I felt ruffled so I straightened my jacket and then took a taxi to the Hotel Vardborg. There wasn’t anything else to do.
IV
Elin had been right; I was in time to lunch at the Vardborg. I had just stuck my fork into the mutton when Herr Buchner walked in, looked around and spotted me, and headed in my direction. He stood on the other side of the table, twitched his moustache, and said, ‘Mr Stewart?’
I leaned back. ‘Well, if it isn’t Herr Buchner! What can I do for you?’
‘My name is Graham,’ he said coldly. ‘And I’d like to talk to you.’
‘You were Buchner this morning,’ I said. ‘But if I had a name like that I’d want to change it, too.’ I waved him towards a chair. ‘Be my guest—I can recommend the soup.’
He sat down stiffly. ‘I’m not in the mood for acting straight man to your comedian,’ he said, extracting his wallet from his pocket. ‘My credentials.’ He pushed a scrap of paper across the table.
I unfolded it to find the left half of a 100-kronur banknote. When I matched it against the other half from my own wallet the two halves fitted perfectly. I looked up at him. ‘Well, Mr Graham; that seems to be in order. What can I do for you?’
‘You can give me the package,’ he said. ‘That’s all I want.’
I shook my head regretfully. ‘You know better than that.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I can’t give you the package because I haven’t got it.’
His moustache twitched again and his eyes turned cold. ‘Let’s have no games, Stewart. The package.’ He held out his hand.
‘Damn it!’ I said. ‘You were there—you know what happened.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was where?’
‘Outside Akureyri Airport. You were taking a taxi.’
His eyes flickered. ‘Was I?’ he said colourlessly. ‘Go on!’
‘They grabbed me before I knew what was happening, and they got clean away with the package. It was in my camera case.’
His voice cracked. ‘You mean you haven’t got it!’
I said sardonically, ‘If you were supposed to be my bodyguard you did a bloody awful job. Slade isn’t going to like it.’
‘By God, he’s not!’ said Graham with feeling. A tic pulsed under his right eye. ‘So it was in the camera case.’
‘Where else would it be? It was the only luggage I carried. You ought to know that—you were standing right behind me with your big ears flapping when I checked in at Reykjavik airport.’
He gave me a look of dislike. ‘You think you’re clever, don’t you?’ He leaned forward. ‘There’s going to be a Godawful row about this. You’d better stay available, Stewart; you’d better be easy to find when I come back.’
I shrugged. ‘Where would I go? Besides, I have the Scottish sense of thrift, and my room here is paid for.’
‘You take this damned coolly.’
‘What do you expect me to do? Burst into tears?’ I laughed in his face. ‘Grow up, Graham.’
His face tightened but he said nothing; instead he stood up and walked away. I put in fifteen minutes of deep thought while polishing off the mutton and at the end of that time I came to a decision, and the decision was that I could do with a drink, so I went to find one.
As I walked through the hotel foyer I saw Buchner-Graham hard at work in a telephone-box. Although it wasn’t particularly warm he was sweating.
V
I came out of a dreamless sleep because someone was shaking me and hissing, ‘Stewart, wake up!’ I Opened my eyes and found Graham leaning over me.
I blinked at him. ‘Funny! I was under the impression I locked my door.’
He grinned humourlessly. ‘You did. Wake up—you’re going to be interviewed. You’d better have your wits sharpened.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Five a.m.’
I smiled. ‘Gestapo technique, eh! Oh, well: I suppose I’ll feel better when I’ve shaved.’
Graham seemed nervous. ‘You’d better hurry. He’ll be here in five minutes.’
‘Who will?’
‘You’ll see.’
I ran hot water into the basin and began to lather my face. ‘What was your function on this particular exercise, Graham? As a bodyguard you’re a dead loss, so it can’t have been that.’
‘You’d better stop thinking about me and start to think about yourself,’ he said. ‘You have a lot of explaining to do.’
