Jack Higgins by East of Desolation

the bar. “If necessary I’ll come back to you later. Where will you be?”
    â€œI’d thought of having a meal at the Fredericsmut for a change. It’s some time since I’ve been there.”
    â€œThe Fredericsmut? You may be in for a lively night, I warn you. There’s a Portuguese schooner due.”
    I nodded. “I saw her entering the fjord on my way in. Who is it? Anyone I know?”
    â€œDa Gama.” He chuckled grimly. “I’d eat here tonight if I were you.”
    He went out and Desforge said, “And who in the hell is this Da Gama—Frankenstein?”
    â€œSomething like that. He comes in for supplies about once a month and there’s always trouble. One of these days he’ll kill somebody—probably has already if the truth’s known.”
    â€œSounds like fun,” Desforge said. “I think I’ll come with you. I could do with a little action and it’ll get me out of the way. I don’t want to run into Ilana till I’m good and ready.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. “I’ve one or two things to do. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
    I left him there at the bar, went to the reception desk and phoned through to the airstrip. I explained that I wouldn’t be available for the next couple of days, stressing that I was on government business and asked them to contact the people concerned in Godthaab and Søndreto suggest that they either rearrange their schedules or make other arrangements.
    As I had anticipated, there was no particular difficulty and I went up to my room, stripped off my flying gear and had a quick shower. I’d just pulled a heavy Norwegian sweater over my head when there was a knock at the door. I opened it and found Ilana Eytan standing outside.
    â€œI’m looking for Jack. Any idea where he might be?”
    I lied cheerfully. “Not right now,” and then for some perverse reason decided to go further. “I can tell you where he’ll be later, though. The Fredericsmut—that’s a place at the end of the main street from here.”
    â€œI’ll see him there then.”
    I shook my head. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Rough fishermen, hard liquor and a roomful of smoke—not for little girls.”
    â€œIn a pig’s eye, Joe Martin,” she said and went back along the corridor to her room.
    Â 
    The Fredericsmut was definitely for the lower orders, the sort of place you’ll find in any town in the world from Singapore to Jackson Falls, Wyoming. In this case it was a two-storeyed wooden building with a veranda at the front. What went on upstairs was anybody’s guess, but through the swing doors that opened from the veranda was a large square room where you could find good plain food in large quantities, any kind of liquor you cared to name and broadminded women. The one incongruity was a large and shiny juke box that stood by the door and never seemed to stop playing.
    We sat at a table at the back of the room close to the bar and I ordered steak and chips for both of us and a lager for Desforge. The juke box was going full blast surrounded by a crowd of youthful Greenlanders, some of them shaking away to the manner born.
    Jack groaned as if in pain. “Is nothing sacred? I came north looking for polar bear, the eternal struggle of man in an alien land, harpoons and sealskin trousers and what do I get?”
    â€œCorduroy trews and the Beatles.”
    â€œNext thing you know one of those outfits in Carnaby Street will be opening up a branch.”
    I shook my head. “Just let them try and see what the Royal Greenland Trading Company have to say about it. Maybe they don’t have a monopoly any longer, but they still swing a pretty big axe.”
    The crowd was building up now—construction workers looking for a little fun after a twelve-hour day, inshore fishermen, professional hunters, Danes and Icelanders with a