Mar 20th, 2026
Richard had finally pieced everything together while on a plane high over the Atlantic. He had last seen his father in the summer of 2017 when Brexit concerns required his personal attention and local logistics. His dad had taken a rare half-hour out of his busy schedule to speak with him before disappearing with his consultants.
Seven hours into the flight, the plane stopped for refueling in Narsarsuaq, Greenland. Upon landing, it became apparent that there were no other planes at the airport except for theirs, and only a rudimentary crew who had possibly been pre-paid by Richard's father. Although Richard had initially planned to stretch his legs and take a brief respite from the long journey, the sound of gunfire off in the distance quickly dissuaded him from this idea.
With what Richard suspected was an unusual haste, the plane was refueled quickly, and they were back in the air shortly thereafter.
Two hours later, the plane was still circling a remote peninsula in Iceland, prompting Richard to flag down the flight attendant he had been admiring on and off for the last seven hours—a slim, blonde woman with piercing blue eyes who moved with grace despite the choppy flight.
"Excuse me, miss. Any idea why we've been going in circles for an hour?" he asked her.
"Mr. MacNaomhán," she replied with a fluid pronunciation in an unfamiliar accent.
"Richard," he corrected her.
"Mr. MacNaomhán," she repeated. "The world has become a much more dangerous place, and our sole job is to get you to your destination safely and unharmed. While we've had a smooth flight so far, we may need to take extra precautions. Please don't take anything for granted and be mindful of the traffic and lights below." Her voice carried a sense of professionalism, courtesy, and frustration, which reminded Richard of some of his former nannies.
Richard took note of his surroundings—brightly lit roads and cars zipping along, lights emanating from windows that decorated the region beneath him. He couldn't help but compare it to the near darkness that he had witnessed in Greenland. Could a country's infrastructure crumble so abruptly? It had only been a few days since he had left his life behind.
However, his father had been warning him about an economic collapse for as long as he could remember. It was one of his greatest talents—being prepared for worst-case scenarios. Richard trusted that wherever he was bound, there would be working infrastructure: electricity, water, and all of the basic necessities.
As if his query had wrought a spell, the plane soon began its descent, smoothly touching down after a final circuit of the area.
Then, with the same methodical precision she might use for a safety demonstration, the flight attendant began to recite instructions, "You are going to disembark from the plane where two men—bodyguards—will meet you at the bottom of the ramp. They will take you on a 45-minute drive, almost circling back to our starting point, and you'll end up at Svartsengi.
"This peninsula, from Route 45 to the shore, is designated the 'Red Zone' and is considered safe, in theory. However, be aware that things can change rapidly now. Your father is awaiting you at the end of this journey. Enjoy your time in Iceland."
"May I at least get your name?" Richard asked.
"Normally, no, but considering we're never going to see each other again... My name is Rakel. Now, please hurry along."
Richard realized that trying to distract himself from the looming reunion with his father by flirting was futile. Besides, he had no effect on the gravity of the situation. Heeding Rakel's gesture, he made his way down the ramp and found himself enveloped by two large bodyguards, firearms visibly strapped to their sides.
More inclined to action than conversation, they briskly ushered him into a limousine waiting nearby.
The sun had slipped beneath the horizon during the final circuit over the airport. Richard wondered if waiting until nightfall was intentional. The windows' tint was designed to only prevent prying eyes from seeing inside, but the road wasn't well lit, so he kept catching reflections off the ocean without being able to see it clearly. They seemed to hug the coastline as they circled around a massive mountain, possibly a volcano. Richard's thoughts were a jumble as he couldn’t seem to channel them productively.
Finally, they arrived at what appeared to be an airplane hangar built into the side of a mountain. With a three-button combination on a small remote, the large doors retracted open, allowing them entry. Richard couldn't discern the purpose of the vast room, which appeared to be a cavern with three staggered stairwells leading to different levels. Each level had large metal staging areas with doors at the back that led into the mountain.
