Running Blind / The Freedom Trap (17 page)

I went about four hundred yards, angling away from the lake shore and up towards the road, before I stopped. Looking back I saw the windows of the room in which I had been held; there was a curious flickering and I saw that the curtains were going up in flames. There were distant shouts and someone ran in front of the window, but it seemed that no one was coming after me. I don’t think any of them knew which direction I’d taken.

The view ahead was blocked by the bulk of an old lava flow and I reckoned the road was on the other side of that. I moved forward again and began to climb over it. It would be dawn soon and I wanted to get out of sight of the house.

I went over the top of the lava flow on my belly and once safely screened on the other side I got to my feet. Dimly, in the distance, I could see a straight dark line which could only be the road, and I was just about to make for it when someone put a stranglehold on my neck and a hand clamped on my wrist with bone-crushing pressure. ‘Drop the gun!’ came a hoarse whisper in Russian.

I dropped the pistol and was immediately flung away so that I stumbled and fell. I looked up into the glare of a flashlight which illumined a pistol held on me. ‘Christ, it’s you!’ said Jack Case.

‘Put that bloody light out,’ I said, and massaged my neck. ‘Where the hell were you when the whistle blew at Geysir?’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Case. ‘He was at the hotel when I arrived.’

‘But you said…’

There was a note of exasperation in Case’s voice. ‘Jesus, I couldn’t tell you he was there. In the mood you were in you’d have slaughtered him.’

‘A fine friend you turned out to be,’ I said bitterly. ‘But this is no time to go into it. Where’s your car—we can talk later.’

‘Just off the road down there.’ He put away his gun.

I came to a snap decision; this was no time to trust Case or anyone else. I said, ‘Jack, you can tell Taggart I’ll deliver his package to Reykjavik.’

‘All right, but let’s get out of here.’

I moved close to him. ‘I don’t trust you. Jack,’ I said, and sank three rigid fingers into his midriff. The air exploded violently from his lungs and he doubled up. I chopped at the back of his neck and he collapsed at my feet. Jack and I had always been level on the unarmed combat mat and I don’t think I could have taken him so easily had he known what was coming.

In the distance a car started and its engine throbbed. I saw the glow of headlights to my right and dropped flat. I could hear the car coming up the spur track towards the road, but it turned away and moved in the opposite direction—the way I had driven in from Thingvellir.

When it was out of earshot I reached out and began to search Case’s pockets. I took his keys and stripped him of his
shoulder holster and pistol. Gregor’s pistol I wiped clean and threw away. Then I went to look for Case’s car.

It was a Volvo and I found it parked just off the road. The engine turned over easily at the touch of a button and I moved away without lights. I would be going all the way around Thingvallavatn and it would be a long way to Laugarvatn, but I certainly didn’t feel like going back.

I got into Laugarvatn just before five in the morning and parked the car in the drive. As I got out I saw the curtains twitch and Elin ran out and into my arms before I got to the front door. ‘Alan!’ she said. ‘There’s blood on your face.’

I touched my cheek and felt the caked blood which had oozed from a cut. It must have happened when the butane cylinder went up. I said, ‘Let’s get inside.’

In the hall we met Sigurlin. She looked me up and down, then said, ‘Your jacket’s burnt.’

I glanced at the holes in the fabric. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I was careless, wasn’t I?’

‘What happened?’ asked Elin urgently.

‘I had…I had a talk with Kennikin,’ I said shortly. The reaction was hitting me and I felt very weary. I had to do something about it because there was no time to rest. ‘Do you have any coffee?’ I asked Sigurlin.

Elin gripped my arm. ‘What happened? What did Kenni…?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

Sigurlin said, ‘You look as though you haven’t slept for a week. There’s a bed upstairs.’

I shook my head. ‘No. I…we…are moving out.’

She and Elin exchanged glances, and then Sigurlin said practically, ‘You can have your coffee, anyway. It’s all
ready—we’ve been drinking the stuff all night. Come into the kitchen.’

