Десмонд Бэгли - Running Blind

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?’