Running Blind

I

We went outside to find it was as dark as it ever gets in the Icelandic summer. There was no moon but there was visibility of sorts in a kind of ghostly twilight. There was a soft explosion among the hot pools and the eerie spectre of Strokkur rose into the air, a fading apparition which dissipated into wind-blown shreds. There was a stink of sulphur in the air.

I shivered suddenly. It’s no wonder that the map of Iceland is littered with place names which tell of the giant trolls who dwell in the roots of the mountains, or that the old men still hand down the legends of man in conflict with spirits. The young Icelanders, geared to the twentieth century with their transistor radios and casual use of aircraft, laugh and call it superstition. Maybe they’re right, but I’ve noticed that they tend to force their laughter sometimes and it has a quality of unease about it. All I know is that if I had been one of the old Vikings and had come upon Strokkur unexpectedly one dark night I’d have been scared witless.

I think Case caught something of the atmosphere because he looked across at the thinning curtain of mist as Strokkur disappeared, and said softly, ‘It’s really something, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I said shortly. ‘The car’s over there. It’s quite a way.’

We crunched on the crushed lava of the road and walked past the long row of white-painted pillars which separate the road from the pools. I could hear the bubbling of hot water and the stench of sulphur was stronger. If you looked at the pools in daylight you would find them all colours, some as white and clear as gin, others a limpid blue or green, and all close to boiling point. Even in the darkness I could see the white vapour rising in the air.

Case said, ‘About Slade. What was the...?’

I never heard the end of that question because three heavier patches of darkness rose up about us suddenly. Someone grabbed me and said, ‘Stewartsen, stanna! Förstar Ni?’ Something hard jabbed into my side.

I stopped all right, but not in the way that was expected. I let myself go limp, just as McCarthy had done when I hit him with the cosh. My knees buckled and I went down to the ground. There was a muffled exclamation of surprise and momentarily the grip on my arm relaxed and the movement in a totally unexpected direction dislodged the gun from my ribs.

As soon as I was down I spun around fast with one leg bent and the other extended rigidly. The outstretched leg caught my Swedish-speaking friend behind the knees with a great deal of force and he fell to the ground. His pistol was ready for use because there was a bang as he fell and I heard the whine of a ricocheting bullet.

I rolled over until I was prone against one of the pillars. I would be too conspicuous against that painted whiteness so I wormed off the road and into the darkness, pulling the pistol from my pocket as I went. Behind me there was a shout of ‘Spheshíte!’ and another voice in a lower tone said, ‘Net! Slúshayte!’ I kept very still and heard the thudding of boots as someone ran towards the hotel.

Only Kennikin’s mob would have addressed me as Stewartsen and in Swedish, and now they were bellowing in Russian. I kept my head close to the ground and looked back towards the road so I could see anyone there silhouetted against the paler sky. There was a flicker of movement quite close and a crunch of footsteps, so I put a bullet in that direction, picked myself up, and ran for it.

And that was damned dangerous because, in the darkness, I could very well run headlong into a bottomless pool of boiling water. I counted my paces and tried to visualize the hot pools area as I had often seen it in daylight under less unnerving conditions. The pools vary in size from a piddling little six inches in diameter to the fifty-foot giant economy size. Heated by the subterranean volcanic activity, the water continually wells out of the pools to form a network of hot streams which covers the whole area.

After I had covered a hundred yards I stopped and dropped on one knee. Ahead of me steam rose and lay in a level blanket and I thought that was Geysir itself. That means that Strokkur was somewhere to my left and a little behind. I wanted to keep clear of Strokkur — getting too close would be dicey in the extreme.

I looked back and saw nothing, but I heard footsteps following in the line I had come, and others away to the right and getting closer. I didn’t know if my pursuers knew the lie of the ground or not but, intentionally or accidentally, I was being herded right into the pools. The man on the right switched on a flash lamp, a big thing like a miniature searchlight. He directed it at the ground which was lucky for me, but he was more troubled about turning himself into goulash.

I lifted my pistol and banged off three shots in that direction and the light went out suddenly. I don’t think I hit him but he had come to the acute realization that his light made a good target. I wasn’t worried about making a noise; the more noise the better as far as I was concerned. Five shots had been fired, five too many in the quiet Icelandic night, and already lights were popping on in the hotel and I heard someone call from that direction.

