Десмонд Бэгли - Running Blind

‘I don’t want a move from you,’ I said, and stepped back. I worked the action of the pistol to make sure it was loaded, and threw off the safety catch. ‘Stand up.’

Obediently he stood, still clutching the newspaper. I said, ‘Walk straight forward to the wall in front of you lean against it with your hands high and your arms held wide.’

I stepped back and watched him critically as he went through the evolution. He knew what I was going to do; this was the safest way of searching a man. Being Slade, he tried to pull a fast one, so I said, ‘Pull your feet out from the wall and lean harder.’ That meant he would be off-balance to begin with if he tried anything — just enough to give me that extra fraction of a second that is all-important.

He shuffled his feet backwards and I saw the telltale quiver of his wrists as they took up the weight of his body. Then I searched him swiftly, tossing the contents of his pockets on to the bed. He carried no other weapon, unless you consider a hypodermic syringe a weapon, which I was inclined to do when I saw the wallet of ampoules that went with it. Green on the left for a six-hour certain knockout; red on the right for death in thirty seconds equally certainly.

‘Now bend your knees and come down that wall very slowly.’ His knees sagged and I brought him into the position in which I had had Fleet — belly down and arms wide stretched. It would take a better man than Slade to jump me from that position; Fleet might have done it had I not rammed his rifle in the small of his back, but Slade was not as young and he had a bigger paunch.

He lay with his head on one side, his right cheek pressed to the carpet and his left eye glaring at me malevolently. He spoke for the first time. ‘How do you know I won’t have visitors this afternoon?’

‘You’re right to worry about that,’ I said. ‘If anyone comes through that door you’re dead.’ I smiled at him. ‘It would be a pity if it was a chambermaid, then you’d be dead for nothing.’

He said, ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, Stewart? Have you gone out of your mind? I think you must have — I told Taggart so and he agrees with me. Now, put away that gun and let me stand up.’

‘I must say you try,’ I said admiringly. ‘Nevertheless, if you move a muscle towards getting up I’ll shoot you dead.’ His only reaction to that was a rapid blinking of the one eye I could see.

Presently he said, ‘You’ll hang for this, Stewart. Treason is still a capital crime.’

‘A pity,’ I said. ‘At least you won’t hang, because what you are doing isn’t treason — merely espionage. I don’t think spies are hanged — not in peacetime, anyway. It would be treason if you were English, but you’re not; you’re a Russian.’

‘You’re out of your mind,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Me — a Russian!’

‘You’re as English as Gordon Lonsdale was Canadian.’

‘Oh, wait until Taggart gets hold of you,’ he said. ‘He’ll put you through the wringer.’

I said, ‘What are you doing consorting with the opposition, Slade?’

He actually managed to summon up enough synthetic indignation to splutter. ‘Dammit!’ he said. ‘It’s my job. You did the same; you were Kennikin’s right-hand man at one time. I’m just following orders — which is more than you are doing.’

‘That’s interesting,’ I said. ‘Your orders are very curious. Tell me more.’

‘I’ll tell nothing to a traitor,’ he said virtuously.

I must say that at that moment I admired Slade for the first time. Lying in a most undignified position and with a gun at his head he wasn’t giving an inch and was prepared to fight to the end. I had been in his position myself when I had got next to Kennikin in Sweden and I knew how nerve-abrading a life it was — never knowing from one day to another whether one’s cover had been blown. Here he was, still trying to convince me that he was as pure as the latest brand of detergent, and I knew that if I let up on him for a fraction of a second so that he could get the upper hand I would be a dead man in that very second.

I said, ‘Come off it, Slade. I heard you tell Ilyich to kill me. Don’t tell me that was an order passed on from Taggart.’

‘Yes,’ he said, without the flicker of an eyelash. ‘He thinks you’ve gone over. I can’t say I blame him, either, considering the way you’ve been behaving.’

I almost burst out laughing at his effrontery. ‘By God, but you’re good!’ I said. ‘You lie there with your face hanging out and tell me that. I suppose Taggart also told you to ask the Russkies to do the job for him.’

Slade’s exposed cheek wrinkled up into the rictus of a half smile. ‘It’s been done before,’ he said. ‘You killed Jimmy Birkby.’

Involuntarily my finger tightened on the trigger, and I had to take a deep breath before I relaxed. I tried to keep my voice even as I said, ‘You’ve never been nearer death than now, Slade. You shouldn’t have mentioned Birkby — that’s a sore point. Let’s not have any more comedy. You’re finished and you know it quite well. You’re going to tell me a lot of things I’m interested in, and you’re going to tell it fast, so speak up.’

‘You can go to hell,’ he said sullenly.

‘You’re a great deal nearer hell right now,’ I said. ‘Let me put it this way. Personally, I don’t give a damn if you’re English or Russian, a spy or a traitor. I don’t give a damn for patriotism either; I’ve got past that. With me this is purely personal — on a man-to-man basis, if you like. The foundation for most murders. Elin was nearly killed in Asbyrgi on your instruction, and I’ve just heard you tell a man to kill me. If I kill you right now it will be self-defence.’

Slade lifted his head a little and turned it so that he could look at me straight. ‘But you won’t do it,’ he said.

‘No?’

‘No,’ he said with certainty. ‘I told you before — you’re too soft-centred. You might kill me under different circumstances; if I were running away, for instance, or if we were shooting at each other. But you won’t kill me while I’m lying here. You’re an English gentleman.’ He made it sound like a swearword.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ I said. ‘Maybe Scots are different.’

‘Not enough to matter,’ he said indifferently.

I watched him look into the muzzle of the pistol without a quiver and I had to give the devil his due. Slade knew men and he had my measure as far as killing was concerned. He also knew that if he came for me I would shoot to kill. He was safe enough while lying defenceless, but action was another thing.

He smiled. ‘You’ve already proved it. You shot Yuri in the leg — why not in the heart? By Kennikin’s account you were shooting accurately enough across that river to have given every man a free shave without benefit of barber. You could have killed Yuri — but you didn’t!’

‘Maybe I wasn’t feeling in the mood at the time. I killed Gregor.’

‘In the heat of action. Your death or his. Any man can make that kind of decision.’

I had the uneasy feeling that the initiative was passing from me and I had to get it back. I said, ‘You can’t talk if you’re dead — and you’re going to talk. Let’s begin by you telling me about the electronic gadget — what is it?’

He looked at me contemptuously and tightened his lips.

I glanced at the pistol I held. God knows why Slade carried it because it was a .32 — a popgun just as heavy to lug about as a modern .38 but without the stopping power. But maybe he was a crack shot and could hit his target every time so that wouldn’t matter much. What would matter when shooting in a populous place was that the muzzle blast was much less and so were the decibels. You could probably fire it in a busy street and no one would take much notice.