with sitting at home alone. Few young men would have jumped for joy at the prospect of visiting a lawyer, even a female one. ‘Thanks for coming in, by the way.’ She hoped he would sense how important it was for her to be able to call on him for help. She wasn’t well enough acquainted with any other seamen to approach them about such matters, so a sailor marooned on shore by a broken leg, one who actually knew something about the yacht in question, was a godsend. ‘I really appreciate being able to consult you about Ægir’s case, but of course you’re free to refuse any further meetings.’ She smiled at him. The figure slumped in the chair facing her sat up a little. He looked smarter than he had last time, in a much more presentable jumper, properly shaven. Only the grubby tracksuit bottoms were the same. ‘It’s really no bother. I’m going stir-crazy at home, so I’m glad of any excuse to leave the house. I just wish I could be of more use.’ ‘Oh, I’ve only just started, don’t you worry.’ She realised she hadn’t offered him any coffee. He looked as if he could do with some. In spite of the extra care he had taken over his appearance he was still rather pale and drawn. ‘How have you been coping since finding Halldór? It must have been horrific for you.’ ‘Oh, you know.’ His response was as one would expect; he avoided meeting her eye and his fingers twitched in his lap. She didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that he was having a tough time. ‘Have you received any trauma counselling, Snævar?’ ‘No. They offered but I refused. I can’t really see what use it would be.’ He sniffed and shifted in his chair. ‘It’s just something I have to deal with on my own.’ ‘I see.’ It was blindingly obvious that he wasn’t dealing with it at all well. ‘You should talk to an expert anyway. Better late than never. You’d be surprised how much it can help, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.’ Snævar made a non-committal noise. Thóra decided to leave it and ask about something more specific. ‘How’s your leg, by the way? Improving at all?’ ‘I’m supposed to stay in plaster for six weeks.’ He slapped the plastic splint that jutted out from under his tracksuit bottoms, wrapped in yet another shopping bag, this time from the Nóatún supermarket chain. ‘I reckon I’m about halfway through, but I can’t deny I’m looking forward to being back on two feet. And to wearing what I like instead of the only clothes I can get into.’ A grin transformed his face. ‘You’ll be rid of that thing before you know it.’ At the sight of Snævar looking brighter Thóra’s own mood lifted. ‘That reminds me. Here are the papers from the Portuguese hospital. You’ll probably need to take them along when you go to see the doctor. Sorry I didn’t return them to you earlier.’ He held out a hand for the documents. ‘No problem. I still haven’t got round to it, so it doesn’t matter. I really should get a move on, though.’ ‘I could give you a lift if you like, or get someone else to. The thing is, I should have asked you for a note from your doctor confirming that you weren’t fit to work because of a broken leg at the time you were supposed to sail home.’ ‘But I could have sailed home.’ She tried to hide her irritation, which was directed not so much at him as at herself and her gnawing suspicions about Ægir. ‘Yes, no doubt you could have, but you didn’t, and I need confirmation that it was because of your broken leg. The Portuguese papers aren’t enough on their own.’ She would prefer not to tell him why. ‘I could always ask my ex-husband, who’s a doctor, to look in on you. He owes me a favour.’ Gylfi had got the job on the oil rig and was due to start as soon as he had finished his final school exams. In three months her life would change irrevocably. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to leave the house.’ ‘Oh no, no need. I’ll go to my doctor. No problem.’ Judging by his expression, he was not at all keen to receive a visit from her ex. He cleared his throat. ‘Are they any closer to finding out how Halli died?’ ‘I don’t think so.’ It was not her place to reveal what the police had confided in her. Although it was evident that Halli had drowned, the details surrounding his demise were so bizarre that it would be best to say as little as possible. ‘I’m sure it’ll become clear in due course.’ ‘I see.’ It was obvious he didn’t entirely believe her. ‘Have you had any further thoughts yourself about what might have happened?’ ‘No.’ He seemed to realise he was slouching again, and made a visible effort to look more alert. ‘Of course, I keep going over it in my mind and I reckon it must have been a combination of factors. Since we know now that two of the three crew members are dead, I’m guessing the captain copped it as well and after that the family took the idiotic decision to abandon ship.’ He flung out a hand. ‘But that theory doesn’t work either when you think about it, since who can have programmed the autopilot and set the course first to Grótta, then to port?’ After acquainting herself with the criteria for the pleasure craft competency certificate, Thóra had immediately discounted the possibility that Ægir could have learnt how to use an autopilot on the course. Admittedly, it was conceivable that one of the crew might have taken the time to teach him or Lára to use the system but that wouldn’t explain why they had set a course for Grótta. The most obvious option would have been to direct the yacht straight to Reykjavík harbour. None of the alternatives that occurred to her made any sense. There were too many unanswered questions, too many unsubstantiated theories. ‘One more thing, Snævar.’ He regarded her hopefully, as if pathetically keen to give her the answer she wanted. ‘Is there any chance there could have been a stowaway on board?’ From the way his face relaxed, it looked as if this could be answered with a straight yes or no. But it turned out not to be that simple. ‘I doubt it, but I couldn’t rule it out. He’d have had to be bloody clever. And quiet. Every nook and cranny on board is used to the max, so he’d have had to be incredibly lucky for no one to spot him. I guess someone could have hidden in an empty cabin, though it would have taken a hell of a lot of nerve.’ ‘What about in the engine room or storage spaces on the bottom deck? Is there nowhere to hide down there?’ ‘I suppose there could be. Not in the engine room, though, because they inspect that regularly. If I was going to hide on board, I’d steer clear of the engines and bridge as you’d almost certainly be spotted there.’ ‘So it would be feasible, with a bit of luck?’ ‘Well… I guess so. If you knew the yacht inside out.’ Snævar grimaced and shifted his injured leg, which seemed to be causing him discomfort. ‘But who could it have been? And why the fuck would they do it?’ There was no disguising the anger in his voice and Thóra could only hope he wouldn’t be the first to track down the stowaway if he or she turned out to exist. If he did, they wouldn’t have a hope in hell. ‘I haven’t a clue.’ In fact, she had already formed an opinion but wanted to avoid rousing his suspicion. If someone had stowed away on board, that person must surely have been linked to the former owners. It was the only logical conclusion. Karítas, Aldís – even the owner, Gulam. Or a henchman he had hired to recover the yacht. The last scenario was a long shot, however, as they would have little to gain by stealing the boat. ‘Not a clue.’ Once Snævar had left, Bella came in and plonked herself down in front of Thóra. ‘Look, I know I couldn’t sort out the photocopier before the weekend, but would you be prepared to trade the upgrade for information about Aldís?’ ‘What?’ Thóra asked eagerly. ‘Where did you get it from?’ ‘I rang a girl who used to work with Aldís before she took the job with Karítas. A sort of friend.’ ‘And how did you find out about her?’ ‘I rang Aldís’s mum and asked. Told her we wanted to check if she’d been in touch with any of her mates because we needed to get hold of her urgently. She gave me this girl’s name and I tracked down her number.’ ‘Damn it, Bella, you did this here in the office during working hours. I shouldn’t have to bribe you to do your job. Anyway, I’m afraid Bragi and I decided the other day not to install a high-speed connection after all. We’ll review the situation in ten years.’ Thóra couldn’t resist winding her up a little. ‘I’m sorry.’ Bella pushed her chair back. ‘Okay, fine. No worries.’ ‘Hey, you can’t leave. Tell me what the friend said.’ ‘What friend? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Try asking me again in ten years – perhaps I’ll remember then.’ Bella heaved her bulk out of the chair. ‘For goodness’ sake, come on – I was only teasing. We’re going to organise the bloody upgrade. I’ve been waiting for a good moment to tell you. I just didn’t want it to look as if I was giving in to blackmail.’ ‘It wasn’t blackmail. It’s called a trade-off.’ But the news of the upgrade had brought out the best in Bella and she sat down again, her face shining. No doubt she was daydreaming about how fast she could now jump in with last-minute bids on eBay. ‘Well, according to this girl, Aldís wasn’t exactly the sociable type. She was a bit of a snob, but all right really – she just had dreams of being rich and famous, though mainly rich.’ ‘Famous for what?’ Bella gave Thóra a pitying look. ‘Where have you been? You don’t have to be famous for anything these days. She just wanted to be a rich celebrity. But her plans were going badly, so she was getting a bit pissed off. Her mate thought things would change for the better when she started working for Karítas, but no such luck. She said she couldn’t understand why on earth Aldís stayed on if she was so fed up.’ ‘Was the pay bad?’ ‘The friend didn’t say, so maybe she didn’t know.’ ‘Why was she so fed up then?’ Aldís sounded to Thóra like one of those girls who become an au pair, dreaming of foreign travel, only to discover that washing dishes in another country is just as boring as it is in Iceland. ‘If I understood her right, Aldís was totally hacked off with running around after Karítas. And with Karítas herself, as well.’ ‘So she couldn’t stand her?’ Bella rolled her eyes. ‘Duh… what do you think? Aldís was always slagging her off. The friend said Aldís was forever ringing her to let off steam. She couldn’t talk to any of the other staff in case it got back to her boss. They weren’t especially close but the friend felt sorry for her because she seemed so disappointed. I bet she thought she’d be allowed to go to the parties and join in all the fun, but that was way off the mark.’ Thóra understood. She had been to drinks receptions at offices and ministries where the young waiting staff had forgotten their place and started mingling with the guests. That could only happen in a society where everyone was equal, at least in theory. In countries with deeper class divisions the picture was probably very different, as poor Aldís seemed to have learnt the hard way. ‘So she was at best a PA, or at worst some kind of maid?’ ‘Yes. I gather that’s what she was paid for. And it sounds like she found it hard to swallow.’ ‘Did she mention anything to this friend about wanting to resign?’ ‘I didn’t ask. But I did discover that her mate hasn’t heard from her for weeks, which is much longer than usual.’ Bella fiddled with the ring on her finger, which was so huge that it resembled a piece of armour. ‘Do you reckon she was mixed up in this case? Maybe even bumped off Karítas?’ Her face radiated schadenfreude. Thóra was disturbed by her gloating. ‘I doubt it, but it bothers me that we can’t get hold of either of them. It’s a bit too much of a coincidence and I’d like to know what’s going on.’ She opened the window. Fresh air flooded into the room and the splitting headache that had afflicted her since her visit to the yacht receded a little. ‘There’s a chance that finding out won’t help us at all, but it’s still frustrating not to know.’ Bella filled her lungs, as grateful as Thóra for the fresh air. ‘But you’re wondering if Aldís killed the people on board.’ Thóra’s headache returned with a vengeance and she felt a sudden longing to go home. ‘I’m not wondering anything of the sort. Just whether either or both of them could conceivably be linked to the disappearance. Not necessarily as the perpetrators. But indirectly.’ Bella went off in search of Bragi after being assured that he would arrange the upgrade, and Thóra was left massaging her temples in an attempt to relieve the pain. Perhaps Aldís had no connection to her employer’s alleged death. She called the dates to mind and worked out from the information provided by Karítas’s mother that her daughter could well have been in Lisbon when the crew arrived. She could have become involved in an altercation with one of the men when they refused to let her on board, perhaps, or because they were confiscating the yacht that she may still have regarded as rightfully hers. It was not difficult to imagine how a row like that could have got out of hand. But what then? Had Ægir, Lára and the twins inadvertently stumbled on the truth, maybe by catching the culprit or culprits in the act of throwing the body overboard at a safe distance from land? Could that have led to their being disposed of in the same way? However hard Thóra tried, she simply couldn’t picture this chain of events. Surely no one would go to such lengths? ‘It’s unlikely to achieve anything but I propose we do it anyway.’ Even seriously sleep deprived, Thráinn still commanded respect. Ægir wondered for a moment what it would be like to be a captain with authority over everyone on board, like the dictator of a mini state. ‘There’s no other explanation. Let’s hunt down this maniac, then get the hell home.’ Halli was breathing fast and couldn’t disguise his relief that they had agreed to act on his suggestion of overpowering the stowaway. It was hardly surprising: as the prime suspect, he had the most to gain from their standing together. Either that or he would be left to confront them alone. However, their newfound solidarity depended on their finding the uninvited guest who Halli insisted must have thrown the body overboard and murdered Loftur. He steadfastly maintained his innocence and, like Thráinn, was very persuasive. Ægir could only hope that he himself sounded even more convincing about his own and Lára’s lack of involvement. He kept quiet about the fact that he had been awake for over an hour while his wife and daughters slept. Otherwise he would find himself in the same predicament as Halli – desperately trying to make Thráinn believe that it was not him. ‘How are we going to do this?’ Ægir shuddered at the thought of walking alone through the corridors, peering into every dark corner, with the risk that the murderer – whether it was Halli, Thráinn or the putative stowaway – might be lurking behind the nearest door. Ægir was inclined to believe that Halli was the guilty party but he could not entirely discount Thráinn since none of them were qualified to calculate Loftur’s time of death or ascertain exactly how he had met his end. Both Thráinn and Halli had been alone for most of the afternoon and there was no way of knowing which of them was telling the truth when they protested their innocence. Thráinn was calm, Halli on edge, and Ægir lacked the experience to determine which was the more normal behaviour for a blameless man. Perhaps there was no such thing as normality in a situation like this. He himself was still in shock from the sight of Loftur’s dead body and kept being assailed with the desire to break into hysterical laughter. When they had reached the Jacuzzi, steam was rising from under its padded cover and all three had stood there at a loss for a moment until Thráinn decided to lift it off. Neither Ægir nor Halli had taken a step closer or offered the captain any help as he struggled with the heavy, slippery lid. And no one had said a word when it was finally removed and they were confronted by the sight of Loftur, submerged fully dressed in the hot water, his eyes and mouth wide open. Countless silvery bubbles clung to his hair like a tiara, rendering his death mask even more grotesque. It would be a while before Ægir could bear to enter a hot tub again after witnessing Loftur’s blank gaze. The memory of how the water had trickled from his nose and mouth after they heaved him out and rolled him over onto his back only made it worse. ‘I’m not sure I want to leave my family alone.’ ‘We’re sticking together, the three of us. It’s not up for discussion.’ Despite stifling a yawn, Thráinn still spoke with authority. ‘Your wife and daughters can wait here in the pilot house. It’s lockable from inside and there are windows in all the doors, so they’ll be able to see anyone who wants to come in.’ ‘How will it help to see who’s outside if the man’s intent on breaking in? If he even exists.’ Ægir’s mind was racing; he knew this was his only chance to detect any flaws in the plan that might cost his wife and daughters their lives. His love for them was the only thing that mattered. To hell with the money, to hell with it; to hell with everything except them. ‘It wouldn’t be that easy to break in. The plastic in the windows is specially toughened to withstand gales and waves far more powerful than any human being. But if it comes to that, they wouldn’t be defenceless.’ ‘Oh?’ Ægir’s voice sounded almost shrill and he paused to get a grip on himself. Laughter welled up inside him again over the absurdity of it all. Lára had never had any reason to resort to a weapon in self-defence. Normal life seemed more remote than ever: shopping for food, replacing the washer on the bathroom tap, having their parents round to dinner, changing the batteries in the smoke alarm. It all seemed so ridiculous now that it made his chest ache. He was on the brink of losing control. ‘What, are you planning to give Lára the axe?’ He gestured to the weapon that was hanging on the wall of the bridge but his hand shook so badly that he quickly lowered his arm. It wouldn’t do for the other two to see what a state he was in. ‘No.’ Thráinn was as imperturbable as Ægir was agitated. ‘I’m going to lend her a revolver.’ Unable to help himself, Ægir finally began to giggle. Soon it had spiralled into helpless laughter that reminded him of his short-lived experiments with smoking grass in the sixth form. Pointless, self-propagating mirth. The other two men stared at him until he couldn’t laugh any more and broke into noisy hiccups. ‘She doesn’t know how to use a gun.’ Another brief gust of wild hilarity followed. ‘It’s not exactly difficult.’ Thráinn looked concerned, doubtless more over Ægir’s state of mind than Lára’s ability to use a firearm. ‘She just has to point and pull the trigger.’ ‘Is that a good idea?’ Halli blurted out the words before he realised how they could be interpreted – that he would rather she were unarmed and therefore easier to overpower. ‘I mean, she might be a danger to herself or shoot the girls by mistake.’ ‘I reckon she’s too sensible for that. I’d sooner trust her with the gun than you two.’ As Thráinn studied them both he seemed to be drawing no distinction between them. It dawned on Ægir how pathetic they must appear. It was some comfort to think that Halli, constantly licking his lips and shivering, cut no better a figure than he did himself. The captain was right; Lára couldn’t fare any worse than them. ‘Shall I fetch her and the girls?’ ‘Yes. We’ll wait here.’ Thráinn pointed to a seat and ordered Halli to sit down. Then he turned the pilot’s chair round to keep him in view. ‘Get a move on. Don’t dawdle.’ On the way to the cabin Ægir wiped his eyes, which were still wet from laughing. He took several deep breaths and hoped he would recover his self-control. It was essential to keep calm while talking to Lára because if he showed the slightest hint of nerves, he would infect the twins, and no doubt her as well, with his anxiety. It was the first time since finding Loftur that he had admitted to himself how he felt. He was not just shaken or alarmed; he was terrified. Before entering the cabin, he cleared his throat and rubbed his face in the hope of obliterating the marks of fear. Then, smiling weakly, he opened the door. His wife and daughters were awake and sitting up in bed, though still under the duvet. Three identical pairs of eyes stared at him and in each he read that he had failed to conceal his fear. ‘What? What’s the matter?’ Lára flung off the duvet and got out of bed. ‘Nothing. But something’s come up and we need to go to the bridge. It’s nothing to worry about, though. We’re going to search the ship and we want you to wait in the pilot house in the meantime. You too, girls.’ He signalled to Lára that he needed to speak to her alone. ‘Collect up your books and cards, then come along. Your mother and I will be outside in the corridor.’ The girls looked surprised but said nothing. Lára hurriedly slipped on her shoes and threw a cardigan over her shoulders. ‘You needn’t hurry. We’re happy to wait,’ she said to the girls. She looked anything but happy, however, and as soon as the door swung to behind them, she made her feelings known. ‘Please don’t tell me if something bad has happened. Please, just let me believe that everything’s all right and that we can count the hours till we’re home. Please.’ Her eyes were beseeching and she hugged the cardigan to her as if she could hide inside it. Ægir felt as if the words were being torn from his throat. He wanted to lie to her and say it had only been an excuse to get her to himself; that if they were quick they could take each other here and now in this overblown burgundy corridor. ‘I really wish I could.’ He told her about Loftur, that it was urgent to find out whether there was an uninvited guest hiding on board, and that while they were searching the boat, she would have to wait alone on the bridge with the girls. He waited for this to sink in before telling her about the gun. ‘Gun? Have you gone out of your mind?’ She slapped him. The blow was not hard or intended to inflict pain but it was the first time physical violence had ever been used between them. ‘Lára!’ Ægir was speechless. ‘What if this stupid search of yours doesn’t reveal anything? Well?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘What am I to do if it’s not you who comes back but Thráinn? Or Halli? Am I supposed to shoot them?’ ‘No.’ Ægir hesitated, cursing himself for having told the girls they needn’t hurry. ‘What if Halli claims he became separated from you and wants to come in? Am I supposed to shoot him in front of the girls? Be standing over his bleeding corpse when you and Thráinn come back? Are you all out of your minds?’ ‘No.’ Ægir couldn’t meet her eye; couldn’t cope with this. He wished Thráinn was here to convince her and had to restrain himself from tearing open the cabin door and yelling at the girls to get a move on. The captain would make Lára see sense. He took himself in hand. ‘If anything like that happens, you mustn’t let Halli in. And if Thráinn and I don’t reappear soon, you may have to decide what action to take. And if Halli – or Thráinn or this imaginary stowaway – tries to break in, at least you’ll be armed.’ He felt relieved, convinced by his own arguments. ‘But what if Thráinn’s behind all this? Do you really think he’d give me a loaded gun? Do you know the difference between blanks and live ammunition?’ She observed his consternation. ‘I thought not.’ Mercifully, the girls now appeared with their arms full of books and other items that he and Lára had taken down to the cabin when they locked themselves in. They knew something serious was happening and kept quiet. Ægir made a lame joke about their not being short of stuff. They were to go straight up to the bridge and before they knew it they would be captaining the ship and finally things would start going right. Nobody smiled and they made their way in silence up to the pilot house where Thráinn and Halli were waiting. The captain took Lára aside and spoke to her while Ægir showed the girls the yacht’s steering system. He kept glancing over to see what was passing between his wife and the captain, and gulped when he saw Lára receive with trembling hands a parcel which must be the revolver, wrapped in a grey cloth. She stuck it clumsily into her waistband and pulled her top over it with a pained expression. Ægir turned away at once and made some meaningless remark to the girls. ‘Is the ship sinking, Daddy?’ Bylgja put her head on one side as was her habit when she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She was carrying them in her hand in case she wanted to read. ‘No.’ It came out more sharply than Ægir had intended, but the anger in his voice was directed at himself, not her. ‘Good heavens, no. There’s nothing wrong, everything’s going to be fine.’ He was saying the words Lára had wanted to hear. ‘Will we drown if the yacht sinks?’ Evidently he had failed to convince his daughter. ‘She’s not going to sink and even if she did, no one would drown. Do you remember the lifeboats?’ They both nodded doubtfully. ‘Ships carry lifeboats so that no one will drown even if they do go down. But this yacht is unsinkable, so there’s no need to worry.’ ‘Then why does it carry lifeboats?’ Arna interjected, without sarcasm. It was an entirely logical question that demanded an answer. ‘Because it’s obligatory, sweetheart. All boats and ships have to carry lifeboats. It’s the law.’ ‘How silly.’ Arna ran her finger over the radar screen. Ægir was glad he hadn’t told them what it showed; it was such a stark reminder of their isolation. If they needed help, it appeared there was none to be found nearby. ‘You know what they say, darling: better safe than sorry.’ He noticed that Thráinn was signalling to him. Lára stood a little way off, avoiding his eye. There was a conspicuous bulge at her slender waist. ‘Better safe than sorry.’ ‘I swear I didn’t lay a finger on Loftur. Why would I have asked you where he was if I’d just killed him?’ No doubt the question had sounded sensible when Halli formed it in his head but spoken aloud, it was meaningless. Now that it looked as if they were going to come up empty-handed, the young man seemed on the brink of despair. The three of them were down in the engine room, having scoured the other two levels without finding any trace of a stowaway. They had given Halli’s cabin, which adjoined the engine room, a thorough going-over, as well as the small workshop next door. ‘Perhaps the murderer has moved while we’ve been searching.’ Halli was breathing rapidly. ‘I didn’t go anywhere near Loftur. I swear it.’ ‘Methinks the laddie doth protest too much.’ The marks of strain were showing on Thráinn’s face and the weariness in his voice was audible. He lowered himself onto a wooden crate by the wall and leant backwards until his head encountered the steel bulkhead with a low thud. ‘I’m going to let you two search in here. Call me if you find anyone. I’ll sit tight.’ Halli turned to Ægir, having clearly given up all hope of persuading the captain of his innocence. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’ ‘I don’t know who to believe. I’m working on the assumption that you’re both equally dangerous. It’s the safest option.’ Ægir ran his eyes over the engines that stood in the middle of the room. He was fairly sure that in addition to the ship’s engine there were two generators, one probably for backup, and some pumps. ‘Where shall we begin?’ He took a couple of steps away from Halli, who had come unnervingly close. ‘This is your domain so you must know it inside out. It’s not as if there are many hiding places here.’ He glimpsed a door at the back of the room, behind one of the generators. ‘What’s that?’ ‘The door to the storeroom. Might as well start there.’ Halli now sounded subdued, as if he had given up trying to win Ægir round and would simply accept whatever happened. The effect of this was unexpected; for the first time Ægir was inclined to believe that Halli might actually be innocent. Which meant what? That Thráinn was the one to watch? They walked towards the storeroom, staying ludicrously far apart, as if each expected any minute to be stabbed by the other. Abruptly, Halli halted, and Ægir almost cannoned into him. ‘I can smell perfume.’ Ægir sniffed and became aware of the familiar heavy, sweet odour that had filled the air outside their cabin on the first evening. Perhaps the fragrance emanated from the yacht’s air conditioning system, though it was highly unlikely that they would use air freshener in the engine room. Perhaps the bottle Lára had been hunting for had found its way down here and smashed. It wouldn’t be the first time on this trip that something peculiar like that had happened. ‘Where’s it coming from?’ He sniffed hard, noticing as he did so that his sense of smell was becoming numbed to the scent. It was still present but there was no way of guessing its origin. Halli turned in a circle, trying to work out the source. ‘For fuck’s sake. I definitely smelt it.’ ‘Perhaps the mystery passenger is a woman,’ called Thráinn, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation from where he was sitting. It was hard to tell if he was joking or serious. Neither of them replied. The storeroom was larger than Ægir had expected. Inside were stacks of toilet paper, cleaning products and linen folded on shelves. Against one wall stood a wine cooler and a chest freezer, and he shivered at the thought of lifting the lid. Halli, on the other hand, went straight to work, reaching behind the shelves to bang on the walls in case there was a hidden compartment behind them. Ægir aimlessly pushed aside some cardboard boxes; they were far too small to hide a person, but he felt he should be doing something. ‘No one here.’ Then he braced himself and opened the freezer. He was met not by a blast of cold air but by a disgusting stench that mingled nauseatingly with the perfume that seemed to be growing stronger again. Holding his nose, Ægir peered inside. It was crammed with vacuum-packed meat and vegetables that would never be eaten now. ‘Shut the lid on that bloody thing.’ Halli held his elbow over his nose. ‘We turned off the electricity supply to that bugger to save energy. Close it before I throw up.’ Ægir dropped the lid, then stepped out of the storeroom and walked over to Thráinn. ‘What now? We’ve been over every inch of the yacht. There’s no one here.’ ‘We haven’t been down to the bottom deck where the tanks are yet.’ Thráinn was so red-eyed with exhaustion that he looked like a vampire. ‘We should probably take a look down there. Otherwise there’s little to show for our efforts.’ ‘Let’s get on with it then.’ Ægir may not have been awake as long as Thráinn but he was shattered too. It ground one down having to be constantly on the alert. ‘I want to get back to Lára and the girls.’ ‘They’re fine. The person they’ve got to fear is almost certainly down here with us. One of us, more to the point.’ Thráinn closed his eyes briefly, then slapped his thighs and stood up. ‘Best get this bullshit over with.’ Ægir turned to call Halli but was stopped in his tracks by an extraordinarily loud, penetrating crack that reverberated around the room. ‘What the hell was that?’ When he turned, he saw that Thráinn had set off at a run towards the exit. Without looking back, the captain shouted: ‘A shot. Presumably from the bridge.’ The sickly sweet smell of perfume intensified until Ægir thought it would suffocate him. He raced after Thráinn as if the devil were at his heels. Photocopies of the ship’s log lay strewn over Thóra’s desk. They had arrived in a muddle from the police, which meant she had to try and work out the chronology from the context. Although the entries were dated, it complicated matters when a day extended over more than one page. Nor did the missing leaves help, since they were probably the very ones that had contained the most significant information. It seemed odd that whoever was responsible for tearing them out hadn’t simply tossed the whole book overboard. She had been disconcerted to discover that the log was written by hand; it felt somehow macabre to be puzzling over the handwriting of a man who was missing, presumed dead; to read his comments from the beginning of the voyage on the satisfactory condition of the engines and the yacht in general; his reflections on the weather forecast and his list of the crew and passengers – people who had believed they had five days’ pleasant cruising ahead of them. Nothing in the first entry gave any indication that their fates had been decided in advance; on the contrary, everything seemed to have been in good order. To be fair, the captain did mention that the seal placed on the door by order of the resolution committee had been broken, but he did not seem overly concerned by this, noting that there was no sign of a break-in or sabotage. However, since neither the captain nor the other crew members had any experience of forensic investigations, they might well have failed to notice important evidence. For example, it apparently hadn’t occurred to the captain that the person who broke the seal might have had a key. After all, why break in if you could simply unlock the door? Next came a brief explanation of the passengers’ presence on board, accompanied by a few words of concern about the necessity of ensuring the two girls’ safety during the trip. Although the captain did not actually curse Snævar for his accident, his displeasure was easy to read between the lines. He was far from happy about allowing Ægir to step into the breach, but had been constrained to fulfil the conditions of the minimum safe manning document and to keep to schedule. These initial entries were excellent news for Thóra’s case. It was plain not only that Ægir had been enlisted by complete coincidence but that it had been at the captain’s behest rather than his own. Indeed, it was hard to see how Ægir could have planned a life insurance scam that would have required a complete stranger to propose that he sailed with the Lady K . There could be no arguing with that. Neither did the final entry in the logbook presage any abnormal turn of events, though presumably the situation must have changed shortly afterwards since all the subsequent pages had been ripped out. The captain had recorded that the communications systems were malfunctioning and that the crew were working to fix them. At that point the yacht had still been able to make contact to a limited extent by radiotelephone. But apart from the captain’s barely intelligible conversation with the British trawler a day later, no one was aware of having heard from the yacht. If things had gone to hell at the point where the pages ran out, one would have thought the crew would at least have tried to transmit a distress signal or report the problem. But they had not, and it was disturbing to think that one person may have remained alive; the one who had sailed the yacht close to Grótta and from there to Reykjavík harbour with that strange detour out into Faxaflói bay. It was possible that the boat had taken this extraordinary route because the person who set its course had not known how to program the autopilot or GPS. And that did not look good for Thóra’s case; the only people on board with little experience of boats were Ægir and Lára – and the twin s, of course, though she had to assume they couldn’t possibly count. Thóra’s eyes ached from poring over the entries in the hope of spotting something that was missing, or of gaining a deeper insight into what had happened. She gathered the pages together, feeling frustrated yet again by the absent entries. What she wouldn’t give to know what they had contained, to learn from the captain’s illegible, old-fashioned script the answer to the flood of questions that plagued her; the explanation for the body he had reported over the faulty radio, and a description of the events leading up to the passengers’ disappearance – if that is how the situation had unfolded. Perhaps catastrophe had struck without warning, but if so it was hard to understand why the pages had been torn out. Unless it had been done for another reason – to plug a hole, for instance, or even to use for drawing pictures on. Neither explanation seemed plausible but there was little point wasting time on wondering; the missing pages would be floating somewhere in the sea by now or lying on the ocean floor where the fish would try in vain to interpret their secrets. The remnants of the ship’s log, the certificates of seaworthiness and other relevant documents would have to suffice for her report. Whether this would satisfy the insurance company’s queries remained to be seen. After adjusting the report to include this new information, Thóra read it over for what seemed like the hundredth time before sending it to the printer in Bragi’s office, feeling dispirited. Its contents were so over-familiar by now that she could no longer determine how well she had succeeded in her task. It was time to take a break and clear her head with a cup of coffee. After that she would decide whether to send it to Ægir’s parents in its current form. ‘Fucking weather,’ growled Bella from reception. Melting snow dripped from the shoulders of her anorak and flakes glittered in her hair. Thóra dodged to avoid a shower as the secretary shook herself like a dog. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘I had to run out to the district court with some stuff for Bragi.’ Bella stamped her feet to dislodge the compacted ice from under her shoes. Two dark footprints showed for an instant on the light-coloured parquet but quickly lost their shape on the warm wood. ‘I had to park bloody miles away, so I happened to drive past Faxagardur on my way back. It looked as if the police were sniffing around that yacht of yours.’ ‘Really?’ Thóra didn’t know why she was surprised. The investigation might have uncovered a new detail or perhaps they were repeating their tests or subjecting a larger area to detailed forensic analysis. ‘Could you see what they were up to?’ ‘No, I just noticed two police cars parked right beside the boat and a cop wandering around on deck. Maybe they were having a go in the Jacuzzi.’ Ignoring this, Thóra decided it was time for some fresh air. The coffee provided by the resolution committee was far superior to the law firm brew and Thóra felt her dissatisfaction receding, despite having had a wasted journey so far. Ægir’s parents had been out when she called and only with considerable difficulty had she been able to cram the report into their letterbox. Papers and envelopes projected from the opening at all angles, like a failed flower arrangement. It was not hard to understand why: what could possibly come in the post that would matter to them now? In the end she had been forced to weed out some of the contents – junk mail and other unimportant-looking items – to make room. To ensure they received the report, she would have to ring them and let them know it was there. It would not do for the envelope to languish unnoticed among the yellowing newspapers for the duration. In addition, she needed to pass on the information that Ægir’s salary would be paid as usual, and that her conversation with social services about guaranteeing access had proved encouraging. It made a change to be the bearer of good news. ‘Are you making any progress?’ Fannar asked. ‘We’re doing our nuts here over the lack of information. The police keep giving us the brush-off.’ He was sitting facing her in a small meeting room, smartly dressed as usual, looking for all the world like one of the young bankers who used to swagger around the city streets and bars in the days before the crash. ‘Have they managed to clarify things at all?’ Thóra took another sip of coffee and shook her head. She was no better than Bella, inadvertently spraying the room with drops of water. Some landed on the gleaming table and she put down her cup to wipe them away, not wanting to be reminded of her insufferable secretary. ‘No, sadly. The only fact that seems incontrovertible is that Ægir and his family are dead. Nobody’s holding out any more hope that they could have survived.’ Fannar did not look particularly moved by this news. ‘Did anyone really believe that?’ Thóra shrugged; carefully, to avoid another shower. ‘Well, people tend to cling to hope for as long as they can. But now that two of the seven have turned up dead, it’s greatly reduced the chances that the others could have been saved – and time is passing.’ She kept quiet about the possibility that one or more of the people might have made it ashore. She had no intention of sharing with Fannar any details that were not in the public domain. The trick was to give the impression that she was revealing more than she should. ‘But you’ll keep that to yourself, won’t you?’ ‘Absolutely. You can count on me.’ A gleam entered Fannar’s eyes. ‘Nothing we discuss here will go any further. That’s why I chose this room. Inevitably, everyone’s dying to know what’s happening because Ægir was one of us.’ He must think she was a complete idiot. Before she even reached her car he would have shared this new information with at least one or two of his colleagues. And by the time she got back to her office on Skólavördustígur, those one or two would doubtless have started spreading the gossip, and so it would snowball. ‘When I collected the papers from you, they included a page with Karítas’s name and phone number. Do you know why? I’ve been meaning to ask you but keep forgetting.’ She held out a copy of the page in question. Fannar seemed surprised but was quick to assume a smile again. ‘Oh, that.’ He picked up a sugar-lump and popped it in his mouth. ‘That note was among the documents in Ægir’s file on the loan and the yacht repossession. I’ve no idea where he got the number or what he was intending to do with it, but I included it anyway.’ ‘Was Ægir acquainted with Karítas at all?’ Fannar stopped sucking the sugar-lump for a moment. ‘No. I’m almost certain he wasn’t.’ ‘Could he have needed to contact her for work reasons? To get her signature or notify her of the seizure of her property?’ ‘It’s unlikely. The loan and the yacht were both in her husband’s name. There’d have been no reason to contact her, unless he meant to ask about her husband’s whereabouts.’ Thóra drank some more coffee and wondered what this could mean. The yacht-related documents that she had found in Ægir’s bedside table could indicate that he took his job seriously or that he had become obsessed with the case. Or something worse. ‘Do committee employees work outside the office at all? I mean, would you take your files home with you when there was a lot on?’ ‘No, absolutely not. Naturally, we carry around information on our laptops but taking documents home is frowned on. Why do you ask?’ ‘I was just wondering if there might be more paperwork relating to the case at Ægir’s house – if there’d be any point in going round to check.’ Again she decided it would be better not to reveal the whole story. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. At least, I’d be very surprised. Ægir was highly professional – not the type to smuggle files home with him. Anything of substance should be here and we’ve already given you and the police copies of everything that isn’t subject to bank confidentiality. I can’t see how information relating to the former owner’s financial situation can be relevant to your case.’ Thóra smiled non-committally and finished her coffee. She longed for a refill but didn’t like to ask. ‘Would you be able to find out if Ægir rang Karítas’s number? I’m assuming he’d have called from the office since it’s work related.’ ‘Um, I don’t know. We don’t usually keep track of phone calls but the bills are itemised and long, expensive calls are sometimes charged to a specific project. I can have it checked if you like. It rather depends on how busy the secretaries are, so it might not happen today.’ He held up the photocopy. ‘Can I keep this? Then I won’t have to hunt for the original.’ ‘Sure.’ Thóra sincerely hoped no such call had been made. It would only complicate matters and they would probably never find out what it had entailed. ‘Right.’ Fannar darted a glance at the ostentatiously expensive watch on his wrist, which was half-hidden by a sleeve fastened, inevitably, by a flashy cufflink. ‘Oh. One more thing.’ He looked up quickly. ‘Had either of the bodies they found been shot?’ ‘Shot?’ Thóra thought she must have misheard. ‘I’m pretty sure they hadn’t. Why do you ask?’ ‘I’ve just sent the police some new paperwork that came in yesterday. They rang straight back, anxious to know if there had been a gun on board or if we’d had it removed before they embarked. I hadn’t a clue; it’s the first I’ve heard of any gun.’ It was the first Thóra had heard of it as well. ‘And they didn’t explain why they were asking?’ ‘No. The guy rang off as soon as I’d answered his questions.’ He swallowed the rest of the sugar-lump. ‘But it occurred to me that it might be connected to the documentation I’d sent them, and I was right.’ ‘What was the document?’ Thóra felt absurdly jealous at not having been entrusted with the same information. ‘It was a survey we had arranged in connection with the valuation of the yacht, which revealed that there was a revolver kept on the bridge. I asked around and apparently the captain has to be provided with one in case of a pirate attack. Can you imagine? Pirates!’ ‘Apparently they still exist.’ She wondered if pirates could have boarded the yacht, killed the passengers and sailed away on the boat they came on, all without leaving a trace. ‘There was no mention of any gun in the inventory I received. Is this a different list?’ ‘Yes, the list you have dates back to when the bank granted the owner a loan to purchase the yacht, so we couldn’t use it for the latest valuation. The new inventory only came through yesterday. We’d booked an overseas agent to do a survey on the boat a few days before she left Lisbon and the bastard took his time about compiling a report.’ He sighed. ‘Not that it’ll be much use to us now. The yacht’s damaged goods – not just the hull but her reputation too. Unless you can sort that out.’ He smiled. Thóra returned his smile automatically, her mind on other things. ‘Could I get a copy of the new inventory?’ ‘No problem. The police have requested a better version. I sent them a scan by e-mail but the quality wasn’t good enough so they want a hard copy. I’ll have another made for you at the same time.’ While Thóra was waiting in reception, a police officer arrived to collect the inventory. It was the man with the green eyes. If he found it odd to encounter her there, he didn’t show it. Too impatient to observe the formalities, she immediately asked him about the gun. At first he plainly had no intention of revealing anything but then he changed his mind. Apparently the gun listed in the most recent inventory was nowhere to be found on board. The original inspection of the yacht had turned up a small case of ammunition in the pilot house but this had been dismissed as insignificant since no gun was known to have been on board. The new inventory had changed all that. There was no forensic evidence that any shots had been fired on the yacht but six rounds were missing from the case. This indicated that the revolver had been used since the surveyor’s visit, because in his report the case had been full and the gun unloaded. Thóra received her copy of the list and put it in her bag. Before she left, the detective asked her to drop by after lunch as he wanted to discuss a matter concerning one of her clients – Lára. Although he didn’t reveal any further details, Thóra could tell from his face that the news was bad. So far the phone call had revolved around how tragic the whole affair was and how much Lára’s co-workers missed her. Thóra kept trying to guide the conversation back to the topic she had rung to discuss but without success; the woman was far too upset. While the resolution committee was directly linked to the circumstances of Ægir’s disappearance and therefore to the police inquiry, Lára’s colleagues were completely out of the loop and had received no news except via the media. Yet the woman was not motivated by nosiness; her questions revealed a genuine concern for the future of Lára’s little girl and the terrible grief her family must be suffering. Only after some considerable time did Thóra manage to get a word in edgeways: ‘The reason I’m calling is that I may need to ask one of Lára’s colleagues – someone who was well disposed towards her – to provide a character witness that would put an end to all speculation about her faking her own disappearance.’ ‘Faking her disappearance?’ The woman’s tone conveyed all that needed to be said. ‘It’s just a formality. No one’s seriously suggesting that she did. Might you be willing to provide one? You seem to have known her quite well.’ ‘I certainly did. We sat at neighbouring desks, so you could say we knew each other better than anyone else in the company. Though actually there are only five of us in Accounts and Payroll.’ The software firm where Lára had worked was fairly large, so Thóra had been fortunate to be put through to such a close colleague. ‘Anyway, as I was telling you, I really don’t know what to say. Just when everything was going so well and Ægir was enjoying his job at last…’ Thóra interrupted: ‘Didn’t he enjoy it before?’ ‘Oh, yes. Well, sort of. He used to work for the bank that collapsed – the one the committee was appointed to wind up – but he wasn’t too happy there; lots of the guys he graduated with had been promoted above him and had more money to play with. Lára told me he’d been held back by the twins; when the girls were small they used to take it in turns to fall ill and he and Lára had to split the child-minding between them. It wasn’t well regarded at the bank – unlike here. At our office it’s taken for granted that parents have to take time off when their kids are sick. What are the banks planning to do if people stop having children? That’s what I’d like to know. Lend money to people in their graves? What sort of bonuses would they get then?’ Thóra ignored this digression. ‘But you said he was happy in his new job?’ ‘Yes, or at least Lára gave that impression. His work for the resolution committee was quite different. He didn’t have to listen to his colleagues endlessly boasting about their extravagant lifestyles. I only met him a few times, at work parties and so on, but he seemed a really nice guy. In my opinion he wasn’t the type to chase after money. But it was a good thing fate intervened when it did so he didn’t have to work there any longer; you never know what effect that kind of atmosphere will have on people in the long term. It’s bound to bring out their materialistic side.’ ‘But he got away in time?’ Thóra prayed that the woman would agree. She really wouldn’t be able to cope if any doubts were raised about his honesty at this stage. Nor would his parents. ‘Yes, I think so. Luckily. They didn’t make any rash decisions and lived within their means, unlike many in his position. The only nonsense I heard about from Lára was the life insurance policy he took out.’ ‘She mentioned that, did she?’ Thóra sat up. ‘Yes – that was several years ago. He was still working for the bank at the time and one of the things his friends were bragging about was the size of their life insurance policies. Can you imagine anything so ridiculous?’ Thóra couldn’t. She couldn’t picture herself boasting about anything like that to Bragi. Or Bella, for that matter. But this was good news. ‘So he took out the high insurance policy to save face among his colleagues?’ ‘Yes. But then he could afford to. He’d have a fortune after his death.’ Lára looked terribly small, lying face down in a black puddle on the cold steel deck. A trail of blood led back to the bridge. From the instant he had caught sight of her to the moment he discovered that she was breathing, albeit fitfully, Ægir’s world had lost its soundtrack. All noise was muted as if he were underwater; he could see Thráinn and Halli opening their mouths but he could neither tell nor did he care what they were shouting. All he could think of was how to get the blood back inside Lára. He crawled on all fours, trying to scoop it up, only to watch it trickle away with the violent rolling of the ship. ‘Hit him.’ The words sounded so remote that they might have come from beyond the grave; there was no way of knowing who was speaking. ‘Hit him!’ Ignoring the voice, Ægir continued trying to sweep the blood towards him with his hands. The words did not concern him; he had a job to do. Only when a hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him roughly to a kneeling position did he come round and it was as if the volume had suddenly been turned up again. At least enough for him to hear when a flattened palm smacked against his cheek with full force. ‘Get out of the fucking way! You’re in the way. Either get a grip on yourself or move back.’ Halli shoved him violently aside. Ægir fell over, then propped himself up on one elbow and sat groggily on the deck with his legs sprawled out in front of him. Halli pushed his face so close that his features were a blur, though Ægir could see enough to register the man’s anger. Halli seized him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘I said pull yourself together.’ ‘That’s enough. Give me a hand.’ Thráinn’s voice was not only weary but defeated, and it was that which finally shocked Ægir back to his senses. ‘Leave him alone and grab hold here.’ Taking a gasping breath, Ægir shifted until he could see what they were up to. For an instant he wanted to yell that they mustn’t tread in the blood – Lára needed it. Then the moment passed. Instead he concentrated on breathing, but the sounds and effort involved were more like gulping down water than inhaling oxygen. He stared at the black patches on the knees of the men’s jeans, then looked down at himself and saw that his own clothes were soaked in blood. ‘Oh, God. Oh, my God.’ ‘Shut up.’ As Halli turned away from Lára to shout at him, Ægir saw what they were doing. They had rolled her over on her back and the captain was pressing down with both hands on her abdomen, with what looked like the full weight of his body. His hands were dark and still more blood welled up between his splayed fingers. Ægir felt faint but this time his collapse was not as total. He had to pull himself together. Halli turned straight back to Lára and Thráinn, blocking Ægir’s view. Not that he wanted to watch; the sight that met his g aze was so terrible that it hurt. It felt as if he were being torn apart; the longing to watch was equalled only by the desire to close his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening. Thráinn looked up from Lára for a moment. ‘Are you all right?’ Ægir wanted to answer in the affirmative but an unrecognisable rattle emerged from his throat. ‘For God’s sake, pull yourself together, man.’ Thráinn sounded furious and Ægir was filled with shame. He was failing his critically injured wife. ‘You go to the girls, we need to be here. They’re probably still on the bridge.’ Ægir staggered to his feet, slipped in the viscous blood and almost fell on top of the two men as they bent over his wife. He knew it was urgent that he go to his daughters but he couldn’t prevent himself from lingering briefly. Carefully keeping his balance, he craned over the men to catch a glimpse of Lára’s face. It was turned towards him but her half-open eyes did not seek out his. She looked grey rather than white, and a red bubble formed on her lips with every shallow breath; swelled, then burst, swelled, then burst. Ægir made a desperate effort to hold back his tears but one splashed onto Lára’s rounded cheek and ran down to mingle with the blood. Her eyes closed and he tore himself away before he broke down completely. For the girls’ sake, he couldn’t allow himself that. Two strides and Lára was out of sight. His legs felt as heavy as lead, every step a dragging effort, as he approached the door to the pilot house. A succession of horrifying images ran though his mind: Arna and Bylgja lying on the floor in shiny pools of blood. In his vision the pools were identical; his daughters twins to the last. Nausea mingled with the agony in Ægir’s chest until he thought he might suffer a heart attack. If something had happened to the girls as well, he would welcome the chance to die. But it hadn’t, and the tightness in his chest abated, giving way to a dizzying rush of relief. Arna and Bylgja were standing huddled at the back of the room, their eyes huge with incomprehension and stark terror. They did not run into his arms as he’d expected, and as he longed for them to. He ached with the desire to hug them tight and bury his face in their soft hair, if only for an instant. To hide from what was happening, from what he simply couldn’t bear. Closing the door softly behind him, he made a superhuman effort to stay calm. ‘Are you all right, girls?’ His voice sounded absurdly normal, as if they had fallen over while playing in the garden. Their eyes stretched even wider and he realised the effect his appearance must be having on them. ‘Thráinn and Halli are helping Mummy. It’ll be all right.’ It was the most terrible lie he had ever told them. ‘Are you injured?’ They shook their heads simultaneously, with a slight lessening of tension. ‘Where’s Mummy? Why isn’t she with you?’ Arna spoke as if she had hiccups, the tears not far away. ‘Mummy hurt herself and Halli and Thráinn are helping her.’ A bleak future stretched out before him. A future without Lára. He was assailed by ridiculous concerns; who would do the girls’ hair, or help them choose what to wear for birthday parties? It was almost impossible to assume a normal, reassuring manner. ‘But it’ll be all right. As long as you’re safe, everything will be all right.’ As he walked over to them, he realised they had not once looked up at his face; their eyes were fixed on his blood-soaked clothes. ‘Why did Mummy have a gun, Daddy?’ Bylgja began to weep. The tears were not accompanied by sobs but slid down her face in two rivers of silent grief and fear. ‘In case a bad man came, darling. The gun was for protection. To protect you and Mummy.’ He had reached them now and crouched down to their level. Unable to bear the bewilderment in their eyes, he struggled to make himself meet their gaze rather than hiding from it; they did not deserve to be let down like that. ‘What happened? Did you see what happened?’ They both spoke at once and in his present state he couldn’t tell who said what. The words emerged in a frantic gabble, punctuated by hiccups and the occasional sob. ‘Something banged against the door. Mummy pulled a gun out of her trousers and pointed it at the door. But it was only a piece of rubbish and she smiled at us and said she was just a bit stressed. We didn’t say anything, we just stared at the gun and then she looked all strange and went to put it back in her belt when… there was a bang. Mummy’s eyes opened very wide and we could see the whites all round them. Then she coughed and grabbed her tummy and told us to wait here. After that she went outside, and there was blood.’ They pointed to the trail that led to the door from the place where the accidental shot had been fired. Ægir had smudged the drops when he walked over them; he had seen so much blood outside that he hadn’t even noticed this light spattering. ‘My darlings, Mummy has injured her tummy.’ Ægir’s mouth was dry and his head felt hot. He came close to breaking down again and stopped speaking while he summoned his few remaining mental reserves. ‘Mummy hurt herself.’ He pulled them to him so they couldn’t witness his distress. His tears trickled into hair that smelt of the strawberry shampoo they had chosen in the Lisbon supermarket. If only they could be back there; if only he could reverse the irreversible. He snorted and did his best to get his emotions under control. He didn’t know how to cry; he’d never had any reason to since he was a little boy. ‘Did the gun shoot her?’ asked Arna as the sisters’ small arms slipped round his waist and clasped him tight, as if to force the right answer out of him. But the right answer was wrong. ‘Scratched her, sweetheart. It only scratched her. Not badly, and Thráinn and Halli are making her better.’ What had Thráinn been dreaming of to give Lára the revolver? And why on earth hadn’t he intervened? He should have known it would end badly; nothing could end well in this waterborne hell. The door opened behind him and Arna and Bylgja tightened their grip convulsively. ‘Can I talk to you a minute, Ægir? In private.’ Halli’s voice was devoid of all feeling, which only made matters worse. ‘Wait here, girls. I won’t be a moment; I’m not going far. It’s all right.’ Ægir freed himself from their arms and left them, their faces distraught. ‘Please tell me you’ve stopped the bleeding.’ He wanted to get down on his knees, as if humility could help. ‘Please.’ Halli stared down at his feet. ‘We moved her into the saloon. You’d better go there. I’ll wait with the girls.’ ‘No.’ Ægir straightened his back and discovered that his fists were clenched. He wanted to batter Halli’s face until it was unrecognisable and incapable of telling him what he didn’t want to hear. ‘You’re not staying with the girls.’ His mind raced, his thoughts dashing hither and thither so he couldn’t grasp any of them. Lára, the girls. It was his job to protect them. Not Halli’s. ‘I’m not taking my eyes off the girls. They’ll have to come with me.’ ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’ Halli continued to stare at the deck, as if fascinated with his shoes. ‘It’s really not a good idea.’ Ægir opened his mouth to speak, to shriek, but suddenly all the fight went out of him in the cold air. There was no point shouting or striking out; it would change nothing. ‘If anything happens to them, Halli, I’ll gouge your eyes out.’ He spoke without anger; it was a simple statement of fact. ‘I’ll look after them. I’d die rather than let anything happen to them.’ Halli was worldly enough to realise that the man in front of him was teetering on the edge. Awkwardly, he patted Ægir’s shoulder, then went into the pilot house, leaving him alone. He should have stuck his head round the door to tell the girls to wait a little while with Halli while Daddy went to speak to Mummy, but he couldn’t do it. He was incapable of focusing on more than one thing at a time, and now it was Lára who lay either dead or dying on a sofa on board a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of miles from the medical aid that might have saved her life. A great sob burst from his throat when he entered the saloon and saw her lying there. In his headlong rush he bashed his shin violently against the coffee table, which the men had pushed to one side, and almost went flying. The girls’ colouring books were dislodged and some of the crayons rolled onto the floor but the captain managed to grab his arm in time to stop him falling. ‘Thanks.’ The courtesy was so incongruous in the circumstances that Ægir almost laughed. His mother’s childhood training was so ingrained that even the greatest calamity could not shake it. ‘She’s asleep.’ Still holding Ægir’s arm, Thráinn forced him to meet his eye. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen. The bleeding’s slowed down; I bound the wound as tightly as I could but it may have nothing to do with the bandages: there may simply be very little blood left.’ He forced Ægir’s face back to his when he tried to look away. ‘I’m no doctor but I do know that it doesn’t look good. Sit with her and speak to her if she comes round. Tell her what she wants to hear, and remember that this may be your last chance to talk to her.’ Thráinn released his head, allowing Ægir to turn to Lára. ‘Let’s hope not – but it’s best to be prepared. I’ll wait outside.’ Ægir couldn’t give a damn whether Thráinn stayed or went. He fell to his knees beside his wife and clutched at the brightly coloured woollen blanket that they had probably used to carry her inside. He didn’t dare take her hand at first for fear of crushing it, for fear of being overwhelmed by rage at the unfairness of it all. Lára had never hurt a fly. She deserved better than this. Letting go of the blanket, he took her white hand in his. To his relief it felt hot and damp; he had been expecting her fingers to be cold. The blanket covering her looked disturbingly like a colourful shroud, so he pulled it off, revealing bare flesh and pink dressings that had no doubt been white when Thráinn applied them. The bullet appeared to have entered her abdomen beside the left hip. Ægir didn’t know if this was a good or a bad place, or if anything in the abdominal area was bad. He squeezed his eyes shut and the tears spurted out. At first he stroked her hand blindly, then he forced himself to look at her again, concentrating on trying to speak, on groping for words that he would be reconciled to afterwards. He kissed her on the brow and temple and brushed the limp hair from her sweaty forehead. The fine lines that had distressed her so much seemed to have vanished, leaving her forehead unnaturally smooth. His mind blank of all else, he whispered this in her ear. She opened her eyes, emitting a low croak that might have been a word, though he couldn’t make it out. Everything he had wanted to say came rushing to his lips and he poured out the words in case she could still hear him, though her spirit had departed. But she only stared at him with glassy eyes that would not close, giving no sign that she accepted his plea for forgiveness. ‘The blood turned out to belong to Lára.’ The detective shot a glance at his colleague who thumbed through the sheaf of papers he was carrying, then handed a page to his superior. This time there was no hint of cigarette smoke or chewing gum. Thóra hoped this wouldn’t affect his mood, but the alacrity with which his much younger subordinate jumped to obey him did not bode well. ‘The test results remove practically all doubt, though there’s always a small margin for error. You can have a copy if you like. I imagine this will be helpful for your case.’ ‘It certainly will.’ Thóra took the paper and scanned the figures, though she understood little beyond the summary of results. ‘How did you get hold of Lára’s blood or DNA for comparison?’ She passed the paper back to the younger officer and accepted the offer of a copy. ‘They took a blood sample from her youngest daughter and also found some hairs in a brush in her make-up bag on the yacht. The results aren’t a hundred per cent conclusive, as I said; they never are. But they’re good enough for me and any judge.’ The detective was grave today and the only hospitality on offer was a glass of water, which Thóra had refused. It was just as well; the bitter police station coffee would have ruined the memory of the superior brew she had enjoyed earlier at the committee offices. ‘Rest assured that we’ve prioritised the analysis to make up for the fact that the murder inquiry got off the ground rather late in the day.’ He folded his hands on the desk before him. ‘Of course, that’s because we were originally under the impression that we were dealing with an accident; we can’t afford to launch costly investigations unless we’re certain that a crime has been committed.’ ‘The blood stains were found on the sofa, you say?’ Thóra saw no point in discussing what was too late to change now. Would it have made any difference if the yacht had been treated as a crime scene from the beginning? She doubted it. Every time a new piece of evidence emerged it only served to confuse her more. In fact, she had yet to be convinced that any actual murders had been committed, and the police probably took the same view. ‘I don’t remember seeing any blood on the sofa; in fact, I don’t recall seeing a single drop of blood anywhere.’ ‘There wasn’t much but it was enough to enable us to run tests. We didn’t spot it until forensics conducted an ultraviolet scan of the yacht and discovered traces on two of the four cushions. All from the same person – Lára.’ ‘It doesn’t sound as if the bleeding can have been fatal.’ ‘It’s hard to say. There were also signs that someone had cleaned up a trail of blood that led from the deck to the saloon. We can’t tell whether it was a minor accident or the result of something more serious. At any rate, there are no indications that large amounts of blood were spilt anywhere else on the yacht. But then we don’t know if it was an accident at all. Lára may have been stabbed or struck with a weapon of some kind.’ The policeman relieved his subordinate of the stack of papers. ‘Or shot, of course. This latest information puts a completely new light on the possible sequence of events.’ ‘You mean the information about the revolver?’ Thóra asked, though the answer was obvious. She watched the young policeman awkwardly shuffling his feet; now that he had surrendered the documents to his superior, his role was undefined. With no part in the conversation and no chair available, he was forced to stand there beside his boss, pretending to be occupied. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve found it?’ ‘No. We’re confident we’ve searched every inch of the ship but it’s always possible the gun’s still there. To be on the safe side, I’ve instigated an even more thorough examination which is ongoing as we speak.’ Although the yacht was large, the living quarters were limited and they were prepared to go over the whole place with a microscope. On the other hand, if the gun had ended up in the sea, they hadn’t a hope. ‘Have you had the results of the tests on the blood that was found between the tanks on the bottom deck?’ ‘Yes. That was Halldór’s; the comparison was easier in that case since we have his body.’ Thóra began hastily talking to distract herself from the memory of that grisly discovery. ‘So, you have concrete evidence that Halldór and Loftur are dead, and it’s likely that something bad happened to Lára, but the fate of Thráinn, Ægir and the twins remains a mystery?’ ‘You could put it like that, yes.’ At his shoulder the junior officer nodded sagely, as if to emphasise his superior’s reply. ‘And if their fate was the result of criminal action, there can’t be many suspects left.’ ‘No.’ The detective fixed and held her gaze. ‘And one of those is your man, Ægir.’ The younger officer’s expression grew stern; anyone would have thought his role was to interpret their conversation through mime. Thóra studied him, wondering if she could train Bella to do the same. The secretary should be capable of arranging her features into a far more fearsome grimace than this callow youth. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but we took a sniffer dog over every inch of the yacht at the outset, with no result. Smuggling had seemed the most likely explanation but there’s absolutely no evidence of it. Moreover, the Portuguese narcotics division have confirmed that they received no tip-offs about anyone on board being involved in the drugs trade over there. In other words, we’ve pretty much ruled out that angle. Though I suppose the drugs could have been stashed in such a way that the sniffer dog wouldn’t be able to detect them once they’d been removed. But who could have been responsible? Having said that, it’s not hard to guess where they could have brought the stuff ashore if there was any: Grótta. In which case there would have been people waiting to receive the goods and the smuggler too.’ ‘Have you checked the possibility that there might have been a stowaway on board?’ Thóra felt foolish for asking this but she needed an answer. The likelihood that Ægir or Lára would end up under close scrutiny increased with every victim they found, and if the captain washed up on shore as well, the outlook would not be good. ‘We’ve found a considerable number of fingerprints but the results are inconclusive. There were several years’ worth, at least in the places that weren’t cleaned regularly. Whereas in the public spaces, like the saloon, galley and even on the bridge, we were surprised by how few we found. Chances are that somebody deliberately wiped them off – unless they kept the place unusually clean.’ The detective scratched his chin, intent on the problem. ‘What we did find was confusing, as I said, and it doesn’t help that we can’t be sure if we’ve correctly identified the prints belonging to Ægir, Lára and the twins. None of them had a police record, so they’re not on any register. We’re planning to lift their prints from their house but haven’t had time yet. However, we did obtain Loftur and Halldór’s prints from their bodies. Inevitably, they had deteriorated badly but forensics managed somehow.’ ‘What about the captain, Thráinn? Did you have his prints?’ ‘Yes. He was arrested about ten years ago after a punch-up. Nothing serious but enough to earn him a night in the cells.’ ‘So you haven’t noticed anything unusual? Like too many recent fingerprints to fit the profile of the people on board, for example?’ ‘I wouldn’t rule it out. We found two sets of fingerprints all over the place that we haven’t managed to fit to any of the passengers. On balance, it seems more likely that they belong to women but that doesn’t tell us much. They could easily date from before the yacht was confiscated.’ ‘Do you know who they belonged to? Could it have been Karítas and her PA, Aldís?’ ‘I couldn’t say. Neither are on our register, but we do know they were in Lisbon at around the right time, so they could well be theirs. We haven’t yet decided whether to seek permission to lift prints for comparison from their houses or parental homes. As matters stand, we see no reason to cause their families unnecessary alarm with such a request. After all, there’s no indication that they were involved. Unless you have reason to believe otherwise?’ ‘No. But have you verified that Karítas and her PA have left Lisbon? Have you checked the flights and so on?’ The detective studied her with his strange green eyes and sucked his front teeth. The younger man contented himself with assuming an intelligent expression, as if he too were considering whether it would be right to answer her question. ‘We’ve checked that, yes. In light of the captain’s report we thought it only right to request that information, though we wouldn’t usually go to these lengths unless a person was reported missing. We were hoping to be able to rule out the possibility that one of them was the female body on board by establishing that they both travelled on from Lisbon by other means.’ ‘And?’ ‘The PA flew to Frankfurt the day the yacht left port, but Karítas doesn’t appear to have left the city, at least not by air.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Though of course that doesn’t preclude other methods of travel. She could have taken the train or driven. Even left by sea, for that matter. Or, since she was within the Schengen area, flown under a different name. I don’t know how people like her live their lives; she might have used an alias. But wherever she is and however she got there, she’s no longer in Lisbon. Her mother claims to be in touch with her, though sporadically, and insists she’s alive and kicking – in Brazil. I’m not so sure; nobody by her name has flown to Brazil during the last month. We checked that as well. You’d need a passport to go there and we believe she’s travelling on an Icelandic passport as her mother is fairly certain that she hasn’t applied for foreign citizenship. As long as her mother insists she’s alive, though, there’s little we can do.’ Thóra sat back in her chair. She was convinced now that the woman found dead on board was Karítas. It was a relief to have something straight at last. But in reality she was still just as perplexed, since this only gave rise to further questions, such as who had killed her and why? And what was worse – could Ægir have been responsible? ‘Does this look like the same handwriting to you?’ Thóra held up the two pages to Matthew and watched as he examined them. ‘No. That’s pretty clear, even though one’s only a signature and the other a short text. And people often sign their names quite differently from their normal style.’ He took a closer look. ‘But these are so distinctive that it’s unlikely they could be by the same person. If I were to guess, I’d say this one was written by a woman and that one by a man.’ He pushed the papers back over to her. It was what Thóra had wanted to hear. One of the documents was the last page of the life insurance policy bearing Ægir’s signature, the other the photocopy of the piece of paper on which an unknown individual had written Karítas’s name and phone number. ‘That’s what I thought. But then who was the woman who wrote this for Ægir? Karítas herself?’ ‘Not necessarily.’ Matthew yawned. He had left work early and dropped by in the hope of persuading Thóra to call it a day. Instead, she had dragged him into her office to pick his brains about various problems that were preoccupying her. ‘It could be anyone.’ ‘Like who?’ Thóra stared at the page as if she expected the owner of the handwriting to jump out at her. ‘You don’t acquire celebrities’ phone numbers just anywhere. Karítas lives abroad so she’s unlikely to be in the telephone directory, and I gather from Bella that she doesn’t have many friends in this country.’ Matthew shrugged indifferently. ‘I wouldn’t know. Maybe it was her mother. Didn’t you say she lived in Iceland?’ ‘It wasn’t her. That’s exactly what occurred to me before you arrived, so I rang her. She denied having given Karítas’s number to Ægir or anyone else. She was very emphatic about it.’ ‘What does it matter?’ Matthew had plainly lost interest. ‘Even if you do track down the person who wrote it, I don’t see why it’s so desperately important.’ ‘Maybe not, but I’d be happier if I could be sure that Karítas and Ægir weren’t acquainted and had never spoken. If it suddenly emerges that they had met, it wouldn’t be hard for the insurance company to cast a dubious light on their connection.’ ‘I don’t see why. He was working on the yacht repossession, wasn’t he? Would it have been that irregular for him to communicate with the former owners? Perhaps the note dates from when the committee was in the process of confiscating the vessel. He may have wanted to give her the option of settling or paying off part of the debt.’ ‘She didn’t have any stake in the yacht, so it would have been extremely unorthodox for him to contact her about the settlement.’ ‘Might she have contacted him , then? On her husband’s behalf – in the hope of talking him round?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Thóra was trying to ignore Matthew’s obvious eagerness to leave. ‘Maybe Fannar has solved the mystery. I asked him to look into it and he promised to let me know. Would you mind waiting five minutes, just while I ring him to chase it up? After that I’m all yours.’ Matthew looked put out but in the end he grudgingly agreed to allow her five minutes. Not ten, mind. Or even six. Five minutes precisely. He stood up and announced that he would wait in the lobby. As a result, Thóra’s request to be put through to Fannar came out rather breathlessly, and she was still flustered as she explained her business to him. Fortunately, he cottoned on immediately and said he had been about to ring her on the same subject. Apparently their receptionist had remembered the incident straight away, since it had involved a high-profile figure. When Karítas had rung to enquire who was handling the yacht affair, the receptionist had been unwilling to reveal the information, but Karítas had sounded distressed and claimed she needed to go on board to fetch a few personal effects that she’d left behind by mistake. As Ægir was not in his office, the woman had agreed to pass on the request to him but refused to give Karítas his name. Ægir had apparently been astonished when the receptionist gave him the message. Although she hadn’t been privy to any telephone conversation between them, she believed they must have spoken at some point because about a week later Karítas had called again, this time asking for Ægir by name. Fannar added that when the receptionist subsequently expressed curiosity about their conversation, Ægir had turned bright red and insisted that he hadn’t been in contact with her. The woman had also noticed that after the conversation with Karítas, Ægir had received two or three phone calls from abroad, which had been diverted to her when he didn’t answer his direct line. The caller had refused to leave a message, so she didn’t know what they were about, yet she clearly remembered Ægir’s odd expression each time she had mentioned them to him. Thóra rose to her feet at the end of the phone call, glad to be leaving work early for a change but simultaneously disappointed not to be able to follow up the lead. This was yet another piece of bad news, since she now had little doubt that the mysterious body on board was Karítas and that she had died in Lisbon – at around the time Ægir and his family were in the city. On the plus side, at least she hadn’t exceeded Matthew’s five-minute limit. The heavens absorbed the white trail left behind by the jet. Despite its great altitude, the plane’s wings and outline were just visible, unless it was his imagination filling in the gaps. No doubt the airliner was full of people; some on holiday, others travelling for work. Ægir envied every single one of them. They were in paradise compared to the hell that reigned here on board the yacht. He shaded his eyes against the sun. It was strangely unsettling to watch the jet recede into the distance, taking with it his foolish dream of salvation coming from on high. Dropping his hand, he looked down. ‘Daddy.’ Bylgja was tugging at the sleeve of his jumper. He had no idea how long she had been doing this but her insistence suggested it had been some time. His dry eyes stung as he looked down at her. Never in his life had he been as mentally and physically exhausted. ‘Daddy. Your lips are bleeding.’ Ægir licked his split lips and tasted iron. No wonder his mouth was dry; it was hours since he had drunk anything. This was not from any shortage of things to drink, as he had ferried a large supply of cans and bottled water down to the cabin before barricading himself inside with the girls. It was simply that he felt neither thirst nor hunger. There was no room for such sensations when his heart was in a thumbscrew that had been tightened to breaking point. His exhaustion didn’t help. How long had he been awake? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. If it hadn’t been for the girls he would have thrown himself overboard and become one with the sea, but for their sake he couldn’t allow himself that way out. He had to ensure that they reached home safely. And for that he needed to stay awake, which is why they were now standing on deck in the last rays of the evening sunlight. He had been so overcome by drowsiness in the airless cabin that a quick trip outside had been essential. He took in a great lungful of sea air and closed his eyes. Fog stole into his mind, as if a curtain had been drawn, concealing all the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing him so relentlessly. ‘Daddy. Daddy. You mustn’t fall asleep.’ He couldn’t tell which twin was speaking. ‘Daddy !’ Ægir started and opened his eyes wide. The fresh air was supposed to have had the opposite effect, to wake him up and invigorate him, not knock him out. ‘I’m awake.’ It wasn’t working. He would have to find another way of warding off the beguiling drowsiness. If he had been able to trust Halli or Thráinn he would have asked if they had any stimulants in the medicine chest for use in emergencies. But this was merely another example of irrational thinking caused by fatigue, for if he could have trusted either of them, he wouldn’t need to keep vigil – they could take it in turns to rest. ‘Let’s go. That’s enough.’ ‘Do we have to go below again?’ Arna’s face was a picture of dread. ‘What if the ship sinks?’ ‘It won’t.’ Ægir was too tired to be kind or understanding. He was desperately sorry about this, aware that they needed him to be a father, not just a bodyguard, but he couldn’t perform both roles. He would trust himself to stay awake for the rest of the voyage but not to give free rein to his emotions. If he did he would fall to pieces. ‘Come on. We can watch a DVD.’ ‘We’ve watched all the films we’re allowed to.’ Bylgja sounded close to tears but this did not stem from the limited selection of videos, as Ægir was well aware. He couldn’t discuss the loss of their mother with them now, though. Later he would have time to choose the right words and arrange them into sentences designed to provide solace for their grief. But for now such a task was beyond him. He had explained that their mother had died as the result of an accident and that they would have to be brave. He had stressed that they must bear up until they reached port but after that they would deal with their grief together and face the future without Mummy. It was all he was capable of in that moment. The tears had poured down their small cheeks but his daughters had shown a self-control far beyond their years. No doubt they sensed how much was at stake. ‘I don’t want to watch the grown-up films.’ Bylgja smothered a sob. ‘Then we’ll just watch the funniest one again.’ Ægir scanned their surroundings, suddenly apprehensive about going below. He hadn’t been aware of Thráinn or Halli on their way up, or during the short time they had been standing outside on the lower deck, in a corner where no one could creep up on them from behind. The yacht was making good speed, but that did not necessarily mean that the bridge was manned. The men could be anywhere and if either of them wanted to harm him and the girls, they would make an easy target on their way below. Then again, perhaps only one of the men was left alive. Or neither. He desperately regretted his foolish decision to leave the cabin. If anything, it had only exhausted him further. ‘We’ll have to find something else to do. If I watch another film I’ll start thinking. And I don’t want to think.’ Bylgja gazed at her father and he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. He felt exactly the same. ‘Would you like to do some colouring?’ If they said no to this, Ægir didn’t know what else to suggest. He was impressed he’d even managed to come up with that. His eyelids began to droop again. ‘Yes, please.’ Bylgja put her hand in his and squeezed. ‘Don’t go to sleep, Daddy.’ ‘The colouring books aren’t in our cabin.’ Arna grabbed Ægir’s other hand and he tightened his grip in an attempt to communicate all he wanted to say to them. ‘Where are they?’ ‘In the saloon.’ Arna broke off. ‘Where Mummy is.’ Her fingers writhed in his hand. ‘I want to see her. To kiss her goodbye. So does Bylgja.’ Their eyes, fixed on him, were full of anxiety and Ægir detected a hint of fear as well. It was hardly surprising in the circumstances, but what shocked him was that they appeared to be afraid of him. He must look like a madman. ‘We can’t go in there.’ He spoke without thinking. ‘It’s impossible. Anyway, Mummy isn’t there any more.’ ‘Where is she then?’ Large, heavy tears began to slide down Bylgja’s cheeks again. He opened his mouth but no words came out. If Lára was no longer lying where she had died, he had no idea where her body could have been taken. He didn’t even know what Thráinn and Halli had done with Loftur’s body, but they were probably stored in the same place. He felt dizzy at the thought of them lying somewhere side by side, Lára and Loftur. ‘Will she be thrown in the sea, Daddy, like the woman we saw falling, or Loftur?’ ‘No.’ It felt as if his insides had turned to stone and were now slowly cracking. Soon they would disintegrate, leaving nothing behind but dust. He almost looked forward to it. ‘We want to kiss her goodbye if she’s going to be thrown overboard, Daddy. Or we’ll never get another chance.’ The tears were still flowing silently, making Bylgja’s whole face shiny. ‘Come on.’ It was as if their words finally had a galvanising effect on him and abruptly his fatigue was gone. What had he been thinking of? Where was the gun, for example? And was he really going to leave the body of his wife, the mother of his daughters, to those psychopaths? Not in a million years. ‘What if the men come, Daddy?’ Arna dug her heels in but Ægir dragged her along with him regardless. ‘You said we should hide from them.’ She had started to cry too, but unlike her sister she allowed herself to make a noise. No doubt she was torn between fear for her own safety and the longing to see her mother one last time. ‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’ Ægir had to let go of their hands in order to open the door. Ushering the girls inside, he closed it quietly behind them. Then he laid a finger on his lips to hush them. The terror and grief in their faces were so heart-rending that he was hit by a sudden, urgent desire to seek out Halli and Thráinn and strangle them with his bare hands. He couldn’t give a damn if one of them was innocent. Or both; they had never finished exploring the lowest deck of the boat, so it was still theoretically possible that there was a stowaway on board. He led the girls cautiously up the two levels to the saloon and hesitated outside the door, unwilling to barge in when he didn’t know what might await them inside. The only way to find out would be to go out on deck and peer in through the window but it was still daylight so they would be exposed to anyone in the room. So he pushed the girls behind him and undid the catch on the door. Then he opened it slowly and calmly, without saying a word, and stuck his head through the gap, ready for anything. His precautions proved unnecessary. There wasn’t a soul inside and the sofa was empty; Lára had vanished along with the blanket she had been lying on. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Bylgja did her best to whisper but it emerged like a shriek in the silence. ‘I don’t know, darling. We’ll find her.’ Ægir’s eyes ached and when he rubbed them he discovered they were swollen from lack of sleep. Harsh stubble scratched his hand as he ran it down his face: his appearance must reflect his inner torment. If he had to resort to threats against Thráinn and Halli, there was no question now that they would take him seriously. Without looking at the girls, he seized their colouring books and crayons from the coffee table and handed them over. ‘Come on.’ There was a strange odour in the room that filled him with revulsion; he didn’t want it to linger in his nose, guessing that it was connected somehow to Lára’s dead body. He wanted to remember how sweet she had smelt when alive. They made less effort to tiptoe on their way back downstairs. There was no reason to any more since Ægir now actively wanted to find the men. It went against all his previous plans but the thought of Lára’s cold body, alone and abandoned, robbed him of his few remaining wits. What did he mean to do if he found out where she was? He didn’t know, but one thing was certain; he was not going to leave her behind to the tender mercies of Thráinn and Halli. On reaching the pilot house, Ægir signalled to the girls to stop. He inched closer to the door, hoping to hear voices or sounds of movement. But his ears were met by silence; either the door was too thickly insulated or there was no one inside. The girls were mutely clutching their colouring books. He beckoned them over, then pushed them behind him as before. Inside, Halli and Thráinn were sitting face to face, apparently engaged in a staring contest. ‘Where’s Lára?’ The men finally broke eye contact and Ægir was shocked when he saw Thráinn’s face. The white stubble made him look as if he had aged ten years; his eyes were blood red and the black rings under them would have done a ghost proud. Halli looked little better. His dyed hair was matted, his face puffy. ‘What?’ The hoarse croaking indicated that Halli hadn’t spoken for a long time. ‘Where’s Lára? And where’s the gun?’ ‘Do you think it’s a good idea for you to take it? It’s caused enough harm already.’ Thráinn’s voice sounded like the rustling of dry paper. There were no drinks to be seen and the two men had probably been sitting there, parched with thirst, for hours. Neither apparently trusted the other enough to go and fetch water or a Coke. ‘Don’t you worry about that. And it’s a bit late to be careful now – it’s your fault Lára had the gun in the first place.’ The captain didn’t react to the accusation. ‘But if you want to know, I’m going to throw it in the sea. I don’t want it and I don’t like the idea of you two having it.’ Even as he spoke, he realised his mistake. It would have been better to let them believe he had the gun. Exhaustion was making it difficult to think straight, difficult to think at all, and he couldn’t come up with any convincing way to retract his statement. ‘It’s in the top drawer.’ Thráinn pointed to the console under the window. ‘You can chuck it overboard for all I care.’ ‘What?’ Halli made to stand up and grab the gun first but was so stiff that he couldn’t get out of the chair properly. ‘I’m telling you – there’s somebody else on board. We might need that gun. Are you out of your minds?’ Ægir went to the drawer and opened it. He didn’t reply and it seemed Thráinn was not going to either. In the top of the drawer lay an object wrapped in a dishcloth. As Ægir was unwrapping it, Halli spoke again: ‘And what about the police? They’re bound to want the gun when we go ashore.’ His voice rose to a falsetto. ‘If we ever make it to land.’ Thráinn coughed and rubbed his forehead. If he was feeling anything like Ægir he must have a splitting headache on top of everything else. Ægir wrapped the dishcloth back around the gun and took the bundle out of the drawer. ‘Where’s my wife?’ ‘Down in the engine room.’ Thráinn glanced at the girls and Ægir thought he saw his face soften a little. They were still gripping their colouring books in both hands, watching the unfolding events with wide, terrified eyes. Bylgja’s glasses had slipped down her nose but she wouldn’t relinquish her hold on her book to push them back into place. ‘I’m not sure it would be wise for you to go down there. We’ll reach land in about twenty-four hours, all being well, and there’ll be plenty of time for that then.’ ‘You’re not going down there!’ screeched Halli, frantic now. ‘What’ll you do if you run slap into the killer? Eh? Surely you’re not thinking of taking the girls?’ Arna and Bylgja looked even more petrified and Ægir was forced to intervene before Halli tipped them over the edge into hysteria. They were in a bad enough state already. ‘None of your business.’ Going over to his daughters, he positioned himself in front of them, hoping to block their view. But he could feel them peering round him to see what was happening. ‘I am going, and I don’t want to see you two again until we reach Reykjavík. Or ever.’ ‘Shouldn’t we try to talk?’ Thráinn was still massaging his head, his bloodshot eyes reduced to slits. ‘We’re heading for disaster. Can’t we agree to take it in turns to sleep? Two stand watch and keep an eye on each other?’ ‘No.’ Ægir shoved the girls towards the door. He had to get out before he succumbed to a proposal that sounded so enticing to his tired ears. ‘I’m going to look after my daughters. You two can go to hell.’ ‘It’s the only way, Ægir.’ Thráinn reached out, as if to seize Ægir and force him to stay put. ‘The only way.’ ‘Listen to him.’ Halli was on his feet now, rocking, though the sea was calm. ‘It isn’t one of us. I keep trying to tell you.’ ‘Then you two should be all right here on your own. You can take it in turns to sleep; you don’t need me.’ Ægir opened the door and herded the girls out. ‘The point is – I don’t trust you. Either of you.’ ‘Ægir.’ Thráinn did not shout or raise his voice, though he must have known this was probably his last chance to try to persuade the other man. His voice sounded devoid of hope. It almost worked. Ægir paused, halfway out of the door. ‘I activated the emergency button,’ Thráinn said, ‘but nothing happened. Someone’s sabotaged the wiring and I don’t trust myself to fix it. The lifebuoy isn’t working either. But the long-range radio is tuned to the emergency frequency, so you could try to get through. I haven’t been able to.’ The captain’s voice gave out. Clearing his throat, he managed to rasp out one more sentence: ‘Take care of the girls.’ Ægir let the door slam and they hurried away without bothering with the catch. On the way he hurled the gun, still in its wrapping, overboard without a moment’s regret. ‘Are you sure they’re bad men, Daddy? Halli and the captain?’ Arna freed one hand from her colouring book to hold the rail as they descended the stairs. ‘Yes. I am.’ ‘I’m not.’ Arna hesitated on the penultimate step. ‘What if there’s someone else on board, like Halli said?’ ‘Halli’s talking nonsense, Arna. Don’t think about it. We’ll lock ourselves in and everything’ll be okay.’ ‘I want to wait and see Mummy later. I don’t want to go down to the engine room in case there’s somebody there.’ ‘Nor do I.’ Bylgja had caught up with her sister and stopped beside her. ‘All right.’ Ægir had to admit that he was relieved. He dreaded descending into the confined space of the engine room where it was possible that a fourth man – or woman – was lurking. ‘We’ll just go back to the cabin and have a rest; have something to eat maybe. Then we’ll see. How does that sound?’ Once he had securely locked the door and given the girls a slice of bread and a yoghurt apiece, which they accepted but didn’t touch, he sat down and let his mind wander. A bitter laugh escaped him when he realised that if the yacht hadn’t tangled with the container they would almost be home by now. The girls both regarded him anxiously and he stifled his laughter. He mustn’t lose control – for their sake. If only he could lie down for ten minutes. Or even five. It would be enough to take the edge off his exhaustion and afterwards he would be in better shape to stay awake for the rest of the voyage. He closed his eyes, all his problems evaporated and he slipped gently into a dreamless, restorative sleep. When he started awake he had no idea how long he had been dead to the world; the girls were sound asleep fully dressed on the bed, their colouring books open in front of them, the crayons scattered over the rumpled bedclothes. Outside it was pitch dark, but that didn’t tell him much as it had been near sunset when they came below. Ægir rose, thanking God that nothing had happened while he was out for the count. He was furious with himself for failing in his guard duty but his reproaches lacked conviction since he had at least managed to sleep a little without anything going wrong. Yet he did not feel well rested and was seized by a longing to return to his comfy chair and slip back into unconsciousness. But that was impossible. His luck wouldn’t hold forever. He heard a noise overhead and wondered if that was what had woken him. It sounded peculiar, like something being dragged across the deck. Then it fell quiet. Suddenly there was a splash from outside the porthole Ægir had opened to air the cabin. He dashed over to see what had fallen into the water. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. On the illuminated surface of the waves a man bobbed up, as if the sea were rejecting him. It was so unreal that it took Ægir a moment to focus. The body was floating face down but just before it vanished into the darkness astern, he recognised the muscular back and grey-streaked hair. The yacht no longer had a captain. All that separated Ægir and his daughters from the man responsible for this monstrous deed was a flimsy wooden door. His heart lurched as he realised that on the other side Halli would be waiting. ‘What did I tell you?’ Bella’s attitude reminded Thóra of her mother’s reaction whenever she had taken a wrong turn in her teenage years after ignoring a piece of wise parental advice. ‘You should have listened to me. I knew it all along.’ The secretary folded her arms across her formidable bosom. ‘I have an unfallible instinct for that sort of thing.’ ‘In fallible.’ Thóra resisted the temptation to roll her eyes in case Bella noticed. She had been listening to the secretary’s crowing for several minutes now and enough was enough. What a mistake it had been to tell her that Karítas had probably never left Lisbon. Bella’s obsession with the fate of her old schoolmate had gone into overdrive. The worst of it was that Thóra couldn’t help agreeing with her. ‘It’s in fallible, not un fallible.’ ‘Whatever.’ Bella did not allow this grammatical nit-picking to put her off her stride. ‘She’s dead, just like I said. It’s a no-brainer. I mean, is she meant to have just walked out of Portugal on her Jimmy Choos? As if. And I doubt she has a driving licence.’ Thóra’s mobile rang and she answered without even checking to see who it was. No phone call could be worse than listening to this. Bella kept talking, undaunted by Thóra’s inattentiveness; she merely raised her voice to drown out the competition. When Thóra rang off, she smiled brightly at the secretary. ‘Sorry, what were you saying, Bella?’ Bella glared at her. ‘Are you taking the piss?’ ‘No. Not at all. What was it? That you were so clever because you’d always claimed Karítas was dead? Wasn’t that it?’ ‘Yes.’ Bella smelt a rat. ‘Why are you looking like that?’ ‘Only, that was Karítas’s mother on the phone. Her daughter’s come home.’ Thóra’s smile broadened. ‘But do go back to what you were saying. You have such an infallible instinct for these things. Please go on.’ Bella’s arms fell to her sides. ‘You’re kidding me?’ Her downturned mouth reminded Thóra of a bulldog’s. She had never seen anyone so disappointed by good news. ‘I’ll soon find out. I told Begga I’d drop by. But first I need to inform the police; I expect they’ll be interested in talking to Karítas too and I owe them some information. I haven’t been keeping up my end of the bargain.’ ‘What, Karítas is willing to meet you?’ Bella looked astonished. Plainly she couldn’t care less about the information owing to the police. ‘That’s weird, seeing as how she didn’t even want to be your friend on Facebook. And she’s got hundreds.’ Thóra had thought the same thing. ‘According to her mother, Karítas herself suggested she ring me. I don’t know why but we’ll soon find out. Perhaps she needs a lawyer. If she does, it’ll be a wasted journey because I can’t act for her while Ægir’s parents are my clients.’ ‘I’m coming with you. You don’t know how to handle a chav like her.’ ‘She’s hardly a “chav”,’ protested Thóra. In all the photos Karítas had looked extremely glamorous; a little plastic, admittedly, but hardly a chav. ‘That’s what you think. I’m coming anyway.’ Bella rushed into reception to fetch her coat. ‘Really? I don’t remember you at all.’ Karítas stared at Bella, stretching her big blue eyes as wide as they would go. It didn’t suit her. Instead of the little-girl effect she was aiming for, she came across as a simpleton. She was draped across the sofa in her mother’s sitting room, her long legs taking up the entire seat so that Thóra, Bella and Begga had to make do with chairs. ‘You weren’t in my class, were you?’ ‘No.’ Bella was sitting bolt upright, making no attempt to appear at all girlish. When Karítas’s mother had introduced her as an old schoolmate, Bella had looked uncomfortable; obviously she hadn’t wanted this information revealed straight away. Yet she had clearly taken umbrage at Karítas’s failure to remember her, so it was hard to work out what she did want. ‘Amazing.’ Karítas gave Bella a conspiratorial smile, apparently oblivious to the animosity sparking off her. ‘That’s, like, so weird. Did you used to be skinnier back then? Not so… you know?’ Thóra hastily interrupted to prevent violence from breaking out. ‘When did you get back to the country?’ ‘I only just got here.’ Karítas’s mother broke in. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeriness forced. ‘I don’t understand how you can look so well, darling, after such an awful journey. All the way from Brazil. We wouldn’t look so fresh after such a long flight, would we?’ She addressed her words to Bella who stiffened even more. ‘Did you come via the States?’ Thóra noticed how oddly Karítas had reacted to her mother’s words, as if she would have liked to smash the nearby crystal vase over her head. ‘No.’ She did not elaborate but twined her fingers into a lattice, enlivened by slightly chipped hot-pink nail varnish. ‘Look, I didn’t get you round to talk about boring things like flights.’ She untwined her fingers and rested her hands demurely on the cushions on either side of her. The hot pink clashed violently with the crimson velvet. ‘You’re working on the yacht, aren’t you?’ ‘Not directly.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Thóra noticed that Karítas’s mother was looking embarrassed; presumably she had already told her daughter this. ‘I’m acting for the parents of one of the men who went missing. So my case is only indirectly linked to the yacht.’ ‘Have you been on board?’ Karítas stretched, then tucked her legs under her as Thóra nodded. ‘Isn’t she to die for?’ ‘Well, my reason for going on board was rather grim, so I didn’t really stop to think about it.’ A shadow fell over Karítas’s face and Thóra saw that she had better praise the boat quickly if she wanted to stay on the right side of her. ‘But, of course, she’s… to die for.’ She tried to sound enthusiastic. ‘Amazing.’ ‘Yes, well.’ Karítas had apparently seen through her pretence. ‘Obviously you’ve never been on board a yacht before but believe me, Lady K is totally fabulous.’ If Karítas realised how boastful she sounded, she didn’t seem to care. ‘She’s the reason I wanted to see you. The thing is, I need to go on board. You could fix that for me, couldn’t you? I don’t want to bother the police.’ ‘The police wouldn’t be able to help you anyway. They’ve concluded their examination, so I don’t even know if they have the keys any more. The resolution committee is responsible for her now, so you should really talk to them.’ ‘That’s too much hassle.’ Angry red spots formed on Karítas’s cheeks. ‘It would be much better if you could let me in. It’s not as if I’m going to do any damage.’ ‘May I ask why you want to go on board?’ ‘I’ve still got a lot of personal belongings there and I want them back. Clothes and so on. I didn’t manage to fetch them before the yacht left Europe, though I had a perfect right to. I just didn’t have time.’ Thóra resisted the impulse to point out that Iceland was part of Europe. ‘I thought you’d gone to Lisbon to do precisely that. To remove your personal property. Was that a misunderstanding?’ ‘Yes. I mean no. I was going to but I didn’t have a chance.’ ‘You mean you didn’t have a chance to fetch your stuff or you didn’t make it to Lisbon?’ ‘You know, I really can’t remember. I travel so much.’ Karítas avoided Thóra’s eye. Her words hung in the air during the ensuing silence. The lie was so blatant that in the end she added awkwardly: ‘Actually, I think I did. I went there but the yacht had already left or something. At least, I didn’t manage to get on board.’ ‘Oh?’ Thóra felt as if she were negotiating a minefield. If she put a foot wrong there was a risk they would be shown the door. It wasn’t the choice of words that was difficult so much as the effort to make one’s questions and comments sound innocuous. ‘I must have misunderstood, because when I looked in the closets I thought one of the dresses had been removed. At least, there was an empty hanger. I know so little about this whole business that I just assumed you must have taken it and left the rest because they’d gone out of fashion.’ ‘Clothes like that never go out of fashion. They’re haute couture .’ Karítas’s pronunciation owed more to Akureyri than to France. ‘But the fact is, I haven’t had a chance to fetch anything and that’s why I wanted to speak to you. To get you to help me gain access. I won’t need long.’ She spoke like a woman used to having her slightest whim obeyed. ‘Is it possible that your PA, Aldís, went on board, either at your request or on her own initiative? When the crew arrived to bring the yacht home the seal over the door had been broken. The person who did it must have had keys as there was no sign of a break-in. And if it had been an ordinary burglar, you’d have thought something would have been stolen. There were enough valuables on board.’ ‘I haven’t a clue what Aldís did or didn’t get up to. She doesn’t work for me any more.’ ‘Did you give her the sack or was it just that you couldn’t afford to pay her any longer?’ Bella’s sudden entry into the conversation came as a relief to Thóra. She could be a loose cannon but it was good to have a moment’s respite from her thinly disguised interrogation. Karítas rounded on Bella. ‘I can afford staff perfectly well.’ She flicked her hair back with a quick movement of her head. ‘If you really want to know, I fired her.’ ‘Why?’ Bella certainly didn’t beat about the bush. ‘Why ?’ said Karítas. ‘Why wouldn’t I? She was lazy and she was nicking my stuff.’ She was beginning to look distinctly tight-lipped. ‘One question, Karítas.’ Thóra smiled pleasantly. ‘Were you by any chance in contact with a man called Ægir, from the resolution committee? Your phone number was found among his papers. Did you approach him about granting you access to the yacht, as you’re approaching me?’ ‘Ægir, you say?’ Karítas was a terrible actress; it was plain to everyone in the room that she wasn’t racking her brains to remember. ‘Yes, that sounds vaguely familiar.’ ‘He was on board the yacht with his family. I’m representing his parents. His wife and two small daughters are missing as well. It could be significant if you spoke to him. The police will probably be in touch to discuss it. I know they want to talk to you.’ ‘The police?’ Karítas finally sat up properly. ‘What do they want? I haven’t done anything.’ ‘Perhaps because there’s a possibility that the body of a woman was found on board the yacht. In the freezer, to be precise. At first people thought it must have been you.’ ‘Shit, why would they think that?’ Interesting that she seemed less worked up about the presence of a dead woman in the freezer than the fact that the woman had been wrongly identified. ‘Anyway, what are you talking about? A woman? In the freezer?’ ‘There was no body in the freezer when I was there.’ Karítas’s mother looked outraged. ‘What’s this nonsense?’ ‘All I know is that the police are investigating the matter. As I explained, my involvement is indirect, so I may have got it wrong. But what were you saying about Ægir? Did he speak to you before going on board? Or meet up with you in Lisbon? You must have been there at the same time.’ Karítas scratched her neck, leaving red marks. ‘No, I didn’t see him. But I did talk to him on the phone. That’s not a crime. In fact, he rang me.’ ‘Really?’ Thóra was trying hard to keep her voice friendly. ‘Was that when he was in Portugal?’ ‘No, here in Iceland. I rang that bloody resolution committee and the woman who answered the phone told me he was dealing with the yacht. He wasn’t there, though, so I asked if he could call me back and gave her my number. He rang. Big deal.’ ‘What did you want from him?’ ‘I wanted to go on board. Like I do now. He had the keys.’ ‘What happened? Did he agree to help you?’ ‘Sort of. At first he was really unhelpful.’ She gave Thóra a dirty look. ‘Like you. But I talked him round and he agreed to arrange it.’ ‘What did you promise in return?’ Bella opened her mouth to add a further comment that Thóra feared would be highly inflammatory, but she didn’t get a chance. ‘I said I’d make it worth his while.’ Karítas flushed a little when she saw Bella’s grin. ‘Not in the way you’re insinuating. I was going to pay him. Pay him well.’ ‘Just to get your dresses back?’ Thóra couldn’t imagine promising a hefty reward for the return of any of her own clothes. ‘Not just them. I need to pick up a few other items too.’ Karítas’s lips thinned until they almost disappeared. ‘And what happened?’ ‘He was going to meet me in Lisbon before the yacht left. But it didn’t work out.’ ‘Why not?’ Thóra had given up trying to be nice. ‘I didn’t go. Something came up and I didn’t need his help any more. Or so I thought.’ Karítas bared her teeth in a failed attempt at a smile. ‘But now I’m hoping you can sort out the red tape for me and let me in. You know, better late than never, and all that.’ Thóra studied this woman who had been created in the likeness of an angel, the beautiful outer shell concealing something much darker inside. The missing people were of no consequence to her, merely an inconvenience. It didn’t seem to matter that they included two little girls. ‘I’ll consider it if you tell me what it is you want. The police have been over the yacht with a fine-toothed comb. I can’t quite see what could be so important to you apart from the dresses.’ ‘You don’t need to worry about that. If you’re going to get all weird about it I’ll pay you. How about that?’ ‘No, thanks.’ Out of the corner of her eye Thóra caught Begga’s expression of relief and swung round to her. ‘Is something the matter?’ The woman jumped. ‘Oh no, nothing. I was just worried about the money. We’re in a spot of bother at the moment, you see. Only temporary, mind.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Darling, when it comes to little things like this it makes more sense to trade information than to pay for it. She doesn’t want your money anyway.’ She gazed pleadingly at her daughter, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her grey roots had not been touched up since Thóra and Bella’s last visit. Karítas was not remotely grateful for this intervention. She shot her mother a spiteful look. ‘I’m selling this house, Mum. It’s not up for discussion. You’ll just have to fend for yourself until everything’s sorted out.’ She added to Thóra: ‘Lawyers handle conveyancing, don’t they?’ Her mother seemed to shrink in her ornate chair, a symbol of a lifestyle that would soon be history. ‘I’m not an estate agent.’ Thóra caught a smirk on Bella’s face. She seemed to be delighted with her employer, for the first time in living memory. ‘And I’d like to know why you didn’t go ahead with your meeting with Ægir, since it was so important to you.’ ‘I told you. The situation changed. I didn’t need him any more and I wasn’t going to pay him for what someone else was prepared to do for less.’ ‘Someone else?’ ‘Yes. I bumped into one of the crew members in town – I recognised him – and he was much nicer than that Ægir. I discussed the problem with him and he was more than willing to oblige. But everything got screwed up because his stupid friend had an accident and he had to help him, so he couldn’t meet me as planned. He rang and said he’d sort it when they reached Reykjavík. What was I supposed to do? By then it was too late to try and persuade Ægir to meet me because the captain had arrived and was staying on board. So I had a wasted journey to Lisbon and was forced to wait until the Lady K got to Reykjavík.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Then everyone goes and disappears, and I’m the one that loses out.’ ‘What was this man called?’ asked Thóra, though there could only be one answer if the man’s friend had had an accident in Lisbon. Karítas was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she turned her heavily mascaraed gaze on Thóra. ‘Halli, I think. He used to work for me on the Lady K in the old days. Yes, I’m pretty sure his name was Halli.’ The hardest part, Ægir thought, was not having a clue how far they were from their destination. He had no idea how long he had been asleep; nor could he remember what Thráinn had said about the length of time remaining. Had he said twenty-four hours, or a day? And if the latter, what had he meant by a day? Twelve hours? Was it possible they only had a few hours left at sea? He cursed himself for not having checked the clock at the time or demanded more detailed information. Had he done so, he would have been able to calculate how far the yacht had sailed while he was asleep and plan his next moves accordingly, such as whether it would pay to jump ship in a lifeboat with the girls. The raft might be equipped with an emergency transmitter that would be activated when it hit the water, but Ægir didn’t know how far the signal would carry, so this course of action would only make sense if the yacht was nearing Iceland. The ocean surrounding them was so vast that there was almost no chance of crossing the path of another vessel if they were still up to a day’s journey from land. In any case, it was too late now. Thráinn wouldn’t be giving any more answers, at least not in this world; and Ægir wasn’t about to seek out Halli, as the question would no doubt be his last. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes and watched the white specks dancing on the lids. Never had so much ridden on a decision of his. Never had he felt so bewildered – or alone. ‘Daddy? What’s the time?’ He looked over at Arna who was sitting up rubbing her eyes. She had fallen asleep on a crayon and it had stuck to her jumper without her noticing. ‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t wear a watch and hadn’t charged his phone since they lost reception. He perched on the edge of the bed beside her and reached for the crayon. It was blood red and the sight of it over her heart disturbed him. ‘It’s night-time, as far as I can tell.’ ‘When will we be home? My tummy hurts.’ ‘Soon, hopefully.’ Ægir smoothed her hair but it sprang up again in a mass of tangles. ‘We might go home in one of the lifeboats. How would you like that?’ ‘I don’t care. I just want to go home.’ She pushed his hand away. ‘Then we won’t have to be brave any more.’ ‘You’re right.’ Ægir lapsed into silence, not knowing what else to say. The easiest course would be to lie and claim there was nothing to fear; before they knew it they would be home, where no one would have to behave themselves any more. But that wasn’t true; there was no guarantee that they would ever reach Reykjavík and, even if they did, they were unlikely to take any comfort in their homecoming now that Lára was gone. ‘You’ve coped so well, Arna. Much better than I’d have dared hope. With any luck you won’t need to keep it up much longer.’ ‘Good.’ Arna lay down again with her eyes open. She regarded her sleeping sister, then asked: ‘What do you think Sigga Dögg’s doing?’ ‘I expect she’s gone to beddy-byes by now.’ Ægir spoke in a low voice; the thought of his youngest daughter was too painful to bear. She would grow up without a mother and he wasn’t sure he was capable of providing her with the sort of care she would have received from Lára. He didn’t know how to comfort his daughters, how to brush their hair, choose their clothes or presents, or help with their homework. And he was a hopeless cook. He worked too hard, but then he had to; if he applied to work fewer hours he would soon find himself out on his ear. Not that money would be a problem. Indeed, perhaps that would be the best solution after all that had happened; to retire from work and become a full-time father instead; devote himself to his daughters. But how long would it be before people began to wonder how he was supporting himself and the kids? A year, two years, three? It didn’t matter: sooner or later the time would come. And he would be unable to answer. The sudden thought of Lára’s life insurance policy brought a bad taste to his mouth. It would solve that particular problem. But what would it feel like to see that huge sum appear in his bank account? He had long dreamt of a fortune but it had never occurred to him that he would acquire it like this. He had paid far too high a price. ‘Sigga Dögg doesn’t know Mummy’s dead.’ Arna closed her eyes. ‘She’s so lucky.’ ‘She’ll find out, darling, as soon as we see her again. But I’m not sure she’ll understand. She’s so young.’ ‘She’s still lucky. I wish I didn’t know.’ ‘Me too.’ He would have given anything to have Lára back but, since that was impossible, he wished he could have deceived himself, even if only for a few days or until they reached port. Having to cope with the grief and terrifying uncertainty at the same time was unendurable. He felt as if the chances of a happy ending would be many times greater if all he had to contend with right now was the uncertainty. But deep down he knew it wasn’t like that; there could be no good moves in this game. ‘Can we go up on deck and see if we can spot Iceland?’ ‘No,’ he snapped and immediately regretted how harsh it sounded. He didn’t want Arna to suspect that something even worse had happened. ‘It’s too dark. We wouldn’t be able to see.’ ‘We would. There might be lights. You can see lights from outer space.’ ‘That only applies to big cities. I’m sure Reykjavík isn’t visible from space or from this far out at sea, for that matter.’ He lacked the energy to explain about the curvature of the earth. ‘All there’d be is black sea and more black sea.’ ‘Perhaps the captain has binoculars that work in the dark. We could go and find him. I don’t believe he’s a bad man.’ ‘No, I don’t suppose he is, but it doesn’t change the fact that only soldiers and commandos have binoculars like that. They cost a bomb and, anyway, sailors don’t need to see in the dark; they have radar and all kinds of other equipment to do it for them.’ Ægir hastily steered the conversation away from Thráinn; it was easier to talk nonsense about binoculars. The memory of how the man’s body had floated away was too horrible, and somewhere at the back of his mind a voice whispered that the captain had not been quite dead when he was thrown overboard. The voice grew ever more insistent, though Ægir didn’t believe it. If that had been true, surely Thráinn would have at least attempted to raise his head out of the water? And what did it matter if he had drowned within reach? Thráinn had given Lára the gun and Ægir would never forgive him for that. It had almost certainly influenced his decision to do nothing as Thráinn vanished into the darkness. The captain was to blame for Lára’s death. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. ‘Aren’t you thirsty?’ Arna shook her head and lay down on her back. She stared up at the same ceiling tile as Ægir had focused on earlier; perhaps like him she found it soothing to have nothing but its blank white surface before her eyes, not reminding her of anything. He longed to lie down beside her and copy her example but stopped himself. There were important matters to think about; such as how to act for the best in their current predicament. A noise overhead made him start and shoot an involuntary glance at the ceiling. It sounded as if it was coming from the same deck that Thráinn’s body had been dragged over. The noise, innocent enough in itself, would not have startled him in other circumstances, but now it reminded him that Halli was still at large and doubtless preparing his next move, which would surely be aimed against him and the girls. ‘What’s the matter, Daddy?’ Arna had turned to him and her face reflected his own alarm. ‘Nothing, darling. I’m just tired.’ ‘Do you think it’s the bad man? The man Halli said was on the boat?’ ‘No. There’s no one else here. It’s probably only Halli.’ Ægir had to make sure that neither Arna nor Bylgja found out what had happened to Thráinn. If they panicked it would make the whole situation far worse. Things were bad enough already. ‘Or Thráinn.’ All at once he regretted throwing the gun overboard. If he hadn’t, he could have hunted Halli down and killed him. The thought wasn’t in the least shocking. On the contrary, it was so tempting that he allowed his mind to play out the sequence of events, a smile rising to his lips as he blasted imaginary bullets into the young man’s back. It faded the instant Ægir forced himself back to earth. He must concentrate. Bylgja stirred and half-opened her eyes. She appeared to be still asleep, though her gaze was resting on the colouring book that lay open in front of her. Arna passed her the red glasses and she sat up, struggling to focus, yawned and put them on. ‘I dreamt about Mummy.’ ‘I didn’t.’ Arna looked hurt, as if her mother had been showing favouritism from beyond the grave. ‘I didn’t dream about anything.’ Ægir tried to block out his daughters’ chatter and concentrate on the sounds outside. Halli must need to sleep at some point as he’d had no more rest than Ægir. Even if he’d seized the opportunity while Ægir was dozing, a short nap like that would not have been enough to overcome his fatigue. But if Ægir could find out when next Halli went to sleep, he would have a chance to act to secure his daughters’ safety. For that he would need a plan, though. So far the only idea that had occurred to him was to escape in a lifeboat. Perhaps that would do. He didn’t have time to consider all the options and assess which was the right one. After all, there was no right decision. They heard the door to the corridor open, then slam shut. Ægir gasped, feeling his heart miss a beat. What if there was another gun on board and Halli had got hold of it? What point would there be planning their getaway or trying to defend themselves? ‘Who’s that, Daddy?’ Arna whispered anxiously. She must sense that he felt threatened by whoever was out there. He laid a finger on his lips. The girls’ eyes widened and Bylgja clasped her hands over her mouth as if to prevent herself from screaming. Ægir came close to emulating her when he pressed his ear to the door and heard somebody walking along the corridor, systematically trying the handles to the cabins. Adrenaline coursed through Ægir’s veins for the split second that he doubted he had locked the door. But when their handle was grasped from outside, the door remained shut. All three stared transfixed at the handle, which remained motionless for a moment before someone turned it again, more forcefully. None of them said a word or moved so much as a little finger, as if they were actors in a film that had been paused. Not until they heard footsteps retreating down the corridor and the door at the end opening and closing again did they draw breath. ‘Who was that?’ Arna eyed the door as if she expected it to burst open any minute. Ægir felt the same. Although the corridor seemed empty, it might be a trap. And who could it have been? Halli knew precisely which cabin Ægir and Lára had been occupying and he also knew which room the girls were using. So why had he walked all the way down the row? Was it not Halli after all? The more he considered this possibility, the more his doubts grew. Surely Halli would know where the master key was kept, unless there was no such key on board? Perhaps it was Halli and he had gone to fetch the axe from the bridge in order to break down the door. Or perhaps it was someone else entirely. ‘Who was that, Daddy? Was it the bad man Halli was talking about?’ Arna wasn’t going to let her father get away without answering. ‘I’m sure it was only Halli. He’s tired like I was earlier, so perhaps he can’t remember which cabin he’s in.’ Ægir immediately regretted telling the girls what they wanted to hear rather than what they needed to know. If they were to come through this alive, they would have to be aware of the danger. It wouldn’t do for them to run to Halli when or if they encountered him. If he caught one of them, Ægir would go to pieces and that would be the end of them all. ‘It wasn’t Halli.’ Bylgja wrapped her arms round her narrow ribcage as if to keep warm, though it wasn’t cold in the cabin. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t Halli.’ ‘How can you tell?’ It sounded as if Arna couldn’t decide whether she wanted her sister to be right or wrong. ‘It just wasn’t him.’ Bylgja shifted closer to the headboard. ‘Why don’t we go up and talk to them, Daddy? Halli and Thráinn might be able to help us and catch the bad man.’ ‘Not now. We’ll go out presently, but not quite yet.’ They left it at that, though neither twin seemed satisfied. Ægir wasn’t either, but it couldn’t be helped. While he didn’t know who was out there or whether that person was still on the prowl, there was little he could do. Then again, he wouldn’t find out if he stayed in the cabin. But he couldn’t bring himself to confront this fact just yet. It was better to sit tight and hope for the best. Wasn’t it? Ægir had succumbed to sleep again. He woke from his dreamless state with such a violent jolt that he was lucky not to fall out of his chair. Something had changed, and in his horror at having fallen asleep on guard again he thought at first that someone had entered their cabin. But it turned out to be the long-desired silence that had woken him. Previously the deep throbbing of the engine had been constantly in the background but now all was quiet. The yacht was no longer moving. ‘How long is it since we stopped? When did it happen?’ He tried to keep the despair out of his voice. This did not bode well. ‘A while ago.’ Arna rolled over and closed her colouring book. ‘We didn’t want to wake you because you were so tired.’ ‘How long is it since I dropped off? Did it happen straight after that or only just now?’ The girls exchanged glances; clearly they had no idea. It was still pitch dark outside, so assuming he hadn’t slept for twenty-four hours it must be the same night. ‘Has anyone tried to get in again?’ ‘No. No one.’ Bylgja laid aside her book as well. Ægir rose and went to the door. There was no sound from the corridor outside. Perhaps this was the chance he had been waiting for; he might not get another. There was no need to shut down the engines in order to go to sleep, but perhaps, just perhaps, this indicated that Halli – or whoever it was – was resting. Perhaps he was afraid of over-sleeping and entering Icelandic territorial waters while he was dead to the world. It was entirely possible that he had pressed his ear to the door just as Ægir was doing now, and, hearing that Ægir was asleep, judged it safe to take a nap himself. ‘Was I snoring, girls?’ They nodded. He vacillated. If he could make a dash for the bridge to fetch some emergency flares and the axe, or simply to find out where in the world they were, they would be much better off. He could set off a flare if he heard or saw any other ships. ‘Okay. Now I need you two to be brave one last time.’ They looked far from happy. ‘I’m going up to see what’s happening. You must wait for me here in the meantime. You mustn’t leave the cabin, whatever happens. Do you think you can do that?’ ‘We don’t want to stay here alone.’ Bylgja looked at her sister in hope of support. ‘What are we to do if someone comes in while you’re away?’ ‘No one’s going to come in. You’ll lock the door behind me.’ ‘But what if he pretends to be you?’ ‘No one can pretend to be me. You know my voice.’ Reluctantly, they accepted this, though it was obvious from their expressions that it was the last thing they wanted. They needed him. He was their father. But it couldn’t be helped; he couldn’t take them with him when God alone knew what awaited him upstairs. ‘Perhaps you should hide in the wardrobe just to be on the safe side. If anyone looks in here, they’ll think you went with me and go away again.’ ‘But then we won’t hear you when you knock.’ ‘I’ll knock extra loud.’ He put his ear to the door again and listened intently. Still no sound. ‘And I’ll be very quick.’ He meant to seize the door-handle and leap into action before he lost his nerve but was filled with a powerful longing to kiss his daughters one last time before he abandoned them. Their cheeks were soft and warm and the scent of their young skin was the best thing he had ever smelt. What had he been dreaming of to think they needed more money for their life to be perfect? You couldn’t improve what was already perfect; you could only ruin it. His eyes fell on the briefcase that was still leaning against the wall where he had left it and he wanted to scream until his vocal cords gave way. Instead, he looked sadly at his daughters, so lost, so desperately fragile and vulnerable. ‘Hide in the wardrobe and wait there until I knock. I’ll call out my name so you won’t be confused.’ He gave them each a lingering kiss on the brow. The corridor was deserted and Ægir met no one on his way up to the bridge. Every muscle, every nerve and sinew was tense, ready to confront the murderer, whether it was Halli or a stranger. Of course he hoped it wouldn’t happen, yet part of him desired nothing more than to find the man and beat him to a pulp. Although he’d never had any real experience of fighting, he was fairly sure he would succeed. No matter what was driving the other man, Ægir had hatred on his side. The sight of his face reflected in the pilot house window brought him to a standstill; rage had contorted his features. He hoped with all his heart that he hadn’t looked like that when he said goodbye to the girls; if anything happened to him, he didn’t want that to be their last memory of him. Inside the bridge there was no one to be seen; all the lights were off but the glow from the computer screens and instrument panels provided enough illumination to preclude anyone hiding there. Nevertheless, it was with extreme caution that Ægir opened the door and went in. Closing it behind him, he headed straight for the GPS. According to this, the yacht was still worryingly far from land. Because the engine had been turned off, the data about their course, which had previously been displayed at the bottom of the screen, had now vanished. As a result, there was no information about how long it would take to reach their destination. But he didn’t really need it; he guessed they had approximately ten hours’ sailing time left, but every hour the yacht remained motionless was another hour at sea. Perhaps he should start her up again? He and the girls couldn’t abandon ship in these waters and he suspected they wouldn’t be allowed to remain undisturbed in their cabin for the rest of the voyage. On the other hand, if he started the engine, the killer would be aware of his presence and might take steps to deal with him. Ægir was terrified that the killer would head straight for the girls and get to them first. That was unthinkable. Abandoning the console, he began to hunt for flares. If he did try to start the engine again, he would do it last, before racing back down to the girls. He soon unearthed the flares in a white cardboard box in a drawer; he would just have to hope they were in working order. But the axe had vanished from its place on the wall and the realisation reduced him momentarily to panic. Then, pulling himself together, he went back to the drawers and began searching for a possible weapon. Finding a suitably heavy spanner, he took it with him, though it wouldn’t be much use against an axe. The weighty metal bar felt so good in his hand that he actively looked forward to having a chance to use it. He wouldn’t hold back. He tightened his grip and resolved to go out on deck and check that the lifeboats were still in place. If he had time, he would work out how to launch them – should they be forced to escape in one, he would have to act fast and there would be no room for mistakes. Once he had done this he would return to the bridge and try to get the yacht back on course. Then he would fly back to the girls as if the devil were at his heels. A bracing gust of sea air hit him as he emerged on deck. Oddly, it carried not the tang of salt but a waft of perfume, and Ægir paused inadvertently to sniff the air in the hope of detecting its source. The yacht was facing into the wind and he peered warily round the corner of the pilot house towards the bows to discover whether the smell emanated from there. The lights had been switched off on the foredeck, yet he could see enough to tell that there was nobody about. The perfume was unquestionably coming from there. Instinct warned him to leave well alone but his curiosity proved stronger. It was a woman’s scent; no man would wear such a heavy, sweet floral fragrance. And if it was a woman, two things were clear; one, that there was a stowaway on board and, two, that he would almost certainly prove the stronger should it come to a fight. If he tracked her down and overpowered her, they would be able to sail fearlessly to port, instead of having to risk their lives in a flimsy life raft. Creeping stealthily round the pilot house, Ægir tried to follow the scent. But before he had gone far he was met by a sight that caused his heart to miss a beat. Two legs were protruding from under the white bench that ran around the bows. Instantly he recognised the shoes that Halli had been wearing throughout the voyage. And he could not be asleep, that much was certain. His legs were lying at such an unnatural angle that they must be broken. Forgetting all caution, Ægir sprang towards the bench and bent down for a better view. The stench of perfume was so sickening that he would never be able to smell it again as long as he lived without retching. It got worse when he tugged at one cold limb and realised that it had been severed from the body. When he finally forced himself to look, he discovered that the rest of Halli’s corpse was nowhere to be seen. He snatched back his hand and leapt to his feet. He was not safe here, whether the killer was male or female. This person was clearly insane. All thoughts of starting the engines again evaporated as he ran for the stairs that would take him back to the twins. He wanted to scream out their names, to tell them to be careful, that Daddy was coming. But he was silent, saving his breath for the sprint. Even as he opened the door he realised he needn’t have bothered. He would never reach his daughters now. That thought was almost more agonising than the axe that sank into his belly. It was dragged out and driven in again, under his chest. As his muscles ceased to obey him he dropped the flares and spanner, which fell with a series of thuds onto the steel deck. His last rational thought was not of the pain or his daughters, now left on their own. Rather, it was puzzlement as to how on earth this could be happening. Perhaps, after all, the dead could rise from the grave? ‘So you knew nothing about this? Your friend Halldór didn’t say a word about meeting Karítas in Lisbon?’ Thóra had to raise her voice to be heard over the music that was blasting from the sound system behind her. She didn’t know the band and had no wish to become any more closely acquainted with them. The bass was turned up so high that her body seemed to throb with it and she was almost afraid her heart would start beating in time to the insistent drumming. As soon as she and Bella left Karítas and her mother, she had rung Snævar and asked to meet him. She had taken care to reveal nothing about their errand, merely hinting that she wanted his opinion on a few small things. He had agreed and suggested she come round to his place as his leg was particularly bad that day, which made it hard to leave the house. If she wanted to see him at her office, it would have to wait until tomorrow. Thóra felt it was too urgent for that, so she and Bella drove straight from Arnarnes up to the suburb of Grafarvogur where Snævar lived in a long block of flats that could have done with some exterior maintenance. Inside, Snævar’s flat was little better. Thóra hoped for his sake that the squalor could be blamed on his broken leg. As it was, he was lucky not to have tripped over the piles of rubbish that littered the floor and broken the other one. He apologised casually for the mess. It was obvious that he was glad of the company; perhaps it was a sign of his loneliness that he should be willing to receive guests in the midst of all this noise and chaos. But his pleasure visibly faded when Thóra accused him of having held back information. ‘Though to tell the truth, I find the whole thing rather far-fetched,’ she added. ‘And I’m fairly sure the police will too.’ Snævar stared blindly into an empty mug with a congealing ring of coffee froth around the inside. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was so afraid people would suspect Halli. None of you knew him so you’re bound to believe the worst of him. Even if he did speak to her, he didn’t do anything. I can’t and won’t believe it.’ ‘You obviously don’t have much faith in the police.’ Thóra pushed a robot vacuum cleaner away with her foot in order to make more legroom. The poor thing had obviously run out of power and been prevented from reaching its recharging point by the obstacle course on the floor. ‘You can trust them to find out the truth.’ ‘How can they, when there’s no one left to tell the tale? Surely you must see that?’ Snævar shoved an embroidered cushion behind his back for support. It looked like an heirloom from his grandmother’s house. ‘Anyway, nothing happened. I broke my leg and Halli had his hands full coping with me and preparing the yacht for departure. There’s no way he would have had time to help Karítas, so I didn’t think it was relevant.’ ‘It’s not up to you to decide what is or isn’t relevant. Not as far as the police are concerned, at any rate. But you don’t have to answer my questions unless you want to.’ ‘I do want to.’ Snævar seemed agonised by this turn of events and kept glancing from Thóra to Bella in the hope of eliciting sympathy. ‘I can’t begin to describe how much I regret not having mentioned it before.’ ‘You didn’t mention it now either.’ Far from being irritated by all the mess with which she was sharing her chair, Bella seemed extraordinarily at ease. ‘You’d have kept quiet about it if Karítas hadn’t said anything.’ ‘Look, surely you can understand? Once you start telling lies or leaving things out, it’s difficult to stop. And I can’t see how it changes anything.’ ‘Would you please just tell me what happened?’ Thóra had lost patience with his excuses. ‘The police are interviewing Karítas as we speak and I expect they’ll come on here straight afterwards. Then you’ll have to talk, so why not tell us first?’ Snævar turned pale and the dark shadows under his eyes became even more marked. ‘Of course I’ll talk to them but there’s no harm in telling you as well. It would be better to hear your questions before I meet them.’ ‘You mean you want to practise your story on me?’ ‘No. I didn’t mean that.’ He seemed wounded by this but continued nonetheless. ‘Karítas was in Lisbon all right, but there’s no way Halli knew that beforehand or that she went there because of him. He ran into her completely by chance.’ ‘Were you there?’ ‘Yes.’ The colour was slowly returning to his cheeks. ‘It was on our first evening. We went on a pub crawl and she was sitting in one of the smarter, more expensive bars. We’d have walked out again if Halli hadn’t spotted her and wanted to say hello. I didn’t mind; we weren’t having any luck pulling girls and I thought we might be more popular if we were seen in the company of a classy bird like her. She was friendly too. Very friendly. She seemed over the moon to see Halli again; she remembered him well.’ ‘Did she know what had brought you to Lisbon?’ ‘Yes, Halli told her before we sat down. I remember because I thought she’d be pissed off to be reminded of her husband’s bankruptcy but not a bit of it. She didn’t seem bothered. She just thought it was a funny coincidence.’ ‘So when did she bring up her request and what exactly did she say?’ ‘We’d just got our drinks, so it must have been pretty soon. She asked Halli if he could do her a little favour and he reckoned it shouldn’t be a problem.’ Snævar paused, as if searching his memory, then carried on: ‘She said she needed to get into the yacht to fetch some stuff and wanted to borrow the keys.’ ‘So you lent them to her?’ ‘Yes. I think so.’ ‘Really?’ Bella exclaimed, earning a sharp look from Thóra, though she tried not to let Snævar see. She didn’t want him to find out straight away that his story was inconsistent with Karítas’s admittedly rather vague account. People were often caught out by the small flaws in their statements. ‘Yes, as far as I recall. Though I could be wrong.’ He gave Bella a questioning look. ‘Why, did she claim she never got them?’ ‘She didn’t mention it,’ Thóra intervened hastily. ‘We were discussing the matter from a different angle. Let’s just assume that you’re right.’ Snævar seemed confused for a moment. ‘Well, we sat there for a bit, then we left. She took our phone numbers and said she’d be in touch the following day. Halli told her she’d have to go on board before the captain and the fourth crew member turned up. Loftur, I mean.’ He hesitated but when neither Bella nor Thóra commented, he went on: ‘Then nothing happened except that she rang next day and spoke to Halli, though I don’t know exactly what she said. All he told me was that they’d arranged to meet up the following day. I broke my leg that same evening, so I don’t think they can have done. Halli was busy helping me all the time that he wasn’t carrying out preparations on the yacht. Thanks to me, he had to manage all that on his own. He wouldn’t have had time to run around for Karítas, that’s for sure.’ ‘Did she mention what it was she wanted to fetch?’ Snævar shook his head. ‘No, not in any detail. Just some of her crap. Clothes, stuff like that.’ ‘A big fuss to make about a load of old clothes, don’t you think?’ ‘Don’t ask me what goes on in women’s heads. Maybe they were all her favourite things.’ ‘Maybe.’ The music ceased abruptly as Thóra was speaking and the second half of the word came out as a shout. Mercifully, the disc seemed to have finished and she lowered her voice before continuing, though she was ready for the next track to start booming out of the speakers any minute. ‘She seems to have gone to an awful lot of trouble over a few dresses. But tell me something else. Was Karítas’s assistant over there with her? A young woman called Aldís.’ Snævar seemed momentarily thrown; he shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. ‘I wouldn’t know.’ ‘So she wasn’t at the bar and her name didn’t crop up in conversation? I imagine you asked Karítas if she was there alone? At least, that would seem to me a natural question if I bumped into someone I knew abroad.’ ‘Maybe we did, or rather Halli did. I can’t remember. Can’t remember if she mentioned her either. Why do you ask?’ ‘She can’t be traced.’ Thóra watched his Adam’s apple move up and down. ‘Which is rather odd. Yet she was definitely in Lisbon. The police have checked up on the two women’s movements. They both flew there but only one of them came home.’ She wasn’t about to tell him that the PA, not Karítas, had taken a plane out of Portugal. Which in itself was peculiar given that Karítas had come home, however she had managed it. Thóra suspected that when the CCTV recordings from airport security were examined, it would transpire that Karítas had travelled under her assistant’s name. No doubt the police had that covered. ‘How can they know that?’ Snævar was looking very uneasy. ‘They can hardly have checked with every airline in the world?’ ‘I don’t know but that’s what I’m told.’ Thóra caught Bella’s eye. ‘Maybe we should be going. I’m keen to hear what the police have to say now that they’re getting to the bottom of this.’ She turned back to Snævar. ‘Do you know what I think?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I think there was money or other valuables on board that Karítas wanted to get her hands on. Maybe her husband had hidden away a fortune on the yacht in case of emergency, and he didn’t have a chance to remove it before he was forced to surrender the keys to the resolution committee. Whatever the truth, either he asked Karítas to recover it or she took it upon herself to do so. She needed to get on board somehow and that’s when you two drunken idiots fell into her lap. I reckon that when he sobered up your friend Halli began to suspect that she was after more than just clothes and jewellery, so he decided to take either all or part of it for himself. You were out of action, so there was nothing to stop him hunting for it. After that something happened and Karítas’s PA had to pay the price, perhaps because she’d come up with the same idea. It seems likely that Karítas was involved in her demise since she used Aldís’s air ticket to leave Lisbon. The truth will emerge. Perhaps she simply lost her own ticket or accidentally mixed them up. Who knows?’ ‘Not me.’ Snævar moved to the edge of the sofa, as if to be ready to make a break for it. ‘Halli would never have harmed a woman. I’m telling you the truth.’ ‘But you’ve told me so many things, hardly any of which seem to have any foundation in fact. So permit me to go on with the story. This mess created by your friend and Karítas almost certainly cost my clients their lives. And their daughters.’ Thóra dearly wished she’d brought along a photo of the twins that she could shove in his face. ‘Presumably whoever killed Karítas’s PA stuffed her body into the freezer, hoping to dispose of her once the yacht was out at sea. Then perhaps the couple or one of their daughters came across the body or the money, or worked out by other means that there was something strange going on. So it became necessary to get rid of the family.’ ‘Halli would never have done anything like what you’re implying. Never.’ ‘Maybe not. But how do we know that someone else wasn’t there with him? Or on board on their own account? Nothing much was heard from the crew after they left port, so there may well have been other passengers on board, whether they were aware of the fact or not. It’s a big yacht.’ ‘Like who?’ Snævar narrowed his eyes. ‘No one could hide there without the crew noticing. I’ve already told you that. You’d have to know the yacht inside out and even then you’d have to be incredibly lucky not to get noticed. It’s a crazy idea. Completely crazy.’ Turning to Bella, he asked: ‘You don’t believe this bullshit, do you? You remember what it’s like on board. Do you think either of you would be capable of hiding there?’ ‘No, maybe not. But then we don’t know our way around. I bet there are plenty of other people who could.’ Bella shrugged. Thóra leant as far back as she could without touching the damp towel that was draped over the back of her chair. ‘I assume the police will look into that. And once the culprit has been found and confessed to the truth, it’ll be much easier for a judge to rule that my clients are dead. Then I’ll be able move on to other things, unlike their family who will have to struggle with their grief for the rest of their lives.’ Snævar sat back in the sofa again. ‘No stranger could have stowed away on board. You’ll never get me to buy that.’ ‘No, maybe not. But could Karítas have done it?’ ‘Oh, do me a favour.’ Snævar looked incredulous. Perhaps he thought women were incapable of stowing away. Or committing murder. ‘Or maybe somebody quite different,’ said Bella. ‘Like who?’ ‘Like you.’ As soon as Bella had uttered these words, Thóra felt uncomfortably aware of the smallness of the room and their vulnerability to attack. No doubt Bella had intended it sarcastically; perhaps she had wanted to needle the man sitting opposite them, who was now racking his brains for a suitable reply. But big mouths often blurt out the truth, and all of a sudden Thóra realised that Bella could be right. As far as she knew, no one had checked Snævar’s claim to have flown home, and he could well have been on the yacht, in spite of his broken leg. Her eyes dropped to the plastic splint that projected from under his trouser leg, concealing the cast. From what she could see he was wearing a sock underneath it, and in a flash she understood his reluctance to procure a doctor’s certificate. No doctor with a modicum of self-respect would give a healthy man a certificate confirming that he had a broken leg. Rarely, if ever, had she been as eager to get outside into the open air. Thóra had dressed up that morning out of respect for Ægir’s parents, but as she sat at the table in the small kitchen, she realised it would have made no difference what she was wearing. Such matters were trivial in the face of the news she had brought them. The couple sat opposite her, their haggard features expressing a heartfelt wish that she would stop talking; that she would get the harrowing story over with as soon as possible. They listened attentively, saying little, their eyes fixed on the pattern in the tablecloth. Every now and then one of them would adjust the teaspoon in their saucer or smooth out a wrinkle in the cloth, as if the events Thóra was describing were so unreal that they needed to touch something solid to reassure themselves that this was not a bad dream. ‘So, at the end of the day, it all came down to money. I suppose it’s not really surprising.’ Thóra tried to make eye contact but neither of them would look up. ‘There was a fortune on board; millions of US dollars that the owner of the yacht had stashed in the safe. Or so it’s claimed. No money has been found but both Karítas and Snævar swear blind that they didn’t take it because, although they had the security code, they couldn’t open the safe. They may be telling the truth for all we know. I doubt we’ll ever find out. The fact that they didn’t simply program the yacht to sail off into the Arctic Ocean and never be seen again suggests they genuinely believed the money was still on board. They broke in after her arrival in Iceland to make yet another attempt on the safe, but came away empty-handed, though Karítas couldn’t resist the temptation to grab some of her clothes and a box of personal papers at the same time. Next she tried to persuade me to let her in, presumably for one last crack at it.’ Thóra automatically lowered her voice for what she had to say next. ‘It appears that Ægir got in touch with the American manufacturer of the safe, apparently on behalf of the resolution committee. Once he had managed to convince them of the change of ownership, they provided him with the code that would reset the lock. But he kept this information to himself, so he alone would have had access to the contents. If there were any.’ ‘Ægir?’ Margeir’s face was unreadable. He avoided looking at his wife who did not seem to have grasped the implications of Thóra’s words. ‘Yes, but, like I said, we’re not sure there was anything inside when he opened it, though it’s clear that somebody had used the code. We’ll probably never know what happened, so it’s best to assume it was already empty – at least until further evidence comes to light. So much is still unresolved.’ Although many of the questions about what happened on board remained unanswered, the circumstances were much clearer now. The police were still working on the inquiry but the officer Thóra had talked to the day before had thought it unlikely that much more would emerge. Snævar and Karítas had both given extremely one-sided accounts, and the detectives were having to try and piece together the probable sequence of events from their statements. ‘What we have established is that two of the crew members ran into Karítas by chance in Lisbon and she persuaded them to help her go on board to retrieve the money. Not that she actually admitted what she was after; she pretended all she wanted was to fetch some belongings that had been left behind by mistake. They lent her the keys and that same evening she sent her assistant Aldís to pack up her clothes. She herself intended to go on board the following morning to empty the safe.’ Thóra allowed this to sink in before continuing: ‘Snævar and Karítas give conflicting versions of what happened next. She claims she paid an unexpected visit to the yacht that evening and found the keys in the lock but her assistant nowhere to be seen, so she concluded that the girl must have emptied the safe somehow and changed the security code. Whereas Snævar alleges that Karítas caught Aldís messing about and trying on her clothes. When, on top of that, the safe wouldn’t open, Karítas attacked the girl in a rage and pushed her – probably without meaning to – with the result that Aldís banged her head on a sharp marble sink surround in the bathroom.’ ‘Which of them is telling the truth, in your opinion?’ Margeir’s question seemed perfunctory, as if he didn’t really care about the answer. ‘My money’s on Snævar, but they’re waiting for the results of tests on the marble surface, which should decide the matter. Until then we’ll just have to rely on their evidence, and his story fits with the captain’s report about finding a dead woman. Whereas Karítas’s statement is full of holes and she’s unable to explain why she took a flight out of Lisbon under Aldís’s name. The police believe she did it to give the impression that the girl had fled the city. If necessary, she wanted to be able to back up her story that Aldís had tampered with the safe and possibly even emptied it.’ Outside the window a postwoman walked by, towing a red trolley that looked half empty. She was holding some envelopes that she checked briefly before continuing on her way, past Ægir’s parents’ house. Perhaps she couldn’t face trying to force any more letters into the couple’s post-box, which was still bursting at the seams. ‘If Snævar’s account is to be believed, it seems that Karítas lost her nerve and rang his friend Halldór to ask for help. She promised him a big reward if he’d dispose of the body once the yacht was out at sea.’ The couple’s faces radiated disgust mingled with disbelief; Margeir’s forehead creased into a mass of wrinkles. His eyes begged Thóra to stop talking and leave at this point. Trying not to let this deter her, she persevered with her tale: ‘But Halldór refused to get involved, though he agreed not to report her to the authorities. He believed her claim that it had been an accident and also bought the idea that he and Snævar were somehow implicated because they had lent her the keys that had been entrusted to them. Yet this wasn’t enough to make him do what she wanted and no doubt everything would have turned out differently if he had only kept the matter to himself. But he didn’t. That evening when he and Snævar were out boozing, Halldór confided in him about Karítas’s request.’ Thóra paused for breath. Her audience seemed more disorientated with every word and she wasn’t sure they were following her any longer. ‘Do let me know if there’s anything you don’t understand and I’ll try to explain it better.’ ‘I understand the words all right.’ The woman fiddled with the buttons of her cardigan. The wool was worn and frayed at the seams, and Thóra wished she herself hadn’t come dressed as if for the courtroom. ‘I just don’t understand them. What kind of people are they?’ ‘Deeply flawed. Each in their own way.’ Thóra licked her dry lips. She could have done with a glass of water but didn’t like to put her hosts to the trouble. They had enough to cope with at the moment. ‘Anyway, to go on, Snævar became very excited and tried to talk Halldór round. Karítas was offering a big sum of money as a reward and he thought it only natural that they should share it. But Karítas had omitted to tell Halldór that the money she had come to retrieve was locked in a safe that refused to open, which made it unlikely she would ever be able to pay them a penny of it. In fact, unbeknownst to her, the safe was completely empty. However, Snævar believed she was capable of paying and in the end he told Halldór he would do it himself and keep all the money. Halldór reacted badly and forbade Snævar to make contact with Karítas, threatening to go to the police with the whole story if he went ahead. According to Snævar, they were both pretty drunk by this point and started a fight which ended up with Halldór falling into the road, getting hit by a car and breaking his leg. He was so plastered that he couldn’t give a coherent account of his accident when he was admitted to hospital, and that wasn’t only because of the alcohol. You see, Snævar had lent him his European Health Insurance Card because Halldór hadn’t had the sense to apply for one before he left home. As they were about the same age and there’s no photo on the card, the staff at A & E didn’t doubt for a moment that he was Snævar, so Halldór couldn’t reveal the full story behind his injury. In addition to which, he was in such pain that his priority would have been to see a doctor and get medical attention as soon as possible.’ Thóra paused for breath before carrying on. ‘Karítas and Snævar give contradictory statements about what happened next. She asserts that Snævar killed Halldór, whereas he insists that she murdered him. I doubt the mystery will ever be solved, any more than many other details of this case. It’s clear, though, that after Halldór’s leg had been put in a cast, Snævar took him back to the hotel where he slept it off for most of the day. Meanwhile, Snævar rang Karítas from his friend’s mobile and they agreed to meet down by the yacht. There Snævar set to work, cramming the PA’s body into a large bin-bag and hiding it at the bottom of a big chest freezer. They made a deal that he would throw it into the sea in return for a share of the cash, unaware that this would never be forthcoming. The police believe that after Halldór woke up to find himself in a plaster cast, he went down to the harbour and discovered what was going on. He was furious and threatened to report them, after which one or both of them shut him up by drowning him. He may simply have fallen in during the struggle and been unable to save himself because of his injury. Instead of helping him, they didn’t fish him out until it was too late. Presumably, with the body in the freezer, they were eager at all costs to avoid the unwanted attention that a drowned man would attract.’ ‘Which of them is more likely to have killed him?’ ‘I’d guess Karítas. She had much more to lose at this stage. But it could just as well have been Snævar. In any case, Halldór’s body ended up on board like the PA’s.’ ‘My God.’ The woman rubbed the corners of her eyes behind her glasses. ‘I didn’t know people like that existed.’ ‘I’m afraid so.’ Thóra deliberately didn’t remind them that Ægir himself had probably succumbed to the temptation of Karítas’s money while he was in Lisbon with his family. Thóra was fairly convinced that the safe had turned out to contain a fortune in cash and that he had removed it. She hadn’t a clue what he had done with it but it was quite possible that the money had influenced his decision to travel home by ship, since it would have been easier to smuggle it back to Iceland by sea than by air. But his parents didn’t need to hear any of this. Things were bad enough as it was. ‘Their next actions can probably be blamed on the fact that they were in a state of shock; they decided that Snævar should join the crew, posing as Halldór, throw the two bodies overboard during the voyage, and keep up the pretence that nothing was wrong. Karítas dyed his dark hair blond to make him look more like his friend. The other crew members hadn’t met either Halldór or Snævar before, so he had a good chance of getting away with it.’ ‘What were they thinking of? How could they imagine it would work?’ ‘Apparently, their original idea was that just before the yacht reached land Snævar should jump ship, making it look as if Halldór must have fallen overboard and drowned. Accidents like that aren’t particularly unusual, so it was unlikely to have aroused much suspicion. Then Snævar would pretend that he had been waiting at home with a broken leg after flying back from Lisbon. As it turned out, it never occurred to anyone to check his alibi. After all, Snævar’s leg appeared to be broken and he had papers to prove it from the hospital in Lisbon because Halldór had used his health insurance card. No one thought for a moment that he could have been involved.’ Thóra hesitated. ‘And he would almost certainly have got away with it if Halldór had been the only one to disappear. The investigation of one missing person is nothing compared to a case in which an entire yacht-load of people have vanished into thin air.’ ‘I don’t know if I can bear to hear any more.’ Margeir’s expression was grim. ‘These people are sick.’ ‘If you don’t want to hear the rest, I can leave it at that. But when this despicable pair are called to the dock, you won’t be able to avoid reading about the case or seeing it on the news. It’ll be impossible to block it out.’ She had resolved beforehand to leave out various details, such as the fact that Snævar had decided to chop off Halldór’s legs, reasoning that it would be best if his body washed ashore as proof that he had fallen overboard, but at the same time needing to disguise the fact that he had a broken leg. As bodies washed up by the sea often have a limb or two missing, he reckoned it wouldn’t look suspicious. But he alone knew why he had amputated both legs rather than just one. Perhaps he thought it would look more plausible as sea damage if both were missing. After this, he had stolen Halldór’s splint and plaster cast to bind round his own leg. Thóra also left out the description of how Snævar had originally tried to hide Halldór’s body in his own cabin. When the smell of decomposition grew increasingly obvious, Snævar had to find a new place for the corpse. First he tried to disguise it with perfume that he had filched from Lára and Ægir’s room. But when that failed to mask the stench, he stuffed it into a freezer that was located in a storeroom adjoining the engine room. There the body remained until Snævar wrapped it in canvas and hung it over the side of the ship so that when he eventually chucked it overboard, it would look as if it had been immersed in the sea rather than deep-frozen. First he removed the legs using an axe that was kept in the pilot house, taking the precaution of putting his own shoes on the feet in case they got caught in a fishing net or washed up somewhere. This was to ensure that those who survived the voyage would identify the legs as Halli’s. Then Snævar turned off the ship’s main engine so that he could push Halldór’s body out through a hatch which couldn’t be opened while the vessel was under way. The navigation computer confirmed that by this point they were only a day’s journey from port. But Snævar made a fatal mistake in the final stretch. After tethering the body outside the hatch, he locked the storeroom behind him in case Ægir thought of trying to escape with the girls on one of the jet skis. On his way back upstairs to dispose of Halli’s legs, he ran into Ægir and apparently murdered him, losing the key in the struggle. By the time he realised this he was too close to shore and had no time to search for it. As a result, he was unable to jettison Halli’s body as planned. After his return home, the news of the police examination of the yacht and the collection of forensic evidence had driven Snævar frantic with anxiety that he would be betrayed by the presence of his DNA on Halli’s body. His chance of removing the evidence when he and Karítas went on board was thwarted by an inquisitive nightwatchman and they were forced to flee. So when Snævar was offered the opportunity to go on board with Thóra, he planned to pretend to stumble on Halli’s body by chance, in the hope that this would explain any forensic traces linking him to the corpse. As it was, his friend was in such a horrific state of decomposition that he didn’t need to force himself to vomit; the reaction was involuntary. And his plan had worked. ‘I want to hear the rest.’ Sigrídur jutted out her chin as if she could handle it, though her wet eyelashes told a different story. ‘Go on.’ ‘Unfortunately, not much more can be established with any certainty. Snævar insists that he had no part in any other death, and is sticking to his story that all he did was deal with the bodies for Karítas. She, on the other hand, claims that he gave her a very different account after his return home, in a long phone call that his telephone company confirms took place. According to her, Snævar killed Loftur because Loftur had worked out that it must have been Snævar who threw the body of the woman in the freezer overboard. It wasn’t hard for him to guess, since only two people could have done it, him or Snævar – or rather Halli, as he was calling himself. When Loftur accused him of this, Snævar drowned him in the Jacuzzi, which Loftur was in the process of heating up at the time. After that Snævar invented a story about a mysterious stowaway but the others weren’t convinced, so when the net began to tighten around him he killed them too – the captain, Thráinn, when the poor man fell asleep on watch.’ ‘How did he kill…?’ Margeir couldn’t finish the sentence but there was no need. Thóra was well aware of what he was asking. ‘According to Karítas, Lára died as the result of an accidental shot. No one knows if that’s yet another lie but the gun that should have been on board is missing. Snævar told Karítas that Ægir threw the weapon overboard, but I very much doubt that. The police believe that Snævar murdered her as well as the others.’ ‘And Ægir?’ ‘He supposedly killed him last. Karítas claims this was unintentional. Snævar had hoped that Ægir and the girls would stay out of the way below deck and that he himself would be able to keep a low profile once they reached Iceland. Ægir would believe that Halli, who had vanished, was the murderer and no one would ever find out that Snævar had been posing as his friend on board. However, I find it hard to believe that he’d have taken such a risk, so I’m guessing that he killed Ægir to save his own skin. If everyone on board disappeared, people would put it down to an accident and no one would suspect a man with a broken leg whose only connection with the yacht had been before the vessel had left harbour. Apparently he went around the ship and removed all the mobile phones and cameras he could find in case he appeared in any pictures. Then he flung them all in the sea. During his time on board he had taken care to touch as little as possible and to wipe away his finger prints when no one was looking. So there weren’t many prints to give him away. In fact, his actions seem to have been carefully premeditated, which suggests that he wasn’t just Karítas’s innocent dupe as he would like us to think.’ ‘How did he get ashore? He was waiting with us on the docks when the yacht put in.’ Sigrídur’s voice was angry, as if she had let herself be tricked and should have seen through him from the beginning. ‘He set the autopilot to bring the yacht close enough in for him to jump into the sea and swim to shore. He was wearing a wetsuit, which he apparently knew how to use, and reached land safely without being noticed. He had brought along a change of clothes, the splint and the plaster cast in a waterproof bag, along with the crutches that had been lent to Halldór in Portugal. Afterwards, the yacht continued on its pre-plotted course, sailing in a large circle in Faxaflói bay to give Snævar time to be waiting on the docks when she entered the harbour. The whole thing had been planned to prevent suspicion from falling on him. He even wore a woolly hat to hide his freshly shaven head; I don’t know if you remember that.’ ‘Yes.’ They both nodded, but the woman still had reservations. ‘The harbour may not be far from Grótta but it’s still quite a distance on two feet, let alone on crutches. And he wasn’t out of breath.’ ‘He waited until the last minute to put on the cast, which was only loosely fixed round his leg. As for his journey from Grótta; Karítas had ordered her mother to park her car in the neighbourhood with the keys under the seat, two days before the yacht reached land. It was the plan she and Snævar had originally made, when only Halli was supposed to go missing. She kept up her end of the bargain and claims she had no idea what lengths Snævar had gone to during the voyage. Her mother has since confirmed the part about the car; she was under the impression that some mechanic friend of her daughter’s, who supposedly ran a garage in the area, was going to service the car. But in reality it was for Snævar. He changed his clothes and fastened the sawn-off plaster cast round his leg with adhesive tape and string. Then he tied a plastic bag over it and drove down to the harbour where he took up position as if nothing had happened.’ ‘God, I wish we hadn’t met him there. I wish we’d never gone to meet the yacht; that we’d never set eyes on that man.’ Margeir rubbed his forehead as if to obliterate the memory. ‘We were just so excited. I’d asked my cousin in the Coast Guard to give us a shout, whatever the time of day or night, when the yacht appeared on their radar. We were worried because we hadn’t heard from them, so we were immensely happy and relieved when we got his call.’ ‘Snævar sabotaged the communications equipment, as well as the emergency button that could conceivably have saved them. He disconnected the aerials, with the result that the radios hardly had any range, though we know that at least one ship tried to contact the Lady K to warn them about a container that had blown off a vessel near the area they were sailing in. They didn’t think they’d got through.’ Thóra saw that this was enough horror for one day. These people needed some good news, though she had not yet answered the most important question about the fate of those on board. Nevertheless, she felt it would be better to break it up before going any further. ‘I’ve sent the insurance company the court’s verdict that Ægir and Lára are presumed dead, along with a declaration from the police stating that the investigation into their disappearance is in its final stages and that everything points to their having been murdered. The company may send you another letter trying to object, but only for form’s sake. I’ll reply on your behalf. All going well, the insurance money should be paid out in the next few months.’ The couple murmured at this but didn’t say anything aloud. Money mattered little in comparison to what they had lost. Fortunately, however, she had more good news for them. ‘It seems you’ve also passed the Child Protection Agency’s evaluation with flying colours and I’ve been informed unofficially that you’ll be granted very generous access rights to Sigga Dögg. A proviso will be made that whoever adopts her should be fully apprised of the tragic circumstances. So you’ll continue to play an important role in her life as her grandparents. In that respect nothing will change.’ ‘Nothing will change. So you say.’ The woman shook herself and shivered. ‘But nothing will be the same either.’ Thóra didn’t reply. The woman was quite right; of course nothing would be like it was before. Her husband coughed and turned his head to look out of the window. ‘What happened to the girls? I notice you avoided mentioning them but I need to know. As little as I want to.’ Thóra stared down at the table. ‘It’s not clear. Snævar flatly denies having laid a finger on them and swears that they simply vanished. He says he searched high and low for them but with no success. As matters stand, nobody knows if he’s lying, but the yacht did circle for a while as if looking for something that had fallen overboard and the location fits more or less with his statement.’ ‘What about Karítas? Didn’t he tell her during their phone call?’ Margeir stared even more intently out of the window. The street was empty and there were no passing cars. It was as if the neighbourhood had come to a standstill out of consideration for the old couple’s loss. ‘Karítas backs him up. She says he told her the girls had simply vanished.’ ‘Do you believe that?’ ‘No, I don’t. But then no one will ask my opinion.’ ‘God will ask.’ The woman fumbled under her cardigan and her hand reappeared clutching a small silver cross on a modest chain. ‘And lies won’t help them then.’ Shortly after this Thóra took her leave, promising to ring at the end of the week, or earlier if anything new emerged. On her way out she passed the door of the sitting room where Sigga Dögg sat on the floor watching a cartoon. Tom and Jerry were involved in a chase around a boat that rocked violently, causing the cat more problems than the mouse. The episode was almost over and as Thóra stood watching the child, both cat and mouse fell overboard. They splashed around in the sea, still fighting, their open mouths full of water. Next the pair appeared clad in white robes, complete with wings and halos, floating up from the surface of the sea to heaven; the mouse beaming from ear to ear, the cat looking thoroughly fed up. Perhaps this was the explanation for the child’s words about her sisters and parents. She knew they had been on a boat and when they didn’t come home, she may well have concluded that they had gone the same way as poor old Tom and Jerry. ‘They used to be Arna and Bylgja’s favourite programmes. I’m afraid the tape will wear out.’ Sigrídur smiled faintly. ‘Not that my granddaughters will mind now.’ Sigga Dögg looked round at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. She studied the two women calmly for a moment, then turned back to the screen. The next episode was starting; life went on, though some had fallen by the wayside. On the way home Thóra couldn’t stop thinking about this shattered family and the fate of the two little girls, which would perhaps never be known. Although not religious, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the higher powers for her own family’s good fortune. Yet the thought of Gylfi’s imminent adventures in Norway filled her with trepidation, reminding her that nothing could be taken for granted. The future could never be pinned down. Abruptly, she decided against going back to the office where Bella was sitting glued to the computer with its new high-speed connection. Instead, she turned the car and drove to Orri’s nursery school. She would pick him up early and enjoy the rest of the day with him. The sun peeped out from behind the clouds and suddenly the world seemed a brighter place. ‘He’s not coming.’ Bylgja had long since stopped crying. Her cheeks were dry, not because the flow of tears had ceased but because the fringed hem of the dress that was pressing, cool and soft, against her face had soaked them up as they fell. It was almost as if she hadn’t cried at all and this made her feel even worse. As if she had betrayed Daddy and didn’t care about him. ‘What do we do if he doesn’t come? He didn’t tell us.’ Arna shifted in the narrow space and the dresses rustled as if joining in with their whispering. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Should we stay here until the bad man finds us?’ Bylgja adjusted her position as well since Arna’s elbow was now sticking into her stomach. She didn’t care about the discomfort; they would rather be squashed up together than alone in separate wardrobes. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he won’t find us.’ ‘He’ll find us if he looks.’ ‘Maybe he isn’t looking for us.’ Arna sounded as if she was still crying. ‘Maybe.’ Bylgja was all for closing her eyes and concentrating on something other than the trouble they were in. She wanted to think about the holiday cottage her mother had been dreaming of, and the advertisements she sometimes let them study with her to help her choose which one they would buy if they were incredibly rich. If she closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears she could imagine they were sitting together at the kitchen table, looking through the papers in search of the nicest. A cottage with a deck, and little trees that would be big by the time she and Arna were grown up. But even when she shut out all she could see and hear in the dark cupboard, she couldn’t block out the heaving motion of the yacht and that ruined everything. ‘Are you thinking about Mummy?’ ‘Yes.’ Arna started wriggling again. ‘Do you think the bad man has thrown her in the sea?’ Arna didn’t reply. ‘You must answer. I want to hear you talk.’ ‘I can’t talk about Mummy in the sea.’ Arna sniffed. The dress next to her was probably covered in wet patches. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ ‘I want to get out of this cupboard.’ Bylgja groped for her glasses, which she thought she had put on the floor. ‘I feel awful and I want to look for Daddy.’ ‘But what about the bad man?’ ‘Perhaps there is no bad man. Perhaps it was all a mistake and Daddy’s forgotten about us and is talking to Thráinn and Halli. Remember how tired he was? I bet he’s fallen asleep. I’m so fed up with whispering. And maybe we’ll use up all the air in the cupboard and suffocate.’ It grew suddenly brighter and Bylgja put her hands over her eyes: Arna had opened the door. They scrambled out and after a moment the light stopped hurting their eyes. ‘What shall we do?’ whispered Arna. She glanced around, her gaze lingering on the signs of their father. A shirt on the chair by the dressing table, the briefcase on the floor and the book he had been reading at the beginning of the voyage, which was lying face down on the bedside table. She didn’t want to think about whether he would ever finish it. Even the Coke can he had been drinking from produced a peculiar sensation in her tummy, a sharp pain that travelled upwards as if aiming for her heart. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go out on deck.’ ‘Do you think it would be all right?’ Bylgja suddenly regretted being responsible for making them leave the cramped interior of the wardrobe. They had been safe in there. For the moment, at least. ‘Yes. I think so. Remember, we went out on deck with Daddy when he was tired and it was all right then. I don’t think he’d tell us off.’ ‘Yes. We can always come back down here if we want to.’ Arna went over to their father’s bedside table, picked up his paperback, folded over the corner of the page and closed it. ‘I’m going to take Daddy his book.’ ‘If we find him.’ Bylgja squinted. She thought about making another attempt to locate her glasses but decided against it. It wasn’t worth it. She didn’t want to see anything on this horrible ship, so she’d be better off without them. She envied Arna for thinking of taking the book and looked around for something she could bring along. ‘I’ll take his briefcase. He’ll be glad to have that too.’ They both yawned and smiled at each other. ‘Let’s go,’ said Arna. They tried their best to move quietly after leaving the cabin but their constant shushing of each other made more noise than their light footsteps along the corridor and up the stairs, or the sound of their opening and closing the doors. They were completely unprepared for the blast of wind that struck them as they emerged into the open air; Arna dropped the book and it fluttered along the deck, driven by the gale, until it halted by the rail. Arna ran after it, but the book lifted into the air and vanished into the darkness. There was a faint splash. Arna ran up and peered over the rail. As Bylgja followed, it dawned on her that the yacht was stationary. It was wallowing in the waves but not making any progress. She slowed down as she considered this, so arrived after Arna at the rail. ‘Can you see the book?’ She squinted into the night but could see nothing. The boat’s lights did not reach far enough. Arna did not reply. She was standing rigidly, pointing at something that Bylgja couldn’t make out. ‘What? What is it?’ ‘Daddy!’ Arna’s voice was filled with utter despair but the wind whipped her shriek out to sea. Bylgja spotted a long, black shadow floating close to the side of the ship. Grateful that she wasn’t wearing her glasses, she recoiled from the rail before she could distinguish any details. ‘I don’t want to see him,’ she said, turning away. Arna copied her example and they stood side by side, their backs to the horrific sight floating on the surface of the sea below. Their world had fallen apart and there was nothing left. No one would miss the book and there was no one left to take care of them now. They had no father or mother and nothing would ever be good again. Neither of them were aware of how long they stood there contemplating their wretched fate. They no longer felt the cold, and the wind that tore at their hair did not bother them. When Arna eventually spoke, Bylgja wished more than anything to be left in peace. It would be best if they could stand there until they caught their death of cold. ‘Bylgja, do you remember Tom and Jerry?’ Arna’s voice sounded normal, although tears were pouring down her cheeks. ‘Yes.’ Bylgja couldn’t move, couldn’t weep, couldn’t scream or do anything but answer mechanically. It was as if she were no longer herself but a different person. ‘They fell in the sea, then went up to heaven. Perhaps we should do that too. Become angels in white dresses with wings, and see Mummy and Daddy again.’ ‘I don’t care.’ ‘I don’t want that bad man to kill us, Bylgja. If we jump in the sea we’ll escape and be with them. Mummy must be there too somewhere.’ ‘Yes.’ Bylgja felt Arna take her hand and lead her to the rail. She was still carrying her father’s briefcase but now she raised it aloft and threw it over the side. The case opened on the way down and countless pieces of green paper flew up in the air over their heads like a flock of birds. They clambered onto the rail and perched there briefly. ‘Are you cold?’ Arna took her sister’s hand again. ‘No. You?’ ‘No. Just tired. I want to be with Mummy and Daddy.’ ‘Me too. I don’t want to stay here any longer.’ Their eyes met and they smiled. Also by Yrsa Sigurdardóttir Last Rituals Ashes to Dust The Day is Dark Yrsa Sigurdardóttir works as a civil engineer in Reykjavik. The Silence of the Sea is her seventh adult novel. First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hodder & Stoughton An Hachette UK company Copyright © Yrsa Sigurdardóttir 2014 English translation © Victoria Cribb 2014 The right of Yrsa Sigurdardóttir to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library eBook ISBN 978 1 444 73447 8 Trade paperback ISBN 978 1 444 73446 1 Hodder & Stoughton Ltd 338 Euston Road London NW1 3BH www.hodder.co.uk Page created in 0.33215284347534 sec.

