Running Blind / The Freedom Trap

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘Oh!’ Kennikin glanced at me. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘I don’t know—he ran away,’ said the big man.

  I said casually, ‘It’s hardly surprising. He was just a guest from the hotel.’ I seethed internally. So Case had just run away and left me to it. I wouldn’t sell him to Kennikin but there’d be an account to settle if I got out of this mess.

  ‘He probably raised the alarm at the hotel,’ said Kennikin. ‘Can’t you do anything right?’

  The big man started to expostulate, but Kennikin cut him short. ‘What’s Ilyich doing?’

  ‘Taking a car to pieces,’ His voice was sullen.

  ‘Go and help him.’ They both turned, but Kennikin said sharply, ‘Not you, Gregor. Stay here and watch Stewartsen.’ He handed his pistol to the smaller man.

  I said, ‘Can I have another drink, Vaslav?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Kennikin. ‘There’s no danger of you turning into an alcoholic. You won’t live that long. Watch him, Gregor.’

  He left the room, closing the door behind him, and Gregor planted himself in front of it and looked at me expressionlessly. I drew up my legs very slowly and got to my feet. Gregor lifted the pistol and I grinned at him, holding up my empty glass. ‘You heard what the boss said; I’m allowed a last drink.’

  The muzzle of the pistol dropped. ‘I’ll be right behind you,’ he said.

  I walked across to the liquor cupboard, talking all the time. ‘I’ll bet you’re from the Crimea, Gregor. That accent is unmistakable. Am I right?’

  He was silent, but I persevered with my patter. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any vodka here, Gregor. The nearest to it is brennivin, but that comes a bad second—I don’t go for it myself. Come to that, I don’t like vodka very much either. Scotch is my tipple, and why not, since I’m a Scot?’

  I clattered bottles and heard Gregor breathing down my neck. The scotch went into the glass to be followed by water, and I turned with it raised in my hand to find Gregor a yard away with the pistol trained on my navel. As I have said, there is a place for the pistol, and this was it. It’s a dandy indoor weapon. If I had done anything so foolish as to throw the drink into his face he would have drilled me clear through the spine.

  I held up the glass at mouth level. ‘Skal—as we say in Iceland.’ I had to keep my hand up otherwise the cylinder of butane gas would have dropped out of my sleeve, so I walked across the room in a pansyfied manner and sat in my chair again. Gregor looked at me with something like contempt in his eyes.

  I sipped from the glass and then transferred it from one hand to the other. When I had finished wriggling about the butane cylinder was tucked in between the cushion and the arm of the chair. I toasted Gregor again and then looked at the hot-burning peat fire with interest.

  On each refill cylinder of butane there is a solemn warning: EXTREMELY INFLAMMABLE MIXTURE, DO NOT USE NEAR FIRE OR FLAME. KEEP OUT OF THE REACH OF CHILDREN. DO NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE. Commercial firms do not like to put such horrendous notices on their products and usually do so only under pressure of legislation, so that in all cases the warnings are thoroughly justified.

  The peat fire was glowing hot with a nice thick bed of red embers. I thought that if I put the cylinder into the fire one of two things were likely to happen—it would either explode like a bomb or take off like a rocket—and either of these would suit me. My only difficulty was that I didn’t know how long it would take to blow up. Putting it into the fire might be easy, but anyone quick enough could pull it out—Gregor, for instance. Kennikin’s boys couldn’t possibly be as incompetent as he made them out to be.

  Kennikin came back. ‘You were telling the truth,’ he said.

  ‘I always do; the trouble is most people don’t recognize it when they hear it. So you agree with me about Slade.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t mean that stupid story. What I am looking for is not in your car. Where is it?’

  ‘I’m not telling you, Vaslav.’

  ‘You will.’

  A telephone bell rang somewhere. I said, ‘Let’s have a bet on it.’

  ‘I don’t want to get blood on the carpet in here,’ he said. ‘Stand up.’ Someone took the telephone receiver off the hook.

  ‘Can’t I finish my drink first?’

  Ilyich opened the door and beckoned to Kennikin, who said, ‘You’d better have finished that drink by the time I get back.’

  He left the room and Gregor moved over to stand in front of me. That wasn’t very good because as long as he stood there I wouldn’t have a chance of jamming the butane cylinder into the fire. I touched my forehead and found a thin film of sweat.

  Presently Kennikin came back and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘The man you were with at Geysir—a guest at the hotel, I think you said.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Does the name—John Case—mean anything to you?’

  I looked at him blankly. ‘Not a thing.’

