Десмонд Бэгли - Running Blind

‘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.