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See also: July October opinion “September” in the news HKT September September last year early September last September A French publisher has apologised after a history textbook that appeared in bookshops in recent weeks suggested the 11 September 2001 attacks were probably "orchestrated by the CIA". Conservative People's Party leader Sebastian Kurz formed a coalition government with the Green Party in January 2020, in the wake of snap elections the previous September. Turkey and Russia agreed in September 2018 to turn Idlib into a de-escalation zone in which acts of aggression are expressly prohibited. Some 11m hectares of the Lucky Country have gone up in smoke since September, almost the same area as Bulgaria. The turnaround in the yuan, which was at multi-year lows in September, reflects investors’ growing confidence that the worst of the trade war has passed. XR activists hold the Australian government and its environmental policy responsible for the massive bushfires ravaging the country since September 2019. In September 2013, a month after Iran's new moderate president Hassan Rouhani takes office, he and US President Barack Obama speak by phone - the first such top-level conversation in more than 30 years. At least 24 people have died since the fires began in September. It was taken between September and October and is one of many photos in the "Beauty of Vietnam" series Nhan shot in 2019. In October, a UNAMA report said the September election campaign saw nearly 460 civilian casualties, including 85 deaths. Between January and September, there were more than 8,200 civilian casualties - 2,563 people killed and 5,676 injured - according to the UN Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA). The company showed off the compact ID.3 at the Frankfurt auto show in September and will start delivering it to customers next summer. His health has been a subject of concern ever since, and he has undergone several surgeries to treat the wounds he suffered in the stabbing, most recently in September. A 44-year-old father of two, he was shot dead in front of his wife outside their home in Amsterdam in September. Some vineyards can also be visited during the Fête des Jardins, a festival that celebrates urban gardens, in late September. It is September 1944 and World War Two is coming to an end in France. Analysts at Edgewater Research noticed the changes and wrote in a September research note that Amazon had “essentially turned off its Add-On program in recent months. Since US President Donald Trump took office, his administration has been challenging the consensus reached between China and the US, for instance, violated one-China principle to pass the so-called Taipei Act on September 25. 17 September 2019|Food Melbourne Express, Monday, September 30, 2019 Protesters in 20 Russian cities joined a global strike for climate action on September 27. Economic confidence at 86 in September District Judge Tammy Kemp did not allow Armstrong to deliver the testimony to the jury, saying she would not let him speak to the reasonableness of Guyger's actions on the night of September 6, 2018. Its annual conference takes place over a fortnight every September at the UN's headquarters, and the General Debate takes four days in the middle. The Call of Duty: Modern Warfare beta will run from now until September 23 at 10:00 AM Pacific, according to Activision. Your first trade for Tuesday, September 17 Updated at 1248 GMT (2048 HKT) September 8, 2019 Posted at 1845 GMT (0245 HKT) September 4, 2019 The president was scheduled to visit on 2 September, at the invitation of Denmark's Queen Margrethe II. There is, however, a bipartisan drive to table standalone legislation that would mandate the president to punish Turkey when Congress returns from recess in early September. There would be another meeting with Russian, German and French leaders on the issue of Syria at the end of August or at the beginning of September, he added. The St. Petersburg Telegraph Agency (SPTA), the first official news agency of Russia and the predecessor of ITAR-TASS, began to operate on September 1, 1904. It has been developed by Palatin Technologies and licensed to Amag Pharmaceuticals, and is expected to be available from September through select pharmacies. But the initial minutes of confusion evoked the terror of the September 11 attacks for those inside the building. A September deal was supposed to avert a full-out regime offensive on Idlib province and adjacent areas, home to around 3 million people, nearly half of whom have been displaced from other parts of Syria. Last September Kerry told the Hugh Hewitt radio program that he had met with Iranian Foreign Minister Javad Zarif three or four times. (CNN) — France will ban electric scooters from its sidewalks from September, after locals grew frustrated with the vehicles congesting public areas and causing an increase in accidents. At least 800 children have died from measles since September in Madagascar, where rampant malnutrition and a historically poor vaccine rate are driving the world's worse current outbreak. As of last September it accounted for 4 percent of the company’s sales, with the rest coming from MWG’s two main businesses: consumer electronics and mobile phones. Since joining the renowned Elite Model Management last September, the 17-year-old has shot editorial for i-D magazine and been named in Teen Vogue's "21 Under 21," among much else. Meanwhile, Burrard-Lucas, who heard about the rare animal in September 2018, also decided to see it for himself and made his way to the Laikipia Wilderness Camp in early February 2019. Amazon also ordered 20,000 Sprinter vans from Mercedes-Benz in September, a quadrupling of its first order, which will be leased to third-party delivery companies for last-mile package delivery. Compared to September, Ford’s sales were 9.2 percent higher at 2,574 units; while Honda sales rose 12.4 percent to 3,475 units. This was 3,811 cars more than the 25,088 sold in September or a 15 percent rise, a VAMA report says. Recep Tayyip Erdogan said on Tuesday that the Saudi officials began plotting against the writer in late September, days ahead of his disappearance. China's real gross domestic product for the July-September period grew just 6.5 percent from the same period a year earlier. China's manufacturing purchasing managers' index (PMI) came in at 50.8 in September. Updated at 0548 GMT (1348 HKT) September 27, 2018

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Setting up the page. Please, wait... Please, enable JavaScript for the web-site to work Guitar Pro tabs sharing Anti is the eighth studio album of Barbadian singer Rihanna, released in 2016. The album was previewed on January 28, 2016 on Tidal before going out worldwide on January 29, 2016. The first single from the album, Work featuring Drake, was released on January 27, 2016. The clip was released on February 22, 2016. The second single of the album, Kiss It Better, was released on March 30, 2016. The clip was released on March 31, 2016. Ejercicios 1 Hamertwo Tabs by styles Bossa/Salsa Hard/Heavy Fusion/Alternative Neo Metal/Indus Punk/Grunge TV/Movie/Games The Privacy Policies have been updated to account for GDPR provisions. We’ve also made the policies more transparent by providing specific details on our data processing activities. © All rights reserved 2020. GProTab.net This website uses cookies for functionality, analytics and advertising purposes as described in our Privacy Policy. If you agree to our use of cookies, please continue to use our site OK

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Support this petition and help promote gender equality in sport! LauraNorder Even if you don't care about football (soccer) or sports in general, please sign this petition. It's calling for Manchester United, the world's most valuable sports brand, to commit some of it's £363m ($607m) operating revenues towards supporting women's football, including fielding a team of its own in the FA Women's Super League. For some brief background, Manchester United purchased the operating rights to a women's team in 2000, but disbanded the side in 2005 following a change of ownership, claiming that fielding a women's squad was not in the "business interests" of the club. As the only team in England's top division without a women's side, the absence of XX-chromosomed* football at Old Trafford has become a distasteful stain on the club's reputation. I am a full member of Manchester United, and a lifelong supporter, and it embarrasses me that we don't support women's football in the same way every other major team does. I would, without a doubt, be one of the many thousands of fans committed to cheering them on from the Stretford End (and happy to pay for it too), and the exposure it would bring to both the women's game and the issue of the gender divide in sport in general would be immensely positive. It's 2014 - there's no excuse to be stuck in the dark ages. Fellow GTers, could you please sign your names to this petition and spread the word around - the management at United have made some positive comments about adding a women's team in the future, and this could be the show of support that pushes the idea across the line. *Please, before you flame me as trans-exclusionary or whatever, I know that the gendering of sports participation is more complex than XX and XY chromosomes - I was just trying to find a non-repetitive way of saying "women's" over and over again!