The man behind me let fly with two shots and I saw the muzzle flare of his pistol very close, not more than ten yards away. The bullets went wide; one I don’t know where, but the other raised a fountain in the pool of Geysir. I didn’t return the fire but ran to the left, skirting the pool. I stumbled through a stream of hot water, but it was barely two inches deep and I went through fast enough not to do any damage to myself and being more concerned that the splashing noise would give away my position.

There were more cries from the hotel and the slam of windows opening. Someone started up a car with a rasping noise and headlights were switched on. I paid little attention to that, but carried on, angling back towards the road. Whoever started that car had a bright idea — and no pun intended. He swung around and drove towards the pools, his headlamps illuminating the whole area.

It was fortunate for me that he did because it prevented me from running headlong into one of the pools. I saw the reflections strike from the water just in time to skid to a halt, and I teetered for a moment right on the edge. My balancing act wasn’t improved much when someone took a shot at me from an unexpected direction — the other side of the pool — and something tugged briefly at the sleeve of my jacket.

Although I was illuminated by the lights of that damned car my attacker was in an even worse position because he was between me and the light and marvellously silhouetted. I slung a shot at him and he flinched with his whole body and retreated. Briefly the headlights of the car swung away and I hastily ran around the pool while he put a bullet in roughly the place I had been.

Then the lights came back and steadied and I saw him retreating backwards, his head moving from side to side nervously. He didn’t see me because by this time I was flat on my belly. Slowly he went backwards until he put a foot into six inches of boiling water and jerked apprehensively. He moved fast but not fast enough, because the big gas bubble which heralds the blasting of Strokkur was already rising in the pool behind him like a monster coming to the surface.

Strokkur exploded violently. Steam, superheated by the molten magma far below, drove a column of boiling water up the shaft so that it fountained sixty feet above the pool and descended in a downpour of deadly rain. The man screamed horribly, but his shrill piping was lost in the roar of Strokkur. He flung his arms wide and toppled into the pool.

I moved fast, casting a wide circle away from the revealing lights and heading eventually towards the road. There was a confused babble of shouting and more cars were started up to add their lights to the scene, and I saw a crowd of people running towards Strokkur. I came to a pool and tossed the pistol into it, together with the spare clips of ammunition. Anyone found carrying a gun that night would be likely to spend the rest of his life in jail.

At last I got to the road and joined the crowd. Someone said, ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ I flung my hand towards the pool. ‘I heard shooting.’

He dashed past me, avid for vicarious excitement — he would have run just as fast to see a bloody motor smash — and I discreetly melted into the darkness behind the line of parked cars drawn up with headlamps blazing.

After I had gone a hundred yards up the road in the direction of the Volkswagen I turned and looked back. There was a lot of excitement and waving of arms, and long shadows were cast on to the shifting vapour above the hot pools, and there was a small crowd about Strokkur, edging closer but not too close because Strokkur has a short, seven-minute cycle. I realized, with some astonishment, that from the time Case and I had seen Strokkur blow when we left the hotel until the man had fallen into the pool had been only seven minutes.

Then I saw Slade.

He was standing clearly visible in the lights of a car and looking out towards Strokkur. I regretted throwing away the pistol because I would have shot him there and then had I been able, regardless of the consequences. His companion raised his arm and pointed and Slade laughed. Then his friend turned around and I saw it was Jack Case.

I found myself trembling all over, and it was with an effort that I dragged myself away up the road and looked for the Volkswagen. It was where I had left it and I got behind the driving wheel, switched on the engine, and then sat there for a moment, letting the tension drain away. No one I know has ever been shot at from close range and retained his equanimity — his autonomic nervous system sees to that. The glands work overtime and the chemicals stir in the blood, the muscles tune up and the belly goes loose, and it’s even worse when the danger has gone.

I found that my hands were trembling violently and rested them on the wheel, and presently they grew still and I felt better. I had just put the car into gear when I felt a ring of cold metal applied to the back of my neck, and a harsh, well-remembered voice said, ‘God dag, Herr Stewartsen. Var forsiktig.’

I sighed, and switched off the engine. ‘Hello, Vaslav,’ I said.

