Десмонд Бэгли - Running Blind

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.’