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Send Sarah to Africa – Mission School & Trip Fundraising campaign by Sarah Jane Labrador by Sarah Jane Labrador Dumaguete City, ph Dumaguete City, PH | Religious Greetings. I am Sarah, a single mother and also a servant of the Lord. I am from Dumaguete City, Negros Oriental, in the central part of the Philippines. I want to share a little about how I met Jesus and how He has changed my life. I came from a chaotic family – my father was a drunkard, my mom carried the burden of the family alone, one of my brothers was a gang member while the other one was a troubled kid at a young age as a result of his hatred for our father. My father’s vices has led us to struggle financially – we couldn’t afford electricity and plumbing so we used candles and fetched water from the community pump. Our financial and spiritual poverty brought a huge strain to the family. But in the darkness, the Lord shone His light. First, he touched my brother who was a gang member. Eventually, each of us children was drawn to His love and the family started to heal. The last one to embrace God’s love was my father and it was nothing short of a miracle. From an angry drunkard, my father is now an assistant pastor in our local church. I and my two other siblings have become church leaders, while the other two serve the worship team. Little by little, the Lord has blessed us, and thankfully, now we are able to live comfortably but modestly in His grace. Now, as family or together with other groups, we do outreach programs in our local communities to help the poor and to bring the good news of Jesus Christ to those who do not know Him. We were suddenly a very different family now than before we let the Lord enter our home. All of this we owe to the Lord and I am eternally grateful. From then on, I have resolved to offer the rest of my life in His service. The Lord has called me to be a missionary and the desire has been burning in my heart ever since. In November 2016, we sadly lost our mom to cancer. Since then, death has become more real to me than ever. Although her human body suffered from the disease, she died in peace and with the Lord in her heart. I will always remember the strength she showed during our family’s difficult past and her unyielding faith even up to the very end. From that experience, I have totally surrendered myself to the Lord, to serve Him no matter what. Someday, when I meet Him, I want to be able to tell Him that I used all the talents He has given me for His glory. Last year, I went on a mission trip to Siargao Island here in the Philippines with my daughter, and that was when God planted in me the desire to go to Africa. I saw the Iris Global Discipleship and Missions School website and checked out their mission schools. When I saw “The Father’s House” discipleship school in Western Cape, South Africa, it stood out to me. Since then, I have had this void in my heart, a calling that leads me to start this journey of learning and discovery of the Lord. I want more experience in the mission field that will help me grow spiritually and enable me to reach out to God’s people from different parts of the globe. And I feel it in my heart that this journey begins in South Africa. Sarah Jane Labrador Donated of $450,000.00 Send Message to Sarah Jane Labrador

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Bo Burnham’s ‘Eighth Grade’ Snubs Nostalgia, Embraces Emotional Realism Lydia Francis Most films centered around middle schoolers overemphasize their youthful eccentricity while under-emphasizing their social ineptitude. When adults make movies about formative years, the temptation of collective nostalgia is difficult to resist — after all, who doesn’t like a wistful recollection of their youth every now and then? But an entire film made through a rose-colored lens is (more often than not) detached from the awkward and emotionally turbulent experience that is the reality of growing up. It doesn’t take a genius to know that there’s a visible disconnect between how we like to remember middle school and how it actually was. Bo Burnham’s first feature film cleverly highlights that disconnect by telling a tale heavily rooted in the reality of today’s middle schoolers; complete with the ubiquity of social media, clumsy hallway conversation, and the occasional awkward encounter with sexuality. But Eighth Grade is such a refreshingly genuine coming-of-age tale that all of the characters’ offbeat behaviors seem entirely in place, making the film as a whole a pleasure to watch — secondhand cringe and all. The protagonist, Kayla (portrayed by fifteen-year-old Elsie Fisher), and her final week of eighth grade serve as the centerpiece of the film. Set in Westchester County, New York, much of the movie depicts her struggle to navigate the stormy social strata of grade school. An only child, Kayla lives with her single father, Mark (Josh Hamilton), who notices her difficulty making friends, and often encourages her to be more social, despite her protests. The sources of tension — i.e., bumbling attempts at romance and clashes with the archetypal “popular girl” — are rather ordinary in nature, but the depth of character and witty dialogue makes them glow anew. Counterintuitively, the film’s ideal audience is young adults (as opposed to actual eighth graders); despite its clear focus on middle schoolers of the modern era, its language and references of sexuality earned Eighth Grade an R rating from the MPAA. One could take a teenager to see the film without giving them serious lasting trauma, of course, but part of what makes Eighth Grade such as must-see is its unwavering honesty in retrospection — making it best enjoyed by people who have already been through it all. A compelling, contemporary digital story Another admirable facet is how the characters engage with technology. It’s rare to get such a poignant depiction of the ways in which people — especially young people — use technology that doesn’t seem like it came from a heavy-handed Luddite. Kayla’s YouTube channel, in which she gives personal advice from her DIY studio at home (in true Millennial™ narrative fashion), gives the viewer a peek into her character — her ambitions, struggles with social anxiety, and eventual evolution of her sense of self. Many critics and consumers alike use the concept of viral videos — the idea of some average Joe capturing something wild and rapidly achieving internet fame — as a plot device without depicting any consequence past the usual complications of fame. In reality, the majority of YouTube videos never approach viral status, but that silent majority is where the real average Joes can be found. At a film screening of Eighth Grade at the University of Chicago, director Bo Burnham explained that viewing unpopular videos (often by children or teenagers) proved invaluable to the creative process. He also stated during the Q&A that there was a visible difference in subject matter between the boys’ and girls’ videos, noting that “the guys talked about Minecraft, where the girls talked about their souls.” But in the end, both sentiments are equally important to the middle school experience. This is the underlying beauty behind Eighth Grade, as its down-to-earth plot trajectory proves relatable rather than lackluster. The film serves as a reminder of the beauty of the mundane — the pleasure and perspective we find by peering into the daily life of someone who is still figuring it all out. Even with its unabashed celebration of the familiar and everyday, the film itself is a fresh and novel take on the classic coming-of-age story. Those wanting a reminiscent movie through a rose-colored lens should look elsewhere, but for those seeking a slice-of-life picture that hits a little closer to home, Eighth Grade is an absolute must-see. Related Topics:Bo BurnhamEighth Grade Student, writer, and animation enthusiast based in Chicago, IL. I've been gaming since my parents made the mistake of buying me a Game Boy at age six. The debut feature from Natalie Erika James is an elegant and chilling horror film about dementia and losing a loved one. Of all the longstanding horror tropes, few are as resilient as that of the horrifying elderly person. Of course, there shouldn’t be anything scary about old people (most of us will be there soon enough), but we sense the decay that has overtaken them and know that it will eventually come for us, too. Seniors have also had far more experiences than young people, and their depths of knowledge are imposing. They know more of the horrors of the world then younger generations have been able to experience, and sometimes they turn those evils against them. It would have been easy for Natalie Erika James to make Relic, her debut feature, something that played on that well-worn territory for some cheap scares. Instead, she has crafted a subtle and terrifying film graced with a welcome strain of tenderness. Relic stars Emily Mortimer as Kay, who learns in the film’s opening minutes that her mother Edna (Robyn Nevin) hasn’t been seen or heard from by the neighbors in quite some time. She and her improbably old daughter Sam (Bella Heathcote) drive from Melbourne to her country house to find the place empty and showing signs of disrepair. Furniture and items have been left in disarray, there’s food left out for a pet that’s been dead for years, and there are post-it notes everywhere with reminders for the simplest tasks. Kay and Sam put their lives on hold to stay in the house while the police search for Edna, but strange goings-on in underlit rooms suggest something closer to home might account for her disappearance. The scary old house would be a perfect opportunity for copious jump scares, but James keeps Relic admirably free of such cheap thrills. There are a few, to be sure, and plenty of terrifying moments, but she doesn’t feel the need to punctuate them with crashing sounds loud enough to make you involuntarily shudder, like a doctor’s hammer to the knee. Instead, she builds an ever-mounting sense of dread that begins to envelop Kay and Sam. Much of that is accomplished by the excellent production design by Steven Jones-Evans, who has decorated the house to feel both lived in yet mysterious. Part of its disorienting nature is also due to the layout, which never quite makes sense; it’s difficult to tell which rooms are on the second floor, and the audience is never quite sure which room one of the characters will end up in when they pass through a door. Relic is more than just a great haunted house movie, though. As Kay and Sam are driven closer together by their fears for Edna, the audience is able to confront its fears: of death, of old age, of losing our memories, of dying alone with no loved ones to care for us in our final moments. The movie takes some bizarre turns as it hurtles toward its climax, but Relic ends on an unexpectedly moving note (if still chilling). After your nerves have settled, you might just want to give your parent or grandparent a call. The Sundance Film Festival runs Jan. 23 – Feb. 2, 2020. Visit the official website for more information. St. Vincent and Carrie Brownstein’s film isn’t committed enough to craziness to make a good midnight movie or funny enough to be worth your time. The term “midnight movie” is somewhat amorphous; it can include everything from legitimately great films (Eraserhead, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Night of the Living Dead) to utterly terrible films (The Room, a variety of low-budget horror standbys). What brings these high and low cultural artifacts together is a lack of concern about taste. They’re transgressive, extreme, sometimes thought-provoking — by the end, you might feel as if your heart is about to crack through your ribcage, or you’ll be embarrassed at the thought of anyone noticing just how hard you laughed. It’s unlikely that anyone will experience any of these feelings by the end of the St. Vincent and Carrie Brownstein–starring The Nowhere Inn, a midnight movie in aspiration only that’s neither extreme enough to shock nor funny enough to delight. The Nowhere Inn begins earnestly enough as a pseudo-documentary purportedly directed by Brownstein, now expanding her many talents to include directing (she’s also the lead guitarist of the seminal rock band Sleater-Kinney and best known as an actor for her work opposite Fred Armisen on Portlandia). Her subject is her friend, singer and fellow guitar virtuoso St. Vincent (Annie Clark), who’s on tour supporting her critically acclaimed album Masseduction (2017). Early on, Brownstein imagines her documentary to be a mix of concert footage and revealing behind-the-scenes moments, but her dictate to “be yourself” backfires when it turns out that Clark doesn’t do or say anything that exciting off stage. The footage is mostly ab workouts and discussions of how her bandmates like to eat radishes and anything that “tastes like dirt.” It’s only when Brownstein urges her friend to be more interesting off stage that the film begins to take shape — and reveals its biggest failings. Hoping to please her friend, Clark adopts her St. Vincent persona full-time, becoming a chic rocker ice queen. But it’s not just her practiced aloofness; she hires actors to play her family because she doesn’t want to speak about her real father, who went to prison in 2010 for fraud. She also plays up her relationship with Dakota Johnson, playing a hilarious version of herself, presumably inspired by Clark’s real-life relationship with Kristen Stewart. But all of her deceptions seem designed less to make her seem more interesting in the film than to drive Brownstein insane. Clark and Brownstein have said their film (which is directed by Brownstein’s Portlandia collaborator Bill Benz) is inspired by Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg’s Performance (1970) about a rocker who begins to influence and warp a gangster who’s holed up with him. It’s not a hard connection to make, but there’s none of Performance’s menace in The Nowhere Inn. Every moment in which it might finally tip into madness is undercut by lukewarm humor that generates modest chuckles at best. Clark is fitfully convincing as an actress, but she pulls back when she needs to go big. Brownstein is a more compelling figure, but she’s stuck playing the straight woman for most of the film, which doesn’t give her comedic talents room to flourish. The two are legitimately hilarious in their few scenes with Johnson, who’s totally committed to the cameo part, but most of The Nowhere Inn feels like a slog. The film was always intended to be fully scripted (written by Clark and Brownstein), but by the end, I wished they would have taken the on-screen Brownstein’s advice and just made it into a concert film. There’s nothing in The Nowhere Inn that lives up to St. Vincent simply rocking out on stage with her guitar. Bill Mesce A Tribute to Sonny Grosso From this past Thursday’s New York Post: “Former NYPD detective Sonny Grosso, whose police work with partner Eddie Egan was used as the plot for the classic 1971 cop flick The French Connection, died Wednesday. He was 89…Grosso’s foray into Hollywood began with the The French Connection as he and Egan consulted on the film and served as the real-life inspiration for fictional detectives Popeye Doyle and Buddy Russo. He went on to become a prolific producer and consultant for television and movies, working on shows such as Kojak, Night Heat and Baretta.” It’s always odd reading an obituary piece of someone you know, even odder when it’s of someone you consider a friend. You realize just how much of the person you knew isn’t in those few column inches. There are some biographical facts, a tribute sentence or two, but I look at the obits for Sonny Grosso and I wonder, Where’s Sonny? Because he’s not in those pieces. I considered Sonny Grosso a friend, but then he was one of those people that after your first meeting which ran long because he couldn’t stop telling stories you felt like you’d been friends a long time. And after you’d known him a long time, you felt like you’d always known him. I got to thinking of him like an uncle who lived far away so you didn’t see him too often but were always happy to hear he was coming to town. I considered Sonny Grosso a friend which, because we were both Italian, meant there were times that even though I loved him I wanted to strangle him, and even as I wanted to strangle him, I loved him. Unless I miss my guess, there were times I suspect he felt the same way. I don’t remember exactly when I met Sonny. I believe it was some time in the 1990s. We were introduced by Bill Persky, a TV writer/producer/director with whom I’d done some work and who – God bless him – was always looking for ways to juice what laughably could be considered my “writing career.” He thought because of Sonny’s police background and an affinity for related material, which I shared, we’d make a compatible couple. It never quite happened; close, but not quite. But it didn’t stop me from coming by to talk about this and that and to quickly become part of Sonny’s huge – and I mean huge – circle of friends, because it seemed to me everybody Sonny came into contact with became a friend. That was him. “All the good people in the business,” Sonny once told me, “are good with people.” You didn’t have to know Sonny long to know he was good people. He would regularly invite me and my wife to an annual dinner he held down in Little Italy as a commemoration to his mother, and there was the time he invited me to just hang out with him at his table at Rao’s, a culty Italian restaurant in East Harlem (this is why it’s culty; tables are “assigned” to regular customers and whether or not you ever get a table depends on whether or not co-owner Frank “Frankie No” Pelligrino decides you should have a table; Sonny had one, the Clintons didn’t get one). I would see pictures of a slim, almost gawky Sonny from his days on the police force and always have trouble connecting that to the burly, huggable teddy bearish guy I knew. And he was a hugger; maybe it was the Italian in him. I never saw him more huggably teddy bearish than when he met my daughters. I used to work at HBO, and on one of those bring-your-kids-to-work days, after work, I decided to swing up to Sonny’s office and introduce him to my little girls. He was incredibly sweet to them, and after a few minutes you would’ve thought he was their uncle. He would always ask about them after that, always, and they still talk about him even though that was something like fifteen, sixteen years ago. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it wasn’t always love and kisses between me and Sonny (he was a kisser, too; God love my people!). One long-simmering frustration, shared with me by Bill Persky since this was why he’d brought us together in the first place, was Sonny wouldn’t consider me for writing work. He was supportive of my work, wonderfully complimentary, but because my c.v. was so lightweight (and, yes, it was), he was concerned how network execs would react to me as part of a project. “Sonny’s not afraid of going into a room where there’s a guy with a gun,” a mutual friend told me, “but get him into a room filled with guys in suits, and he gets nervous.” He didn’t think much of a lot of the decision-makers on TV. Over the nearly four decades he was involved in the entertainment business, he’d judged it changed, and not for the better. “The guys who used to run it ran the whole show, they knew everybody. The guys who took their place hadn’t been involved at that level. They were like being the coach’s son, assuming they knew the game, but they didn’t… “I work at a network, and this person here is my assistant. I leave, that person gets elevated. But that person doesn’t have the same talent. There’s been an overall letdown in talent.” One time I asked him about the difference between his days on the force and working in television. “You’ve got this lieutenant, you hate this guy, he’s a prick, but you know when you go through a door he’s going to be there with you. It’s not like that in TV; nobody’s got your back.” So why stay in the business? “It’s like a broad. She’s got great tits, a great ass, great legs, but an ugly face. You say to yourself, ‘Ok, I’ll live with it’.” (For a while there, it seemed like every time I asked Sonny about something, the response was always in the form of how whatever the topic was was “like a broad.” Like when I asked him what it was like working with Eddie Egan. “I loved the guy,” he told me, but Egan – who, I got the impression, could be a bit of a hot dog – rubbed a lot of other cops the wrong way. When Sonny was partnered up with Egan, he’d find dog turds in his station mailbox. “Finally, I had to talk to these guys. I told them, ‘I know you guys got a problem with him, but this is like a broad I’m married to; maybe you don’t like her but she’s my wife so you gotta show respect.”) One of those times when I wanted to strangle Sonny was over a feature screenplay Bill Pesky and I had written together about the Italian POWs kept in the U.S. during WW II. It was a forgotten historical footnote that struck a chord with Sonny. It was an inspirational story about people overcoming their prejudices, it was about Italians in America, it had a mix of the funny, the sweet, the tragic, and even a touch of romance. He loved it and wanted to try to get it made. After a possible co-production arrangement with some Italian entities came apart, Sonny called Billy and me up to his office to talk about another possibility. He wanted to pitch it to Hallmark. Billy and I were not happy. That would mean chopping anywhere from a quarter to one-third out of the script to get it to fit into a TV movie slot, and it being Hallmark, we knew that in that process, the touch of romance would become the main story and in the schmaltziest of ways. We thought the piece deserved better, so we said no. Sonny got pissed. We got pissed. Each side got convinced the other side didn’t “get it” so everybody got more pissed. End of project. (To be fair, after years of not being able to find a home for the project and with two kids in college, it occurs to me we should’ve taken Sonny up on his offer; a paycheck for a diabetically sweet and corny Hallmark romance would’ve been better than no paycheck at all.) The other time I wanted to strangle Sonny was the one time he did send work my way. He was developing a TV movie project, but his writer was sick. Sonny was racing a deadline and needed a draft or the project was dead. He wanted me. The catch was the writer was a Name and his name was one of the reasons a network was interested in the project. The network couldn’t know the Name wasn’t writing the draft; I’d have to be a ghost. I was ok with that. I’d get to prove my talent for Sonny and that might pay off somewhere down the road, and I’d get the always-desired paycheck. I wound up doing two drafts for Sonny, but then it occurred to me that a film made from those drafts was going to be more me than the Name. I wanted some kind of on-screen credit. Sonny got pissed because I didn’t officially exist as far as the network was concerned. I got pissed. We both got so pissed we didn’t talk for the longest time. A year, maybe. Maybe more. Then the movie came out. By that time, that particular network was out of the TV movie business and it was clear from the lack of support they gave the airing that they were just burning this thing off. When I watched it, what was also clear was that the script had been run through an awful lot of reworking to the point where, even under WGA standards, I doubt I would’ve rated a credit. So, it’d been a big fight about nothing. And, I missed him. I apologized for having been a pain in the ass (after all, technically speaking, I was the one who had welshed on our arrangement), and it seemed almost instantly with Sonny, in that particularly Sonny way of his, as if none of this had ever happened. Sonny understood: “All you fucking writers are crazy.” Two-time Oscar-winning screenwriter William Goldman, who once called screenwriting “shit work” – the equivalent of housework in that it was necessary but invisible and disrespected – said he considered himself a novelist who also wrote screenplays (if you’re looking down on me, Mr. Goldman, a little mercy if I don’t quite have it word perfect). In retrospect, I think of Sonny as a cop who worked in entertainment. He worked in TV and film almost twice as long as he’d been on the force, had won a few awards, and even turned out one bonafide classic: the completely un-Sonnyesque Peewee’s Playhouse. But in his 22 years on the force, he became – and remains – one of the most decorated cops ever to serve in the NYPD, and the famous “French Connection” case made by he and Egan was, at the time, the largest heroin bust in U.S. law enforcement history. He made Detective First Grade faster than anyone in the history of the department. When I would go up to Sonny’s cluttered offices, there were more police memorabilia on the walls and shelves than Hollywood stuff. My day job is as a college instructor, and as such I’ve taught a number of military service veterans. My one-time Marine students taught me that no one is ever an “ex-Marine.” An ex-Marine is someone who was thrown out of the service. All others who served are former Marines; they’re always going to be part of The Corps. That was Sonny and the cops. He was never an ex-cop; he was a former police officer, and as such, he never lost his cop’s instincts. A few days before Christmas in 2003, Sonny was at his table at Rao’s, had gone out to his car to get some bottles of wine he had as gifts for his dinner guests, when two mob guys at the bar got into a tiff. As mob tiffs tend to do, this wound up with one guy shooting the other guy. Sonny immediately grabbed one of the ladies at his table who worked with him, pulled her outside to safety before going back into Rao’s; not bad reactions for a seventy-odd-year-old guy with bad knees. I think of this and I’m reminded of the scene in Ronin (1998) where Robert De Niro deliberately knocks a coffee cup off a table to test one of the other crew of ex-spies recruited for a job. When the other man nabs the cup before it hits the ground, he mutters, “Old instincts die hard.” Thinking of Sonny, I’m thinking for him they never died. I may not have gotten much screenwriting work from Sonny, but I did get a lot of material out of him. I have a police novel coming out this summer, and some of it takes place in New York in the early 1960s, and a lot of it in New York in the early 1980s. Sonny was always available for a talk, telling me what it was like to be on the job in those days. And, over the years of hearing his stories, I had a better handle on the policeman’s mindset, even took specific things Sonny had said and put them into the mouths of my characters. More directly, he was always available for an interview for an essay I was writing. With other people, I could do an email Q & A, but with Sonny, it had to be a phone conversation, because, God love ’im, the man loved to talk. I can’t remember any conversation with Sonny that didn’t digress and wander and would’ve gone on forever if I hadn’t had to be somewhere else at a certain time. But besides being fun and often funny, those chats were always an education, and they helped make my pieces publishable. Some of those pieces were written for the guys who now edit Goomba Stomp. Talking about the making of The French Connection, Sonny told me about prepping Gene Hackman and Roy Scheider (playing fictionalized versions of Egan and Sonny respectively) for one of the movie’s most memorable set-pieces; rousting an all-black bar that’s a hangout for low-level dope peddlers.” “‘Eddie must’ve done the thing in the bar a dozen times in those three weeks (we were with the actors). I’d seen him do it a thousand times before.’ According to Grosso, during the first week, the actors would stand outside the bar while he and Egan went inside; the second week, the actors would be inside with the detectives while they rousted the bar. ‘The third week, we waited outside while Gene and Roy did it!’” On how the entertainment industry had changed over his years in the business: “I find it sad that you and I have a conversation where I say, ‘Where’s the place for a Capra?’ and you say maybe we couldn’t even get The French Connection made today. Maybe you could make it today. But Popeye’d have to be way better looking. And they’d give him a girlfriend. And there’d have to be more action. Lots more action…Somebody said to me, is the problem that there are too many cooks spoiling the broth? The problem is, there are too many people in the kitchen who can’t cook.” On how the heart of any story is a character the audience wants to spend time with: “The shooting (in The Godfather) and all that bullshit was window dressing. What you cared about was that family, what Michael (Corleone) did for that family, and what the family did to him, his brother betraying him (in The Godfather: Part II). That’s the stuff you cared about. Don’t get me wrong. You need the window dressing! It’s great you got the goods in the story, but nobody comes in because you got Bon Ami (fogging) the window. You gotta have the shooting and the good-looking guy and tits, but, in the end, does (the audience) want to spend time with this guy? You could do a show about a dog catcher and make it work if you get the right guy.” Interviewing him about Point Blank, the true account of an anti-corruption investigation gone tragically awry he co-wrote with Philip Rosenberg. I asked him, “What can an author learn working with a cop that he/she can’t get from research?” “Six million fucking things…It could be a tennis player or a bowler or a writer, it doesn’t matter, but the real guys bring so many things that are interesting…” I lost my friend Sonny Grosso this week. And if he was still alive, I’d want to strangle him for leaving. Games2 hours ago

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Heroes Of Might And Magic III Is Alive And Active Twenty Years After Launch, A Review Of The Third Game Of The Series Dec 29, 2019 Cristian Lupasco 0 comments 288 Credit: NWC Heroes of Might and Magic III: The Restoration of Eratha (‘HOMM’ going forward) is the third game of the series, which went to become one of the most popular games of the franchise, even after twenty years! It was released in March 1999 by New World Computing and featured two expansion packs: Armageddon’s Blade and The Shadow of Death. While these two are the official expansion packs, there is an active modding community keeping the game fresh even after all these years. HOMM 3 maintained some core aspects of the prequels. Aside from the updated look, Heroes III refined the castles, heroes, artifacts, primary and secondary skills, magic system, and so on. It took the best things out of the first two games and combined them into an amalgamation of beauty. Gameplay consists of a strategic exploration of the world map and tactical turn-based combat. As with the series in general, the player controls several “heroes” who act as generals and command troops comprising various types of creatures inspired by myth and legend. The player can complete or “win” a map by achieving the objectives set out by the creator of the map. Objectives may include conquering all the towns in the map, gathering a set amount of resources, or piecing together a puzzle to find the Grail artifact. If a player loses all of their towns they will have seven-game days to capture a new town. If they fail to do so, they lose, and the game ends. If a player loses all their heroes and towns, they will lose the game. Positive Aspects: – Diverse units, which can be upgraded to higher tiers; – A lot of town and heroes, which makes every game unique; – Colorful visuals; – Engaging gameplay, from choosing a faction to selecting the way you customize the hero; – Multiple difficulties in choosing from; – Multiplayer is still alive and updated frequently. Negative Aspects: – Difficult to master; – Several overpowered tactics (ex. Diplomacy); – Elitist players in Multiplayer. The most significant change compared to the previous two games, is multiplayer, which was created by the heroes community. There are multiple balance changes to the game, which makes it much more enjoyable and keeps it fresh. The community also added a new town and will add a second one in early 2020. The game was praised by critics and received 90% out of 100% by GameRankings, 9/10 IGN, 8,8/10 by PC Gaming Magazine. Multiplayer helped establish new meta and strategies; the games are fast-paced and can be tailored to the player’s needs. If you would like to enjoy multiplayer as well, all you need is a copy of Heroes 3 & the ‘Horn of the Abyss’ addon, which can be downloaded from the Heroes Community website. The game was truly revolutionary at the time and is still active to this day, showing an insane staying power on the market. It is my favorite childhood game, and for many active players, it was as well. Stay tuned for more HOMM reviews in the next days. HOMM NEW WORLD COMPUTING Turkish Professional League of Legends Team Galatasaray Esports Has Been Banned from the TCL Heroes Of Might And Magic IV: A Review Of The Fourth Installment Of The Legendary HOMM Series Heroes Of Might And Magic VII: A Review Of The Last Installment Of The Legendary HOMM Series Dec 31, 2019 Cristian Lupasco 2790 Heroes of Might and Magic VII (‘HOMM’ going forward) is the sixth game of the series, which was developed for the first time by a different... Heroes Of Might And Magic VI: A Review Of The Sixth Installment Of The Legendary HOMM Series Heroes of Might and Magic VI (‘HOMM’ going forward) is the sixth game of the series, which was developed for the first time by a different studio... Heroes Of Might And Magic V: A Review Of The Fifth Installment Of The Legendary HOMM Series Heroes of Might and Magic V (‘HOMM’ going forward) is the fifth game of the series, which was developed for the first time by another studio,...

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Counting Violence Against Women Treating acts of fatal male violence as ‘isolated incidents’ both downplays the frequency with which women are murdered by men, and ignores the underlying dynamics of patriarchy. First published by Open Democracy, 13th November 2015 On 1st November, protesters gathered outside a museum in East London dedicated to the notorious serial killer Jack the Ripper, who murdered numerous women in the Whitechapel area in 1888. Those protesting included members of Fourth Wave and a faction of Class War, an anti-austerity anarchist group, the Women’s Death Brigade. Speaking to Broadly, organizer Sufei Lu said “we were promised a women’s museum, and then when it opens, it celebrates a man who murdered women. It’s like a sick joke. Then we found out they were organizing a Halloween event where you were encouraged to take selfies with the body of Catherine Eddowes [one of the Ripper’s victims]. Who wants to take a selfie next to someone who’s been violently murdered?” Could anything be more profoundly disrespectful to women who were murdered by a violent misogynist than for them to be used as selfie props on Halloween? When the museum proposal was accepted, it was given the green light on the basis that it would celebrate the social history of women who had lived in the local area. However, it opened to the public as something very different, and women’s groups were quick to point out that a serial killer who disemboweled and mutilated sex workers is not the ideal candidate for celebration in a new cultural attraction. Jack the Ripper expert Russell Edwards told the Telegraph that “what the museum does is perpetuate the myth of Jack the Ripper. Is it really doing the public good? Especially considering they set up a museum to highlight the women in Whitechapel at the time, which is by far the more important thing.” The distasteful spectacle of the Ripper museum’s Halloween selfie gimmick is all the more crass when we consider that by 30th September, 97 women had been killed by men in 2015, one every 2.8 days. As I write this, it’s certain that the number of female victims of fatal male violence will now have surpassed 100. Karen Ingala Smith started what would become the Counting Dead Women project in 2012. It began quite accidentally, while she was searching for news about the murder of a young woman in Hackney, where the non-profit organization nia that Ingala Smith is CEO of is situated. “Even though I’ve been working in women’s services since 1990, I was shocked by the number of murders of women that I came across and I just started a list of their names so that I could count them. In the end it turned out that in the first three days of that year, 8 British women had been killed by men: 3 shot, 2 stabbed, 1 strangled, 1 smothered and one beaten to death through 15 blunt force trauma injuries. Then, the simple explanation is once I’d started, I didn’t feel like I could stop. At what point do you say ’the next woman killed isn’t important enough’?” Counting Dead Women has now recorded and named every woman killed by a man in the UK since 2013. Ingala Smith has long argued that if we record the killing of women by men, we will see a disturbing pattern emerge. She told me “I wanted to make sure the scale of the problem of men’s fatal violence was understood. I also wanted to challenge the notion that what we’re seeing is a series of so-called isolated incidents because if we don’t make the connections, we’ve no chance of comprehending the multi-level of social change that we need to end men’s violence against women.” The ‘isolated incident’ narrative is one of the most misleading notions about fatal male violence. There were 144 women killed by men in 2013 and 149 in 2014. If a similar number of people in the UK were killed every year by Muslims, for example, the press would be very quick to establish a pattern. The word ‘terrorism’ would be used and a dedicated task force employed with urgency. When Elliot Rodger killed six people and injured fourteen others in Isla Vista, California, after posting numerous hate-filled rants on YouTube about women not providing him with the sex he was entitled to, no one used the word ‘terrorism’. The major media outlets in the US did not make links to overall stats regarding misogynistic violence, or reference the particular race and culture of Rodger, as they almost certainly would have had he been a person of colour. Referring to the murders of women by relatives or intimate partners as merely ‘domestic’ incidents trivializes and normalizes them. The tendency for us to consider occurrences of fatal male violence as ‘isolated incidents’ not only downplays the frequency with which women are murdered by men, but it also represents a denial of the impact of patriarchal conditioning. Systems of oppression often work in insidious ways, and patriarchy is no different, perpetuating the narrative that women are the weaker sex, open to control and ownership by the men around them. It insists that men are ‘owed’ sex by women, as Elliot Rodger was adamant in his YouTube diatribes. It ensures that men are often protected by public opinion and legal rulings, like Oscar Pistorius who shot Reeva Steenkamp four times through their bathroom door, but only served a sixth of his paltry five year sentence. It teaches us that some women are worth more than others, leading to an increased risk of murder and male violence for sex workers, disabled women, and trans women. The death of Steenkamp is a tragic example of male violence, but it’s disturbing to note that her murder as an attractive white woman is given much more attention than the death of a black woman in South Africa. The patriarchy too often divides women into ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ victims, opening the door to judgements about a woman’s sex life, education, career, lifestyle, and physical appearance, and allowing the public and the judicial system to view some women as complicit in or to blame for the violence perpetrated against them. Speaking to Vice, Professor Russell Dobash, a criminologist at the University of Manchester, concurred that “the real issue is the sense of entitlement in masculine culture which is so prevalent”. If men were not taught that they are entitled to women and their physical bodies, would they extinguish the life from female bodies in such disturbing numbers? Paul Daly wrote for The Guardian that “men assault, rape and kill women and their children because they think they have a right to”. An understanding of rape culture is highly pertinent to this issue. Men who rape women do so largely out of a sense of entitlement. They do it because they know their victims are unlikely to be believed, because the responsibility for the crime is often placed on the shoulders of the victims, whose sexual and personal histories are dragged through the mud in a disingenuous attempt to explain why the crime took place. Rape cases are also complicated by the ‘stranger in a dark alley’ myth, when most women are assaulted by those known to and close to them, just as the ‘isolated incident’ narrative clouds the issue of fatal male violence. Karen Ingala Smith believes that the increased reporting of domestic and sexual violence is not exclusively a positive step. “We’ve seen a huge change in how domestic and sexual violence are responded to over the last few decades. But what we’ve also seen is the mainstream take-up, the male-stream take-up, of what was initially the preserve of feminist and survivors (not mutually exclusive) and whilst that could and should be a good thing, the issues have often had the feminist analysis washed right out of them.” Feminist analysis and recognition of the misogyny inherent in male on female violence is key to comprehending this crisis and ultimately resolving it. We cannot lay all the blame at the feet of law enforcement and judicial services when our society continues to instil in boys and young men the belief that they are subjective ‘takers’ and masters of their own destiny, while women are objects to be acted upon. Our current government is determined to further degrading the lot of women in Britain, a fact that makes the recent Independent piece calling for ‘respect’ for Tory feminists even more misguided, given what the Tories stand for with regard to gender issues. Dr Louisa Cox, chair of the women’s charity Eaves says “we have seen a 70% increase in demand for services in the first six months of 2015 compared to the last six months of 2014. Yet, not only have we not seen a corresponding increase in funding; but, on the contrary, only cuts and closures across the specialist women’s sector”. Between the toxicity of a patriarchal culture and a government that continues to slash and burn its way through women’s services, it’s more important than ever that we start joining the dots to see the connections across all forms of male violence against women, including non-fatal violence. We need to view male on female violence as the mass atrocity that it is, focussing on a societal-level injustice and tragedy rather than individual acts by damaged or ‘evil’ men. Two women are murdered by current or former partners every week in the UK. This statistic is tired and often repeated but it is real. The Counting Dead Women project and the Femicide Census give faces and names to these women. The problem is of epidemic proportions and our response should reflect this. If we care at all about our mothers and daughters and sisters and partners, we as a society must urgently face up to unpleasant truths about victim blame, about misogyny, and about collective blindness. Author harrietpwilliamsonPosted on November 17, 2015 December 28, 2016 Categories Open DemocracyTags Counting Dead Women, feminism, Karen Ingala Smith, murder, patriarchy, violence, women Previous Previous post: Here’s the full spectacle of Iain Duncan Smith’s DWP horror show. With a UN investigation on the way, I wonder if he feels proud Next Next post: Can fashion’s commitment to feminism ever be more than lip service?

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2020 Volkswagen Touareg V8 TDI Chris West With the vast majority of the automotive world focusing on the impending takeover of electric vehicles, Volkswagen has decided to focus instead on a powerful new diesel upgrade for one of its trademark SUVs. The new VW Touareg V8 TDI might look like a mid-range offering on the outside — but inside, it’s a whole new beast. Utilizing a new high-tech turbo-diesel engine that reaches the 900-newton meter-realm of the brand’s super sports cars, the new flagship vehicle will improve upon its V6 predecessor with a staggering 418 bhp and 664 lb-ft of torque. Thanks to the vehicle’s surprising new output, it can launch from 0-62 in just under 4.9 seconds — faster than many of the industry’s current hot hatch offerings. Although it’s being touted as the “the most powerful SUV with a diesel engine from a German manufacturer,” the Touareg still falls short of Audi’s 429 horsepower SQ7 TDI, but makes up the difference with state-of-the-art driver assist and running gear systems such as night vision, traffic jam and lane assist, and a roll stabilization feature that puts driver safety at the forefront. The new Touareg V8 TDI is set to release in May 2019 in Europe. Learn More: Here DeLorean Is Bringing Back The Legendary DMC-12 With Modern Upgrades The iconic 'Back to the Future' car makes a triumphant return.

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Boll Weevil Knievel Date(s): November 30, 1903 to January 1, 1922 Location: New Orleans Tag(s): Cotton, South, Agriculture, boll weevil, monoculture In November of 1903, Abe Brittin was preparing for war. His goal: “arresting the further progress of the pest” that had ravaged the South’s vital cash crop, cotton. This “evil” was the boll weevil, and it was advancing from Mexico into the United States. To Brittin and his companions in the Odd Fellows Hall of New Orleans, this was as much a war as the Civil War had been, thirty-eight... Brazilian Rubber Factory Incurs Serious Damages During Cafeteria Riot Date(s): December 1, 1930 to December 31, 1930 Location: Aveiro, Brazil Tag(s): Industrialism, Revolt, Americanization In December of 1930 a riot arose in the industrial town of Fordlandia in Aveiro, Brazil. Dissatisfied with the American food they were being served in the cafeteria, native Brazilian workers initiated a violent riot that would not be quelled until the Brazilian army intervened and dietary changes were enacted. With workers shouting chants such as “Brazil for Brazilians! Kill all the Americans!”... Market Mingling Date(s): September 10, 1932 Location: Wayne, Michigan Tag(s): Agriculture, Detroit, 1930s, Western Market During the 1930s, Detroit’s Western Market was bustling with hundreds of farmers, buyers, and city dwellers. Trucks were arranged as close as possible and numbers of large baskets containing fresh produce lined the surrounding area. Young to middle-aged men tended to be the ones to sell the farmed products, ranging from apples to poultry. In the busy summer months, the men, both farmers and... The Beginning of the End of Convict Labor in Alabama Date(s): 1928 to 1929 Location: Jefferson, Alabama Tag(s): Convict Labor, New South Your name is screamed aloud behind you. So, what do you do? If you are the Attorney General to the State of Alabama in the 1920s, you do not turn around. Major Harwell Goodwin Davis learned this lesson the hard way. Coming out of the Justice Department in Downtown Birmingham, he turned to address the shout he had heard and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a hospital with a nasty bruise... For the Sake of the Human Race Date(s): January 1, 1883 to December 31, 1914 Location: England, United States Tag(s): Eugenics, Medicine, Francis Galton, elite The 19th and 20th centuries saw a rapid influx of revolutionary ideas and innovations, but very few were as morally frightening as the eugenics movement. Coined in 1883 by Francis Galton, the term “eugenics” became popularized in the 20th century, especially after Galton’s 1901 publication “The Possible Improvement of the Human Breed Under Existing Conditions of Law and Sentiment.” Galton’s... Second Lieutenant Hurst Fears Communist Invasion Date(s): October 19, 1932 Location: Montgomery, Alabama Tag(s): Race Relations, Government, Crime/Violence, african americans The Communist Party was infiltrating Birmingham, Alabama and the National Guard was beginning to worry. On October 19, 1932, Second Lieutenant Ralph Hurst wrote to his commanding officer Brigadier General J.C. Parsons about the “Communist Agitation” in Birmingham. The International Labor Defense had recently moved its Southern headquarters to Birmingham and there had been trouble ever since.... How one woman helped to valut African American culture into the spotlight Date(s): October 29, 1932 Location: Orange, Florida, New York, New York Tag(s): Harlem Renaissance, Arts/Leisure, Race-Relations Born in 1891 in rural Alabama, Zora Neale Hurston spent her childhood in the first incorporated black town in the nation, Eatonville, Florida. Zora attended school in Eatonville until only 13 years old, when she traveled to New York City with a traveling theatre company. In the city that never sleeps, Zora would develop her creative mind and make her mark on history. Hurston seized the tremendous... Begginings of Football Date(s): October 1900 to October 1920 Location: Worcester, Massachusetts Tag(s): football, america Riots took over most of Boston when students started flipping carriages and partaking in bloody fights in the streets over a football game. The game was between freshman and sophomores at Harvard College. In the 1820’s, on Ivy League campuses the earliest form of football was invented. Princeton began playing what was then known as ‘ballown’. Participants would use their... Postwar America and the Feminist Struggle for Peace Date(s): February 6, 1933 Location: Hampshire, Massachusetts Tag(s): Peace, Women, War, Politics In a letter written to the Editor of the New York Times on February 6, 1933 by Majorie Hill, Louise Porter and Gwendolyn Thomas (three female students attending Mount Holyoke College), the Geneva Disarmament Conference of 1932 was discussed (16). The conference was noted to have received twelve million signatures from all parts of the globe, demonstrating the demands of citizens for a... Zora Neale Hurston performs "From Sun to Sun" at Rollins College Date(s): February 11, 1933 Location: Orange, Florida Tag(s): Rollins College, Zora Neale Hurston, florida slave history On Friday, February 11, 1933 Zora Neale Hurston’s program “From Sun to Sun” was shown at the Recreation Hall of Rollins College at 8:15 in the evening. At the performance Hurston led her company of Negroes in songs of African folklore, originating from various places around the state. Such songs included “Shack Rouser,” “East Coast Blues,” and “Alabama Bound”. The scenery for...

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25 Interesting Facts About The Beverly Hillbillies B R December 20, 2016 American HistoryCinematic HistoryForgotten HistoryHistory's NutcasesHollywood HistoryPhotos0 Comments 2 Photo: metvnetwork The Beverly Hillbillies might be one of the more recognizable TV families that you know of, but there are quite a few things that maybe you don’t know about. The show’s producers decided to hide a few things here and there from their fans for one reason or another. We set out to track down 25 interesting facts about the Clampetts and their many adventures. This is what we came up with… 25. You can’t please everyone Photo: tomorrowoman It seems as if critics are hard to please in most cases and they aren’t always right when it comes to their critiques. That’s especially true when it comes to movies and television critics. Take the Beverly Hillbillies, for example, even though the Clampetts were America’s favorite redneck family and one of the most watched TV programs in history, critics found the show “painful to sit through” among many other unpleasantries. 24. Breakfast at Tiffany’s Photo: pyxurz According to many reports, Buddy Ebsen was only offered the role as Jed Clampett based on his performance as Doc Golightly in the hit film Breakfast at Tiffany’s. We can only imagine it was pretty fantastic to work alongside Audrey Hepburn in that film, then move on to working with Donna Douglas in your next project. 23. Moving on to bigger and better things Photo: cineplex Do you remember the staunchly prude character of Miss Hathaway played by Nancy Kulp? Well, this may not come as much of a shock to you but after her role as the assistant/secretary of Milburn Drysdale, the Clampetts greedy banker, she actually went on to have a career in politics. Kulp went on to run for a seat on the United States House of Representatives from Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, she lost. 22. Booming Blue Jeans Photo: envisioningtheamericandream Ms. Donna Douglwas who played the role of Elly May Clampett was quite the object of desire during her time with the Beverly Hillbillies. Maybe it was because she came across as the everyday girl next door wearing her blue jeans and wearing pig-tails. It turns out she made a huge impact on the sales of Levi blue jeans. One executive even went as far as to say that “Donna Douglas had done more for the sale of blue jeans in one year than cowboys and done in a hundred.” 21. Bourbon for The Duke Photo: youtube The Duke, John Wayne himself makes a cameo appearance during the “Indians are Coming” episode from the fifth season. Granny kept talking throughout the episode that she sure hoped the famous cowboy would show up to help them fight the Indians. Later in the episode, he actually does show up and surprises everyone. The Duke didn’t want any money for his small role, instead, he wanted a fifth of Bourbon whiskey as his payment. 20. Talk about a bargain This might seem a little fishy, but according to reports, it’s all true. The mansion that the Clampetts moved to in Beverly Hills after striking oil back on their land looked like the biggest house you’d ever seen when on TV. It turns out it was quite the spread in real life too. The creator of the show Paul Henning reported only paid $500 to film in this massive home in Bel Air! How about that for a bargain! 19. Cooking roadkill with Granny Granny was one of the most interesting characters in the show and usually the one that got the most laughs. She was constantly making remarks regarding her cooking roadkill, “vittles”, and whatever else she could get her hands on. Well, there was actually a cookbook published called “Granny’s Beverly Hillbillies Cookbook” that used recipes inspired from Granny’s actually cooking. 18. Didn’t see eye to eye Photo: celebrityimages As we mentioned before, Nancy Kulp, who played Miss Hathaway, went into a career of politics after her television career. But Buddy Ebsen who played the star of the show, Jed Clampett, didn’t agree with her policies. He even went as far as to create a radio campaign in support of her opponent when she ran for a seat on the House of Representatives that actually played a major part in her losing. The two never got along very well while on set either. 17. The secret location As we mentioned before, the show’s creator got a great deal when it came to the mansion used for filming. Just a few months before the show was scheduled to air, the owner of the home Arnold Kirkeby was killed in a plane crash. Executives of the show worried that they wouldn’t be able to continue to shoot there, but the wife allowed them to continue as long as her address was never revealed. 16. Buddy’s Cameo After Buddy Ebsen completed his role as Jed Clampett he later landed a role as Barnaby Jones in the self-titled private detective sitcom. It was a popular role, but in most people’s eyes not compared to his role as Jed. When Hollywood decided to make a big screen production of the Beverly Hillbillies in 1993 Ebsen made a cameo in the film, but not as Jed like you would expect. Instead, he came back as Barnaby Jones. 15. Unable to move on to bigger and better things Photo: onionstatic Max Baer Jr. who fantastically played the part of Jethro Bodine was unable to get lined up with any other acting jobs after the Beverly Hillbillies closed down production. Baer Jr. blamed it on the fact that he was cast as the dimwit hillbilly and therefore nobody could look at him as a serious actor. Instead, he shifted focus towards directing, producing and writing. 14. Bizarre rumors There’s never a shortage of rumors when it comes to television shows and the Beverly Hillbillies were no exception. One of the most bizarre rumors going around was regarding the age of Granny, played by Irene Ryan, and Elly May, played by Donna Douglas. Apparently, it was constantly going around that Douglass was actually older than Ryan but they used extensive makeup to give the appearance that she was older. However Ryan was born in 1902 and Douglas, not till 1933 so in fact, she was 31 years older. 13. Alzheimers unfortunately got the banker Raymond Bailey, the actor who played the greedy banker that made it his personal mission to personally manage the Clampetts mighty fortune, Mr. Drysdale, was plagued with the terrible disease known as Alzheimer’s. Sadly it was the reason he had to stop acting altogether. Bailey started showing signs the last few years of filming and if you pay close attention to the last few episodes it became very apparent. 12. Beauty in disguise Photo: televisiondiary You may not have recognized her right away but the absolutely lovely Sharon Tate appeared a total of 15 different times throughout the series. That is unless you watched the digitally remastered High-Def version to distinguish her beauty from the rest of the crowd. She often appeared wearing a brown wig. Sadly, Tate suffered a terrible tragedy when she became one of the many victims in the Manson Family Killings. 11. The Ballad of Jed Clampett Photo: newsday Did you know that the famous theme song for the Beverly Hillbillies had an actual name? It was called “The Ballad of Jed Clampett” featuring Flatt and Scruggs, a bluegrass duo playing the music and singing the tune was Jerry Scoggins. Not only did the song become a trademark of the show but it even landed itself at #44 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1962. 10. A house full of critters Photo: worldlifestyle Everybody remembers the curly blonde beauty known as Elly May Clampett played by the great Donna Douglas right? Well if you also remember Elly May was quite the animal lover, or in her case a “critter” lover, which meant that there was always animals running around the house on the show. Behind the scenes, someone had to take care of them. Frank Inn served not only as the animal trainer but also for finding animals that could be used on the show. 9. A different Granny? It’s hard to imagine anyone else than Irene Ryan playing the famous role of Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies. But at first, the role was originally held for Bea Benaderet. However, the show’s producers felt as if Benaderet was to “busty” and large to play the role of the tiny old Granny. It turns out that Bea herself was the one who recommended Irene Ryan to play the role. 8. Product placement You might’ve noticed that Kellogg’s Corn Flakes made a few appearances throughout the series and that’s because they were the sponsor of the show. During the ending credits, you saw Jed pointing out something off to the left of the camera. During the broadcasts on Network television, the camera would pivot and show that Jed was actually pointing at giant Kellogg’s Corn Flakes billboard. 7. The talented Mr. Ebsen Photo: amazon As we mentioned before, Buddy Ebsen went on to play other major television roles after finishing with the Beverly Hillbillies. But did you know that he was actually a novelist as well? He actually wrote the book called Kelly’s quest? Not only did he write it, but he had to pay for the publishing himself after being rejected by 9 different publishers. In the end, the joke was on them because it reached as high as #3 on the Los Angeles Times paperback best-seller list in 2001. 6. Inspiration from the South According to reports the whole concept of the Beverly Hillbillies came to Paul Henning when he was in the South visiting Civil War sites back in 1959. He thought it would be brilliant to take a family that was used to living in the rural South and move them into an upper-class community. Apparently, they first planned on shooting in New York City but was changed to Beverly Hills due to logistics of it all. 5. What was Sonny’s last name? Photo: likesharetweet Only the most knowledgeable Beverly Hillbillies fans will know about this particular fact regarding the son of Margaret Drysdale. His name was Sonny and his last name was never revealed in the show. Because of this, he’s commonly been referred to as Sonny Drysdale. However, it was later determined that his actual last name was Adonis. 4. Making the big bucks The Beverly Hillbillies was extremely successful in the television market when it came to making money. It might’ve had a slow start but by the time it was canceled in 1971 it was making money hand over fist. Rumors went around that it had reached upwards of $100 million that was made from the show towards the end. Sounds to me like someone found a real life oil reserve on their land. 3. Skipper and Bessie Photo: houstonchronicle As we mentioned before, Elly May was quite the animal lover. During the series, she had two pet chimpanzees that had to be taken care of by the animal trainer when not on camera. The two chimps went by the names Skipper and Bessie. Skipper was the first chimp to make an appearance and then later came “Cousin Bessie” who was, of course, Skipper’s cousin. 2. Double duty Sometimes actors are asked to do things that they maybe wouldn’t do in their normal lives, but they do it in order to make the show they’re working on as good as it can possibly be. Take for example Max Baer Jr. who played the role of Jethro Bodine, he was asked to double as his twin sister, Jethrine Bodine. This, of course, required him to get all done up with a wig, make-up, and the full nine yards. 1. Sneaky name change If you happen to be watching the debut pilot episode of the show called “The Clampetts Strike Oil”, you might’ve noticed that the overall name of the show was different than what we know it as today. The original title of the show was “The Hillbillies of Beverly Hills” and that’s what was used for that first episode. However, it was quickly changed to the Beverly Hillbillies for the second episode. Humans Walked Differently Before AD 1500, Research Shows These Successful Recording Artists Never Drank Or Did Drugs Damon November 28, 2016 History’s Nutcases: The Zhengde Emperor Stonehenge: An Archaeological Mystery (Part 3) Elizabeth Lundin September 30, 2019 On This Day, October 28th B R October 28, 2016 Archaeologists Have Found 11,000 Year-Old Bed Bugs in Oregon Cave Elizabeth Lundin April 26, 2017

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Abrar ul Haq lands in trouble with ‘Chamkeeli’ Petition in civil court states the song is disrespectful For singer-turned-philanthropist and political leader Abrar ul Haq, history seems to be repeating itself. His latest single ‘Chamkeeli’, featuring top actress Mehwish Hayat and vlogger Shahveer Jafry, has landed him in a controversy. A petition submitted in a civil court in Lahore states that the lyrics of the song are “disrespectful” towards both men and women. The petitioner has called for a ban on the song and also seeks an apology from Haq. Pakistan’s uncrowned king of bhangra-pop isn’t new to this kind of controversy. In the early 2000s, his song ‘Nach Punjaban’ sparked a strong reaction from those who thought the casual use of the word ‘Punjaban’ to address a woman from the province of Punjab was demeaning. Eventually, Haq had to re-record the song, replacing the word ‘Punjaban’ with ‘Majajan’. It remains to be seen how far he goes to make amends this time around.

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Sociedad General de Autores y Editores de España (SGAE) v Rafael Hoteles SA, C-306/05, December 7, 2006 (ECJ) (communication to the public) (OPTIONAL) | Giancarlo Frosio, PhD | February 04, 2015 Print Bookmark Text Font Settings Clone and Annotate Collapse/Expand Print Font Settings Sociedad General de Autores y Editores de España (SGAE) v Rafael Hoteles SA, C-306/05, December 7, 2006 (ECJ) (communication to the public) (OPTIONAL) JUDGMENT OF THE COURT (Third Chamber) 7 December 2006 (*) (Copyright and related rights in the information society – Directive 2001/29/EC – Article 3 – Concept of communication to the public – Works communicated by means of television sets installed in hotel rooms) In Case C-306/05, REFERENCE for a preliminary ruling under Article 234 EC from the Audiencia Provincial de Barcelona (Spain), made by decision of 7 June 2005, received at the Court on 3 August 2005, in the proceedings Sociedad General de Autores y Editores de España (SGAE) Rafael Hoteles SA, THE COURT (Third Chamber), composed of A. Rosas, President of the Chamber, A. Borg Barthet, J. Malenovský (Rapporteur), U. Lõhmus and A. Ó Caoimh, Judges, Advocate General: E. Sharpston, Registrar: M. Ferreira, Principal Administrator, having regard to the written procedure and further to the hearing on 4 May 2006, after considering the observations submitted on behalf of: – the Sociedad General de Autores y Editores de España (SGAE), by R. Gimeno-Bayón Cobos and P. Hernández Arroyo, abogados, – Rafael Hoteles SA, by R. Tornero Moreno, abogado, – the French Government, by G. de Bergues and J.‑C. Niollet, acting as Agents, – Ireland, by D.J. O’Hagan, acting as Agent, assisted by N. Travers BL, – the Austrian Government, by C. Pesendorfer, acting as Agent, – the Polish Government, by K. Murawski, U. Rutkowska and P. Derwicz, acting as Agents, – the Commission of the European Communities, by J.R. Vidal Puig and W. Wils, acting as Agents, after hearing the Opinion of the Advocate General at the sitting on 13 July 2006, gives the following 1 The reference for a preliminary ruling concerns the interpretation of Article 3 of Directive 2001/29/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 22 May 2001 on the harmonisation of certain aspects of copyright and related rights in the information society (OJ 2001 L 167, p. 10). 2 This reference was made in the context of proceedings between the Sociedad General de Autores y Editores de España (SGAE) and Rafael Hoteles SA (‘Rafael’), concerning the alleged infringement, by the latter, of intellectual property rights managed by SGAE. Legal context Applicable international law 3 The Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (‘the TRIPs Agreement’), as set out in Annex 1C to the Marrakesh Agreement establishing the World Trade Organisation, was approved on behalf of the European Community by Council Decision 94/800/EC of 22 December 1994 concerning the conclusion on behalf of the European Community, as regards matters within its competence, of the agreements reached in the Uruguay Round multilateral negotiations (1986-1994) (OJ 1994 L 336, p. 1). 4 Article 9(1) of the TRIPs Agreement provides: ‘Members shall comply with Articles 1 through 21 of the Berne Convention (1971) and the Appendix thereto. However, Members shall not have rights or obligations under this Agreement in respect of the rights conferred under Article 6bis of that Convention or of the rights derived therefrom.’ 5 Article 11 of the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works (Paris Act of 24 July 1971), as amended on 28 September 1979 (‘the Berne Convention’) provides: ‘1. Authors of dramatic, dramatico-musical and musical works shall enjoy the exclusive right of authorising: (i) the public performance of their works, including such public performance by any means or process; (ii) any communication to the public of the performance of their works. 2. Authors of dramatic or dramatico-musical works shall enjoy, during the full term of their rights in the original works, the same rights with respect to translations thereof.’ 6 Article 11bis(1) of the Berne Convention provides: ‘Authors of literary and artistic works shall enjoy the exclusive right of authorising: (i) the broadcasting of their works or the communication thereof to the public by any other means of wireless diffusion of signs, sounds or images; (ii) any communication to the public by wire or by rebroadcasting of the broadcast of the work, when this communication is made by an organization other than the original one; (iii) the public communication by loudspeaker or any other analogous instrument transmitting, by signs, sounds or images, the broadcast of the work.’ 7 The World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) adopted in Geneva, on 20 December 1996, the WIPO Performances and Phonograms Treaty and the WIPO Copyright Treaty. Those two treaties were approved on behalf of the Community by Council Decision 2000/278/EC of 16 March 2000 (OJ 2000 L 89, p. 6). 8 Article 8 of the WIPO Copyright Treaty provides: ‘Without prejudice to the provisions of Articles 11(1)(ii), 11bis(1)(i) and (ii), 11ter(1)(ii), 14(1)(ii) and 14bis(1) of the Berne Convention, authors of literary and artistic works shall enjoy the exclusive right of authorising any communication to the public of their works, by wire or wireless means, including the making available to the public of their works in such a way that members of the public may access these works from a place and at a time individually chosen by them.’ 9 Joint declarations concerning the WIPO Copyright Treaty were adopted by the Diplomatic Conference on 20 December 1996. 10 The joint declaration concerning Article 8 of that Treaty provides: ‘It is understood that the mere provision of physical facilities for enabling or making a communication does not in itself amount to communication within the meaning of this Treaty or the Berne Convention. It is further understood that nothing in Article 8 precludes a Contracting Party from applying Article 11bis(2).’ Community legislation 11 The ninth recital in the preamble to Directive 2001/29 states: ‘Any harmonisation of copyright and related rights must take as a basis a high level of protection, since such rights are crucial to intellectual creation. Their protection helps to ensure the maintenance and development of creativity in the interests of authors, performers, producers, consumers, culture, industry and the public at large. Intellectual property has therefore been recognised as an integral part of property.’ 12 The 10th recital in the preamble to that directive states: ‘If authors or performers are to continue their creative and artistic work, they have to receive an appropriate reward for the use of their work, as must producers in order to be able to finance this work. The investment required to produce products such as phonograms, films or multimedia products, and services such as “on-demand” services, is considerable. Adequate legal protection of intellectual property rights is necessary in order to guarantee the availability of such a reward and provide the opportunity for satisfactory returns on this investment.’ ‘The Diplomatic Conference held under the auspices of the [WIPO] in December 1996 led to the adoption of two new Treaties, the [WIPO Copyright Treaty] and the [WIPO Performances and Phonograms Treaty], dealing respectively with the protection of authors and the protection of performers and phonogram producers. Those Treaties update the international protection for copyright and related rights significantly, not least with regard to the so-called “digital agenda”, and improve the means to fight piracy world-wide. The Community and a majority of Member States have already signed the Treaties and the process of making arrangements for the ratification of the Treaties by the Community and the Member States is under way. This Directive also serves to implement a number of the new international obligations.’ 14 The 23rd recital in the preamble to that directive states: ‘This Directive should harmonise further the author’s right of communication to the public. This right should be understood in a broad sense covering all communication to the public not present at the place where the communication originates. This right should cover any such transmission or retransmission of a work to the public by wire or wireless means, including broadcasting. This right should not cover any other acts.’ 15 The 27th recital in the preamble to Directive 2001/29 states: ‘The mere provision of physical facilities for enabling or making a communication does not in itself amount to communication within the meaning of this Directive.’ 16 Article 3 of that directive provides: ‘1. Member States shall provide authors with the exclusive right to authorise or prohibit any communication to the public of their works, by wire or wireless means, including the making available to the public of their works in such a way that members of the public may access them from a place and at a time individually chosen by them. 2. Member States shall provide for the exclusive right to authorise or prohibit the making available to the public, by wire or wireless means, in such a way that members of the public may access them from a place and at a time individually chosen by them: (a) for performers, of fixations of their performances; (b) for phonogram producers, of their phonograms; (c) for the producers of the first fixations of films, of the original and copies of their films; (d) for broadcasting organisations, of fixations of their broadcasts, whether these broadcasts are transmitted by wire or over the air, including by cable or satellite. 3. The rights referred to in paragraphs 1 and 2 shall not be exhausted by any act of communication to the public or making available to the public as set out in this Article.’ 17 The codified text of the Law on intellectual property, which rectifies, clarifies and harmonises the legislative provisions in force in that area (‘the LIP’), was approved by Royal Legislative Decree No 1/1996 of 12 April 1996 (BOE No 97 of 22 April 1996). 18 Article 17 of the LIP provides: ‘The author has the exclusive rights of exploitation of his works regardless of their form and, inter alia, the exclusive rights of reproduction, distribution, public communication and conversion which cannot be exercised without his permission except in circumstances laid down in this Law.’ 19 Article 20(1) of the LIP provides: ‘Public communication shall mean any act by which a number of persons can have access to the work without prior distribution of copies to each of those persons. Communication which takes place within a strictly domestic location which is not integrated into or connected to a distribution network of any kind shall not be classified as public.’ The main proceedings and the questions referred for a preliminary ruling 20 SGAE is the body responsible for the management of intellectual property rights in Spain. 21 SGAE took the view that the use of television sets and the playing of ambient music within the hotel owned by Rafael, during the period from June 2002 to March 2003, involved communication to the public of works belonging to the repertoire which it manages. Considering that those acts were carried out in breach of the intellectual property rights attached to the works, SGAE brought an action for compensation against Rafael before the Juzgado de Primera Instancia (Court of First Instance) No 28, Barcelona (Spain). 22 By decision of 6 June 2003, that court partially rejected the claim. It took the view that the use of television sets in the hotel’s rooms did not involve communication to the public of works managed by SGAE. It considered, on the other hand, that the claim was well founded as regards the well-known existence in hotels of communal areas with television sets and where ambient music is played. 23 SGAE and Rafael both brought appeals before the Audiencia Provincial (Provincial Court) de Barcelona, which decided to stay the proceedings and to refer the following questions to the Court of Justice for a preliminary ruling: ‘(1) Does the installation in hotel rooms of television sets to which a satellite or terrestrial television signal is sent by cable constitute an act of communication to the public which is covered by the harmonisation of national laws protecting copyright provided for in Article 3 of Directive [2001/29]? (2) Is the fact of deeming a hotel room to be a strictly domestic location, so that communication by means of television sets to which is fed a signal previously received by the hotel is not regarded as communication to the public, contrary to the protection of copyright pursued by Directive [2001/29]? (3) For the purposes of protecting copyright in relation to acts of communication to the public provided for in Directive [2001/29], can a communication that is effected through a television set inside a hotel bedroom be regarded as public because successive viewers have access to the work?’ The request to have the oral procedure reopened 24 By letter received at the Court of Justice on 12 September 2006, Rafael requested the reopening of the oral procedure, pursuant to Article 61 of the Rules of Procedure of the Court of Justice. 25 That request is based on the alleged inconsistency of the Advocate General’s Opinion. Rafael submits that the negative response in the Opinion to the first question unavoidably implies a negative response to the second and third questions, whereas the Advocate General suggests that the answer to the latter questions should be in the affirmative. 26 On that point, it is appropriate to recall that neither the Statute of the Court of Justice nor the Rules of Procedure make provision for the parties to submit observations in response to the Advocate General’s Opinion (see, in particular, Case C-259/04 Emanuel [2006] ECR I‑3089, paragraph 15). 27 The Court may, certainly, of its own motion, on a proposal from the Advocate General or at the request of the parties, order that the oral procedure should be reopened in accordance with Article 61 of its Rules of Procedure, if it considers that it lacks sufficient information or that the case must be dealt with on the basis of an argument which has not been debated between the parties (see, in particular, Case C-209/01 Schilling and Fleck-Schilling [2003] ECR I‑13389, paragraph 19, and Case C-30/02 Recheio – Cash & Carry [2004] ECR I‑6051, paragraph 12). 28 However, the Court finds that in the present case it has all the information necessary to give judgment. 29 Consequently, there is no need to order the reopening of the oral procedure. Preliminary observations 30 It should be stated at the outset that, contrary to Rafael’s submissions, the situation at issue in the main proceedings does not fall within Council Directive 93/83/EEC of 27 September 1993 on the coordination of certain rules concerning copyright and rights related to copyright applicable to satellite broadcasting and cable retransmission (OJ 1993 L 248, p. 15), but within Directive 2001/29. The latter applies to all communications to the public of protected works, whereas Directive 93/83 only provides for minimal harmonisation of certain aspects of protection of copyright and related rights in the case of communication to the public by satellite or cable retransmission of programmes from other Member States. As the Court has already held, unlike Directive 2001/29, this minimal harmonisation does not provide information to enable the Court to reply to a question concerning a situation similar to that which is the subject of the questions referred for a preliminary ruling (see, to that effect, Case C-293/98 Egeda [2000] ECR I‑629, paragraphs 25 et 26). 31 Next, it should be noted that the need for uniform application of Community law and the principle of equality require that where provisions of Community law make no express reference to the law of the Member States for the purpose of determining their meaning and scope, as is the case with Directive 2001/29/EC, they must normally be given an autonomous and uniform interpretation throughout the Community (see, in particular, Case C-357/98 Yiadom [2000] ECR I‑9265, paragraph 26, and Case C-245/00 SENA [2003] ECR I‑1251, paragraph 23). It follows that the Austrian Government cannot reasonably maintain that it is for the Member States to provide the definition of ‘public’ to which Directive 2001/29 refers but does not define. The first and third questions 32 By its first and third questions, which it is appropriate to examine together, the referring court asks, essentially, whether the distribution of a signal through television sets to customers in hotel rooms constitutes communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29, and whether the installation of television sets in hotel rooms constitutes, in itself, an act of that nature. 33 In that respect, it should be noted that that Directive does not define ‘communication to the public’. 34 According to settled case-law, in interpreting a provision of Community law it is necessary to consider not only its wording, but also the context in which it occurs and the objectives pursued by the rules of which it is part (see, in particular, Case C‑156/98 Germany vCommission [2000] ECR I‑6857, paragraph 50, and Case C‑53/05 Commission v Portugal [2006] ECR I-0000, paragraph 20). 35 Moreover, Community legislation must, so far as possible, be interpreted in a manner that is consistent with international law, in particular where its provisions are intended specifically to give effect to an international agreement concluded by the Community (see, in particular, Case C‑341/95 Bettati [1998] ECR I‑4355, paragraph 20 and the case-law cited). 36 It follows from the 23rd recital in the preamble to Directive 2001/29 that ‘communication to the public’ must be interpreted broadly. Such an interpretation is moreover essential to achieve the principal objective of that directive, which, as can be seen from its ninth and tenth recitals, is to establish a high level of protection of, inter alios, authors, allowing them to obtain an appropriate reward for the use of their works, in particular on the occasion of communication to the public. 37 The Court has held that, in the context of this concept, the term ‘public’ refers to an indeterminate number of potential television viewers (Case C‑89/04 Mediakabel [2005] ECR I‑4891, paragraph 30, and Case C-192/04 Lagardère Active Broadcast [2005] ECR I‑7199, paragraph 31). 38 In a context such as that in the main proceedings, a general approach is required, making it necessary to take into account not only customers in hotel rooms, such customers alone being explicitly mentioned in the questions referred for a preliminary ruling, but also customers who are present in any other area of the hotel and able to make use of a television set installed there. It is also necessary to take into account the fact that, usually, hotel customers quickly succeed each other. As a general rule, a fairly large number of persons are involved, so that they may be considered to be a public, having regard to the principal objective of Directive 2001/29, as referred to in paragraph 36 of this judgment. 39 In view, moreover, of the cumulative effects of making the works available to such potential television viewers, the latter act could become very significant in such a context. It matters little, accordingly, that the only recipients are the occupants of rooms and that, taken separately, they are of limited economic interest for the hotel. 40 It should also be pointed out that a communication made in circumstances such as those in the main proceedings constitutes, according to Article 11bis(1)(ii) of the Berne Convention, a communication made by a broadcasting organisation other than the original one. Thus, such a transmission is made to a public different from the public at which the original act of communication of the work is directed, that is, to a new public. 41 As is explained in the Guide to the Berne Convention, an interpretative document drawn up by the WIPO which, without being legally binding, nevertheless assists in interpreting that Convention, when the author authorises the broadcast of his work, he considers only direct users, that is, the owners of reception equipment who, either personally or within their own private or family circles, receive the programme. According to the Guide, if reception is for a larger audience, possibly for profit, a new section of the receiving public hears or sees the work and the communication of the programme via a loudspeaker or analogous instrument no longer constitutes simple reception of the programme itself but is an independent act through which the broadcast work is communicated to a new public. As the Guide makes clear, such public reception falls within the scope of the author’s exclusive authorisation right. 42 The clientele of a hotel forms such a new public. The transmission of the broadcast work to that clientele using television sets is not just a technical means to ensure or improve reception of the original broadcast in the catchment area. On the contrary, the hotel is the organisation which intervenes, in full knowledge of the consequences of its action, to give access to the protected work to its customers. In the absence of that intervention, its customers, although physically within that area, would not, in principle, be able to enjoy the broadcast work. 43 It follows from Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29 and Article 8 of the WIPO Copyright Treaty that for there to be communication to the public it is sufficient that the work is made available to the public in such a way that the persons forming that public may access it. Therefore, it is not decisive, contrary to the submissions of Rafael and Ireland, that customers who have not switched on the television have not actually had access to the works. 44 Moreover, it is apparent from the documents submitted to the Court that the action by the hotel by which it gives access to the broadcast work to its customers must be considered an additional service performed with the aim of obtaining some benefit. It cannot be seriously disputed that the provision of that service has an influence on the hotel’s standing and, therefore, on the price of rooms. Therefore, even taking the view, as does the Commission of the European Communities, that the pursuit of profit is not a necessary condition for the existence of a communication to the public, it is in any event established that the communication is of a profit-making nature in circumstances such as those in the main proceedings. 45 With reference to the question whether the installation of television sets in hotel rooms constitutes, in itself, a communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29, it should be pointed out that the 27th recital in the preamble to that directive states, in accordance with Article 8 of the WIPO Copyright Treaty, that ‘[t]he mere provision of physical facilities for enabling or making a communication does not in itself amount to communication within the meaning of [that] Directive.’ 46 While the mere provision of physical facilities, usually involving, besides the hotel, companies specialising in the sale or hire of television sets, does not constitute, as such, a communication within the meaning of Directive 2001/29, the installation of such facilities may nevertheless make public access to broadcast works technically possible. Therefore, if, by means of television sets thus installed, the hotel distributes the signal to customers staying in its rooms, then communication to the public takes place, irrespective of the technique used to transmit the signal. 47 Consequently, the answer to the first and second questions is that, while the mere provision of physical facilities does not as such amount to a communication within the meaning of Directive 2001/29, the distribution of a signal by means of television sets by a hotel to customers staying in its rooms, whatever technique is used to transmit the signal, constitutes communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of that directive. The second question 48 By its second question, the referring court asks, essentially, whether the private nature of hotel rooms precludes the communication of a work to those rooms by means of television sets from constituting communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29. 49 In that respect, Ireland submits that communication or making available of works in the private context of hotel rooms should be distinguished from the same acts which take place in public areas of the hotel. This argument cannot however be accepted. 50 It is apparent from both the letter and the spirit of Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29 and Article 8 of the WIPO Copyright Treaty – both of which require authorisation by the author not for retransmissions in a public place or one which is open to the public but for communications by which the work is made accessible to the public – that the private or public nature of the place where the communication takes place is immaterial. 51 Moreover, according to the provisions of Directive 2001/29 and of the WIPO Copyright Treaty, the right of communication to the public covers the making available to the public of works in such a way that they may access them from a place and at a time individually chosen by them. That right of making available to the public and, therefore, of communication to the public would clearly be meaningless if it did not also cover communications carried out in private places. 52 In support of the argument concerning the private nature of hotel rooms, Ireland also invokes the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, signed in Rome on 4 November 1950 (‘the ECHR’), and in particular its Article 8, which prohibits any arbitrary or disproportionate interference by a public authority in the sphere of private activity. However, this argument cannot be accepted either. 53 In that respect, it should be pointed out that Ireland does not make clear who, in a context such as that of the main proceedings, would be the victim of such an arbitrary or disproportionate intervention. Ireland can hardly have in mind the customers who benefit from the signal which they receive and who are under no obligation to pay the authors. Nor can the victim be the hotel since, even though it must be concluded that the hotel is obliged to make such payment, it cannot claim to be a victim of an infringement of Article 8 of the ECHR in so far as the rooms, once made available to its customers, cannot be considered as coming within its private sphere. 54 Having regard to all of the foregoing considerations, the answer to the second question is that the private nature of hotel rooms does not preclude the communication of a work by means of television sets from constituting communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29. 55 Since these proceedings are, for the parties to the main proceedings, a step in the action pending before the national court, the decision on costs is a matter for that court. Costs incurred in submitting observations to the Court, other than the costs of those parties, are not recoverable. On those grounds, the Court (Third Chamber) hereby rules: 1. While the mere provision of physical facilities does not as such amount to communication within the meaning of Directive 2001/29/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 22 May 2001 on the harmonisation of copyright and related rights in the information society, the distribution of a signal by means of television sets by a hotel to customers staying in its rooms, whatever technique is used to transmit the signal, constitutes communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of that directive. 2. The private nature of hotel rooms does not preclude the communication of a work by means of television sets from constituting communication to the public within the meaning of Article 3(1) of Directive 2001/29. Tags: communication to the public ecj europe copyright

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Kshipra Hema Duke Clinical Research Institute coronary heart diseases Cardiovascular Imaging Same Symptoms, Different Care for Women and Men With Heart Disease Despite messages to the contrary, most women being seen by a doctor for the first time with suspected heart disease actually experience the same classic symptoms as men, notably chest pain and shortness of breath, according to a study led by the Duke Clinical Research Institute.ETHealthWorld | March 24, 2016, 05:30 IST DURHAM, N.C. -- Despite messages to the contrary, most women being seen by a doctor for the first time with suspected heart disease actually experience the same classic symptoms as men, notably chest pain and shortness of breath, according to a study led by the Duke Clinical Research Institute. But other differences between the sexes are evident in the diagnosis and risk assessment for coronary artery disease, according to findings published online March 23 in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology––Cardiovascular Imaging. The study will also be reported at the American College of Cardiology’s 65th Annual Scientific Session. "Our findings suggest there might be need for heart-health resources specifically aimed at women, because much of what is provided is for men, and there are significant sex-based differences,” said lead author Kshipra Hemal of the Duke Clinical Research Institute. In one of the largest studies of its kind enrolling patients with suspected coronary heart diseases but without a prior history of the condition, Hemal and colleagues compared the experiences of more than 10,000 patients, evenly split between women and men, in the Prospective Multicenter Imaging Study for Evaluation of Chest Pain (or PROMISE). The Duke-led research team found that women have more risk factors for heart disease than men. But women are typically assessed to have lower risk. In addition, commonly used predictor models exclude issues such as depression, sedentary lifestyle and family history of early heart disease, which women report more often than men. Women are also more likely to be referred for imaging stress tests compared to men, particularly nuclear stress testing, but they are less likely to have a positive test. Seventy-three percent of women and 72 percent of men complained of chest pain when presenting to their physicians with suspected heart disease. Men were more likely to characterize their chest pain as a dull ache or a burning sensation, while women most often described their pain as crushing pressure or tightness. Women were also more likely than men to have back, neck or jaw pain, and palpitations as the primary presenting symptoms, whereas men were more likely to have fatigue and weakness, although such symptoms were unusual in both sexes as the primary complaint. Women were more likely than men to be taking beta blockers and diuretics; men were more likely than women to be taking angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitors or angiotensin-receptor blockers, statins, and aspirin. “Previous studies have compared differences in demographics, risk factors, and symptom profile between men and women, but most of these focused on patients with an existing diagnosis of heart disease,” said senior author Pamela Douglas, M.D., the Ursula Geller Professor for Research in Cardiovascular Disease at Duke University School of Medicine and member of the Duke Clinical Research Institute. “Our study is the largest of its kind looking at patients with stable chest pain or other symptoms suggestive of coronary artery disease, which is a much more common occurrence,” Douglas said. “Establishing a diagnosis is arguably more difficult among these patients. Our findings should help clarify that there are differences between men and women that we need to take into account.” In addition to Hemal and Douglas, study authors include Neha J. Pagidipati, Adrian Coles, Daniel B. Mark, Rowena J. Dolor, Patricia A. Pellikka, Udo Hoffmann, Sheldon E. Litwin, James Udelson, Melissa A. Daubert, Svati H. Shah, Beth Martinez, and Kerry L. Lee. The study received funding from the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute. GRAPHIC by Mark Dubowski for Duke Health Tags : Industry, promise, Kshipra Hema, Duke Clinical Research Institute, coronary heart diseases, Cardiovascular Imaging Pre-natal screening is strongly recommended for Common Chromosomal Disorders: Dr Priya Kadam The quality of care impacts the outcome and success of treatment: Dr Sachin S Jadhav Reproductive health brand Crysta raises Rs 10 Cr in Pre-Series A round Padma Shri for PGI’s Dr Behera Turmeric-based tech to kill cancer cells gets US patent Significant revolution in the treatment of Congenital Heart Disease: Dr Anil Kumar Singhi Budget 2020 : The outlook of Indian healthcare domain Diabetes may independently lead to heart failure: Study HCG has been at the forefront of cutting edge cancer research: Dr (Prof) U S Vishal Rao

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New Study Says Everglades Water Is Harming Keys Corals. Not Everyone Agrees By Jenny Staletovich • Jul 24, 2019 Shark River empties from the Everglades at Ponce De Leon Bay in Southwest Florida. The Florida Everglades can be a contentious place. Politicians, conservationists and farmers never seem to agree on much. Debate among scientists tends to be collegial. But a new study on coral and the Florida Keys that gained national headlines last week has reignited a decades-old dispute over pollution and the Everglades. The study, published in the journal Marine Biology by Florida Atlantic University marine biologist Brian LaPointe, concludes that water from the southern Everglades is harming reefs near Looe Key. LaPointe said water sampling he conducted over 30 years showed that big pulses of water from the Everglades' Shark River preceded the Keys' mass bleaching events over the years. He says the remote river is polluted with nitrogen from farms and urban development, which can harm corals. "There is, you know, multiple lines of evidence showing that run-off from the Everglades is a contributing factor to algal blooms and nitrogen enrichment," LaPointe said. But at least 16 scientists who work in the Everglades are raising questions. They say more widespread monitoring doesn't appear to support the findings of excess nitrogen. They're taking a closer look and plan to submit a formal rebuttal. "That would be very surprising," said aquatic biologist Evelyn Gaiser, who leads a team of Everglades scientists as part of a longterm research project at Florida International University established by the National Science Foundation in 1980 and involving 29 institutions. None were asked to peer-review the article, she said. "We have an incredible wealth of data that we can evaluate to help understand those trends and dynamics," she said. So far, they show nitrogen only spiking during natural events like tropical storms, cold freezes and hurricanes. The South Florida Water Management District said in an email that its monitoring also failed to detect dangerous levels of nitrogen in Florida Bay outside severe storms. Spokesman Randy Smith said the agency was also reviewing the findings. The editor of the journal article, Sandra Shumway, a Universitiy of Connecticut marine biologist who specializes in shellfish, said by email she was traveling and unavailable for an interview. Part of the complexity is understanding the dynamic between nitrogen and phosphorus, the two chemicals at play in the ecosystem. Seagrass thrives on a ratio of high nitrogen and low phosphorus. Reefs, which are disappearing at an alarming rate and now in the midst of an unprecedented disease outbreak, are the opposite. If LaPointe is correct, the consequences could be major. Everglades restoration is based largely on the premise that flood protection has cut off the southern Everglades from the water that naturally flowed out of Lake Okeechobee, down the river of grass and out marshes into the vast seagrass meadows in Florida Bay. The meadows help maintain the kind of gin-clear water that reefs need to thrive by stabilizing the muddy bottom. They also provide food and habitat for the rich mix of marine life that lives on reefs. Over the years, too little water has made Florida Bay's seagrass vulnerable to drought. In droughts in 1987 and again in 2015, the bay became too salty and triggered major die-offs. More than 60 square-miles of seagrass died by 2016. The 1980s die-off set the stage for catastrophic algae blooms that caused the bay to crash. The state of Florida has spent millions, including $880 million for filtering marshes, to clean water and get it back into the the southern Everglades. But it focuses on phosphorus, the chemical in fertilizer coming off sugar fields and in water out of Lake Okeechobee. Too much phosphorus can cause cattails and other plants to grow in the sparse marshes and interrupt the flow of water and over-stimulate seagrasses. The state does not focus on removing nitrogen. In 1999, Everglades scientists published findings blaming the drought for the die-off, a finding largely accepted by South Florida's scientific circles. But LaPointe has long argued that elevated nitrogen flowing from the southern marshes, not the dead seagrass, caused the blooms. Four years after the 1999 study, he published comments saying seagrass biologists Jay Zieman and Jim Fourqurean overstated the impact from the drought and called their findings "untenable." Zieman and Fourqurean fired back in a published response, saying LaPointe misinterpreted data from another scientist at Everglades National Park. They said his findings illustrated "a repeated lack of understanding of the geography and hydrology of the southen Everglades and Florida Bay." The nutrient-starved Everglades remove most of the nitrogen from water flowing in to the bay, they said, and the Gulf of Mexico is likely a far larger source. Scientists also say the data he relies on for this study measured Everglades nitrogen at the north end, near Tamiami Trail, not the mouth of the river. LaPointe looked at nitrogen levels in water he sampled over 30 years at Looe Key, about 25 miles east of Key West. He also looked at chlorophyll-a to see what affect the nitrogen was having on water and at nitrogen levels in seaweed. Leaky septic tanks and deadend canals have long been blamed for driving up nitrogen levels in water around the Keys. Monroe County has spent about $1 billion to convert the string of islands to a central sewer line. The county had planned to spend about another $700 million to clean up canals before Irma hit. LaPointe said while it's clear that local sources provide some nitrogen, his research found it's likely carried from the Everglades as well. He said water sampling from 2010 and 2011 showed elevated levels of nitrogen at Shark River. Drifter studies also prove water flowing from the mouth of the river can reach Looe Key. "This has been covered, this concern, this back and forth has been published in the New York Times, Nature Magazine and others," he said. At the time, he said Everglades scientists were criticized for ignoring the role of nitrogen. "I'm one of those scientists that was really never part of that Florida Bay club," he said. LaPointe's critics say he's cherry-picking his information in this latest study and ignoring the bigger picture. He relies on his own sampling from a single reef and water collected at Shark River over just two years. They say a broader picture captured by longterm monitoring by the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary and the Everglades research project at Florida International University should have been considered. Given what's at stake, Gaiser said scientsts would normally confer with one another if data suggest unexpected findings. "The way that many of us would react to that is to reach out to colleagues and build as robust of an analysis as possible to figure out what's going on," she said. "You have a result that isn't what most scientists would anticipate, then you would want to dig in more deeply and see if there might be some other explanation." The team is now reviewing LaPointe's study. Their rebuttal will undergo the same peer-review as LaPointe's paper. Copyright 2019 WLRN 91.3 FM. To see more, visit WLRN 91.3 FM.