II

‘I am surrounded by a pack of idiots of an incomparable stupidity,’ said Kennikin. ‘Their brains are in their trigger fingers. It was different in our day; eh, Stewartsen?’

‘My name is Stewart now,’ I said.

‘So? Well. Herr Stewart; you may switch on your engine and proceed. I will direct you. We will let my incompetent assistants find their own way.’

The muzzle of the gun nudged me. I switched on, and said, ‘Which way?’

‘Head towards Laugarvatn.’

I drove out of Geysir slowly and carefully. The gun no longer pressed into the back of my neck but I knew it wasn’t far away, and I knew Kennikin well enough not to go in for any damn-fool heroics. He was disposed to make light conversation. ‘You’ve caused a lot of trouble, Alan — and you can solve a problem that’s been puzzling me. Whatever happened to Tadeusz?’

‘Who the hell is Tadeusz?’

‘The day you landed at Keflavik he was supposed to stop you.’

‘So that was Tadeusz — he called himself Lindholm. Tadeusz — that sounds Polish.’

‘He’s Russian; his mother is Polish, I believe.’

‘She’ll miss him,’ I said.

‘So!’ He was silent for a while, then he said, ‘Poor Yuri had his leg amputated this morning.’

‘Poor Yuri ought to have known better than to wave a belly gun at a man armed with a rifle,’ I said.

‘But Yuri didn’t know you had a rifle,’ said Kennikin. ‘Not that rifle, anyway. It came as quite a surprise.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘You really shouldn’t have wrecked my jeep like that. It wasn’t nice.’

Not that rifle! He expected a rifle, but not the blockbuster I’d taken from Fleet. That was interesting because the only other rifle was the one I’d taken from Philips and how could he know about that? Only from Slade — another piece of evidence.

I said, ‘Was the engine wrecked?’

‘There was a hole shot through the battery,’ he said. ‘And the cooling system was wrecked. We lost all the water. That must be quite a gun.’

‘It is,’ I said. ‘I hope to use it again.’

He chuckled. ‘I doubt if you will. That little episode was most embarrassing; I had to talk fast to get out of it. A couple of inquisitive Icelanders asked a lot of questions which I didn’t really feel like answering. Such as why the cable car was tied up, and what had happened to the jeep. And there was the problem of keeping Yuri quiet.’

‘It must have been most uncomfortable,’ I said.

‘And now you’ve done it again,’ said Kennikin. ‘And in public this time. What really happened back there?’

‘One of your boys got himself parboiled,’ I said. ‘He got too close to a spouter.’

‘You see what I mean,’ said Kennikin. ‘Incompetents, the lot of them. You’d think three to one would be good odds, wouldn’t you? But no; they bungled it.’

The odds had been three to two, but what had happened to Jack Case? He hadn’t lifted a finger to help. The image of him standing and talking to Slade still burned brightly in my mind and I felt the rage boil up within me. Every time I had turned to those I thought I could trust I had been betrayed, and the knowledge burned like acid.

Buchner/Graham/Philips I could understand; he was a member of the Department fooled by Slade. But Case knew the score — he knew my suspicions of Slade — and he had not done one damned thing to help when I had been jumped by Kennikin’s men. And ten minutes later he was hobnobbing with Slade. It seemed as though the whole Department was infiltrated although, Taggart excepted, Case was the last man I would have thought to have gone over. I thought sourly that even Taggart might be on the Moscow pay-roll — that would wrap the whole bundle into one neat package.

Kennikin said, ‘I’m glad I didn’t underestimate you. I rather thought you’d get away from the morons I’ve had wished on me, so I staked out this car. A little forethought always pays, don’t you think?’

I said, ‘Where are we going?’

‘You don’t need to know in detail,’ he said. ‘Just concentrate on the driving. And you will go through Laugarvatn very carefully, observing all the speed limits and refraining from drawing attention. No sudden blasts on the horn, for example.’ The cold steel momentarily touched my neck. ‘Understand?’

‘I understand.’ I felt a sudden relief. I had thought that perhaps he knew where I had spent the last twenty-four hours and that we were driving to Gunnar’s house. It wouldn’t have surprised me overmuch; Kennikin seemed to know everything else. He had been lying in wait at Geysir, and that had been a neat trick. The thought of Elin being taken and what might have happened to Sigurlin had made my blood freeze.