I sat down at the kitchen table and spooned a lot of sugar into a steaming cup of black coffee. It was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever tasted. Sigurlin went to the window and looked at the Volvo in the drive. ‘Where’s the Volkswagen?’

I grimaced. ‘It’s a write-off.’ The big Russian had said that Ilyich was taking it to pieces, and from the fleeting glimpse I had of it he had been right. I said, ‘What’s it worth, Sigurlin?’ and put my hand in my pocket for my chequebook.

She made an impatient gesture. ‘That can wait.’ There was an edge to her voice. ‘Elin told me everything. About Slade—about Kennikin—everything.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that, Elin,’ I said quietly.

‘I had to talk about it to someone,’ she burst out.

‘You must go to the police,’ said Sigurlin.

I shook my head. ‘So far this has been a private fight. The only casualties have been among the professionals—the men who know the risks and accept them. No innocent bystanders have been hurt. I want to keep it that way. Anyone who monkeys around with this without knowing the score is in for trouble—whether he’s wearing a police uniform or not.’

‘But it needn’t be handled at that level,’ she said. ‘Let the politicians handle it—the diplomats.’

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. ‘When I first came to this country someone told me that there are three things which an Icelander can’t explain—not even to another Icelander: the Icelandic political system, the Icelandic economic system, and the Icelandic drinking laws. We’re not worried about alcohol right now, but politics and economics are right at the top of my list of worries.’

Elin said, ‘I don’t really know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m talking about that refrigerator,’ I said. ‘And that electric coffee-grinder.’ My finger stabbed out again. ‘And the electric kettle and the transistor radio. They’re all imported and to afford imports you have to export—fish, mutton, wool. The herring shoals have moved a thousand miles away, leaving your inshore herring fleet high and dry. Aren’t things bad enough without making them worse?’

Sigurlin wrinkled her brow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There are three nations involved—Britain, America and Russia. Supposing a thing like this is handled at diplomatic level with an exchange of Notes saying: “Stop fighting your battles on Icelandic territory.” Do you really think a thing like that could be kept secret? Every country has political wild men—and I’m sure Iceland is no exception—and they’d all jump on the bandwagon.’

I stood up. ‘The anti-Americans would shout about the Base at Keflavik; the anti-communists would have a good handle to grab hold of; and you’d probably restart the Fishing War with Britain because I know a lot of Icelanders who aren’t satisfied with the settlement of 1961.’

I swung around to face Sigurlin. ‘During the Fishing War your trawlers were denied entry to British ports, so you built up a fair trade with Russia, which you still have. What do you think of Russia as a trading partner?’

‘I think they’re very good,’ she said instantly. ‘They’ve done a lot for us.’

I said deliberately, ‘If your government is placed in the position of having to take official notice of what’s going on then that good relationship might be endangered. Do you want that to happen?’

Her face was a study in consternation. I said grimly, ‘If this lark ever comes into the open it’ll be the biggest
cause cýlèbre
to bite Iceland since Sam Phelps tried to set up Jorgen Jorgensen as king back in 1809.’

Elin and Sigurlin looked at each other helplessly. ‘He’s right,’ said Sigurlin.

I knew I was right. Under the placid level of Icelandic society were forces not safe to tamper with. Old animosities still linger among the longer-memoried and it wouldn’t take much to stir them up. I said, ‘The less the politicians know, the better it will be for everybody. I like this country, damn it; and I don’t want the mud stirred up.’ I took Elin’s hand. ‘I’ll try to get this thing cleaned up soon. I think I know a way.’

‘Let them have the package,’ she said urgently. ‘Please, Alan; let them have it.’

‘I’m going to,’ I said. ‘But in my own way.’

There was a lot to think about. The Volkswagen, for instance. It wouldn’t take Kennikin long to check the registration and find out where it came from. That meant he’d probably be dropping in before the day was over. ‘Sigurlin,’ I said. ‘Can you take a pony and join Gunnar?’