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This database provides patients, families and members of the public with access to up-to-date information about the location of clinical trials, their design and purpose, criteria for participation, and, further information about the disease and treatment under study. Review Date: Friday, April 03, 2015 NIH National Library of Medicine - NLM Assistance in Locating Clinical Trials Having trouble finding a clinical trial? Call 1-877-MED HERO to speak with the Search Clinical Trials staff. You may also conduct a search by using this online search engine. Search for trials based on your condition or geographic location. Review Date: Monday, December 01, 2014 The Center for Information and Study on Clinical Research Participation Clinical Trials - National Cancer Institute (NCI) Search for NCI clinical trials now accepting participants, find clinical trial results, and learn what clinical trials are, how they work, why they're useful, patient care costs, and more. NIH National Cancer Institute Thousands of industry-sponsored clinical trials are actively recruiting patients. You can search for clinical trials by medical condition, therapeutic area and geographic location. Review Date: Thursday, April 02, 2015 CenterWatch Search for HIV/AIDS Clinical Trials Find HIV/AIDS-related clinical trials conducted in the United States and around the world. Review Date: Wednesday, January 27, 2016 AIDSinfo

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Community Blog Shattered Myths at the National IAC Conference By Linna Ettinger Sep 28, 2016 This article is dedicated to the memory of Shimon Peres, an inspirational leader whose leadership, thought and spirit continue to bring out our creative potential. The mythical walls dividing the Israeli-American community from the American Jewish community were completely shattered this past weekend as more than 2,100 conference attendees convened at the 3rd Annual Israeli-American Council National Conference in Washington DC. Israeli-American and American Jewish activists, program directors, philanthropists, educators, and 500 Jewish or Christian youth dealt business cards like a fast Uno game, and exchanged ideas and suggested possible future connections to each other to further each other’s success. I attended with my colleague Rachel Raz, Director of the Early Childhood Institute and founder of the Jewish Early Engagement Forum (JEEF), who was a panelist in the “Israeli and Jewish American Education: Jewish and Israeli Identity” session and also was the moderator for a panel on “The Power of Engaging Young Families to Secure a Strong Foundation of Identity.” Invariably, people asked me about my connection to Israel. Sometimes when I would tell people about my work with the Boston-Haifa Early Childhood Educators’ Connection, or the Community Leadership Program of the Shalom Hartman Institute, or the iEngage Video Lecture series that teaches ways for the community to engage with Israel with open and honest discourse, I ran out of time to tell people that my husband spent 7 formative childhood years in Israel, or that my mother-in-law’s scholarly father had a street named after him in Jerusalem. The schedule was packed with plenary sessions and break-out sessions; Barry Schrage of CJP spoke, as well as Sheldon Adelson, Adam Milstein and other major supporters of the IAC. Several Members of the Knesset were invited to speak at the plenary sessions, as well as former Israeli Ambassadors to the UN, American Congressmen and other politicians and journalists. Session topics ranged from the current state of leadership in the areas of Science and Business public diplomacy in Israel, the challenges of the BDS movement and the Iran Nuclear deal, to the conference themes of Jewish Israeli identity of the young generation, Israeli American and Jewish peoplehood, and Israel as a Nation State of the Jewish People. Conference attendees were particularly delighted to receive a video greeting from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who reiterated how important it is for the Israeli-American community to become a strong advocate for the State of Israel. He explicitly shattered another myth, that the State of Israel looks down upon Israelis who choose to live in the United States. On the contrary, Prime Minister Netanyahu expressed how much he values the Israeli-American community, and his belief that the success of the Israeli-American community is bound to the success of the State of Israel and vice versa. Finally, Sheldon and Dr. Miriam Adelson announced a pledge of $15 Million to the IAC and the goal of opening six more regional offices for a total of 20 regional offices across the United States by 2017. The spirit of the conference was animated by new energy dedicated towards solidifying ties between the Israeli American and the American Jewish communities and by rejuvenating energy to all participants to continue to pursue their creative ideas and network to find partners with whom to work and grow. The only sad part about the conference was that it ended, but there’s always next year to reconvene the entire community – both Israeli-American Jews and American Jews – and the non-Jewish community – together to forge unlimited possibilities for the future. Linna Ettinger is the Assistant Director of the Early Childhood Institute (ECI) of the Shoolman Graduate School of Jewish Education. ECI offers an on-line Master’s in Jewish Education degree with a concentration in Early Childhood Education and an on-line Certificate in Jewish Early Childhood Education. Linna also co-chairs Adult Education at Temple Emunah in Lexington, and is a group leader for the Community Leadership Program(CLP) of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem. Linna is a recipient of the Torch Bearer Award bestowed by the Synagogue Council of Massachusetts in recognition for her leadership in the Jewish Community. For questions about the Seventh Annual Early Childhood Jewish Educators’ Conference, Adult Education at Temple Emunah and/or the CLP Program of the Shalom Hartman Institute, contact Linna at lettinger@hebrewcollege.edu. Annual Israeli-American Council National Conference Early Childhood Institute IAC Conference Israeli-American community JEEF Jewish Identity Linna Ettinger Rachel Raz Shoolman School

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This website doesn't work unless you turn on JavaScript. HomeWhat we doWho we areInsightsEventsJoin usGet In TouchCourses The Danish Prison ServicePlan for the future provision of health care service to citizens in prisons and detention centres The Danish Prison Service and Implement Consulting Group Steen Dalsgård Jespersen & Philip Schwalm As a rule, the Danish health authorities are responsible for the provision of health care services to Danish citizens. But this rule does not apply when it comes to the prison service. For security reasons – and given the unique institutional setting that inmates find themselves in – the Danish Prison Service is responsible for providing such services to the people in their custody. In Denmark, this amounts to almost 4,000 inmates – out of a total population of 5.7 million. They are detained in around 50 different prisons and detention centres distributed across four prison service districts. While serving their sentence, inmates must have access to medical treatment and other health care services similar to, and of the same quality as, those available to the general population. In larger closed prisons and detention centres, for instance, the prison services typically have nurses, doctors, psychiatrists, dentists and physiotherapists employed to provide health care services to inmates. In smaller detention centres and open prisons, however, it is primarily the local GPs in the area that take care of these services. Whether serving a sentence in a large or small facility, all inmates can get a check-up or medical treatment in a hospital if they need to. In recent years, the prison service has noted a number of inefficiencies in the health care service that they provide to inmates in their care. These shortcomings relate to: inconsistencies in the health care system lack of a health professional environment, and lack of professional standards for treatment and task handling. In collaboration with the Danish Prison Service, Implement has analysed how to organise health care services in prisons and detention centres – to achieve a consistent and effective handling of tasks. To arrive at these recommendations, we have: identified and analysed the prison service’s current provision of health care – in terms of the type of services provided, their scope, organisation and management defined a realistic target for future health care services looked to other countries for inspiration to see how they organise their health care services for inmates, and described scenarios for the future provision of health care services in Denmark. While addressing current challenges, these scenarios must also allow for timely diagnosis and treatment, the running of effective operations and take into account the unique institutional setting that the prison service represents. The analysis and recommendations include reflections on which role the general health care system should play in the future, how the prison service can work systematically to ensure the quality and effectiveness of their health care services for inmates, and how they can build an appropriate relation between the services they provide themselves and those they outsource to private health care providers. We submitted the report in June 2016. The Danish Prison Service can use the results for further consideration and definition of strategic choices. According to health care workers in the Danish Prison Service, 50 – 70 per cent of inmates receive medical treatment. The study, Screening of inmates for somatic diseases – a survey of the health care service provided by the prison service and the state of health of inmates, undertaken in selected institutions, documented that: 90 per cent of inmates have at least one diagnosis – either a somatic disease or a psychiatric disease with somatic implications (typically related to movement, teeth, drug abuse or asthma). 35 per cent of inmates are registered with at least one psychiatric diagnosis (typically drug abuse-related and ADHD). The Screening project for psychiatric disease, undertaken in selected detention centres, documented that: 91 per cent of inmates have a psychiatric disease or other psychiatric conditions. 41 per cent of these relate to drug abuse. Maersk Line From number crunchers to finance business partners Implement Consulting Group What defines usOur ApproachOur Heroes Strategy & TransformationGrowth & InnovationLeadership & ChangeDigitalisation & ITOperations & Efficiency Get In TouchPeopleJoin usData protection policyWhistleblowerImplement Learning Institute

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Mark Duplass: “The Morning Show? An opportunity to be in a great quality TV production” How is difficult to be an executive producer? The actor talks about his role in Apple TV+ show Mark Duplass at the global premiere of The Morning Show by Lorenzo Crestani 4th December 2019 NEW YORK – Pull back the curtain on early morning TV. Starring Reese Witherspoon, Jennifer Aniston, and Steve Carell, this unapologetically candid drama looks at the modern workplace through the lens of the people who help America wake up every morning. We joined a Q&A with Mark Duplass who plays Charlie “Chip” Black, the Executive Producer of The Morning Show. Mark Duplass and Jennifer Aniston The way this show jumps right into the kind of mania of cleaning up this situation in the first indication we get of that is your face just lying there. So talk to us a bit about getting inside the mindset of this character who is basically absorbing all the anxiety around him. The life of a producer is obviously not that dissimilar from a film set to something like this. I think that the more I was around the culture of this meaning our version of it, you start to realize that two hours of live television 5 days a week, it just takes a big toll on you because of all the different variables that can go wrong and you get such this wonderful adrenaline jolt. In order to do this job, no social life, no romantic life, terrible eating and sleeping habits. I guess that was the the basic way into it for me. Then, the question was, how do we make this thing grow into something and a lot of that was in the writing. I also think Jennifer Aniston is a very special person, I didn’t know her that well going into this but she’s got a deep humanity to her and an our story line has a lot of fun stuff. Mark Duplass with Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Aniston The first time we see you guys together she’s just yelling at you. What was it like to go through those scenes with her and figure out what level you want in the volume to go? We talked a lot about, there’s somewhere between work wife and husband, brother and sister but I don’t know if you have ever been to couple therapy or anything like that, the first thing that always comes up is you are giving all of your good energy to everybody else and then you shit on the person that is closest to you when you get home and you’re tired, cause you feel safe and you know they’ll never leave you. That’s basically what she does to Chip and a little bit about what he does to her. Mark Duplass and Billy Crudup From a research standpoint, did you talk to people who have done these things? I talked to a couple of directors and executive producers and they basically said every show is wildly different, some of them are more obsessed with cameras, some of them are more obsessed with stories, some of them are always overstepping their bounds with the segment producers so what that meant for me is I had a lot of choices to build this. The thing that I really liked was that you know Chip and Alex came up together, he was her personal producer before he became the head producer and I think he has a hard time letting go of that closeness and that relationship and I think that he’s done pretty much everything right to rise in this world, which is I guess what I discovered is you have to completely give up any notion of self and desire and what you want. It’s just the total obliteration of ego, you do whatever is required to lift the show up and he does that because he sees himself as one of the last bastions of journalistic integrity left and he decided to do it in The Morning Show, which I thought was really cool cause it’s the kind of the way I would think, where’s the biggest audience, where the eyeballs. He knew it was a Herculean almost impossible task so he said to himself I’m gonna have to do everything that’s required, lie, cheat, steal but there’re some people he won’t do that with and that’s really where the big complexity of Chips’s storyline is. Ultimately there are things that he loves and he won’t sacrifice that. Mark Duplass in The Morning Show You’ve often been drawn to improv, this is a very polished TV show which I assume allows for less leeway in that respect, how do you bring that sensibility to the set given the kind of actor you are? There’s almost Sorkin-like quality through some of the dialogues in this, it’s mellifluous and poetic and it begs to be spoken as written which is not traditionally either what I’m hired for or what I’m known for and it was it ended up being a really good marriage of what I do which is I tried to add something so that subconsciously it feels a little bit more real and Kerry Ehrin who’s our showrunner was really into that and really having a couple of characters who did that; they would always joke ‘Oh Mark is here so it’s time to have the humanized, more naturalistic documentary approach to what this character would be’ and I was craving it when I would read the pages. I would say I just want to make sure we’re not doing five minutes walk and talk down the hall that feel too rehearsed and we’re hitting the points and so I would occasionally throw things in that were a little off and I would stop early and try to just create a little bit of chaos just to get the shaggy vibe going. I didn’t have to fight for that, they were all into that. I remember there is a scene with Reese and and it happens down a hallway and I know we had 47 minutes to shoot this scene so I said ‘let’s block it out, I’m not gonna overlap anything but you gotta promise me you’re gonna give me one at the end of each of it where we’re able to do our thing‘ and they ended up using all that in the show and for me bringing my unique value to something like this it’s incredible. Mark Duplass in episode 7 of The Morning Show When you started out you were doing all these kind of smaller indie films, the Puffy Chair was released almost 15 years ago, it’s such a unique kind of ecosystem. When it comes to acting in film and TV, how do you sort of navigate those two worlds separately? For an actor like me, it’s kind of impossible to make a living in making traditionally made independent films so a lot of that really interesting storytelling has made its way into television which is why a lot of us are there and this is no secret so I am drawn to that just because there’re really good stories, there’re really good either filmmakers or television writers who now have this wonderful opportunity. I try to ask myself the question,’is this important? does this have a place?’, someone will bring me an idea like this is great this is exciting, in 2005 we definitely would have made this, ‘should we do this right now?’ and that’s becoming a harder question for me. It’s a little easier as an actor as opposed to a creator so like when shows like The Morning Show comes to me and I think to myself ‘okay, what’s this all about try and like you know go into meditation mode of like is this the right thing I’m like well we’ve got Reese and Jen as executive producers for something they squarely believe in and you can feel from them when I was talking to them early on all these wonderful dialogue scenes that are their characters but it’s also them and I wanted to be able to be a part of their coming forward and telling this story and to be number five on the cast list and be in support of that kind of thing and while selfishly I’m gonna share it with all these amazing movie stars and they’re incredible and Apple’s gonna put it out so I know it’s gonna get seen that becomes more important to me now. Mark Duplass in episode 6 Was The Morning Show a big time commitment? More than I thought it was. When you’re signing on to like the fourth or fifth billing role, a lot of times it’ll be like ‘we know you’re busy but you’re going to be on set two days a week’ and then what happened here is that they ended up rewriting a bunch of these in order to incorporate the Me Too movement in a much more meaningful way to reflect what was happening in the culture at the same time and I’m just the kind of actor who was always gonna be available because I’m was in LA with my kids dropping them off at school and I’m writing and they always knew they could call me and get me to set and be reliable and do the walk and talk and hit the marks and make a scene work so when a lot of the new scenes came up to be writing it’s like ‘well Billy’s back in New York and where’s Jen? We got to write a two person scene it’s gonna be someone else’ and Mark happened. That’s why my role kept kind of increasing because I was a little bit of the X Factor of what the production was. Mark Duplass and Jennifer Aniston on Instagram Are you going to dive right into season two? I think we’re gonna go right in a couple of months. I am there quite a bit but I don’t know it just all seems to work out: we shot at the Sony stages in Culver City in Los Angeles and then I run a show called Room 104 for HBO and so I was like, ‘well these are gonna overlap so I’ll just have my my two places next to each other’ so the stages were right next to each other and have one trailer and I was like Mrs. Doubtfire where you change into one costume and go back and do all the things and it worked. Here is The Morning Show Official Trailer More from Interview The filmmaker discusses the challenges making the film, his Oscar nomination and what it means to be Indian Luca Guadagnino: “Call Me By Your Name? A miracle. And Timothée Chalamet is a genius” “The greatest allegory for humans on this planet is Wile E. Coyote” – Phill Jupitus on the impact of animation Sean Baker: “If you can do toilet humour in a way that’s sophisticated, you can get away with it” Live from the TIFF red carpet – The Old Man And The Gun Emanuela Postacchini and the search for Who Is America? Jim Hosking on An Evening With Beverly Luff Linn – “This was a much bigger challenge than The Greasy Strangler” A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon | Tom Howe on the challenges of scoring an animated feature High School Musical: The Musical: The Series | Interview with the cast EXCLUSIVE | Shane Carruth on The Dead Center and why he’s quitting film for good Has any musical ever had a worthy sequel? Why we loved Frozen 2 Five shows to watch after True Detective Too young for James Bond? | It’s time to rediscover the Spy Kids trilogy Darkest Hour: Is the Churchill Subway Scene True?

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Photos and story by Richard Harding – Lawyer–Mediator, Calgary, Alberta. Whether he meets students in a Tim Hortons coffee house outlet in north-west Calgary, Canada, or refugee kids in a derelict parking lot in a poorer suburb of the city, or even late into the night following lecturing in Dubai, Mumbai, Damascus, Vancouver or Florida, no child is too insignificant for Ameer M. Keshavjee’s freely offered help and attention. Over the last 32 years he has helped more than 40,000 youths in Canada and around the world access institutions of higher learning throughout North America, Europe, and the developing world. In addition to a steady flow of Canadian youth, through the internet, he has been able to help students in places as diverse as Peru, Dominican Republic, Eritrea, Rwanda Malawi, South Africa and Tajikistan. Ameer’s Service After experiencing the ravages of apartheid South Africa, racial prejudice in Kenya, the financial burdens preventing his own higher education, as well as the challenges his children faced in accessing and funding their education, Keshavjee has dedicated his life to helping students, one on one, achieve their dreams of higher education. To meet students, he has gone to churches, school halls, gurdwaras, temples, mosques, jamatkhanas, reserves, and donut shops the most famous of which, Tim Hortons in NW Calgary, Alberta has become his unofficial consulting room, with his picture posted on the wall. Students are able to access him at any time, and he assists all who turn to him every step of their way, providing guidance and support throughout the application process and search for funding, without asking for anything in return. He provides a compassionate service, underpinned by professionalism. I have personally experienced this, having watched him, one on one, inspire, guide and assist a half dozen students from Malawi, one of the poorest nations on the face of the earth, that I referred to him through connections I made doing relief work in that country. With email, Keshavjee is accessible to all, and responds to the needs of youth everywhere. Even a tour bus operator from Kwale in Kenya, referred to him by a friend while we were on Safari together, received a timely email response. Keshavjee will endeavor relentlessly to ensure that those who turn to him get into a post-secondary institution of their choice and do not become disheartened. Critically important, he gives them a voice and allows them to express their innermost wishes which would lead to their self-fulfillment. “I carry out a reality test,” he says, “and if someone is not Ivy League material, I try and steer them to professions and institutions that will cater to what they are capable of doing”. There are, of course, some really bright kids who are very much focused but lack the resources to go further. Here, regardless of their current circumstances, Keshavjee counsels them by asking if money were not a problem where would they like to study. If they say “Harvard” for example, he responds “you’re going there.” “But how?” they ask. He responds, “If you are really bright, and you gain admission to one of the top universities, the money will undoubtedly follow.” He then stresses “There are 93 billion dollars in scholarship funds in North America awaiting applications from bright students like you” and he will guide them to access those funds using his extensive databank of scholarships. He explains what type of students the Ivy League schools are looking for, guides the students through their application process and suggests the type of submissions they may want to write. He helps students get all their papers in order, assisting them to draft their applications and to meet their application deadlines. He counsels them on their Mission Statement, always guiding them and boosting their morale. He has an essay bank which he shares freely with them for guidance and inspiration. For each individual student he encounters, he designs a customized plan of action to obtain the admission and funding they seek, and encourages them to follow it assiduously. Often it is only a small break that students need that will tide them to the next stage. At times he refers to some philanthropic friends who are willing to help out with small sums to see a student move on. Although he is a daring idealist, his vision is underpinned by practical action. He looks for creative solutions. “Perhaps it was not meant for them, at least, others may not have to go through the same ordeal.” Ameer Keshavjee is married to Sherbanu (née Sarif), a highly experienced oncology nurse, who often accompanies him on his trips lecturing and working with students abroad. Prior to gaining his current mastery of the educational system, his two children had completed their post-secondary education, largely on students loans which they then struggled to pay back. In trying to meet the needs of his own children, Keshavjee saw in microcosm the labyrinthine processes a young person has to grapple with to be accepted into a good university and fund their education. He saw many interconnected reasons for this that often work to the detriment of a student. The challenges that frustrated his own higher education, followed by the challenges his children faced, contributed to Keshavjee’s desire to help other students and to research and understand how to obtain access to the education system. Speaking of his own children, he says philosophically “Perhaps it was not meant for them, at least, others may not have to go through the same ordeal.” Keshavjee observes how ill-equipped children often are to get into good universities and into the professions. He came to realize that there are funds lying dormant, but students did not know how to apply for those funds because they did not know how to gain access to good universities. There are many challenges facing prospective students today. Unfortunately, many young people realise too late how they should have prepared themselves for university admission. “Most only come to me at the last minute – a night or two before they have to submit their Mission Statement or Statement of Purpose that is in the form of an essay,” he says. “Some do not even know what essay to write – either they are poor writers or do not have enough subject content”. “Students these days do not read as much as they did in the past”, he laments. “There is a plethora of information available to them through the internet but they lack the ability to process such information as many do not have the ability to do critical thinking.” Some children of professionals lack the core skills required to go into the professions their parents may wish for them, and often it transpires that they are being pressured into these professions, which do not really coincide with their interests. Children of parents newly arrived as refugees often do not know who to turn to. The parents do not speak English and the children end up working during daytime to earn extra money for the family. Some of them do not see much value in pursuing higher education while their parents are battling to put food on the table. Genesis of the journey How did a man come to dedicate his life to this service to aspiring students? Keshavjee’s passion for championing higher education as a lever to extricate people from the ravages of poverty, bigotry and adverse family circumstances finds its genesis in his experience of apartheid in South Africa. He was born there – one of 12 children —to a pioneering Indian Ismaili business family in the late 1930s. A precocious child, he topped the ranks of the Pretoria Indian High School, and espoused the dream of one day becoming a doctor specialising in genetics. This was a field little known when he entered the University of Witwatersrand, as one of only 6 non-white students allowed under the yearly colour- based quota system. At university, Keshavjee experienced how apartheid impacted even a liberal university. Non-whites were not allowed to use the swimming pool, buses, benches, lifts, residence halls, and other amenities. Some lectures, such as the autopsy classes, were prohibited to non-white medical students. If the cadaver was of a white person, non-whites had to leave the class, and, by an unwritten rule, the lecturer would not begin teaching until all the non-white students had left. Through interaction with friends from politically conscious families, he became aware of the grand vision of apartheid that sought to reduce the position of the non-white population of South Africa to an absolute minimum. Unfortunately, the impact on the Indian Community of the draconian apartheid laws, forced him to leave the university after being there for only a few months. Keshavjee was called upon to help in the family business, disrupted by the forced relocations of ‘coloureds’ meaning all non-whites under the apartheid regime. At university, he attended a lecture by Father Trevor Huddleston, a relentless anti-apartheid activist, who railed against the inhuman Bantu Education Act and realised that measures were afoot that were going to relegate black children to becoming “hewers of wood and drawers of water” in the country of their birth. He also became aware of the work of Ismail Mahomed, an expert on the infamous Group Areas Act which destroyed vibrant communities and deprived 3.5 million Indians and Africans of their livelihood by shifting them from their historical places of residence to new areas of settlement miles away from any urban facilities. Mahomed went on to become the first Chief Justice of multi-party democratic South Africa. Other draconian laws were in the offing that were going to severely curtail civil liberties in the country. In 1957, Keshavjee participated in a march protesting the rise of bus prices, which were causing great hardship on the poor. Such industrial action was drastically restricted and illegal, and the Security Police filmed the incident. He only learned of the filming when he applied for a passport to leave the country 5 years later. With the apartheid state imposing over 148 statutes to subdue the bulk of the population of South Africa, he saw little future for himself and his siblings in the country. The crunch came when the Group Areas Act started affecting Indian businesses in 1957 and his parents’ fledgling food and cosmetics manufacturing business was severely affected imposing financial consequences on the entire family. Keshavjee had to leave university to help his parents and elder brother run the family business. He had no choice but to lend his support to the fight for basic survival. Desperate to study in any way possible, he enrolled in a correspondence course at the Union College of South Africa, studying optical science. He needed an apprenticeship, but not one optician in the entire Pretoria area was prepared to offer a position. Of the few who responded at all, most gave the standard reply “we don’t take non- whites”, while others, showing some empathy, shrugged their shoulders in utter helplessness. Keshavjee often left their premises with a sense of deep pain and anguish. Despite being disheartened and resentful, he decided not to let his predicament consume him. The next 5 years saw increasingly repressive policies in South Africa lead to a brain drain of thousands of people. In 1962, together with his elder brother, he championed the migration of his entire family to Kenya in East Africa which was on the verge of gaining its independence. Like many countries in Africa, including South Africa, a “wind of change”, in Harold Macmillan’s famous words, was blowing. It was this wind that propelled him and his family to newer pastures. In the 1960s, Kenya represented a ray of hope. Jomo Kenyatta, the firebrand nationalist, had just been released from prison and was called upon to form a government of national unity. Uhuru, freedom, was his rallying call. Kenyatta exhorted all races to come together and work in unison to build the new post-colonial society, needed in the wake of the end of empire. Here, all Keshavjee’s school-age siblings entered the Aga Khan schools, some of the finest educational institutions in the country, open to people of all races. Although he was offered a scholarship to embark on Islamic studies at Harvard University in the USA, for the second time in his life he had to relinquish the dream of a university education, as his presence in Kenya was critical for his family’s resettlement there. Kenya had its own challenges for the minority Indian community and Keshavjee played a leadership role in his religious community as a volunteer Chairman of the Ismaili Youth Union —involved in serving the development needs of the country — and later as a member of the Nairobi Ismaili Provincial Council, and finally, of the Kenya Territorial Council. Unable to pursue further education in Kenya, Keshavjee dived into business, first as a budding industrialist in the food and cosmetics field, and later as a partner and Managing Director of one of the largest property management companies in Kenya. Together with his business partner, Sadruddin Ebrahim, he made it part of their corporate social policy to help hundreds of promising African businessmen acquire their own homes through easy financing and management services. It was in Kenya that he met and married the love of his life, Sherbanu, then a nurse at the Aga Khan Hospital in Nairobi. “South Africa posed the initial challenge, Kenya provided the hope, and Canada became the enabler.” Kenya was a dream in the making until 1972 when the Ugandan dictator Idi Amin Dada decided overnight to expel the entire Indian community from his country on six weeks’ notice. This heinous expulsion sent paroxysms of fear throughout the minority Indian community in Kenya, as well as neighbouring countries as far away as Malawi. Indians started leaving Africa and Keshavjee spearheaded his entire extended family’s move to Canada together with his wife Sherbanu and their two young children Fatima and Salmaan . Canada, under Pierre Trudeau, had whole-heartedly opened its doors to the Ugandan refugees and by extension to people from neighbouring East African countries. Like all new immigrants to Canada, Keshavjee had to re-establish himself and find ways to support his family. He first requalified as a realtor, and then moved on to set up a small business producing plastic signs. He eventually used his business expertise to become a management consultant to the petroleum industry. His success in Canada has empowered him to indulge his passion to work for the most marginalised in society. Referring to his learning trajectory, Keshavjee says “South Africa posed the initial challenge, Kenya provided the hope, and Canada became the enabler.” His voluntary efforts led to the Rotarians, even though he was not a member, giving him their highest honour, naming him a Paul Harris Fellow. He has also been a TEDx speaker. His Inspiration “Doing nothing is not an option. Anyone can shrug their shoulders in helplessness. But is that the rent we pay for inhabiting this earth?” Keshavjee is a self-effacing individual who does not clamour for recognition. From the Bhagavad Gita, he learned that one cannot be wedded to the fruits of one’s labour. “These are seeds we plant. We cannot wait to see the fruits-as only time makes that happen.” Keshavjee recalls his own personal experience with the apprenticeship he needed in South Africa and laughs. “Doing nothing is not an option. Anyone can shrug their shoulders in helplessness. But is that the rent we pay for inhabiting this earth?” he asks rhetorically. While his inspiration comes from various influences, he is guided by the Islamic ethic that teaches that one has to share what one has in life with those who are less fortunate and in need, and knowledge that remains unshared becomes a girdle around one’s neck ready to throttle the hoarder of it. He draws great inspiration from the example of his spiritual leader, His Highness the Aga Khan, who has emphasised the value of education from the time he ascended to the office of the Imamat. While Keshavjee’s endeavour is a one-man initiative, he has received assistance from the Education Boards of the Ismaili Muslim community in Canada, and through the Aga Khan Development Network which runs the largest non-governmental not-for-profit educational system in the world. “The Aga Khan”, he says, “has unceasingly continued to build institutions of learning from early childhood education to university education. He understands that education constitutes a whole interconnected ecosystem. At every stage new challenges will arise and these have to be addressed with new knowledge underpinned by the essential spiritual wisdom to make that knowledge valuable to human society.” Keshavjee hopes that some of the individuals whom he has encountered will carry that spirit with them and through their work will contribute to a more robust civil society which will play a constructive role in our so-called post-truth dystopian world. Perpetuating his work He feels that his services need to be institutionalised. While he plans to bequeath the plethora of information he has collected to The Institute of Ismaili Studies, London, to be stored for future generations as reflecting one aspect of the social history of the Ismaili Community’s settlement in Canada, he desires that more be done so that students from various communities can tap into the information he has collected and use the approach he has pioneered. Keshavjee sees students’ difficulties in achieving higher education as structural and multifactorial. There is no quick fix. Children have to be guided from a young age and encouraged into certain activities that will make them attractive to universities. They need to be guided to take certain core courses. They need to be trained to read with an eye to critical thinking. Asked if he thought schools were providing this service, he responds “in a way yes. It depends on the school.” Generally he feels that career guidance in schools does not focus on the critical issues. While schools have a facility they are not always up to date with their information. If they were, why would so many students need to search him out? Schools need to learn the politics of higher education in North America and train their students to engage that process creatively. Career guidance specialists at schools need to upgrade what they offer, parents need to be socialised to the need and value of higher education, children need to be guided from a young age, and institutions within communities need to have educational information on hand. Often, there are no organisational structures in communities, even though the desire is there to provide this type of service. The Ismaili community, he states, does have educational boards and Keshavjee has worked through them in various countries for many of the years that he has been providing this service. While he regrets that, over the last three decades, nobody has seen fit to institutionalise the service he has been providing, he sees great strength in the fact that he has been able to operate outside the unnecessary constraints of bureaucracy. He strongly believes that civil society has an important role to play, but not in a highly bureaucratised way, as that itself can become a problem. This role has to come through individuals who have a passion to help and are ready and willing to give of themselves in order to ignite the spirit of hope in others. He hopes that, someday, some technological wizard will turn up and produce a viable sustainable, non-commercial program, to reach the most marginal children in society, and help them access institutions of higher learning on the basis of merit, continuing the work he has pioneered. “It has been nourished by my passion” he says “do I want to see that destroyed?” he stresses. Promoting Access to education Having experienced the challenges of obtaining an education in apartheid South Africa, early post-independence Kenya, and with his own children in Canada, Keshavjee feels access to higher education is critical and should become a basic human right. “No one should be deprived of the opportunity to reach their self-fulfilment in life.” He has discussed the practicalities of this issue with various leaders and educationists from the UAE and India to the halls of Harvard in the USA. He has shared his ideas on how higher education can become a basic human right with the Secretary General of the UN, Antonio Guterres, who suggested that this should be taken up by Canada’s representative to the UN. He reminded Thabo Mbeki, former President of South Africa, of the broad value of education, including the humanities, when that leader mentioned to him that present-day South Africa needs more computer programmers and specialists in practical fields not only in the humanities. Keshavjee reminded Mbeki that South Africa was reaping the unfortunate bitter fruits of the Bantu Education Act. While more practical skills were critical, humanistic disciplines have an important role to play. Transforming Society “Education is the only way forward.” Nothing gives Keshavjee greater joy than to hear of a person, whom he has counselled, walk down the aisle of a good university after having graduated in the field that captured their childhood fancy. “They will become the leaders of tomorrow and they will change the world” he says. Many of the young people he has helped over the years send him letters and cards keeping him abreast of their achievements. With thank-you cards filling a score of cardboard boxes, Keshavjee takes pride in asserting that “apartheid did not break me. I was a disheartened man but I decided to serve humankind and to transform my bitterness into constructive energy through small practical actions to ameliorate the problems of others.” Some of those students today are playing an important role in civil society as university professors, lawyers, judges, doctors and even artists, filmmakers and musicians. Syrians he helped access institutions of higher learning in Europe and Canada were able to help their families resettle to escape the ravages of war. Students from Rwanda and Eritrea whom he counselled have reoriented their educational aspirations to contribute towards the post-conflict reconstruction of their respective countries. Many domestic workers whose children might never have accessed institutions of higher learning now look to the future with hope. Keshavjee cites the example of Greta Thunberg, the leading climate-change activist, and Malala Yousafzai, champion of the right of girls to an education, and says, “These are the future generations standing at our doorstep, asking us to account for depleting their rights to a better life. We are answerable to them, and indeed to a higher reality. We cannot escape from our obligations.” “We owe it to those” Keshavjee smiles, “who are less fortunate” emphasising, “and what can be more valuable than to help someone gain knowledge so that they, in turn, can serve others.” Tapping the table, he asserts “I do not want the most marginalized in society to be irretrievably caught up in a poverty trap,” He emphasises “it is our duty to lift them out of this predicament by helping their children access institutions of higher learning.” It is only then, that we will be able to have a peaceful world where everyone works together towards a shared humanity.” he says. He smiles as he sits at his favourite table at the north-west Calgary Tim Hortons waiting for his next student to arrive with a deadline that has to be met. “We need to get them through”, he says, “There is no choice” and then he smiles again. Richard M. Harding is a lawyer serving Calgary in Family Law, Mediation and Estates cases. Acceptance letter by Ameer Keshavjee calls for making free secondary education for all a basic human right universally Posted in Awards, Canada, Ismaili Muslims in the NewsTagged Calgary, IMA, ismaili, Latest News, volunteering Prev JollyGul.com: Burushaski Ginans and Devotional Songs Service Launched Next Video: Donation Ceremony of the Da Vinci Surgical System by Ismaili Imamat to Central Lisbon University Hospital Centre

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Minireview Waging War against Uropathogenic Escherichia coli: Winning Back the Urinary Tract Kelsey E. Sivick, Harry L. T. Mobley Kelsey E. Sivick Department of Microbiology and Immunology, University of Michigan Medical School, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48109 Harry L. T. Mobley For correspondence: hmobley@umich.edu Urinary tract infection (UTI) caused by uropathogenic Escherichia coli (UPEC) is a substantial economic and societal burden—a formidable public health issue. Symptomatic UTI causes significant discomfort in infected patients, results in lost productivity, predisposes individuals to more serious infections, and usually necessitates antibiotic therapy. There is no licensed vaccine available for prevention of UTI in humans in the United States, likely due to the challenge of targeting a relatively heterogeneous group of pathogenic strains in a unique physiological niche. Despite significant advances in the understanding of UPEC biology, mechanistic details regarding the host response to UTI and full comprehension of genetic loci that influence susceptibility require additional work. Currently, there is an appreciation for the role of classic innate immune responses—from pattern receptor recognition to recruitment of phagocytic cells—that occur during UPEC-mediated UTI. There is, however, a clear disconnect regarding how factors involved in the innate immune response to UPEC stimulate acquired immunity that facilitates enhanced clearance upon reinfection. Unraveling the molecular details of this process is vital in the development of a successful vaccine for prevention of human UTI. Here, we survey the current understanding of host responses to UPEC-mediated UTI with an eye on molecular and cellular factors whose activity may be harnessed by a vaccine that stimulates lasting and sterilizing immunity. MISSION: ERADICATE UPEC-MEDIATED UTI Urinary tract infection (UTI) is one of the most common infections in humans. Bacteria present in fecal matter inoculate the periurethral area, then the bladder (124, 176, 291), causing symptoms clinically termed cystitis. Left untreated, bacteria ascend the ureters to the kidney and establish a secondary infection, acute pyelonephritis. At this juncture, there is risk of permanent renal scarring, and bacteria can access the bloodstream (282). It is estimated that 40% of women and 12% of men will experience a symptomatic UTI, with incidences peaking in their early 20s or after age 85, respectively (75, 185). Approximately 25% of these women will experience recurrence within 6 to 12 months (75, 185). Uropathogenic Escherichia coli (UPEC) is the most common etiological agent responsible for uncomplicated UTI (93, 94, 282). Uropathogenic strains are classified as extraintestinal pathogenic E. coli, a broad grouping of E. coli that cause diseases other than gastroenteritis and typically lack a type III secretion system (171, 220, 221, 283, 284). Nonetheless, UPEC strains express an assortment of virulence and fitness factors that aid in successful colonization of the mammalian urinary tract (126, 136). In the United States alone, the estimated annual societal cost of UTI is more than 3 billion dollars (159). Despite a relatively in-depth knowledge base for UPEC physiology and virulence mechanisms (reviewed in references 54, 126, 136, and 284), no licensed vaccine to prevent UTI exists in the United States. A more thorough understanding of the mechanisms involved in the natural immune response to UTI, however, may direct a new approach to harness these responses in a vaccination setting. In this review, current and potential treatments for UPEC-mediated UTI will be surveyed, as well as efforts to identify suitable vaccine candidates. Factors involved in host responses to UTI (summarized in Table 1) and the mechanisms by which UPEC stimulates and influences these responses will also be covered. Lastly, commentary on the steps needed to better understand infection and immunity in the urinary tract and to develop a vaccine that elicits heterologous protective immunity against UPEC is given. Summary of mammalian factors associated with the host response to UPEC-mediated UTI TERRAIN: THE URINARY TRACT The urinary tract is an impermeable barrier that undergoes continuous expansion and contraction (9). These fluctuations are achieved on a gross level by unfolding of the mucosal surface and on a molecular level by cellular membrane dynamics. Specialized fusiform vesicles are thought to be endo- and exocytosed at a rate that provides additional membrane surface area during expansion (9). This unique mucosa is a transitional epithelium with large, highly differentiated, multinuclear superficial facet (umbrella) cells lining the luminal surface (Fig. 1A and B) (9). The apical side of the umbrella cells consists of a detergent-insoluble membrane containing a family of integral membrane proteins termed uroplakins (9). Uroplakins are partly responsible for the barrier function of the uroepithelium and act as receptors for FimH, the tip adhesin of UPEC type 1 fimbriae (298). For the purposes of this review, “postinoculation” and “infection” refer to E. coli accessing the urinary tract by the transurethral route, either experimentally in animals and volunteers or naturally in patients. Histological and schematic views of the murine bladder. (A) Hematoxylin and eosin (H&E)-stained section from a healthy wild-type C57BL/6 female mouse. Magnification, ×200. Scale bar, 100 μm. (B) Schematic representation of bladder physiology shown in panel A. Umbrella cells line the luminal surface of the transitional epithelium. The basal side of the umbrella cell layer consists of intermediate and basal cells, followed by the lamina propria, the primary site of edema and inflammation during UTI. (C and D) H&E-stained sections from wild-type C57BL/6 mice that were either left untreated (C) or infected for 48 h (D). Note the severe inflammation and edema in the lamina propria of the infected animal. Magnification, ×40. Scale bar, 500 μm. WEAPONS SYSTEMS: CURRENT AND PROPOSED TREATMENTS AND VACCINE INITIATIVES FOR UTI There are several practiced and proposed therapeutics for UTI management. Prophylactic treatments include estrogen in postmenopausal women (36, 41, 125, 140, 198, 208, 214) or cranberry juice (13, 77, 200), although the efficacy of the former remains controversial. Treatment of UPEC-infected mice with forskolin, a drug that increases intracellular cyclic AMP (cAMP) levels, expels UPEC from intracellular vesicles into the extracellular milieu, rendering the bacteria susceptible to immune responses and antibiotics (29). Similarly, exposing the bladder to protamine sulfate, a highly cationic protein, removes bound and intracellular UPEC by causing umbrella cells to exfoliate (179), unfortunately with a significant level of discomfort, as reported by study volunteers (158). In addition to a number of nonspecific chemical treatments (274), both small-molecule inhibitors (33) and specific antibody directed against FimH (256) demonstrated some utility in preventing bacterial adherence. While antibiotic therapy remains the standard treatment for UTI, overuse leads to deleterious alterations of the normal host microbiota (52) and selection for resistant strains (50, 76, 93, 94, 128, 178), prompting the need for vaccine-mediated prevention of UTI. Early vaccine studies focused on the lipopolysaccharide (LPS) side chain (O) antigen (Table 2) (275). There are trends regarding the frequencies of particular O antigens among UTI isolates (68, 249, 284), and O-antigen-specific antibodies demonstrate an antiadhesive effect (249). Nonetheless, significant structural heterogeneity may represent an insurmountable obstacle for development of an O-antigen-based vaccine. Furthermore, a study evaluating antibody responses in mice intranasally vaccinated with a killed E. coli lacking capsule and O antigen demonstrated that these surface features actually obstruct optimal humoral responses (219). Previously tested vaccines for UPEC-mediated UTI. Later studies involved vaccines directed against particular virulence factors (Table 2). P fimbriae are adherence organelles that play a role in kidney colonization in mice and humans (187, 188, 288, 297); the pore-forming toxin alpha-hemolysin (HlyA) and P fimbriae are proposed minimal factors required for colonization of and dissemination from the kidney (186). There are convincing data using both murine (186, 187, 231) and primate models (216, 217) that vaccination against P fimbriae or HlyA prevents renal colonization and damage. Additionally, to overcome P fimbrial allelic variability, linear peptide sequences that generated cross-reactive antibodies were evaluated as protective antigens (191, 231). Despite these successes, vaccines targeting P fimbriae may not be effective because of their limited role during bladder colonization. Type 1 fimbria is a bona fide virulence factor of UPEC and, in contrast to P fimbria, is critical for bladder colonization (11, 48, 92, 256). Animals vaccinated with various components of type 1 fimbriae had increased levels of antigen-specific antibodies and decreased levels of colonization upon challenge (153, 154, 194, 204, 256). Unfortunately, expression of type 1 fimbria is subject to phase variation, allowing UPEC to evade humoral responses targeting this organelle (59, 240). Additionally, since nonpathogenic isolates also express type 1 fimbriae (97, 126), targeting this population may result in detrimental disruption of the host microbiota. Also of note, both P and type 1 fimbriae were not necessary for colonization of the human neurogenic bladder, indicating the need for alternative targets in certain high-risk patient groups (118). Iron is essential for nearly all organisms (83, 295), and UPEC strains encode a battery of genes involved in iron acquisition. Vaccination with UPEC outer membrane protein (OMP) fractions enriched for iron receptors protects against experimental sepsis (32, 57). Additionally, mice vaccinated subcutaneously with denatured IroN, an OMP siderophore receptor and urovirulence factor (222), had both increased levels of antigen-specific serum IgG and reduced kidney colonization upon challenge (Table 2) (223). Undetectable levels of IgA in the bladder mucosa after this vaccination may explain why these animals were not protected from cystitis (223). Recently, a broad functional vaccinology initiative was conducted using an “omics” approach to identify PASivE vaccine candidates: UPEC proteins that are pathogen-specific, antigenic, surface-exposed, and in vivo expressed (5, 238). Strikingly, the top targets identified by this approach were all OMPs functioning in iron uptake. Intranasal vaccination with three of six candidates afforded protection from cystitis and pyelonephritis (5), suggesting that combining antigenic motifs found in these proteins may be an effective multivalent vaccine for UTI. Vaccines consisting of bacterial components or whole cells have also been assessed (Table 2). Transurethral immunization of mice with a live-attenuated UPEC strain lacking the ability to persist in the urinary tract engendered heterologous protection (27), a potential platform for further development. On the complex vaccine front, Uro-Vaxom is a daily oral capsule containing a lyophilized mix of membrane proteins from 18 E. coli strains (95, 253). The formulation elicits a number of immunological effects in vitro (230, 278, 289, 290), generates specific antibodies in mice and humans (15, 51, 117, 233), and generally reduces the incidence of UTI in patients (22, 51, 95, 156, 160, 232, 253). Unfortunately, complications can occur due to toxicity, and the necessity of daily administration presents supply and compliance issues. SolcoUrovac, a vaginal suppository containing 10 heat-killed uropathogenic strains, has been tested in mice (146, 272), in nonhuman primates (270), and in clinical trials (91, 112, 114, 224, 266-269). While safe, SolcoUrovac vaccination did not result in appreciable increases in local specific antibody (267, 269, 270), nor did it afford protection without periodic readministration (267, 269). TACTICAL DEFENSIVE MANEUVERS: HOST FACTORS TO PREVENT UPEC COLONIZATION Uroepithelial adherence is critical for establishment of UTI (284). UPEC strains possess an impressive repertoire of adhesins that enable them to aggregate and adhere to cellular surfaces (107, 137, 203, 235, 276). Consequently, the first line of host defense against UTI is concentrated on preventing UPEC adherence to the bladder mucosa. The luminal surface of the bladder is lined with highly sulfated and anionic glycosaminoglycans (GAGs) that contribute to bladder wall impermeability and afford an antimicrobial antiadherence property (120, 158, 196, 197, 199, 237). Intuitively, urine flow seems to be a convenient defense mechanism; however, FimH binds to mannose moieties using “catch-bonds,” interactions that are actually strengthened by the sheer stress induced during urine flow (257). Thus, more active mechanisms, like umbrella cell exfoliation (10, 60, 81, 166, 176, 177, 189), remove adherent UPEC. Exfoliation occurs by an apoptosis-like mechanism that is promoted by FimH (142, 176). FimH induces cellular events consistent with activation of both extrinsic (death receptor) and intrinsic (mitochondrial) apoptotic pathways, with cross talk between the two signaling cascades mediated by the proapoptotic Bid protein (141). UPEC-induced urothelial cell death correlates with increased bladder cell differentiation and is also dependent on expression of the uroplakin IIIa receptor, a terminal differentiation marker (180, 258). Nuclear factor of kappa light chain polypeptide gene enhancer in B cells (NF-κB) is a transcription factor known for induction of proinflammatory genes concomitant with antiapoptotic genetic programs (20, 280). UPEC, independent of type 1 fimbriae, is able to suppress NF-κB and thereby promotes host cell apoptosis (142). Given the role for apoptotic cell exfoliation in UPEC host defense, promoting this sloughing activity may appear counter-productive for the bacteria. Nonetheless, cellular apoptosis may be an acceptable side effect of inhibiting the proinflammatory gene expression and ensuing cellular responses also initiated by NF-κB. Tamm-Horsfall protein (THP) was first described in the early 1950s as a high-molecular-weight protein present in human urine (252); its ability to bind E. coli fimbriae was not recognized until some 30 years later (190, 192, 195). A detailed biochemical analysis revealed that soluble THP from both mouse and human urine was able to bind type 1 fimbriae by virtue of its mannose moieties, inhibiting fimbrial interaction with uroplakin receptors (172, 193). This phenotype translated in vivo as thp−/− mice were unable to control lower-UTI (21). THP also appears to act as an innate-adaptive immunoregulatory molecule that can activate dendritic cells (225). BATTLEFIELD INTELLIGENCE: HOST SIGNALING IN RESPONSE TO UPEC RECOGNITION Upon successful adherence to the uroepithelium, Toll-like receptor (TLR) recognition of pathogen-associated molecular patterns (123, 164) generates signaling cascades to control infection and direct adaptive responses (55, 242). It has been known for over 2 decades that C3H/HeJ mice, harboring a mutation in the Toll/interleukin-1 receptor (TIR) domain of TLR4 (206), cannot resolve UTI as efficiently as LPS-responsive C3H/HeN counterparts (250). In accordance, tlr4−/− mice had significantly higher bacterial burdens in their bladders than similarly infected wild-type mice (12). This clearance defect is the result of insufficient downstream cytokine and chemokine production and neutrophil recruitment (96, 111, 201, 236). Data from mouse chimeras disclosed that TLR4 on both stromal and hematopoietic cells is critical for normal inflammatory responses and clearance of UPEC in the bladder (227) and kidney (201). Correspondingly, children with low TLR4 expression on their neutrophils display an asymptomatic bacteriuria (ABU) carrier state lacking both inflammation and bacterial clearance (211). A similar response is exhibited by C3N/HeJ mice following UPEC inoculation (210). TLR4-mediated signaling in the urinary tract does not appear to be the result of the archetypal interaction with LPS. Both the role of LPS in and the molecular trigger of TLR4 signaling by UPEC are topics of debate (14, 106, 228). Studies using the A498 human kidney cell line indicate that TLR4 signaling in response to UPEC requires P fimbriae and can be mediated independently of LPS (79, 104, 106). Mechanistic details regarding this phenomenon include P fimbriae binding to surface glycosphingolipids (GSLs) and subsequent release of the GSL membrane-anchoring domain, ceramide (72). Ceramide appears to act as a TLR4 agonist and the putative intermediate for TLR4 signaling initiated by P fimbriae (72). In contrast to LPS-independent signaling by P fimbriae, there appears to be a cooperative stimulation of TLR4 by LPS and type 1 fimbriae (105, 229). This cooperative stimulation directly correlates with the level of cluster of differentiation 14 (CD14) expression on bladder cells (228). CD14 is an accessory molecule required for optimal TLR4 signaling in response to LPS (170). Immunohistochemical (IHC) analysis of human bladder biopsies revealed that CD14 expression is localized to the submucosa (106), suggesting that uroepithelial cells exposed to the lumen have little to no CD14 expression and therefore may not respond efficiently to LPS alone. These results support a role for both independent and cooperative TLR4 stimulation by UPEC fimbriae. Lastly, the FimH tip adhesin of type 1 fimbriae was recently shown to directly interact with TLR4, an additional means for LPS-independent stimulation by UPEC fimbriae (12, 175). Infection of knockout mice has revealed critical roles for myeloid differentiation primary response protein 88 (MyD88), TIR domain-containing adaptor inducing beta interferon (TRIF), and TRIF-related adaptor molecule (TRAM) in signaling for UPEC clearance (73). It is also apparent that different fimbrial types influence the corresponding downstream signaling pathways (73). Regardless of the fimbria involved in stimulation, all pathways involving these adaptor molecules result in activation of NF-κB and proinflammatory gene expression. Song and colleagues identified an accompanying proinflammatory bladder cell signaling pathway that is also dependent on TLR4 but results in a spike in intracellular calcium levels (245). This calcium spike leads to adenylyl cyclase 3 (AC3)-mediated increase in cAMP, protein kinase A (PKA) activation, phosphorylation of the cAMP response element-binding protein transcription factor (CREB), and proinflammatory gene expression (245). In response to UPEC inoculation, cytokine secretion by the CREB pathway occurs faster (1 h) than NF-κB translocation to the nucleus (2 h) and can also be activated by TLR2 and TLR3 ligands (245). Other TLR pathways have been implicated in host defense during UTI. tlr2−/− mice appear to respond normally to acute UTI (210). Conversely, tlr11−/− mice are more susceptible than wild-type mice to UPEC kidney infection (296). The TLR11 ligand is a profilin-like molecule that was isolated from Toxoplasma gondii (292). While structurally related proteins are present in other apicomplexan protozoa (292), a UPEC-encoded homolog has yet to be identified. The fact that there is a stop codon in the open reading frame of human genomic and cell line tlr11 sequences may help explain acute and recurrent UTI susceptibility in humans (296). In contrast to the kidney-specific role for TLR11 during UTI (296), TLR5 appears to play a UPEC recognition role in the bladder (7). TLR5 recognizes the structural subunit of flagella (101), which are essential for UPEC motility in the urinary tract (150, 152, 285). Flagellar expression peaks at 4 to 6 h postinoculation, coinciding with UPEC ascension of the ureters (150). At this time point, there is TLR5-dependent induction of inflammatory cytokines and chemokines (7). By day 5 postinoculation, tlr5−/− mice have increased inflammation and bacterial burdens compared to wild-type controls (7), highlighting the importance of early UPEC recognition to contain the infection. Surface molecules other than TLRs are also involved in host-UPEC interactions. Upon UPEC exposure, the cytoplasmic tail of uroplakin IIIa undergoes phosphorylation, and intracellular calcium levels increase, presumably important events for uroepithelial cell apoptosis and exfoliation (259). Although uroplakin Ia is thought to be the main receptor for UPEC FimH in vivo (167, 256, 286), type 1 fimbriae may bind to a number of host molecules, including uroplakin complexes (259), extracellular matrix proteins (147, 207, 241), CD molecules (18, 85, 139), and integrins (65). The CD44 ligand, hyaluronic acid (HA), accumulates in the urinary tract during UTI; UPEC can bind HA, thereby facilitating interaction with CD44 and tissue invasion (218). In accordance with this, cd44−/− mice are more resistant to UPEC kidney colonization and successive dissemination (218). Also, there are still unidentified players in inflammation and clearance of UPEC. For example, LPS-responder C3H/OuJ mice were found to be equally susceptible to UTI as non-LPS-responder C3H/HeJ mice yet demonstrated elevated levels of inflammation (111), revealing a susceptibility locus to map. UPEC has evolved mechanisms to counter host recognition and signaling. Clinical UPEC isolates encode the gene for TcpC, which has structural homology to the TIR domain of human TLR1 and binds to MyD88, thereby inhibiting cytokine responses (47). TcpC-mediated interference of MyD88 signaling is an immune evasion strategy particular to acute pathogens; targeting this major signaling “hub” deteriorates innate immune responses (38). In addition, Billips and colleagues noted that a type 1-fimbriated K12 strain elicited more robust cytokine secretion from cultured urothelial cells than UPEC strains (25). By screening UPEC transposon mutants, they identified a peptidoglycan permease (ampG) and an O-antigen ligase gene (waaL) responsible for the dulled cytokine secretion in response to uropathogenic strains (26). A similar screen also identified the rfa-rfb operons and surA, encoding genes important for LPS biosynthesis and OMP biogenesis, respectively (119). These results suggest that UPEC utilizes gene products that modify bacterial membrane (especially LPS) to evade immune recognition and highlight the potential importance of TLR stimulation involving fimbriae and other organelles. HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT: BATTLE FOR PRECIOUS RESOURCES That E. coli strains causing UTI have several functionally redundant systems dedicated to iron uptake (39, 44, 283) suggests that the urinary tract, like other host niches, is an iron-limited environment (19). Siderophores are secreted iron-chelating molecules that allow bacteria to scavenge free and host protein-bound iron (37, 184). Enterobactin, for instance, can bind free ferric ions with a higher affinity than transferrin (70), a host iron transport protein responsible for regulating the free iron concentration in serum (213, 279). A transferrin family member, lactoferrin, evokes antimicrobial activity by sequestering iron over a range of pH (279). Lactoferrin is secreted by kidney cells (2) and is found in neutrophil granules (49) and thus could be involved in combating UTI. Both transferrin and lactoferrin have been shown to evoke direct antimicrobial activity by disrupting Gram-negative membranes (61, 90). In addition to iron sequestration, there are host factors that directly counter the action of siderophores. Early studies indicated that serum albumin, alone or in concert with other serum proteins, can impede bacterial siderophore function (143). In addition, the mammalian protein lipocalin 2 (Lcn2) can bind and sequester enterobactin and similar catecholate siderophores (70, 74, 88, 110). Lcn2 inhibits enterobactin-dependent propagation of E. coli in vitro, and lcn2−/− mice are unable to control systemic E. coli burdens as well as wild-type mice (74). Production of Lcn2 is induced by TLR4, implicating iron regulation as a part of the immune response to infection (74). Murine GeneChip and quantitative PCR (qPCR) analyses confirmed that Lcn2 mRNA is upregulated by the uroepithelium of infected mice (215). Interestingly, these results were obtained in C3H/HeJ mice, indicating that a TLR4-independent signaling pathway can activate transcription of the lcn2 gene in response to UTI. Not surprisingly, UPEC has evolved a mechanism to counter Lcn2 siderophore sequestration. Encoded within the iroA gene cluster are glycosyltransferases that modify enterobactin in such a way that it cannot be bound by Lcn2 (30, 71, 239). Thus, both the host and UPEC have systems in place to manage their own iron stores and to inhibit iron acquisition by the other—a molecular arms race for an essential nutrient. The role for bacterial central metabolism during infection has only been recently appreciated (6, 69, 129). Genes important for glucose import were upregulated by the uroepithelium of C3H/HeJ mice experiencing UTI, possibly for either nutrient sequestration or energy to combat infection (215). This fact, coupled with the knowledge that UPEC does not chemotax toward glucose in vitro (151) or utilize glucose as a primary carbon source in vivo (6), implies that UPEC may have evolved to use alternative carbon sources in the urinary tract. These results imply that nutrient acquisition is also a crucial aspect of bacterial pathogenesis and the host response that may influence the outcome of UTI. FRIENDLY FORCES: HOST FACTORS INVOLVED WITH INTRACELLULAR UPEC Over the past 12 years there has been a growing body of literature revealing that UPEC appears to have three distinct intracellular lifestyle components within the urinary tract (66). The first is uptake by apical endocytosis of Rab27b+/CD63+ fusiform vesicles, which are subsequently recycled back to the cell surface and exocytosed (29). The other two pathways both begin with uptake into a membrane-bound compartment which can lead to either a quiescent nonreplicative existence (67, 179) or escape from compartmental life to undergo a highly replicative phase in the cell cytoplasm (131, 177). While internalization via the fusiform vesicle pathway may be a side effect of normal bladder epithelium function, cellular uptake by the other two pathways is perhaps intended by UPEC to establish a reservoir to persist in the urinary tract (67, 131, 138, 177, 179, 226). Indeed, UPEC has been shown to exist in the urinary tract for weeks, even after antibiotic treatment (138). Infection of 10 genetically distinct mouse strains also revealed that some strains were more susceptible to persistence than others, indicating that host hereditary components may also contribute to the ability of UPEC to persevere in the urinary tract (113). Infected mouse bladder explants monitored by time lapse fluorescence videomicroscopy generated a model for the intracellular UPEC life cycle instigated after uptake in a membrane-bound compartment (nonfusiform vesicle route) (131). While the mechanism of compartmental escape remains undefined, once contained in cytoplasmic “intracellular bacterial communities” (IBCs), UPEC can undergo several changes in morphology, categorized as early, middle, and late IBC stages (8, 131). Late IBCs that escape exfoliation with umbrella cells contain filamentous UPEC that are not present in C3H/HeJ mice, indicating that this morphological change may be a bacterial stress response to TLR4-mediated immune activation (131, 177). This murine background also experienced increased incidence and severity of IBCs compared to immunocompetent mice (8, 84, 131). Urothelial cells proximal to IBCs in C3H/HeJ mice upregulate transferrin receptor, Lcn2, complement system components (C3, factor B, and CD55), and lysozyme (215). Involucrin and suprabasin transcripts were also increased, indicating that, in addition to gene products that function to eradicate bacteria, proteins important for epithelial integrity may be an imperative host response during UTI (215). In vitro treatment of either 5637 cells with a small amount of the detergent saponin (67) or immortalized pediatric bladder cells with the cholesterol-sequestering drug filipin (24) recapitulates some in vivo features of intracellular UPEC. Additionally, much work has been done using the 5637 bladder epithelial cell line to further delineate molecular components and mechanisms surrounding UPEC intracellularity (29, 56, 64, 65, 67, 161, 162, 177, 229). UPEC internalization does not require bacterial viability (229) but is dependent on FimH (162). β1 and α3 integrins were shown to be receptors for Fim-mediated UPEC internalization, mediated by signaling through focal adhesion kinase (FAK) and, in contrast to an earlier study, Src family kinases (65, 162). FimH-dependent uptake requires microtubules, histone deacetylase 6, the kinesin-1 light chain, and aurora A kinase (53). In addition to the involvement of cytoskeletal proteins, tyrosine kinases, and phosphoinositide 3-kinase (PI3-K) (162), UPEC engulfment has also been reported to be cholesterol and dynamin dependent and modulated by calcium levels, clathrin, and clathrin adaptors (64). Additional work on dynamin revealed that the nitric oxide synthase (NOS) enzyme is responsible for chemically modifying dynamin, redistributing it to the membrane for bacterial internalization (281). As hinted by the cholesterol dependence, UPEC internalization is often reported to be associated with lipid rafts (18, 133), dependent on caveolin-1 and Rho-family GTP binding proteins (56, 161). The association with lipid rafts was confirmed in vivo; UPEC inoculation in the presence of a lipid raft-disrupting chemical decreased the number of intracellular bacteria in the murine bladder (56). Notably, TLR4 also plays a noninflammatory role in host defense against UPEC by modulating the activity of the observed secretory and vesicular internalization pathways. TLR4-mediated PKA activation suppresses the lipid raft endocytic pathway (243), a possible effort to prevent the establishment of persistence reservoirs. Also along these lines, UPEC exocytosis in fusiform vesicles was actually accelerated by TLR4-mediated recognition of LPS and dependent on the activities of cAMP, Rab27b, caveolin-1, and the scaffolding protein MyRIP (244). CHEMICAL WARFARE: ANTIMICROBIAL PEPTIDES, CYTOKINES, AND CHEMOKINES Antimicrobial peptides (AMPs) are short positively charged peptides secreted by both epithelial and hematopoietic cells that disrupt bacterial membranes and can be chemotactic for certain immune cells (246, 293, 294). Human β-defensin-1 mRNA and protein were found in kidney tissue, implicating this AMP in host defense against UPEC (277). More convincingly, mice deficient in defb1, a murine homolog of human β-defensin, have a significantly higher incidence of bacteriuria (174). Murine β-defensin is also a dendritic cell (DC) ligand that instigates upregulation of costimulatory molecules and maturation (28). The human cathelicidin, LL-37, and its murine homolog, cathelin-related antimicrobial peptide (CRAMP), are secreted in response to UPEC exposure (46). Studies using CRAMP-deficient mice revealed that epithelial-derived CRAMP is important during the early stages of UTI while leukocyte-derived CRAMP likely functions later when bacteria penetrate the kidney epithelium (46). Human C-X-C ligand 8 (hCXCL8; interleukin-8 [IL-8]) is the main chemoattractant for neutrophils in humans, and murine CXCL1 (mCXCL1) and mCXCL2 (also known as KC and MIP-2, respectively) are the functional mouse homologs of IL-8 (122). Bladder and kidney cell lines secrete IL-8 in response to UPEC (102, 229, 287). Human and murine studies both demonstrate that neutrophil migration to the UPEC-infected urinary tract is dependent on IL-8 (3, 4, 99, 169). Additionally, mCXCL2 secretion is dependent on TLR4, as secretion was deficient in infected C3H/HeJ mice (100). hCXCR1 and hCXCR2 are receptors for a number of chemokines, including IL-8 (122). Both are expressed in bladder and kidney biopsies, and transmigration studies indicated that hCXCR1 plays a dominant role in IL-8-dependent neutrophil migration (86). Consistent with this, children prone to pyelonephritis tend to have low hCXCR1 expression and heterozygous hCXCR1 polymorphisms (78, 210). hCXCR1 deficiency results in impaired bacterial clearance but, unlike TLR4 deficiency, with intact inflammatory signaling that ultimately results in tissue damage (210). Similarly, mice lacking mCXCR2 (the functional homolog for hCXCL1) experience subepithelial accumulation of neutrophils, increased bacterial titers, and renal scarring after UPEC inoculation (78, 86, 98). These data indicate that normal function of neutrophils, their chemotactic ligands, and their chemokine receptors are required for bacterial clearance without postinflammatory sequelae. Despite ample information on IL-8 in vitro and in vivo, a complete picture of the cytokine and chemokine dynamics during UTI was lacking. In response, a longitudinal assessment using a Bio-Plex format was conducted (121). Chemokine (C-C motif) ligand 2 (CCL2 or MCP-1), CCL4 (or MIP-1b), CCL5 (or RANTES), CXCL1, IL-1β, IL-6, IL-12p40, IL-17, tumor necrosis factor alpha (TNF-α), and granulocyte-colony stimulating factor (G-CSF) were all upregulated in bladder homogenates from UPEC-infected C57BL/6 mice (121). These results agreed with patient and cell line data regarding upregulation of IL-6 in response to UPEC (103, 104). In mice, TNF-α expression was elevated at 1 h postinoculation for rapid mobilization of acute responses (121); this waned at later time points, likely to prevent the deleterious effects of uncontrolled TNF-α signaling (16). Expression of most cytokines and chemokines peaked around 24 h postinoculation, returning to near baseline at 2 weeks (121). These dynamics correlate well with the peak and resolution of bacterial burdens in C57BL/6 mice (121). One notable exception was IL-17, which was highly upregulated from 6 h to 1 week postinoculation, remaining above baseline through the 2-week experimental duration (121). Importantly, IL-17A (the Th17 signature cytokine) contributes to innate clearance of UPEC through a mechanism involving cytokine and chemokine secretion and macrophage and neutrophil influx (K. E. Sivick, M. A. Schaller, S. N. Smith, and H. L. T. Mobley, submitted for publication). Similar to TLR adaptor molecule usage (73), the type of fimbriae expressed also seems to influence the repertoire of chemokines secreted. Specifically, kidney cells exposed to type 1-fimbriated UPEC secrete neutrophil-associated chemokines, while P fimbriae-stimulated cells secrete chemokines targeting antigen-presenting cell (APC)- and Th1-specific cytokines, exemplified by CCL2 and CCL5 expression (87). In addition, IFN-γ and IL-4 (signature cytokines of the Th1 and Th2 lineages, respectively) and IL-10 (a T-regulatory [Treg] effector cytokine) knockout mice were tested for susceptibility to both acute cystitis and pyelonephritis (130). While il4−/− and il10−/− mice appear to experience infection dynamics similar to the wild type, ifnγ−/− mice had increased incidence and severity of UTI (130), implying a role for IFN-γ and Th1-mediated inflammatory responses during UTI. THE INFANTRY: NEUTROPHIL AND APC RESPONSES TO UPEC-MEDIATED UTI Infected mouse bladders examined histologically display thickening of epithelium accompanied by robust infiltration of inflammatory cells and edema in the lamina propria (Fig. 1C and D) (124). Neutrophils are the most rapid and abundant responders to the infected urinary tract (4, 100, 124, 236). Efficient migration of neutrophils requires intracellular adhesion molecule 1 (ICAM-1) expression by epithelial cells and β2 integrin (CD11b/CD18) expression by neutrophils (3, 227). G-CSF is also required for the neutrophil response, and unexpectedly, mice with neutralized G-CSF are more resistant to UTI (121). Although monocyte/macrophage numbers were similar in anti-G-CSF-treated mice, cytokines important for macrophage activation were upregulated, potentially leading to accelerated clearance by enhanced phagocytic killing (121). Despite counterintuitive phenotypes with respect to cytokine knock-down, antibody-mediated knockdown of the neutrophil population confirmed their crucial role in bacterial clearance, especially within the kidney (100). Lastly, the electrostatic properties of the UPEC P fimbrial tip adhesin may interfere with neutrophil binding, a potential host response evasion tactic specific to the kidney (31, 254). Compared to the neutrophil response, relatively little is known about APCs in the context of UTI. In mice, resident CD11c+ cells that express low to intermediate levels of F4/80 and CD11b macrophage markers were found in the kidney (144), while CD11c+ cells expressing the major histocompatibility class II activation marker were found in the bladder (109, 227). In spite of macrophage marker expression, CD11c+ kidney cells had physical and functional characteristics of DCs (144). At 24 h postinoculation, CD11c+ cells that migrate to the bladder did not express CD8α, Gr-1, or B220 and thus were not plasmacytoid or lymphoid but appeared to be TNF-α- and inducible NOS (iNOS)-producing (Tip)-DCs (62) that express intermediate levels of CD11b. Infection studies in mice lacking Tip-DCs suggested that they are not necessary for the host response to acute UTI (62). Since Tip-DCs are necessary for the generation of mucosal IgA (255), their role may lie in mediating the humoral response to UPEC. Similar to what was observed for DCs, there appears to be a resident population of macrophages in bladder tissue that increases by several orders of magnitude in response to UTI (63, 109, 121). Monocytes expressing high levels of Gr-1, which can give rise to macrophages or DCs, are also recruited to the bladder in response to UPEC infection. Release of these cells from the bone marrow was dependent on CCR2 (63), and, correspondingly, CCL2 is upregulated in the bladder response to UTI (121). Some of the factors utilized by neutrophils, macrophages, and DCs for pathogen uptake and destruction have been described during UTI. iNOS generates the antimicrobial compound nitric oxide (NO) from l-arginine and was originally reported to be secreted by macrophages (108, 183, 248). Although iNOS is rapidly upregulated in the inoculated bladder (181), two independent groups reported that inos−/− mice are equally as susceptible to UTI as wild-type mice, suggesting that neuronal NOS, endothelial NOS, or myeloperoxidase may act as compensatory factors (132, 205). Alternatively or in addition, inos−/− animals may lack a colonization phenotype because there are several factors (Hfq and Nsr-regulated genes, polyamines, and flavohemoglobin) expressed by UPEC that enhance tolerance to reactive nitrogen species in vitro (34, 35, 148, 251), suggesting that NO production may be an ineffective host defense against UPEC. With respect to the complement system, it appears that UPEC is able to bind C3 to enter host uroepithelial cells via the surface receptors Crry or CD46 (157, 247). Correspondingly, c3−/− mice are more resistant to renal damage and infection (247). As C3 levels are significantly higher in the urine of UTI patients (157), UPEC may stimulate C3 production for pathogenic means or has evolved to exploit this host defense factor. SPECIAL OPERATIONS: ILLs IN THE INNATE IMMUNE RESPONSE TO UPEC-MEDIATED UTI Infection studies using severe combined immunodeficient (SCID) mice that lack functional B and T cells and nude mice that lack thymically derived T cells provide preliminary evidence of a role for innate-like lymphocytes (ILLs) in acute UTI host defense (115). Epithelial γδ T cells, B-1 cells, and natural killer T (NKT) cells are ILLs: cellular subsets that have relatively invariant receptors and reside in specific locations of the body (122). After a 2-day primary infection, SCID mice had significantly higher bacterial counts in their bladder and kidneys, while nude mice were colonized similarly to wild-type animals (115). The lack of a colonization phenotype in nude mice suggests that either antibody responses independent of thymus-derived T-cell help or extrathymically produced T cells may play a role in innate clearance of UPEC. The latter suggestion has some experimental support. γδ T cells can be produced extrathymically and rapidly secrete cytokines in response to stimulation (1, 17, 40, 45). Resident γδ T cells found in the bladder increase in response to UTI (163; also K. E. Sivick, M. A. Schaller, S. N. Smith, and H. L. T. Mobley, submitted for publication), and TCR δ−/− mice are more susceptible to UTI than isogenic controls (130). As γδ TCR+ cells express IL-17A during UPEC-mediated UTI (Sivick et al. submitted), this rapid-response cell population may function in concert with other innate factors to mediate neutrophil influx for clearance of UPEC. B-1 cells spontaneously secrete large quantities of polyspecific IgM against bacterial and self-antigens, and in contrast to conventional (B-2) B cells, do not require T-cell help (23). While IgM secreted by B-1 cells might play a role in innate clearance of UPEC, current evidence suggests otherwise. JHD mice, lacking both B-1 and B-2 cells (43, 212), infected and monitored over a 14-day time period exhibited no significant increase in incidence or severity of cystitis (130). On a final note regarding ILLs, administration of α-galactosylceramide (α-GalCer), a ligand for CD1d-restricted NKT cells, alleviates renal UPEC infection (168). Consistent with this, we have observed a resident population of NK1.1+ cells (potentially NK or NKT cells) in the bladder of C57BL/6 mice that increases in response to UTI (K. E. Sivick and H. L. T. Mobley, unpublished data). Studies using a systemic E. coli infection model suggested that, similar to γδ T cells, NKT cells may act as early amplifiers of the innate immune response to UTI by rapid cytokine secretion (182). COVERT OPERATIONS: CELLULAR AND HUMORAL ADAPTIVE IMMUNE RESPONSES TO UPEC-MEDIATED UTI Existing data regarding adaptive immune responses to UPEC are relatively limited. In a seminal study, Thumbikat and colleagues engineered a strain of UPEC to express ovalbumin to examine mechanisms behind antigen-specific adaptive immune responses in experimental UTI (260). In response to reinfection, CD4+ and CD8+ cells infiltrated the bladder and expressed the CD69 activation marker in the spleen (260), extending the findings of early IHC studies probing T- and B-cell populations in infected bladders (109). Furthermore, splenocytes, enriched splenic T cells, or serum antibodies from previously infected donor mice each protected wild-type naïve recipient mice against UPEC challenge (260). This result suggests that protection derived from natural infection is antibody mediated, as UPEC-specific antibody-secreting plasma cells could be present in both splenocyte and enriched T-cell preparations. As expected, transfers from naïve donor mice did not facilitate enhanced protection to recipients (260). This result is in contrast to a previous murine adoptive transfer study where SCID recipients receiving splenocytes from either naïve or vaccinated wild-type donors exhibited equal levels of enhanced clearance, despite the presence of antigen-specific plasma cells in the vaccinated donor cells (115). This result suggests that simply reconstituting immunosuppressed mice with lymphoid cells provides the means (likely stimulatory cytokines for phagocytic cells) for enhanced clearance. Conversely, wild-type recipient mice used in the former study only exhibited enhanced clearance when given cells or serum from antigen-educated, vaccinated donors (260), indicating that enhanced protection in individuals with intact immune systems will be provided only by stimulation of an effective adaptive immune response. T-cell subsets are characterized by transcription factors and cytokines involved in their differentiation and the particular effector cytokines they secrete. To date, studies have not implicated a skew toward Th1- or Th2-mediated UTI immunity (5, 260). DC phagocytosis of infected apoptotic cells is the key event required for DCs to secrete the cytokine milieu necessary for Th17 development (262), and both DCs and infected apoptotic cells are present in the bladder during UTI. Despite this connection, IL-17A is dispensable for the generation of a protective response in a murine reinfection model, suggesting that Th17 cells may not play a role in adaptive responses to UPEC infection (Sivick et al., submitted). Similar to APCs and other lymphocytes, there are resident CD8+ cells in the bladder that increase in response to infection (260; also Sivick and Mobley, unpublished). We speculate that the observed CD8+ cells are either classical cytotoxic T cells or intraepithelial lymphocytes that exert cytotoxic effects on UPEC- or virus-infected cells or rapidly secrete cytokines to mobilize innate immune responses. Lastly, the role of Treg subsets in UTI host defense has not been formally examined. Despite the lack of detail regarding T-cell responses to UTI, there is ample evidence for antibody-mediated clearance of UPEC. Since the 1970s, the genitourinary tract has been recognized as part of the secretory immune system (82, 261). UPEC-specific antibodies are detected in the urine of infected patients (202) and in the urine or serum of animals exposed to UPEC antigens (116, 217, 260, 264). Urinary IgG and IgA from UTI patients are capable of inhibiting UPEC adherence (58, 249, 263). Patient studies have also suggested that antibody responses to pyelonephritis are, in general, stronger and last longer than humoral responses to cystitis (80, 134, 135). Analysis of murine urine and serum samples collected before and after vaccination with OMP iron receptors allowed identification of immunological correlates of vaccine-induced protection against UTI (5). Specifically, levels of either urinary IgA or serum IgG (relative to serum IgM; denoted the class switch index) inversely correlated with bladder colonization in vaccinated mice (5). Presumably, urinary IgA plays a direct role in UPEC clearance from the bladder mucosa, while IgG may be a marker for class switching by B cells or also play a direct role in mucosal bacterial clearance. As mentioned earlier, infected JHD mice had wild-type levels of colonization in response to primary infection, suggesting that B cells have no role in innate clearance of UPEC (130). However, this result is not unexpected since both antigen presentation and antibody-mediated protection provided by B cells would likely play a role in adaptive responses, indicating a need for reevaluation of these mice in UPEC reinfection and vaccination challenge models. RECONSTRUCTION AND RECOVERY: UROTHELIAL REGENERATION IN RESPONSE TO UPEC INFECTION One of the consequences of UPEC infection is exfoliation of the superficial facet cell layer that lines the surface of the bladder lumen (10, 60, 81, 166, 176, 177, 189). Microarray analyses probing regenerative signals revealed that, in addition to genes involved in cell biological processes, inflammatory cytokines, chemokines, signaling molecules, and transcription factors are also upregulated in response to inoculation (180, 181). While regeneration itself appears to be a function of basal stem/progenitor cells in the transitional epithelium (180), studies of the gut epithelium unveiled macrophages as “cellular transceivers” that relay MyD88-dependent inputs from the epithelium to colonic epithelial progenitors via direct contact (209). Whether or not macrophages play a similar role in the urinary tract remains unknown. THE WAY AHEAD: VACCINE AND IMMUNIZATION STRATEGIES While treatments have been proposed to expel intracellular UPEC from the bladder (29, 179), an E. coli reservoir harboring potential UPEC strains will always be present in the intestine (127, 173, 291). The involvement of TLRs in the immune response to UTI and current knowledge of their ability to incite innate and direct adaptive responses make them attractive adjuvant candidates for UTI vaccines (149, 242). These and other mucosal adjuvants and variations in vaccination routes and schedules must be tested in an effort to generate UPEC-specific local and systemic antibodies (155, 204) and optimize production of immunological memory, not tolerance (42, 165). There is considerable work to be done to better understand the mechanisms of protective immunity against UPEC in the bladder. Specifically, available knockout mouse strains could be used to systematically evaluate the role of various receptors, signaling molecules, cytokines and chemokines, and cell types in controlling UPEC-mediated UTI and eliciting potent adaptive and memory immune responses. 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Chem. 284:711-715. Zhang, D., G. Zhang, M. S. Hayden, M. B. Greenblatt, C. Bussey, R. A. Flavell, and S. Ghosh. 2004. A toll-like receptor that prevents infection by uropathogenic bacteria. Science 303:1522-1526. Zhang, J. P., and S. Normark. 1996. Induction of gene expression in Escherichia coli after pilus-mediated adherence. Science 273:1234-1236. Zhou, G., W.-J. Mo, P. Sebbel, G. Min, T. A. Neubert, R. Glockshuber, X.-R. Wu, T.-T. Sun, and X.-P. Kong. 2001. Uroplakin Ia is the urothelial receptor for uropathogenic Escherichia coli: evidence from in vitro FimH binding. J. Cell Sci. 114:4095-4103. Kelsey E. Sivick was born and raised in eastern Pennsylvania, and she attended Penn State to attain her bachelor's degree in microbiology. She completed her undergraduate honors thesis research under the supervision of Sarah Ades, studying the extracytoplasmic stress factor σE in Escherichia coli. Moving on to study an E. coli strain of the uropathogenic pathotype in the lab of Harry Mobley, she earned her doctorate in microbiology and immunology at the University of Michigan in December 2009. She also graduated as a Cellular Biotechnology Training Program fellow, which provided her the opportunity to conduct vaccine research using a Listeria monocytogenes platform at the Cerus Corporation in Concord, CA. This position solidified her interest in research and host-pathogen interactions, which she will continue to pursue in her postdoctoral studies at the University of California—Berkeley. Harry L. T. Mobley, a native of Louisville, Kentucky, received his B.S. degree in biology from Emory University in 1975 and his Ph.D. degree in microbiology and immunology from the University of Louisville in 1981. He conducted postdoctoral training in biological chemistry and then bacterial genetics in the Center for Vaccine Development at the University of Maryland School of Medicine, where he served on the faculty from 1984 until 2004. Dr. Mobley, a fellow in the American Academy of Microbiology, chaired the Pathogenesis and Host Response Mechanisms group of the American Society for Microbiology. He is a member of the editorial review boards of the journals Infection and Immunity and Helicobacter and has served as a study section member for the National Institutes of Health. In 2004, Dr. Mobley moved to the University of Michigan Medical School to serve as the Frederick G. Novy Professor and Chair of the Department of Microbiology and Immunology. Infection and Immunity Jan 2010, 78 (2) 568-585; DOI: 10.1128/IAI.01000-09 You are going to email the following Waging War against Uropathogenic Escherichia coli: Winning Back the Urinary Tract

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Ron Paul Calls for Audit of US Gold Reserves February 24, 2011 August 25, 2010 by Infinite “If there was no question about the gold being there, you think they would be anxious to prove gold is there,” said U.S. Rep. Ron Paul of the Federal Reserve. Editor’s Note: Catch Dr. Ron Paul at the upcoming Kitco Metals eConference September 12-13, 2010. A not-to-be missed event featuring Marc Faber, James Dines and other industry heavyweights. The eConference is free with Pre- Registration www.kitcoeconf.com. Texas (Kitco News) — U.S. Rep. Ron Paul , R-Tex., plans to introduce a new bill next year that will allow for an audit of US gold reserves, he told Kitco News in an exclusive interview. Paul dropped the news in the interview, indicating that the bill still does not have an official name yet but will be unveiled at the start of the new U.S. Congress. “If there was no question about the gold being there, you think they would be anxious to prove gold is there,” he said of the Federal Reserve. This is not the first time the congressman has made his pitch. “In the early 1980s when I was on the gold commission, I asked them to recommend to the Congress that they audit the gold reserves – we had 17 members of the commission and 15 voted not to the audit,” said Paul. “I think there was only one decent audit done 50 years ago,” he said. Though Paul did not say whether there is any truth to claims that there is no gold in Fort Knox or the New York Federal Reserve, he said, “I think it is a possibility.” “If we ever get around to deciding we should use gold in relationship to our currency we ought to know how much is there,” said Paul. “Our Federal Reserve admits to nothing and they should prove all the gold is there. There is a reason to be suspicious and even if you are not suspicious why wouldn’t you have an audit?” he said. The gold audit follows his crusade last year looking to audit the Federal Reserve, which he says is the chief culprit behind the economic crisis. “I don’t think the Federal Reserve should exist – it would be best for congress to exert their responsibilities and that is find out what they are doing”‘ said Paul. “It is an ominous amount of power they have to create money out of thin air and being the reserve currency of the world and be able to finance runaway spending whether it is for welfare or warfare; it seems so strange that we have been so complacent not to even look at the books. If we knew exactly what they were doing, who they were taking care of, there would be a growing momentum to reassess the whole system,” he told Kitco News. Before the creation of the Federal Reserve however, the US saw 16 recessions from 1850 to 1910; they averaged 22 months long. During this time, the U.S. was in recession 60 out of 91 months. Many would argue that the severity of these recessions led to the creation of the Federal Reserve System. “I think they would be exaggerating what happened before 1913,” Paul responds. “We had some panics …they were usually short and there were no long depressions,” he said. “The Fed creates the bubbles and they are much worse since 1913, if you think of the size of the government and the valuation of the dollar, we are down to about a 2 cent dollar from the 1913 dollar.” Paul said everyone accuses him of wanting the gold standard but he said he doesn’t accept that. “I accept the idea of a gold coin standard and I think we can do much better than what we had,” he said. “There was a lot that they did pre-Fed that was not exactly right but we never had a disastrous loss of purchasing power long-term, we didn’t have a great depression, we didn’t have the 1970s with stagflation and we wouldn’t have what we have right now.” Since the Fed’s creation in 1913 the dollar has lost more than 96% of its value, and by inflating the money supply the Fed continues to distort interest rates and intentionally erodes the value of the dollar said Paul. Paul’s solution is to not replace the Fed with anything. “It would make the dollar strong… who wants money to be devalued? I want a strong dollar and if it were equivalent to gold it would remain strong.” Paul also said he wants to legalize the freedom for people to choose. “My proposal for now is to legalize the constitution to use gold and silver as legal tender in a parallel standard and have it compete with paper money. If people get tired of using the paper standard they can deal in gold or silver,” he said. On the topic of gold price manipulation, Paul said, “I think it is probably true.” “I am not the one to lay out proof of this, others have done a lot of investigation. One of the reasons I don’t dwell on that is they are not going to listen to us” he said. “But I think it is very important somebody talks about it and emphasizes it just as a warning to be careful; you don’t have to only anticipate what the markets are doing, but you have to anticipate what the government is doing.” The best example of manipulating the ratio of gold to paper would have been from the late 1950s to 1971, said Paul. “We printed money like currency, we printed too many dollars against the gold, so they said, ‘we will take your gold.’ …if they are capable of that they are capable of doing this as well, because they don’t want their cover blown, ” said Paul. If the markets are saying not to trust paper money, they have to do everything they can to “destroy gold,” said Paul. Recounting a visit with Paul Volcker, former Chairman of the Fed Reserve, Rep. Paul said the Chairman walked straight into the room, went immediately to his staffer and asked what the price of gold was. “They know gold is important. I think they are quite willing to manipulate it. That is the only way they can maintain this false illusion about gold.” “If they are involved isn’t it pretty amazing what has happened in past year? What will happen if they throw in the towel?” said Paul. The current economic situation is very healthy for gold, said Paul. “You see people rushing just to put their money in any place …they don’t even care about making money.” When asked what regulations the Congressman is currently worried about, he said, “All of them.” However, Paul specifically points to the 1099 provision, a portion of the health-care act, passed earlier in the year. “For every transaction of over $600, gold dealers have to fill out a form, it is a lot of paperwork,” said the congressman. Entities must file a Form 1099 with the Internal Revenue Service whenever they make transactions paying out $600 a year to another party. It is going to continue to go downhill said Paul on the US economy. “I don’t believe in a double dip, I believe we have single-dip and it has been continuous.” “The only reason it doesn’t look so bad is if you spend $2 trillion dollars and you have a $5 hundred billion increase in some GDP figures, you didn’t get much for your trillion dollars but it might improve your statistics, so it was a fake recovery.” As for another presidency run, Paul says it is too early to tell. 24 August 2010, 5:24 a.m. By Daniela Cambone Source: Kitco Categories Economy, Global News, Politics Tags Congress, Economy, Fed, Federal Reserve, Fort Knox, Gold, Government, Politics, Ron Paul, U.S. Leave a comment Post navigation US Home Sales in July: Record Drop Of 27 Percent, The Largest Monthly Drop On Record China: Floods halt shipping at Three Gorges dam

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The Feast of St. Patrick, Instant Pot Style People have celebrated St. Patrick’s Day since the 1600s, when the Feast of Saint Patrick became an official Christian feast day. St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland and the day of the feast – March 17 – is the traditional date of his death. Since Saint Patrick’s feast day was first recognized, nearly 10 million people have emigrated from Ireland to other countries around the world as part of the Irish diaspora. About half of them settled in America. And it is to these Irish descendants that we owe the modern celebration of St. Patrick’s Day. When we think of St. Paddy these days, we often think of shamrocks, parades and the color green. We can thank Irish immigrants for these things, because they’re the ones who made the feast day of Saint Patrick an excuse to celebrate their heritage and turned it into a festival of all things Irish. Back home in Ireland they took notice of the day’s popularity and expanded it beyond a time to drink green beer, and sport “Kiss Me I’m Irish” buttons into something more significant. Now St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated in Ireland as the cornerstone of Irish Language Week. Around the world, landmarks are lit up with green lights as part of the Global Greening Initiative to bring attention to and action against climate change. Of course, that doesn’t mean that the Feast of Saint Patrick is not still an international party day. Although religious “feast days” aren’t what we usually think of as feasts – no big meals involved – there’s no reason why we can’t celebrate this one with some good food. In fact, it has a special reason to be associated with food: St. Patrick’s Day falls within the fasting time of lent, and one of the reasons people loved it so much was because the restrictions against eating and drinking alcohol were traditionally lifted for the celebration. Join us at Instant Pot as we go green in the old school way and celebrate all things Irish for St. Patrick’s Day. Come back to the blog on Friday for our Top Ten St. Patrick’s Day-inspired recipes for your Instant Pot. Are you getting our newsletter yet? If not, be sure to sign up for recipes, tips and news, and don’t miss out on Sunday’s edition delivered on St. Patrick’s Day when we reveal the truth about the Leprechaun’s pot of gold. (Spoiler: it’s actually an Instant Pot!) Celebrating balance with International Women’s Day and Instant Pot Get Your Green On with Instant Pot this St. Paddy’s Day