We went through Laugarvatn and on to Thingvellir, and took the Reykjavik road, but eight kilometres out of Thingvellir Kennikin directed me to turn left on a secondary road. It was a road I knew well, and it led around the lake of Thingvallavatn. I wondered where the hell we were going.

I didn’t have to wonder long because at a word from Kennikin I turned off the road again and we went down a bumpy track towards the lake and the lights of a small house. One of the status symbols in Reykjavik is to have a summer chalet on the shores of Thingvallavatn, even more prized because the building restrictions have forbidden new construction and so the price has shot up. Owning a chalet on Thingvallavatn is the Icelandic equivalent of having a Rembrandt on the wall.

I pulled up outside the house, and Kennikin said, ‘Blow the horn.’

I tooted and someone came out. Kennikin put the pistol to my head. ‘Careful, Alan,’ he said. ‘Be very careful.’

He also was very careful. I was taken inside without the faintest possibility of making a break. The room was decorated in that generalized style known as Swedish Modern; when done in England it looks bleak and a little phoney, but when done by the Scandinavians it looks natural and good. There was an open fire burning which was something of a surprise. Iceland has no coal and no trees to make log fires, and an open blaze is something of a rarity; a lot of the houses are heated by natural hot water, and those that aren’t have oil-fired central heating. This fire was of peat which glowed redly with small flickering blue flames.

Kennikin jerked his gun. ‘Sit by the fire, Alan; make yourself warm. But first Ilyich will search you.’

Ilyich was a squarely-built man with a broad, flat face. There was something Asiatic about his eyes which made me think that at least one of his parents hailed from the farther side of the Urals. He patted me thoroughly, then turned to Kennikin and shook his head.

‘No gun?’ said Kennikin. ‘That was wise of you.’ He smiled pleasantly at Ilyich, then turned to me and said, ‘You see what I mean, Alan? I am surrounded by idiots. Draw up the left leg of your trousers and show Ilyich your pretty little knife.’

I obeyed, and Ilyich blinked at it in astonishment while Kennikin reamed him out. Russian is even richer than English in cutting invective. The sgian dubh was confiscated and Kennikin waved me to the seat while Ilyich, red-faced, moved behind me.

Kennikin put away his gun. ‘Now, what will you have to drink, Alan Stewart?’

‘Scotch — if you have it.’

‘We have it.’ He opened a cupboard near the fireplace and poured a drink. ‘Will you have it neat or with water? I regret we have no soda.’

‘Water will do,’ I said. ‘Make it a weak one.’

He smiled. ‘Oh, yes; you have to keep a clear head,’ he said sardonically. ‘Section four. Rule thirty-five; when offered a drink by the opposition request a weak one.’ He splashed water into the glass then brought it to me. ‘I hope that is to your satisfaction.’

I sipped it cautiously, then nodded. If it had been any weaker it wouldn’t have been able to crawl out of the glass and past my lips. He returned to the cupboard and poured himself a tumbler-full of Icelandic brennivin and knocked back half the contents with one gulp. I watched with some astonishment as he swallowed the raw spirit without twitching a hair. Kennikin was going downhill fast if he now did his drinking openly. I was surprised the Department hadn’t caught on to it.

I said, ‘Can’t you get Calvados here in Iceland, Vaslav?’

He grinned and held up the glass. ‘This is my first drink in four years, Alan. I’m celebrating.’ He sat in the chair opposite me. ‘I have reason to celebrate — it’s not often that old friends meet in our profession. Is the Department treating you well?’

I sipped the watery scotch and set the glass on the low table next to my chair. ‘I haven’t been with the Department for four years.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘My information is different.’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But it’s wrong. I quit when I left Sweden.’

‘I also quit,’ said Kennikin. ‘This is my first assignment in four years. I have you to thank for that. I have you to thank for many things.’ His voice was slow and even. ‘I didn’t quit of my own volition. Alan; I was sent to sort papers in Ashkhabad. Do you know where that is?’

‘Turkmenistan.’

‘Yes.’ He thumped his chest. ‘Me — Vaslav Viktorovich Kennikin — sent to comb the border for narcotics smugglers and to shuffle papers at a desk.’

‘Thus are the mighty fallen,’ I said. ‘So they dug you up for this operation. That must have pleased you.’

