Running Blind / The Freedom Trap (16 page)

‘I just took orders,’ I said. ‘Slade did the brainwork. Do you remember Jimmy Birkby?’

‘I’ve never heard of the man,’ said Kennikin stonily.

‘Of course not. You’d know him better as Sven Horn-lund—the man I killed.’

‘The British agent,’ said Kennikin. ‘I remember. It was that one act of yours that made me sure of you.’

‘Slade’s idea,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know who I killed. That’s why I left the Department—I had a flaming row.’ I leaned forward. ‘Vaslav, it fits the pattern, don’t you see that? Slade sacrificed one good man to make you trust me. It meant nothing to him how many of our agents were killed. But he and Bakayev sacrificed you to make Taggart trust Slade the more.’

Kennikin’s grey eyes were like stones. His face was quite still except for one corner of his mouth where the scar ran down which twitched with a slight tic.

I leaned back in the chair and picked up the glass. ‘Slade’s sitting pretty now. He’s here in Iceland running both sides of an operation. My God, what a position to be in! But it went wrong when one of the puppets refused to jump when he pulled the strings. That must have worried the hell out of him.’

‘I don’t know this man Slade,’ repeated Kennikin woodenly.

‘No? Then why are you all worked up?’ I grinned at him. ‘I’ll tell you what to do. Next time you speak to him why don’t you ask him for the truth. Not that he’ll tell you; Slade never told anyone the truth in his life. But he might give himself away to such a perceptive person as yourself.’

Lights flickered through the drawn curtains and there was the sound of a car pulling up outside. I said, ‘Think of the past, Vaslav; think of the wasted years in Ashkhabad. Put yourself in the position of Bakayev and ask yourself which is the more important—an operation in Sweden which can be reconstituted at any time, or the chance to put a man high in the hierarchy of British Intelligence—so high that he lunches with the British Prime Minister?’

Kennikin moved uneasily and I knew I had got to him. He was deep in thought and the pistol no longer pointed directly at me. I said, ‘As a matter of interest, how long did it take to build up another Swedish outfit? Not long, I’ll bet. I daresay Bakayev had an organization already working in parallel ready to go into action when you dropped out.’

It was a shot at random but it went home. It was like watching a one-armed bandit come up with the jackpot; the wheels went round and whirred and clicked and a mental bell rang loud and clear. Kennikin snorted and turned away. He looked down into the fire and the hand holding the pistol was down at his side.

I tensed myself, ready to jump him, and said softly, ‘They didn’t trust you, Vaslav. Bakayev didn’t trust you to wreck your own organization and make it look good. I wasn’t trusted either; but I was sold out by Slade who is one of your mob. You’re different; you’ve been kicked in the teeth by your own people. How does it feel?’

Vaslav Kennikin was a good man—a good agent—and he gave nothing away. He turned his head and looked at me.
‘I’ve listened to this fairy-story with great interest,’ he said colourlessly. ‘The man, Slade, I don’t know. You tell a fine tale, Alan, but it won’t get you out of trouble. You’re not…’

The door opened and two men came in. Kennikin turned impatiently, and said, ‘Well?’

The bigger of the men said in Russian, ‘We’ve just got back.’

‘So I see,’ said Kennikin emotionlessly. He waved at me. ‘Let me introduce Alan Stewartsen, the man you were supposed to bring here. What went wrong? Where’s Igor?’

They looked at each other, and the big man said, ‘He was taken to hospital. He was badly scalded when…’

‘That’s fine!’ said Kennikin caustically. ‘That’s marvellous!’ He turned and appealed to me. ‘What do you think of this, Alan? We get Yuri safely and secretly to the trawler but Igor must go to a hospital where questions are asked. What would you do with an idiot like this?’

I grinned, and said hopefully, ‘Shoot him.’

‘It’s doubtful if a bullet would penetrate his thick skull,’ said Kennikin acidly. He looked balefully at the big Russian. ‘And why, in God’s name, did you start shooting? It sounded like the outbreak of revolution.’

The man gestured towards me helplessly. ‘He started it.’

‘He should never have been given the opportunity. If three men can’t take another one quietly, then…’

‘There were two of them.’

‘Oh!’ Kennikin glanced at me. ‘What happened to him?’

‘I don’t know—he ran away,’ said the big man.

