The wind in Tromsø cut right through you. It didn’t blow, it stabbed. Elena stood on the pier, the sirens finally fading somewhere behind the buildings. Her face was numb. The words in her head just kept playing. North. To the project site.
North. Svalbard. The seed vault. Of course.
No boat. No plan. Maybe ten minutes before the guys in suits started checking the docks. She pulled her collar up and walked fast. Her boots were too loud on the wood.
She needed to vanish. The pretty colored houses looked stupid now. Like a lie. She ducked between two fish warehouses. The smell hit her- rotten fish, ice, blood. It was so bad it woke her up.
Think. A boat. Not a ferry. Something that can handle ice. Something no one will miss for a while.
A research boat.
She remembered a smaller marina,