He stretched out his legs. ‘Oh, it did. I was very pleased when I discovered you were here. You see, at one time I thought you were my friend.’ His voice rose slightly. ‘You were as close to me as my own brother.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Don’t you know intelligence agents have no friends?’ I remembered Jack Case and thought bitterly that I was learning the lesson the hard way, just as Kennikin had.

He went on as though I had not spoken. ‘Closer to me than my brother. I would have put my life in your hands — I did put my life in your hands.’ He stared into the colourless liquid in his glass. ‘And you sold me out.’ Abruptly he lifted the glass and drained it.

I said derisively, ‘Come off it, Vaslav; you’d have done the same in my position.’

He stared at me. ‘But I trusted you,’ he said almost plaintively. ‘That is what hurt most.’ He stood up and walked to the cupboard. Over his shoulder he said, ‘You know what my people are like. Mistakes aren’t condoned. And so...’ He shrugged ‘...the desk in Ashkhabad. They wasted me.’ His voice was harsh.

‘It could have been worse,’ I said. ‘It could have been Siberia. Khatanga, for instance.’

When he returned to his chair the tumbler was full again. ‘It very nearly was,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But my friends helped — my true Russian friends.’ With an effort he pulled himself back to the present. ‘But we waste time. You have a certain piece of electronic equipment which is wrongfully in your possession. Where is it?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He nodded. ‘Of course, you would have to say that; I expected nothing else. But you must realize that you will give it to me eventually.’ He took a cigarette case from his pocket. ‘Well?’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I know I’ve got it, and you know I’ve got it; there’s no point in beating around the bush. We know each other too well for that, Vaslav. But you’re not going to get it.’

He took a long Russian cigarette from the case. ‘I think I will. Alan; I know I will.’ He put the case away and searched his pockets for a lighter. ‘You see, this is not just an ordinary operation for me. I have many reasons for wanting to hurt you that are quite unconnected with this electronic gear. I am quite certain I shall get it. Quite certain.’

His voice was cold as ice and I felt an answering shudder run down my spine. Kennikin will want to operate on you with a sharp knife. Slade had said that, and Slade had delivered me into his hands.

He made a sound of annoyance as he discovered he had no means of lighting his cigarette, and Ilyich stepped from behind me, a cigarette lighter in his hand. Kennikin inclined his head to accept a light as the flint sparked. It sparked again but no flame appeared, and he said irritably, ‘Oh, never mind!’

He leaned forward and picked up a spill of paper from the hearth, ignited it at the fire, and lit his cigarette. I was interested in what Ilyich was doing. He had not returned to his post behind my chair but had gone to the cupboard where the liquor was kept — behind Kennikin.

Kennikin drew on the cigarette and blew a plume of smoke, and then looked up. As soon as he saw that Ilyich was not in sight the pistol appeared in his hand. ‘Ilyich, what are you doing?’ The gun pointed steadily at me.

Ilyich turned with a refill cylinder of butane gas in his hand. ‘Filling the lighter.’

Kennikin blew out his cheeks and rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Never mind that,’ he said curtly. ‘Go outside and search the Volkswagen. You know what to look for.’

‘It’s not there, Vaslav,’ I said.

‘Ilyich will make sure of it,’ said Kennikin.

Ilyich put the butane cylinder back into the liquor cupboard and left the room. Kennikin did not put away the pistol again but held it casually. ‘Didn’t I tell you? The team they have given me has been scraped from the bottom of the barrel. I’m surprised you didn’t try to take advantage.’

I said, ‘I might have done if you hadn’t been around.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘We know each other very well. Perhaps too well.’ He balanced the cigarette in an ashtray and picked up his glass. ‘I don’t really know if I will get any pleasure from working on you. Don’t you English have a proverb — “It hurts me as much as it hurts you.” ’ He waved his hand. ‘But perhaps I’ve got it wrong.’

‘I’m not English,’ I said. ‘I’m a Scot.’

‘A difference that makes no difference is no difference. But I’ll tell you something — you made a great difference to me and to my life.’ He took a gulp of brennivin. ‘Tell me — that girl you’ve been running around with — Elin Ragnarsdottir; are you in love with her?’

I felt myself tighten. ‘She’s got nothing to do with this.’