I said casually, ‘It’s hardly surprising. He was just a guest from the hotel.’ I seethed internally. So Case had just run away and left me to it. I wouldn’t sell him to Kennikin but there’d be an account to settle if I got out of this mess.

‘He probably raised the alarm at the hotel,’ said Kennikin. ‘Can’t you do anything right?’

The big man started to expostulate, but Kennikin cut him short. ‘What’s Ilyich doing?’

‘Taking a car to pieces,’ His voice was sullen.

‘Go and help him.’ They both turned, but Kennikin said sharply, ‘Not you, Gregor. Stay here and watch Stewartsen.’ He handed his pistol to the smaller man.

I said, ‘Can I have another drink, Vaslav?’

‘Why not?’ said Kennikin. ‘There’s no danger of you turning into an alcoholic. You won’t live that long. Watch him, Gregor.’

He left the room, closing the door behind him, and Gregor planted himself in front of it and looked at me expressionlessly. I drew up my legs very slowly and got to my feet. Gregor lifted the pistol and I grinned at him, holding up my empty glass. ‘You heard what the boss said; I’m allowed a last drink.’

The muzzle of the pistol dropped. ‘I’ll be right behind you,’ he said.

I walked across to the liquor cupboard, talking all the time. ‘I’ll bet you’re from the Crimea, Gregor. That accent is unmistakable. Am I right?’

He was silent, but I persevered with my patter. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any vodka here, Gregor. The nearest to it is
brennivin,
but that comes a bad second—I don’t go for it myself. Come to that, I don’t like vodka very much either. Scotch is my tipple, and why not, since I’m a Scot?’

I clattered bottles and heard Gregor breathing down my neck. The scotch went into the glass to be followed by water, and I turned with it raised in my hand to find Gregor a yard away with the pistol trained on my navel. As I have said, there
is
a place for the pistol, and this was it. It’s a dandy indoor weapon. If I had done anything so foolish as to throw the drink into his face he would have drilled me clear through the spine.

I held up the glass at mouth level.
‘Skal
—as we say in Iceland.’ I had to keep my hand up otherwise the cylinder of butane gas would have dropped out of my sleeve, so I walked across the room in a pansyfied manner and sat in my chair again. Gregor looked at me with something like contempt in his eyes.

I sipped from the glass and then transferred it from one hand to the other. When I had finished wriggling about the butane cylinder was tucked in between the cushion and the arm of the chair. I toasted Gregor again and then looked at the hot-burning peat fire with interest.

On each refill cylinder of butane there is a solemn warning:
EXTREMELY INFLAMMABLE MIXTURE, DO NOT USE NEAR FIRE OR FLAME. KEEP OUT OF THE REACH OF CHILDREN. DO NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE.
Commercial firms do not like to put such horrendous notices on their products and usually do so only under pressure of legislation, so that in all cases the warnings are thoroughly justified.

The peat fire was glowing hot with a nice thick bed of red embers. I thought that if I put the cylinder into the fire one of two things were likely to happen—it would either explode like a bomb or take off like a rocket—and either of these would suit me. My only difficulty was that I didn’t know how long it would take to blow up. Putting it into the fire might be easy, but anyone quick enough could pull it out—Gregor, for instance. Kennikin’s boys couldn’t possibly be as incompetent as he made them out to be.

Kennikin came back. ‘You were telling the truth,’ he said.

‘I always do; the trouble is most people don’t recognize it when they hear it. So you agree with me about Slade.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t mean that stupid story. What I am looking for is not in your car. Where is it?’

‘I’m not telling you, Vaslav.’

‘You will.’

A telephone bell rang somewhere. I said, ‘Let’s have a bet on it.’

‘I don’t want to get blood on the carpet in here,’ he said. ‘Stand up.’ Someone took the telephone receiver off the hook.

‘Can’t I finish my drink first?’

Ilyich opened the door and beckoned to Kennikin, who said, ‘You’d better have finished that drink by the time I get back.’

He left the room and Gregor moved over to stand in front of me. That wasn’t very good because as long as he stood there I wouldn’t have a chance of jamming the butane cylinder into the fire. I touched my forehead and found a thin film of sweat.

Presently Kennikin came back and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘The man you were with at Geysir—a guest at the hotel, I think you said.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Does the name—John Case—mean anything to you?’

I looked at him blankly. ‘Not a thing.’