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Jesper Bratt Ullmark Suffers Brutal Injury There wasn't a lot of action the last two days after the All-Star Break, but sadly we saw what certainly appeared to be a severe injury. Linus Ullmark has established himself as the clear #1 goalie for the Sabres this season playing at a league average level. He collapsed to the ice on Tuesday against the Senators with what appeared to be a bad leg injury. There hasn't been an update yet, but I would be surprised to see if he ends up out for the season. So what does that mean for the Sabres and for us fantasy hockey players? Well, the Sabres are far from the best situation, but Ullmark has been serviceable. Carter Hutton has been one of the worst goalies in the league, so unless he has a bunch of good starts in a row, I have no interest in using him. I suspect that Jonas Johansson is called up from Rochester. Johansson is a former third round pick who was an AHL All-Star this season. He's taken a huge jump forward as he was serviceable in the ECHL last season but that's about it. However, goalies are strange and perhaps he catches lightning in a bottle. I wouldn't rush to add him, but he's a name worth monitoring. Let's take a look at what else happened over the last two nights: Do As The Roman Does February 20, 2019 | 2018-19 Fantasy Hockey, Fantasy Hockey Daily Notes | 7 Comments As far as best contracts in the league go, Roman Josi's is near the top of the list. Josi, who is nearing the end of a 7/28 deal signed in 2013, has developed into a true #1 defenseman. Josi scored two goals and an assist on five shots in the 5-3 win over the Stars. Josi is currently up to #6 on the player rater for defensemen, in the range that we expected from him. He's not in the top tier, but he's firmly in tier two now and going forward. Josi looks like a good bet to set career highs in both goals (15) and points (61). Let's take a look at what else happened on Tuesday night: Sweet Blues February 18, 2019 | 2018-19 Fantasy Hockey, Fantasy Hockey Daily Notes | 10 Comments On January 3rd, the St. Louis Blues were in last place of the entire NHL. Here we are six weeks later and they're safely in a playoff position. The Blues have matched the longest winning streak in the NHL this season at 10, winning two games this weekend in convincing fashion. First, Jake Allen shutout the Avalanche, then Jordan Binnington shut out the Wild on a back to back. Right now, Binnington is as hot as it gets in the league. I don't expect this to continue, but for now, he's a must start every time out. I still view Allen as somewhat of a desperation play, but with how well the team is playing in front of him, I'm fine with streaming him for the time being. Looks like a coaching change was what they needed to right the ship. Let's take a look at what else happened over the weekend: JVR Jumps With Joy It was less than a week ago that James van Riemsdyk was placed on the fourth line for the Flyers and Scott Gordon had a private meeting with him. Since then, JVR has taken off, with a monster game coming on Monday. He scored a hat trick to give him 5+2 in his last 3 games. Look, we know how good of a player JVR can be; he's been a top 100 player the past few seasons. However, he only has two games the rest of the week, and then he doesn't have a game for all of next week with the Flyers on a bye week. Therefore, I wouldn't be holding him right now. I'd be willing to stream him on Wednesday and Saturday, but I'd cut bait then. However, with a very heavy schedule starting 1/28, including a lot of bad teams, I would look to grab JVR at the All-Star break to get three games in four nights after that break. Then, we see how he does in those three games, and proceed from there. Here's a look at what else happened on Monday night: Boeser Blasts The Blues December 9, 2018 | 2018-19 Fantasy Hockey, Fantasy Hockey Daily Notes | 17 Comments The St. Louis Blues have been one of the most disappointing teams in the league through the first two months, and that continued on Sunday. The Canucks destroyed them 6-1 and they were led by their two young stars. Brock Boeser scored a hat trick on four shots to go along with a +5 rating. Boeser has had some massive games this season to along with a lot of blanks, which makes him a prime GPP target most nights. With 9+8 in 19 games with over three shots per game, Boeser is an elite option in all formats. The Canucks future looks very bright, especially with the California teams all on a downward trajectory, and Boeser is at the forefront with Pettersson (more on him later). Let's take a look at what else happened over the weekend: Buy/Sell/Hold – Dzingel Bell Rock November 30, 2018 | 2018-19 Fantasy Hockey, Buy/Sell/Hold | 19 Comments Hey guys, happy end of November, Christmas is coming! Sven here back with another Buy/Sell/Hold. I will simply be looking at what these particular players have done performance-wise so far this season, and what I anticipate. Let me know if you guys like this type of content! 31 in 31 – Hischier Wood Butcher it September 17, 2018 | 2018-19 Fantasy Hockey, Team Previews | Hey guys! Sven here with our stop in New Jersey for 31 in 31. Over the next month, I will be taking a look at each team’s players to watch out for going into the 2018-19 fantasy hockey season: The 31 in 31 daily segment. This analysis features everything from surefire studs, to sleepers, to prospects that may make an appearance at some point this season. Please let me know if you guys enjoy this type of material! Reminder that the stat totals are from last season. Trocheck Wrecks Edmonton Monday night was a short slate, but there were a couple great games. Florida and Edmonton decided that defense (and goaltending) was optional leading to a 7-5 barn burner. Vincent Trocheck took over the game late, scoring three goals in the third period on six shots to record his first career hat trick. No matter what format you play, Trocheck has been incredible this season. By the end of the month, there's a great chance that Trocheck has set career highs in goals, assists, PPP (already did that) and SOG. The 24 year old is also a monster in faceoffs, hits, and blocks for a forward as well. For those of us in standard leagues, Trocheck looks like a top 35 player for this season and in the future, if not even better. He's basically Jamie Benn with a better shot rate and a lower floor for penalty minutes (obviously plus-minus can shift year-to-year). The only potential downside going forward is that Trocheck is already averaging 21:33 per game, which has nowhere to go but down. Either way, that's of no concern for me; Trocheck is still underrated in my eyes. Let's take a look at what else happened over the last two nights: Where There’s A Hutton There’s Hope January 17, 2018 | 2017-18 Fantasy Hockey, Fantasy Hockey Daily Notes | 11 Comments Here is what I wrote about the Blues in my 31 predictions post: "Carter Hutton starts at least half of the games the rest of the way. There’s no way around it, he’s been much better than Jake Allen. You can tell Mike Yeo knows it lately as Hutton is starting to get more starts. Hutton is still available in over 75% of leagues; I’d go grab him now just because of the potential upside." And that's me quoting me copying what Grey does! Hutton received the start on Tuesday and stopped 30 of 31 shots in the Blues' 3-1 win over Toronto. Hutton has started 17 games and has the best GAA and sv% in the league for qualified goalies. Is he going to stay at this level? Of course not. Could Hutton be a top 15 goalie the rest of the way if he gets 25+ starts? Absolutely. It's worth repeating that you should pick up Hutton right now because he's good enough to potentially be a huge difference maker in fantasy leagues this year. Let's take a look at what else happened over the last two nights: DeBrusk Dangles And Pops Bottles December 20, 2017 | 2017-18 Fantasy Hockey, Fantasy Hockey Daily Notes | 14 Comments Jake DeBrusk was the second of three consecutive first round picks by the Bruins in the 2015 draft. The other two players are still in the AHL developing but DeBrusk is starting to make his mark with the big squad. In the 7-2 beatdown of the Blue Jackets, DeBrusk scored a goal and two assists with four shots and two penalty minutes. He followed that up by scoring the only non-empty net goal against the Sabres on Tuesday. As you can see below, snipe city: That brings DeBrusk up to 8 goals and 10 assists in 28 games with solid penalty minutes and a decent shot rate. The crazy thing is that he's producing despite getting poor minutes (he's averaging 14 per game on the season). DeBrusk has shown me plenty this season to improve his stock in dynasties. He looks like a lock to be a top six player going forward while having plenty of upside from there. In redrafts, I wouldn't hold him right now, solely because of the lack of minutes. That said, DeBrusk is still a great streamer while he's producing. Let's take a look at what else happened over the last two nights in the NHL:

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Get Your First Look at Netflix's Magical New She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Series Filed to:She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Princess Adora in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Image: Netflix One of the best things about classic cartoons being rebooted is getting to see how contemporary artists decide to reimagine characters we all remember fondly. In our first glimpse at Netflix’s upcoming She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, we’re introduced to a younger, though just as badass, Princess Adora. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly, the She-Ra reboot’s showrunner, Noelle Stevenson, explained that while her series will definitely be reflective of her own vision for Adora’s adventures, the show will still cleave very closely to the original plot of She-Ra: Princess of Power: “She’s separated from her family as a baby, she’s sent to another planet, she’s adopted by the villain overlord and raised by him in this evil army. She’s been raised to believe that the villains are doing the right thing and that the Princesses are the evil ones. And so we follow her as she has this crisis of faith; she’s been very sheltered her whole life and as she starts to experience the world, she realizes that there’s more to this than she knew, that maybe there’s a reason they were called the Evil Horde. That maybe they were evil.” Here’s another new image: Like the original show, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power will focus on Adora’s journey to heroism in a world where all manner of magical creatures and evil robots are locked in an epic war. Even though Adora soon realizes that she’s destined to play a pivotal role in the fight for justice, Stevenson added, the show will also focus on her uncertainty: “As She-Ra, she doesn’t know how to act. This is all new to her, and it’s a little clumsy at first. It’s like an uncomfortable suit. She’s like, ‘Okay, here I am. I’m very glamorous, I’m very strong, people are looking up to me — because I’m very tall.’” The new She-Ra might not look exactly like her original incarnation from the ‘80s—and that’s absolutely fantastic, because reboots are at their best when they’re not actively trying to be exact replicas of the things they’re based on. So, get used to the new aesthetic and get hype, because She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is slated to start streaming November 16 on Netflix. io9 Culture Critic and Staff Writer. Cyclops was right. The She-Ra Reboot Debuts the First Shadowy Look at the New Princess of Power She-Ra, Princess of Power, Is Making a Comeback on Netflix Every She-Ra: Princess Of Power Figure, Ranked How two dumb kids with an axe almost destroyed She-Ra

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Tag Archives: 3×16 Following XENA: The Action (I) Posted on November 19, 2015 by upperco Welcome to another Xena Thursday! If you’ve read yesterday’s big announcement, you’ll know that we’re embarking on our last ever regular series of posts on Xena: Warrior Princess, the iconic action show that aired in first-run syndication from 1995-2001 and is most responsible for cultivating my interest in television and storytelling. Since Xena Thursday’s start over two years ago, I’ve covered my favorite episodes and my least favorites episodes, discussed Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (off of which Xena spun), and treated fans to the Opinionated Episode Guide — which covered every episode of the series, and included both my thoughts, and the opinions/recollections of the cast and crew. Most recently, I also covered the best episodes per character. This last series of entries is in that vein, as we will be looking at particular themes/arcs/elements through a handful of accompanying installments. My hope is that this can be a resource, like so many of the other posts here, for those who are just beginning their adventure with Xena. For our debut post, we’re looking at the most memorable action sequences from the series. For those who love a good fight scene, these are the episodes to watch . . . 01. Season 1, Episode 1: “Sins Of The Past” (Aired: 09/04/95 | Filmed: 06/26 – 07/05/95) Xena journeys homeward determined to make amends for the sins of her past, but her efforts to begin a new life are challenged by the vengeful warlord Draco. Story by Robert Tapert | Teleplay by R.J. Stewart | Directed by Doug Lefler | Production No. 876901 Chosen for the iconic fight between Xena and Draco on the scaffolding in an Amphipolis barn, I featured this episode as #23 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 02. Season 1, Episode 2: “Chariots Of War” (Aired: 09/11/95 | Filmed: 07/06 – 07/18/95) After being befriended by a peace-loving homesteader named Darius, Xena takes on a blood thirsty warlord and his son, who have mercilessly pillaged Darius’s community. Story by Josh Becker & Jack Perez | Teleplay by Adam Armus & Nora Kay Foster | Directed by Harley Cokeliss | Production No. 876902 This episode is chosen for the series’ best ever chariot chase in the climax. Check out my thoughts on this episode, along with the opinions and recollections of the cast and crew here. 03. Season 1, Episode 22: “Callisto” (Aired: 05/13/96 | Filmed: 02/06 – 02/16/96) Xena is once again reminded of the sins of her past when a malicious female warrior, whose family was killed by Xena’s former army, exacts her revenge on the Warrior Princess by impersonating her. Written by R.J. Stewart | Directed by T.J. Scott | Production No. 876920 Chosen for the ladder fight between Xena and Callisto — among the series’ best, I featured this episode as #3 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 04. Season 2, Episode 13: “The Quest” (Aired: 02/03/97 | Filmed: 11/14 – 11/25/96) Xena’s spirit puts into action a plan that may allow her to return to the land of the living and reclaim her body. And Gabrielle is faced with a big decision after meeting up with her old friends—the Amazons. Story by Chris Manheim, Steven L. Sears, & R.J. Stewart | Teleplay by Steven L. Sears | Directed by Michael Levine | Production No. V0221 Chosen for the memorable fight between Gabrielle and Velasca on the vines, I featured this episode as #21 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 05. Season 3, Episode 1: “The Furies” (Aired: 09/29/97 | Filmed: 03/28 – 04/08/97) At Ares’s prodding, the Furies curse Xena with madness for failing to avenge her father’s death. But lifting the curse may prove troublesome when she learns who the murderer was. Written by R.J. Stewart | Directed by Gilbert Shilton | Production No. V0224 Chosen for the fast-paced fight in the temple between Xena and Ares, I featured this episode as #36 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 06. Season 3, Episode 4: “The Deliverer” (Aired: 10/20/97 | Filmed: 05/27 – 06/05/97) Xena, Gabrielle and the first priest of a monotheistic cult head for Britannia to battle their common enemy Caesar — who promptly captures Gabrielle. Written by Steven L. Sears | Directed by Oley Sassone | Production No. V0403 Chosen for the face-off between Xena and the demented Khrafstar, I featured this episode as #17 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 07. Season 3, Episode 13: “One Against An Army” (Aired: 02/09/98 | Filmed: 11/20 – 12/01/97) Xena’s solo efforts to stop an approaching Persian army leave a poisoned Gabrielle to fend for herself after the duo are double-crossed by a Persian spy. Written by Gene O’Neill and Noreen Tobin | Directed by Paul Lynch | Production No. V0413 Chosen for Xena’s epic battle with the Persian army (probably the show’s most ambitious action sequence), I featured this episode as #7 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 08. Season 3, Episode 16: “When In Rome…” (Aired: 03/02/98 | Filmed: 01/08 – 01/16/98) Efforts to engage in a prisoner exchange involving a Gaul warrior and a member of the Roman hierarchy are hindered by an uncooperative Caesar. Written by Steven L. Sears | Directed by John Laing | Production No. V0416 Chosen for Xena’s showdown with the gladiators in the Coliseum, I featured this episode as #12 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 09. Season 4, Episode 2: “Adventures In The Sin Trade (II)” (Aired: 10/05/98 | Filmed: 06/29 – 07/09/98) Xena’s continuing search for Gabrielle in the Amazon Land of the Dead leads to a climatic battle with the evil shamaness Alti. Story by Robert Tapert & R.J. Stewart | Teleplay by R.J. Stewart | Directed by T.J. Scott | Production No. V0608 Chosen for the tree-bound fight between Xena and the evil shamaness Alti, I featured this episode as #38 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 10. Season 4, Episode 8: “Crusader” (Aired: 11/16/98 | Filmed: 07/27 – 08/06/98) Xena and Gabrielle are attacked and then befriended by a radiant young woman who preaches about the light, but their budding friendship ends when she later competes with Xena for Gabrielle’s heart and soul. Written by R.J. Stewart | Directed by Paul Lynch | Production No. V0613 Chosen for the fight in the tavern in which Najara kicks Xena’s butt, I featured this episode as #16 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 11. Season 4, Episode 14: “Devi” (Aired: 02/08/99 | Filmed: 11/12 – 11/20/98) While traveling in India, Gabrielle suddenly acquires the power to heal, but Xena is suspicious of the power’s source. Written by Chris Manheim | Directed by Garth Maxwell | Production No. V0615 Chosen for the fight that pits Xena against Gabrielle (who’s possessed by an Indian demon), I featured this episode as one of the 18 honorable mentions that narrowly missed inclusion on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 12. Season 4, Episode 16: “The Way” (Aired: 02/22/99 | Filmed: 12/03 – 12/15/98) Still in India, Xena seeks the help of the god Krishna to rescue Gabrielle and Eli from the clutches of the King of the Demons. Written by R.J. Stewart | Directed by John Fawcett | Production No. V0617 Chosen for Xena’s many-armed battle with Indrijit, I featured this episode as #40 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 13. Season 4, Episode 21: “The Ides Of March” (Aired: 05/10/99 | Filmed: 03/09 – 03/18/99) When Xena learns that Caesar has put a six-million-dinar price on her head, she decides to go to Rome and kill him. Meanwhile, Caesar sends Brutus to capture Gabrielle and Amarice. Complicating matters is Callisto, who has been released from Hell and put on a double mission. Written by R.J. Stewart | Directed by Ken Girotti | Production No. V0624 Chosen for the shocking moment where Gabrielle abandons the Way of Love to save Xena from the Romans, I featured this episode as #1 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 14. Season 5, Episode 21: “Eve” (Aired: 05/08/00 | Filmed: 03/07 – 03/16/00) Xena must decide whether she can kill her own daughter, who continues her murderous campaign to eliminate Eli’s followers. Written by George Strayton & Tom O’Neill | Teleplay by Chris Manheim | Directed by Mark Beesley | Production No. V0922 This episode is chosen for the beautifully choreographed fight between Xena and Eve (or Livia, rather) in the temple. Check out my thoughts on this episode, along with the opinions and recollections of the cast and crew here. 15. Season 5, Episode 22: “Motherhood” (Aired: 05/15/00 | Filmed: 03/17 – 03/29/00) With the lives of Gabrielle and Eve hanging in the balance, Xena faces the gods in a final showdown. Story by Robert Tapert | Teleplay by R.J. Stewart | Directed by Rick Jacobson | Production No. V0923 Chosen for the fight in the tavern between Xena and the Olympians, I featured this episode as #34 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 16. Season 6, Episode 11: “Dangerous Prey” (Aired: 01/22/01 | Filmed: 08/30 – 09/08; 11/23/00) Xena becomes the ultimate prey for the deranged Prince Morloch, who has been hunting and killing Amazons in his twisted quest for an adversay who can match his skills. Written by Joel Metzger | Directed by Renee O’Connor | Production No. V1413 This episode is chosen for the climactic battle between Xena and Prince Morloch on that Jenga-like pile of wood. Check out my thoughts on this episode, along with the opinions and recollections of the cast and crew here. 17. Season 6, Episode 14: “Path Of Vengeance” (Aired: 02/12/01 | Filmed: 11/23 – 12/05/00) Xena and Gabrielle fight to save Eve from execution when she returns to Amazon lands to make amends for her past. Written by Joel Metzger | Directed by Chris Martin-Jones | Production No. V1418 Chosen for the fight between Xena and Ares’ new protege Varia, I featured this episode as one of the 18 honorable mentions that narrowly missed inclusion on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. Check out what the cast and crew had to say about the episode here. 18. Season 6, Episode 21: “A Friend In Need (I)” (Aired: 06/11/01 | Filmed: 03/08 – 03/19/01) Summoned by a long-lost spiritual soulmate, Xena heads for Japan with Gabrielle on a daunting mission to save the city of Higuchi from destruction and make amends for her past. Story by Robert Tapert & R.J. Stewart | Teleplay by R.J. Stewart | Directed by Robert Tapert | Production No. V1424 Chosen for the action sequence in which Gabrielle shows Xena how she would save a burning town, I featured this episode as #45 on my list of the 60 best episodes. Read my thoughts here. heck out what the cast and crew had to say about the two-part finale here. Come back next week for another installment of Following Xena! And tune in tomorrow for another Joan Blondell Pre-Code Film Friday! Posted in Xena Tagged 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 1x01, 1x02, 1x22, 2000, 2001, 2x13, 3x01, 3x04, 3x13, 3x16, 4x02, 4x08, 4x14, 4x16, 4x21, 5x21, 5x22, 6x11, 6x14, 6x21, a friend in need (I), action, adventures in the sin trade (ii), alti, callisto, chariots of war, crusader, dahak, dangerous prey, devi, draco, drama, eve, first run syndication, gabrielle, livia, motherhood, najara, one against an army, path of vengeance, sins of the past, television, the deliverer, the furies, the ides of march, the quest, the way, varia, velasca, when in rome..., xena, xena: warrior princess

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Movies Filmed In Norcross, GA The other day, I noticed a street was closed here in Norcross. Apparently, the show Halt & Catch fire was filming there. I was going to an appointment to give an estimate on some water damage repair and had to go out of my way to avoid the closed streets. It got me thinking about what movies are filmed here in Norcross. To my surprise, there are several hugely popular movies and TV shows that are filmed here. I would have never known if I didn’t look on imdb.com for movies filmed here. So without much ado, here are some movies that are filmed here. Halt & Catch Fire – This show is on AMC and is a throwback to the 80’s when personal computing was just getting started. Oddly enough, I had no clue that Norcross is one of the main filming locations for the show (guess I need to catch up). Hidden Figures – The story of a team of female mathematicians who served a vital role in NASA during the early years of the U.S. space program. I did a bit of research and found out that the OFC facility was used as a pivotal part of the film. Furious 7 – The seventh fast and furious movie. In this one, Deckard Shaw seeks revenge against Dominic Toretto and his family for his comatose brother. Filmed in Norcross, Universal Pictures’ Fast & Furious 7 contributed $47 million to Georgia’s economy, according to the Gwinnett Chamber of Commerce. Of that, there were $15 million in overall hotel costs for cast and crew, and $5 million worth of hardware and lumber supplies to build sets for scenes in the movie. There were 7,500 Georgians hired to work in the film. The Hunger Games Mockingjay – Part 2 – The final movie in this four movie series, Norcross was featured heavily in the movie being that most of the movie was filmed at the OFS plant. As the war of Panem escalates to the destruction of other districts, Katniss Everdeen, the reluctant leader of the rebellion, must bring together an army against President Snow, while all she holds dear hangs in the balance. A Walk In The Woods – After spending two decades in England, Bill Bryson returns to the U.S., where he decides the best way to connect with his homeland is to hike the Appalachian Trail with one of his oldest friends. The home in which Robert Redford’s character lives is in Norcross on Ridgecrest Dr. Julie Foster, the owner of the home that was featured in the movie wrote an article about her experience renting her home to the producers. https://www.gwinnettforum.com/2015/09/focus-what-happens-when-the-film-companies-rent-your-home/ That’s just a few of them for this post. I’m going to do a follow up about a few more shows and movies filmed here in Norcross. Check this out… Just one of several movie theatres within a few miles of my office. This is why you hire a pro after water damage How Flood Insurance Works

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EU may blacklist Jersey as tax haven post-Brexit News | Published: Jan 24, 2017 JERSEY could be left vulnerable to being blacklisted as a 'tax haven' by the EU as the UK's influence in Brussels fades during the Brexit process, a top adviser to the States has warned. Speaking at an Institute of Law seminar on the implications of Brexit for Jersey, Colin Powell said that when Britain leaves the EU, the Island and the other Crown Dependencies could soon need to 'bat for themselves' as offshore finance centres, as they will no longer be represented by the UK in Brussels. Mr Powell, who is the Chief Minister's economic adviser and has been at the forefront of developing the Island's finance industry for decades, added that Jersey could need to seek new alliances with remaining EU member states, such as Malta, Ireland and Estonia, to speak on its behalf post-Brexit.

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In: DVDs THE FINAL COUNTDOWN TOUR 1986 Concert video released by Victor JVC in Japan in 1986. It features footage from a concert filmed at Solnahallen in Solna, Sweden on May 26, 1986. It was first released on VHS in Japan in 1986, and was released on DVD and CD on September 22, 2004. Time Has Come Rock the Night Joey Tempest – lead vocals, acoustic guitars John Norum – lead & rhythm guitars, backing vocals John Levén – bass guitar Mic Michaeli – keyboards, backing vocals Ian Haugland – drums, backing vocals THE FINAL COUNTDOWN: LIVE IN SWEDEN – 20th ANNIVERSARY EDITION Remastered edition, released on DVD on October 4, 2006 by Warner Bros. Entertainment to mark the 20th anniversary of the album The Final Countdown. Bonus material: band interviews made in 2006, picture gallery with rare pictures from the tour featuring the unreleased outtake “Where Men Won’t Dare” from “The Final Countdown” recording sessions, the band revisiting the studio where they recorded “The Final Countdown”, biographies. The first 5000 printed copies have been released in a special case with the new DVD and “The Final Countdown” album signed by the whole band, a cap and a T-shirt with Europe logo, 2 tickets for the next gig in Sweden. It did also include an exclusive 8 page colour booklet, with rare and unseen pictures, plus brand new liner notes by the journalist Anders Tengner. The tracks from LIVE FROM THE DARK DVD have been available starting from November 29, 2006. These tracks haven’t been released on CD or in any other MP3 store. Wings of Tomorrow The Final Countdown (Reprise) Previous Post: EUROPE Tour the Earth ’19 in JAPAN Next Post: Almost Unplugged (2009)

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John Q. Barrett Tag Archives: baseball Mets & Management I write from New York Mets Country—I work in Queens, just a few miles from Shea Stadium Citi Field, surrounded by many great people who are Mets fans. (And I write from the baseball offseason—painful.) The Mets have a new general manager, Brodie Van Wagenen. He is a former sports agent, including for some players whom the Mets, so now he, employs. It’s odd that he has no experience in the management of a baseball club. It’s also problematic that he has real conflicts of interest, between his loyalties to players he represented in the past and his job now to boss them. Van Wagenen could turn out to be great. But I’m doubtful. I base this on the above, and on his goofy statements—yes, things he said; how he speaks about what he thinks—at his October 30 introductory press conference. These included: “All I can go off of is what my experience has been and try to surround myself with people that fill in the gaps that I lack.” “I hope to have an existing group of people that are here, and I hope to build around them, regardless of what the titles are.” “I want [the Wilpon family, which owns the Mets,] to be involved. The truth of the matter is, if they’re not, that’s bad ownership.” Yes, I know—former New York Yankees star, then Mets player and then Mets manager Yogi Berra also had an amusing way with words… But Yogi was a field manager, not a general manager. He knew, to put it mildly, everything that his job required. Being General Manager is not only about knowing the game. GM is a major business leadership position. To be effective, a business leader needs to be, and to show it by sounding, sharp. At least so far, Van Wagenen hasn’t shown it. Oh, and one more strike against Van Wagenen as general manager—it was Jeff Wilpon’s idea. The New York Times reports that Wilpon, the Mets co-owner and chief operating officer, is Van Wagenen’s friend. It was Wilpon—part of what New York sports fans all know to be the Mets, well, to borrow a phrase, “bad ownership” [So maybe Van Wagenen does speak well, and slyly?]—who first suggested to Van Wagenen that he should apply for the general manager position. Van Wagenen was reluctant (good first instinct), but in the end he applied. Wilpon then hired the candidate he had recruited. * ** Pitchers and catchers report to spring training in just a few months. And someday, Mets fans,… This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged baseball, Brodie Van Wagenen, Jeff Wilpon, New York Mets on November 1, 2018 by JQB. TLP in PHL The Longstreth Principle (TLP) holds that every time you watch a baseball game, you will see something you’ve never seen before. This event/occurrence, sometimes just improbable and odd, sometimes also amazing, is thus called a “TLP.” At yesterday’s game in Philadelphia (final score: Milwaukee Brewers 12, Phillies 3), I saw Brewers catcher Erik Kratz [Who, right?] double in the second inning. The Brewers then were leading 2-0 (runs scored in the first). But the second inning ended with Kratz stranded on second and no runs scored—his double meant nothing. In the bottom of the third, the Phillies scored 3 times to take the lead, 3-2. That still was the score when Kratz next came up, in the 4th, with one out and no one on. Phillies pitcher Jake Arrieta promptly hit him in the shoulder. Next batter: double play, end of inning. So Kratz’s at-bat again meant nothing. He next came up in the 6th. The score was still 3-2, Phillies. But the Brewers were threatening (see more on that below)—2 men on, only one out. Arrieta again hit Kratz with a pitch. So there’s a TLP, at a couple of levels: one pitcher hits one batter with pitches twice in one game. (And it was Jake Arrieta, a big name/star/former Cy Young award-winner, hitting Erik Kratz, who is, um, not yet a household name.) But that was not the best TLP that I saw yesterday. It came in the top of the 6th inning, just mentioned. The Brewers were trailing 3-2. Travis Shaw (3B), leading off, bounced to pitcher Arrieta, who made a horrible throw to first that pulled the 1B way off the bag, but he still had time to make the catch and get back and touch first before Shaw arrived because he did not run it out hard—bad mistake, one out. And then the TLP began: Ryan Braun (LF) was awarded first base on catcher interference. Then Jonathan Villar (2B) walked. Then the much-noted (well, noted above) Erik Kratz was hit by a pitch—bases loaded. That was it for Arrieta—the Phillies pulled him after 5.1 innings, leading 3-2, leaving the bases loaded. They brought in a pitcher named Luis Garcia. He promptly got Brewers SS Orlando Arcilla to strike out, badly. So bases loaded, two outs. And the Brewers pitcher was coming to bat. So they replaced him with a pinch hitter, Ji-Man Choi. He fell behind in the count, and then got back to 3-2. And then he, a lefty, lined a homer down the left field line, just inside the foul pole. So that was, for me, yesterday’s TLP: three batters got on base, none by getting a hit, each in a different way, followed by a grand slam home run. Oh, and Erik Kratz? He’s age 37. He played many years in the minors before making it to the majors in 2010. Since then, he’s had a fine, journey-man, but not starring career. And, okay, he’s not had so many at-bats this year. But he was hitting .500 when the game started yesterday. And after his opening double and then two HBPs, he flied out, and then, on a poorly-fielded hit to the pitcher, got to second base when the pitcher threw the ball away. So Kratz went 1-for-3. The game dropped his average a little bit. But unless you get all picky about him having only 19 at-bats, his .474 makes him one of the very leading hitters in the National League. #thebestgame This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged baseball, Milwaukee Brewers, The Longstreth Principle, TLP on June 10, 2018 by JQB. Jackson List: Justices & the World Series For the Jackson List: United States Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens, a Chicago native, has been rooting for the Chicago Cubs almost since they last won a World Series—that was in 1908, just twelve years before Stevens was born. As Justice Stevens explained in a great interview posted on SCOTUSblog this morning (click here), he has seen many Cubs baseball games in Wrigley Field. On October 1, 1932, for example, he attended the third game of that year’s World Series and witnessed Babe Ruth’s famous “called shot” home run … and thus saw the New York Yankees beat the Cubs, 7-5, on their way to sweeping that World Series. On that day in 1932, a man named James M. Marsh, age nineteen, was listening to that game on the radio in western Pennsylvania and keeping score in his scorebook. Fifteen years later, Jim Marsh was clerking for Justice Robert H. Jackson at the Supreme Court. Marsh became a close friend of John Stevens, who was clerking then for Justice Wiley Rutledge. Marsh learned of Stevens’s love for the Cubs, and that he had seen Babe Ruth hit the called shot. In time, Marsh located his 1932 scorecard and gave it to Stevens. Justice Stevens then displayed it on the wall of his Supreme Court chambers. In contrast to Stevens and Marsh (and many of us), Justice Robert H. Jackson was no baseball fan. In 1951, for example, when Major League Baseball had leadership troubles and Jackson was reported to be under consideration to become its next commissioner, he found the idea distasteful. In summer 1950, as Jackson was preparing to take a cross-country train trip with his friend Harrison Tweed, a leading New York City lawyer, and he wrote Jackson to suggest that they see a baseball game on a layover day in Chicago, Jackson wrote back immediately, voting no: Personally, I don’t care much about baseball and haven’t seen a game in a good many years. Why don’t we take our chances on what we can do during the day[?] Maybe some good friend like [Chicago lawyer] Tap Gregory will come to our rescue. I may get in touch with him. Two summers early, indeed while Jim Marsh was beginning his second year as Jackson’s law clerk, Jackson commented privately, and not approvingly, that Babe Ruth’s death had garnered more news attention than had the death of Tweed’s law partner Walter Hope. (Really.) But Justice Jackson did have a near-brush with the Chicago Cubs, and, indeed, with the Cubs in the World Series. In early October 1945, beginning on the 6th of the month, Jackson was working in Berlin, in preparation for the impending prosecution of Nazi war criminals that he would be leading in Nuremberg. Jackson kept busy during the next four days with numerous meetings, some social occasions, and his own work. But really he was waiting for U.S. and other nations’ judges to arrive in Berlin so that the International Military Tribunal could hold its first session there (in the Soviet zone of military occupation), formally receiving the prosecutors’ indictment of the defendants, before adjourning to Nuremberg (in the U.S. zone) to conduct the trial. By October 10, 1945, Jackson, knowing that he had much work to do in Nuremberg, was fed up with waiting around in Berlin. He left two of his deputies to continue the work there. Jackson had command of a military plane, and he ordered it to fly him and some of his team that evening to Nuremberg. During the flight, Justice Jackson stayed in his seating area on the plane, I am sure. But others, including his son and executive assistant Bill Jackson, crowded around the cockpit. They managed to listen there to a radio broadcast of the final game of the World Series, which was being played in Wrigley Field. (Alas for Cubs fans such as then-first year law student John Paul Stevens, just back in Chicago and civilian life after four years of wartime service in the U.S. Navy, the Detroit Tigers won that World Series game seven, beating the Chicago Cubs, 9-3, and thus the Series.) In 2016, the long wait of Justice Stevens and all Cubs fans for a World Series championship is compelling. It bears at least passing note, however, that another Justice, Harold H. Burton (1888-1964), would be rooting the other way. Justice Burton was colleague of Justice Jackson and Justice Rutledge on the Court, and Burton was everyone’s model of judicial diligence and fairness. Harold Burton had served as Mayor of Cleveland, Ohio, from 1935 until 1940. He then became a U.S. Senator from Ohio, serving from 1941 until he resigned following his appointment to the Supreme Court. Justice Burton was commissioned a Supreme Court justice on September 22, 1945. That autumn, seventy-one years ago, was only three years before the Cleveland Indians, the Cubs’ opponent this year, won their most recent World Series. This post was emailed to the Jackson List, a private but entirely non-selective email list that reaches many thousands of subscribers around the world. I write to it periodically about Justice Robert H. Jackson, the Supreme Court, Nuremberg and related topics. The Jackson List archive site is http://thejacksonlist.com/. To subscribe, email me at barrettj@stjohns.edu. Thank you for your interest, and for spreading the word. This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged baseball, Chicago Cubs, Cleveland Indians, Harold H. Burton, Jackson List, James M. Marsh, John Paul Stevens, Justice Harold H. Burton, Justice Jackson, Justice John Paul Stevens, Justice Robert H. Jackson, law clerk, Nuremberg, Robert H. Jackson, World Series on October 28, 2016 by JQB. Jackson List: Judge Learned Hand, Not a Baseball Fan This post, with some footnotes added, now is on the Jackson List archive site in “book look” PDF file form. This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged ALI, American Law Institute, baseball, Herbert Brownell, Jackson List, Learned Hand, Mickey Mantle, Robert H. Jackson, William P. Rogers on April 6, 2015 by JQB. Welcome to John Q. Barrett’s blog. I am a law professor at St. John’s University in New York City, where I teach courses in Constitutional Law, Criminal Procedure and Legal History. I also serve as Elizabeth S. Lenna Fellow at the Robert H. Jackson Center in Jamestown, New York–I am a Justice Jackson biographer. My email is barrettj@stjohns.edu. Update re The Jackson List October 25, 2019 “The Best Man That We Had. Recently.” August 3, 2019 Jackson List: Respecting the Mother of a Man Killed in Auschwitz (1946) August 1, 2019 Jackson List: Donald B. Verrilli, Jr.’s Jackson Lecture at Chautauqua Institution July 29, 2019 Jackson List: Update on DOJ’s Much-Coveted AG Jackson Portrait July 26, 2019 St. John's faculty bio page Jackson List archive

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Max Martin trails behind The Beatles with most #1 songs It should come to no surprise that Max Martin is the most prolific pop songwriter of today having penned hits for Britney Spears, Katy Perry, & Taylor Swift. Some claim that he is behind the whole modern pop sound. He’s since topped the charts with 18 signature songs performed by N’Sync, P!nk, Kelly Clarkson, Maroon 5, Katy Perry and Taylor Swift. Max Martin has the third most No. 1 singles, trailing behind Paul McCartney, with 32, and John Lennon, with 26. Would you put Max Martin, the man behind Britney Spears “Hit Me Baby One More Time” in the same league as John Lennon & McCartney?

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FHJDSHJDGSHHDGF The Israeli Summer: Tent Cities, Bombs, Boycotts and Herzl’s Dream by David Krantz NEW YORK (Aug. 22, 2011) — If you thought Theodor Herzl’s dream was fulfilled with the establishment of the modern state of Israel in 1948, think again. Thousands are camping out in Israel’s cities, demanding social change. Thousands more around the world, angered by the Palestinians’ situation, seek to boycott Israel. Meanwhile, Egypt, Israel and Gaza volley bombs and rockets in escalating attacks and counterattacks. Which brings us back to Herzl. His dream wasn’t simply the creation of a Jewish democratic state, but the creation of a model state — a place that would protect its environment, a place powered by clean, renewable energy, and a place where all people, regardless of religion, ethnicity or social class, would be treated fairly. For the past month, Israelis camped out in Israel’s cities have been protesting a breakdown in the social contract — rapidly rising expenses as wealth is concentrated in fewer and fewer hands — that marks a distancing from the Herzlian dream. Ten families control about 30 percent of Israel’s economy, leading to what’s become an oligopolic state. Yet 22 percent of Israelis are classified as food insecure — unable to access the amount of healthy food needed on a regular basis. A quarter of Israelis live in poverty. And housing prices can jump as much as 20 percent in a single year. These problems plague everyone — Jew and Arab, Orthodox and secular, Israeli-born sabra and new immigrant. Only the rich are immune. Israel has among the highest gaps between the rich and the poor of any developed country in the world. “Among the objects of the protesters’ fury are the soaring cost of living — for housing, gasoline, food and a decent education — and the widely shared sense that Israel’s go-go economy has enriched a new class of elites and oligarchs while leaving middle-class families in the dust,” opined the Washington Post’s editorial board. “What does it matter if the country is spawning high-tech start-ups and posh restaurants, say the mostly young protesters, if hundreds of thousands of well-educated people with jobs can barely afford to pay rents that climb by five or 10 percent each year? Who cares whether unemployment is among the lowest of any rich nation if the distribution of income and wealth is among the most inequitable?” The current system of wealth distribution didn’t evolve naturally. Rather, it’s the product of the privatization of government assets — such as Bezeq, the Bank of Israel and Israel Chemicals Ltd. — in the 1980s and 1990s under the supervision of finance ministers mostly from Likud, the party of current Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who also served as prime minister in the 1990s. The trend continues today as the Netanyahu-led government prepares to privatize more state-owned corporations, including Israel Railways, Israel Aircraft Industries and Israel Military Industries. “It was basically selling assets to cronies,” said Israel Center for Social and Economic Progress Director Daniel Doron, describing Israel’s privatization to The New York Times. “Today, the whole Israeli economy is built on rapacious elites fleecing consumers.” And what about the state powered by clean, renewable energy that Herzl envisioned in his 1902 book AltNeuLand? More than 60 years after Israel’s founding, less than one percent of Israel’s electricity is produced by renewable energy. Instead, Israel is powered by coal, the dirtiest fossil fuel of all, releasing 200 pounds of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere per one million BTU of heat generation. And in a few years, Israel will be powered by the relatively less-polluting natural gas, which emits 117 pounds of carbon per million BTU. The effect is disastrous: According to the World Health Organization, every year more people die due to air pollution in the Tel Aviv metropolitan area alone than from wars and terrorism in the entire state combined. While Israel’s security situation is certainly an important issue, environmental degradation is far more deadly. Air pollution is an even bigger killer than accidents in oil-burning cars and trucks that, ironically, are major contributors to poor air quality. To those who think that this month’s launch in Israel of the world’s first nationwide electric-car network is the solution, consider this: The cars may not be burning oil, but they run on batteries charged from the electric grid. And where does the electric grid get its energy? By burning fossil fuels. An electric-car network is part of the answer, but it's not the solution. We need to transition Israel’s grid to renewable energy sources, such as solar and wind. And we need to wean people off cars with better-planned cities, more bike paths and more public-transportation projects. Jerusalem recently took a step in the right direction with the opening this past Friday of a new light-rail system under the stewardship of Deputy Mayor Naomi Tsur, a Green Zionist Alliance advisory-board member. Tel Aviv needs to follow suit. The Trouble with Boycotts The Israeli Knesset members who this summer approved the “Boycott Law” have hurt Israel far more than any boycotter could. The law, which punishes those who call for boycotting Israel or products from the territories, tramples on the right to free speech and only serves to strengthen the arguments of those who wish to delegitimize Israel. Just as Israel shouldn’t boycott the boycotters, those who seek to promote a method of BDS — boycott, divestment and sanctions — against Israel in order to convince the country to take more active steps leading to a Palestinian state are also being counterproductive. Israel’s Boycott Law proves that the current Israeli administration responds to BDS pressures simply by digging in its heels harder. The leaders of the ruling parties already feel as if Israel is isolated — boycotting the country doesn’t make them reconsider their decisions, but rather makes them feel that their actions are even more justified. Simultaneously, BDS undermines the many Israelis who are fighting politically and socially for change by delegitimizing them and their struggle in the eyes of the world. BDS isn’t the path to change — it’s the path to more of the same. Additionally, Israel remains a vibrant democracy based on the Western model of free elections, an independent judicial system and freedoms of speech, religion and assembly. Singling out Israel as a subject for boycott instead of the dozens of countries in the world that deny their people these freedoms is simply unfair. Make no mistake: Israel needs policy change very badly — the security situation is the single-largest excuse and distraction preventing policymakers from seriously addressing the issues of environmental degradation and the society’s gaping socio-economic divide. But pushing BDS is both an unfair and an ineffective method of pursuing change. Similarly, stripping the Jewish National Fund of its nonprofit status, as demanded by some in both the United States and the United Kingdom, is ill advised. Certainly, the Green Zionist Alliance has taken issue with some of JNF’s activities — such as the unsustainably planned Blueprint Negev project and its impact on both the desert ecosystem and the Bedouins — but JNF is a valuable institution that needs repair, not destruction. Like both Israel and America, JNF does far more good than bad, and the GZA will continue working to further green both JNF and Israel. Tackling Problems Head On It is folly to think that the issues with how the Israeli government treats both its own citizens and Palestinians will go away if we just ignore them long enough. The situation with the Palestinians isn’t likely to get better until there’s a mutually agreed-upon final agreement that ensures a peaceful future. Air pollution, energy production, overconsumption of water and badly planned land use will persist as problems until policy remedies are enacted. And although the protesters in Israel’s streets may eventually leave their tent cities, unless their concerns are addressed and the social contract is repaired, the root problems behind the protests will remain. Implementing solutions may be difficult, but the cost of inaction is far greater. To address the Palestinian situation, both parties must negotiate and be willing to make painful compromises that lead to a Palestinian state peacefully living alongside a continued Jewish democratic state of Israel. To address environmental degradation, we need a transition to renewable-energy production coupled with new efforts at reducing water usage, increasing land conservation (such as saving the endangered Samar sand dunes in the Arava Valley), supporting sustainable agricultural methods that use less water and energy while reducing pollution, and developing communities that encourage alternatives to cars. And to address the social unrest, Israel must restore the social contract and reprioritize people. Following the lead of governments that break up large anti-competitive corporations, the oligopoly that controls nearly a third of Israel’s wealth may need to be broken up as well. Laws already limit the amount of foreign ownership for companies in certain industries; new laws may be needed to limit the concentration of familial ownership as well. Israel needs to reinvest in education, healthcare and the environment. Capitalism needn’t be scrapped, but laws can be passed that create minimum and maximum standards of living. As Rabbi Michael Melchior asks, how many cars can one person drive anyway? The high cost of housing has been another major factor in the protests. But the problem isn’t that there aren’t enough apartments — rather, it’s how those apartments are allocated. About a third of luxury apartments in Israel are second or third homes that are unused for most of the year, but nonetheless push up real-estate prices across all income classes. Netanyahu’s plan in response to the protests — to build 10,000 dorm rooms while stripping property-tax exemptions from 140,000 vacant apartments — is a good start, but it’s not enough to alleviate Israel’s housing crunch. Wealthy Americans who keep apartments just outside the Old City for the holidays may not want to hear this, but Israel should resurrect a plan from last year that would heavily tax vacant apartments, essentially incentivizing the rental of vacant second and third homes like those that dominate Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Such a move not only would go much further to increase the rental supply, but it also could revitalize city centers now filled with vacant homes. While such a move would help address Israel’s housing crunch, it doesn’t fully address all of the socio-economic problems that have led to this summer’s protests. What’s needed is a green New Deal. Fortunately, this past week the Green Movement — the GZA’s sister organization in Israel co-chaired by GZA co-founder Dr. Alon Tal — published just such a plan. “The Economics of Tomorrow” outlines ways to economically incentivize activities that help society, such as building affordable housing using environmentally sustainable construction methods — and ways to disincentivize activities that hurt society, such as pollution. If the Green Movement wins representation in the next Knesset elections, the Economics of Tomorrow could become a reality. It’s clear that we still have a lot of work to do if we’re going to fulfill Herzl’s dream of a model state. The Zionist project has accomplished a lot so far, but our work is far from complete. Cross-posted from GreenZionism.org Tags: Advocacy and/or Policy, Conservation, Israel / Zionism / Middle East, Land Use, Renewable Energy, Supporting the Environmental Movement in Israel David Krantz Featured Causes: Green Zionist Alliance, Jewcology Isaac Hametz August 23, 2011 (10:35 am) David, your article does a great job outlining many of the challenges Israel faces as it matures in to the kind of state Herzl dreamed of. One of the most heartening outcomes of the protests this summer has been willingness of average Israelis to come together in street for the sake of dialogue. Learning groups have popped up alongside tent encampments and people are talking – and most importantly listening. Hopefully, the government will learn the lesson of the street and begin transparent discussions with the polis. Keep up the great work and lets be in touch. I have some good news from Earth’s Promise. Maybe we can get some joint work going… August 24, 2011 (5:03 am) Thanks Isaac! I’ll PM you for details. More Posts by Author see all posts by David Krantz » Turning the General Assembly into a Green Assembly Posted on November 15,2010 Chanukah: The Holiday of Energy Conservation Posted on December 02,2010 Sharing God’s Green Earth: Planting a Green World by Engaging the Greater Community Trees: The Ultimate Environmentalists Posted on January 20,2011 Power to the People? Energy Battle in Israel Pits Firms vs. Public Interest Posted on February 04,2011 Fresh from the field A Vegetarian New Year by susanrl Growing Torah for Adults and Children in the Orthodox Community: Two Orthodox Environmental Organizations Merge to Maximize Impact by canfeievonne Living the Chanukah Miracle by richardschwartz Ten Reasons Jews Should Consider Becoming a Vegetarian or a Vegan My Responses to an Article in Orthodox Judaism-orientated Mishpacha (Family) Magazine That Refutes Climate Threats Please consider adding the link to my recently published paper entitle... Donald37 on Love Israel? Then Fight Fracking Donald37 on GZA Leads KKL-JNF Effort Against Fracking in Israel Many thanks, Susan Levine, for adding this beautiful picture to my art... Richard Schwartz on Yom Kippur and Vegetarianism Thank you for this post with a lot of wonderful Jewish teaching on jus... Wellsprings on In Defense of Jewish Liberals "Once again, it is Judaism that has such powerful teachings about comp... Yavoy on My Response to a Negative Review of My Book, "Who Stole My Religion?" 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Wet Nose Wednesday Drones Over Southwest Michigan Kalamazoo Country Exclusives Darrell Burke Construction See Chris Stapleton’s Incredibly Powerful Tribute to Aretha Franklin Annie Reuter Chris Stapleton was in California on Thursday (Aug. 16) when news broke that Aretha Franklin had died at the age of 76. He paid tribute to the late Queen of Soul during a show at the Mattress Firm Amphitheater in Chula Vista, Calif., that night. "We lost a legend today," Stapleton remarked before breaking into Franklin's "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man." "In my opinion, the greatest singer that ever lived. We'll do our best to make a tribute to her tonight." Stapleton's slowed-down, heartfelt cover shows his flexibility. With added emotion and a guttural belt, the singer had his audience screaming along throughout a five-minute delivery. "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man" was recorded by Franklin, the first woman to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in 1967. Willie Nelson recorded a version of the song for his 1982 album, Always on My Mind. Franklin had a massive impact on the country genre, evident in several covers that resurfaced upon the legend's death last week. Acts like Jo Dee Messina, Reba McEntire and Faith Hill have shared the soul singer's influence on them. "Sending my love and prayers to the family and friends of the incomparably influential Aretha Franklin," Messina writes on Twitter. "Her legacy will live on forever." In an interview with the Washington Post in 1996, Hill gushed about the soul icon. "For me, the big influence wasn't Linda Ronstadt; it was Aretha Franklin," Hill said at the time. "I've always listened to Aretha. When you hear the drums and bass on my records, that's where it comes from." McEntire also shared the late singer's influence on social media when posting her rousing rendition of "Respect" as performed at the 1988 CMA Awards. Country Stars Remember Aretha Franklin Fondly: Source: See Chris Stapleton’s Incredibly Powerful Tribute to Aretha Franklin Filed Under: Chris Stapleton Vote For The Best Tattoo Shop In West Michigan 2018 Kalamazoo Business Listings 2020 Kalamazoo's Country is part of the Taste Of Country Network, Townsquare Media, Inc. All rights reserved.

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Nicola Field Today I would like to honour the ceramic work of a close friend Nicola Field who has taught me so much about creation and finding meaning in the experience of being a disabled person. Her current work HOW TO BE STRONG is a mixed media art installation project. The central piece is a collection of ceramic bowls in varying states of fragility and strength, disintegration and wholeness. Together their struggle to hold together in a state of being becomes a discourse on the experience of disabled people in a Society where they are under constant attack from a series of welfare reforms which threaten the very centre of their existence. Watch them for a while. The bowls evoke our own feelings of fragility, threat, and the struggle for strength in a very profound way. The more I make contact with the piece and touch and hold the bowls the more moving I find it. I personally feel very honoured to have been made my own bowl which with its relative strength and smooth wholeness speaks to me of the gift, and shared strength, of friendship. An associated work in progress from Nicola is a book which explores the acts of reparation and holding (both symbolically within the art therapy and in an exploration of meaning through the words of a prose poem) which have been required to allow the bowls to hold together and come into being. Thus this becomes a discourse on the self and the processes of splitting and disintegration, reintegration, holding, containment and relative wholeness which can be experienced within a therapeutic exploration of self. As I have recently started work on a series of felted bowl sets and containers we jokingly said we might look at a joint work with hard and fragile ceramic structures embraced in soft, warm felt to explore the feelings that evokes. For many of us it is necessary to turn to art to find meaning for the harder aspects of experience. In engaging in art or with a craft in a therapeutic way we are trying to make sense of what we find.

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Hitchhiker's Guide... the non-spoilery version It's actually kinda hard to talk about a film without adding any spoilers. When Star Wars I came out, the person I was dating went thru hell to not have any spoilers. And when the film was promoted that hard, I knew that at some point she'd find out and look at me and say, "Liam Neeson?" So, let's start off by explaining how I got to that point. Last Saturday we ran into Pasadena to pick up an adapter at the Apple store for the new G5. (yum) A guy was on the street corner passing out Film preview invites. Normally, you blow these off. The guy said it was for HHG2G. I remember responding, "I don't know how emphatically I can say Yes." We grabbed a few others and I tried calling people to see who could join us this evening. They said we needed to be there by 6:30 which ruled several locals out. I even invited a person or two from SF to take the drive down. So... once you had the magick paper, you had to call a number and RSVP. You read some codes off the invite paper and they told you to write a woman's name on the top corner. (Fast forward) we got to the theatre about an hour before the hour before they told us to show up. The film was at 7:30, they said be there by 6:30. We got there at 5:30. We walked aroud for about 20 minutes and then went to see the theatre. Damn, I'm glad we got there when we did. At 5:50 we were about 80th in line. After about 15 minutes they collected our yellow sheet. You absolutely couldn't trade in sheets for people that weren't in line. This really sucked because some really good friends were coming at 6:30 like the sheet said. And the way things were lining up... it didn't look good. At 6:30 they opened the doors. They gave us vouchers for free popcorn and soda. They use metal detectors and searched bags. Cameras were confiscated. Somehow, the gods were merciful and they paid no attention to my SK. Just as we were going into the theatre my friends called. I got the seat. Ran out, (getting my hand stamped) and delivered the invite paper to my friend. Sadly that was the last I saw him. I have a feeling they cut off entry on them. Grymble. (I have since found out that the line was cut off right in front of them and then the bastards let people in from the line behind them. Why I hate corporate suits 103) Inside we waited while they sat people. At about 7:30 a woman made an announcement. This was one of the first public viewings by an audience. Sound and effects may not be polished. And there'd be a poll afterwards. Then it was movie time. From a NON SPOILER point of view. There is good news and bad news. Both are: this movie was made with fans of the book in mind. There are definitely differences and some new material, but in general it's very faithful, not only to the original writing, but to Adams' humour as well. The reason I say that this is bad news is quite simply because I think Adams humour is going to go right over the average audience member's head. This isn't Galaxy Quest. Those however who love Adams' writing.. they will enjoy it. There is more than one treat for fans. Not only fans of the Book, but fans of the original radio series and the video series. I will of course post a more spoilery review shortly... But for now.. let me say... I liked it. I will go back to see it in release. And if it doesn't change much... I'll probably pre-order the DVD now. Love to all -A hoopy frood who knows where his towel is. (His towel is possibly the only autographed towel by Douglas Adams)

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What do we believe? Sunday Meeting Women - Inspire Building Development Transforming Lives for Good Jon's Letters See also the Terms and Conditions statement. Use of text, images and other content on this website is subject to the following terms and conditions: CONTENT IS PROTECTED BY INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY LAWS Text and image files, audio and video clips, and other content on this website are the property of Liberty Church. Copyrights and other proprietary rights in the content on this website may also be owned by individuals and entities other than, and in addition to, Liberty Church. Liberty Church expressly prohibits the copying of any protected materials on this website, except for the purposes of fair use as defined in the copyright law, and as described below. FAIR USE IS PERMITTED Fair use of copyrighted material includes the use of protected materials for non-commercial educational purposes, such as teaching, scholarship, research, criticism, commentary, and news reporting. Unless otherwise noted, users who wish to download or print text and image files from this Web site for such uses may do so without the express permission of Liberty Church, provided that they comply with the following conditions: The content may only be used for personal, educational or noncommercial purposes; Users must cite the author and source of the content as they would material from any printed work; The citation must include all copyright information and other information associated with the content and the URL for the Liberty Church website; None of the content may be altered or modified; Users must comply with all other terms or restrictions which may be applicable to the individual file, image, or text. By downloading, printing, or otherwise using text and image files from this website, users agree and warrant that they will limit their use of such files to fair use and will comply with all other terms and conditions of this license, and will not violate the rights of Liberty Church or any other person or entity. Liberty Church does not warrant that use of the text, images and content displayed on the website will not infringe the rights of third parties not owned by or affiliated with Liberty Church. COMMERCIAL USE IS RESTRICTED Unauthorized commercial publication or exploitation of text, images or content of this website is specifically prohibited. Anyone wishing to use any of these files or images for commercial use, publication, or any purpose other than fair use as defined by law, must request and receive prior written permission from Liberty Church. Permission for such use is granted on a case-by-case basis at the sole discretion of Liberty Church. A usage fee may be assessed depending on the type and nature of the proposed use. 10:30am in Liberty Centre, Pitreavie Way, Pitreavie Business Park, Dunfermline, Fife KY11 8QS Liberty Centre, Pitreavie Way, Pitreavie Business Park, Dunfermline, Fife KY11 8QS, UK Email: office@libertychurch.co.uk a ChurchInsight siteCopyrightT&CsPrivacyCookiesRegistered Charity SC002865

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Clerk Refuses To Enforce New York’s Latest Ridiculous Law By Sons of 1776 June 20, 2019 New York’s latest law is so ridiculous that an upstate New York clerk is refusing to abide by it. Erie County Clerk Michael Kearns has expressed fierce criticism for the new legislation that was signed by Governor Andrew Cuomo earlier this week. This new law allows undocumented migrants to apply for drivers’ licenses and Kearns is saying he “will not be granting drivers’ licenses to illegal immigrants.” According to WIVB in Buffalo, Kearns sent a letter to attorney Michael Siragusa on Tuesday asking for representation in a lawsuit over the legislation in federal court, Siragusa did not immediately respond to requests for comment. WIVB reported that a spokesperson for the attorney said the letter had been delivered, and that he “will be reviewing the request to make a determination on any potential action.” The troubling law makes New York the 13th state to authorize driver’s licenses for immigrants who have entered the U.S. illegally. Some feel that this is wrong because it acts as a reward for those who broke the law by sneaking into the country. Kearns is not only one of those people, but he also believes that this state law breaks overarching federal immigration laws. “After a review of the act, I am convinced that it is inconsistent with federal law,” Kearns wrote in the letter. “More importantly, however, complying with the act puts me and other county clerks in the untenable position of having to decide whether to uphold federal law or the newly enacted state law. I anticipate being sued in either event.” When speaking with WIVB, Kearns made suggestions that the bill may be a violation of the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986, which would make it illegal to knowingly hire illegal immigrants. Kearns also told the media outlet he has hopes that the law will get thrown out prior to going into effect as is currently scheduled in December. He added that he will not follow the law if it does take effect. When asked if he is prepared to lose his position if he doesn’t comply with the law Kearns told the television station, “He [Governor Cuomo] has the power. However, through my research, working through my legal team, we have to be charged. There has to be some charges, and I get to answer those charges. It’s almost one of those things we’re preparing for. I hope it doesn’t happen.” Gov. Cuomo’s support for the bill has recently appeared to shift however, as he expressed concerns that the U.S. immigration officials could potentially use state license information to locate immigrants for deportation. The governor asked for a legal review by the office of Attorney General Letitia James, who said she supports the bill but wouldn’t speculate on the federal response. Supporters of the bill include the state Business Council and immigrant advocates who think licenses would help immigrants get jobs. Republican lawmakers, the only sane party left, argue that illegal immigrants shouldn’t be rewarded for violating the rules. Kearns stand is very important in the fight against the irrational Dems. who look to ruin the country one step at a time. Virginia Democrat And Convicted Sex Offender Wins State Election Attorney General Bill Barr Will Not Testify at Planned Thursday Hearing; Dems Threaten Citation Top Judiciary Republican Will Take No Prisoners During Newest Impeachment Process

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Playful Games with Reality: Christopher Priest’s “The Islanders” By Paul Kincaid TO GET SOME UNDERSTANDING of the Dream Archipelago, it is perhaps worth noting that the Torquis island group can be found at the coordinates 44oN – 49oN and 23oW – 27oW, while the Torquils island group is located at 23oS – 27oS and 44oE – 49oE. There is also an island group known as the Torquins — though, since nobody has visited this group, it may not exist. If that suggests that the Dream Archipelago is geographically and ontologically uncertain, a place where reality itself is unreliable, then you have come some way to understanding the playful undermining of our certainties that is the overwhelming characteristic of Christopher Priest’s latest fiction, which recently won the British Science Fiction Association’s award for best novel of 2011. Though to call the book a novel is only to use the least unreliable of any number of terms that could be applied to this complex and ever-shifting work. When Christopher Priest began writing about the Dream Archipelago in the late-1970s the world-girdling archipelago was clearly an avatar of the Greek islands, which were just then becoming generally affordable for British holidaymakers and had already acquired a reputation for hedonism and sexual licence. This reputation is reflected here, for instance, in the erotomane laws on Torquil. In Priest’s stories, collected in The Dream Archipelago (1999), the Dream Archipelago separated a cold northern continent whose technologically advanced nations were locked in a perpetual war, and a largely uninhabited southern desert continent where this war was mostly fought out. Between the two land masses lies a chain of islands so profuse that no one has a clear idea exactly how many there are. The islands of the Dream Archipelago represent the unease of neutrality, politically, morally, socially, and sexually. They are places of escape, particularly for deserting soldiers, and yet many of them turn into a trap in themselves; they are places of sexual freedom, but the price of such freedom is often death. The sexual allure that constantly draws visitors to the islands has a vicious side; the stories consistently render desire as threatening and generally fatal. The psychosexual dramas played out in these stories were transformed in what many consider to be Priest’s finest novel, The Affirmation (1980), in which the nature of identity is undermined and reconfigured. The islands become a place not so much of sexual or political liberation as of an escape from oneself, a place for reimagining one’s own identity. At that point he stopped writing about the Dream Archipelago, though there were references to it in The Quiet Woman (1990), and later novels such as The Prestige (1995; the source for Christopher Nolan’s 2006 film) and The Separation (2002; winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award) continued to explore themes previously laid out in those stories. Recently, however, he has returned to the Dream Archipelago in a number of short stories, and now there is another novel. The Islanders is as different from The Affirmation as it is possible to be and yet still retain that sense of shattered identities, unstable realities, the combination of allure and threat, and above all the willingness to challenge and experiment with our understanding of what is going on. The new novel takes the form of a gazetteer, with entries in alphabetical order describing some 53 of the main islands and island groups in the Dream Archipelago, providing information for the tourist on landscapes, flora and fauna, currency, and the like. The islands, we learn, all have at least two names, and some have more; Muriseay, the largest island in the archipelago and the one that features most often in the stories, is also known as “Red Jungle,” “Threshold of Love,” “Big Island,” and “Yard of Bones,” the names suggestive of the many stories that associate themselves with these islands. We also learn, through this deeper and broader exploration of the archipelago, that they are more than the fantastic substitute for the Greek islands they once were. The events that prove central to the book, for instance, take place at the Teater Sjøkaptein in the town of Omhuuv on the island of Goorn, names suggestive of a colder, more Scandinavian setting. Indeed, in this novel the archipelago comes across, in more senses than one, as a rather chillier place than it did before. Several entries restrict themselves to basic facts about the islands, but other forms of information start to intrude: there are diary entries, letters, newspaper articles, official reports, memoirs, personal accounts, confessions, and more. Many of these constitute stand-alone short stories, so that at times The Islanders comes across as a collection of separate tales; at times it is like a “fix up,” linked stories that add up to something close to a novel. Then, slowly, we realize that in among the several stories we are being told there is one central mystery to which we keep returning, sometimes directly, sometimes only glancingly. By the end of this intricately structured work, we accept that it is a novel, but a novel unlike any other we have read. Because of its complex structure, nothing of this central mystery is presented in chronological order or from consistent viewpoints. We are given fragments of a story: our first intimation of the central thread of the tale, for instance, comes in the form of a newspaper report of an old miscarriage of justice. Later comes a student’s first-hand account of a year he spent working in a provincial theatre; another piece reveals, in passing, that the student had concealed his real identity; still another will make mention of a famous mime artist killed on stage in mysterious circumstances. It is up to us to piece all these disparate scraps together to discover what story it is we are being told. And since not every account we read can be telling the truth, we might all come up with a different story depending on which accounts we choose to believe and which we dismiss. Such a disjointed, achronological structure is nothing new for Priest. His second novel, Fugue for a Darkening Island (1972, revised 2011), opens, in its first paragraph, with a description of the protagonist as the story begins, and in its second paragraph, with a description of the same character as the story ends. Thereafter, the novel moves, seemingly at random, to disparate scenes between these two points. Famously, Priest introduced one discontinuity into the text so that the paragraphs could not simply be rearranged into a coherent chronological whole. I doubt that he has needed to play the same trick this time, if only because there are more than enough reasons for us to doubt and question what we are told. For instance, the introduction to the gazetteer has been written by Chaster Kammeston, the most famous novelist in the Dream Archipelago. And yet, the book that he introduces includes an account of his death and funeral. So can we really be reading the book that he has introduced? Not only that, but Kammeston turns out to be a central player in the novel’s mystery, and we have to assume that he would not so openly support a work that implicated him in murder. Nor is this the only incongruity that makes us question the novel. We drift in time just as readily as we meander from island to island; events in one telling seem to be far in the past, in another they are current; characters are long dead in one tale and mingling with figures from a later age in another. Part of this is play; The Islanders is often very funny and contains some of the driest jokes Priest has ever written. Part of it is deadly serious; this is a profound meditation on the nature and unreliability of truth, on belief and trust. Just as one of the main characters in the novel is the writer Chaster Kammeston, so other recurring figures are artists, but artists whose work tests our sense of reality. There is the sculptress whose work consists of tunnels drilled through islands until they become tuned instruments played by the wind, artwork that has the unfortunate side effect of destabilizing the islands themselves. There is the painter and serial adulterer whose erotic paintings, often withheld from public view, reveal in their detail stories only hinted at elsewhere. There is the up-and-coming novelist who writes, in vain, for advice from Chaster Kammeston and who turns out to be Moylita Kaine, a central figure in the very first Dream Archipelago story (“The Negation,” 1978), and whose own magnum opus is The Affirmation, further blurring the lines about what we can trust. And, of course, there is the mime artist whose death is open to so many explanations, and who seems to have performed as much off stage as on. Alongside these are other stories, some of which echo earlier tales. The horror of the vampiric creatures enclosed within the ancient towers on Seevl, for instance, recalls the unease generated by “The Miraculous Cairn” (1980). Equally horrific, but new to this volume, are the creatures discovered on the Aubrac Chain. These two stories, involving as they do archaeological and biological expeditions, indicate that alongside the interlinked artistic themes there is a concern with the scientific exploration of the islands, from investigation of the peculiar winds and tides to the social ideas of E.W. Caurer who plays, obliquely, as big a part in this novel as Chaster Kammeston, and as mysterious a part, since she seems to have lived well past her supposed death. The interlinking of these many different strands of story is represented by Esphoven Muy who investigated the winds of the archipelago and who was one of the lovers of the painter Dryd Bathurst, whose standard biography was, in turn, written by Chaster Kammeston. All are drawn together into a complex interweaving of plot and ideas, of playful games with reality and serious challenges to our preconceptions. The result is easily one of the richest and most rewarding novels that Priest has written to date. The Islanders By Christopher Priest Published 2012-01-01 00:00:00 World-Shifting: Haruki Murakami's "1Q84" By Charles Yu Margaret Atwood and the S and F Words By John Clute Venturing in the Slipstream By Brian Attebery By Brooks Landon Language and Monsters By Neil Easterbrook A Malaise Deeper Than Shopping By Rob Latham

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Archive for Sylvester Stallone Tango & Cash (1988) Review Posted in Tango & Cash with tags Kurt Russell, Sylvester Stallone, Tango & Cash, Teri Hatcher on July 25, 2014 by Last Road Reviews *** ½ Out of 5 Tagline- Two of L.A.’s Top Rival Cops are Going to Have to Work Together. Even If It Kills Them Release Date- December 22nd, 1989 Running Time- 104-Minutes Rating- R Screenplay- Randy Feldman Director- Andrey Konchalovskiy Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Kurt Russell, Teri Hatcher, Brion James and Jack Palance Released in 1989 Tango & Cash was made to cash in (no pun intended) on the success of Lethal Weapon. While most cite Lethal Weapon as the start of the buddy cop film it was actually 48 Hours that started the formula despite Eddie Murphy playing a criminal and not a cop and than of course Beverly Hills Cop, but Lethal Weapon, which is one of my all time favorite films elevated both the buddy cop and action film to a whole other level and along with Die Hard are two of the most influential action films of all time. Tango & Cash is a film I enjoy, but its also for me one of my biggest letdowns since it stars two of my favorite actors, Sylvester Stallone and Kurt Russell during the prime of their careers and Tango & Cash also has a great supporting cast and its a film that should have reached epic heights, but turns out a fun film nothing less and nothing more. When all is said and done what makes the film enjoyable is the chemistry between Sly and Russell who really worked amazing together. Outside of Rocky, Rocky Balboa and First Blood this is my favorite Sly performance and Kurt Russell is always great in anything he does. Ray Tango (Stallone) and Gabriel Cash (Russell) are rival cops each thinking their the best in L.A., but when they’re both set up for murder and sent to prison they hatch an escape plan and form an alliance in trying to clear their name. The screenplay was written by Randy Feldman who in 1981 wrote the now cult classic slasher film Hell Night, which starred Linda Blair, Tango & Cash came out 8-years later and was his 2nd script produced after this Feldman would write Nowhere to Run with Van Damme and Metro with Eddie Murphy and than just have a couple of TV credits. Feldman’s script takes the basic formula of Lethal Weapon only not nearly as creative or well written. The script is basically filled with banter between Tango & Cash and at times Feldman seems to try and be witty, which causes the material to seem forced. However what makes the script work is how Sly and Russell work together and manage to make a slightly below average script seem much better. Both of them really sell the dialogue, which makes the script again seem much better than it actually is. Characters do lack depth in particular the villains, which is unfortunate due to have some very good actors, Tango & Cash fair a bit better, but that’s also due to Stallone and Russell. Overall Feldman’s script isn’t terrible and it does have some fun moments, but at times the material feels a bit forced and its never as good as the films its imitating. Tango & Cash was directed by Andrey Konchalovskiy, but apparently late into the production he was replaced by Albert Magnoli who directed the Prince film Purple Rain. Magnoli doesn’t have a credit only Andrey Konchalovskiy does. From what I can gather Konchalovskiy wanted to make the film a little more serious, but the studio wanted it to have a light tone. Konchalovskiy delivers the standard buddy cop film and while well paced for the most part its never as exciting as the idea may have seemed. It feels like bits and pieces of other much better films and even the action scenes aren’t as exciting as they could have been. Konchalovskiy does deliver an entertaining film and the action is alright, but there was potential for a lot more. As I stated a couple of times it truly is Stallone and Russell that elevate this film. I often feel Stallone doesn’t get enough credit as an actor now granted in some of his films his performance may not have been great, but I never really had a problem with his acting, but people forget he is an Oscar nominated actor. I found his performance is Rocky to be great and its one of my favorite acting performances. Here in Tango & Cash he was great playing a character quite different than the typical Sly character. And what I love about Sly is he has a sense a humor when one character says how Tango thinks he’s Rambo, Tango replies with Rambo’s a pussy. In my opinion Sly gave one of his best performances and Kurt Russell is equally as great here and in my opinion despite the acclaim Kurt Russell has gotten his career I also find him one of the most underrated actors. Together Sly and Russell have such great chemistry and I cannot stress enough how great they were and really elevate a film that without them might be a bit below average. Jack Palance sadly is sort of wasted here and I hate when such a terrific actor has such a forgettable character. Palance was a terrific actor, but really anyone could have played this role. Teri Hatcher as Tango’s sister is excellent and while still early in her career she holds her own and really stands out. When Warner Brothers made this film I’m sure they probably saw potential for a franchise, but that never came to be and I never cared enough to look into it, but Tango & Cash was produced on a 55-million dollar budget, which may not seem like a lot for an action film with two big name actors since modern action films tend to be at a budget of 150-million and even more than that. In 1988 Stallone with Rambo III on a 63-million dollar budget had the most expensive film ever produced at the time. So the 55-million dollar budget here isn’t too far behind and while Tango & Cash made 63-million dollars in the US perhaps it wasn’t a big enough of a profit for Warner to make a sequel. Overall Tango & Cash is a decent enough film mainly thanks in part to the two leads. My rating is a light 3.5, but its a film I can revisit from time to time, but like I said its a film that is also one of my biggest disappointments since with a cast that includes Sly, Russell, Hatcher, Palance, Michael J. Pollard, James Hong and Brion James should have come out far better. Like I said Tango & Cash is fun, but there was potential for a lot more. The highlight of the film was Kurt Russell in drag!! Bullet to the Head (2013) Review Posted in Bullet to the Head with tags Bullet to the Head, Sylvester Stallone, Walter Hill on November 15, 2013 by Last Road Reviews **** Out of 5 Tagline- Revenge Never Gets Old Release Date- February 1st, 2013 Screenplay- Alessandro Camon Director- Walter Hill Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Sung Kang, Sarah Shahi, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje and Jason Momoa When it comes to action stars Sylvester Stallone just might be my favorite and if not hands down top 5. Stallone of course made a name for himself in 1976 with Rocky, which he also wrote and Sly went from struggling actor to Hollywood star, but it wasn’t until 1982 with the release of First Blood that Sly had his first big hit film not part of the Rocky series and now he in his way to becoming an action star and after the major success of Rambo: First Blood Part II, Sly was now officially an action star. Through the 80s Stallone had a string of hits as well as a few failures, but around the mid 90s, Sly started to fade and it happens to the best of them, but Stallone had two things going for him; Rocky and Rambo, which are two of the most iconic film characters ever created. In 2006 Stallone made Rocky Balboa and at 60-years old some people made jokes, but after its release nobody was laughing anymore and if anyone had any doubts still, Stallone erased them with Rambo in 2008. Bullet to the Head may not be top 5 Stallone films, but its still in my opinion a really fun film and outside of Rocky and Rambo, Stallone’s character James Bonomo is one of my favorite characters he’s played. When it comes to action films I’m a big fan of the genre and along with horror its my favorite. However since the Michael Bay era started the action film started to hit a steady decline and since 2000 in my opinion its gotten worse with really only a few that I liked with the good portion I disliked or in the very least thought it was ok, but nothing I really care to see again. Bullet to the Head is one of the few modern action films I actually liked and a lot of reviews I’ve read say its something out of the 80s or early 90s and I’d actually agree with that though the film has far more of a 90s feel with some even comparing it to Showdown in Little Tokyo, which is also something I agree with. Bullet to the Head does have a bit of that vintage feel. Produced on a 55-million dollar budget, which is fairly low for an action film, but yet only pulled in 9-million dollars, which is very unfortunate as the film deserved a much better fate and hopefully can find an audience on home video. Bullet to the Head won’t go down as one of the great action films, but its a lot of fun and while cliched and a bit predictable it has almost everything I look for in an action film and is far better than the overly stylized action films released. Bullet to the Head is very much in the style of a buddy cop film despite the fact Stallone’s character isn’t a cop. Lethal Weapon is in my opinion a truly great film and one of the most influential action films ever made. However its often the film credited for starting the buddy cop film, but 48 Hours directed by Walter Hill had the same basic formula despite Eddie Murphy not being a cop in the film and in many ways due to that Bullet to the Head mirrors 48 Hours. James Bonomo (Stallone) is a hit man looking to avenge the death of his partner and he reluctantly teams up with a cop Taylor Kwon (Kang). The screenplay by Alessandro Camon is light on plot, but that’s not really a problem in the action genre. The problem however is the setups as everything sort of happens with little depth however Camon does craft a fun film with some fun characters though its the cast that elevates the material. Apparently Walter Hill and Stallone did some uncredited rewrites, which I would tend to believe since Hill is as much a writer as he is director and Stallone has written or co-written a good portion of his films. The script while entertaining is the only real flaw as I stated it is a bit cliched and predictable, but regardless its still entertaining and a lot of fun. Even though Walter Hill is a respected writer and director I feel as if he also doesn’t get the respect he deserves. He has a story credit on Aliens and was a writer on the 1972 Steve McQueen starting and Sam Peckinpah masterpiece The Getaway. Walter Hill made his directorial debut with Hard Times, which starred Charles Bronson, he made the Warriors, which is a classic film and also made 48 Hours, which is another truly great film. Crossroads, which starred Ralph Macchio and not to be confused with the lame Britney Spears film of the same name is another great film in Hill’s career and it doesn’t end with those four films. There comes a point in every filmmakers career where they might hit a decline and as much as I like Walter Hill it did seem as if his best days were behind him. Bullet to the Head is his first film since Undisputed, which came out in 2002 and since he only has a couple of TV credits. Bullet to the Head may not go down as one of Walter Hill’s best films, but its still a really cool film and proves Hill still can direct a really fun and exciting film. The pacing is generally strong and the film moves at a strong pace. The first 30-minutes is entertaining, but it’s the last hour when Bullet to the Head gets going. Walter crafts some really fun action scenes and the film very much lives up to its title and Hill also does a great job at the comedic moments. Like I mentioned earlier Bullet to the Head has a vintage feel to it and Walter Hill shows he can still make a really fun film. Don’t go in expecting another Warriors or 48 Hours, but fans of Hill should enjoy. The cast is excellent and really as I stated elevates the material. Jason Momoa as Keegan the main villain has a great onscreen presence and it’s also a joy to see Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje who is best known for his role on the HBO series Oz, though too bad he isn’t given enough to do he’s a terrific actor. Sylvester Stallone is great as James Bonomo. Like I said outside of Rocky and Rambo, Bonomo is one of my favorite Stallone characters and Sly is hysterical with some really great one liners. I’m a big fan of Stallone and he did not disappoint. Overall Bullet to the Head while a flawed film is also a lot of fun and it’s too bad the film was such a flop since it truly did deserve a better fate. This isn’t an action classic and both Walter Hill and Sly have done better work, but with that said Bullet to the Head at only 92-minutes has enough fun and action to always keep the pace moving. If you enjoy 90s action prior to the Michael Bay era getting started Bullet to the Head is your kind of film. Rambo (2008) Review Posted in Rambo with tags John Rambo, Rambo, Sylvester Stallone on November 13, 2013 by Last Road Reviews **** ½ Out of 5 Tagline- Live for Nothing or Die for Something Release Date- January 25th, 2008 Screenplay- Art Monterastelli & Sylvester Stallone Director- Sylvester Stallone Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Julie Benz, Matthew Marsden, Paul Schulze, Maung Maung Khin When it comes to Sly Stallone he’ll forever be known for two roles; Rocky Balboa and John Rambo, which are two of the most iconic film characters. Stallone had a slew of hits through the 80s and into the 90s, but like many actors he started to fade a bit. A lot of his films in the late 90s into the 2000s failed to get much interest and it seemed like Sly’s best days were behind him. In 2006 Rocky Balboa was released and at the time Sly was 60-years old and the jokes started. Even I had my doubts if Sly could pull it off. After the release for Rocky Balboa nobody was making jokes as Stallone proved age ain’t nothing but a number. Two years later the 4th Rambo film was released simply called Rambo and once again Stallone showed us age doesn’t mean anything. Stallone is one of my favorite action heroes and I could even make a case for him being my favorite. In an age when most action stars lack, Stallone shows them how it’s done. Rambo in my opinion is amongst the greatest action films ever made. I love action films, but since the Michael Bay era it seems the great ones are few and far between and more filmmakers should follow what Stallone did with Rambo. This was also the first Rambo film directed by Sly and quite honestly this might be the best of the series just edging out First Blood. As I mentioned in other reviews by films written or co-written by Stallone is he’s a writer that clearly knows what his audience wants and he can also write a deeply powerful film. Rambo was written by Art Monterastelli & Sylvester Stallone and if there is a weakness the script might be it. Now don’t take that the wrong way since Rambo has a fair enough script, but compared to other films written of co-written by Sly this isn’t one of his strongest even if still solid. The plot is a bit light, but it’s an action film and this type a film can get away with that. From a character side of things they were fairly well done and while they do have a little depth some are a little clichéd. Regardless of some flaws Monterastelli & and Stallone still deliver a fairly well written film and while it may not be one of Sly’s strongest it still gets the job done. As director Stallone delivers one of the all time great action films. Of all the films directed by Sly I’d rate Rambo 2nd to Rocky Balboa, but in terms of directing Rambo has the edge. The pace is generally strong, but there a few slow moments, but these scenes also help set up the crazy stuff later to come. The violence is graphic and unsettling as well. Some of the violent acts by the Burma army are deeply disturbing and this really adds to the film. Rambo moves along nicely and is a good film, but the final act elevates the film to greatness. Stallone delivers some of the most violent and insane action scenes I’ve ever seen. Bullets rip off body parts, heads are blown clean off, throats are ripped out. It’s just insane there really is no other word to describe it. Stallone shows he has an eye for action and delivers an epic film. I’ve said in the past I find Sly a great filmmaker simply cause he knows what his audience wants, but with Rocky Balboa and than Rambo, Sly shows he’s a great filmmaker in the traditional sense as well. Rambo was released 30-years after Stallone made his feature film debut and not many filmmakers at that stage of their career make what is perhaps their best film, but Sly seems to be getting better with age. Rambo is disturbing, tragic, extremely graphic and when all is said and done, crowd pleasing. This was an amazingly directed film. Well done Stallone. Rambo is just again an insane film and I really don’t know any other way to describe it. This was by far the most graphic of the series and makes the other Rambo films look PG-13. Rambo at least in my opinion boarders exploitation film at times. Like I said the violence by the Burma army was truly unsettling and when Rambo goes on the attack its insanely violent and very much crowd pleasing. Stallone as Rambo is terrific I think what I love most about Sly as actor is he has this regular guy feel to him, which makes him far more relatable than most action stars. First Blood was Stallone’s best performance as John Rambo, but this performance is a close 2nd. Overall Rambo is one of my favorite action films and was the perfect way to end the series while I did enjoy Rambo III this ended the series the proper way. Once again Sylvester Stallone proved here age is nothing but a number. While the middle sections can be a little slow (never boring) it’s all made up for in one of the craziest action packed final acts seen in an action film. Rambo III (1988) Review Posted in Rambo III with tags John Rambo, Rambo III, Richard Crenna, Sylvester Stallone on November 12, 2013 by Last Road Reviews Tagline- The First was for Himself. The Second for His Country. This Time It’s to Save His Friend Release Date- May 25th, 1988 Screenplay- Sylvester Stallone & Sheldon Lettich Director- Peter MacDonald Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Richard Crenna, Marc de Jonge, Kurtwood Smith, Spiros Focas Rambo III released in 1988 had a 63-million dollar budget, which at the time was the most expensive film ever made. Even by today’s standards 63-million is still a large budget, but it looks quite small when compared to modern action films, which most cost from the 150-million dollar range to even nearly 300-million in some cases. After the massive success of Rambo: First Blood Part II, which made 150-million and made roughly 103-million more than the original, which was also a big hit it allowed the studio to put a lot of money into Rambo III, but results weren’t the same as Rambo III took in only 53-million, which was far below the 150-million of the 2nd film and while Rambo III just edged out the original film, taking the budgets for each into an account this film was a major disaster and would be the last of the series until the release of Rambo in 2008. More often than not the series is simply referred to as the Rambo films, but the title Rambo III always annoyed me as the title is wrong. The original was First Blood, the 2nd Rambo: First Blood Part II. So for there to be a Rambo III there needs to be two Rambo films before it and if anything Rambo II would be a bit more appropriate than Rambo III and don’t even get me started on the 4th film title simply called Rambo. It’s just a little rant I have, which I’ll end since there are a whole slew of reviews with the same rants. The film audience can be quite odd with what’s successful and what isn’t. First Blood, which made 47-million was perhaps a surprise hit and while for a modern audience that may not sound like a big box office hit, but seeing as it was 1982 that would be far more today. But than Rambo: First Blood Part II came out and made 150-million, which was an insane amount of money in 1985 and who knows why it squashed the original in terms of money. But than Rambo III comes out and the box office returns were about 100-million dollars less. It’s quite odd how the 2nd film made so much more than the original only to have just as big a drop with the 2nd and 3rd films. If you read reviews for Rambo III a lot of different reasons are listed from the American public not caring about what was happening in Afghanistan to the Russians pulling out of Afghanistan and seeing as Rambo III plays up to that with the conflict over that hurt the film. While both of these could be valid reasons, but perhaps the audience for whatever reason weren’t interested in a 3rd film. Rambo III did make 16-million opening weekend, which was down front the 25-million the 2nd one made opening weekend, but even with a 9-million dollar drop off, Rambo III still made a decent chunk of change in its opening and perhaps the reason the film failed was more due to quality than anything else. By most Rambo III is considered the weakest of the series and while I enjoyed the film I have to agree it was the weakest. Col. Trautman (Crenna) is going on a mission to help the Afghan rebels against the invading Soviets and he asks Rambo (Stallone) to join him, but Rambo declines wanting to put his soldier days behind him. When Trautman is captured, Rambo goes into Afghanistan to rescue his mentor. The screenplay by Sylvester Stallone & Sheldon Lettich is fairly decent and while I liked the premise of Rambo looking to rescue Trautman there is a little too much filler. The script I suppose doubles for social commentary and to raise awareness on what was happening in Afghanistan at the time the the film was made and while that doesn’t bother me it does however come a certain point feel like filler scenes to get the script to a certain page count. Like the 2nd, Rambo is written as a superhero of sorts and no matter how outnumbered he is it doesn’t matter, which isn’t a compliant by the way. The villains like in the previous part are your standard movie bad guys for Rambo to kill. Sly & Lettich also add a little bit of comedy as in the final act when Rambo and Trautman are making their escape there are a number of one liners and while they sort of feel out of place it was also a nice change of pace. From a pure writing side Rambo III is fairly decent, but it’s just a little overly long. Originally Rambo III was set to be directed by Russell Mulcahy best known for such films as Highlander, Ricochet and Resident Evil: Extinction, but after two weeks he was let go due to creative differences and in stepped Peter MacDonald. With no time to prep I gotta give MacDonald credit for what’s he able to pull off. Pacing can be a little sluggish early in the film, but this could have been fixed with some editing. It takes about 40-minutes until the action kicks in and than nothing until the hour mark and than finally the last act. So with a running time of 102-minutes pacing while I wouldn’t say was poor, but could be a little slow and the script while decent isn’t strong enough to keep things exciting during the lulls in action. When it comes to the action scenes, MacDonald does craft some fun and exciting scenes as well as some decent suspense at times. With more of a prep time perhaps Peter MacDonald could have done a lot more, but for what it’s with he actually does well all things considered. Of the four Rambo films I do agree Rambo III is the weakest, but with that said its still a fun and exciting film and Rambo is one of the greatest film icons and Stallone is great in the role and it was nice to see Rambo and Trautman on the field together and Stallone and Crenna really work well together and are also quite funny. Even if Rambo III is the weakest it’s still highly entertaining and with better editing to tighten the film up Rambo III could have been a bit more even if still the weakest. As I mentioned Rambo III had a major drop off in box office returns and 2-years later in 1990 Rocky V would be released and also suffer the same fate and it seemed as if the days of Rambo and Rocky were over. In 2006 Rocky Balboa was released and was a huge success for Stallone and 2-years later in 2008, which was 20-years after Rambo III, Sly would write and direct the 4th Rambo film simply called Rambo and that also was a big success for Stallone. Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985) Review Posted in Rambo: First Blood Part II with tags Charles Napier, Julia Nickson, Rambo: First Blood Part II, Richard Crenna, Sylvester Stallone on November 11, 2013 by Last Road Reviews Tagline- What Most People Call Hell. He Calls Home Release Date- May 22nd, 1985 Screenplay- Sylvester Stallone & James Cameron Director- George P. Cosmatos Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Richard Crenna, Charles Napier, Steven Berkoff, Julia Nickson, Martin Cove Rambo: First Blood Part II was released in 1985, which ended up being a huge year for Sylvester Stallone. First Blood was Sly’s first big hit that wasn’t part of the Rocky series and pulled in 47-million, which was a lot back in 1982. First Blood Part II would pull in an amazing 150-million and also in 1985 Rocky IV was released, which became the highest grossing of the series (and still is) and pulled in 127-million and it seemed like everybody in America were seeing these films and if I add in worldwide numbers both these films are over 300-million and for 1985 that’s just an amazing box office return. A lot of people forget the original film was called First Blood since most just refer to the series as the Rambo movies, but First Blood was a first rate action/thriller and it’s really nothing like the rest of the series. With Rambo: First Blood Part II the series became more of the standard action series (not that’s its a bad thing). Overall I’d say First Blood is the better film, but First Blood Part II is one of those crowd pleasing films and even I can’t help, but yell out to the screen while watching this. Some people have labeled this film propaganda and regardless films of this nature were fairly popular in the 80s and in 1984 Missing in Action was released and First Blood Part II would have a similar theme. However while I can see why some might label it propaganda, but the American characters aren’t all the heroes. Rambo (Stallone) is sent back to Vietnam to find proof of American POWs. He’s only to take pictures and that’s it. The place Rambo is being sent to is empty and it’s just a way to show the public they looked and nobody was found however the place Rambo is sent that’s supposed to be empty actually has a few POWs. A brief fight breaks out and Rambo manages to rescue one POW and as they leave the helicopter is called back leaving Rambo to fend for himself. Rambo is captured, but manages to escape and sets off to take down the Viet and Russian army alone while rescuing the POWs and finally going after those that left him to die. The screenplay was written by Sly Stallone and James Cameron and yes that James Cameron. Just the year before Cameron hit the big time for writing and directing Terminator and after the 2nd Rambo film his career would continue to take off. If you look at the credits for many Stallone films you’ll see he often writes or co-writes a good portion of his films. Apparently it was Cameron who wrote the bulk of the action scenes and Sly adding in the political aspect of the film. Rambo: First Blood Part II is actually fairly well written for this type of film. Stallone who was nominated for an Oscar for his screenplay for Rocky doesn’t quite reach that level here, but like the good portion of Sly’s work he knows what his audience wants and delivers. When you look at the career of both Stallone and James Cameron as far as screenwriting goes they both have written far better films, but regardless the screenplay is stronger than most would assume going into the film, but with that said its not a great screenplay, but simply a fun one. The villains have no depth and are the standard film bad guys that are simply there for Rambo to kill. It’s quite interesting though in seeing how vastly different this film was in terms of both writing and directing when compared to First Blood. Stallone & Cameron pretty much turn Rambo into a superhero. Seeing as Rambo is a highly trained special forces soldier the original may not be too far fetched. Can it really happen? Maybe or maybe not, but Rambo is highly trained going against a local small town police department so maybe not overly possible, but not so far fetched its absurd either. This time around Rambo is going up against the Vietnamese and Russian army and while he does have some assistance early in the film he pretty much goes at it solo and rather easily takes down his enemies. Rambo: First Blood Part II was directed by George P. Cosmatos known for such films as The Cassandra Crossing, Cobra and Tombstone. There are rumors despite the directing credit it was Kurt Russell who called the shots on Tombstone and apparently here it was Stallone who controlled the picture and Cosmatos more or less is just credited and following what was presented to him. I have no idea if these rumors are true and I wouldn’t be overly shocked if they were in particular with First Blood Part II. But since George P. Cosmatos is credited I’ll just assume he called the shots. The film gets off to a solid start with a slow, but steady pace and while not boring it’s not all that exciting either. However once we get to around the 30-minute mark the film is pretty much action packed for the final hour. Cosmatos delivers a really fun and exciting film with some great action scenes that will have the viewer sitting back and enjoying the ride. The tone of the film is far different than the original and actually bares very little resemblance to the original film as it feels like this is its own film and later turned into a Rambo movie. This film may not go down as of the all time great films, but it is an excellent and over the top action film and Cosmatos delivers not only one of my favorite 80s action films, but one of my all time favorites. Loaded with a great hero in Rambo, Cosmatos stages some really awesome action scenes and if you like these kinda films you’ll find much to love about Rambo: First Blood Part II. Rambo: First Blood Part II is just a really fun and entertaining film that’s easy to cheer on while watching it. Stallone at least to me is the perfect action star and he doesn’t disappoint here. Like I said the original First Blood is a first rate action/thriller and his film is totally different in style and while the original is the better film as a whole this one is just so much fun and might just edge out the original due to that. Stallone is again excellent and Julia Nickson as Co is stunningly beautiful. Richard Crenna is a joy to watch as Trautman and Charles Napier fun as Murdoch who turns on Rambo. This film has everything you could ask for in an action film and in my opinion its one of the action genres best efforts. First Blood (1982) Review Posted in First Blood with tags First Blood, Rambo, Richard Crenna, Sylvester Stallone on November 9, 2013 by Last Road Reviews Tagline- This Time He’s Fighting For His Life Release Date- October 22nd, 1982 Screenplay- Michael Kozoll, William Sackheim & Sylvester Stallone (Novel- David Morrell) Director- Ted Kotcheff Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Richard Crenna, Brian Dennehy, Jack Starrett In 1976 Sylvester Stallone wrote and starred in Rocky, which became a massive hit and won the Oscar for best picture. Prior to Rocky, Stallone was a struggling actor and Rocky put him on the map. After Rocky, Stallone had success, but box office numbers were far below that of Rocky. All his other big hit films were Rocky II & Rocky III. However that would change in 1982 with the release of First Blood, which pulled in 47-million making it the first big hit film for Sly that wasn’t a Rocky film. Rambo: First Blood Part 2, which came out 3-years later would pull in an amazing 150-million, which even now is a big deal, but a far bigger one in 1985. However back to First Blood, which actually came out the same year as Rocky III became another iconic role for Sly, which he would reprise 3 times. I doubt if David Morrell who wrote the novel the film is based off or anyone involved with the film could ever imagine it would become a franchise. Funny thing about First Blood is if you mention the title to most people it may not ring a bell, but say Rambo everyone knows it. Even I sometimes refer to First Blood as Rambo (the 4th part would simply be called Rambo). But most people associate this series with that of the Rambo character and not the actual title. Even the 2nd one is referred to as Rambo II and starting with the 3rd the First Blood title would be dropped. First Blood is vastly different from the rest of the series. Starting in part 2 the Rambo series would become your standard action films (not that its a bad thing), but First Blood while also an action film is also a thriller and a little more grounded in reality to a certain degree whereas the sequels Rambo became a superhero of sorts, but in the original he was a regular guy with training that made him deadly. First Blood would become one of the most iconic action films and helped shaped the action film for years to come. Everything about First Blood feels like an action film from the 70s it sort of feels like a holdover. First Blood isn’t action packed, but does feature plenty of action, but all the action scenes are quite effective making worth the wait. Vietnam vet John Rambo goes to a small town to visit an old friend, but when he gets there he finds out his friend died. Rambo leaves and than is stopped by sheriff Teasle (Dennehy) and wants him out of town. Rambo wants to get something to eat and the sheriff says he can get food in the next town. After dropping Rambo off over the bridge Teasle sees Rambo walking back over the bridge. He’s arrested and subjected to some abuse, which leads to a flashback from Nam. Rambo escapes into the woods where the sheriff and his deputies pursue Rambo. First Blood was based off a novel by David Morrell and from what I hear the novel and film are quite different. The script was written by Michael Kozoll, William Sackheim & Sylvester Stallone. The plot is quite simple, but effective and characters are quite strong. People may not realize but Stallone often writes or co-writes a lot of his films. In regards to co-writing, Sly most likely does a rewrite to suit him as an actor and deliver what his audience wants to see. The script is strong and the influence on action films quite obvious. Director Ted Kotcheff perhaps isn’t the most ideal for a film like First Blood, but overall Kotcheff does a very good job. The film is well paced with effective action scenes and when there isn’t action, Kotcheff delivers some genuine suspense. First Blood is an excellent film and Kotcheff gets the most out of every scene. Brian Dennehy is excellent as Teasle and you really wanna see him get what’s coming to him. Richard Crenna like always is quite solid as Trautman. The acting is first rate and really helps elevate the film. When it comes to Sylvester Stallone a lot of people say he isn’t that great of an actor and those people couldn’t be anymore wrong. I never really had a problem with Sly’s acting, but at times some of his performances weren’t as strong as they could have been. People forget Sly was nominated for an Oscar for his performance in Rocky, which was highly deserving. As Sly’s popularity grew in the 80s his performances weren’t as strong however in his early years he was terrific and here in First Blood Sly was great. Stallone has limited dialogue through most of the film, but his presence was felt however and his speech at the end was truly emotional and Sly gave one of his best performances. For those who think Sly can’t act Rocky & First Blood prove how good he can be. Stallone more so in his early years often came across as your average guy and I think that is what really helped elevate the Rocky films. And that quality is on display in First Blood. Rambo obviously has issues from his time in Vietnam, but he isn’t breaking any laws and a backwoods cop decides to pick on him unaware hrs messing with the wrong guy. Rambo only kills one person, which he had little choice and it was an accident. But in the final act when he starts destroying the town despite making sure no civilians are around we easily could have had one of those films where the hero becomes the villain, but like I said Stallone has this regular guy quality and that always makes Rambo remain the hero and sympathetic. Overall First Blood is a great action film and features one of Stallone’s best performances. This film made a huge impact on the action film and gave Stallone another iconic character. If you think First Blood is gonna be another mindless action film you’re in for quite a surprise. Before making it big on NYPD Blue, David Caruso has a bit part as the only cop with a conscious. Rocky Balboa (2006) Review Posted in Rocky Balboa with tags Antonio Tarver, Burt Young, Rocky Balboa, Sylvester Stallone on November 7, 2013 by Last Road Reviews ***** Out of 5 Tagline- It Ain’t Over Til It’s Over Release Date- December 20th, 2006 Rating- PG Writer/Director- Sylvester Stallone Starring- Sylvester Stallone, Burt Young, Geraldine Hughes, Milo Ventimiglia, Antonio Tarver, Tony Burton, James Francis Kelly. Released in 2006 I remember being so excited for the release of Rocky Balboa and I really wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was still excited since the Rocky series was a big part of my childhood and what I ended up getting was a film far better than I ever could have predicted. Rocky Balboa in my opinion was the best film of 2006 and the best of the Rocky sequels and honestly this film is surprisingly every bit as good as the original, which sometimes people forget how great it was and was nominated for several Oscars including a win for best picture. The first two were more grounded in reality whereas the Rocky III & IV almost felt like comic book film with the hero in Rocky and he villains in Clubber Lang and Drago. Rocky V attempted to go back to the style of the first two with less than spectacular results, but I actually enjoyed it and sometimes I feel as if I’m the only one, but it wasn’t a satisfying conclusion. Rocky Balboa on the other hand is a perfect way to the end the series. I saw this the day it came out and honestly it was the greatest cinematic experience I ever had. The crowd was really into the film and cheering on Rocky and when he gets knocked down during the fight people were yelling get up Rock. Normally people talking gets on my nerves, but this really added to the experience for me. Like I said the Rocky series was a big part of my childhood and I remember having various Rocky merchandise including action figures. All of the films were to me at the very least enjoyable, but once we got to the 3rd and 4th it very much got away from the roots of the series though I still liked both films and again Rocky V I liked how it went back to the basics and even though I liked the film it was lacking (though Rocky III would be my least favorite). I think part of the problem is even though the odds are stacked against Rocky the underdog aspect of the story were gone after the original as we knew how things would turn out and that in part is what helps make Rocky Balboa so great is the underdog story is back. I think this film came out at the perfect time in Stallone’s career. Back when the original came out Sly was a struggling actor and Rocky helped jump start his career. So in many ways Sly was Rocky; he was broke like the character and a stalling career. When Rocky Balboa came out, Stallone sort of faded and a bunch of his films were either very limited release or even DTV and Rocky Balboa was sort of his comeback. I think had this film been made while Sly was still highly successful it while may have turned out well wouldn’t have been as great. Rocky Balboa gets his chance to show he can still perform at a high level and Stallone showed he can still make a great film and Rocky Balboa helped resurrect his career. The continuity in the Rocky series can be a little off; the first 3 generally flow well together, but after that even if they pick up where the other left off there are issues with the continuity. So I’m not sure how long its been since Rocky last fought, but he’s listed as being in his 50s in Rocky Balboa (Sly was 59 at the time of the release). Also based on his sons age I would assume its been 10-years or a little more. Retired from boxing and now running a restaurant named Adrian’s, Rocky is far removed from his past glory and is quite lonely since the death of Adrian. His relationship with his son Robert (Ventimiglia) is a bit strained since Robert feels as if he’s in his fathers shadow. Meanwhile heavyweight champion Mason ‘The Line’ Dixon (Tarver) is winning fight after fight, but often gets booed out of the arena. Is Dixon this dominate or are his opponents that subpar? Rocky still wanting to compete decides to come out of retirement and fight small local fights, but Dixon’s people see a chance for a great marketing plan. Rocky is reluctant at first, but agrees to a fight with Dixon to prove despite his age he can still compete with the best while nobody gives Rocky a chance to win he’s been in that position before. I’ve always been a big fan of Stallone as both a writer and director and people forget he’s an Oscar nominated writer. Rocky Balboa was by far his best screenplay since the original Rocky. Sly has written a lot of excellent films, but with this screenplay like the original it has heart and real human emotion. As the Rocky series went on obviously they were made due to the success of the others, but Sly still took his time to develop the characters and he does that here. Stallone writes some great and deep characters with plenty of depth. I thought his relationship with Marie (Hughes) was deeply touching as Rocky is just sort of lost without Adrian and his son is always too busy for him and Paulie (Young) has his own life. While some wondered where their relationship would go I always took it as friends, which is something Rocky needed. I’m not one to get choked up during a film in general, but I can’t lie as there are several scenes that get me teary eyed. The scene in which Rocky visits places he was with Adrian such as the pet shop, his old house and the skating rink where they had their first date, which has been taken down was such a deep and sweet scene and Stallone with his writing and acting was so very touching. And by the end its tough for me to hold back the tears. Sly’s script like I said is just so powerful and touching with real human emotion and again its just inspiring. This was my favorite piece of dialogue; The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard you’re hit. It’s about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now if you know what you’re worth then go out and get what you’re worth. But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that and that ain’t you! As director Stallone makes the best film of his career. I’ve always enjoyed his work as he’s a great filmmaker, but not in the traditional sense. He’s a guy that clearly knows what his audience wants and often delivers on that. With Rocky Balboa he makes a truly great film. I know I keep repeating myself, but the direction like the writing is touching with such heart. The pace of the film is great and has this tragic feel to it, but by the end its so inspiring and makes you believe anything is possible. Rocky Balboa the character and film has a ton of heart and emotion. To be totally honest I find Stallone underrated as an actor. As his popularity grew it seemed his performances did lack at times. I never really though had an issue with his acting, but a lot of the times he wasn’t great. However with that said Stallone was excellent in the original Rocky and people may not realize but he was nominated for best actor, but lost to Robert De Niro. De Niro was brilliant as Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver and very much deserved the Oscar, but Stallone was equally as good. I also though Sly was very good in Rocky II and First Blood. But he wasn’t really as great after that, but in Rocky Balboa, Stallone was again at his very best with a very heartfelt performance. If you think Stallone can’t act watch the original Rocky and Rocky Balboa. He was brilliant in both. The entire cast was excellent with Geraldine Hughes being excellent as Marie who like Adrian did gives Rocky the confidence in himself when he needs it. Burt Young again is hysterical and even quite touching with his performance. Like in Rocky V using real life boxer Tommy Morrison, Antonio Tarver is also a real boxer and he’s actually better than one might expect. While he may not be Oscar worthy or anything, but for a guy that isn’t an actor he’s fairly good actually. Like the original Rocky winning or losing isn’t the point. Here in Rocky Balboa after the fight ends he leaves the ring. He doesn’t care what the decision is what mattered he gave everything he got and went the distance and give Dixon everything he had left. Even in the other Rocky films the message behind them were always great and Rocky Balboa is no different. Overall Rocky Balboa is truly a great and powerful film that has plenty of heart. Like I said I was really excited for this film, but it turned out far better than I expected, Rocky Balboa is a winner by knockout. This was truly a great ending to a fantastic series. Thank you Sly for your creation.