‘True,’ I said, and put down the brush and picked up the razor. The act of scraping one’s face with a sliver of sharp metal always seems futile and a little depressing; I would have been happier in one of the hairier ages—counterespionage agent by appointment to Her Majesty Queen Victoria would have been the ideal ticket.
I must have been more nervous than I thought because I shaved myself down to the blood on the first pass. Then someone knocked perfunctorily on the door and Slade came into the room. He kicked the door shut with his foot and glowered at me with a scowl on his jowly face, his hands thrust deep into his overcoat pockets. Without an overture he said briefly, ‘What’s the story, Stewart?’
There’s nothing more calculated to put a man off his stroke than having to embark on complicated explanations with a face full of drying lather. I turned back to the mirror and continued to shave—in silence.
Slade made one of those unspellable noises—an explosive outrush of air expelled through mouth and nose. He sat on the bed and the springs creaked in protest at the excessive weight. ‘It had better be good,’ he said. ‘I dislike being hauled out of bed and flown to the frozen north.’
I continued to shave, thinking that whatever could bring Slade from London to Akureyri must be important. After the last tricky bit around the Adam’s apple, I said, ‘The package must have been more important than you told me.’ I turned on the cold tap and rinsed the soap from my face.
‘…that bloody package,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I apologized. ‘I didn’t hear that. I had water in my ears.’
He contained himself with difficulty. ‘Where’s the package?’ he asked with synthetic patience.
‘As of this moment I couldn’t tell you.’ I dried my face vigorously. ‘It was taken from me at midday yesterday by four unknown males—but you know that already from Graham.’
His voice rose. ‘And you let them take it—just like that!’
‘There wasn’t much I could do about it at the time,’ I said equably. ‘I had a gun in my kidneys.’ I nodded towards Graham. ‘What was he supposed to be doing about it—if it isn’t a rude answer?’
Slade folded his hands together across his stomach. ‘We thought they’d tagged Graham—that’s why we brought you in. We thought they’d tackle Graham and give you a free run to the goal line.’
I didn’t think much of that one. If they—whoever they were—had tagged Graham, then it wasn’t at all standard procedure for him to draw attention to me by lurking outside my flat. But I let it go because Slade always had been a slippery customer and I wanted to keep something in reserve.
Instead, I said, ‘They didn’t tackle Graham—they tackled me. But perhaps they don’t know the rules of rugby football; it’s not a game they go for in Sweden.’ I gave myself a last dab behind the ears and dropped the towel. ‘Or in Russia,’ I added as an afterthought.
Slade looked up. ‘And what makes you think of Russians?’
I grinned at him. ‘I always think of Russians,’ I said drily. ‘Like the Frenchman who always thought of sex.’ I leaned over him and picked up my cigarettes. ‘Besides, they called me Stewartsen.’
‘So?’
‘So they knew who I was—not who I am now, but what I was once. There’s a distinction.’
Slade shifted his eyes to Graham and said curtly, ‘Wait outside.’
Graham looked hurt but obediently went to the door. When he’d closed it I said, ‘Oh, goody; now the children are out of the room
we can have a grown-up conversation. And where, for Christ’s sake, did you get that one? I told you I wouldn’t stand for trainees on the operation.’
‘What makes you think he’s a trainee?’
‘Come, now; he’s still wet behind the ears.’
‘He’s a good man,’ said Slade, and shifted restlessly on the bed. He was silent for a while, then he said, ‘Well, you’ve really cocked this one up, haven’t you? Just a simple matter of carrying a small parcel from A to B and you fall down on it. I knew you were past it but, by God, I didn’t think you were so bloody decrepit.’ He wagged his finger. ‘And they called you Stewartsen! You know what that means?’
‘Kennikin,’ I said, not relishing the thought. ‘Is he here—in Iceland?’
Slade hunched his shoulders. ‘Not that I know of.’ He looked at me sideways. ‘When you were contacted in Reykjavik what were you told?’
