But those photographs had been taken in summer, and now it was the dead of winter, so the photographs proved nothing, and everyone knew that gorge was too steep for a human to ascend.
It was in any case too late to be thinking about this. Poulsson and Haukelid had not carried their point. A course of action had been decided upon in a democratic fashion, each man voting for his preferred approach. Gunnerside would follow the orders London had sent.
Haukelid had never particularly seen the value in following other people’s rules—not at school, not in his straight-laced parents’ household, not in the sequence of jobs he had held after school. But the matter had been decided.
“Once the guards are down, the covering team will lead the way,” Rønneberg was saying. “The demolition team must pri