  He smiled sadly. ‘And you are the man who said he always told the truth.’ He sat down. ‘It seems that what I am looking for has ceased to have any importance. More accurately, its importance has diminished relative to yourself. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ I said, and I really meant it. This was a new twist.

  Kennikin said, ‘I would have gone to any length necessary to get the information from you. However, my instructions have changed. You will not be tortured, Stewartsen, so put your mind at ease.’

  I let out my breath. ‘Thanks!’ I said wholeheartedly.

  He shook his head pityingly. ‘I don’t want your thanks. My instructions are to kill you immediately.’

  The telephone bell rang again.

  My voice came out in a croak. ‘Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘You are getting in the way.’

  I swallowed. ‘Hadn’t you better answer that telephone? It might be a change of instruction.’

  He smiled crookedly. ‘A last-minute reprieve, Alan? I don’t think so. Do you know why I told you of these instructions? It’s not normally done, as you know.’

  I knew all right, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him. The telephone stopped ringing.

  ‘There are some good things in the Bible,’ he said. ‘For instance—”An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” I had everything planned for you, and I regret my plans cannot now be implemented. But at least I can watch you sweat as you’re sweating now.’

  Ilyich stuck his head around the door. ‘Reykjavik,’ he said.

  Kennikin made a gesture of annoyance. ‘I’m coming.’ He rose. ‘Think about it—and sweat some more.’

  I put out my hand. ‘Have you a cigarette?’

  He stopped in mid-stride and laughed aloud. ‘Oh, very good, Alan. You British are strong on tradition. Certainly you may have the traditional last cigarette.’ He tossed me his cigarette case. ‘Is there anything else you would like?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I would like to be in Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve in the year 2000.’

  ‘My regrets,’ he said, and left the room.

  I opened the case, stuck a cigarette in my mouth, and patted my pockets helplessly; then I stooped very slowly to pick up one of the paper spills from the hearth. I said to Gregor, ‘I’m just going to light my cigarette,’ and bent forward to the fire, hoping to God he wouldn’t move from the door.

  I held the spill in my left hand and leaned forward so that my right hand was screened by my body, and thrust the cylinder into the embers at the same time as I lifted the flaming spill and returned to my seat. Waving it in a circle to attract Gregor’s eyes from the fire, I applied it to the tip of the cigarette, drew in smoke and blew a plume in his direction. I deliberately allowed the flame to burn down so that it touched my fingers.

  ‘Ouch!’ I exclaimed, and shook my hand vigorously. Anything to keep him from looking directly at the fire. It took all the willpower I had to refrain from glancing at it myself.

 
The telephone was slammed down and Kennikin came stalking back. ‘Diplomats!’ he said in a scathing voice. ‘As though I don’t have enough troubles.’ He jerked his thumb at me. ‘All right; on your feet.’

  I held up the cigarette. ‘What about this?’

  ‘You can finish it outside. There’ll be just enough…’

  The blast of the exploding cylinder was deafening in that enclosed area, and it blew the peat fire all over the room. Because I was expecting it I was quicker off the mark than anyone else. I ignored the red-hot ember which stung my neck, but Gregor found he couldn’t do the same with the ember which alighted on the back of his hand. He gave a yell and dropped the gun.

  I dived across the room, seized the pistol and shot him twice through the chest. Then I turned to nail Kennikin before he could recover. He had been beating red-hot bits of peat from his jacket but now he was turning at the sound of the shots. I lifted the pistol and he grabbed a table-lamp and threw it at me. I ducked, my shot went wild, and the table-lamp sailed over my head to hit Ilyich straight in the face as he opened the door to find out what the hell was going on.

  That saved me the trouble of opening it. I shouldered him aside and stumbled into the hall to find that the front door was open. Kennikin had given me a bad time, and much as I would have liked to have fought it out with him this was not the time for it. I ran out of the house and past the Volkswagen which was minus all four wheels, and on the way took a snap shot at the big Russian to encourage him to keep his head down. Then I ran into the darkness which, by now, was not as dark as I would have liked, and took to the countryside fast.

  The countryside thereabouts consisted of humpy lava covered by a thick layer of moss and occasional patches of dwarf birch. At full speed and in broad daylight a man might make one mile an hour without breaking an ankle. I sweated over it, knowing that if I broke my ankle, or as much as sprained it, I would be picked up easily and probably shot on the spot.

  I went about four hundred yards, angling away from the lake shore and up towards the road, before I stopped. Looking back I saw the windows of the room in which I had been held; there was a curious flickering and I saw that the curtains were going up in flames. There were distant shouts and someone ran in front of the window, but it seemed that no one was coming after me. I don’t think any of them knew which direction I’d taken.

  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.

  EIGHT

  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.’

  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.’