She was startled. ‘But why…?’ She took the point. ‘The Volkswagen?’

‘Yes; you might have unwelcome visitors. You’d be better out of the way.’

‘I had a message from Gunnar last night, just after you left. He’s staying out another three days.’

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘In three days everything should be over.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Don’t ask,’ I warned. ‘You know too much already. Just get yourself in a place where there’s no one to ask questions.’ I snapped my fingers. ‘I’ll shift the Land-Rover too. I’m abandoning it, but it had better not be found here.’

‘You can park it in the stables.’

‘That’s a thought. I’m going to move some things from the Land-Rover into the Volvo. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

I went into the garage and took out the electronic gadget, the two rifles and all the ammunition. The guns I wrapped in a big piece of sacking which I found and they went into the boot. Elin came out, and said, ‘Where
are
we going?’

‘Not we,’ I said. ‘Me.’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘You’re going with Sigurlin.’

That familiar stubborn, mulish look came on to her face. ‘I liked what you said in there,’ she said. ‘About not wanting to cause trouble for my country. But it is my country and I can fight for it as well as anyone else.’

I nearly laughed aloud. ‘Elin,’ I said. ‘What do you know about fighting?’

‘As much as any other Icelander,’ she said evenly.

She had something there. ‘You don’t know what’s going on,’ I said.

‘Do you?’

‘I’m beginning to catch on. I’ve just about proved that Slade is a Russian agent—and I loaded Kennikin just like a gun and pointed him at Slade. When they meet he’s likely to go off, and I wouldn’t like to be in Slade’s position when it happens. Kennikin believes in direct action.’

‘What happened last night? Was it bad?’

I slammed the boot closed. ‘It wasn’t the happiest night of my life,’ I said shortly. ‘You’d better get some things together. I want this house unoccupied within the hour.’ I took out a map and spread it out.

‘Where are you going?’ Elin was very persistent.

‘Reykjavik,’ I said. ‘But I want to go to Keflavik first.’

‘That’s the wrong way round,’ she pointed out. ‘You’ll get to Reykjavik first—unless you go south through Hveragerdi.’

‘That’s the problem,’ I said slowly, and frowned as I looked at the map. The web of roads I had visualized
existed all right but not as extensively as I had imagined. I didn’t know about the Department’s supposed manpower shortage, but Kennikin certainly wasn’t suffering that way; I had counted ten different men with Kennikin at one time or another.

And the map showed that the whole of the Reykjanes Peninsula could be sealed off from the east by placing men at two points—Thingvellir and Hveragerdi. If I went through either of those towns at a normal slow speed I’d be spotted; if I went through hell-for-leather I’d attract an equivalent amount of attention. And the radio-telephone which had worked for me once would now work against me, and I’d have the whole lot of them down on me.

‘Christ!’ I said. ‘This is bloody impossible.’

Elin grinned at me cheerfully. ‘I know an easy way,’ she said too casually. ‘One that Kennikin won’t think of.’

I looked at her suspiciously. ‘How?’

‘By sea.’ She laid her finger on the map. ‘If we go to Vik I know an old friend who will take us to Keflavik in his boat.’

I regarded the map dubiously. ‘It’s a long way to Vik, and it’s in the wrong direction.’

‘All the better,’ she said. ‘Kennikin won’t expect you to go there.’

The more I studied the map, the better it looked. ‘Not bad,’ I said.

Elin said innocently, ‘Of course, I’ll have to come with you to introduce you to my friend.’

She’d done it again.

It was an odd way to get to Reykjavik because I pointed the Volvo in the opposite direction and put my foot down.
It was with relief that I crossed the bridge over the Thjòrsà River because that was a bottleneck I was sure Kennikin would cover, but we got across without incident and I breathed again.

Even so, after we passed Hella I had a belated attack of nerves and left the main road to join the network of bumpy tracks in Landeyjasandur, feeling that anyone who could find me in that maze would have to have extrasensory perception.