He smiled sadly. ‘And you are the man who said he always told the truth.’ He sat down. ‘It seems that what I am looking for has ceased to have any importance. More accurately, its importance has diminished relative to yourself. Do you know what that means?’

‘You’ve lost me,’ I said, and I really meant it. This was a new twist.

Kennikin said, ‘I would have gone to any length necessary to get the information from you. However, my instructions have changed. You will not be tortured, Stewartsen, so put your mind at ease.’

I let out my breath. ‘Thanks!’ I said wholeheartedly.

He shook his head pityingly. ‘I don’t want your thanks. My instructions are to kill you immediately.’

The telephone bell rang again.

My voice came out in a croak. ‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘You are getting in the way.’

I swallowed. ‘Hadn’t you better answer that telephone? It might be a change of instruction.’

He smiled crookedly. ‘A last-minute reprieve, Alan? I don’t think so. Do you know why I told you of these instructions? It’s not normally done, as you know.’

I knew all right, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him. The telephone stopped ringing.

‘There are some good things in the Bible,’ he said. ‘For instance—”An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” I had everything planned for you, and I regret my plans cannot now be implemented. But at least I can watch you sweat as you’re sweating now.’

Ilyich stuck his head around the door. ‘Reykjavik,’ he said.

Kennikin made a gesture of annoyance. ‘I’m coming.’ He rose. ‘Think about it—and sweat some more.’

I put out my hand. ‘Have you a cigarette?’

He stopped in mid-stride and laughed aloud. ‘Oh, very good, Alan. You British are strong on tradition. Certainly you may have the traditional last cigarette.’ He tossed me his cigarette case. ‘Is there anything else you would like?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I would like to be in Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve in the year 2000.’

‘My regrets,’ he said, and left the room.

I opened the case, stuck a cigarette in my mouth, and patted my pockets helplessly; then I stooped very slowly to pick up one of the paper spills from the hearth. I said to Gregor, ‘I’m just going to light my cigarette,’ and bent forward to the fire, hoping to God he wouldn’t move from the door.

I held the spill in my left hand and leaned forward so that my right hand was screened by my body, and thrust the
cylinder into the embers at the same time as I lifted the flaming spill and returned to my seat. Waving it in a circle to attract Gregor’s eyes from the fire, I applied it to the tip of the cigarette, drew in smoke and blew a plume in his direction. I deliberately allowed the flame to burn down so that it touched my fingers.

‘Ouch!’ I exclaimed, and shook my hand vigorously. Anything to keep him from looking directly at the fire. It took all the willpower I had to refrain from glancing at it myself.

The telephone was slammed down and Kennikin came stalking back. ‘Diplomats!’ he said in a scathing voice. ‘As though I don’t have enough troubles.’ He jerked his thumb at me. ‘All right; on your feet.’

I held up the cigarette. ‘What about this?’

‘You can finish it outside. There’ll be just enough…’

The blast of the exploding cylinder was deafening in that enclosed area, and it blew the peat fire all over the room. Because I was expecting it I was quicker off the mark than anyone else. I ignored the red-hot ember which stung my neck, but Gregor found he couldn’t do the same with the ember which alighted on the back of his hand. He gave a yell and dropped the gun.

I dived across the room, seized the pistol and shot him twice through the chest. Then I turned to nail Kennikin before he could recover. He had been beating red-hot bits of peat from his jacket but now he was turning at the sound of the shots. I lifted the pistol and he grabbed a table-lamp and threw it at me. I ducked, my shot went wild, and the table-lamp sailed over my head to hit Ilyich straight in the face as he opened the door to find out what the hell was going on.

That saved me the trouble of opening it. I shouldered him aside and stumbled into the hall to find that the front door was open. Kennikin had given me a bad time,
and much as I would have liked to have fought it out with him this was not the time for it. I ran out of the house and past the Volkswagen which was minus all four wheels, and on the way took a snap shot at the big Russian to encourage him to keep his head down. Then I ran into the darkness which, by now, was not as dark as I would have liked, and took to the countryside fast.

The countryside thereabouts consisted of humpy lava covered by a thick layer of moss and occasional patches of dwarf birch. At full speed and in broad daylight a man might make one mile an hour without breaking an ankle. I sweated over it, knowing that if I broke my ankle, or as much as sprained it, I would be picked up easily and probably shot on the spot.