I shrugged. ‘Not much. There was a car provided which I had to drive to Reykjavik by way of Krysuvik and leave parked outside the Saga. I did all that.’
Slade grunted in his throat. ‘Run into any trouble?’
‘Was I supposed to?’ I asked blandly.
He shook his head irritably. ‘We had word that something might happen. It seemed best to re-route you.’ He stood up with a dissatisfied look on his face and went to the door. ‘Graham!’
I said, ‘I’m sorry about all this, Slade; I really am.’
‘Being sorry butters no bloody parsnips. We’ll just have to see what we can salvage from this mess. Hell, I brought you in because the Department is short-handed—and now we have a whole country to seal off because of your stupidity.’ He turned to Graham. ‘Put a call through to the Department in London; I’ll take it downstairs. And talk to Captain Lee at the airport; I want that plane to be ready to take off at five minutes’ notice. We may have to move fast.’
I coughed delicately. ‘Me, too?’
Slade looked at me malevolently. ‘You! You’ve caused enough of a shambles on this operation.’
‘Well, what do I do?’
‘You can go to hell for all I care,’ he said. ‘Go back to Reykjavik and shack up with your girl-friend for the rest of the summer.’ He turned and bumped into Graham. ‘What the hell are you waiting for?’ he snarled, and Graham fled.
Slade paused at the door and said without turning, ‘But you’d better watch out for Kennikin because I’ll not lift a finger to stop him. By God, I hope he does nail you!’
The door slammed and I sat on the bed and brooded. I knew that if ever I met Kennikin again I would be meeting death.
TWO
Elin rang up as I was finishing breakfast. From the static and the slight fading I could tell she was using the radiotelephone in the Land-Rover. Most vehicles travelling long distances in Iceland are fitted with radio-telephones, a safety measure called for by the difficult nature of the terrain. That’s the standard explanation, but not the whole truth. The fact is that Icelanders like telephoning and constitute one of the gabbiest nations on earth, coming just after the United States and Canada in the number of calls per head.
She asked if I had slept well and I assured her I had, then I said, ‘When will you get here?’
‘About eleven-thirty.’
‘I’ll meet you at the camp site,’ I said.
That gave me two hours which I spent in walking around Akureyri like a tourist, ducking in and out of shops, unexpectedly retracing my steps and, in general acting the fool. But when I joined Elin at the camp site I was absolutely sure that I didn’t have a tail. It seemed as though Slade had been telling the truth when he said he had no further use for me.
I opened the door of the Land-Rover, and said, ‘Move over; I’ll drive.’
Elin looked at me in surprise. ‘Aren’t we staying?’
‘We’ll drive a little way out of town and then have lunch. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
I drove along the north road by the coast, moving fast and keeping a close check behind. As it became clear that no one was following I began to relax, although not so much as to take the worry from Elin’s eyes. She could see I was preoccupied and tactfully kept silent, but at last she said, ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’
‘You’re so damn right,’ I said. ‘That’s what I want to discuss.’
Back in Scotland Slade had warned me about involving Elin in the operation; he had also invoked the Official Secrets Act with its penalties for blabbermouths. But if my future life with Elin was going to mean anything at all I had to tell her the truth and to hell with Slade and to hell with the Official Secrets Act.
I slowed down and left the road to bump over turf, and stopped overlooking the sea. The land fell away in a rumble of boulders to the grey water and in the distance the island of Grimsey loomed hazily through the mist. Apart from the scrap of land there wasn’t a damned thing between us and the North Pole. This was the Arctic Ocean.
I said, ‘What do you know about me, Elin?’
‘That’s a strange question. You’re Alan Stewart—whom I like very much.’
‘Is that all?’
She shrugged. ‘What else do I need to know?’
I smiled. ‘No curiosity. Elin?’
‘Oh, I have my curiosity but I keep it under control. If you want me to know anything, you’ll tell me,’ she said tranquilly, then hesitated. ‘I do know one thing about you.’