At midday Elin said decisively, ‘Coffee.’

‘What have you got? A magic wand?’

‘I’ve got a vacuum flask—and bread—and pickled herring. I raided Sigurlin’s kitchen.’

‘Now I’m glad you came,’ I said. ‘I never thought of that.’ I pulled the car to a halt.

‘Men aren’t as practical as women,’ said Elin.

As we ate I examined the map to check where we were. We had just crossed a small river and the farmstead we had passed was called BergthČrshvoll. It was with wonder that I realized we were in the land of Njal’s Saga. Not far away was Hlidarendi, where Gunnar Hamundarsson was betrayed by Hallgerd, his wife, and had gone down fighting to the end. Skarp-Hedin had stalked over this land with death on his face and his war-axe raised high, tormented by the devils of revenge. And here, at BergthČrshvoll, Njal and his wife, BergthČra, had been burned to death with their entire family.

All that had happened a thousand years ago and I reflected, with some gloom, that the essential nature of man had not changed much since. Like Gunnar and Skarp-Hedin I travelled the land in imminent danger of ambush by my enemies and, like them, I was equally prepared to lay an ambush if the opportunity arose. There was another similarity; I am a Celt and Njal had a Celtic name, nordicized from Neil. I hoped the Saga of
Burnt Njal would not be echoed by the Saga of Burnt Stewart.

I aroused myself from these depressing thoughts, and said, ‘Who is your friend in Vik?’

‘Valtyýr Baldvinsson, one of Bjarni’s old school friends. He’s a marine biologist studying the coastal ecology. He wants to find out the extent of the changes when Katla erupts.’

I knew about Katla. ‘Hence the boat,’ I said. ‘And what makes you think he’ll run us to Keflavik?’

Elin tossed her head. ‘He will if I ask him to.’

I grinned. ‘Who is this fascinating woman with a fatal power over men? Can it be none other than Mata Hari, girl spy?’

She turned pink but her voice was equable as she said, ‘You’ll like Valtyýr.’

And I did. He was a square man who, but for his colouring, looked as though he had been rough-hewn from a pillar of Icelandic basalt. His torso was square and so was his head, and his hands had stubby, spatulate fingers which appeared to be too clumsy for the delicate work he was doing when we found him in his laboratory. He looked up from the slide he was mounting and gave a great shout. ‘Elin! What are you doing here?’

‘Just passing by. This is Alan Stewart from Scotland.’

My hand was enveloped in a big paw. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, and I had the instant feeling he meant it.

He turned to Elin. ‘You’re lucky to have caught me here. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

Elin raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh! Where for?’

‘At last they’ve decided to put a new engine into that relic of a longship they’ve given me instead of a boat. I’m taking her round to Reykjavik.’

Elin glanced at me and I nodded. In the course of events you have to be lucky sometimes. I had been wondering how
Elin was going to cajole him into taking us to Keflavik without arousing too many suspicions, but now the chance had fallen right into our laps.

She smiled brilliantly. ‘Would you like a couple of passengers? I told Alan I hoped you could take us to have a look at Surtsey, but we wouldn’t mind going on to Keflavik. Alan has to meet someone there in a couple of days.’

‘I’d be glad to have company,’ Valtyýr said jovially. ‘It’s a fair distance and I’d like someone to spell me at the wheel. How’s your father?’

‘He’s well,’ said Elin.

‘And Bjarni? Has Kristin given him that son yet?’

Elin laughed. ‘Not yet—but soon. And how do you know it won’t be a daughter?’

‘It will be a boy!’ he said with certainty. ‘Are you on holiday, Alan?’ he asked in English.

I replied in Icelandic, ‘In a manner of speaking. I come here every year.’

He looked startled, and then grinned. ‘We don’t have many enthusiasts like you,’ he said.

I looked around the laboratory; it appeared to be a conventional biological set-up with the usual rows of bottles containing chemicals, the balance, the two microscopes and the array of specimens behind glass. An odour of formalin was prevalent. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.