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What NOT to Wear. Granted I live in Hawaii, where the weather would never tempt me to wear something called “Forever Lazy,” but there it was at the Wal-Mart next door to The Mothership on Keeaumoku Street. I went in after getting my Starbucks, in my own mug, to find Carrie who had to run in and get something. Don't. It's a slippery slope to forever fat. Like a singing siren, the wall dedicated to the “As Seen On TV” products draws me. I’m in Wal-Mart at 6:20 a.m. If you see me looking at it, then guess what? You’re in there, too, and we’re the people seen in Wal-Mart. No one takes my picture because I’m not wearing head-to-toe orange fishnet, or flesh-colored tights, or my bra on the outside of my T-shirt. Nope, insignificant in a place where insignificant is a good thing. But while at the wall, I saw the “Forever Lazy” box and I just had to take a picture. Maybe if you live in the higher elevations of Hawaii you’d need this Snuggy that grew arms, legs and pockets. It has deep pockets, a two-way zipper, a cozy hood and a zippered back-hatch. You can’t unthink that. I’m so sorry. It even has its own page on Facebook that you can like. Like it just to unlike it! Maybe if you were traveling to the mainland, you’d want to have this on the plane. But for the most part, this is unnecessary in our Island climate. It’s dangerous to wear something like this no matter where you live. You will pull it on and you will not see the fat rolls on your back. Your thighs will not rub and chafe against each other. You will not pop a button at the waist. You also will not think that you need to lift weights, pedal a bicycle or plank in public. You will not think twice about eating all of the ice cream, all of the nachos, and all of the leftovers in the refrigerator, then go out and see what you can find in the garage refrigerator. And what a name! “Forever Lazy?” Are you kidding me? It’s like telling someone to pay $33 to wear something that really says “Kick Me, I’m Stupid.” And who spends $33 for a gag gift? Who in the 99 percent can pay $33 for a gag gift? Although Wal-Mart is where America shops, America must say no to anything called “Forever Lazy.” And that goes for “Eggies,” the “Rhythm Rocker,” and “Slim Away.” Author lavagalPosted on October 26, 2011 November 1, 2011 Format GalleryCategories Daily ReflectionTags @postaday, As Seen On TV, Forever Lazy, postaday2011, Wal-Mart2 Comments on What NOT to Wear.

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Vol. 23 Nbr. 3, July 2017 International organizations as global migration governors: The World Bank in Central Asia. Author: Korneev, Oleg Position: Report Numerous international organizations play a key role in generating and sustaining migration governance across the world in the absence of a global migration regime. However, global governance scholarship lacks grounded understanding of their role, which is often rejected or simply left unnoticed. In rare cases when IOs do get academic attention, light is shed on two referent "migration" IOs--the International Organization for Migration and the UN High Commissioner for Refugees--while other IOs remain in their shadow. Drawing on the case of the post-Soviet Central Asia, which is characterized by both significant migration dynamics and multilayered governance but has so far escaped attention of migration governance scholars, this article takes two steps for establishing a new research agenda. First, it deploys and applies to IOs the concept of global migration governors defined as authorities who exercise power across borders for the purpose of affecting migration policy. Second, it moves discussion beyond the referent IOs and demonstrates the role of often overlooked nonreferent IOs, such as the World Bank, active in the field of migration governance. This analysis is based on fieldwork in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and Russia conducted in 2011-2015. Keywords: migration governance, global migration governors, international organizations, the World Bank, Central Asia. SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE 1990S, WE HAVE BEEN WITNESSING THE EMERgence and development of generic approaches to and schemes for migration governance in various corners of the world. Scarce existing empirical research seems to suggest that this is not just a matter of coincidence or independent policy learning on the part of states. Many of such popularized ways to "manage" migration have to do with growing involvement of international organizations (IOs) in the global migration politics. (1) Apart from some exceptions, (2) however, there is a clear lack of systematic studies of the role played by IOs in global migration governance. Instead, discussions of global migration governance focus on the lack of global consensus among states and mostly disregard global-local interactions related to the activities of IOs on the ground. There is clearly a need to account for the role of IOs in migration governance in the absence of a global migration regime (3) when states are considered to be the key locations for the regulation of migration. (4) Unfortunately, emerging scholarship on the role of IOs in the field of migration governance tends to focus on the two referent IOs. (5) Analyses of the International Organization for Migration (IOM) have flourished, ranging from case studies to comparative works and even critical theoretical endeavors. (6) The UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) also often comes under academic scrutiny; it is undoubtedly the object of special attention of legal scholars and political scientists studying refugee issues. (7) However, there are other nonreferent IOs, such as the UN Development Programme (UNDP), the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), the World Bank, the European Union (EU), the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), and the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRCRCS), that are involved in migration governance across the world and whose role is mostly left unnoticed. Even if the role of some nonreferent IOs in various global fora on international migration has been recognized, (8) we are still far from fully capturing their role on the ground. This article aims to contribute to filling these gaps in the literature by looking beyond the usual suspects in the field of migration governance. It recognizes the key role of states in shaping migration dynamics, on which I have written elsewhere, (9) but here I focus on IOs and, in particular, on nonreferent IOs. More precisely, I explore the role that nonreferent IOs play in the local context. In this endeavor, I build on two closely related strands of literature: on the role of IOs in world politics and global governance, (10) and on different kinds of authorities in global governance and relations between them. (11) Drawing on theoretical insights from these works, I develop the concept of global migration governors in relation to IOs and shift the focus from discussions of global migration governance as a constantly changing structure to global migration governors as sources of agency and, consequently, to the outcomes that flow from their interactions. Instead of assessing what IOs do in the upper layers of multilayered global migration governance, (12) I examine what they do in the field where they operate in constant interaction with one another and local stakeholders. The article demonstrates, in particular, how IOs bring global ideas about migration governance into communication with local conditions to affect governance outcomes. To account for such dynamics empirically, I explore the role of the World Bank--a nonreferent IO in migration governance--in the post-Soviet Central Asia. This region has not been a major focus for migration governance scholars, despite evidence of both significant migration and multilayered governance. The Eurasian Migration System (13) composed of the post-Soviet states is the world's second-largest migration region, whereas Russia--its major destination country--is said to host from 4 to 5 million irregular labor migrants (14) mostly coming from Central Asia. Central Asia is particularly relevant for this study because only one country in this region--Kazakhstan--is predominantly a country of destination whereas the others are countries of origin. Apart from shedding light on this largely unexplored case, I also attempt to fill another lacuna in the current scholarship, which overwhelmingly focuses on migration governance issues in countries of destination and disregards countries of origin. (15) The empirical analysis in the article builds mostly on my fieldwork in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and Russia from 2011-2015. Data collection and analysis rely on theory-guided process tracing (16) to: (1) trace the origins of the involvement of various IOs in the migration governance field in Central Asia; and (2) analyze interactions between these various global migration governors as well as between them and local stakeholders. I start the article by reviewing existing views on global migration governance and the role of IOs in the absence of a global migration regime. Then I reflect on an appropriate theoretical framework for analysis of the role of IOs in generating and sustaining migration governance across the world. I outline the concept of global migration governors, apply it to IOs, and explain the importance of expert knowledge for IOs' influence. I also emphasize that the absence of a global migration regime is a favorable condition for IOs' role of global migration governors. Next, I briefly characterize the field of migration in the post-Soviet Central Asia and explain the particular relevance of IOs for this region. Finally, I focus on activities of one nonreferent IO--the World Bank--which through its knowledge production and dissemination activities, and through relations with other global governors and local stakeholders, has gradually carved its own niche in the Central Asian migration governance field. To conclude, I summarize the main arguments of the article and elaborate on the need to study both referent and nonreferent IOs as well as various constellations of global migration governors that contribute to proliferation of "a multitude of international norms and cooperation arrangements" around the world. (17) Global Migration Governors in the Absence of a Global Migration Regime Recent studies have shown with substantial ethnographic evidence that IOs involved in migration management provide ostensibly technocratic, neutral, apolitical, and expertise-based inputs that are actually highly political and sensitive. (18) Importantly, such concepts and paradigms as migration management, migration and development, and environmental refugees (or environmental migrants) have been brought to life--and, consequently, to the attention of states that have often willingly embraced them--by IOs. (19) Both referent and nonreferent IOs have played their roles in these processes. Emerging research addressing the impact of IOs has also provided robust evidence that they play a significant role in the current fragmentation and regionalization of migration governance (20) where "international" norms and standards vary significantly depending on those IOs that introduce them to recipient governments. (21) Several major volumes on global migration governance have been produced by leading specialists in the past fifteen years. Academic interest in the issue of global migration governance has reflected a proliferation of global governance initiatives in this field. (22) It has been emphasized that a nascent global migration governance is "based on a range of different formal and informal institutions, operating at different levels of governance." (23) Similarly, others have argued that "islands of migration governance have evolved... trans-regionally between regions of immigration and regions of emigration and transit." (24) Despite these new voices, policy and academic discussions on global migration governance are still dominated by sceptical views of those who see states in the driving seat and question the possibility of global migration governance of any kind. Such a state-centered perspective is reinforced by the absence of a global migration regime. Alexander Aleinikoff has famously claimed that, while there are disparate norms and rules, there is no international migration architecture. (25) In the same vein, Kathleen Newland argues that "it is difficult to see what would compel states to create a supranational authority... association of data processing service organizations inc. v. board of governors

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School board holds workshop focused on improving education Posted by Collin Anderson | Jun 27, 2019 | News | 0 The Lincoln County school board held a special workshop June 17 to discuss various options to improve education for the county’s students, and to hear feedback from parents and other members of the community. The meeting, originally scheduled for the previous week, was held at the Neldon C Mathews auditorium in Panaca. While the issues being discussed mostly are geared toward schools in the northern part of the county, the proposed changes could have an effect on education throughout the area. The workshop, during which the board could not vote on any items since this was not a formal board meeting, opened with public comment. One of the first people to speak asserted that Summit Learning, the method that the district is trying to implement in county schools, is not a recognized curriculum within Nevada. Another person pointed out the lack of communication throughout this whole experience, claiming that there had been no accountability since the beginning. “I don’t know where the ball was dropped,” said one of the commenters, “but the ball was dropped.” On a somewhat comical note, a few of the people who had signed up to speak during the public comment section of the meeting had done so under the belief that they were signing an attendance roll. This led to a handful of people waiving their right to comment while explaining their confusion, which got a few chuckles. A common theme in some of the comments was that the community and school administrators need to come together, and that there has to be an option that satisfies everyone and which can put an end to the negativity. Next, Superintendent Pam Teel reiterated that closing the middle school was now off the table due to the public backlash. But, she said, the budget was bigger than expected this year, which could lead to more hires. Marty Soderborg, the Lincoln County High School principal, confirmed this, saying that the high school had enough to hire two more teachers, one full-time and one part-time. As the board asked more questions about scheduling, middle school principal Cody Christensen said that even with all the planning that they have done, “We don’t know what this is really going to look like yet.” Despite the remaining uncertainties, the two principals had a schedule that they were happy with that only required one more teacher. However, this would require sharing teachers between the two schools, and having teachers move from one school to another was completely voluntary. If a teacher chooses to stay where they are, this schedule may become more complicated and may need to be readjusted. Teel also mentioned that the popular idea of moving the sixth graders up to the middle school was still an option, though not until 2020. While some parents were satisfied with the district’s decisions, others were not. “Everyone keeps saying that this isn’t about Summit,” one disgruntled parent said, “but it is.” PreviousGovernor to appoint new commissioner NextLt. Governor stresses importance of rural tourism during Pioche visit Alamo Town News Spooky season in full swing as local pumpkin patch opens Off-road race slated for Labor Day $300K available for NRCS drought assistance The latest news delivered to your inbox! The Rural Business Show More Rural Business Content For more in-depth coverage of the Silver State, visit TheCompleteNevada.com Mesquite Local News Mineral County Independent News The Ely Times The Eureka Sentinel Sparks Tribune MHP Limited

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Heart Ridge Dark Cake Suckers State I Little Red Suckers Little Suckers Case Pies Pink Cone Wayne Thiebaud (b. 1920) is a prominent painter and printmaker, who is often associated with Pop Art and the Bay Area Figurative movement. Interested in a formal approach to composition, he is best known for his imagery of food, every day objects, portraits, cityscapes, and landscapes. He came of age during the Abstract Expressionist movement, incorporating thick pigments into his representational works, which are influenced by cartoons and comic strips. Although Thiebaud began doing prints with Crown Point Press in 1964, his earliest experimentation with printmaking dates back to 1948, when he made a Picasso-inspired self-portrait etching. He has since produced important color woodcuts, etchings, lithographs, and silkscreens. He often made prints in conjunction with paintings and drawings, extending himself across all three media. Thiebaud found a “very special beauty or effectiveness” in printmaking, and dismissed traditional hierarchies within his artistic process. Born in Mesa, Arizona, Thiebaud established himself as a cartoonist at a young age, working for a brief time as an animator for Walt Disney studios and drawing a regular comic strip during a World War II stint in the Air Force. He also worked as a poster designer and commercial artist in both California and New York before deciding to become a painter. He studied at San José State College and the California State College in Sacramento under the GI Bill. In 1956, Thiebaud moved to New York, where he was in the midst of the Abstract Expressionist movement. In the early 1960s, he returned to California, having developed a style of colloquial, representational paintings of food and consumer goods. His treatment of light and shadow, thick paint, and bright, Kool-Aid colors became his signature style. Fueled by a staunch modernist belief that one could make art out of anything, the artist began painting displays of food, including rows of pies, gumball machines and ice cream. The artist became fascinated by the challenge of portraying a three-dimensional object behind a pane of glass using a two-dimensional medium. Thiebaud’s wide collection of billowing ice cream cones and fluffy cakes are the results of his efforts. In 1966, Thiebaud added landscapes and city views to his subject matter. Though the artist was a San Francisco resident, he drew the soaring urban landscape by memory, resulting in dramatic compositions, exaggerated hills and a flattened perception of depth within his works. Thiebaud has received numerous honors for his work, most notably the National Medal of Arts, presented to him by President Bill Clinton in a 1994 ceremony at the White House. Thiebaud has been included in solo and group exhibitions at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (2019), Morgan Library and Museum (2018), Norton Simon Museum of Art, (2016), Norton Simon Museum of Art (2016), Dallas Museum of Art (2015), Whitney Museum of American Art (2015), Laguna Art Museum (2014), Istituzione Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Bologna (2011) and the Museum of Modern Art (1999). In 2001, the Whitney Museum of American Art organized a major retrospective of his work. In 2018, the Jan Shrem and Maria Manetti Shrem Museum of Art published the most comprehensive monograph on Thiebaud’s works to date, and in 1985, the San Francisco Museum of Art published a catalogue in conjunction with a retrospective exhibition. Thiebaud’s work is in numerous prominent museum collections, including the Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL; Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn, NY; Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, OH; Crystal Bridges Museum, Bentonville, AK; Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge, MA; Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC; Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY; Minneapolis Institute of Arts, Minneapolis, MN; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, CA; Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA; National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC; Rhode Island School of Design Museum, Providence, RI; San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco, CA; Fine Art Museums of San Francisco, San Francisco, CA; San Diego Museum of Art, San Diego, CA; San Francisco Arts Commission, San Francisco, CA; Smithsonian Museum of American Art, Washington, DC; Tate Modern, London, UK; University of California, Berkeley Art Museum, Berkeley, CA; Walker Art Center, MN; Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, NY and the Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT. Wayne Thiebaud’s “Stuffed” by Françoise Mouly

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iPad Hacker Weev Gets Prison Time By Lorenzo Franceschi-Bicchierai 2013-03-18 16:31:22 UTC Infamous iPad and AT&T data hacker Andrew Auernheimer, better known as "Weev," is going to jail. He will spend three years and five months in prison for accessing an AT&T public web server and obtaining thousands of email addresses he then shared with Gawker. His prison sentence will be followed by three years of supervised release and he will have to pay $36,500. In 2010, Auernheimer and an associate discovered that by randomly guessing iPad identification numbers and inserting them into a public and unprotected AT&T server they could access the email of customers who owned iPads. Then they wrote a script that automated the process and got their hands on 114,000 email addresses, thereby exposing a major security hole. To expose the breach and shame AT&T, Auernheimer gave the data and the scoop to Gawker. For this exploit, he was accused of computer crimes stemming from the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act (CFAA). During the trial, AT&T admitted the server was publicly accessible, yet claimed Auernheimer's access was unauthorized. The CFAA, a law that's been criticized a lot lately, criminalizes unauthorized access, but never precisely defines what that means. On Nov. 20, 2012, the jury found Auernheimer guilty of identity theft and conspiracy to violate the CFAA. SEE ALSO: iPad Hacker Trial Tests Pre-Internet Law Right before the sentencing on Monday in New Jersey, Auernheimer, surrounded by friends and supporters, held a press conference. Always controversial, he didn't have any words of regret. "I'm going to prison for arithmetic," he said on the steps of the courthouse. "I added one to a fucking number, on a public web server, and I aggregated the data and I gave it to a fucking journalist at that man's publication. [Pointing at Gawker's Adrian Chen]. And this is why I'm going to prison — is arithmetic. Fuck this country.” In his speech, broadcast by independent journalist Tim Pool, he also lamented that America has a problem, and that problem is the "feds," who "take everybody's freedoms and they never give it back." Even inside the courthouse, awaiting his sentencing, Auernheimer found the time to tweet a few more defiant words. No matter what the outcome, I will not be broken. I am antifragile. — Andrew Auernheimer (@rabite) March 18, 2013 Just one night before finding out if he was going to end up in jail, Auernheimer celebrated at a rented 10,000 square foot hall in Newark, NJ. He also continued to tweet. OH: "This is a who's who of troublemakers. This has to be the most surveiled party in the past decade." A few hours earlier, he also held a Reddit AMA, in which he responded to all sorts of redditor's questions. Asked if he had any regrets, Auernheimer said his only one was "being nice enough to give AT&T a chance to patch before dropping the dataset to Gawker." "I won't nearly be as nice next time," he added. Auernheimer is now expected to appeal the sentence. He already announced his intention to do so after his conviction in November. Hey epals don't worry! We went in knowing there would be a guilty here. I'm appealing of course. — Andrew Auernheimer (@rabite) November 20, 2012 Image courtesy of YouTube, weprez Topics: computer fraud and abuse act, computer hacking, hackers, U.S., World, weev

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Posted by Attorney Matthew Noyes | filed in Workers' Comp no comments If a workers’ compensation injury prevents you from earning the wages you earned prior to the work injury, you may be entitled to indemnity payments paid by the workers’ compensation carrier. There are three types of indemnity (wage) payments that the carrier would be responsible for after a work comp claim – Temporary Total Disability benefits, Temporary Partial Disability benefits; and Permanent Total Disability benefits. Each of these categories could warrant multiple pages of explanation, but this article will simply summarize each of the types of indemnity benefits after an explanation of how the carrier calculates your average weekly wage (AWW). Please note that if you are injured in a workers’ compensation accident, you should consult an attorney who understands Florida’s work comp law to make sure you are getting all your benefits. How Your Work Comp Average Weekly Wage is Calculated Before knowing what indemnity (wage) benefits must be paid after a work comp injury, it is important that you understand your average weekly wage (AWW) because all indemnity benefits are paid based on the AWW. Florida Statute 440.02(28) defines wages as follows: (28) “Wages” means the money rate at which the service rendered is recompensed under the contract of hiring in force at the time of the injury and includes only the wages earned and reported for federal income tax purposes on the job where the employee is injured and any other concurrent employment where he or she is also subject to workers’ compensation coverage and benefits . . . As you can see, if the wages are reported to the IRS as income, they cannot be used to calculate the average weekly wage. However, income from a second or third job reported to the IRS is most times included in the calculation of the average weekly wage. There are exceptions to whether your second job’s wages are included in the calculation of the AWW (such as working as an independent contractor) so it is important that you talk with an attorney who understands Florida’s work comp law before you agree to an average weekly wage calculation. Now that we know what wages we can include in the calculation, Florida Statute 440.14 tells us how to do the calculation. It states: Determination of pay.— (1) Except as otherwise provided in this chapter, the average weekly wages of the injured employee on the date of the accident shall be taken as the basis upon which to compute compensation and shall be determined, subject to the limitations of s. 440.12(2), as follows: (a) If the injured employee has worked in the employment in which she or he was working on the date of the accident, whether for the same or another employer, during substantially the whole of 13 weeks immediately preceding the accident, her or his average weekly wage shall be one-thirteenth of the total amount of wages earned in such employment during the 13 weeks. As used in this paragraph, the term “substantially the whole of 13 weeks” means the calendar period of 13 weeks as a whole, which shall be defined as the 13 calendar weeks before the date of the accident, excluding the week during which the accident occurred. The term “during substantially the whole of 13 weeks” shall be deemed to mean during not less than 75 percent of the total customary hours of employment within such period considered as a whole. In laymen’s terms, if an employee worked a full-time job concurrently with a part-time job during the 13 weeks before the work comp accident, calculating the average weekly wage is a simple matter of dividing the total earning from both jobs by 13. Of course, it can never be that simple and there are always scenarios that make it more difficult to calculate the average weekly wage. What if the injured worker just started the job before getting hurt and hasn’t worked 13 weeks for the employer? Do they use a similar employee? How is a similar employee defined? These are just some of the issues as to why a whole book on average weekly wage could be written. TEMPORARY TOTAL DISABILITY (TTD) You, as an injured employee, are entitled to Temporary Total Disability benefits when your workers’ compensation doctor states that you are unable to do any gainful work. If you are on TTD status, you are entitled to receive 66 2/3% of your average weekly wage (AWW) up to the maximum amount determined by the Division of Workers’ Compensation. In 2019, the maximum compensation rate is $939.00. This means that if your AWW is $400.00, then the carrier has to pay $266.67 (two-thirds of $400), but if your AWW is $2,000, the carrier only has to pay the max of $939.00 even though two-thirds of your AWW would be $1,333.33. Under recent case law, the injured worker is entitled to 260 weeks of TTD benefits if the workers’ compensation doctor opines that he or she is still unable to do any gainful employment. However, if you miss just a few days of work because of a work comp accident, you may not be entitled any lost wages. Under Florida Statute 440.12, workers’ compensation wages are not allowed for the first 7 days of the disability unless the injury results in more than 21 days of disability. If the doctor has you out for more than 21 days, you get paid for the first 7 days of lost wages. However, if you miss 14 days of work, then you only get paid for days 8 through 14 and do not get paid for the first seven days. It is important to know that a workers’ compensation authorized doctor has to provide medical evidence that you are unable to work. Your belief that you cannot do your job with the injury is not enough. You trying to do the work and not being able to do it is not enough. You must have a workers’ compensation doctor state that it is their opinion that your injury prevents you from doing gainful employment. Your Temporary Total Disability benefit end when one of these events occurs: a. When your workers’ compensation doctor says you can do some work; b. When you return to work; c. When you reach maximum medical improvement; or d. When the carrier has paid the maximum weeks of benefits. If you feel that that workers compensation carrier is not paying the proper temporary total disability benefits, it is important that you talk with an attorney who understands the Florida workers’ compensation law. TEMPORARY PARTIAL DISABILITY (TPD) You may be entitled to temporary partial disability (TPD) benefits after a workers’ compensation injury if you (1) are not totally disabled; (2) have not reached maximum medical improvement; (3) are medically able to do some work but not the full pre-injury work; and (4) you are earning less than 80% of pre-injury wages. The law states that TPD benefit are not payable unless the medical conditions caused by the work comp accident created restrictions on the ability to return to work. They are not payable unless the evidence shows that the reduction in earning is caused by work restrictions that were caused by a compensable work comp accident. Within five days after the carrier learns that the workers’ compensation carrier has released you to restricted work, they are required to send you a letter outlining your rights to TPD benefits. This letter also is send to the employer. If the employer contacts you about returning to work on light duty, you have an obligation to try the work. Refusal of light duty work could result in your losing temporary partial disability benefits. You, as the injured worker, are required to return completed Employee Earning Reports (EER forms) showing the carrier whether you returned to work and what earning you received. Your failure to timely return the EER forms could result in the delay in payment of temporary partial disability benefits. The calculation of Temporary Partial Disability benefits can be tricky. The statute states that “compensation shall be equal to 80 percent of the difference between 80 percent of the employee’s average weekly wage and the salary, wages, and other remuneration the employee is able to earn post-injury, as compared weekly.” It is best understood by these examples: a. Employee has an average weekly wage of $400.00. He has restrictions that prevent him from working his old job and the employer has no light duty. Since he is earning zero in wages, he is entitled to 80% of 80% of his average weekly wage. Thus, he would be entitled to TPD benefits of $256.00. b. Employee has an average weekly wage of $400.00. He has restrictions that prevent him from working his old job, but the employer has light duty work for him and pays him $200.00 a week for performing the light duty work. The $200.00 he is earning is less than 80% of his AWW so he is entitled to TPD benefits. His calculation would be $320.00 (80% of his AWW) – $200.00 (amount earned on light duty) = $120.00 x 80% = $96.00 of TPD benefits. c. Employee has an average weekly wage of $400.00. He has restrictions that prevent him from working his old job, but the employer has light duty work for him and pays him $320.00 a week for performing the light duty work. Since the $320.00 he is earning is not less than 80% of his AWW, he is not entitled to TPD benefits. As you can see, the calculations for Temporary Partial Disability benefits can be complex. If you feel that the carrier is not paying the correct TPD benefits, you should talk with an attorney who understands Florida’s workers’ compensation law. Be sure to have proof of all your post-accident earnings with you. PERMANENT TOTAL DISABILITY AFTER A WORK COMP INJURY Whenever a judge or the carrier decides an injured worker is permanently and totally disabled, the injured worker is entitled to permanent total disability benefits that equal two-thirds (66 2/3%) of the worker’s average weekly wage (up to the maximum compensation rate). Permanent Total Disability benefits end at age 75. However, this age limitation does not apply if the injured worker is not eligible for social security disability or retirement benefit only because the work comp injury prevented the worker from working enough quarters to be eligible for SSD benefits. In addition to PTD benefits, the law entitles permanently and totally disabled workers to receive supplement benefits. These benefits are equal to three percent of the injured worker’s AWW multiplied by the number of calendar years since the date of injury. However, the law states that these supplemental benefits “shall not be paid after the employee attained age 62.” As a result, you can receive PTD and supplement benefits together until you turn 62. Thereafter, you just receive PTD benefits. Florida Statute 400.15(b)(1) states that there are some conditions that injured workers are presumed to be permanently and totally disabled unless the employer or carrier can establish that the employee is physically capable of engaging in at least sedentary employment within a 50-mile radius of the employee’s residence. These include the following: 1. Spinal cord injury involving severe paralysis of an arm, a leg, or the trunk; 2. Amputation of an arm, a hand, a foot, or a leg involving the effective loss of use of that appendage; 3. Severe brain or closed-head injury as evidenced by: a. Severe sensory or motor disturbances; b. Severe communication disturbances; c. Severe complex integrated disturbances of cerebral function; d. Severe episodic neurological disorders; or e. Other severe brain and closed-head injury conditions at least as severe in nature as any condition provided in sub-subparagraphs a.-d.; 4. Second-degree or third-degree burns of 25 percent or more of the total body surface or third-degree burns of 5 percent or more to the face and hands; or 5. Total or industrial blindness. In all other cases, you, as the injured worker, must establish that you are not able to engage in at least sedentary employment, within a 50-mile radius of your residence, due to your physical limitation. This is often tough as the employer/carrier will retain vocational experts to argue there are jobs such as a Walmart greeter, tollbooth operators, or similar job close by that you can perform. This brief discussion of PTD benefits only covers a small portion of the issues involving entitlement and payment to permanent total disability benefits. Entire books are written on the subject so if you have questions, consult with an attorney who understands Florida’s workers’ compensation law. If you are injured at work and have questions about how the insurance company calculated your indemnity (wage loss) benefits, it is important that you talk an attorney to make sure your average weekly wage is properly calculated so that the proper indemnity benefit is paid. Attorneys Matthew Noyes and Lorrie Robinson have been helping injured workers fight for their work comp benefits for decades. Click here to contact us for a free consultation. reset all fields

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Subodh Roy Subodh Roy (1916–2006) was the youngest participant (aged 14) in the Chittagong Armoury Raid in 1930, led by Surya Sen (Masterda). Affectionately called Jhunku, Roy took part in the famous battle on Jalalabad Hill, where the revolutionaries confronted the armed might of the British Empire. He was eventually captured, tortured, tried and sentenced, and was among the first batch of prisoners deported to the Cellular Jail in Port Blair in 1932. In jail, he got introduced to Communist ideas and literature, and joined the Communist Party of India in 1939 after his release. When the CPI split in 1964, he went with the CPI(M), and became a member of the West Bengal State Committee. Subodh Roy made a major scholarly contribution to the history of the communist movement in India, and is the editor of Communism in India: Unpublished Documents, 1934-45 (Calcutta 1976). Chittagong Armoury Raid Availabe as e-book, here. An event so d... Jeremy Seabrook Jeremy Seabrook is a researcher, journalist and writer. His recent books include Pauperland: Poverty and the Poor in Britain and People Without History: India’s Muslim Ghettos (Navayana). Paul Burkett Paul Burkett is Professor of Economics at Indiana State University. Agnes Smedley (1892-1950) was a journalist and the author of many books and articles. Kevin Morgan Kevin Morgan is Professor of Politics and Contemporary History at the University of Manchester. He is the author of many books on labour movement history, including the Bolshevism and the British L Carol Schick Carol Schick is an associate professor in the Faculty of Education, University of Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada. Anand Chakravarti Anand Chakravarti retired as Professor of Sociology at the University of Delhi in 2006. He held the S.K. Dey Chair in Local Government at the Institute of Social Sciences, New Delhi, from July 2013 Joel Kovel has been Alger Hiss Professor of Social Studies at Bard College, Annandale, New York, since 1988. His books include Red Hunting in the Promised Land (1997), History and Spirit (1998), In Ben Davis in an American art critic and has written widely on politics, economics and contemporary art. T.H. Aston Trevor Henry Aston (1925-85) was a British historian and teacher at the University of Oxford.

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London Mapped Jigsaw Puzzle... posted by Ollie Mapping London has long enjoyed Stephen Walter’s fabulously detailed, painstakingly created pencil-sketch maps of London, and now one of his most famous works, The Island, has been made into a jigsaw puzzle. It was launched late last year by publishers Prestel UK and comes as a 400-piece work. The team at Mapping London Towers likes to think that it knows London’s geography pretty well – after all, we’ve reviewed over 300 other maps here so far. So we assumed that completing this puzzle was going to be straightforward, something to piece together in a short break. How wrong we were – it took three of us nearly six hours each (over three long lunches) to complete the puzzle. There are various challenges making it harder – the map is black and white, which means there are no colour clues, apart from the red banded pieces forming the edge of the puzzle. In addition, as a semi-autobiographical work of the creator, some of the place names are spelt in local vernacular or slang. So going by simple place names is harder than you might expect. Conversely, if you have a good knowledge of historical spots in London, some demographic statistics (such as the area with lowest life expectancy) or can recognise flags and know which London neighbourhoods the corresponding nationality has an established community in, then this can be invaluable. Subtle changes in the density of the penciled buildings can also help. Stephen was never afraid to voice his opinion on many areas, and even be downright derogatory about some of them – perhaps sometimes deserved. But you really need to know London’s rough as well as its smooth, for these to help with the task of solving. The jigsaw puzzle pieces themselves are also... Strava Labs Heatmap of Runners... This stunning map reveals the athletic footprint of London. Strava have taken their huge volume of movement data, recorded by runners, cyclists and other data-enabled fitness peeps and created a heatmap of London (and indeed, the world). Many people use Strava to record their cycle to work, whereas running to work is much rarer, and recreational running is much more likely so, in order to see an alternative, largely non-commuting flow map of London, we have here featured the running data. A street network is still seen, but the brightest lines are no longer the big road arteries of London – instead it is the park roads, athletics tracks, canal towpaths and the Thames footpaths. It shows a London reordered towards two feet rather than four (or two) wheels. The extract at top, centred over the London’s central area, shows four parks in each corner – Regent’s Park, Victoria Park, Greenwich Park and Battersea Park, as hotspots of activity, along with both sides of the Thames, the Regent’s Canal towpath, and Hyde Park. Two blurred areas – at Canary Wharf and the eastern part of the City of London – are likely a combination of a large number of runners and the GPS multipath-interference effect of the very tall, close together buildings in these areas. Looking more closely at certain areas, you can start to see the thousands of individual traces in each area, along with local “obstacles”: This obstacle, at Barnes Bridge in west London, is due to be fixed soon with a new underbridge: We featured an earlier version of the map in 2013, back then it only include a month’s worth of data, whereas this latest map includes all the data up to September 2017 (except that marked as private, in... Tranquil Pavement Tranquil Pavement is an online map recently launched by the Tranquil City project based in London, in association with the Outlandish Cooperative and funded by Organicity. It aims to highlight tranquil places to visit, if the hustle and bustle of city life gets too much, by plotting “crowdsourced “locations – referenced in an Instagram feed – as green circles, and also shows a general overlay map shade of calmness (or otherwise) across the capital. The latter is shown by a white (higher noise/pollution) to green (lower noise/pollution) gradient based on official data from DEFRA and the GLA. A different shade of green, showing park footprints, is underlaid to further emphasise likely tranquil locations. The background map makes a point of naming, and so highlighting, only smaller roads, rather than larger noisy artery roads, and also showing some water features, including, unusually, underground rivers such as the River Fleet. The overall map – tending to green in more suburban outer London, but with green highlights for specific tranquil locations more likely to be in the inner city, results in a rather pleasing to look at – although perhaps grey black would be an even better colour for pollution/noise – representing the murk of an untranquil location. Explore the live map here, or add the #tranquilcitylondon tag to your geotagged photos of London’s peaceful places, on... Chiswick Timeline The Chiswick Timeline, a mural of maps showing the history of the pleasant west London neighbourhood, was successfully crowdfunded and launched last month. It appears alongside a road as it passes underneath a railway bridge by Turnham Green station. A commemorative book, reproducing the work, is available to buy online or at Foster’s Bookshop on Chiswick’s high street. At Mapping London, we love the idea of a community getting together to brighten up a drab wall in their area, particularly when the artwork commissioned is a map! In this case, it is many maps – even better. The mural features 16 different maps, 8 on each side of the road, from 1593 (Norden’s map of Middlesex) right up to the latest 2018 Legible London map of the area (those attractive pedestrian maps you see on totem poles throughout the inner London, and now extending further out). We feature three of these maps here – at the top is a map by William Knight from 1700 of “Towns, Villages, Gentlemen’s Houses for 20 Miles round London”, it shows that Turn(h)am Green has been around for far longer than the tube station which bears its name. Above is a land-use map drawn by Milne a hundred years later, in 1800. This is a historic “data” map, the colours depicting different land types. Showing choropleths and indeed simply using colour at all on a map was pretty ground-breaking 200+ years ago. The many market gardens around Chiswick are coloured in blue, with orchards in green. Finally, below is the 1949 Ordnance Survey “6 inch to the mile” map, with just the River Thames coloured in, which shows that Chiswick never got fully urbanised – the open lands to the south of the earlier maps have simply become... Winter Lights If Lumiere London, which finished yesterday, has whet your appetite for seeing artistic displays of light after dark, then there is another festival of lights which runs until Saturday. It’s at Canary Wharf and called Winter Lights. Think Lumiere London, in a smaller area and without the huge crowds. And, like the King’s Cross, it’s produced its own special map for the event, which we feature above. Outdoor exhibits are indicated as magenta circles, and indoor ones are shown as white circles. It doesn’t quite have the glowing-lights-at-night feel of the Lumiere maps, but it’s clear and easy to read, and shows the area’s water-dominant geography well. Canary Wharf is a reasonably compact site, so you should be able to see many of the lights quickly – and Canary Wharf itself at night is quite impressive, even without the extra lighting. Winter Lights runs from 5-10pm, until 27... Lumiere at King’s Cross... King’s Cross is one of the six Lumiere London areas, where light-based artworks are on display every evening until Sunday. We looked at the general maps of the event yesterday, but we discovered also that King’s Cross has its own map, showing where the exhibits are. You don’t have to follow the marked route, although it does take you past all the key exhibits, and, with the expected large crowds, you may find it makes sense to follow this path of least resistance! Mapping London likes this attractive, clear map that is using a nice “nighttime” black, pastel pink and maroon colour scheme, bright colours for the routes and attractions, and nice labelling for the new streets. The area is rapidly evolving with different areas constantly opening up to the public. Current construction zones are shown as areas of dots. The canal is shown with watery waves, and green areas are a lighter pink shade. The overall effect is rather nice. Paper copies of this map are being handed out at the entrances to the area each evening. People who get one, and visit four places marked on the map (including a colourfully lit night market), can get their map stamped at each, and then and get free candyfloss or a glow band. Waterlicht (No. 5 on the map) is the undoubted highlight – lasers and dry ice across the huge Granary Square. See pic below for the general effect, it is one to definitely experience for yourself, it fills the whole square and has the crowds underneath it in awe. It reminds me of the Weather Project at the Tate Modern back in 2003. If you are looking for No. 7, look up high! It’s a screen suspended from a crane, which is... The Lumiere London, a free show of more than 50 light-based artworks, scattered throughout central London, starts today and the lights are switched on for the next four evenings, until Sunday 21st. It’s the second running of the event, after the inaugural in January 2016 which led to huge crowds of onlookers on the streets (over a million in total). This year, many more central London roads are closed to traffic, which may make things easier for moving around on foot. This year’s event is based on six zones, and there is a simple map (above) showing the zones, and maps for each of these zones (two of these are below). There is also a more detailed map (excerpt at bottom) that you can buy for download, and a free app, which is also useful for navigating between the works. In fact, the website map, the pay-to-download map excerpt and the map in the app are all slightly different! Probably easiest just head to the giant ball above Oxford Circus and then follow the crowds. We like the stylized zone maps, they have an appropriately night-time/glowing theme, and should be quite useful to navigate with – or else just follow the lights and look up! London Lumiere is promoted by Visit London and organised by... London Sherry Trail Dry January? You might want to look away. From the industry’s official promoter of the fortified Andalusian wine in the UK, comes this map of tapas bars and restaurants in central London where you can be sure of finding a good glass of sherry. The map was published in October last year but we just spotted it now, and we like it! The map was created by illustrator Andy Smith. There’s lots of nice details in it – for example, the “Sherry Ferry” that appears in the Thames, heading towards Canary Wharf, is a reference to a ferry that used to go between two of the Camino bars in London. The plate of Mojama tuna is a nod to the animal that is, like sherry, local to Cadiz. Some tube station roundels and the River Thames appear – two musts with any London map – and the venues themselves are illustrated with numbered circles. A sprinkling of London landmarks are interspersed with names and logos of the bars/restaurants concerned, and various tapas-style snacks. N.B. Be careful if using this as a map to navigate by. The designer has gone beyond the usual bounds of simplifying detail and removing non-key roads, by connecting Farringdon Road and Borough High Street together across an unnamed bridge across the Thames. The former actually goes to Blackfriars Bridge and the latter to London Bridge, which are separated by several other bridges. This will be especially confusing if using the map to navigate after having tried several sherries. Use the London Sherry Trail map to find your venues, then your smartphone mapping platform of choice to work out how to actually get there! You may be able to pick up a paper copy of the map from the venues themeselves... Children’s Map of London... The Children’s Map of London (sometimes called the Children’s Pictorial Map of London) was drawn by Leslie Bullock and first published by Bartholomew in 1938, the edition here is I believe the original version. All royalties from the sale of the map went to the Hospital for Sick Children in Great Ormond Street (aka GOSH) which appropriately does itself appear on the map. The decorative style brings to mind an older time – perhaps the 1920s, when decorative maps were popular and the Beck tube map had not yet appeared – or perhaps even a map from the 1800s. Despite this, it was likely a good map to navigate by, as it includes most of the street network, and doesn’t distort the geography. A lot has changed of course, since the 1930s – Euston station, for instance, looks a lot grander on the map, as this was before it was pulled down and replaced with a giant shed in the 1960s. It looks more grand than St Pancras even, on this map! University College also gets a nice drawing in, above. We liked also the appearance of the “Cheshire Cheese” on Fleet Street. A pub these days, and back then too, so a slightly curious choice for a map aimed at children, even if it is very historic: It’s a shame also the Zoo doesn’t make it in – the map stops just south of it, but does at least include a note “To the Zoo”. Hamleys doesn’t appear either – another institution that was certainly going strong at the time of this map. The cartography is clear and crisp, with a good balance of style and function. A yellow/red/blue colour scheme is adopted for all buildings and stations, so that the map is... East End Independents... This hand-sketched map has been produced by Adam Dant and Herb Lester, for the East End Trades Guild, to promote over 200 small businesses based in east and north-east London. Over a hundred of these are independent shops, cafes and restaurants to visit. The map is presented with an unusual projection, focusing on Columbia Road near the bottom of the map (with the greatest concentration of featured businesses) with the rest of the area curving away as you look towards the top. Some places beyond the bounds of the map are included as little adornments attached to the map, which is in the style of a pinboard. Cardboard cutout-style illustrations show some businesses at work, while parks, tube stations and water features also show. The built up fabric between the road network is nicely illustrated with a striped hatching effect: The cartography is really rather lovely, and a million miles away from the ubiquitous Google Maps map with icon pins – it has its place, is accessible and is certainly an “easy” option, but putting points on a standard Google Maps map does not make a “map”. Designing a custom map like this, specifically focused on the structure of the area, gives the subject matter the framing it deserves. Kudos to the guild for commissioning a proper map like this. Here’s the full map in all its glory, click on it to view a larger version (you may need to click again if your browser initially resizes the image): Find out more about the map and the small businesses on it, at Spitalfields Life. Discovered on the Spitalfields Life... Christmas Map 2017 It’s December! So Christmas is not far away, and so here’s a nice map which takes that always popular London map – the tube map – focuses on the inner city section, coverts the lines to coloured tissue paper, and hangs baubles on many of the stations, detailing a nearby Christmas-related attraction, be it a Christmas market, and ice rink, panto or other seasonal event. There’s 100 altogether. It’s more useful for ideas than navigation, although it will at least get you to the nearest tube station. Watch out – a couple of stations are on the wrong side of the River Thames though! To its credit, the London Overground gets a look in (all the interesting new stuff in London is happening near the Orange Line isn’t it?) The poor tube map gets reused for all sorts of different kinds of things (including a similar 2016 Christmas map) but the colours and lines are such an important identity for how London works, that it’s a natural way to present geographic information like this. And while an official Christmas-edition tube map would be amazing, this is certainly the next best thing. Here’s the full version, with captions and station/distance information in the section below, click for a larger image (if your browser then resizes the full image back down, click it once more): The map was commissioned by Clarendon and created by... New London Plan Cover... The Mayor of London released a draft version of his New London Plan this week. The plan is full of interesting maps, but one of the nicest looking ones is on the front cover. It’s an illustrative map created by, we believe, artist Jan Kallwejt (portfolio) which combines geographical landmarks, in their approximately correct relative locations, with illustrative features of the London experience – tube station roundels, parks with trees, and building terraces. As this is a plan for the future of London, there are also some future references – tunnel portals for the proposed Crossrail 2, for example. We really like the colour palette – yellow, cream, brown and green predominate. It’s nice also to see a comprehensive map like this, covering the whole of the Greater London Authority area, produced as a pure vector artwork, you can zoom right in for all the lovely detail. Direct link, or download a large version of the map. Discovered through online... A Bite Out of London This rather nice diagrammatic map, created by by Premium Tours, looks at the top ranking on TripAdvisor for each cuisine type, for London, and then plots the restaurant concerned, in its approximate geographic location. Each restaurant is represented by a category icon, which varies according to the continent that the cuisine is based in. A few adornments are added – key parks, the River Thames and major London icons. A theoretical road network is also included, although you may want to consult Google Maps or OpenStreetMap to actually navigate to the restaurant concerned. Accompanying the map is an A-Z (well, W) list of the restaurants, with their street addresses. From Piebury Corner (TripAdvisor #1 Scottish restaurant in London) in Islington, to Peckham Bazaar (#1 Albanian), this map crosses culinary as well as geographical boundaries, and, perhaps most interestingly, shows that many of the top “theme” restaurants are not in Zone 1 touristville, but require a bit of urban exploration. We really like the colour palette used, the attractive adornments, and the fact that the map strips superfluous detail right down, making it a lot more interesting and engaging to read by focusing on the restaurants themselves. It really highlights the breadth of London restaurant choices, and that each major cuisine type is well represented right across the inner city. See a large version of the map here. Spotted via... London Underground Architecture & Design Map... I have to confess, there was a sharp intake of breathe when this map was unwrapped here at Mapping London towers. We are a big fan of tube maps (we even have a special page just for them) and we know you are too, so discovering a new one is always a bit of a thrill. This is a beautifully designed package, with a roundel-shaped hole cut in the textured card, revealing the glimpse of a tube map with the familiar Transport for London line colours but the lines looking distinctively different – this is a paper geographical tube map of London: Using the famous “Johnston” font for the text throughout (note those diamond-shaped dots on the ‘i’s), and including a detailed description of some of the most architecturally interesting stations on the network, on the reverse, the map folds out to approximately A2 size, covering almost the entire network (Heathrow Terminal 5, Amersham and a couple of other outliers get cheekily omitted). An inset version shows the central London detail and includes a skeletal road network to put this section in context. The main map is presented on a simple white background with just the lines and stations, as well as the River Thames. The map has been curated by Mark Ovenden, well-known transport historian and tube geek, who’s detailed notes about some of the stations make this much more than just a map: Our favourite thing about this map is the paper it is printed on – lovely, grainy paper, and presented in that enticing roundel-adorned card envelope. The map inside arranges familiar colours and names into a different perspective and the notes on the reverse are full of interesting detail. You can get your own piece of tube map design from... Songs of London Town Songs of London Town replaces street names with song names. The pastel coloured, hand-drawn basemap is overlaid with hundreds of song titles, each arranged over the street that it references. It’s rather a clever idea and allows for the creation of your own song-narrated self-guided tour of each central London neighborhood you happen to be in. The map covers the centre of the capital as well as decent part of the inner city – see the full map pic at the bottom of this post. The reverse, or “B Side” of the map, contains further details on each song reference: You can find the map at Present Indicative. (If you like the style, also see Fictional London, which is also produced by Present Indicative, we we reviewed it recently.) Thanks to Present Indicative for a review... Citee Map Shirt Citee has been producing technical T-shirts featuring maps of various cities around the world, including London, for the last year. They are currently crowdfunding for a new black version of the T-shirts, with the map detail overlaid in greys and whites. Citee were kind enough to send a sample of their existing London design, which is a white technical T-shirt with minor roads, railways and housing in light grey, and major roads, rivers and lakes in dark grey. Alex Szabo-Haslam of Citee designs the T-shirts in Sheffield. The map design appears on the front of the shirt, spreading to the edges of both sleeves, and, for London, covers an area stretching from Tooting Common in the south to Archway in the north, and from Brent Cross in the west to Walthamstow in the east. The Thames makes for a striking wavy black line in the middle of the shirt. The map detail, based on a custom OpenStreetMap render, is printed directly onto the 100% polyester technical fabric. The transfer quality is excellent, considering the material it is printed on, with individual detail clear and generally sharp. The combination of the street topography and the noticeable vertical grain of the material is rather pleasing (see my Victoria Park closeup below), and, by restricting the design to white, greys and black, it creates a design that is quite sophisticated and not too in-your-face. The T-shirts themselves are made by American Apparel in the USA, and come in sizes XS-XL (note that US sizes are a little bigger than UK sizes – my XS sample would fit an S and possibly an M here). You can get a London (or other city) technical T directly from Citee or join the Kickstarter to get your design in the... Fictional London Jones & Sawers’ Map of Fictional London is an a hand-drawn typographic map of central London, where the street and park names are replaced with the names of the novels, plays and other works that mention them. Over 600 such pieces are named on the map. The cartography is rather attractive, with pastel shades and the literary placenames written on in an attractive font. The work is produced by The Literary Gift Company and is available through them or Present Indicative, in both folded and poster forms. We love the clear and attractive cartography and the detail in the map – a key on the reverse of the map links each story to the real street name and quotes the specific line in the work that references the street (or park), allowing you to create your own literary tour, taking your own route through the centre of the capital. Buy a copy of this lovely map here – currently at £5.99 for the folded version, it’s a nice stocking filler for that London literary map geek you know! Thank you to the Literary Gift Company for sending a review... London National Park City Map... Urban Good, a new community interest company created by Charlie Peel, have this month published the first edition of their London National Park City Map. This huge (over 1 metre wide when unfolded) paper map covering the whole of London, was created through a crowdfunding campaign, and is available from Urban Good’s web store for just a payment of a postage and handling fee. (N.B. temporarily out of stock, but you can pre-order for delivery expected soon). It’s part of a campaign, led by Dan Raven-Ellison, to designate London as the UK’s first National Park city – along the way, increasing the awareness and use of the capital’s many and varied green spaces, to further the fitness and health of Londoners and visitors. The campaign has caught the eye of the London Mayor, and this map has the support of the Greater London Agency. The map was produced using Ordnance Survey and GiGL (Greenspace Information for Greater London) data and aims to map all of London’s green space and water. When you include private gardens, it’s is estimated that almost 50% of London is green or blue. Urban Good have created a detailed map which has many functions – as well as mapping the green and blue space, it highlights public parks, allotments, marked walking trails, city farms, allotments, cemeteries and nature reserves. It also shows the city’s highest peaks and is indeed overlaid with a hillshade texture to show the slopes and hills. This has the effect of blurring and pixelating the garden/water detail below it – a printing quirk when combining raster field data like this with the vectors of the park outlines and captions means that the whole image is typically rasterised when sending to a lithographer or digital printer –... Not all maps of London need to cover the whole, 33 borough, 8 million-population metropolis. Here’s three maps that focus more on a local area: 1. Tottenham This attractive little map promotes a number of the new start-up businesses in the area – including a climbing wall, a brewery/bar, and arts centre and a concept “healthy” fried chicken restaurant. It was created by Pencil Bandit. 2. Southall This map of Southall in west London was created by James Merry. It illustrates the key buildings on Southall’s key streets, and helpfully includes an inset map of London, showing Southall’s location relative to the rest of the capital sprawl. The noise of Heathrow airport is never far away from Southall and the map shows where the planes are landing – just to the west! 3. South-East London Finally, this sketch map of inner SE London was created by the excellently named Running for Crayons. It’s a colourful, energetic map, showing that there’s a lot of interesting things going on in an area tradionally off the tourist trails. The maps are the copyright of their respective... Map on Table Map on Table is a project, currently being crowdfunded on Kickstarter by Hasan Agar, to machine-cut a bespoke, ornate metallic map of central London, apply a colour finish and mount it on four legs to create a small table. The table corners have markers showing the cardinal directions on them. A rendering of Agar’s map, with additional waymark names added – not on the physical product, can be seen below. We really like the way the road network is carefully reproduced, the wave detailing for the the River Thames, and little tree shapes representing the extents of central London parks. If you look more carefully, more and more careful detail appears. The cuts in the metal form the roads, allowing the network to “shine through” the table surface. Certain key buildings are shown symbolically. The British Museum’s famous front portico is drawn, as is the market building in Covent Garden. Horses and guards are shown beside Whitehall, and Leicester Square has a film director’s clapperboard. Overall, it’s a lovely map, beautifully designed, and looks fantastic when machined in metal. It’s almost too nice to place anything on the table itself. You can see the prototype tables in all their cartographical glory in this promotional video, and you can join the Kickstarter here. There is also a New York City version. All photos courtesy of Hasan... Landmarks of London We featured Bridges of London earlier this week. However, the public realm relating to the Thames is more than the river itself and the bridges crossing it. One of London’s defining features, in recent times, as the Thames has cleaned and the spaces beside it have become less-traffic choked, is its riverside frontage. This lovely new illustrated map by Martin Thompson focuses both on the bridges and on the public realm beside the river. Running from Canary Wharf and Greenwich in the east, to Battersea Park in the west, it includes beautiful sketches of the 12 foot-accessible bridges in this section, the iconic buildings alongside, and other little details, such as the lost (that is, now underground) smaller rivers that meet the Thames in this central part of the capital. Martin redraws the river as a straight line of fixed width, with the buildings on either side flaring out and away from it. Most of London’s main tourist attractions, are in fact, not far from the River Thames, so the sketch encapsulates many of London’s most notable landmarks. The bridge detail is lovely: Intriguingly, Martin uses brown to show the river, rather than the usual blue. You would think this would result in muddy, murky illustration, however it turns out it works really well, contrasting with the colour and detail of the riverbanks, and the blue of the skies beyond, on either side. Martin has plans to print to order giclee prints of the work, contact him via his website for further details. Images courtesy of the... Bridges of London The River Thames is London’s defining geographical feature and its inclusion is almost mandatory on any map attempting to cover the whole of the capital. Bridges are most Londoners’ visible contact with the river, with over 30 spanning the river in London, including elevated crossing by the so-called “Underground”. As such, illustrated maps of the Thames are a popular produced work that Londoners can relate to. This hand-drawn artwork by illustrator Lis Watkins show the bridges in their approximately correct geographical position, and correct distances apart, although the width of the Thames itself is greatly exaggerated, as a fish jumping out of the river announces in a little speech bubble! Sketches of all 35 bridges that are within the Greater London boundary are included, as close as possible to the bridge itself concerned on the map. The map includes the outlines of major parks beside the river, and a lovely bridge-themed title panel, adorned with architectural elements of the bridges themselves. The map was commissioned by the AA and Londonist. See a full-size version here. Spotted via... Smiley’s London... This map created by illustrator Mike Hall (who we’ve featured before) for Penguin Books, shows the locations in London that featured in John le Carré’s George Smiley spy novels. This is a lovely map, drawn from scratch and using a distinctive yellow/green and pastel blue pastel colour palette that evokes classic literary works and hand-printed maps. Illustrated vignettes, positioned near their actual location, show the houses and scenes. Tube stations, parks and railways are also woven into the map, with careful cartography and labelling by Mike ensuring the map does not clutter and is attractive to look at. Some subtle digital paper “grain” in the map background, when you zoom in close, adds to the vintage feel: The map was commissioned by Penguin to mark the forthcoming release of A Legacy of Spies, after more than 25 years since the previous George Smiley novel. The new book is published on 7 September. You can see the full map as a PDF here. Copyright Mike Hall and reproduced with kind... TfL’s Corporate Archives... The Corporate Archives division of Transport for London recently held a short internal exhibition at their headquarters at Palestra, called “Mapping London” and showcasing new and old maps of London’s transport from the archive. Amongst the highlights included this Lego historic tube map. The Lego is modern but the map was one of the last pre-Beck (pre-straight lines) map of the tube network, from the early 1930s. It contrasts with the light-up Lego map of the modern network that was recently installed in the new Lego shop on Leicester Square. I also liked this experimental Braille map of the tube network, from the 1990s. As well as the big station areas with their names written in Braille, the lines themselves have different patterns, a little like physical version of the current black & white map of the network, an adaptation of which was used in this colour-blind tube map. Finally there was a glimpse of a modern geographical map of the tube network I hadn’t seen before. Dating from the early 1970s, it shows the network and its actual relation with the rest of London, and can be compared with the more modern London Connections map. Unfortunately the print was very small and I wasn’t able to capture a good image of it. The two yellow boxes near the bottom indicate the opening of the final section of the Victoria Line, between Victoria and Brixton, which happened in 1971. Thank you to TfL’s Press Office for inviting Mapping London to the... Summer: It’s a Really Big Deal... This artistic map of central London attractions was drawn by illustrator Andy Smith for Chiltern Railway, as part of a promotion to attract families into London during the summer holidays. We like the bold and unusual colour scheme for the map, of maroons, pinks and oranges. It’s fairly unusual to see the Thames in pink but it works with the theme! We also like the predominance of bicycles appearing, and especially the “Boris Bike” unofficial nickname for the bikeshare, appearing prominently. It may never have been a term that the authorities have used, but, with the official names always being long-winded, it is something that has stuck! The map is an artwork but is approximately topologically correct, revealing just how much there is to do on a central London day-trip. Copyright Andy... London Bay It’s a typical August day in London today, with the rain falling pretty heavily and at least one tube station closed due to flooding. London’s greatest long-term flooding threat, though, is from isothermal expansion of the world’s water (i.e. it needs slightly more space as it heats) due to climate change. The above map was produced by Jeffrey Linn, showing what London would look like if submerged by 40 metres of seawater, which would happen due to the isothermal expansion happening by a temperature change that would cause 2/3rds of the world’s ice sheets to melt. Blues show the underwater regions, while greens and yellows show land that is dry – for the time being. Unsurprisingly, Thames-side London is well and truly in the drink, with some new islands appearing at Wimbledon Common, Kingston Hill and Richmond Park, while Shooters Hill, Crystal Palace, Highgate and Epping Forest form new peninsulas. Dark blues show particularly deep water – as well as the Thames itself, the Bluewater shopping centre, currently deep inside a chalk quarry, becomes a dark pool. This is a nice looking, if alarming, piece of cartography by Jeffrey, using the classic altitude and bathymetric colour ramps made famous from the Times Atlas and other classic physical maps of the world, with the lush, verdant greens of low-lying areas offset by the barren yellows and browns of higher places. The existing main road map is lightly superimposed in grey, to ground this map in current reality and allow for easy checking of the under/above water status of your neighbourhood. Quite a bit of climate change will have had to have happened for this scenario to happen. A more pressing scenario, showing a water rise of just 10 metres, will still put plenty of London... Harry Potter Map Time Out London, in conjunction with official Harry Potter portal Pottermore, created this lovely map showing 18 places in central London that have featured in the Harry Potter books and films. From Platform 9 3/4 at King’s Cross station, to the Knight Bus crossing Lambeth Bridge, the map allows you to construct your own Harry Potter themed tour of the capital. Filming locations are marked with a purple logo while book locations are in brown. The places are overlaid on an attractive, muted map of central London streets, parks and the River Thames, the map being finished off with an attractive border and adornments that makes it so much more than just pins on a Google Map. If you are wondering why the Happy Potter studio tour (aka “Warner Bros Studio: The Making of Harry Potter”) is on this map, it’s not actually in central London, or indeed London at all, but is up near Watford, just beyond the suburbs of the city – trains from Euston Station will get you to Watford Junction in less than half an hour, followed by a shuttle bus that runs to the studios from there. The other key London-related Harry Potter attraction is the location of the West End play Harry Potter And The Cursed Child. This is at the brown No. 3 “Charing Cross Road” on the map. Both the play and the studio tour are very hard to get tickets for, you need to book a long way in advance. The best walk-in Harry Potter experience in London is without doubt Platform 93/4, where there is an embedded luggage trolley where you can pose for free for photographs, and a rather unusual shop right next door. See the full size map and detail here. Copyright... Travelzoo’s Summer Map of Free Things... We do like arty tube maps here at Mapping London and Travelzoo have obliged with this rather pretty map of 50 free things to do in this summer in London, attaching the attractions to tube stations, with the key elaborating on the station names and walking distance to the place of interest. With London’s size and diversity, such a graphic is always only going to show a small selection of things, but Travelzoo have tried to include a decent variety across the capital, from Highgate Cemetery in the north to the Horniman Museum in south London and deer-spotting in Richmond Park to the south-west. The map is not perfect to use as a tube map, nor indeed as a map of how to get from the tube station to the “thing”, but it’s a nice graphic to use as a starting point for planning a trip to London that doesn’t just involve the standard Tower of London + Buckingham Palace tourist circuit. In terms of the cartography, the map adopts the famous straight lines and angles of the official tube map, although the river gets a more natural treatment. The addition of some icon-type artwork to illustrate locations in the capital is also a nice touch. It’s not perfect – I could nitpick and say that Highgate Cemetery isn’t free (unless you look over the fence) or that the Routemaster bus is in the wrong place as you’ll need to go to Trafalgar Square and eastwards to see one in regular service these days, but that would be mean. Download the full map as a PDF from here. Map copyright... Speed Limit Map [Updated] TfL have published a “London Digital Speed Limit Map“, showing speed limits for cars on a map of London’s public roads, for the last few years. It is updated annually, and it’s latest version has just been released. The map is a graphical representation of data supplied to digital mapping data providers, so that they can program in the correct speeds for satnavs in cars. The updates over the last few years reveal the gradual switch, in inner-city London boroughs, from 30mph (blue) to 20mph (green) limits for residential roads. In 2017 and 2018, this has resulted in a glaring hole in west-central London, where Westminster, Kensington & Chelsea and Wandsworth boroughs have resolutely stuck to allowing motorised traffic to travel at up to 30mph in residential areas, with a few small area exceptions (e.g. Queen’s Park in Westminster borough). This is not a particularly pretty map to look at, being essentially the output from a GIS (geographic information system) rather than a cartographically produced work designed for regular viewing. The 20/30 split is clear but the colours used to distinguish 30/40, and 50/60/National are hard to see – not that many roads in London have speed limits about 30mph anyway. The trends described above, however, are clear. Zooming in a long way helps, revealing your local familiar street network. Nonetheless, it deserves inclusion on Mapping London as it is an important snapshot of how different parts of London are evolving from car-centric design to a more inclusive street scene. Spot the Westminster borough boundary: An earlier edition of the map, from March 2017, looked like this: ..and from June 2016: As well as these official maps, OpenStreetMap contributors have been diligently adding speed tags to the roads of London (and indeed the... Tube Relief Caught short on the tube? TfL publishes all sorts of maps of the London Underground network, including this map of toilet facilities at stations. This is particularly useful as no TfL train, of any kind, has toilets on board, including the new Crossrail trains now starting to appear on the TfL Rail line. As well as the Underground, the map includes the aforementioned TfL Rail, London Overground, DLR and Tramlink services, and even the Emirates Air Line. Red icons show that you need to be already on the network (i.e. within the ticket gateline) while black ones are outside. Greyed out stations have no facilities of any kind. There are a few quirks in the map – for example, it suggests that the Northern Line doesn’t stop at King’s Cross or Bank. But overall, good to see a reassuringly familiar map being lightly and effectively adapted in this way. The map shows that outer London is well served, particularly the Jubilee, Metropolitan and Central lines in north London and beyond – just as well, as it’s quite a long trip from here into the centre. Download the map If you are not on the tube, but need a bathroom break, check out The Great British Public Toilet Map, a OpenStreetMap-powered project from the Gail Knight at the Royal College of Arts. Copyright Transport for London,... London’s Hidden Rivers... As London swelters a heatwave, people in search of a cooling waterside stroll might notice that London doesn’t apparently have many rivers. There is of course the mighty River Thames, and a few others here and there visible. But there are many more that you don’t just come across – they are just hidden underground. The book London’s Hidden Rivers, which launches this week, is the third in a London waterways trilogy of water-themed books by David Fathers, following a guide to the Regent’s Canal and to the River Thames. Like the others in the series, the book is full of attractive maps showing the route of the rivers (here shown as pipes) and the nearest walking route (shown with red dots). It is also crammed full of interesting tidbits about the rivers themselves, and indications of their existence on the surface, such as nearby roads with appropriately watery names. Other landmarks that are positioned on or near the route of the culverted water channels are also mentioned, with attractive sketches showing them in context. There are twelve subterranean rivers featured – some are quite famous, such as the River Fleet (of Fleet Street fame) and River Tyburn, while some, like the River Neckinger (which drains the low-lying area around Bermondsey), or the River Peck (Peckham is named after it) are less well known. The visual contents page (with a map showing the position of all the rivers in the book) is rather wonderful. A Londoner, seeing the contents page, might suddenly realise they are probably closer to a river than they thought. The clear and attractive maps, and consistency and attractiveness of presentation make this a lovely book just to idly read through, or alternatively it is an ideal guide book to walk... The Woodcut Map We normally feature “modern” maps on Mapping London, however this map despite being also known as the Map of Early Modern London, is certainly not new. It was first printed from wood blocks in 1561, the extracts here are from a 1633 edition which has been digitised at a very high resolution as part of the “MoEML” (Map of Early Modern London) project at the University of Victoria in Canada. It is commonly known as the Woodcut Map or the Agas Map, after Ralph Agas, a local surveyor of the time, who had created a similar map of Oxford, but it is now believed he was not involved. Its formal title is “Civitas Londinum”. The MoEML project has also carefully catalogued the building and other London objects that appear on the map – these appear as categories on the map key and can be highlighted on the map from there. For example, a number of the City of London’s many Victualling Houses (aka pubs) can be toggled on and off. Above is Bishopsgate, now home to Liverpool Street Station and the eastern part of the City of London or “Square Mile” (which essentially *was* London back in 1633, along with Westminster, a village beside the Thames.) Below is a larger extract from the full map, and at bottom is what is now Clerkenwell, just north of the City. View the full, high resolution map here. Thanks to Kim McLean-Fiander, of the project, for letting me know about it. Reference: Jenstad J. (n.d.). The Agas Map. In J. Jenstad (Ed.), The Map of Early Modern London. Retrieved June 07, 2017, from... My latest London data visualisation crunches an interesting dataset from the Department of Transport. The data is available across England, although I’ve chosen London in particular because of its more interesting (i.e. not just car dominated) traffic mix. I’ve also focused on just the data for 8am to 9am, to examine the height of the morning rush hour, when the roads are most heavily used. 15 years worth of data is included – although many recording stations don’t have data for each of those years. You can choose up to three modes of transport at once, with the three showing as three circles of different colours (red, yellow and blue) superimposed on each other. The size of each circle is proportional to the flow. An alternate mode for the map, using the second line of options, allows you to quantify the change between two years, for a single selected type of transport. Green circles show an increase between the first and second year, with purple indicating decreases. In the extracts shown here, the top map shows bicycles (red) vs lorries (blue) across inner London. The map below compares bicycles (red) with private cars (blue) for the heart of the capital. The data is for the 8am-9am weekday rush hour. Go to the London Traffic Counts Map See also a central London directional version based on TfL data See also a map focusing on Southwark, with the borough’s own data Crossposted from the author’s research blog. Data from DfT, TfL and LB Southwark. Background map from HERE... Mayfair & St James’s... We’ve long been fans of artist Stephen Walter’s monochromatic cartographical style and have featured numerous map-based artworks by him over the years. It’s been interesting seeing his style subtly evolve, from intense and slightly angry detections of “seas” of houses and caustic comments, to the slightly more restrained, but still very distinctive, style of his more recent works, including this piece, “Mayfair & St James”. The work covers the opulent Mayfair and St James’s districts of London, in Stephen’s forensically detailed “sketching” style but with the addition of gold leaf to highlight certain roads and park areas. The glint of the gold leaf adds an appropriate sparkle to the map of the area. Stephen has also extensively written labels vertically, with lines of letters falling down. This helps with the annotation of the area and is a rather pleasing style that makes it feel less like just being an intensively detailed map. The vertical writing, and level of detail, ensures this is a work that people will spend quite a bit of time looking at. The work is co-published by by TAG Fine Arts and Shapero Modern and the work is available in an signed and numbered edition of 75 from the two galleries. Thanks to TAG Fine Arts for inviting Mapping London to the London Original Print Fair, where this work was... River Services Map Londoners will be very familiar with the crowded London Underground services and their famous diagrammatic Tube Map, but might be less familiar with another public transport network – boats on the River Thames. Yes, you can commute to work by catamaran – as long as you live and work close to the river. London’s river services are underused, certainly compared to most other modes of transport in the metropolis, so you have a good chance of a seat, even at at the height of rush hour. Travelling with a view, and much faster than on buses through clogged up streets – what’s not to like? You can even use your Oyster card or contactless card to pay for the River Bus services (RB1-6) – these are the ones shown with solid lines on the map. Transport for London has produced the map we feature here (see larger version), as part of its London River Services booklet. There is also a simpler dedicated map, without the details on tourist attractions. We like the pseudo-tube-map styling, although it could of course be simplified even further, with the Thames just being shown as a straight line. The inclusion of isometric squares showing the major landmarks near each pier is a nice touch. TfL has never really decided whether its river services are for tourists or commuters, but this map should satisfy... London’s Street Trees... Following a data release of Southwark’s publically maintained trees a couple of years back, the Greater London Authority recently published a map which shows street trees (trees along roads and public paths, and trees in public open spaces, such as small parks and other minor green areas). Each borough has its own tree database and not all boroughs have, at the time of creation of the map, supplied their data, so the map is a little incomplete (for example, it includes Islington and Tower Hamlets, but not Hackney which lies between the two, except alongside TfL-managed “red route” roads). Still, it has good coverage in many parts of London and reveals interesting patterns, not only in planting patterns differing coverage across different streets, but also the variation of species – for example, the red dots in the extract below show lines of pear trees in Marylebone. In total, there are currently 700,000 trees shown, out of a total of around 8 million across London (including those on private land, in forests, and in major parks not managed by the councils.) The GLA has published the underlying data on the London Data Store as a huge CSV file, along with notes about the collection process. 25 of London’s 32 boroughs released the data in a form which was easy to map, so for 7 borough the map remains largely blank. Within each borough, the level of detail, and the scope of the trees recorded varied. Boroughs can be reluctant to release such data, as tree damage and ownership disputes can arise from such datasets, but it’s great to see this information, showing the greening of what can be a gritty urban streetscape, being made available to all. See the map here. Download the data here.... Lego Tube Map! A new flagship Lego store opened in London a few months back, in Leicester Square. Since the launch, there has been an almost continuous queue to get into the shop, let alone to buy anything. This is mainly because of the amazing Lego sculptures that adorn the shop. To one side is full-size section of a tube carriage, in which you can sit surrounded by lego characters bigger than yourself. On the other side, is a large model of the Elizabeth Tower (aka Big Ben), while adorning the staircase up to the first floor is a mural of central London, showing the Thames, various skyscrapers and other landmarks in lego form. But the most exciting creation, for Mapping London, was a large map of the London Underground in Zone 1, made entirely of – you guessed it – lego. The station circles and lines are translucent, and the map shows pulses of coloured lights showing the movement of tube trains, the stations lighting up as a train arrives. Landmarks are also included on the map. A close-up look reveals the individual Lego pieces. It’s really rather impressive. The Lego Store is on Leicester Square, opposite the M&Ms Store, we had a 10 minute wait to get into the store on a rainy weekday evening, but you likely don’t have to queue if you visit on weekday... Route Plan Roll Cycle Map... Cycling in London is on the increase, however it can be tricky to discover the best routes for cycling in London – the ones that use proper infrastructure, or avoid busy roads, while still getting you from A to B in an efficient manner. Cycling maps are tricky to do – on the one hand, you can try a purely geographic approach, but this tends to results in huge maps showing the entire road network, 90% of which is of not of interest (though see this nice example.) There is an alternative approach – taking the famous tube map, with its straight lines and bright colours (see this prototype). But, above ground, such a simplified representation is difficult to follow. The Route Plan Roll Cycle Map has a good attempt at merging the two main mapping styles together. It essentially is the Tube Map for cyclists, with straight lines representing the main dedicated, protected and otherwise signed routes in inner London, – but in centre of the capital it switches to a geographic map, to help navigate where the various Cycle Superhighways converge and tourists on bicycles, unfamiliar with London’s geography, are likely to be. The transition between the two types of mapping is handled well (see below). Routes are coloured by their status – being part of the Cycle Superhighway or Quietway networks or a key radial or orbital route. The lines are then infilled according to the level of protection they offer – the solid colours showing the “gold standard” fully protected ways. Key parks and the ever-important River Thames are included. The fonts used are similar to those on the familiar London “tombstone” maps and are nice and clear. This is probably the best London cycle map we’ve seen, as it... Tube Strike – Try Walking?... There’s a tube strike on today, with many tube stations expected to be closed. The inner city and central London are likely to be hardest hit, with stations closed in most in Zone 1 and all inside the Circle Line’s loop. Usefully, TfL recently published this map, which shows the central part of the Tube network (zones 1 & 2) with numbers between stations indicating the amount of time it takes to walk that section along the street network, at an average pace. There are some large numbers in places, many due to the obstruction of the River Thames and the fact that the map is not particularly geographically correct, but in general it shows small numbers between most stations. Inevitably, with a tube strike, the bus network will be overloaded and slow, and the roads will be completely clogged with people deciding to drive – so don’t think the taxi or Uber networks will be as useful as they might normally be. So, maybe walking is the way. (One curiosity of the map is that it does assume use of the Greenwich and Woolwich foot tunnels, but not the Rotherhithe Tunnel – despite appearances, it does allow pedestrians and has a pavement – however the omission is perhaps understandable as it is a very unpleasant route to take, particularly as the Victorian-era staircases have remained closed after damage in the Second World War, meaning the pedestrians have to stay beside the traffic in the tunnel for a long period.) You can see the full map and download a printable PDF here, or find out more about walking options in central London. Map © Transport for... Lamplighters Map From British Gas comes this lovely map of a walking trail in central London, that highlights many of the streets and locations that are still lit by gas lamps in London – it may come as a surprise to many people, but there are many gas lamps still in the oldest parts of London, lit by a gas supply rather than electricity. British Gas may just be one of many UK fuel companies these days, but it retains a historic duty – a small but dedicated team at the company are in charge of maintaining and repairing the gas lamps. Londonist created a fascinating short video showing the team at work, last year. From the company themselves: There are 1,500 gas lamps left in London which British Gas’ team of five lamplighters look after. These historic lamps stretch from Richmond Bridge in the west to Bromley-by-Bow in the east. The oldest lamps are in Westminster Abbey and the newest lights up a popular retail store in Covent Garden. Many of the lamps survive from the Victorian era. The earliest lamplighters lit each lamp by hand at dusk every night and extinguished them at dawn. The role of the lamplighter has evolved since then and now they can be found making their way around London on scooters. When tending to the lamps the mechanisms have to be wound up and checked, the glass polished and the mantles replaced. They may also require repairs if damaged by a lorry or building work around them. Iain Bell leads the team of lamplighters at British Gas. He says: “People love historical dramas which may be a reason why more and more people across the world have taken an interest in what we do. There are... Tower Hamlets Pictorial Map... Tower Hamlets council, one of the 32 London borough councils, has produced this simple pictorial map as part of a consultation for “Tower Hamlets 2031”, setting the “local plan” for urban realm policy for the next 15 years. The map appears on various advertising panels throughout the borough at the moment, and also appears on their website. It is purely an illustrative graphic of the present day Tower Hamlets, with the consultation documents themselves containing many much more detailed (but less pretty) maps of current and planned designations. We really like the map being simple and attractive, it showcasing the many famous buildings in Tower Hamlets, both old (Tower of London, Chrisp Street Clock Tower) and new (East London Mosque, Canary Wharf) as well as highlighting the three city farms and other larger green spaces in the borough. It also shows the extensive canal network, basins and docks that are a key part of the borough’s fabric and the focus of its regeneration work. If every borough had a map like this then it would show just how interesting (almost) every borough in London is, rather than the traditional focus on the tourist hot-spots in Westminster, Camden and the... Christmas List 2016 Welcome to the Mapping London Christmas List 2016! Not long now until Christmas Day – if you are having a last minute present crisis, our list includes direct links, so you can browse, order, sit back and relax in the knowledge that the present selections for your London map geek friends (or yourself!) are all sorted. Books London: The Information Capital – The ground-breaking book on data, graphics and maps about London, by Mapping London co-editor Dr James Cheshire, has been recently published in a softback edition and is currently available for the bargain price of just £10.49. See our review or get it on Amazon. Curiocity: In Pursuit of London – This huge, whimsical and alternatively focused compendium of London was published earlier this year. See our review or get it on Amazon. Where the Animals Go: Tracking Wildlife with Technology in 50 Maps and Graphics – The second book by James is newly out. Find out, in a series of stories, maps and graphics how animals migrate and move through the world. Yes, there is a London map in it! Guess which creature it features? Get the book on Amazon. The London County Council Bomb Damage Maps: 1939-1945 – We’re highlighting this one as it’s been a consistent best-seller with readers of Mapping London since it was released just over a year ago. A weighty tome reproducing the detailed, carefully coloured maps of districts of London, showing the damage wrought by the Blitz of London and other attacks during the Second World War. The maps were painstakingly drawn for the London County Council, shortly after the war’s end. See our review or get it on Amazon. The Great British Colouring Map: A Colouring Journey Around Britain... Christmas Map Here’s a rather nice map combining the famously colourful and diagrammatic tube map with Christmas tree lights, to create an infographic, “The London Christmas Map”, showing the Christmassy events happening in London. You can see a full version of the map, including a key and listings for each event and how far it is from the nearest tube station, here on the Marbles website (the map was commissioned by them). Ironically the map doesn’t include the locations of the best London Christmas lights – for those, visit Regent Street, Oxford Street and Carnaby Street. I’m sure Old Bond Street’s are also impressive! This is a really nice, clear artistic map which brings me into mind some of the decorative tube maps produced by Max Roberts, particularly his Art Nouveau one. I like particularly the ends of the lines, where the cables unravel to reveal the “plug” at the end of the line. There is also a good balance of lines and adornments, the latter giving the map a suitably Christmassy flavour. Spotted on Reddit. The author is... Walk with Me Maps – Dalston & Stoke Newington... This is one of seven London neighborhood maps, each drawn by different artists from the University of the Arts London and recently released by the Walk with Me project. This map, of Dalston and Stoke Newington in north-east London, was drawn by Martina Paukova. We like the distinctive shade of blue used for the map itself, with some blocks shaded in a darker blue, speckled grey, pink or yellow to provide contrast. Parks appear in purple, with very rounded corners, to contrast with the angular street network. Various animals, people and large houses are colourfully scattered throughout the map. Cats playing with balls, round blue trees, smiling post-boxes and other whimsical adornments and interest to the map. A small amount of road and park labels adds utility to the map without distracting from the visual impact. You can buy a print of the artwork on the Walk with Me website. Via LakesClaire, Stanfords and... Tubermap Tubermap is an extremely easy and quick way to find the fastest route between any two stations the TfL tube/train networks in London (London Underground, London Overground, DLR, London Tram, TfL Rail and Cable Car). Just click your start and end station, and the fastest route is instantly shown, along with transfer stations and the contactless price. Tubermap uses a modified form of the classic “Tube map” network diagram – just different enough to stand apart from TfL’s own version, but incorporating the famous 45-degree bends, Zone 1 area exaggeration and straight lines out in the suburbs: It’s a great example of a clean map and easy-to-use website hiding a complex routing system. It’s entirely powered by Javascript, with the calculations being done locally by your browser. By clicking Options you can adjust the map to show a heat-map background of times to every station from your currently selected one, and you can even miss out Zone 1 and see how the network, routing and timings change: Tubermap is brand new and in active development, with a mobile-friendly version having recently gone live – and lots of other things in the pipeline. One to keep an eye on. Try it... Review: London, The Information Capital... Mapping London’s co-founder and “Editor at Large” Dr James Cheshire co-produced “London: The Information Capital” with Oliver Uberti in 2014. We mentioned the book on its initial release. The book has this month has now been published in a softback edition by Penguin, with some minor corrections applied. If you missed out on the book the first time, this is therefore an ideal opportunity to pick it up (e.g. here on Amazon) at a new, low price. The book, containing over 100 data maps and graphics, visualises London, its people and its data. The book runs to nearly 200 pages and every map style is different – many techniques have been employed, each aiming to best show its dataset in an original and eye-catching way. Some of my favourites are: Islington has Issues. This graphic (above, also see full online version) uses glyphs to represent each borough as a face, with the mouth, eyes, eyebrows, perspiration and general “glow” varying according to four measures of well-being. The graphic is also a map – the glyphs are arranged in three concentric circles, the innermost being an average and the middle and outer rings representing inner and outer London respectively. The boroughs are arranged approximately relative to each other in geographical space. This technique has been used in hexagonal and square forms before and I think it’s an effective way of simplifying borough boundaries (which are largely unfamiliar to most people) while preserving borough separations to show a changing picture across the capital. A single futher glyph represents the rest of the UK, showing that Londoners are generally unhappier than most. Top Crimes. The Met Police release the approximate locations and category of all crime reports in London. Crunching this data can derive information showing the... London: A World of Eating... London: A World of Eating is a little map from Herb Lester – prolific producers of quirky pocket London maps with bespoke cartography (we recently featured their Punk London map). The map, which showcases some of London’s many interesting eateries featuring food from other countries, is sold out on their own website, but copies are available from Place in Print for just £4. We like the simple green-toned map, with bright coloured buttons showing the food hotspots. As you might expect, Covent Garden and Soho form London’s biggest cluster, though King’s Cross, Brixton and Borough are three of the other areas with multiple must-visit locations – there’s over 100 in all. Like food maps? See the “Related posts” links for more great London food maps. Competition! To celebrate London’s fantastically varied cuisine, we have a competition! You can win three pairs of tickets to the BBC Good Food Show taking place at London’s Olympia exhibition hall, from 11-13 November. The tickets are good for visiting the show on Friday 11 or Sunday 13 (so not Saturday 12). We will pick three winners randomly and will post you the tickets. To be in with a chance of winning, you need to (1) be following MapLondon on Twitter, and (2) retweet our competition tweet (or this one). We’ll three winners at random and direct message you to let you know and find out where to post them to! Competition closes at 2pm on Tuesday. Good luck! Terms and conditions: This competition is only open to UK residents. The prizes are three sets of two complimentary passes to the show, for use on Friday or Sunday. The tickets do not have a cash value. There is no cash alternative. Winners will be contacted by a Twitter direct... Showerspass Cycling Jacket with London Map... London’s street network appears on a new cycling jacket – when you shine a light at it! Showerspass, a Portland (Oregon)-based company, has unveiled two new versions of their Elite cycling jacket – “Hi-Vis” and “Torch” versions (each of these are available in Women’s and Men’s cuts). Both of the designs contain MapReflect, which is a rather brilliant idea for using a map design as a reflective panel. The map is a stitched together pattern featuring the street networks for various different cities, including part of London – specifically Whitechapel, Wapping and Rotherhithe in east London, as well as part of the River Thames’s most famous wiggle. You can see the London section in a couple of places – as well as on the main part of the jacket (see bottom photo), it appears on a sleeve: The Hi-Vis jackets are predominately neon green and have the map section in their side panels and underside of the sleeve in two versions – Silver Reflective, where the road/pathlines are black and the spaces between the roads is reflective, and Black Reflective, where the road network itself is reflective, on a black background. The Torch jackets have the colours reversed, so the main body of the jacket is reflective, with the street/path network overlaid in Black. These are pretty intense when you shine a light straight on! More about MapReflect on the Showerspass blog. Showerspass approached me a while ago about obtaining the map graphic, which I put together for them. It’s OpenStreetMap data (© OpenStreetMap contributors) for a number of city centres, woven together. The cities chosen include London and Portland, as well as other cities known for a strong urban cycling culture and a regular high density of streets in their... Grim London Just in time for Hallowe’en comes Grim London, a spooky and atmospheric map of central London. Navigate around the bleak, faded map of the city you thought you knew, then type in a postcode (try WC1E 6BT) or a borough name. This loads a number of Maltese crosses for the local area – clicking on these reveals the grim history of that place. This is really well themed data map by creative agency Impero, great to see this new and impressive piece of cartography, with a suitably restrained colour palette and a Rustic fonts, faded tube roundels, and occasional missing sections of streets, add to the cognitive dissonance of the map, while WebGL fog swirls across the browser. Click the lamp and find out the scary stories local to your neighborhood. Visit the map... The Great British Colouring Map... The Great British Colouring Map taps into a sudden enthusiasm for adult colouring-in books, by taking Ordnance Survey maps of many classic British places, stripping out all the colour, shading, labels and above-ground contours, and inviting the reader to use their colouring pencils to shade and tone it as they please. The book, published by Laurence King in close association with the Ordnance Survey themselves, is big, and printed on suitably rough-textured art paper that is ideal for pencils. We’ve chosen to review it here on Mapping London because the centre-fold of the book, which folds out into four pages (over a metre wide – that’s going to keep you busy colouring for a while!) features central London, with the unmistakeable wiggles of the River Thames: The book cover also shows the Thames’ most famous meander. The book’s maps range from the classic Landranger “pink cover” 1:50000 maps, the more recent Explorer 1:25000 range, and also some directly derived from the vector OS Open Map Local, shown at an approximate 1:10000 scale. Outside of London, a mixture of both urban and rural landscapes are presented for your colouring pleasure, from the Norfolk Broads to Mount Snowdon. Even Milton Keynes gets an inclusion, for all of you that have always wanted to colour in its hundreds of roundabouts. You can buy the Great British Colouring Map on Amazon and at all good bookstores, with a sticker price of £19.95. Thanks to the Ordnance Survey for sending a review...