After nine long years, Richard finally laid eyes on his father again. The passage of time had taken its toll, as if his father had aged three decades in that span. When Richard had last seen him, his father was approaching 60, yet now, looking 90 years old, he appeared frail, with sagging skin and only a faint dusting of white hair atop his head. Slowly, he descended the final set of steps and crossed the cavernous floor towards Richard, his movements resembling a slow-motion sequence. As his father closed the distance to Richard, he handed one of the bodyguards a briefcase. The bodyguards departed with the case, leaving Richard and his father alone in the room as the hangar door closed after the transport. Richard realized the men had not exchanged a single word, and if he were to see them again, he doubted he would even recognize them.
"Hi, Dad," Richard greeted, unsure of what else to say.
"You look tired son, and I've had a very long day. It’s so good to see you alive and well, but I just don't have the energy tonight. I’ll have Luka show you to your temporary abode. I’ll see you at 9:00 AM for breakfast. Luka will stay just outside your room. She’s there for your protection. If you need any information, conversation, or have any other needs, just ask her," his father explained.
Richard nodded, understanding his father's fatigue. "Alright, Dad. Rest well. I’ll see you in the morning," he replied.
Luka, the guardian assigned to Richard, had long, curly, deep red hair that complemented her tight and compact frame. Richard couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance she bore to his own preferences in physical attributes. Her skin was speckled with freckles, and she wore tight black leather shorts that left a tantalizing segment of skin exposed above thigh-high boots, capped off with a waist-length Eisenhower jacket—a flirtation of 'naughty girl' meets military chic. This sparked Richard's curiosity about his father's earlier mention of "needs." What exactly had his father meant by that? Richard wondered if there was more to the arrangement with Luka than just security and protection. Nevertheless, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself and let time unravel the mysteries of his father's intentions. After all, he didn't fully understand the lay of the land yet, and it was rarely wise to stir the pot where one sleeps. During his teenage years, Richard had engaged in brief romantic encounters with a few of his servants and nannies. His experiences at Harvard later opened his eyes to the complexities of power dynamics, though he remained uncertain about how firm he was about these new ideas.
The room that Richard's father had referred to as temporary turned out to be twice the size of his dorm room at Harvard. It contained a bed, a small fridge, and, upon inspection, Richard found water, soda, and canned beer. Aside from a cheap tin of cheese and crackers, the fridge was mostly empty. A small kitchen table with two utilitarian chairs and a burgundy loveseat sofa against the wall on the opposite side of the bed completed the furnishings of the room. There were no windows.
Richard's attention was drawn to the most delightful surprise – a small shower. Accustomed to taking multiple showers a day, he had only managed one in the past four days since receiving the phone call. Noticing the brightness of the lights, he assumed there was no power rationing, and although no mention had been made about water, he decided it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Richard took a long, refreshing shower, relishing the feeling of finally being clean again. He planned to repeat the experience in the morning but realized his regrettable oversight – he hadn't adjusted his watch. How would he know when it was 9:00 AM?
Upon opening the door to his room, which felt more like a bulkhead, Richard was greeted by Luka standing erect with a smile on her face.
"What time is it, Luka?" he asked.
"Master Richard, it’s 21:15," Luka replied.
Richard adjusted his watch and thanked Luka for the time. He couldn't help but wonder if she was disappointed that his inquiry was only about the time. Not wanting to read too much into it, he retreated back into his room, avoiding any potential trouble that his overactive imagination might conjure.
One of the many 'existence pointers' his father had drilled into him in his youth was "always know where you are," but the name Svartsengi meant nothing to him. He thought about asking Luka for information, but he was having trouble even getting his boots off so he could collapse. Lay of the land conversations would have to wait until the morning. Even without an alarm, he planned to wake up well before breakfast.
Finally escaping his boots, he sunk into the bed, completely exhausted from the events of the past few days, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.