He laughed. ‘Do not trouble yourself. I have no intention of harming her. Not a hair of her head shall be touched. I don’t believe in the Bible, but I’m willing to swear on it.’ His voice turned sardonic. ‘I’ll even swear it on the Works of Lenin, if that’s an acceptable substitute. Do you believe me?’

‘I believe you,’ I said. I did, too. There was no comparison between Kennikin and Slade. I wouldn’t have taken Slade’s word had he sworn on a thousand bibles, but in this I would accept Kennikin’s lightest word and trust him as he had once trusted me. I knew and understood Kennikin and I liked his style; he was a gentleman — savage, but still a gentleman.

‘Well, then; answer my question. Are you in love with her?’

‘We’re going to be married.’

He laughed. ‘That’s not exactly a straight answer, but it will do.’ He leaned forward. ‘Do you sleep with her, Alan? When you come to Iceland do you lie under the stars together and clasp each other’s bodies, and work at each other until your sweat mingles? Do you call each other by names that are sweet and soft and handle each other until that last gust of passion, that flare of ecstasy in each of you, mutually quenches the other and ebbs away into languor? Is that how it is, Alan?’

His voice was purring and cruel. ‘Do you remember our last encounter in the pine woods when you tried to kill me? I wish you had been a better shot. I was in hospital in Moscow for a long time while they patched me up, but there was one patch they couldn’t put back, Alan. And that is why, if you come out of this alive — and that is something I haven’t yet decided — you will be no good to Elin Ragnarsdottir or to any other woman.’

I said, ‘I’d like another drink.’

‘I’ll make it stronger this time,’ he said. ‘You look as though you need it.’ He came across and took my glass, and backed towards the liquor cupboard. Still holding the pistol he poured whisky into the glass and added a little water. He brought it back. ‘You need some colour in your cheeks,’ he said.

I took the whisky from him. ‘I understand your bitterness — but any soldier can expect to be wounded; it’s an occupational hazard. What really hurts is that you were sold out. That’s it, Vaslav; isn’t it?’

‘That among other things,’ he agreed.

I sampled the whisky; it was strong this time. ‘Where you go wrong is in your identification of who did it. Who was your boss at that time?’

‘Bakayev — in Moscow.’

‘And who was my boss?’

He smiled. ‘That eminent British nobleman, Sir David Taggart.’

I shook my head. ‘No. Taggart wasn’t interested; there were bigger fish to occupy his attention at the time. You were sold out by Bakayev, your own boss, in collaboration with my boss, and I was just the instrument.’

Kennikin roared with laughter. ‘My dear Alan; you’ve been reading too much Fleming.’

I said, ‘You haven’t asked who my boss was.’

He was still shaking with chuckles as he said, ‘All right; who was he?’

‘Slade,’ I said.

The laughter suddenly stopped. I said, ‘It was very carefully planned. You were sacrificed to give Slade a good reputation. It had to look good — it had to look very authentic. That’s why you weren’t told. All things considered, you put up a good fight, but all the time your foundations were being nibbled away by Bakayev who was passing information to Slade.’

‘This is nonsense, Stewartsen,’ he said; but his face had gone pale and the livid cicatrice stood out on his cheek.

‘So you failed,’ I said. ‘And, naturally, you had to be punished, or it still wouldn’t look right. Yes, we know how your people do things, and if you hadn’t been sent to Ashkhabad or somewhere like it we’d have been suspicious. So you spent four years in exile to make it look right; four years of paper shuffling for doing your duty. You’ve been had, Vaslav.’

His eyes were stony. ‘This Slade I don’t know,’ he said shortly.

‘You ought to. He’s the man you take orders from in Iceland. You thought it natural, perhaps, that you shouldn’t be in command on this operation. Your people wouldn’t want to give sole responsibility to a man like yourself who failed once. A reasonable attitude, you would think; and maybe you could retrieve your reputation and your honour and aspire to your former dizzy heights by a successful completion of this mission.’ I laughed. ‘And who do they give you for a boss? None other than the man who torpedoed you in Sweden.’

Kennikin stood up. The pistol pointed unwaveringly at my chest. ‘I know who ruined the Swedish operation,’ he said. ‘And I can touch him from here.’

‘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 Hornlund — 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.

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.