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Posted by Miriam under Holidays | Tags: accident, cows, India, transport | To individual people, lives are not equal. Some are much more important to us than others. The lives of those closest to us are the most important. Then perhaps the lives of those less close to us. Then public figures. Of the people we don’t know, we tend to worry more about those who have some connection to us. When some major disaster happens in the world, my local news tells me how many Israelis were involved. If I turn on BBC news, I hear the number of British people involved. Does each country value the lives of all its citizens equally? Israel does. Britain does. India, as I discovered recently, doesn’t. I’m going to describe the incident that brought this home to me. During our recent tour of the states of Odisha and Chhattisgarh, our group was driven in six cars. All six drivers were excellent at their job, but that didn’t stop us being scared. The drivers drove fast on bad roads full of obstacles. We passed buses, tuk-tuks and motorbikes carrying a lot more people than they should have done. We skirted round cows wandering around freely. In fact one time, our driver hooted at a cow in the road. (They all hooted a lot.) The cow appeared to be moving to the side but then changed its mind and the driver, still going quite fast, had to swerve to avoid it. We thought we were going to turn over but somehow the car remained upright. Driving at night was particularly scary. They overtook on bends where they couldn’t have seen what was coming, especially as not all motorbikes there have lights, and bicycles, pedestrians and cows certainly don’t. Another time, I was sitting in the back with one other, while a third member of our group sat at the front beside the driver. For a change, we were on a dual carriageway with two lanes on each side. Our driver was just overtaking a bus when a motorbike shot out from behind the bus, crossing our path. The driver braked sharply, but couldn’t avoid hitting the motorbike, on which were four people. A crowd gathered and we saw one of the motorbike passengers, who looked to be a teenager, being carried to the side of the road. If he was alive, he was certainly unconscious. What happened next shocked us. We knew what would happen in our country and in other western countries. At the very least, we would have to wait for the police to come to take statements and note down particulars. In our naiveté, we imagined the same would happen here. As soon as all the passengers and the motorbike had been moved to the side of the road, the people waved us on and the driver moved off, driving even faster than usual. He said something to us about the car being from a different state and he spoke in Hindi on the phone. There had been contact between the drivers throughout the trip. Afterwards, our guide, who had been in a car in front of us, tried to hush everything up. He sounded surprised to hear that anything had happened, although I’m sure he must have been told by phone. Then, after supposedly finding out, he told us that the injured boy was drunk and not hurt at all. No one asked if we were all right. As it happened, two of us hit our heads on the seats in front, but we were OK. The way the accident was handled shocked us. It is known that the accident rate in India is bad, but this was an accident that probably didn’t enter into the statistics. Probably someone died in it. But what’s one life amongst so many? 12 Responses to “The Value of Life” gilldowns Says: Do you think the caste system still plays a large part in such discrimination, despite being officially illegal? I don’t know enough to answer that, Gill. But I wouldn’t rule it out. Angela Brown Says: Things are so different in different countries. Our expectations vary and I suppose I would be rather shocked for the most part while visiting a country far different from my own. There are so many things we take for granted, rights that residents of other countries don’t have. Cathy Bryant Says: My best friend was involved in a car accident in Saudi Arabia. He was just 7 years old and (obviously) a passenger. The procedure there is to fling everyone in jail when there’s a car accident, and not release them until it’s sorted out. That gave me the same sort of shock that you had, I think. Was the seven-year-old boy also put in jail? Yes. They gave him a colouring book and a red crayon. “All I had was pain, fear and a colouring book,” he says now. Rosalind Adam Says: That’s truly shocking. We’ve become so used to our system in the UK of reporting everything and that’s the way it should be. It sounds as if it was a pretty hairy experience for you all round! Unfortunately, the way it should be isn’t the way it is, probably in most of the world. We tend to forget that until forced to remember. Scary to think people turn a blind eye to regulations (that I’m sure exist). And I suspect it is far from unique. What a terrible experience for all involved! India is a fascinating place to visit, It’s fascinating because it’s so different from what we know, but some of those differences are not at all fascinating. All spamless comments are welcome. Cancel reply Tags: accident, cows, India, transport

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Win a Pizza Party West Michigan's Favorites Connie & Fish Rob Sparks Mix 95.7's Last 50 Songs Played Listen Live to Mix 95.7 Mix 95.7 App Win a Big Game Pizza Party Connie and Fish C&F TV Steve's Stories Non-Profit PSA Submissions Rob SparksRob Sparks Kim Kardashian Is Studying to Become a Lawyer Katrina Nattress Slaven Vlasic, Getty Images Last year Kim Kardashian surprised the world when she fought for Alice Marie Johnson's clemency, and won. The reality TV star, along with a group of attorneys, met with the president in May to discuss the injustice dealt to Johnson, who was serving a life sentence for a nonviolent drug offense. Just weeks later, she was released from jail. Helping someone in need felt good to the mother of three (soon to be four), and her advocacy work has led the 38-year-old to begin a four-year-long apprenticeship with a law firm in San Francisco, with the goal of taking the bar exam in 2022. During a interview for Vogue's May cover, Kardashian went into depth about her decision to study law. "I had to think long and hard about this," she told the outlet, explaining that part of her decision was made after "seeing a really good result with" Johnson. "The White House called me to advise to help change the system of clemency. and I'm sitting in the Roosevelt Room with, like, a judge who had sentenced criminals and a lot of really powerful people and I just sat there, like, 'Oh, s---. I need to know more,'' she admitted. "I would say what I had to say, about the human side and why this is so unfair. But I had attorneys with me who could back that up with all the facts of the case. It’s never one person who gets things done; it’s always a collective of people, and I've always known my role, but I just felt like I wanted to be able to fight for people who have paid their dues to society. I just felt like the system could be so different, and I wanted to fight to fix it, and if I knew more, I could do more." California is one of four US states that allows alternate methods of passing the bar for those who didn't go to school. One of those ways is apprenticing for a practicing lawyer, which Kardashian is doing. She's gearing up to take the "baby bar" this summer, and if she passes she'll be able to study for three more years before taking the official bar. As always, there will be people who roll their eyes when they learn the reality star is studying to practice law. But Kardashian could care less. "I don't pay attention to that anymore," she said. "I love to be put in a situation where I can have a conversation with someone who might not be inclined to think much of me, because I can guarantee they will have a different opinion and understand what’s important to me after they’ve met me." Celebrities Showing Their Charitable Sides Source: Kim Kardashian Is Studying to Become a Lawyer Filed Under: kim kardashian Categories: Celebrity News, News 2020 Mix 95.7FM is part of the PopCrush Network, Townsquare Media, Inc. All rights reserved.

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Sturgill Simpson, Neil Young, Alabama Shakes Among 2016 Farm Aid Headliners Mike Lawrie / Kevork Djansezian / Raphael Dias, Getty Images Farm Aid's 2016 lineup will include performances by up-and-coming acts as well as returns from festival veterans — and, of course, appearances from Farm Aid founders Neil Young, John Mellencamp, and Willie Nelson. The festival's official site has the details of this year's event, which is scheduled for Sept. 17 in Bristow, Va., with ticket pre-sales set to start June 22 at noon ET. Pre-sale prices range from $49.50 to $189.50, with a four-ticket limit and a $50 service charge added for each transaction; visit the Farm Aid ticket page for more information. In addition to Young, Mellencamp, and Nelson, the 2016 lineup boasts an acoustic set from board member Dave Matthews, who'll perform with longtime collaborator Tim Reynolds, and the show will be rounded out by appearances from Alabama Shakes, Sturgill Simpson, Jamey Johnson, Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats, Margo Price, Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real (who will also back up Young during his set), and Carlene Carter. "We’ve been fighting for family farmers for a long time, and that fight isn’t over," said Mellencamp in a statement. "At Farm Aid 2016, we’ll come together to stand up to the handful of corporations that control our food system. If you want a better world, it starts with you." "Folks are educating themselves about where and how food is grown — they're hungry for the truth," added Nelson. "Family farmers bring us good food, protect our soil and water and strengthen our country. The Farm Aid concert is a day for us to honor that truth and keep working for family farmers." Neil Young Albums Ranked Worst to Best Top 10 Neil Young Songs Source: Sturgill Simpson, Neil Young, Alabama Shakes Among 2016 Farm Aid Headliners Filed Under: alabama shakes, neil young Categories: Concerts

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Joe Deninzon & Stratospheerius // Guilty of Innocence Album Review Progarchives by admin | Aug 12, 2018 | Reviews | 0 comments Joe Deninzon on is a highly acclaimed electric violinist, who performs in various different bands and multiple sessions, and when he is with progressive rock/crossover group with Stratospheerius, he also provides lead vocals. The line-up is completed by French guitarist Aurelien Budynek (Cindy Blackman, Vernon Reid), bassist Jamie Bishop (The Syn, Francis Dunnery), and drummer Lucianna Padmore. There are a few guests also involved, and I notice that one of these is guitarist Alex Skolnick, who most people will recognize as being from Testament, although he is also involved in multiple other forms. When I look on ProgArchives I note that there are four albums, including this one, and I am somewhat at a loss to realize that not a single one has ever had a rating put against it, let alone a review. How can it be that music as good as this just never gets appreciated by the very people who would love this if they came across it? Okay, so that same is true for me as this album was released in 2017 but I have only just heard it, and already I am wondering what the others are like. One of the issues with this is where to start when trying to describe it, as there are just so many different styles at play. The easiest is when they are in the funk groove, as that is definitely ‘Slam’ era Dan Reed Network, but when they head into highly complex and intricate runs all I can come up with is Steve Vai-ear Zappa if Vai played violin instead of guitar. At the same time, all of the music is highly melodic, and just so damn enjoyable to listen to. It is polished, it is powerful, and I find it impossible to listen to it without moving some part of my body. This is infectious, with no cure in sight. The arrangements are tight, everyone bounces off each other, and is one of the most poptastic progressive album one is likely to come across. They state that their influences include Yes, Spock’s Beard, Muse (there is a cover of ‘Hysteria‘ on the album), Frank Zappa, Mahavishnu Orchestra, and King Crimson but surely we must add and so many, many more. Awesome. kev rowland | 5/5 | 2018-8-12 Listen // Buy // Share Guilty of Innocence. . . https://joedeninzonstratospheerius.bandcamp.com/ https://store.cdbaby.com/cd/joedeninzonstratospheeri5 Follow Joe Deninzon & Stratospheerius https://stratospheerius.com/ https://www.facebook.com/stratospheerius/ https://twitter.com/joedeninzon

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Yuan Yuan: There is no there there, 21 Oct 2015 — 05 Dec 2015 Yuan Yuan: There is no there there Malingue Gallery, Paris, 26 Avenue Matignon Edouard Malingue Gallery presents ‘There is no there there’, the first international solo exhibition of critically acclaimed Chinese painter Yuan Yuan (b. 1973, China) at Malingue Gallery, Paris. Taking inspiration from a quote by arts patron Gertrude Stein (Everybody’s Autobiography, 1937), the works respond to the late writer’s impressions upon returning home to California after living in Paris for over 30 years and discovering a ghost-like setting: all that was there was no more. Departing from Stein’s lyrical description of loss, Yuan Yuan presents a series of imagined interiors, which focus on the recurring feature of mirrors. Since 3000 BC, when the Yellow Emperor Huang Di expounded the ‘Fauna of Mirrors’ – a myth citing that every reflective surface was a portal unto a different world harbouring creatures unknown to earth – the mirror has come to be a recurring symbol in literature, from Shakespeare to Sylvia Plath, associated with our soul, its continuance and its surroundings. ‘There is no there there’ points to Yuan Yuan’s identity as an absolute master of visual fictions. As in literature, from Antiquity to the later 20th century, Yuan Yuan builds his oeuvres through delicate symbolism with twists and turns, eliciting associations with fiction, horror and Romanticism – each painting, a masterful prompt for viewers to reflect upon their perception and existence. Yuan Yuan is one of China’s most important contemporary artists. A graduate from the Oil Painting Department of the China Academy of Art in Hangzhou, Yuan’s work has garnered critical appreciation worldwide and been exhibited in multiple international locations including Paris, Hong Kong, Singapore, Shanghai and Taiwan. His paintings are held in numerous private collections, including the White Rabbit Gallery, Sydney and have been featured in multiple publications. A monograph of his work will be published in late 2015 featuring essays by Rachel Marsden, Dr. Voon Pow Bartlett, and other critics. mon 2:30 pm – 6:30 pm; tue, wed, thu, fri, sun 10:30 am – 12:30 pm, 2:30 pm – 6:30 pm T: +33 (0) 1 42 66 60 33 M: contact@malingue.net W: Website Yuan Yuan The Art Space Malingue Gallery, Paris Galleries in Paris

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Bacterial lignin degradation Cholesterol catabolism of Mycobacterium tuberculosis Mechanistic studies of a C-C bond hydrolase Welcome to the Eltis Lab Microbial catabolism: from drug targets to biocatalysis Microbial catabolic activities underpin life on our planet. On the global scale, these enzymes and pathways are essential to the carbon cycle of the biosphere. They also maintain the health of all ecosystems ranging from ocean and forest environments to the different parts of the human body. Microorganisms have evolved an astoundingly versatile armamentarium of enzymes to degrade the vast array of compounds that occur in the biosphere. As a rich source of biocatalysts, microbial catabolic activities are of burgeoning importance for the sustainability of the agricultural, food, textile, pharmaceutical and chemical industries. In pathogens, catabolic activities that play essential roles in the infection process provide potential targets for novel therapeutics, which are urgently needed in this era of increasing antibiotic resistance. The enormous diversity and importance of microbial catabolic activities are being revealed through high-throughput sequencing and related projects. However, our understanding of the molecular basis of these activities lags far behind as reflected by the huge number of poorly-annotated genes in microbial databases. Linking sequence to function is essential for understanding microbial catabolic activities and for exploiting their ability to transform substrates into less toxic compounds or economically useful products that are otherwise difficult to synthesize. One group of bacteria that catabolises a particularly broad range of organic compounds is the mycolic acid-containing Actinobacteria, including Mycobacterium and Rhodococcus. Accordingly, these bacteria have considerable biotechnological potential. Indeed, the most commercially successful microbial transformation involves the use of a Rhodococcus to produce acrylamide. These bacteria also include Mycobacterium tuberculosis (Mtb), responsible for ~1.3 million deaths annually, making it the leading cause of mortality from bacterial infections. Our studies have provided pioneering insights into the catabolism of aromatic compounds and steroids by Actinobacteria, including the organization of these catabolic pathways, the discovery of a cholesterol catabolic pathway in Mtb, and the first characterization of a bacterial lignin-degrading enzyme. These findings have important implications for applications ranging from biocatalysts to novel therapeutics. Objectives: The overarching theme of our research is the bacterial catabolism of two classes of organic compounds: lignins and steroids. The fundamental objectives are to understand the logic of catabolic pathways involved and the mechanisms of key catabolic enzymes. The practical objectives include developing novel therapeutics and biocatalysts. The research on steroid catabolism is aimed at elucidating the steps of cholesterol catabolism in Mtb and determining its role in virulence, including the influence of steroid metabolites on the host. In elucidating catabolic steps, we are investigating the catalytic mechanism of steroid-ring cleaving enzymes. This research runs in parallel to a collaborative program aimed at characterizing inhibitors of cholesterol catabolism as potential therapeutics. The research on lignin catabolism is aimed at characterizing enzymes involved in lignin depolymerization and catabolism, and developing Rhodococcus as a platform for engineering lignin-degrading biocatalysts. Such biocatalysts will be used to improve the carbon efficiency and economics of production of lignocellulose-derived products. The objectives are being pursued using multidisciplinary approaches drawn from biochemistry, molecular genetics, microbiology, chemical biology, structural biology and genomics. Significance: The proposed research provides major new insights into the bacterial degradation of steroids and lignin, two important classes of organic compounds in the biosphere. This includes elucidating the specific functions of genes, their products and entire pathways as well as determining mechanisms of regulation. Our research also helps elucidate the role of cholesterol catabolism in Mtb pathogenesis and the catalytic mechanisms of important families of enzymes. The targeted enzymes are important in disease or to the global carbon cycle, particularly in forest ecosystems. Related enzymes are implicated in many other processes. On a more general level, the research provides insights into the function of metals in biological systems, O2-activation, C-C bond cleavage, and the physiology of Actinobacteria. On a practical level, the research contributes to the development of novel therapeutic strategies to combat TB as well as the engineering of enzymes and bacteria for green chemistry applications. Woody biomass has considerable potential as a sustainable alternative to petroleum as a feedstock for high-value products, including resins, carbon fibres and commodity chemicals. Effective lignin-transforming biocatalysts will help develop this potential, reduce dependence on petroleum products, and contribute to revitalizing the forestry industry.

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Category: Dinosaur Jr. Dinosaur Jr. – Bug Live At The 9:30 Club: In The Hands Of The Fans (MVD Visual) On February 27, 2012 October 27, 2019 By 12a26aIn Dinosaur Jr.Leave a comment This is an appealing concept: Dinosaur Jr. performing Bug in its entirety at DC’s 9:30 Club (one of the best venues on the East Coast) filmed by six mega-fans. The first thing you’ll notice is how tight the band sounds and how well the DVD captures that sound. Seriously, forget about live shows…most bands would kill to sound this crisp in the studio! J Mascis, Lou Barlow and Murph look a lot older since Bug came out in 1988 (Mascis in particular looks like Gandalf’s beer-drinking younger brother) but they’ve retained every ounce of their youthful energy and love of high-volume dynamics. Everyone in the band does their part to make the songs sound great: Murph is a strong drummer, and Barlow plays the affable indie-punk on bass, but for me the biggest treat is watching Mascis’ solos which are fluid and full of technique, despite their “thank god for earplugs” volume. Having never had the opportunity to see Dinosaur Jr. live for myself, I can only imagine the kind of air-moving effect the band must have had in a club like the 9:30. You might remember that Bug was only thirty-two minutes long, which would be pretty skimpy for a concert, and a bad value for a DVD purchase. Well, for starters there’s a two song non-Bug encore (“Sludgefeast” and “Raisans”), and another two songs from the same show included as bonus features. There’s also a twenty-minute interview segment with Mascis, Murph and Barlow talking to Henry Rollins, which is an interesting experiment (Rollins interviewed them prior to each night’s show on the East Coast leg of the Bug tour) but also awkward since Mascis, by all accounts Dinosaur Jr’s leader, doesn’t say much. Rollins shouldn’t take it personally though: he doesn’t talk much during the concert either, preferring to follow the teachings of Aerosmith and “let the music do the talking”. There’s also a backstage interview with the six fans who shot the concert, a clip of Henry Rollins talking about the history of The 9:30 Club, and an interview with J (who, yet again, barely says anything) and director Dave Markey, who shares interesting stories from the band’s past. Well done.

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A balanced diet . . . A potpourri of experiences, reminiscences, and anything that takes my fancy Tag Archives: Georgia November 12, 2017 by Mike Jackson Civil War destruction . . . genebank redemption A couple of months back, I enjoyed an excellent 672 page biography of Confederate Major General Thomas J ‘Stonewall’ Jackson. Written by SC Gwynne in 2014, Rebel Yell: The Violence, Passion, and Redemption of Stonewall Jackson is an account of Jackson’s theatre of operations in Virginia (and in those areas that became West Virginia after it broke from Virginia in 1863), which centered on the Shenandoah Valley, a region just north of where Steph and I travelled across the Appalachians in June this year. Jackson’s death (from pneumonia after he was wounded in the arm by friendly fire) following the Battle of Chancellorsville in Virginia from 30 April to 6 May 1863 is perhaps among the most significant ‘What if’s’ of the American Civil War. Stonewall was undoubtedly one of the Confederacy’s most successful generals, and history is left to ponder what the outcome of the Civil War might have been had he lived longer, and his success rate against Union forces maintained. Steph and I saw evidence of the conflict, the to-ing and fro-ing of opposing forces, when we visited the Pinnacle at Cumberland Gap on the borders between Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. Successive Union and Confederate forces fought over and continually swapped possession of this key passage through the mountains. And now I have just finished another book, Noah Andre Trudeau’s 2008 Southern Storm: Sherman’s March to the Sea (at 671 pages) based in large part on the personal accounts of officers and men among the 60,000 who took part in the November-December 1864 campaign in Georgia (the Empire State of the South) led by Union Major General William Tecumseh Sherman, from Atlanta to Savannah, 250 miles to the southeast on the Atlantic coast. They were divided into different columns, and lived off the land as they moved south, through landscapes that hindered their progress as much as did the continual harassment from Confederate forces on their periphery. Our 2017 USA road trip began in Atlanta, and paralleled, I now discover, the route of Sherman’s March to the Sea although his route took him further east. His occupation of Savannah (where we stayed for a night), and subsequent move up through South Carolina (just as we did) marked the beginning of the end for the Confederacy, as Sherman and his superior, Ulysses S Grant, closed in on Confederate capital Richmond in Virginia, and the final capitulation of Confederate forces under General Robert E Lee at the Appomattox Courthouse in April 1865. Arriving in Savannah, Union forces found an elegant city of wide, tree-lined boulevards (hanging with Spanish moss) and quiet squares, much as Steph and I did on our trip. Savannah was a delight. After the end of the Civil War, Sherman’s ‘exploits’ in Georgia were immortalised in Marching Through Georgia, composed by Henry Clay Work. To me, three aspects of the Civil War stand out. This must have been one of the first wars in which an extensive railway network transported troops and supplies over long distances. In Georgia, Sherman’s troops ripped up hundreds of miles of railway tracks on their March to the Sea. Second, the electric telegraph was an essential (but not always available) system of communication between armies and civilian administrations. Thirdly, the war must also be one of the first to be documented in detail photographically. New York-born Matthew Brady was one of the earliest photographers in the country, renowned for his Civil War output. Having criss-crossed this region and the southern Appalachians myself, I remain in awe of the feats undertaken by both Union and Confederate armies, tens of thousands of men marching across some of the most difficult terrain, under the most adverse weather conditions, and then having to face each other in battle. The casualties on both sides were catastrophic, the wounds inflicted unimaginable, and rudimentary surgery and medical care often leading to as many deaths after the battles as during them. Conditions in camps were frequently squalid, and diseases were rife. In fact, as many soldiers may have died from disease as on the battlefield. So what has this whole saga got to do with genetic resources? Let me explain. In an earlier post about crop diversity, I’d commented on soldiers’ accounts of the ‘corn fields’ which they passed, the long-strawed varieties grown, and through which they trampled during the Battle of Waterloo. In their commentaries during the March to the Sea, Union soldiers were fortunate to live quite well off their foraging activities. In fact, this was part of Sherman’s overall strategy, although backed up with sufficient supplies and beef-on-the-hoof for about five to six weeks, and his calculations based on an understanding of the agricultural economy of the region through which his army would pass. Soldiers report dining on hogs and chicken, potatoes and sweet potatoes in abundance, peanuts, rice, molasses and honey. I think that, in general, ‘potatoes’ probably refers just to sweet potatoes (Ipomoea batatas) rather than so-called Irish potato, Solanum tuberosum. It interesting to note how important were three crops not native to this southeast region of the country, nor the USA in general: sweet potatoes (from the Asia-Pacific region), peanuts from South America, and rice from Africa and Asia. This was, of course, a slave-based economy. Without slave labour, the growing of cotton and rice would have been almost impossible. In antebellum Georgia (as in South Carolina) rice cultivation was very important since the early 18th century. As Sherman’s armies approached Savannah, they encountered rice paddies more frequently. Some had standing crops which they harvested and processed in numerous rice mills once they got them operational again. Other rice paddies, closer to the city, had been flooded (perhaps also with brackish or salt water) and were formidable barriers to infantry. Crossing these wide open landscapes, deep in mud, attacking Union troops were clearly exposed to Confederates entrenched behind carefully-sited defensive lines. On Monday 19 December 1864, during a manoeuvre on difficult terrain to cross over the Savannah River into South Carolina, one soldier from Massachusetts wrote: We came across rice fields all cut up with ditches from 1 to 10 ft wide, which we had to get over as best we could; part of the way was through rice as high as our heads & all wet with dew. Clearly not a modern HYV! So what could this rice be? It was probably Carolina Gold, a variety originally thought to have been introduced into South Carolina and Georgia from Madagascar¹. The slaves, many from West Africa, knew all about growing rice, since there is an indigenous rice culture in that part of the continent. Rice paddy (of Carolina Gold?) near Savannah, GA Rice cultivation went into decline after the Civil War, due to many factors including the destruction of paddies, reluctance of emancipated slaves to take on this work, and other global trade pressures. Other parts of the USA became important rice-growing areas, such as California, southern Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas. By the 1940s Carolina Gold was hardly in cultivation anywhere. Was it lost? Not completely. In the 1980s, a eye doctor from Savannah by the name of Dr Richard Schulze (and a keen duck hunter) discovered that seeds of Carolina Gold were held in a USDA collection at Beaumont in Texas (the USDA’s rice collection is now held at the Dale Bumpers National Rice Research Center-DBNRRC- in Stuttgart, Arkansas). Scientists at Beaumont multiplied seeds of this accession, sending Schultze some 14 pounds of seeds. By 1988, these had been multiplied to 10,000 pounds. Carolina Gold is now grown quite widely, among other heirloom varieties. There is even a Carolina Gold Rice Foundation whose mission is to advance the sustainable restoration and preservation of Carolina Gold Rice and other heirloom grains and raise public awareness of the importance of historic ricelands and heirloom agriculture. In October 2010, my former IRRI colleague, Tom Hargrove (who passed away in January 2011) writing for Rice Today about two varieties of rice, Carolina Gold and Carolina White, found along the banks of the Amazon in northeast Peru, conjectured that they were taken there by Confederados, people from the southern US who moved to Brazil around the time of the Civil War. The rice, called Carolino by local farmers, was found by CIAT rice breeder (and an old friend of mine), César Martínez. When I checked the Genesys database, I found 19 accessions with the name Carolina Gold, in the USDA collection and in the International Rice Genebank Collection at IRRI. Most have available seeds. The accessions at IRRI are duplicates of USDA accessions. Some are breeding materials or selections. I wonder which one was provided to Richard Schulze? In any case, even though they have the same Carolina Gold name, I wonder how genetically distinct they are from one another. Once again, my interest in the American Civil War (and history more generally) has come together with my other ‘obsession’, the conservation and use of plant genetic resources. ¹ Just after I posted this story earlier today, one of my friends from the Crop Trust, Luigi Guarino, Director of Science & Programs at the Crop Trust, told me that he had also posted something about Carolina Gold in the Agricultural Biodiversity Weblog in November 2007. He was commenting on a paper by Anna McLung (Director of the DBNRRC) and a colleague who used molecular markers to assess the affinity of Carolina Gold with other germplasm from Africa. It seems it was more closely aligned with germplasm from Ghana than Madagascar, fitting in better with the slave trade links between West Africa and the early colonies on the east coast of the United States. Hargrove refers to a Madagascar origin for Carolina Gold, and was obviously not aware of the paper by Anna McLung. And it seems there’s more to be found about Carolina Gold from a whole slew of stories on the Agricultural Biodiversity Weblog. Posted in Musings from the past, On my mind . . ., People Tagged 1860s, Civil War, Genesys, Georgia, rice, Sherman, USA, USDA July 15, 2017 by Mike Jackson Ten days, eleven states (3): Ambling through the Appalachians Our journey through the Appalachian Mountains (the main focus of our 2017 road trip in the USA) took almost four days traveling through Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, and Kentucky. The Appalachians comprise a large system of mountains and valleys, covering a vast area of the eastern USA, and extending into Canada. We explored just the southern end. Day 4 began in Greenwood, SC where we had stopped the night after traveling north from Savannah, GA the previous day. Leaving our hotel not long after 8 am, we headed west crossing quite soon back into Georgia and working our way northwest through the Chattahoochee National Forest towards Blairsville, GA. The winding 35 mile climb on GA60 into the Chattahoochee (map) began at Stonepile Gap. With towering trees either side of the road there were few places to stop or see out over the landscape. One of these however was Chestatee Overlook, where we had a first real view of the rolling—and heavily forested—Appalachians. We expected to arrive in Blairsville after 5 pm, but we were there by 3:30. Rather than heading straight to our hotel, we decided to make a 50 mile circuit to the north and east of Blairsville, and quite by chance came across the entrance to Brasstown Bald, the highest mountain in Georgia, at 4784 feet. There is a steep drive up to the car park, and a shuttle bus takes you up the final (and very steep) final mile to the observation platform. We arrived around 4:30, just in time to catch the final shuttle of the day, but allowing only about 15 minutes at the summit before the last shuttle would depart for the car park. Given the steepness of the descent (14%), and concerns that my right leg might suffer, we opted for the return shuttle. The visit was somewhat marred by several bikers (who were old enough to know better) using the climb to the car park (a couple of miles at least on a winding road) to ‘race’ their very noisy chopper motorbikes. Quite unnecessary really. However, it was a glorious afternoon, and the 360° panorama afforded views into North Carolina and Tennessee to the north, and probably Virginia to the east. Just imagine what it must look like in September and October ablaze in all its Fall colours. The view from Brasstown Bald, GA The following day, Sunday, our destination was Johnson City, TN taking in the Cherohala Skyway (map), a 50 mile scenic route stating at Tellico Plains, TN and ending at Robbinsville, NC. The day started fine and sunny, and we weren’t disappointed in the Cherohala. Then we headed to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, crossing south to north (map) towards Gatlinburg, TN on US441. Unfortunately, by the time we reached the park (one of the busiest in the whole of the country), the weather had deteriorated and it was raining heavily. The Smoky Mountains really were smoky. On the off-chance that we would be above the clouds, we took the seven mile diversion to Clingmans Dome on the North Carolina-Tennessee border, the highest point in the Smokies, at 6643 feet. There was not a lot to see, to say the least. But dropping down towards Gatlinburg, the clouds did lift and we saw something of the Smokies after all. From Johnson City, we headed next day rather circuitously to Charleston, WV via the Cumberland Gap, and the Trail of the Lonesome Pine. Not long after we headed out, we ran into one of the most intense storms I’ve ever experienced. It was raining so hard I could hardly see in front of the car. We did wonder whether our visit to Cumberland Gap would be a wash out. But the closer we got, the weather started to improve, and the sun was even shining as we arrived at the national park. From the Pinnacle Overlook it was hit and miss, now you see it, now you don’t as the clouds closed in, then cleared. But we did have some wonderful views, nevertheless. The Cumberland Gap has been a major route through the Appalachians for Native Americans and the Europeans who settled there, and wanted to head west. Overlooking the Cumberland Gap Cumberland Gap was a strategic route for both Union and Confederate armies during the American Civil War, and exchanged sides from time to time. There are still earthworks high up on the Pinnacle. The following morning we set off early from Charleston, west into Kentucky. It was going to be a long day, and a rather complex route on minor roads through the Daniel Boone National Forest. This was gently rolling country, but nevertheless magnificent in terms of the trees lining the highways. Towards the end of the afternoon, we hit the main highways again, heading further west to Cave City, KY for the night, and the next highlight of the trip: Mammoth Cave National Park. Posted in Out and about, Travel Tagged Appalachians, Brasstown Bald, Chattahoochee National Forest, Cumberland Gap, Daniel Boone National Forest, Georgia, Kentucky, North Carolina, Tennessee, USA, Virginia, West Virginia Ten days, eleven states (2): Sauntering around Savannah Savannah, Georgia. Founded in 1733, the oldest city in Georgia. It must be one of the most picturesque cities in the whole of the USA. Sitting just 20 miles or so upstream from the mouth of Savannah River on the Atlantic coast. A city of squares and cobblestone streets, colonial houses, and Spanish moss dangling ubiquitously from trees surrounding the many colonial squares and lining broad avenues that cross the city. Savannah. A city overflowing with Colonial, Revolutionary War, and Civil War history. A city full of historical markers, and some historical surprises. And, unfortunately, a city with one of the highest gun crime rates in the whole country. Savannah was the first port of call on our recent road trip from Georgia to Minnesota. I’ve wanted to visit the city for a long time now. Not sure why that was the case, but it is one of those cities that you just have to visit, at least once. We were not disappointed. And we had just an afternoon and morning to see the sights. Having arrived to the USA on the Wednesday evening, and traveled just as far as Macon (about 80 miles southeast of Atlanta on I-75), we set off just after 09:00 on the following morning, after a reasonably comfortable night recovering from the journey over from the UK. South of Macon, I-16 is mostly tree-lined the whole way to Savannah, and there’s little opportunity to see what the landscape is like, other than it’s rather flat. We easily found our hotel, Planters Inn on Reynolds Square, in the historic center of the city (see map), and I’d arranged for valet parking of our vehicle at a nearby multi storey car park. Once we had settled into our room—upgraded to a larger one with a balcony—we set out to explore the River Street area just north of Reynolds Square, and find a bite to eat for lunch. There’s so much to see. Along the Savannah River, River Street is lined by cotton warehouses now converted to commercial premises and apartments. Fortunately we were there at the beginning of the tourist season, but I can imagine that later on in the season, this area must be thronging with tourists. I was particularly taken with the wrought iron balconies that were a signature feature of many of the warehouses along River Street. It’s not hard to imagine what the cotton trade must have been like, and ignominy of slavery. By Thursday evening we were rather tired, enjoyed dinner at the Cotton Exchange Tavern on River Street, and retired early to bed to catch up on our jet lag. Next morning, with storms threatening by about 10 am, we decided to set out very early to explore the colonial streets of the city to the south of Reynolds Square, and heading to Forsyth Park. We had breakfast at 6:30, and were out of the hotel by 7:30. Within half an hour the first showers appeared, but lasted for just a few minutes, and it was more or less bright thereafter. There’s one rather interesting surprise in Reynolds Square: a statue of John Wesley, one of the founders of Methodism, who spent a couple of years in Savannah from 1735. An old cemetery is now the peaceful Colonial Park that we wandered through, the final resting place of so many of the great and good from Savannah’s past. It’s almost next door to Savannah’s Cathedral of St John the Baptist. Colonial era houses still line Jones Street, and the history of Savannah during the Civil War of the 1860s is evident everywhere. Confederate President Jefferson Davis stayed there. Savannah was occupied by Union troops under General William Tecumseh Sherman after laying waste to Atlanta. Forsyth Park (some 30 acres) lies at the southern end of the historic district, with an impressive monument to Confederate soldiers. We returned to the hotel after about three hours, rather hot and sweaty, and took advantage of the hotel offer to use one of the restrooms on the first floor, to freshen up. Having cooled down, settled our bill, and called for our vehicle from the valet parking, we set off for Greenwood, just under 170 miles to the north in South Carolina, over the Talmadge Memorial Bridge around 11:30. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ten days, eleven states (1): Almost 2800 miles from Georgia to Minnesota Posted in Out and about Tagged Georgia, John Wesley, Savannah, USA July 1, 2017 by Mike Jackson Yes. That’s right. Eleven states in just ten days. 2764 miles to be precise. Ninety-four gallons of gasoline consumed. Almost 30 mpg at just USD209. That’s not bad considering we rented a Jeep Patriot SUV (with a Connecticut licence plate!). I’d opted for a car rental through Rentalcars.com and chose Alamo as the best deal. Just USD357 for the actual rental, USD250 for the one way drop-off fee, and USD98 for roadside assistance cover and various taxes. I had planned our route meticulously, taking in various sites and landscape features I thought would be interesting, and avoiding as much as possible any of the interstate highways. I bought Rand McNally road maps for all states except Virginia and Minnesota (we already had a DeLorme Atlas & Gazetteer for MN). I checked precise US and State Routes using Google maps since the scale of the Rand McNally didn’t always show the road name. I even used Google Streetview to check the various intersections, and before we traveled I already had an image in my mind of the entire route. I prepared daily detailed route plans on cards, which Steph used to navigate us across country from Atlanta to Minnesota, with each map marked at decision points corresponding to the route card details (you can just make out a series of circles on the map below). Fortunately, US roads are very well signposted and road signs (e.g. US61 or GA23, for example) are posted every few miles. It was hard to go wrong, but we did on three occasions; nothing major, however. My first mistake was leaving the car rental center at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. I turned on to I-85N instead of I-85S, but was able to turn around within a mile. On two other occasions we made a turn too early, but realised almost immediately. Not bad really for such a long road trip. Nor did we encounter any road works that held us up, or any road accidents. We almost never saw a police car. These four map links show the actual route we took over the ten days: Atlanta – Savannah, GA – Greenwood, SC – Blairsville, GA 31 May – 3 June Blairsville, GA – Cave City, KY 4 – 6 June Cave City – Iowa City, IA Iowa City – St Paul, MN We stayed in ‘chain’ hotels like Best Western, Comfort Inn, Quality Inn and the like, about USD100 or so a night. In Savannah we stayed at The Planters Inn on Reynolds Square, close to the river and other historic attractions, and this was our most expensive at around USD230 including taxes and valet parking. Breakfast (if you can call it that) was provided in each hotel. For lunch, eaten by the roadside or at a scenic viewpoint, we picked up a freshly-made sandwich and with some fruit from the hotel, we had enough to keep us going until a substantial dinner in the evening. Surprisingly, we ate Mexican on three nights and had very good meals. There was even beer! Twice we ate at the nearby Cracker Barrel Old Country Store – reasonable food but no beer. Walking into our second Cracker Barrel in Troy, IL it was déjà vu; the layout of the restaurant and the store was identical to the one we patronised in Johnson City, TN. Anyway, here is a summary of our epic road trip. 31 May, Atlanta, GA – Macon, GA, 82 miles Our flight (DL73) from Amsterdam landed on time just after 14:15, and despite arriving at an E pier and having to walk the considerable distance over to the new F International Terminal for immigration and customs, then taking a 15 minute shuttle to the new car rentals center beyond the airport perimeter, we were on the road not long after 16:00. We were headed to Macon on I-75, some 82 miles southeast of Atlanta towards Savannah to spend our first night, and recover—to the extent possible—from our long day of travel from Birmingham (BHX), arriving to our hotel (Best Western on Riverside Drive) just around 18:00 Just arrived at Best Western in Macon We had the room on the right of the balcony, overlooking Reynolds Square 1 June, Macon – Savannah, GA, 167 miles Since we had only a relatively short journey to reach Savannah, and because I wanted us to get a good rest before setting off once again, we didn’t leave Macon until after 09:00. Our hotel in Savannah (Planter’s Inn on Reynolds Square) had contacted me that morning by SMS asking what time we expected to arrive and hoping to have a room ready then. Not only was our room ready at just after 11:00, but we’d been upgraded to a balcony room. Once we had settled in, we set off on a leisurely stroll around the historic riverside where the old cotton warehouses have been converted to restaurants and other retail outlets, as well as apartments. Savannah oozes history (and Spanish moss) – a direct line of historical events from the early 18th century, when it was founded, through Colonial times, and the turmoil of the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. 2 June, Savannah – Greenwood, SC, 196 miles We spent the morning in Savannah absorbing the Colonial, Revolutionary and Civil Wars history of this beautiful city. The weather didn’t look promising, with thunderstorms forecast, so we left the hotel by 07:30 and wandered through the various squares, parks and colonial streets for three hours, with just a small shower to bother us. After freshening up at the hotel and checking out, we were on the road again by 11:30, headed for Greenwood in the northwest of South Carolina. The US17 route out of Savannah crosses the Savannah River over the fine-looking Talmadge Memorial Bridge, completed in 1991, 185 feet above the water. We passed through a heavy rainstorm for the first 20 miles or so, but the weather brightened, and we stopped for a bite to eat beside the road in glorious sunshine. The road north was almost completely straight passing through small towns with names like Denmark, Sweden and Norway. There wasn’t much evidence of much agriculture, just some maize on this coastal plain with rather sandy soils. Communities seemed quite impoverished (according to the 2010 census it is the 7th poorest state). Nevertheless, the Southern Baptist (and some Presbyterian) churches and chapels stood in stark contrast. I’ve never seen so many places of worship so close together. There must be a lot of wicked souls need saving in South Carolina (and surrounding states) to require so many churches, often within just a few hundred yards of each other (or closer). We were in Greenwood by 17:00, found our hotel, the Hampton Inn, and enjoyed steak and seafood meals at the Red Lobster outlet beside the hotel. 3 June, Greenwood – Blairsville, GA, 195 miles Distance-wise this was never going to be one of the longest days, but I had planned our route climbing into the Appalachians through the Chatterhoochee National Forest on US60, a winding road among the trees. We departed from Greenwood around 08:00 and made our first stop at the SC-GA state line to look over the Savannah River at Calhoun Falls. We had another stop at Cleveland, GA to tour the historic courthouse museum, and arrived in Blairsville by about 15:00. Not wanting to go straight to our hotel, the Comfort Inn, so early in the day, we opted for a 55 mile round trip taking in some of the hills and forest to the north and east of Blairsville, arriving to Brasstown Bald, the highest point in Georgia at 4500 feet, around 16:30 just in time to take the last shuttle bus to the summit, and down again. I decided not to walk the 1 mile descent from the summit to the car park because the average gradient was more than 14%, and Steph and I were concerned that I might hurt my right leg, which is still giving me some grief 18 months after I broke it. 4 June, Blairsville – Johnson City, TN 282 miles This was our opportunity of really traveling through the Appalachians. I’d chosen to travel east along the Cherohala Skyway in North Carolina. We had expected some poor weather this day, so set off as early as we could get away in order to enjoy the early morning brightness. The Cherohala offers some spectacular views along the way, and we were not disappointed at all. Looking south from the Cherohala Skyway over North Carolina But the further east we went, the more cloudy it became, and by the time we reached US441 to cross the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, it was raining quite hard and we didn’t really see very much at all. We took the side route of about seven miles to Clingman’s Dome, the highest point over 6600 feet. Couldn’t see a thing! But lower down on the north side, the weather improved and we did see something of the Smoky Mountains. We then dropped down to Gatlinburg in Tennessee. If you’ve ever harbored the desire to visit Gatlinburg – don’t. What a tourist disaster! A narrow highway through the center of the town, tackiest tourist souvenir stores lining both sides, and even though this was early in the tourist season, there were throngs of people about. I’m glad we were only passing through. Then it was on to our hotel on the outskirts of Johnson City. 5 June, Johnson City – Charleston, WV, 380 miles The focus early in the day was the Cumberland Gap, northwest of Johnson City by about 80 miles or so. Not long after leaving Johnson City, along US11, we passed through one of the heaviest rain storms I’ve ever experienced. I could hardly see in front of the car. But by the time we reached Cumberland Gap, the clouds had lifted somewhat, and the sun appeared. The ‘Cumberland Gap’ is familiar to me from my skiffle days, as sung by Lonnie Donegan. We went up to the Pinnacle Overlook, hoping to see the views over Tennessee, Virginia, and Kentucky – even as far as North Carolina on a good day. It was only a case of ‘now you see it, now you don’t’ as the clouds came rolling in, then dispersed. As a major pass through the Appalachians, the Cumberland Gap was strategically important for both the Union and Confederacy during the Civil War of the 1860s, and changed sides every so often. There is still evidence of military occupation high on the Overlook. Looking north into Kentucky and the town of Middlesboro. The highway has just emerged from the tunnel through the Gap. Then later in the day, heading east towards Charleston, the capital of West Virginia, we traveled along The Trail of the Lonesome Pine in Virginia. Until I was planning this trip, I wasn’t even aware that the Trail was a real entity, not after I’d heard Laurel and Hardy singing about it. 6 June, Charleston – Cave City, KY, 371 miles Our destination this day was Cave City in central Kentucky where we planned to visit the Mammoth Cave National Park the following day. Heading west out of Charleston on I-64, we turned south at Morehead in Kentucky (about 110 miles west) to head south through the Daniel Boone National Forest. We traveled some 125 miles along scenic highways and byways. Then we turned west on the Cumberland Parkway west of Somerset, KY for the rest of the day’s trip to make up some time and so as not to arrive to our hotel too late. However, Kentucky is divided into two time zones, so we gained an hour (from Eastern to Central Time) about 80 miles east of Cave City. 7 June, Cave City – Troy, IL, 367 miles The Mammoth Cave National Park opened at 08:00, and we were at the Visitor Center not long afterwards. I had booked a tour of the Frozen Niagara cave some months back, at 09:20. This was a guided tour, the first of the day, and to a cave that was easily accessible. I didn’t want to contend with scrambling over rocks with my leg. In any case we planned to stay at the Park only until late morning as we still had the whole day’s trip of over 350 miles to make. We enjoyed the cave, along with a group of fewer than 30 others. The caves are kept closed and it’s generally not possible to visit them alone. What amazed us is that the cave system, at over 440 mapped miles is the largest system in the world. The Park gets very busy during school holidays, and we were fortunate to have visited when we did. Our next port of call was Fort Defiance at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, and the southernmost point of Illinois. Most impressive. That’s the Ohio River behind us and the bridge between Kentucky and Illinois . . . At Fort Defiance, at the southernmost tip of Illinois, at the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers Then we followed the Mississippi north towards St Louis and our hotel in Troy just northeast of the city, catching a glimpse of the famous Gateway Arch as we skirted the city center on the Illinois side of the river. 8 June, Troy – Iowa City, IA, 332 miles Our plan was to follow the Mississippi north through Missouri into Iowa. Heading west around the north of St Louis we crossed both the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers close to their confluence. Heading north on MO79, we stopped at Clarksville to stretch our legs, and look at the dam and lock, where a very large combination of barges was being ferried northwards slowly against the current. Further north we stopped also at Louisiana, MO to view the Champ Clark Bridge that connects MO and IL, from a vantage point high above the river. Then it was on to our next, and last, overnight stop in Iowa City. 9 June, Iowa City – St Paul, MN, 333 miles Our last day on the road, heading north on very straight roads, before crossing into southern Minnesota and crossing the Bluff Country eastwards to reach Winona on the Mississippi. Just south of the Iowa-Minnesota state line we passed through Cresco, IA which proudly advertises itself as the birthplace of Dr Norman Borlaug, father of the Green Revolution in wheat and Nobel Peace Prize Laureate in 1973, who I had the honour of meeting when I worked at IRRI. In Winona, we took a short diversion to a scenic overlook about 500 feet above the river valley and had a spectacular view north and south. Then we set off with added determination to arrive to Hannah and Michael’s in the Highland Park area of St Paul by late afternoon, and the end of our enjoyable 2017 road trip adventure. Here are the individual blog posts about the various places we visited: Ten days, eleven states (4): It’s all in the branding Ten days, eleven states (5): The longest cave system in the world Ten days, eleven states (6): The mighty Mississippi, or is it? Ten days, eleven states (7): Revisiting the Twin Cities Tagged Cumberland Gap, Fort Defiance, Georgia, Illinois, Iowa, Kentucky, Lonesome Pine, Mammoth Cave NP, Minnesota, Mississippi River, Missouri, North Carolina, Ohio River, road trip, Savannah, South Carolina, Tennessee, USA, Virginia, West Virginia Welcome . . . A little background . . . In my own words . . . Genetic resources, agriculture, and science Music and Literature Archive of published stories (newest to oldest) Genebanks are the future . . . but there is a big challenge ahead Never have genebanks been so relevant . . . or needed New Year, new job . . . Yes, we’ll meet on the other side . . . Have [botany] degree . . . will travel (#iamabotanist) Edgar L. Jackson (1946-2019) What I’ve been reading this year . . . Management and science – are they equally important roles for a genebank manager? A new beginning for biodiversity . . . Perception is truth Birmingham CIP Home In the news IRRI Musings from the past On my mind . . . Out and about People Science Southampton Travel Alexandra Hospital American Civil War Anilao Asia Baddesley Clinton Birmingham Botany Brexit Bromsgrove Central America CGIAR CIP climate change Congleton Cornwall Costa Rica Crop Trust Cruza 148 DPPC English Heritage EU EU referendum European Union family Fleetwood Mac genealogy genebanks genetic resources Georgia germplasm conservation Global Crop Diversity Trust grandchildren history indigenous civilizations Ireland IRRI Jack Hawkes Jackson Kentucky Leek Minnesota Mississippi River morris dancing music National Trust New York Northern Ireland OBE Pennsylvania Peru Philippines plants politics potato POTUS radio rice science Scotland South America Southampton steam St Paul Svalbard Global Seed Vault travel University of Birmingham University of Southampton USA Virginia Walking West Virginia Worcester and Birmingham Canal Worcestershire Worcestershire Acute Hospitals NHS Trust Wyoming Yes, we'll meet on the other side . . . Leek - Queen of the Moorlands (updated 2018-11-05) An 18th century landscape of temples and statues "I'm all for censorship. If ever I see a double entendre, I whip it out." Kenneth Horne 'Ménage à trois' . . . ? The perfect country house . . . a stunning English treasure Fashion, so said Louis XIV, is the mirror of history Mike Jackson on Never have genebanks been so relevant . . . or needed shaunnmunn on Never have genebanks been so relevant . . . or needed Janet White on Edgar L. Jackson (1946-2019) Chelo on Yes, we’ll meet on the other side . . . Mike Jackson on Yes, we’ll meet on the other side . . . Archives Select Month January 2020 (3) December 2019 (4) November 2019 (2) October 2019 (5) September 2019 (2) August 2019 (1) July 2019 (4) June 2019 (6) May 2019 (6) April 2019 (6) March 2019 (5) February 2019 (8) January 2019 (7) December 2018 (3) November 2018 (9) October 2018 (11) September 2018 (4) August 2018 (4) July 2018 (3) June 2018 (5) May 2018 (5) April 2018 (5) March 2018 (3) February 2018 (4) January 2018 (5) December 2017 (8) November 2017 (11) October 2017 (12) September 2017 (6) August 2017 (3) July 2017 (10) May 2017 (5) April 2017 (3) March 2017 (4) February 2017 (4) January 2017 (6) December 2016 (3) November 2016 (2) October 2016 (5) September 2016 (3) August 2016 (10) July 2016 (2) June 2016 (4) May 2016 (4) April 2016 (2) March 2016 (10) February 2016 (5) January 2016 (3) December 2015 (10) November 2015 (4) October 2015 (5) September 2015 (4) August 2015 (10) July 2015 (9) June 2015 (9) May 2015 (7) April 2015 (8) March 2015 (3) February 2015 (5) January 2015 (2) December 2014 (2) November 2014 (8) October 2014 (8) August 2014 (3) July 2014 (5) June 2014 (1) May 2014 (3) April 2014 (7) March 2014 (1) February 2014 (6) January 2014 (2) December 2013 (3) November 2013 (1) October 2013 (4) September 2013 (12) August 2013 (12) July 2013 (5) June 2013 (4) May 2013 (5) April 2013 (4) March 2013 (5) February 2013 (6) January 2013 (7) December 2012 (3) November 2012 (5) October 2012 (7) September 2012 (4) August 2012 (10) July 2012 (5) June 2012 (4) May 2012 (4) April 2012 (12) March 2012 (15) February 2012 (22)

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U.S. Steel Lays Off Non-Union Workers In Granite City Due To ‘Challenging Market’ By Kavahn Mansouri | Belleville News-Democrat • Nov 11, 2019 GRANITE CITY — An undisclosed number of non-union employees at Granite City’s U.S Steel plant have been laid off. In a statement U.S. Steel spokesperson Amanda Malkowski said the layoffs were due to “challenging market conditions.” “We’ve been battling challenging market conditions, which means we need to truly become a leaner, more efficient organization faster,” the statement said. “As part of this process, we are taking the difficult step to eliminate a number of non-represented positions in the United States.” The Associated Press reported the corporation had eliminated an undisclosed amount of non-union management jobs in Minnesota last week. U.S. Steel announced recently it had a third-quarter loss of $35 million. A U.S. Steel worker watches as a slab of steel moves through the production process. Credit Derik Holtmann | Belleville News-Democrat Last month the company announced a savings plan hoped to save $200 million by 2022. “Unfortunately, this was a necessary step in the execution of our strategy which will deliver cost and capability differentiation to create a world competitive ‘best of both’ footprint,” Malkowski said. “It’s always difficult when we have to say goodbye to valued colleagues, but these moves will allow us to better manage our resources amid challenging market conditions.” In 2018, U.S. Steel brought back 800 jobs to the Granite City Works steel mill after tariffs on important steel were enacted by President Donald J. Trump. Before the tariffs were enacted, the plant was “idled” for an extended amount of time. Granite City has seen its fair share of layoffs in the past two decades. According to St. Louis Public Radio, in 2008 U.S. Steel idled the mill, laying off 2,000 workers and later reopening in 2009. In 2015, 1,800 were laid off and steel production was halted. According to the Mesabi Daily News, U.S. Steels’ recent losses are its first since Trump imposed the tariffs. The Associated Press reported that steel prices have been ind decline over the past few months. Kanahn Mansouri is a reporter with the Belleville News-Democrat, a news partner of St. Louis Public Radio. U.S. Steel Granite City Works U.S. Steel Corporation Belleville News-Democrat Granite City is making steel again, but many are still struggling this holiday season By Mary Delach Leonard • Dec 10, 2018 Mary Delach Leonard | St. Louis Public Radio Salvation Army bell-ringer David Burks was making a joyful noise in front of the Granite City Walmart on a recent Friday morning. He greeted everyone who passed his red kettle, whether they dropped in pennies or a folded dollar bill or hurried by without a glance. “You have a good day now. Thank you, and God bless you.” The fundraising goal for the Granite City Salvation Army is $88,000 this Christmas season, and it will take thousands of drops in the buckets to get there. The Salvation Army says its trademark red kettle campaign is as important as ever because many have been left behind by the nation's rebounding economy. Granite City workers in the spotlight as they prepare to make steel again By Mary Delach Leonard • Jun 5, 2018 After a two-year wait for jobs to come back, steelworkers threw an old-fashioned street party on Saturday, just blocks from U.S. Steel’s Granite City plant. It was a “fire up” party to celebrate 500 people finally going back to work to start up a blast furnace that was idled in December 2015, said Dan Simmons, president of United Steelworkers Local 1899.

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The Spanish Civil War: A Trial Run for World War II July 24, 2016 Topic: Security Region: Europe Tags: SpainSpanish Civil WarHistorySyriaProxy War It was the biggest proxy war of its time. A Mediterranean nation beset by military coup and civil war. A savage struggle marked by atrocities and fanaticism. Proxy war waged by outside nations pumping in men, weapons and money. Today’s Syria or Turkey? No, it’s sunny Spain, now a peaceful member of the European Union, but eighty years ago the arena for one of the most vicious conflicts in history. The Spanish Civil War of 1936–39 is remembered today as a sort of Second World War-in-training, a playoff game before the championship match between Team Axis and Team Allies a few years later. The Spanish Civil War began in July 1936 when Francisco Franco led a dissident group of staunchly conservative and Catholic generals, as well as half the Spanish Army, against the liberal, elected Spanish government. What should have been an internal military revolt like the recent attempted coup in Turkey swelled into an international struggle between democracy and authoritarianism, liberalism and conservatism, and communism versus fascism. In the end, fascism won. In some ways, the Spanish Civil War belongs to a different era. We are accustomed today to slaughter inflicted in the name of God. Back then, the cause was ideology, the disputes over whether the world should be democratic or fascist or communist. Yet in other ways, the conflict seems all too familiar. Like today’s Iraq and Syria, the combatants fought amongst themselves as well as the enemy. The Nationalists were a collection of conservatives, monarchists and fascist Falangists. The Republicans were supported by a bizarre potpourri of socialists, communists, Trotskyites and anarchists, as well as international leftists such as the Abraham Lincoln Brigade from America. The “White Terror” of the Nationalists murdered two hundred thousand opponents, grimly dwarfing the fifty thousand or so victims of the Red Terror, conducted by Republican death squads that were led by Soviet NKVD secret police. The Nationalist rebels were supported by Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy—not just with arms, but with troops and aircraft. German transport aircraft flew Nationalist soldiers from Spanish North Africa to the mainland. More important, Germany dispatched the Condor Legion, a twelve-thousand-strong force equipped with bombers, fighters and tanks. Not to be outdone, Mussolini sent fifty thousand Italians. By comparison, perhaps ten thousand Russian troops might have been committed to today’s Syrian Civil War. Though the Spanish Civil War is viewed as a proving ground for World War II, that’s not strictly true. The mountainous Spanish terrain precluded the massed tank attacks and deep-penetration mechanized offensives of World War II. But it did provide invaluable experience to Hitler’s military, especially the Luftwaffe. Germany had the chance to test weapons it later used in World War II, such as the He-111 and Do-17 bombers. Legendary Luftwaffe fighter aces such as Adolph Galland and Werner Molders learned their craft in Spanish skies, devising deadly air combat tactics such as the “finger-four” formation. Not surprisingly, Italy didn’t fare quite so well, such as when the Republicans defeated an Italian force at the Battle of Guadalajara. With typical fascist unity, Franco did not reciprocate Hitler’s generosity. In 1940, with France conquered and Britain fighting alone, the führer attempted to persuade Franco to declare war on Britain. The Spanish dictator successfully fobbed him off, leading Hitler to declare that he would rather endure a visit to the dentist than negotiate with Franco. For the Republicans, the world turned its back. Some British officials preferred a fascist-leaning Nationalist regime to a leftist one. Britain and France imposed an arms embargo on both sides, but with the Nationalists receiving German and Italian weapons, the freeze only hurt the Republicans (just as the post-1967 British and French arms embargo in the Middle East only hurt Israel, rather than the Soviet-supplied Arabs). Only the Soviet Union would provide weapons and advisers. Soviet officers also had the opportunity to learn modern combat, though naturally Stalin had his Spanish Civil War veterans executed for fear of ideological contamination. Yet not all the lessons were correct. Top Soviet military leaders concluded that massed armor was ineffective, and that tanks should be dispersed in small packets to support the infantry, a doctrine later smashed by German blitzkrieg tactics. At times the war veered into the farcical, as when Italian submarines sank neutral ships transporting supplies to the Republicans. Instead of condemning Italy, Britain and France blamed “pirates” (as if Blackbeard was a U-boat commander), and began convoying ships in the Mediterranean. Perhaps the most enduring legacy of the Spanish Civil War is its iconic images. We have Pablo Picasso’s haunting painting of the terror bombing of Guernica, Robert Capa’s classic (and now thought to have been staged) photo of the death of a Republican soldier, George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia and Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. But who the bell really tolled for was the Western democracies. Hitler and Mussolini had committed jackboots on the ground to overthrow a democratically elected government. Though it would probably not have deterred Hitler’s quest for war, world support for the Republicans would have signaled determination against the rising fascist menace. Yet if Britain and France wouldn’t lift a finger to help Spain in 1936, then why should they fight to save Czechoslovakia in 1938? No wonder Hitler expected the Western powers to stay quiet when he invaded Poland in 1939. The fuse for World War II might have been lit in the hills of Spain. The Spanish Civil War still leaves us with a question: What price stability? Some believe that we need strongmen like Saddam Hussein and Bashar al-Assad to bring order to the Middle East. There was indeed order in Spain after the civil war. Under Franco’s rule, Spain was mostly peaceful (except for the Basques), and a U.S. ally that hosted American nuclear missile submarines. It was also an authoritarian regime with censorship and political prisoners. Is Franco the sort of ruler we want for the Middle East today? Michael Peck is a contributing writer for the National Interest. He can be found on Twitter and Facebook. Image: Spanish Civil War reenactors at Punta Lucero. Flickr/Xabier Eskisabel

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Majority of Canadians in most provinces with carbon prices don't know they have one: survey The survey results suggest many Canadians are ambivalent about whether carbon pricing works as it’s supposed to Federal Environment Minister Catherine McKenna. The federal government has promised to impose its own carbon tax on any province that doesn’t create its own.Justin Tang/The Canadian Press Maura Forrest OTTAWA — Despite the fact that carbon pricing was one of the Liberal government’s signature commitments during the 2015 election, many Canadians still understand little about the policy, according to a new survey — including whether their own province has already put a price on emissions. The polling, commissioned by Canada’s Ecofiscal Commission, shows that a majority of respondents in British Columbia, Ontario and Quebec did not know that their province has a carbon price in place. Ontario’s cap-and-trade system only kicked off in 2017, but Quebec’s has been in place since 2013, while B.C. has had a carbon tax for nearly a decade. The survey, conducted by Abacus Data, shows that only 45 per cent of respondents in B.C., 30 per cent in Ontario and 20 per cent in Quebec knew that their province has put a price on carbon. Most of the rest either said they didn’t know, or that their provincial government is planning to bring in a carbon price. “I think people have limited capacity to follow all the issues,” said Dale Beugin, executive director of the Ecofiscal Commission, which advocates for carbon pricing. “This is a reminder that there’s lots of competing demands for people’s attention and interest.” John Ivison: Political consensus for carbon tax has gone but Liberals stay on course Federal carbon tax revenue could bypass provinces and go directly to taxpayers, draft bill indicates National carbon price won’t be forced on provinces before end of 2018, Catherine McKenna says Uncertainty was the most common response from those surveyed in most other provinces as well. In Nova Scotia, which plans to launch a cap-and-trade program in January 2019, more than half of those surveyed said they didn’t know what their government has planned. In Manitoba, where a carbon tax will take effect in September, just one in three respondents knew a carbon price is on its way. The two provinces that bucked the trend are Alberta and Saskatchewan, where politicians have mounted the most aggressive campaigns against carbon pricing. In Alberta, where United Conservative Party Leader Jason Kenney has said he wants to scrap the provincial carbon tax, nearly 80 per cent of respondents knew they were paying for emissions. In Saskatchewan, the lone province that has resisted any type of carbon pricing, more than half of those surveyed were aware where their government stands. More generally, the polling suggests an increase in polarization on carbon pricing and climate action. While 60 per cent of respondents want their governments to take more action to fight climate change, 16 per cent want to see less action — and that figure has doubled in the past three years. Beugin thinks that has to do with an increase in “misinformation” as the debate about carbon pricing becomes more politically charged. The survey results suggest many Canadians are ambivalent about whether carbon pricing works as it’s supposed to. Nearly half of respondents said a carbon price would simply increase the cost of living and doing business, without changing energy use. Maybe we've spent too much time in the bubble and maybe there's a need to go back to the basics Most respondents preferred regulations requiring emissions reductions and subsidies that support low-carbon technology over carbon pricing, though the Ecofiscal Commission insists that those measures are much more expensive than a carbon price. “I think that … there’s increasing support for action and there’s even increasing support for carbon pricing. But there continues to be a lack of understanding … as to how and why and where carbon pricing works,” Beugin said. “Maybe we’ve spent too much time in the bubble and maybe there’s a need to go back to the basics.” To that end, the commission has released a new report, called Clearing the Air, to help explain how carbon pricing works. Despite the uncertainty about carbon pricing, the results show that 61 per cent of respondents believe there’s solid or conclusive evidence of global warming, while just 11 per cent believe there’s little to no evidence. In total, 84 per cent believe a transition to a low-carbon economy is a good goal, but 60 per cent believe Canada should continue to develop its oil and gas resources during that transition. The federal government has promised to impose its own carbon tax on any province that doesn’t create its own. In total, 65 per cent of respondents said they would accept or support that policy. Abacus Data surveyed 2,250 Canadians between Feb. 9 and 15, using randomly selected members of online panels. The margin of error for a comparable random sample is +/-2.1 per cent, 19 times out of 20. • Email: mforrest@postmedia.com | Twitter: MauraForrest 10/3 Podcast 10/3 podcast: Jamil Jivani on the Conservative party's 'racism problem' 10/3 podcast: 50-year-old child murder solved but mystery lingers First Reading Newsletter

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Collective Defense Home Home | News & Events | Collective Defense By U.S. Mission to NATO | 29 June, 2017 | Topics: Collective Defense, Key Documents, NATO Ministerials, News, Secretary Mattis | Tags: Defense Ministerial, eFP, Enhanced Forward Presence By NATO On 17 and 18 January 2017, the NATO Chiefs of Defence gathered for the 176th Military Committee in Chiefs of Defence Session (MCCS) at NATO Headquarters in Brussels. The meetings included discussions on improving NATO’s Command Structure, continuing defence & deterrence measures, projecting stability through Counter Terrorism projects and the continued support of the … By U.S. Mission to NATO | 19 January, 2017 | Topics: Collective Defense, News | Tags: CHoD Never Forget: Sept. 12 By Douglas E. Lute, the U.S. Ambassador to NATO BRUSSELS — Americans will always remember Sept. 11, 2001. Fifteen years later, the feelings of confusion, shock and loss from the deadly attack on our country are still vivid. But the next day, Sept. 12, 2001, was also historic. That was the day America’s staunchest allies stood with us in … By U.S. Mission to NATO | 12 September, 2016 | Topics: Collective Defense, Former U.S. Ambassadors, News, Op-Eds | Tags: Article 5, September 12 Article 3 of the Washington Treaty commits NATO Allies to strengthen their own national defense and ability to resist armed attack. In line with these commitments, Baltic States are acquiring capabilities that, individually and together, harden their national defenses and enhance their ability to tap Alliance capabilities should the need arise. U.S. Exercise Saber Strike … Proliferation of ballistic missiles poses an increasing threat to Allied populations, territory and deployed forces. Over 30 countries have, or are acquiring, ballistic missile technology that could eventually be used to carry not just conventional warheads, but also weapons of mass destruction. The proliferation of these capabilities does not necessarily mean there is an immediate … By U.S. European Command STUTTGART, Germany – As part of the United States commitment to increased assurance and deterrence, U.S. Army Europe (USAREUR) will begin receiving continuous troop rotations of U.S.-based armored brigade combat teams (ABCT) to the European theater in February 2017, bringing the total Army presence in Europe up to three fully-manned Army brigades. As discussed during the announcement of … By USAFE-AFAFRICA Public Affairs RAMSTEIN AIR BASE, Germany — Twelve F-15C Eagles and approximately 350 Airmen and support equipment from the 131st Fighter Squadron, Barnes Air National Guard Base, Massachusetts, and the 194th Fighter Squadron, Fresno Air National Guard Base, California, will deploy to the European theater beginning April 1, 2016. The arrival of these F-15s marks the … Today, the Lithuanian military took delivery of a $24 million equipment package, including radio equipment that will improve force communications in the field and ground-to-air transmissions, such as calling for precision NATO air strikes. The equipment was purchased with U.S. European Reassurance Initiative (ERI) and other foreign assistance funds. Article 3 of the Washington Treaty … The Estonian military received a second tranche of anti-tank missiles on March 20. The $33 million purchase of Javelins was funded with U.S. European Reassurance Initiative funds. The U.S.-produced Javelin missile can defeat any tank in the world and is the standard system used by the U.S. Army. Working together to acquire this important defensive … The U.S. is making major strides with Allies to advance NATO’s critical missile defense capability. The European Phased Adaptive Approach (EPAA) has made important progress over the past six years, according to Frank Rose, Assistant Secretary of State for Arms Control, Verification and Compliance. The first Aegis ashore site in Deveselu, Romania made its technical … From U.S. Naval Forces Europe-Africa/U.S. 6th Fleet Public Affairs NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN (NNS) — USS Ross (DDG 71) successfully intercepted a ballistic missile in the North Atlantic Ocean during the Maritime Theater Missile Defense (MTMD) Forum’s At Sea Demonstration (ASD) Oct. 20, 2015. This is first time a Standard Missile-3 (SM-3) Block IA guided interceptor … Six small headquarters or NATO Force Integration Units (NFIUS) were activated on September 1, delivering on promise of adaptation measures under the Readiness Action Plan (RAP) agreed by President Obama and the other 27 Alliance leaders Wales Summit in 2014. These first six multinational command and control units on the territories of Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, … U.S. Air Force F-22 Raptors flew in the skies over Lask Air Base, Poland this week. Four F-22 Raptors arrived in Germany as part of the first-ever F-22 training deployment to Europe. F-22s from the 95th Fighter Squadron, Tyndall AFB, Florida were deployed to Europe over the weekend as part of the U.S. European Reassurance Initiative … April 17, 2015 Ambassador Douglas Lute, Op-Ed This month, the United States will deliver a 9,000-ton boost to the ballistic missile defense (BMD) capabilities of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). With the arrival of the USS Porter, the third U.S. BMD-capable Aegis ship to be home-ported in Spain, the U.S. continues to meet its …

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No Agenda 954: Rasiss Executive Producer: Teagon Murray Associate Executive Producer: The Former Orange Slayer, Sir John of South London Artist: PlugMyDuck 1:24 Report: North Korea Now Making Missile-Ready Nuclear Weapons http://naplay.it/954/1:24 4:40 Trump's 'Fire and Fury' Warning to North Korea http://naplay.it/954/4:40 14:09 Source Claims Queen Elizabeth Plans to Crown William and Kate http://naplay.it/954/14:09 20:21 Adam on the Alex Jones Show http://naplay.it/954/20:21 26:07 Narcan Parties http://naplay.it/954/26:07 30:41 HPV Vaccine Scare Tactics http://naplay.it/954/30:41 35:11 Forward Movement on Beaniecoin http://naplay.it/954/35:11 36:26 Bitcoin's 'Fork' Software Upgrade http://naplay.it/954/36:26 38:57 India to Replace Old Bills With New 500- and 2000-Rupee Notes http://naplay.it/954/38:57 39:58 'Unprecedented' Outbreak of Dengue Fever in Sri Lanka http://naplay.it/954/39:58 42:19 US Embassy Employees in Cuba Possibly Subject to 'Acoustic Attack' http://naplay.it/954/42:19 43:43 Marie Harf Endorses Heather Nauert on 'The Five' http://naplay.it/954/43:43 46:45 The Google Memo http://naplay.it/954/46:45 59:47 [Executive Producer Segment] http://naplay.it/954/59:47 1:07:10 Michael Moore Talks About Trump on 'The View' http://naplay.it/954/1:07:10 1:17:07 How to Tell if Your Child is Transgender http://naplay.it/954/1:17:07 1:21:58 End Sexism by Not Eating Cheese http://naplay.it/954/1:21:58 1:23:04 Awkward Segway http://naplay.it/954/1:23:04 1:25:48 FBI Raid on Paul Manafort's Home a Part of Russia Investigation http://naplay.it/954/1:25:48 1:29:44 North Korea Threatens to Attack 'Waters Near Guam' http://naplay.it/954/1:29:44 1:43:32 Tucker Carlson Debates Joe Romm on Climate Change http://naplay.it/954/1:43:32 1:48:09 20 Years of Survey Results from North Carolina Beach Property http://naplay.it/954/1:48:09 1:49:13 BBC: Dodgy Greenhouse Gas Data Threatens Paris Accord http://naplay.it/954/1:49:13 1:51:01 Child Abuse in Mines Supplying Materials for Electric Cars http://naplay.it/954/1:51:01 1:52:21 Jason Calacanis Schills for Tesla on CNBC http://naplay.it/954/1:52:21 2:00:51 Maxine Waters Calls Alan Dershowitz Racist for Defending Trump http://naplay.it/954/2:00:51 2:04:32 [Donation Segment] http://naplay.it/954/2:04:32 2:20:08 Army Corp of Engineers Begin Work for Border Wall Construction http://naplay.it/954/2:20:08 2:22:07 Bill Browder's Grandfather Was Joseph Stalin's U.S. Representative http://naplay.it/954/2:22:07 2:24:07 London Mayor Khan Criticizes YouTube for Not Removing Violent Videos http://naplay.it/954/2:24:07 2:25:48 Study: Brexit the Result of Uneducated Populace http://naplay.it/954/2:25:48 2:26:36 History of the Phrase 'Curry Favor' http://naplay.it/954/2:26:36 2:28:38 Alan Greenspan: Bond Interest Rates Are Abnormally Low http://naplay.it/954/2:28:38 2:37:24 CBS: Russia's Anti-Corruption Crusader Alexei Navalny Takes on Putin http://naplay.it/954/2:37:24 2:40:06 CIA: Catholics in Action http://naplay.it/954/2:40:06 2:44:10 Leo Laporte: Our Government is in a Different Dimension http://naplay.it/954/2:44:10 2:46:55 London Uber Drivers Gaming the System to Trigger Surge Pricing http://naplay.it/954/2:46:55 2:47:43 Dunkin' Donuts to Change Name to Dunkin'? http://naplay.it/954/2:47:43 2:48:52 Shields and Brooks: 'Cultural Rot' Amongst Republicans http://naplay.it/954/2:48:52 2:51:36 [End of Show] http://naplay.it/954/2:51:36

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You are here: Home / Education / Doing Good in the Neighborhood Doing Good in the Neighborhood September 1, 2019 by Mary Deatrick “As a company dedicated to serving our community and as a hotelier who has been blessed beyond my wildest dreams, it is my privilege to commit much of our resources to giving back.” – Harris Rosen Take a drive or stroll a walkway in Orlando, and local entrepreneur and philanthropist Harris Rosen’s footprints will be there … leading the community with his good works and business acumen. Subtle though the signs of his generosity may be, the impact of his 45-year-old local hospitality company is indelible. Slowly changing our community one good deed at a time. “Whether we live in Lake Nona, Dr. Phillips, or Parramore, we all call Orlando home,” said Lake Nona resident Janice Abrew-Coriano, who also is the Communications, Special Events & Community Affairs Manager, Rosen Hotels & Resorts. “I’m so proud to work for a company and a business owner who puts people first for the betterment of our community and us all.” Having applied business savvy with tireless grit, Rosen’s now eight greater International Drive-area hotels have been providing thousands of jobs annually to Orlando residents since starting his company in 1974. In addition, his $18 million donation helped open the doors in 2004 of the Rosen College of Hospitality Management at UCF. Ideally located in the tourist corridor, the Rosen College provides an unparalleled education and talent pool to local residents and the hospitality industry, having been named a top-five hospitality school of the world. However, Rosen’s commitment extends beyond physical structures and expands into the hearts and lives of his family of Rosen associates and the community at large, all of whom he considers family. Since 1993, Rosen has been providing free daycare and college and vocational school education (including tuition, books, room and board) for the once under-served community of Tangelo Park near International Drive. Rosen has promised this will continue in perpetuity until the homes in Tangelo Park are “valued at a million dollars each. Then I might stop.” In 2016, Rosen adopted another similar community, Parramore in downtown Orlando, providing the same education offers. As of 2018, between both programs, a total of 525 high school graduates have been eligible for the scholarships. It is estimated that for every dollar Rosen has spent on the Tangelo Park educational programs, seven have come back into the community. “I understand what it is like to grow up with nothing,” said Rosen of his meager beginnings as a Depression Era child, living in New York City’s Lower East Side. “I was lucky enough to create my own American dream, and I wanted to make sure other young adults received the same chance. Many of these students hadn’t even considered going to college because they didn’t know how they were going to pay for it.” Rosen’s own associates receive free college scholarships for themselves and their children after three years of service. Free family-friendly events like carnivals and holiday reviews are the norm. As is one of the city’s – if not the country’s – most affordable self-created and self-funded healthcare programs, RosenCare, with components soon to be adapted by the Osceola County School District (to learn more, visit RosenCare.com). All the while, inspiring his associates to pay it forward. “Mr. Rosen’s dedication to philanthropy brings pride to our associates and inspires them to get in on the efforts,” said Abrew-Coriano, a 17-year Rosen associate. “While many of them participate in company-sponsored volunteer projects, some also seek their own opportunities to make a difference through local nonprofits or church groups.” Most every weekend, there is a race, a run, a Habitat Home build, or something unexpected like a supply drive for hurricane victims where Rosen associates – from GMs and room attendants to bartenders and sales associates – come together for the betterment of others. Associates represent the company in among more than 200 community service projects and boards. “Mr. Rosen’s 15-year relationship with the Miss America’s Outstanding Teen Organization and his support through his scholarships have certainly left an indelible ‘footprint’ that few will ever fill,” said Donna Bozarth, Chairman of the Board, Miss America’s Outstanding Teen Organization. Reflecting on his 45 years serving the Orlando community and a milestone 80th birthday this month on Sept. 9 – celebrated with a family skydiving excursion at Fort Bragg, no less – Rosen shares, “Education has the ability to transform a person, which can positively affect our community for decades into the future. No matter how we choose to contribute, I believe we all have a responsibility to do our part in keeping our city vibrant and one we’re proud to call home, for many years to come.” To learn more about Rosen Hotels & Resorts’ charitable efforts, employment opportunities and more, visit RosenHotels.com. School Update: Lake Nona High School Congratulations to the cast and crew of Lake Nona’s first-ever Shakespeare production Much Ado About… School Update Northlake Park Elementary School First Grade Visits Dinosaur World First grade students and teachers at NorthLake Park Elementary School… School Update: Eagle Creek Elementary School On Saturday, Dec. 9, Girls on the Run had their celebratory 5k race. This… Filed Under: Education, Local Leaders Tagged With: Abrew-Coriano, Depression Era, Donna Bozarth, Education, Fort Bragg, Harris Rosen, I-Drive International Drive, Janice Abrew-Coriano, Lake Nona Residents, Mary Deatrick, Miss America’s Outstanding Teen Organization, Orlando Parramore district, Osceola County School District, Philanthropy, Rosen College of Hospitality Management at UCF, Rosen Hospitality School, Rosen Hotels & Resorts, RosenCare, Tangelo Park Program About Mary Deatrick Nonahood News is creatively and independently produced by the residents of Lake Nona. NONAHOOD NEWS ONLINE EDITION Morning Meditation in Lake Nona Nona Business Referral Group (NBRG) BROADWAY MASTER CLASSES: Disney’s Aladdin Live + Local JOIN THE WEEKLY PRESS Stay tapped in to what's going on each week in Lake Nona: news, events, deals, and job openings.