‘What’s that?’
She turned to face me. ‘I know that you have been hurt, and it happened not long before we met. That is why I keep my questions to myself—I don’t want to bring the hurt back.’
‘You’re very perceptive,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think it showed. Would it surprise you to know I was once a British agent—a spy?’
She regarded me curiously. ‘A spy,’ she said slowly, as though rolling the word about her mouth to taste it. ‘Yes, it surprises me very much. It is not a very honourable occupation—you are not the type.’
‘So someone else told me recently,’ I said sardonically. ‘Nevertheless, it is true.’
She was silent for a while, then she said, ‘You were a spy. Alan, what you were in the past doesn’t matter. I know you as you are now.’
‘Sometimes the past catches up with you,’ I said. ‘It did with me. There’s a man called Slade…’ I stopped, wondering if I was doing the right thing.
‘Yes?’ she prompted me.
‘He came to see me in Scotland. I’ll tell you about that—about Slade in Scotland.’
II
The shooting was bad that day. Something had disturbed the deer during the night because they had left the valley where my calculations had placed them and had drifted up the steep slopes of Bheinn Fhada. I could see them through the telescopic sight—pale grey-brown shapes grazing among the heather. The way the wind was blowing the only chance I had of getting near them was by sprouting wings and so, since it was the last day of the season, the deer were safe from Stewart for the rest of the summer.
At three in the afternoon I packed up and went home and was scrambling down Sgurr Mor when I saw the car parked outside the cottage and the minuscule figure of a man pacing up and down. The cottage is hard to get to—the rough track from the clachan discourages casual tourists—and so anyone who arrives usually wants to see me very much. The reverse doesn’t always apply; I’m of a retiring nature and I don’t encourage visitors.
So I was very careful as I approached and stopped under cover of the rocks by the burn. I unslung the rifle, checked it again to make sure it was unloaded, and set it to my shoulder. Through the telescopic sight the man sprang plainly to view. He had his back to me but when he turned I saw it was Slade.
I centred the cross-hairs on his large pallid face and gently squeezed the trigger, and the hammer snapped home with a harmless click. I wondered if I would have done the same had there been a bullet up the spout. The world would be a better place without men like Slade. But to load was too deliberate a
n act, so I put up the gun and walked towards the cottage. I should have loaded the gun.
As I approached he turned and waved. ‘Good afternoon,’ he called, as coolly as though he were a regular and welcome guest.
I stepped up to him. ‘How did you find me?’
He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t too hard. You know my methods.’
I knew them and I didn’t like them. I said, ‘Quit playing Sherlock. What do you want?’
He waved towards the door of the cottage. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me inside?’
‘Knowing you, I’ll bet you’ve searched the place already.’
He held up his hands in mock horror. ‘On my word of honour, I haven’t.’
I nearly laughed in his face because the man had no honour. I turned from him and pushed open the door and he followed me inside, clicking his tongue deprecatingly. ‘Not locked? You’re very trusting.’
‘There’s nothing here worth stealing,’ I said indifferently.
‘Just your life,’ he said, and looked at me sharply.
I let that statement lie and put up the rifle on its rack. Slade looked about him curiously. ‘Primitive—but comfortable,’ he remarked. ‘But I don’t see why you don’t live in the big house.’
‘It happens to be none of your business.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, and sat down. ‘So you hid yourself in Scotland and didn’t expect to be found. Protective coloration, eh? A Stewart hiding among a lot of Stewarts. You’ve caused us some little difficulty.’
‘Who said I was hiding? I am a Scot, you know.’
He smiled fatly. ‘Of a sort. Just by your paternal grandfather. It’s not long since you were a Swede—and before that you were Finnish. You were Stewartsen then, of course.’
‘Have you travelled five hundred miles just to talk of old times?’ I asked tiredly.
Running Blind / The Freedom Trap Page 3