Sun on Fire by Viktor Arnar Ingólfsson Page B

embassies; 2) discretion, tact.”
    Birkir picked out a few entries as he skimmed:
Time was when diplomats negotiated serious agreements on war and peace and royal marriage arrangements. These days it’s mainly about free trade agreement quotas and sizes of shoe boxes.
    — The Diplomat
The diplomat’s first duty is not to be surprised by anything.
    —Heinrich von Bülow
A diplomat is someone who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you look forward to the journey.
    —Caskie Stinnet
A diplomat is someone who never offends accidentally.
    — The Diplomat’s Dictionary
    Arngrímur’s cell phone rang, and after a short exchange he said to Birkir, “Your friend Gunnar is at the Felleshus front desk. I asked them to let him in.”
    “Good. We’re actually finished here. We’d better go catch our flight to Frankfurt.”
    They walked back down to the ground floor and out into the plaza. They watched Gunnar approach.
    Gunnar greeted them informally. He held in one hand a fat half-eaten curried sausage; in the other he held a bun.
    “Did you see the elephants?” Birkir asked.
    “Yes.”
    “And what did you make of them?”
    “I thought they’d be bigger,” Gunnar said, and he bit into the sausage.
    14:00
    On arriving in Frankfurt, Birkir and Gunnar took a taxicab from the airport terminal to the nearby hotel the embassy staff had booked for them. Birkir waited in the cab while Gunnar took their luggage inside to check in.
    “All set here,” Gunnar said when he came back out. “Take us to the Book Fair, please,” he instructed the driver.
    “Which entrance?” the man asked.
    “The main one, I guess.”
    After driving awhile, they eventually spotted the sign “Frankfurter Buchmesse” pointing to the exhibition area. They passed several parking structures, finally reaching a tight group of large buildings dominated by a massive tower.
    “Which one is the Book Fair in?” Gunnar asked the driver.
    “The fair takes up all the buildings in the exhibition area,” the driver replied. He stopped at a taxicab stand and pointed to a gate. “You can go in there.”
    Birkir paid for the ride and waited for a receipt. Then they climbed out and walked toward the gate, where they found a guard.
    “Where can we buy tickets?” Gunnar asked.
    “No tickets on sale today,” the guard replied. “You can come on Sunday. The fair will be open to the public then.”
    Gunnar shook his head, “No good. We’re police from Iceland, and we need to talk to a guy who happens to be here today.”
    The guard eyed them suspiciously. “Wait here. I’ll have to check with my boss.”
    He turned away and had a brief conversation on his headset, and then asked Gunnar, “Where are you going to look for this person?”
    Gunnar read from a piece of paper, “Booth H251, first floor of building number six.”
    “You got ID?”
    Gunnar and Birkir produced their passports and their Reykjavík police badges. The guard examined them carefully, and then spoke again into his headset. Finally he asked, “Is there anyone who can confirm your business here?”
    Gunnar presented Arngrímur Ingason’s card, prominently imprinted with the Icelandic embassy’s emblem. “You can call the counselor of the Icelandic embassy in Berlin. He knows all about this.”
    The guard spelled out Arngrímur’s name into the headset and gave the phone number.
    “Wait here,” he said, disappearing through a door.
    Ten minutes later, he reappeared bearing two plastic cards and a map of the exhibition layout.
    “This will give you access for today,” he said. “You’ll find your guy here,” he added, pointing out the place on the map.
    “Thanks very much,” Gunnar said, and he and Birkir used their pass cards to enter the exhibition area.
    With the help of the map, and after a long walk around the concourse, they found building six. Inside, there were books everywhere they looked, and hordes of people, but it was not difficult to find booth