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Oriental reports $85M in ’13 income, $16.6M for 4Q13 BankingFinancial District February 4, 20140568 Oriental CEO José Rafael Fernández Oriental President José Rafael Fernández Oriental Financial Group reported Monday income available to common shareholders amounted to $16.6 million, or $0.35 per share diluted for the fourth quarter of 2013. In the corresponding year ago period, OFG lost $23.3 million, or ($0.53) per share. This included $22.9 million in net costs for deleveraging its investment securities portfolio in relation to the acquisition of BBVA’s Puerto Rico operations in late 2012. With its 4Q13 performance, full year 2013 income available to common shareholders totaled $84.6 million, or $1.73 per share diluted, exceeding OFG’s guidance of $1.55 per share on a GAAP basis. In 2012, OFG earned $14.6 million, or $0.35 per diluted share. This included $12.9 million in net costs for deleveraging, the financial said. “2013 results reflect the integration of BBVA PR, with the successful conversion of technology platforms and consolidation of other resources,” the bank said. “2013 was a stellar year for our Oriental banking, wealth management and insurance franchise in Puerto Rico, as we realized the benefits of our acquisition of BBVA PR,” said OFG President José Rafael Fernández. “Operating income increased 190 percent, to $176.5 million, and despite new, locally legislated tax increases, we generated earnings per share of $1.73, well in excess of our $1.55 guidance. “As envisioned, the acquisition has enhanced our capabilities significantly. We now have sophisticated corporate treasury services, scalable transactional banking, and a leading auto lending platform,” he said. “We also have the ability to bring to market innovative product ‘firsts’ to Puerto Rico, such as Cuenta Libre (Freedom Account), which reimburses our customers for using ATMs outside of our network, and Foto Deposito, for depositing checks from their mobile devices. At it stands, the bank’s book value stood at $15.74 per common share as of Dec. 31, 2013, having more than recovered from pre-acquisition levels of $15.40 at Sept. 30, 2012. Meanwhile, Puerto Rico government related loan and investment security contractual balances (excluding municipalities) fell 17.4 percent in line with scheduled maturities, to $631.6 million at Dec. 31, 2013, from $764.8 million at Sept. 30, 2013. The decline in OFG’s balance of government related loans and investment securities was in line with contractual maturities of $142.5 million, the bank said. For the full year 2013, the bank’s net interest income grew 160.5 percent, to $409.7 million from $157.3 million, as OFG transformed its revenue profile, with investment securities producing only 10.1 percent of interest income in 2013 versus 36.6 percent in 2012. “Our capital levels are strong at close to $900 million. We have considerable liquidity with more than $760 million of cash on hand. And more than half of our loan balances have assigned credit marks as part of purchase accounting,” Fernández said. As for what’s ahead, Fernández said “with core operating results for the fourth quarter and 2013 much stronger than in the year earlier periods, OFG ended 2013 as a top performing financial institution.” “We have approached Puerto Rico’s challenging economic conditions, which have prevailed since 2006, in a rational and disciplined manner. We are confident that we will continue to be successful in further optimizing our businesses for profitability and capital generation. “Looking ahead, we believe our 2013 fourth quarter core operating run rate is indicative of what our performance should be over the next few quarters. In 2015, when the non-cash charge off of FDIC indemnification asset amortization ends, OFG’s GAAP earnings should significantly expand,” he added. Related tags : BBVAnet incomeOrientalprofitsresults FirstBank takes $164.5M loss in ’13, $15M profit in 4Q13 Puerto Rico gov’t revenue $925M in Dec., up 28% YOY Hey Buddy!, I found this information for you: "Oriental reports M in ’13 income, .6M for 4Q13". Here is the website link: https://newsismybusiness.com/oriental-reports-income/. Thank you.

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Catacomb Churches Ecumenism Featured Holy Fathers Holy Martyrs Modernism Monasteries Monasticism New Calendar Churches New Martyrs Romania Saints True Orthodoxy The Fight for True Orthodoxy in Romania February 27, 2017 November 3, 2019 NFTU NEWS [Reposted from the site https://traditiaortodoxa.wordpress.com Original post: https://traditiaortodoxa.wordpress.com/2007/06/25/persecution-in-romania/ ] During this period, the True Orthodox Christians of Romania were also undergoing persecution. Metropolitan Vlasie writes: “The Romanian King Charles II left his wife Maria, who came from Constantinople and was married again to a Jewess. Charles II did not want to abandon his throne, but was forced to abdicate since he had married a non-Christian. His son Michael was only 8 years old, so a regent was needed. Patriarch Miron became the regent. The political circumstances of that time were complicated by the fact that the government had been dissolved, and in order to maintain the constitution the regent had to become Prime Minister. Thus in 1936 the patriarch became both regent and Prime Minister – the complete master of the country. He had the power to annihilate our Church, and he used it in full measure: he destroyed all our churches and arrested all the clergy, the monastics and the leaders of the Old Calendarist groups. “This was the first major blow against our Church, and many did not survive it. Take, for example, Fr. Euthymius – he was in a concentration camp for 3 years with Fr. Pambo, and he told us how they tortured him: they threw him into a stream and forced other prisoners to walk over him as over a bridge: he was at that time about 27 years old.” In Bessarabia, writes Glazkov, “the priests Fathers Boris Binetsky, Demetrius Stitskevich and Vladimir Polyakov were put on trial for serving according to the old style. The establishment of the dictatorship of King Charles II in Romania in February, 1938 was accompanied by an increase of persecution for national and calendarist reasons. The point was that the Romanian kings were of Austrian origin and were only formally Orthodox Christians, they were not much concerned for the fate of Romania, the people and the Church. On the whole they were only a façade behind which various civil and ecclesiastical functionaries committed their deeds of darkness. “One of the accusationlaid at the door of the Old Calendarists, including Fr. Glycerius, was their links with the ‘Iron Guard’ (or legionaires) organisation, which had been forbidden by the king. In the autumn of 1938 many arrests, trails and shootings of prominent legionaries took place round the country. This movement was quite often false accused of Nazism. But what did this right-wing organisation really represent in Romania? Once could hardly call a movement whose main task was the education of his supporters in the Orthodox faith and in faithfulness to the Church of Christ – a Nazi organisation. Being not only a political, but also a spiritual opposition to the totalitarian-military authorities, and at the same time waging an inexorable struggle against any physical or spiritual manifestation of communism in Romania, the legionaires often went against the political ambitions of the unspiritual politicians. At the end of the 1930s massive blood persecutions of the legionaires began, as a result of which the leaders of the movement (for example, Corneliu Codreanu) were shot, while ordinary members, including adolescents, were imprisoned in prisons and camps, in which many died from unbearable labours and humiliations, while many spent decades in them. … “In 1939 Fr. Glycerius found himself, as the result of the denunciation of a new calendarist priest, in a special camp for legionaires in Miercurea Ciuc. In November of the same year there came an order to divide all the prisoners into two parts and shoot one part and then the other. When the first group had been shot, Fr. Glycerius and several legionaires who were in the second group prayed a thanksgiving moleben to the Lord God and the Mother of God for counting them worthy of death in the Orthodox faith. The Lord worked a miracle – suddenly there arrived a governmental order decreeing clemency. “A few months late Bessarabia was occupied by the Red army, and a year after that Romania entered into war with the USSR. The Old Calendarists, in order to preserve Orthodoxy unharmed, were forced literally to enter the deep catacombs, founding secret sketes in the woods and the mountains…” Metropolitan Cyprian has provided us with some more details of the persecution of the 1930s: “[Patriarch Miron Cristea] ordered all of the churches of the True Orthodox Christians razed, and imprisoned any cleric or monastic who refused to submit to his authority. The monks and nuns were incarcerated in two monasteries, where they were treated with unheard of barbarity. Some of them, such as Hieromonk Pambo, founder of the Monastery of Dobru (which was demolished and rebuilt three times), met with a martyr’s end. During the destruction of the Monastery of Cucova, five lay people were thrown into the monastery well and drowned. By such tactics the Patriarch wished to rid himself of the Old Calendarist problem! “Hieromonk Glycerius was arrested in September of 1936 during a large demonstration at Piatra Neamt, where many were killed. He was taken under guard to Bucharest and there condemned to death. He was, however, miraculously saved, in that the Theotokos appeared to the wife of the Minister of Justice and gave her an order to intercede with her husband on Father Glycerius’ behalf. Her husband did not react in the manner of Pilate, but rather commuted Father Glycerius’ death sentence and ordered him imprisoned in a distant monastery… “Father Glycerius made two trips to Greece. During his first visit, he became a monk of the Great Schema at the Skete of St. John the Baptist on Mt Athos. On his second visit, in 1936, he met several bishops of the True Orthodox Church of Greece, viz., Germanus.. and Matthew (Bishop Chrysostom.. was away in the East), who decided to consecrate him a bishop. Before Bishop Chrysostom’s consent to proceed with this was obtained, however, Father Glycerius was expelled from Greece… “With the outbreak of World War II in 1939, Father Glycerius was set free and, along with his beloved co-struggler, Deacon David Bidascu, fled into the forest. There the two lived in indescribable deprivation and hardship, especially during the winter. In the midst of heavy snows, when their few secret supporters could not get frugal provisions to them, the Fathers were obliged to eat worms! However, Divine Providence protected them from their persecutors and, directed by that same Providence, the birds of the sky would erase traces of the Fathers’ footprints in the snow by flying about and flapping their wings in the snow. And despite the harsh cold, not once did they light a fire, lest the smoke might betray their refuge. (We might note that the cold often approaches thirty degrees below zero during the winter in Romania.) Other ascetics were also hidden in the deserts, among them Father Damascene, Father Paisius, et al.” from The Orthodox Church at the Crossroads – From 1900 to the Present Day by Vladimir Moss Persecution During the Communist Period The Communists were generally more tolerant towards the Old Calendarists, but this does not mean that persecutions ceased. Likewise, the Old Calendar Church still had no legal status. The life of Bishop Demosten (Ionita) perhaps best illustrates what the Old Calendar clergy had to endure. Bishop Demosten was born on July 1 (n.s.), 1927, in the city of Covasna, and was given the name Dmitri at baptism. In 1951, Dmitri entered the Holy Transfiguration Monastery in Slatioara. From 1952-54, he served his term in the army, after which he returned to the monastery and was tonsured a monk under Metropolitan Silvester in 1955. The following year Metropolitan Galaction ordained him to the diaconate, and in 1957 Metropolitan Glicherie ordained him to the priesthood. Within a month after his ordination, Fr. Demosten went to Bucharest to assist Bishop Evloghie who was in hiding. There he was betrayed by an Old Calendar priest and arrested. The authorities demanded that Fr. Demosten reveal the whereabouts of the bishop, which he refused. On July 23, 1958, Fr. Demosten was again arrested. He, with a group of chanters, had served a funeral for his cousin in a closed church. A New Calendar priest reported this to the authorities, which resulted in his and the chanters’ arrest. Six officers took Fr. Demosten to the city of Tirgu-Mures. Upon his arrival, he was led to a room where several guards took off his clothes, and later shaved off his hair and beard. His prison cell had a cement bed with no covers. For five months the civil authorities investigated and interrogated Fr. Demosten in an attempt to find some excuse to have him sentenced. The first round of questioning went along these lines: Interrogator: What activity does Glicherie have in this country? What measures does he plan to take against the Communists? Fr. Demosten: The Metropolitan teaches us to work, pray, and obey. Interrogator: Where are you hiding your guns? Fr. Demosten: Our guns are our church books. Chief Interrogator: Why doesn’t he tell us where the guns are? Hang him! At this point, Fr. Demosten lost consciousness and fell to the floor. When he awoke, he found himself in his cell with a doctor. The doctor asked where he hurt and why he had fallen. Fr. Demosten responded, “I don’t remember.” The doctor kicked him and responded, “This is our medicine for Old Calendarists who want to kill Communists.” Fr. Demosten spent the next seven years in concentration camps. [7] His experiences could comprise a chapter of Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago. The prisoners were starved, tortured, and denied any form of comfort. At one point Fr. Demosten was so exhausted that he could not even remember the Lord’s Prayer. In 1959 the authorities promised all religious prisoners from his camp freedom if they signed a declaration of apostasy. Out of 2,000 prisoners only 90 agreed to sign. In the prison camp in Salcia, Fr. Demosten saw prisoners being trampled by horses as he and others worked on building canals and other projects in the freezing winter. Many years later, Fr. Demosten met one of the prison guards of Salcia, who informed him that it was indeed a miracle he had survived, for the guards had orders that no one was to leave that camp alive. In 1964 Fr. Demosten was freed from prison. When his mother saw him for the first time in seven years, she asked, “Why did they release you, did you compromise the faith?” His mother was relieved to hear that her son had not betrayed the Church; this was her main concern. After three weeks he was again under house arrest. Fr. Demosten fled to the forests and lived in hiding for five more years. In a recent interview, Bishop Demosten reflected on those times: “I never received a formal education. It is true we are not so well educated as the New Calendar clergy. However, I met their theologians who claim that fasting is not important, that dogmas and the traditions of the Church are subject to change. I saw bishops of the State Church act as puppets of the Communists, which not only scandalized the faithful, but compromised the integrity of the Romanian Church throughout the world. My seminary was seven years of prison, my academy was five years of hiding in the forest. I thank God that He did not send me to the New Calendarists’ schools, but that He was merciful to me and gave me the best possible theological training: seven years in Communist prison camps. Once I asked the prison authorities why they cared about the Old Calendarists, and they replied that it was because we pray and fast too much… Tell the Orthodox in America and elsewhere to preserve the faith of their fathers, and to live an active Orthodox faith according to the teachings of the Church.” from The Old Calendar Church of Romania – A Short History by V. Boldewskul from Orthodox Life, Vol. 42, No. 5, Oct.-Nov. 1992, pp. 11-17. ← Two New Bishops Received into the American Metropolia for Russia, Germany Prominent NC Priest Protopresbyter Theodore Zisis Ceases Commemoration of His Bishop → Mother Pelagia at Lesna Convent (RTOC) is in poor health August 7, 2011 NFTU NEWS Brother Nathaniel (Kapner) Misrepresents ROAC Position December 13, 2005 NFTU ST NICHOLAS CONVENT/ROCA DIOCESAN CENTER 2nd FUNDRAISING APPEAL!

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British performance poet Dr. John Cooper Clarke to perform Dublin show in March John Cooper Clarke is one of the more influential figures in British punk and rock history. The performance artist rose to prominence in the 70s under the label of ‘the people’s poet’, an indicator of the working-class ethos which has often served as a foundation for his work. Clarke is releasing The Luckiest Guy Alive, his first collection of new poetry in decades and is doing a small tour to accompany its release. The poet will come to Vicar Street on March 19th as part of that tour, performing a mix of old and new material. Both Plan B and Arctic Monkeys have named Clarke as an influence, with the latter featuring his poetry on their track ‘I Wanna Be Yours’. Tickets are on sale now at €35+ here. Performance Poetry Punk Poet Vicar Street Luke Sharkey Tuesday, October 30, 2018 The best gigs & clubs in Dublin this week The Hot Sprockets have called it a day

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> Home > University of Southern California > Special Collections ∞ https://oac.cdlib.org/findaid/ark:/13030/c8wd4130/ Finding aid for the 1952 Steel Crisis pamphlets 6011 Contact University of Southern California::Special Collections Collection of pamphlets from various unions and the United States government about the conflicts and strikes in the first administration of President Harry S. Truman. In the United States the end of World War II was followed by an uneasy transition from war to a peacetime economy. President Truman was faced with the renewal of labor disputes that had remained in a dormant state during the war years, severe shortages in housing and consumer products, and widespread dissatisfaction with inflation, which at one point rose by 6% in a single month. In this polarized environment, a wave of strikes destabilized major industries, and Truman's response to them was generally seen as ineffective. In the spring of 1946, a national railway strike, which had never happened in the country, led virtually all passengers and their luggage to remain at a standstill for over a month. When the railway workers and coal miners turned down a proposed settlement, Truman seized control of the railways and threatened to deal with the issue of striking workers with use of the armed forces. While delivering a speech before Congress requesting authority for this plan, Truman received the news that the strike had been settled. 0.21 Linear feet 1 box All requests for permission to publish or quote from manuscripts must be submitted in writing to the Manuscripts Librarian. Permission for publication is given on behalf of Special Collections as the owner of the physical items and is not intended to include or imply permission of the copyright holder, which must also be obtained. COLLECTION STORED OFF-SITE. Advance notice required for access. Historical note

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The Experience of Cinema Festival du nouveau cinéma 2017: A Preview by Donato Totaro September 29, 2017 11 minutes (2736 words) With the FNC (Festival of New Cinema) just around the corner (October 4-15, 2017), I thought I would outline some of the potentially choice films on slate for this 46th edition. These suggestions are based largely on pre-festival buzz, firsthand knowledge of said film or previous works of the same filmmaker, or cues set forth by the FNC itself. In hope of instilling some sense of order, I’ll will work through specific sections of the festival, most of them long-standing sections, some relatively new. It is not easy making a religious comedy in Nazareth but that’s exactly what actor/director Shady Srour does in Holy Air. In Holy Air Catholics, Jews and Muslims are united by the potential of a lucrative side industry when a man, played by Srour, comes up with the idea of packaging one gram of fresh holy air taken from the fresh mountain surroundings of Nazareth into a bottle and selling it for 1 Euro to tourists. Not sure what it is doing in the International Competition section at a Canadian festival, but Luc Bourdon follows up his excellent found footage film from 2008 La Mémoire des anges with more of the same structure-wise —rummaging through film archives in search of film images from the 1970s—with La Part du Diable. Like the 2007 Persepolis, Téhéran Tabou uses the medium of animation to paint a raw expose of sexual hypocrisy in Iran. Co-produced by Austria and Germany and directed by Iranian Ali Soozandeh, the film has been, unsurprising given its harsh and politically incorrect subject, banned in Iran. Another film in this competition coming with good advance notice is the German realist neo-western Western by Valeska Grisebach. The drama pits a group of migrant German workers who go to Bulgaria for construction work up against unwelcome locals. Also in the International Competition Kantemir Balagov’s Closeness, which played to good press at Cannes, is an intense drama about ethnic divide in Russia’s North Caucasus that comes with an excellent pedigree: Balagov trained under Alexandr Sokurov. Sometimes a trailer alone can make you want to see a film which just may be the case with this surreal dialogueless short film, Deer Boy. Focus Québec/Canada There are some potential gems in the awkwardly titled “Focus Québec/Canada”. In fact at the press conference outgoing co-founder and co-programmer Claude Chamberlan, who surprisingly announced he would be “passing over the puck” to his fellow long-time programmer Philippe Gajan next year, volunteered free passes to anyone who can come up with a better name for the section (what’s wrong with “Focus Canada”?). But then again, “Quebec” is listed as an option to select in their pull-down “Country” search menu, which will certainly confuse non-Canadians, and surely anger some staunch Federalists! Black Cop marks the feature film directorial debut of Corey Bowles, who plays the über stupid Corey on the TV show The Trailer Park Boys. Bowles surely does not pick an easy topic for his first film –the very topical subject, both in Canada and US— of police brutality. Mixing found footage with fiction, Black Cop just might be Canada’s answer to Get Out! I am intrigued by the short film Born in the Maelstrom by Meryam Joobeur largely because it stars Sasha Lane, who made such a striking debut in Andrea Arnold’s American Honey, which I saw at last year’s FNC. Lane has many films in production but Born in the Maelstrom is her first completed film after her debut. It plays as part of the Short Fiction Focus #5. Also a debut with big anticipation is Sophie Bédard Marcotte’s Claire L’Hiver. I am very curious to see Indian Horse, directed by Montrealer (long time Los Angeles resident) Stephen S. Campanelli. Campanelli did his undergrad in Cinema at Concordia University and then established himself in Hollywood as a premiere Steadicam operator, working for decades as Clint Eastwood’s operator of choice. A few years back Campanelli premiered his first directorial effort at Fantasia, an action thriller called Momentum. Indian Horse represents a change of pace, as it deals with the coming-of-age of a Ojibwa boy growing up in 1960s Ontario during the period of the residential schools, which were Catholic sponsored government schools. The ill treatment of Indigenous youth in these residential schools is getting considerable exposure in recent years, and was given an insider’s view in Jeff Barnaby’s Rhymes for Young Ghouls (2013). Socially engaged indigenous subject matter informs the debut feature of Vancouver based Métis filmmaker Wayne Wapeemukwa’s Luk’lLuk’l, which uses an episodic structure to follow five characters on the fringe of society during the 2010 Winter Olympics. Consensus from reviews are that the film is a flawed but inventive and ambitious blend of documentary and experimental style. An interview with the director can be read on the POV online magazine. Temps Ø The Temps Ø section remains, as always, my favorite, where I am certain to find the wild and the weird. Along more conventional (though not, apparently too) lines is the Quebec made zombie film Les Affamés, by Robin Aubert. As described by the programmer of the Temps Ø section Julien Fronfrede, the film manages to be a fully home-grown (the zombie attack takes place in a small Quebec town) and original film but with the dynamics you would expect to find in the zombie film. Temps Ø was made for the sensibility of Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who is featured with his alien invasion film Before We Vanish. Japan is no stranger to alien invasions, beginning of course with the venerable Godzilla (1954), who attacked the shores of Tokyo from under its waters, to its countless sequels, reboots and offshoots, to the classic Goke: Body Snatchers From Hell, which contains one of the most visceral alien takeover techniques ever filmed, with the gooey aliens entering into their human hosts through a vaginal slit in the forehead. But if you know Kurosawa then don’t expect anything along these lines, and you should be fine. Expect a film that is as thematically ambiguous as his other films but with more humor and a less languid pace. Before We Vanish Temps Ø revisits familiar friends with the return of the Belgium directing couple, Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, and their new feature, Laissez Bronzer Les Cadavres. With this film the couple leave behind their comfort zone of the giallo for the crime thriller film, but they have not abandoned their will to experiment formally with conventional plot. In this case a gang of three laying low after stealing a load of gold. The use of three killers and a load of gold recalls The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, while the imagery of a man bathed in liquid gold recalls the surrealist spaghetti western Django Kill….If You Live, Shoot! (1967, Giulio Questi). Which suggests that Cattet and Forzani have merely slid over from the giallo to the spaghetti western, a genre they have already revisited with their short film Santos Palace. The FNC is also bathing the couple in their own form of gold by bestowing a complete retrospective of their work, which includes the three features and all their short films, including the noted Santos Palace. Belgium is featured with two other films in this section, including Mon Ange, a love story between an invisible man and blind woman which, by that description alone, can only be redolent with allegory and fantasy. Fronfrede has always had a soft spot for Japanese cinema, so it is no surprise to see the return of Beat Takeshi Kitano in the third film in his gangster trilogy, Outrage Coda (Outrage, Outrage Beyond). Expect Kitano’s blend of rapid fire bursts of violence and sardonic characterisations. Laissez Bronzer Les Cadavres Temps Ø includes two mouth-watering retro titles, a 35mm screening of Kathyrn Bigelow’s cult modern gothic vampire tale, Near Dark, in celebration of its 30th anniversary (already?), and a new digital restoration of Production Designer Saul Bass’ first and only foray in directing, the compelling science-fiction film Phase IV (1974). Set in the Arizona desert, three scientists played by Michael Murphy, Nigel Davenport, and Lynne Frederick (the stunning mute woman opposite Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes) operate out of a high-tech laboratory studying the habits of ants. They get more than they bargained for and end up being subjects of study themselves, leading to a hair-raising (if somewhat ludicrous) ending. Bass manages to concoct an unusual one-of-a-kind piece of genre cinema by blending documentary style macrophotography with a 1960s psychedelic visual style, packaged as environmental alarmism of the most surreal order. I wonder when, if ever, this has last played in Montreal on a big screen. Perhaps the must see film of this year’s FNC? The spaghetti western also takes center stage in the History of Cinema section, with some real nuggets including a restored 35mm print of Sergio Sollima’s classic political-comedy spaghetti western, Face to Face (directed by one of the four great Italian “Sergio’s, Leone, Corbucci, and Martino being the other three). Face to Face stars an actor who had serious off-screen left wing leanings, Gian Maria Volente, and another born in a Communist country, Cuban Tomas Milan (who actually left Cuba for the US before the Cuban Communist revolution, and sadly died in March of 2017). Face to Face is less gothic and baroque than some westerns by Leone, Giulio Questi or Sergio Corbucci and prefers a more measured and strongly character driven style. Nonetheless it remains one of the great Spaghetti westerns. The other one is indeed one of the five or so greatest spaghetti westerns, the snow-set The Great Silence (Corbucci), starring a mute Jean-Louis Trintignant, who has a relationship with a black woman, played by Vonetta McGee), and comes up against a psychotic Klaus Kinski. While minimalist in its score (by the great Ennio Morricone) and setting, The Great Silence oozes atmosphere and is blessed with a stellar cast (Mario Brega, the brute from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Klaus Kinski as the vicious blue-eyed killer who smiles while he shoots you, American born Italian genre veteran Frank Wolff as a psychologically scarred sheriff, Luigi Pistilli, Tuco’s priest brother in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and Marisa Merlini). The festival claims a fully restored digital restoration. This one is not to be missed. The other spaghetti western of note showing in this retro is Keoma (perhaps Franco Nero’s greatest role as the mixed-blood titular anti-hero). The Great Silence The History of Cinema section puts a strong emphasis on directors who have innovated within the popular genre, such as the crime films of Seijun Suzuki, Alejandro Jodorowsky (the western, El Topo), Ovidie (pornography, Les Prédatrices) and Klim Shipenko (science-fiction, Salyut-7). The section titled Les Incontournables features films by contemporary marquee festival circuit auteurs, which means films that have scored success at other major festivals (or are on their road to such success). Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos, who scored a major festival hit with his absurdist satire Lobster (2015) returns with an equally bizarre and allegorical (but queasier than Lobster) horror film, The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017). Korean arthouse auteur Hong sang soo is included with two films, The Day After (2017) and Claire’s Camera (2017). Bruno Dumont reinvents himself with the rock opera based on Joan of Arc, Jeannette, L’Enfance du Jeanne D’Arc. Raoul Peck follows up his searing James Baldwin study I am Not Your Negro (2016) with another political subject, this one a bit more orthodox, a biographical drama about the meeting between a young Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, in Le Jeune Karl Marx (2017). Canada’s artist provocateur Bruce LaBruce spices things up with his campy agit-prop feminist take The Misandrist (2017), about a school that trains lesbian porno terrorists to supplant patriarchy. Like most of LaBruce’s films, expect a bit of trash mixed in with the agitation. Speaking of camp, this section also features a screening of John Badham’s disco magic, Saturday Night Fever (1977), in honor of its 40th anniversary (already!). Palme D’Or winner The Square by Ruben Östlund is set to enchant Montreal with its wild and irreverent episodic satire on contemporary Swedish society. Festival favorite New Brunswick born Montrealer Denis Coté’s latest film, Ta Peau si lisse, (2017) is a documentary study on the hardships and obsessive lifestyles of six bodybuilders. A new film by Todd Haynes is always a treat, and this section presents his latest ode to temporal non-linearity, Wonderstruck, which alternatives between two twinned characters living fifty years apart, in 1927 and 1977. One of the most anticipated films of this section, partly for sentimental reasons, and the timing of the recent finale of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks: The Return, is Lucky, which features the final performance of recently deceased Harry Dean Stanton, and David Lynch, and is directed by John Carroll (no relation) Lynch. A section which to me has always defined the FNC is Les Nouveaux Alchimistes, formerly known as FNC Lab. One of the highlights for me this year is the Masterclass by Austrian experimental filmmaker Gustav Deutsch. I discovered his exceptional found footage films through the Austrian DVD label, Index, which I covered in a special issue many years ago. Discussing his series Film Ist. I wrote, “The project is unique in that it is part archival document, part theory and part history. Using the found footage format Deutsch uses mainly early cinema extracts, along with ephemeral cinema (science films, educational films, etc.) to recount a visual-audio poem to both film history and an open-ended philosophical query into the ontology of film. Because of its found footage nature the project has much in common with Al Razutis’ earlier projects Amerika and Visual Essays: Origins of Film, the more recent works of Bill Morrison, Richard Kerr (collage d’hollywood, 2003) and his compatriot Peter Tscherkassky.“ The Masterclass is animated by Hors Champ editor André Habib and promises to be an invigorating exploration of found-footage cinema. The found footage experimental form is also represented by Mike Holboom’s From the Archives of the Red Cross (2017), which selects and groups together thematically linked images from the archives of the Red Cross, similar (though in a more experimental vein) to what Luc Bourdon does with the NFB archives in La Mémoire des anges and La Part du Diable. Fans of the searing, mind-blowing experimental Episode 8 of Lynch’s Twin Peaks” The Return will not want to miss the screening of Bruce Conner’s 1976 Crossroads, described in the catalogue as “36 minutes of extreme slow-motion replays of the July 25, 1946 Operation Crossroads Baker underwater nuclear test at Bikini Atoll in the Pacific.” Crossroads is also the subject of Ross Lipman’s The Exploding Digital Inevitable (2017), which is Lipman’s follow-up to his fascinating video essay on the Beckett-Keaton film Film, Notfilm (2015). FNC regular and fave Philippe Grandrieux returns with a 46-minute piece of performance art meets contemporary dance Unrest (Philippe Grandrieux), which continues the director’s experimentation with the human body and cinematic space. Edge of Alchemy Abigail Child offers a tribute to American anarchist-feminist activist Emma Goldman (1869-1940), who died in Toronto in 1940. Child presents the impact of her work indirectly using an evocative collage style marrying excerpts of her writing with archival footage and re-enactments of varying protests across America during the 20th century. With the 100th anniversary of Mary Shelley’s paramount novel Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818) just around the corner (already!), I recommend Stacey Steers’s 19 minute short re-imagining of the Frankenstein story, Edge of Alchemy, using life action footage of actresses Janet Gaynor and Mary Pickford rotoscoped (?) into a digitally animated universe of flowers, bees and scientific instruments. According to the filmmaker website, Edge of Alchemy is a “handmade film, assembled from over 6,000 collages, the actors Mary Pickford and Janet Gaynor are appropriated from their early silent features and cast into a surreal epic with an unending of the Frankenstein story.” The film was shot on 35mm and transferred to 4K. This preview barely scratches the surface of the great diversity of films, events (including three intriguing cine-concerts, virtual reality screenings, a market, a quiz-cinema, etc.) and performances on show at the 46th edition of Montreal’s always changing, always evolving Festival de nouveau cinéma. Featured photo from The Killing of a Sacred Deer Donato Totaro has been the editor of the online film journal Offscreen since its inception in 1997. Totaro received his PhD in Film & Television from the University of Warwick (UK), is a part-time professor in Film Studies at Concordia University (Montreal, Canada) and a longstanding member of AQCC (Association québécoise des critiques de cinéma). More by Donato Email Donato Follow @dtotaro1 Capsule Reviews, Festival Reports abigail child, canadian cinema, claude chamberlan, experimental cinema, festival of new cin Demons (Lamberto Bava, 1985) Douglas Buck Damien: Omen II (Don Taylor,1978) Unholy Rollers (Vernon Zimmerman, 1972) It Happened One Night (Frank Capra, 1934)

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The Iraq Project Documenting U.S. policy toward Iraq for more than two decades The National Security Archive’s Iraq Project began in the early 1990s and has worked for more than two decades to secure and curate historically significant documents regarding U.S. relations with Iraq, with a specific emphasis on “Iraqgate” and the 2003 Iraq War. The Iraq Project first published a 10,000-page document collection in 1994 on the “Iraqgate” scandal –the extensive financial, intelligence, and (at minimum, indirect) military support provided to Saddam Hussein by the Reagan and first Bush administrations, in full knowledge of Iraq’s repressive policies and widespread and illegal use of chemical weapons. The Iraq Project will publish a second document collection on the 2003 Iraq War in 2017. In addition to these two major document collections, the Iraq project has posted 25 Electronic Briefing Boks to date, which complement 16 separate ones on terrorism. US Documents Help Contextualize Iraqi Records on Iranian Nuclear Program In Wake of Chevron Spat, Declassified Documents Show Tricky History of US-Iraqi-Kurdish Affairs Document Friday: When Iran Bombed Iraq’s Nuclear Reactor Document Friday: Joint Chiefs of Staff “History” Brief of the Iraq War Gets it Dead Wrong. Document Friday: A Soldier’s Handbook to Iraq– “FOUO [For Official Use Only] TOP SECRET POLO STEP Shaking Hands: Iraqi President Saddam Hussein greets Donald Rumsfeld, then special envoy of President Ronald Reagan, in Baghdad on December 20, 1983. Saddam Hussein’s fingerprint Featured Posting The Iraq War Ten Years After Archive Electronic Briefing Books Cited in This Posting THE IRAQ WAR -- PART II: Was There Even a Decision? THE IRAQ WAR -- PART I: The U.S. Prepares for... Foreign Policy Features CIA Document Released to National Security Archive The Iraq War --Part III: Shaping the Debate The Iraq War -- Part I: The U.S. Prepares for Conflict, 2001 Saddam Hussein Talks to the FBI: PR Push for Iraq War Preceded Intelligence Findings U.S. Military Hoped for Virtually Unlimited Freedom of Action in Iraq The Record on Curveball Iraq: The Media War Plan More Postings >> A war built on falsehood John Bolton, the ultrahawk rumored to be Trump’s next national security adviser, explained Ahmad Chalabi “The Fabricator” In foreign policy, the moral high ground is only an occasional destination Iraq: How the CIA Says It Blew It on Saddam’s WMD More In the Media >> DNSA Document Sets Iraqgate: Saddam Hussein, U.S. Policy and the Prelude to the Persian Gulf War, 1980–1994 The collection brings together a wealth of materials which trace U.S. policy toward Iraq prior to the Persian Gulf War, as well as U.S. government reactions to revelations about the Banca Nazionale del Lavoro (BNL) scandal and the secret arming of Saddam Hussein's regime. The set also focuses on the economic issues at play in the U.S. relationship with Iraq. Documents are derived from virtually every federal agency involved in U.S.-Iraq policy and the BNL affair. The collection contains 1,900 documents representing nearly 10,000 pages of rarely-seen documentation from the highest levels of government. Hoodwinked: The Documents That Reveal How Bush Sold Us a War by John Prados, The New Press, 2014. In America, the wife of the former ambassador who exposed George Bush’s sixteen-word State of the Union fib about uranium from Niger, is now being harassed by allies of the administration. In Britain, the scientist who blew the whistle on Tony Blair has been driven to suicide. Joyce Battle is Director of Publications and Senior Analyst for the Archive's projects on South Asia and the Middle East. She received her B.A. from the University of Michigan in Anthropology and Near Eastern Languages and Literature, an M.S. in Library Studies from Columbia University, and an M.A. in Near Eastern Regional Studies from Harvard University. She directs the Archive's project on Iraq and edited the Digital National Security Archive publication (DNSA) Iraqgate: Saddam Hussein, U.S. Policy, and the Prelude to the Persian Gulf War, 1980-1994. Currently, she is working on a series of DNSA document collections on the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

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Archive for the ‘Peyton Siva’ Category numerology for Peyton Siva Posted in "secret" number (month +y+e+a+r of birth), 34 (Eight of Wands), 39 (Knight of Cups), 42 (Two of Cups), 43 (Three of Cups), 47 (Seven of Cups), 53 (Knight of Swords), Peyton Siva on March 18, 2013| Leave a Comment » Standing in the center circle for the opening tipoff of the last tournament of the old Big East, Louisville’s Gorgui Dieng knew the moment was weighty, but he may not have recognized just how much so. Not until he sat at his locker after the game, with a shiny black box containing a shiny tournament championship ring in his lap, did he allow a moment of reflection. “I’m never going to forget that,” Dieng said of the tipoff. “It’s a great memory. I had a lot of fun.” It seems somehow fitting that the first player to touch the ball Saturday was Dieng, the 6-foot-11 center from Senegal, who had never watched a Big East tournament game until he played in one, as a freshman in 2011. He had no idea what the tournament format meant then or how it unfolded. But in three seasons, as the starting center on two title-winning teams, Dieng has made himself an indelible part of the tournament’s history. He was the centerpiece of Louisville’s defense Saturday, when their second-half turnaround led to a 78-61 victory against Syracuse, ending the game on a 44-10 run. The Cardinals went into halftime trailing, 35-22, but with an understanding of the defensive adjustment they needed to make. Syracuse had made 6 of 12 3-pointers, including two each by James Southerland and C. J. Fair. That could not happen again. The Cardinals made certain it did not with their two guards, Peyton Siva and Russ Smith, defending the ball around the perimeter incessantly, not allowing the Orange’s outside shooters any breathing room to even consider pulling the trigger. They could afford to gamble and extend because of Dieng, the conference’s defensive player of the year, who was an intimidating force in the middle. “We dog the basketball and make a frenzy,” Smith said. “When you have a presence like that in the paint, it makes things a lot easier.” Dieng did many of the little things for Louisville — hustling after loose balls, passing in the middle of Syracuse’s zone, screening for the ball-carriers and bringing down tough rebounds when needed. He finished with 9 points, 9 rebounds, 8 assists, 2 steals and a block, “Gorgui was the facilitator,” Louisville Coach Rick Pitino said, referring to his role in the offense. For most of the game, Dieng was positioned at about the free-throw line in the center of Syracuse’s 2-3 zone, and his size created sight lines he could use to find the open man. Often it was Montrezl Harrell, who scored 20 points. Dieng’s wraparound pass to Harrell for a dunk with 2 minutes 32 seconds left was one of the game’s many highlights. “You need length to play against Syracuse,” Pitino said, nodding at Harrell. “That’s where this young man came in. You’ve got Gorgui and him.” The Cardinals were second in the nation in steals a game this season with 10.8, but they did not seem to dial up the defensive intensity until the second half Saturday. Syracuse went into halftime having turned the ball over only seven times; by the end of the game, their total was 20. “They’re the best pressing team that we’ve seen all year,” Syracuse Coach Jim Boeheim said. Dieng’s improvement over the last year might be the biggest difference for Louisville, which went to the Final Four a season ago with largely the same lineup it trotted out Saturday. Dieng, though, has made significant strides. He was named the Big East’s defensive player of the year after averaging 9.9 rebounds, 2.6 blocks and 1.3 steals a game. He also shot 51 percent from the field and averaged a career-high 10.1 points. Pitino screams his name constantly (Pitino pronounces it “Gaw-gee!” in his New York accent), positioning the lanky center in Louisville’s complex offensive sets like an oversized chess piece. “Sometimes he gets me confused,” Dieng said, smiling. “But I listen to him. I know he puts me in the right spot.” He knows now what the Big East tournament means, now that he has been at the top of the ladder twice, as the unassuming man in the middle who has learned a lot in three short years. “No one’s going to mention basketball now in the Big East without mentioning us,” Dieng said. “That’s a good thing.” from: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/17/sports/ncaabasketball/gorgui-dieng-powers-louisvilles-defense-and-its-big-comeback.html Peyton Siva Jr. was born on October 24th, 1990 according to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peyton_Siva 10 + 24 +1+9+9+0 = 53 = his life lesson = Offense. Having a warrior spirit. 10 + 24 = 34 = his core number = Quick. Fast. Speedy. Agile. Generating a buzz. Meteoric rise. 24 +1+9+9+0 = 43 = his “secret” number = Congratulations. Celebrating. Fun times. 10 + 24 +2+0+1+2 = 39 = his personal year (from October 24th, 2012 to October 23rd, 2013) = Dream come true. 39 year + 3 (March) = 42 = his personal month (from March 24th, 2013 to April 23rd, 2013) = Everybody loves Peyton Siva. Peyton Siva 757265 1941 47 his path of destiny = 47 = Fame. Name recognition. Having a bright future. predictions for the year 2013 are at: http://marriagenumerology.com/

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Newly created embryo nourishes hope for the survival of the northern white rhino In December 2019 the team of scientists and conservationists repeated the egg collection from the northern white rhinos in Kenya and was able to create a new embryo over Christmas. In August 2019 a team of scientists and conservationists broke new ground in saving the northern white rhinoceros from extinction. They harvested eggs from the two remaining females, artificially inseminated those using frozen sperm from deceased males and created two viable northern white rhino embryos. With great support from the Kenyan Government and in the presence of Hon Najib Balala, – Kenya’s Cabinet Secretary, Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife – the team repeated the procedure on December 17, 2019, and was able to create a new embryo over Christmas. This significantly increases the chances of successfully producing offspring. The procedure has proven to be safe and reproducible, and can be performed on a regular basis before the animals become too old. Preparations for the next steps of the northern white rhino rescue mission are underway. Four months after the ground breaking first “ovum pickup” in August 2019, the team repeated the procedure with northern white rhinos Najin and Fatu on December 17, 2019, at Ol Pejeta Conservancy in Kenya. The animals were placed under general anaesthetic and nine immature egg cells (oocytes) – three from Najin and six from Fatu – were harvested from the animals’ ovaries using a probe guided by ultrasound. The anaesthesia and the ovum pickup went smoothly and without any complications. The oocytes were transported immediately to the Avantea Laboratory in Italy. After incubating and maturing nine eggs, four from Fatu and one from Najin were fertilised with sperm using a procedure called ICSI (Intra Cytoplasm Sperm Injection). One out of five eggs from Fatu fertilized with semen from Suni developed into a viable embryo with the help of Geri®, an innovative benchtop incubator with integrated continuous embryo monitoring capabilities designed to provide an individualized and undisturbed incubation environment, donated by Merck. The embryo is now stored in liquid nitrogen along with the two embryos from the first procedures. Hon. Najib Balala, Cabinet Secretary for Kenya’s Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife “As a government, we are glad that the northern white rhino in-vitro fertilisation project by a consortium of scientists and conservationists from Kenya, Czech Republic, Germany and Italy collaborative partnership has been able to successfully produce three pure northern white rhino embryos ready for implantation into southern white rhino as surrogate mothers in coming months. This is a big win for Kenya and its partners, as the northern white rhinos are faced with the threat of imminent extinction, where only two of them, females Najin and Fatu, are left in the whole world and are currently hosted by Kenya. It’s a delicate process, and for that, we thank the concerned parties, the Kenya Wildlife Service, Ol Pejeta Conservancy, Leibniz Institute for Zoo and Wildlife Research, Avantea Laboratory and Dvůr Králové Zoo, for putting in all of their efforts in ensuring that the critically endangered species do not disappear from the planet under our watch. I urge the scientists to continue digging deeper into technology and innovations to ensure that not only this concerned species does not go extinct, but other species that are faced with similar threats. The fact that Kenya is at the centre of this scientific breakthrough also makes me very proud. It’s amazing to see that we will be able to reverse the tragic loss of this subspecies through science.” Preparations for the next steps of the mission for saving the northern white rhino from extinction are underway simultaneously to the creation of embryos. The plan is to select a group of southern white rhinos at Ol Pejeta Conservancy from which a female could serve as surrogate mother for the northern white rhino embryo. To achieve the best possible results for work with pure northern white rhino embryos, the team relies on experience from similar embryo transfer procedures in southern white rhinos that have been performed in order to address reproduction challenges in European zoos. Despite the fact that more research is still needed, the team expects that a first attempt for this crucial, never before achieved step, may be undertaken in 2020. In December 2019, the team also transported the semen of Sudan, the last northern white rhino male that died in March 2018, from Kenya to Germany. The aim is to use it in future for production of more embryos. However, as the semen was collected in 2014 when Sudan was already over 40 years old, it is necessary to test it first and then see whether it could be used for such purposes. The egg collection, embryo creation and preparation for the embryo transfer is a joint effort by the Leibniz Institute for Zoo and Wildlife Research (Leibniz-IZW), Avantea, Dvůr Králové Zoo, Ol Pejeta Conservancy and the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS). The entire process is part of the “BioRescue” research. Its goal is to significantly advance assisted reproduction techniques (ART) and stem cell associated techniques (SCAT) complemented with a comprehensive ethical assessment carried out by the University of Padova for the benefit of the northern white rhinoceros. The consortium is partially funded by the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research (BMBF) and comprises of internationally renowned institutions from Germany, Italy, Czech Republic, Kenya, Japan and USA. Thomas Hildebrandt, Head Department of Reproduction Management, Leibniz-IZW “Our repeated success in generating a third embryo from Fatu demonstrates that the BioRescue program is on the right track. Now, the team will make every effort to achieve the same result for the 30-year-old Najin before it is too late for her. We are strongly committed to our plan to transfer a northern white embryo into a surrogate mother in 2020 to ensure the survival of the northern white rhino.” Jan Stejskal, Director of International Projects, Dvůr Králové Zoo “We don’t know how many embryos we will need to achieve a successful birth of a new northern white rhino calf. That’s why every embryo is so important and why a long-term cooperation between scientists, experts in zoos and conservationists in field is a crucial element if we want to give hope to a species that would otherwise go extinct in few years.” Cesare Galli, Director, Avantea “Having produced another embryo again from Fatu and none from Najin indicates that we cannot waste more time as aging of the animals is not a favourable condition.” Richard Vigne, Managing Director, Ol Pejeta Conservancy “We have taken yet another small step along the road of saving the northern white rhino from extinction. We have a long way to go and success is far from assured, but Kenya continues to play her part at the centre of a multi-national collaboration to save this species. Let us hope for news of a successful northern white pregnancy in the not too distant future.” Brig (Rtd) John Waweru, Kenya Wildlife Service Director General “We are thrilled at the two successful ovum pick-ups and the subsequent creation of embryos which together mark crucial milestones in the ambitious race to save the majestic Northern White Rhino species from imminent and irreversible extinction. We are delighted at the steady progress every time such a step is made. The more than decade-long journey Kenya has walked as part of an international collaborative rescue mission is a strong testament to what can be achieved when humanity comes together in a collaborative approach. We remain upbeat at the prospects of the groundbreaking efforts to revive the Northern White Rhino from disappearing from the planet. Kenya Wildlife Service reiterates her commitment to the partnership contributing to this historic initiative that’s pushing the frontiers of science.” Barbara de Mori, Director of the Ethics Laboratory for Veterinary Medicine, Conservation and Animal Welfare – University of Padua “Like the previous ones, even this new embryo has been created under a rigorous ethical assessment of all procedures involved, taking care of the welfare of Najin and Fatu in all aspects. All the stakeholders involved participated in the ethical assessment, confirming the importance to carry on with this project in order to give the two northern white rhino females a chance to rise their offspring and hopefully save their species.” Jan Kirsten, Head of Global Business Franchise for Fertility, Merck “It’s a privilege to support the mission to save the world’s most endangered mammal with our expertise and world-leading technologies. We are excited that a viable, Northern White Rhino embryo has developed with the help of our Geri incubator.” Steven Seet, Head Public Relations, Leibniz-IZW “The additional embryo is a remarkable success. The worldwide public awareness of our conservation research is very important. Media and people show that they care about nature. We hope that supporters will contact us directly to be part of the endeavour of saving the northern white rhinos from extinction.” Contacts Press & Public Relations Leibniz Institute for Zoo and Wildlife Research (Leibniz-IZW) Steven Seet Head of press relations and science communication seet@izw-berlin.de Dvůr Králové Zoo Jan Stejskal Director of Communication and International Projects jan.stejskal@zoodk.cz Elodie Sampere elodie.sampere@olpejetaconservancy.org Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS) Paul Udoto +254/721 453 981 pudoto@kws.go.ke Shenja Schäfer Head of Communications, Core Franchises shenja.schaefer@merckgroup.com Prof. Dr. Thomas Hildebrandt BioRescue project head and head of Department of Reproduction Management hildebrandt@izw-berlin.de Avantea +390 / 372437242 cesaregalli@avantea.it Padua University Barbara de Mori Director of the Ethics Laboratory for Veterinary Medicine, Conservation and Animal +39-3403747666 barbara.demori@unipd.it Dr David Ndeereh Head, Veterinary Services dndeereh@kws.go.ke http://www.biorescue.org/mediapackage_jan2020.zip - Media Package Anja Wirsing Tier- / Agrar- / Forstwissenschaften

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ENVIRONMENT FEATURED Save The Chevin’s Green Belt Campaign Launched 3rd November 2019 Admin 2 Comments Building Plans, Chevin, Green Belt, Sweetings A new action group aims to protect Belper’s historic western landscape following a recent planning application to build new houses near to the heart of Derwent Valley Mills World Heritage Site Kevin and Jayne Sweetings fell in love with The Chevin almost as soon as they moved into their period home on the western-outskirts of Belper over 35 years ago. One of Kevin’s earliest memories of living on Chevin Road, involved taking a walk across open fields on crisp autumnal mornings, before coming back to the warmth of his home to gaze out of the kitchen window at one of Derbyshire’s most famous, unchanged countryside views – the iconic Belper Mill, the birthplace of the industrial revolution. Having enjoyed living in this rural idyll, made-up of characterful cottages, historic farmhouses and agricultural fields, for almost four decades – Kevin and Jayne have now had to join a new community campaign group which is seeking to protect this unaltered landscape from the threat of development and new housing. Despite having no history of taking part in a public protest movement before, Kevin and Jayne signed-up to the Save The Chevin’s Green Belt action group, which has sprung up this autumn to oppose a proposal to build new houses on land located within 250 metres of the world-renowned Derwent Valley Mills Heritage Site. “Having enjoyed a quiet life on The Chevin, surrounded by friends and neighbours in what is a close-knit community, I never imagined that someone would try to apply for planning permission to build new houses on land that lies within such an important and historic landscape,” says Kevin. “We’ve all been very upset to think that the precious green belt of Belper could be eroded and that’s why we’ve joined a protest, which aims to protect and conserve this unique cultural setting for future generations to enjoy,” Kevin explains. “And that’s why, for the first time in our lives, we have decided to pick up a placard and campaign to protect Belper’s heritage.” Kevin was quick to praise the local ward councillor for Belper North, Ben Bellamy, for giving his backing to the community action group. “Ben does an amazing job for the local area. He is so passionate and cares about our community,” he says. “It is great to have his support and all the residents feel so appreciative for that.” Councillor Bellamy – who has been at the forefront of the campaign to protect the green belt across the whole of Amber Valley explained why he was backing the campaign to protect The Chevin’s green belt. “It doesn’t matter whether applicants want to develop ten fields of green belt or ten meters – we’re not prepared to give an inch,” he says. “Quite simply there shouldn’t be any development or housing on our precious green belt.” Walking from Kevin’s Victorian house along a narrow single-track public footpath towards Chevin Road it is impossible not to appreciate the beauty of the area’s agricultural setting. “We fell in love with it straight away,” says Jayne. “We don’t want to see our green belt disappearing – this part of The Chevin is very well used by walkers, cyclists and horse riders. New houses will change the character of this wonderful place forever and that would be a tragedy.” Standing opposite the location of the proposed new housing site, which is dominated by an open agricultural barn, once used for hay storage from a nearby local farm, we’re greeted by a group of placard-waving protestors enjoying the morning sunshine of the October half-term school holidays. At the front of the protest is Jo Hutchinson, a resident of Chevin Road for the last five years – and she’s quick to explain why this rural location is not appropriate for development. “This land, in living memory, has never been used for anything other than agricultural purposes. It forms a backdrop to the famous well-trodden Midshires Way, a popular walking route throughout Amber Valley and beyond,” she explains. “If this corner of green belt disappears we fear what will go next. We all care so passionately about Belper and we love the Derwent Valley Mills World Heritage Site – and we believe the area should not change because it is so popular with residents, walkers and visitors.” And almost on perfect cue, we bump into a local walker and resident, Murkesh Paw, who is passing by with his dog, Ruby. “I love walking on this pathway but in recent years there has been a definite increase in cars and lorries – and I hate that,” he says. “We must preserve these places and I am delighted to offer my support to the Save The Chevin’s Green Belt group.” Another local resident Wendy Gough, who recently purchased a property opposite the proposed development site, expressed concerns about the erosion of the town’s green belt. “If this area goes, we genuinely worry what could be next,” she says. “I hope the planners consider this application very well and then reject it, as it is not appropriate to the local setting.” The planning application to Amber Valley Borough Council (listed as AVA/2019/0874), seeks to build two new residential properties, and it has attracted a number of objections from local consultees. One objection comment said: “Even though each application is judged on its own merit, it would be difficult to prevent wholesale development all along Chevin Road with its roadside land being undeveloped for most of its length.” And another consultee argued: “The site is within the green belt. The land is agricultural. It has never been used for residential purposes.” Adrian Farmer, Heritage Coordinator, Derwent Valley Mills World Heritage Site, has also written to planners expressing concerns about the proposed development. In a public consultation response he says: “The harm to a heritage asset of international significance is unlikely to be outweighed by any public benefit of the private development of two dwellings.” Planners are expected to make a decision on the proposed planning application in early November 2019. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” says Kevin Sweetings. ← Too Many Press Officers For Councils Belper Cosplayer Represents the UK in European Championship → 2 thoughts on “Save The Chevin’s Green Belt Campaign Launched” Susan varney 6th November 2019 at 12:20 pm Use brown sites we need our green belt for bees no bees no human life Janice Lowes 9th November 2019 at 10:34 am How many more green areas do we have to loose before we realise we can not survive without them. Use brown sites. there are plenty of them, and look at other countries to see how they have built upwards but eco friendly. making houses space and neighbour friendly. Besides which isn,t some of this area a flood plain. GDPR, Your Data and Us: http://nailed.community/gdpr-your-data-and-us/

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Naomi Saelens Friendly Words The doorway to confidence is vulnerability By Naomi March 13, 2017 Blog March 13, 2017 Blog Life is a daring adventure. Or nothing at all. – Helen Keller Life is an adventure, or that’s how I like to see it. It’s just that once in a while I hit a snag on this adventure that I’m not so keen on. And this particular snag I know a little too well. Call it lack of confidence, self-doubt, fear of failure, it’s often there, lurking in the background – ready to come in as the uninvited guest to the party. We’ve known each other for some time now, and while we’ve become much closer, we’re not quite best friends yet. Self-doubt has the uncanny ability to make me feel vulnerable. I wish it away, asking myself why I’m not more confident, wanting the feeling to just go away. But the moment I expand, grow or even start thinking about doing something new, there it is, showing up as one of my most loyal friends. I’ve come to realise that this friend is always going to show up to the party in some way or other – so we might as well find a way of hanging out a little more comfortably. I also know that I’m not alone in having these feelings. It’s just something we’re often not open about. Saying out loud that we’re feeling less than confident, feels like a taboo – especially in a cultural setting where slogans like “Just Do It” are still the king of the stage. We’re told to be confident, or we won’t succeed. What does that mean for those of us who aren’t always feeling the most confident? Are we doomed to fail from the start? Is it something that is only reserved for the fearless few? Of course not. These are the stories we keep telling ourselves to keep ourselves playing small. Confidence can be gained. It’s something we can acquire over time through effort, changing our mindset around what it means to be confident, and by opening up the conversation, which we don’t often do. Self-doubt comes with feelings of vulnerability that we don’t like to feel, see or talk about. Yet it’s also precisely this vulnerability, or our willingness to feel this discomfort, that will allow us to become more confident. To feel more confident, we need to take action that takes us out of our comfort zone – and that means getting uncomfortable. And while I will be the first one to admit, that I’m still not the most loudly confident of people, I’ve come to learn some things that have helped me change my story around confidence: • You might lack confidence in some areas, but that there will be plenty of areas where you are confident. Simply understanding that your self-doubt is not all encompassing can already change your perspective. OK, I may not feel confident in this part of my life, but here I’m ok. Look back and see how you were able to become confident in one area? What did you have to do? What mindset did you adopt? • Recognize the inner voice of self-doubt as an important guidepost. Feelings of lack of confidence will pipe up right at the moment when you are about to expand, grow or do something new. It means that you’re actually heading in the right direction and that this is something that will allow you to grow. • Stop waiting and move into action. Don’t get stuck in the confidence trap. There will not be a day that magically appears when you will feel confident enough to do something. It’s the other way around. Practice, practice, and practice again. Develop the skill set, become competent, then you become confident. Confidence comes from moving forward and taking action. To do that means that you will have to go through feelings of discomfort, which are an inevitable part of life. Avoiding uncomfortable feelings, like vulnerability, will keep you stuck, which ultimately could be the much bigger price to pay. If we can recognize that discomfort is temporary and part of our general shared experience, you can and will work through it. • Manage the inner critic, regulate your self-talk and be compassionate. It’s not abnormal to have a strong inner critic, it’s just part of who we are. Rather than trying to ignore this voice, see what it’s trying to do. Most often, your inner critic is trying to protect you from something. Bring compassion to yourself. Something I often ask my clients is, what is it that you need to hear right now? How can you speak to yourself in a way that is more empowering and supportive? • Break down your bigger goals into smaller steps. Stretch yourself, but don’t over stretch. If we’re looking up at the mountain to climb, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and discouraged. Break it down into smaller steps, and you’ll find that things just feel and become a little easier. Booking small successes will increase your confidence. You don’t need to find all the answers right now. Just ask yourself, what is the one thing that I can do right now that will have the most impact? • Reframe failure. Yep, this is a hard one for many, present company included. Fail, fail, fail again. Get up, fail again. Repeat. Learn how to fail without feeling like a failure. If something doesn’t work, what you have is feedback about what worked and what didn’t. Learn from the experience, and try something different. Repeat. The true failure is to not try, to not chase after your dreams, to not do the things that are meaningful to you. • Develop resiliency. Persist, and learn to shake off uncomfortable feelings. Stop believing the myth that just a select few of us are destined for greatness, and that greatness is innate. It’s not. It’s learned, it’s fought for, it’s earned. It takes hard work, and perseverance. • Work on your mindset and develop faith in your ability to grow and learn. Rather than focusing your thoughts on whether you can do it, ask the question: what do I need to learn to do this? Confidence will come from the competence that you develop as you learn. Buddhists will say “adopt a beginner’s mind”, be unassuming, open, approach things with curiosity and a willingness to learn. • Breathe into the fear. Say what? Yes, stay with it. This is not one of those empty sentences. Take a moment to just feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Don’t start doing other things. Be with it. Feel it. Where is it in your body? Direct your attention to that area and breathe into it. See whether you can give it more space. While it may feel as if the fear and anxiety will get bigger, giving it more breathing space, will actually allow the feelings to dissipate a little quicker. Your nervous system will calm down, allowing you to take the next step. • Share how you’re feeling with people you trust. Dare to be vulnerable, dare to show what’s really going on. Allow yourself to be supported by others. You don’t have to do this all alone, and you aren’t alone in what you’re feeling and experiencing. Have the courage to open up and see what you will receive in return. Confidence for me at the end of the day is much more about knowing who we are and having the courage to show up, and live according to what is important to us – despite the feelings of self-doubt. I actually think we don’t need to feel confident to go out there and live our lives in the best way possible. The confidence will come as a result of the action we take, the moment we move forward and live the intentional life. Our power resides in our ability to make conscious choices. We are so more powerful than we realise. So take a deep breath, and move forward – you’ve got work to do! Photo credit: Cristina Gottardi How to make the journey from self-doubt to inner confidence The Letters: to infinity and beyond How to find belonging: the journey home The mixed-race experience: the search for belonging Self-compassion: being kind to yourself Naomi Saelens Life Coaching info@naomisaelens.com naomi.saelens © 2020 Naomi Saelens.

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Millete Birhanemaskel When 86-year-old Chester Gordon looks outside his living room window, perfectly framed is the house he left behind. “I came home three years, six months and eight days later to this place,” Gordon said. His father bought the house on 1216 12th St. in 1942, across the street from the house they lived in before Gordon left for the Army. He never knew that the changes his father would make to the new house would be the very reason that he and his sister, 82-year-old Velma, would never sell it. The house was built in 1885, complete with a built-in dining room cabinet across from the parlor. All of the bedrooms and bathrooms were either upstairs or downstairs. The main floor was reserved for entertaining family and guests. Until the Gordons’ mother fell victim to arthritis. “She couldn’t make it up and down those stairs,” Velma said. That’s when their father began his remodeling project. He moved the kitchen onto the covered patio and turned the old kitchen into a bedroom and also installed a bathroom. His wife would never have to leave the first floor of the house. Now, more than 30 years since their mother passed, Chester and Velma find themselves in the same situation. The retired siblings both suffer from arthritis. And more than ever, they’re reminded of their father’s hard work. They come down in the morning and only go back upstairs for bed. “If we think we’ll need anything from upstairs, then we’ll bring it down with us in the morning,” Velma said. They use the first-floor bedroom as a den. But the memories of their father’s work doesn’t stop at the door. In the late 1960s, he built a two-car garage in the back of the house. To keep it in the family, his electrician brother did all of the wiring. “The light back there lights up the whole back yard,” Chester said, grinning. Since their father passed in 1981, they’ve only done minor remodeling to the house. They had a patio put on the side of the garage, replaced all of the windows and remodeled the kitchen cabinets. But unlike their father, they couldn’t do it themselves, Chester said. They hired outside help. The Greeley natives admit that the house is big, but they don’t plan to sell the cozy home near downtown anytime soon. “What’s the use of downsizing if we don’t have to?” Chester said.

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Banker-Beret back in a suit after time in Afghanistan Maria Sanchez-Traynor For Capt. Diggs Brown, an Army Green Beret, coming back from Afghanistan and stepping back into his career as an investment banker was quite a change in lifestyle. One of the hardest things to get used to was wearing a suit again. Brown, a banker-Army reservist who was called up to active duty to serve in Afghanistan, led a two-hour presentation Tuesday discussing his and the military’s mission in the mountain country tucked between Iran and Pakistan. Brown, who just returned to work Thursday, talked at Community First National Bank, 4290 10th St., to about 30 people. Brown gave a brief overview of Afghanistan, the military units working there and the role Americans played to build bridges between themselves and the Afghan people. Most of the time, Brown was near Kabul, working in the Army’s headquarters. There, he rarely saw a building that hadn’t been touched by the county’s two decades of war. “I have never in my life seen so much devastation,” Brown said It wasn’t all bad memories. He liked watching Buzkashi, the national Afghan pastime in which men riding horses see who can be the first to drag a headless goat carcass to the finish line. Those things aren’t what Brown remembers most, though. He remembers going to a school every Wednesday to help teach English classes. He remembers battling school officials to allow women to be taught. And he remembers the generosity of the people from Greeley, Fort Collins and surrounding communities who sent three tons of school supplies to him. “I finally had to ask everyone to stop. I didn’t know where to put the supplies,” Brown said. Brown and his unit raised $5,000 to help build a decent school room in the school that had no desks, no heat and only a painted black spot on the wall for a chalkboard. The Army liked the work so much it donated the rest of the money for the entire school to be renovated. His career as a banker/Green Beret doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary for Brown. He said his banking has benefited from leadership skills learned in the Army. He was described as a kind and caring man by a co-worker, Flo Mikkelson of Greeley. She received e-mails from Brown on a regular basis and helped organize community efforts to send school supplies to Afghanistan. “He’s so caring for people; that’s why he did such a good job there,” Mikkelson said. Jinger Kellams of Fort Collins said she learned a lot from Brown’s presentation. “I learned that the rest of the world doesn’t hate Americans,” Kellams said. “They’re grateful of what we do.”

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Upcoming Events › Highlight Art Colonnade, Ground Floor, Heritage Wing, Eastern and Oriental Hotel Soon Lai Wai was born in 1970 in Penang. He grew up on Campbell St, back when it was normal to see gambling coffee patrons, drunken brawls in the street and drug addicts shooting-up in broad daylight. To the relief of his family, the moment he reached adulthood, he left home for Kuala Lumpur, to escape the unsavoury environment of his childhood and to pursue his love for art. Born Out of Mud is as much an analogy of Soon’s… Farida Khan-Evans Open Studio 27 March @ 11:00 am - 5 April @ 5:00 pm Farida Khan-Evans’ open studio will showcase her paintings and prints with work in progress, in which she blends traditional print techniques with digital imaging to portray George Town scenes and other Penang imagery. Farida will be at The Art E Space, Straits Quay 27th-29th March & 3rd-5th April, 11am- 5pm. Farida has been exhibiting her work for 30 years in UK, Europe and now Penang. She has a Masters degree in Fine Art from Wimbledon School of Art, London and… Dato Chong Hon Fatt Private Gallery Chong Gallery, 25 Jalan Dharma Now in his late 70s, impressionist artist Dato Chong Hon Fatt, known for his oil paintings of Penang scenes, had his first solo exhibition in 1965. He has had 20 solo exhibitions and has participated in more than 80 group exhibitions. He is former Chairman of the Chung Ling Art Society, Penang and former secretary of the Penang Art Society, and was a founding member, in 1985, of the Penang Water Colour Society. In 2012, there was a retrospective of… Beyond Canvas Art, and Portrait Painting by Kumar Nagalingam Urban Green Cabin, 156 Victoria Street Oil on canvas, water colour, sketches & caricature books - a collection of paintings over the years and most of them are of the surrealism genre. There will also many sketches of Penang, particularly George Town. A lawyer by training, Kumar grow up in Ipoh and has been painting in oils from the age of 13. His exhibition encompasses four decades of his journey as an artist. His work over the years has evolved from copying the work of other artists to… Concrete Jungle by Zafrie Zainuddin Atas Cafe, 14 Lorong Toh Aka An exhibition of watercolour paintings entitled 'Concrete Jungle' which highlights the artists’ passion for painting animals & wildlife and architecture. It will be 'Concrete' on one side (his architecture pieces) and 'Jungle' (his animal & wildlife pieces) on the other. Zafrie Zainuddin worked as a consultant at Geografia (Australia) based in Penang, consulting Georgetown Inc on the matters of buildings in the World Heritage Site. He Carried out his postgraduate studies in Urban Design at the University of Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK… Ch’ng Kiah Kiean Open Studio and Mini-Exhibition Kaki Creation, 98-2-11B Prima Tanjung, Jalan Fettes, Tanjung Tokong, Penang 11200 Malaysia + Google Map Kiah Kiean’s open studio this year will focus on his latest works, the Botanic Series. This mini exhibition showcases his recent botanic series sketches done on location in Penang and also during his travels. The main medium is graphite and water-soluble graphite mixed with watercolour. Ch’ng Kiah Kiean, was born 1974 in George Town, Penang. He graduated from Universiti Sains Malaysia with an Architecture Degree. After running his own graphic design studio for about 10 years he is now a fulltime artist… Boxed In (One Foot at a Time) Project 26, 26 Lorong Carnarvon BOXED IN (one foot at a time) is an exhibition which showcases Penang based visual artists from various different backgrounds. Artists were given two wooden boxes which measures 12’’ x 12’’ to let their creative imaginations run wild. The exhibition promises to be a strong group exhibition filled with mystery of how each artist will execute their projects. The exhibition is split into two parts. The first part, which is a preview of the exhibition, will be held at 26,… Universiti Sains Malaysia Fine Art Postgraduate Open Studio Studio Practice Postgraduate Studio USM, D29, Universiti Sains Malaysia Gelugor, Penang 11800 Malaysia + Google Map Studio Practice is a Fine Art sub-field in the Masters and PhD programmes of the School of The Arts at Universiti Sains Malaysia (USM). There are seven students from both programmes currently doing their postgraduate studies in fine art studio practice. Some of the students are professional artists practising with years of experience. Each student has their own work space in the Postgraduate Studio. The students’ creative research includes the figurative representation of urban society, contemporary representation of Pohon Beringin… B-Series BBson 2020 By Low Chee Peng hin bus depot, 31a Jalan Gurdwara Low Chee Peng, a self-taught sculptor with over 20 years experience. Chee Peng first took an interest in art in his teenage years. Shortly after school, he started an apprenticeship with a sculpture company and has never looked back since. As a sculptor, Chee Peng strives to create works that speak both to him and the society. The coldest marble and hardest steel would bend and warm in his hands to create unique works of art, which convey an exuberantly… Gyotaku: The Art of Fish Print, Open Studio by Kam Yew Chee Gyotaku is a traditional Japanese technique of fish (seafood) printing, practiced in the mid-1800s by fishermen to record their catches. Malaysia based artist, Kam Yew Chee’s objective for this exhibition and open studio is to create awareness and appreciation of the food being served before putting it into their mouth. He feels people tend to neglect the beauty of nature and its occupants, and when eating, the smart-phone’s camera lens has more intimacy with what’s been served than the consumer… William Phipp Open Studio Gudang Café, 5, Gat Lebuh Armenian Eleven-year old William Phipp is the youngest artist participating in Open Studios Penang 2020. He will be working in a temporary studio and also exhibiting his sketches and oil paintings, which include still life paintings, outdoor sketches and abstract works. William is an active member of Urban Sketchers Penang. He will be in his studio on Saturday and Sunday, 28th & 29th March, and 4th and 5th of April, from 1pm to 6pm. Penang in Sketches and Watercolours by Khoo Cheang Jin Khoo Cheang Jin, 94 Lebuh Melayu Khoo Cheang Jin graduated from the School of Architecture, UNSW, Australia. He is President of the Penang Water Colour Society and co-founder of Urban Sketchers Penang. He has previously held 11 solo exhibitions in Penang, Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. This exhibition is a collection of sketches and watercolours done on location by Khoo Cheang Jin, mostly during his Sunday sketchwalks with Urban Sketchers Penang. He will be on site at his exhibition on March 28th and 29th, and April 4th… BOLD 2.0 – Aboud Fares Open Studio Aboud Fares Studio, 3 - Jalan Loh Poh Heng Tanjung Bungah, Penang 11200 Malaysia + Google Map BOLD 2.0 -It is a concept of being Bold, direct, clear and obvious. 2.0 is a continuation of the previous BOLD exhibition showing work by artist Alaa Shasheet and sculptor Aboud Fares in Aboud's backyard workshop. A Syrian born in 1988 in Damascus, Aboud Fares is a sculptor with a B.A. in Sculpture from the Faculty of Fine Arts at Damascus University, obtained in 2010. Now he is a full-time sculptor based in Penang, working in his private workshop, using mostly iron… Painting Vibrant Watercolours 29 March @ 9:00 am - 1:00 pm No more muddy, dreary, just “blah” paintings! This workshop will teach you how to create paintings that are vibrant and have impact. This workshop is not for the absolute beginner. It is best if you have some drawing and painting skills, as we will be jumping straight in with drawing your subject before we start painting. There will be some colour theory exercises to go through before we actually start painting our subject, but don’t worry! It will be… Acrylic or Watercolour? 3 April @ 9:00 am - 1:00 pm Are you confused by the title of this workshop? Not anymore! You will be painting with acrylics, but using glazes of transparent colour, so that the result looks like it could be a watercolour painting. We will start off with drawing our subject, so some drawing skills will be essential. I will be teaching you how to lay down glazes, mingling colours to create luminous layers, and establishing lights and darks. Transparent layers do not mean weak colours! You can… Hakono X Open Studio 3 April @ 1:00 pm - 5 April @ 6:00 pm Narrow Marrow, 252A, Lebuh Carnarvon Hakono builds interactive, site specific and thought-provoking installation artworks and escape rooms. They will be building a site-specific kinetic sculpture at Narrow Marrow on April 3rd-5th, and you can see them at work from 1pm-6pm daily. Hakono is a partnership between old schoolmates Yang Jie and Wynd; Wynd has a background in animation and graphic design, acquiring a BFA from Digipen, and working in JCDecaux until recently. He had been pursuing an interest in coding, electronics and automation, and his dream is to build a… Solo Exhibition by Jansen Chow 3 April @ 2:00 pm - 26 April @ 5:00 pm The Art Gallery, 368-4-8, Bellisa Row, Jalan Burma Pulau Tikus, Penang 10350 Malaysia + Google Map Synopsis of Exhibition: A solo exhibition by Jansen Chow featuring a series of George Town scenes in modern semi-abstract acrylic medium. Title: to be confirmed Exhibition Period: 3rd April - 26th April 2020. Opening Reception: 5th April (Sun) 12.30 - 5.00pm. Opening Hours: Fri to Sunday 2 to 5pm Jansen Chow was born in Kuantan, Pahang, Malaysia in 1970. He graduated from the Fine Arts Department of Kuala Lumpur College of Art in 1991. In 1994, he received his scholarship to…

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