Running Blind / The Freedom Trap

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘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.

  II

  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?’

  ‘Just passing by. This is Alan Stewart from Scotland.’

  My hand was enveloped in a big paw. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, and I had the instant feeling he meant it.

  He turned to Elin. ‘You’re lucky to have caught me here. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  Elin raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh! Where for?’

  ‘At last they’ve decided to put a new engine into that relic of a longship they’ve given me instead of a boat. I’m taking her round to Reykjavik.’

  Elin glan
ced at me and I nodded. In the course of events you have to be lucky sometimes. I had been wondering how Elin was going to cajole him into taking us to Keflavik without arousing too many suspicions, but now the chance had fallen right into our laps.

  She smiled brilliantly. ‘Would you like a couple of passengers? I told Alan I hoped you could take us to have a look at Surtsey, but we wouldn’t mind going on to Keflavik. Alan has to meet someone there in a couple of days.’

  ‘I’d be glad to have company,’ Valtyýr said jovially. ‘It’s a fair distance and I’d like someone to spell me at the wheel. How’s your father?’

  ‘He’s well,’ said Elin.

  ‘And Bjarni? Has Kristin given him that son yet?’

  Elin laughed. ‘Not yet—but soon. And how do you know it won’t be a daughter?’

  ‘It will be a boy!’ he said with certainty. ‘Are you on holiday, Alan?’ he asked in English.

  I replied in Icelandic, ‘In a manner of speaking. I come here every year.’

  He looked startled, and then grinned. ‘We don’t have many enthusiasts like you,’ he said.

  I looked around the laboratory; it appeared to be a conventional biological set-up with the usual rows of bottles containing chemicals, the balance, the two microscopes and the array of specimens behind glass. An odour of formalin was prevalent. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

  He took me by the arm and led me to the window. With a large gesture he said, ‘Out there is the sea with a lot of fish in it. It’s hazy now but in good weather you can see Vestmannaeyjar where there is a big fishing fleet. Now come over here.’

  He led me to a window on the other side of the room and pointed up toward Myýrdalsjökull. ‘Up there is the ice and, under the ice, a big bastard called Katla. You know Katla?’

  ‘Everybody in Iceland knows of Katla,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Good! I’ve been studying the sea off this coast and all the animals in it, big and small—and the plants too. When Katla erupts sixty cubic kilometres of ice will be melted into fresh water and it will come into the sea here; as much fresh water as comes out of all the rivers of Iceland in a year will come into the sea in one week and in this one place. It will be bad for the fish and the animals and the plants because they aren’t accustomed to so much fresh water all at once. I want to find out how badly they will be hit and how long they take to recover.’

  I said, ‘But you have to wait until Katla erupts. You might wait a long time.’

  He laughed hugely. ‘I’ve been here five years—I might be here another ten. but I don’t think so. The big bastard is overdue already.’ He thumped me on the arm. ‘Could blow up tomorrow—then we don’t go to Keflavik.’

  ‘I won’t lose any sleep over it,’ I said drily.

  He called across the laboratory, ‘Elin, in your honour I’ll take the day off.’ He took three big strides, picked her up and hugged her until she squealed for mercy.

  I didn’t pay much attention to that because my eyes were attracted to the headline of a newspaper which lay on the bench. It was the morning newspaper from Reykjavik and the headline on the front page blared: GUN BATTLE AT GEYSIR.

  I read the story rapidly. Apparently a war had broken out at Geysir to judge from this account, and everything short of light artillery had been brought into play by persons unknown. There were a few eye-witness reports, all highly inaccurate, and it seemed that a Russian tourist, one Igor Volkov, was now in hospital after having come too close to Strokkur. Mr Volkov had no bullet wounds. The Soviet Ambassador had complained to the Icelandic Minister of Foreign Affairs about this unprovoked assault on a Soviet citizen.

  I opened the paper to see if there was a leading article on the subject and, of course, there was. In frigid and austere tones the leader writer inquired of the Soviet Ambassador the reason why the aforesaid Soviet citizen, Igor Volkov, was armed to the teeth at the time, since there was no record of his having declared any weapons to the Customs authorities when he entered the country.

  I grimaced. Between us, Kennikin and I were in a fair way to putting a crimp into Icelandic-Soviet relations.

  III

  We left Vik rather late the next morning and I wasn’t in a good mood because I had a thick head. Valtyýr had proved to be a giant among drinkers and, since I was suffering from lack of sleep, my efforts to keep up with him had been disastrous. He put me to bed, laughing boisterously, and woke up himself as fresh as a daisy while I had a taste in my mouth as though I had been drinking the formalin from his specimen jars.

  My mood wasn’t improved when I telephoned London to speak to Taggart only to find he was absent from his office. The bland official voice declined to tell me where he was but offered to pass on a message, an invitation which I, in my turn, declined to accept. The curious actions of Case had led me to wonder who in the Department was trustworthy, and I wouldn’t speak to anyone but Taggart.

  Valtyýr’s boat was anchored in a creek, a short distance from the open beach, and we went out to it in a dinghy. He looked curiously at the two long, sackcloth-covered parcels I took aboard but made no comment, while I hoped they did not look too much like what they actually were. I wasn’t going to leave the rifles behind because I had an idea I might need them.

  The boat was about twenty-five feet overall, with a tiny cabin which had sitting headroom and a skimpy wooden canopy to protect the man at the wheel from the elements. I had checked the map to find the sea distance from Vik to Keflavik and the boat seemed none too large. I said, ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘About twenty hours,’ said Valtyýr, and added cheerfully, ‘If the bastard engine keeps going. If not, it takes forever. You get seasick?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ve never had the chance to find out.’

  ‘You have the chance now.’ He bellowed with laughter.

  We left the creek and the boat lifted alarmingly to the ocean swells and a fresh breeze streamed Elin’s hair. ‘It’s clearer today,’ said Valtyýr. He pointed over the bows. ‘You can see Vestmannaeyjar.’

  I looked towards the group of islands and played the part which Elin had assigned me. ‘Where is Surtsey from here?’

  ‘About twenty kilometres to the south-west of Heimaey—the big island. You won’t see much of it yet.’

  We plunged on, the little boat dipping into the deep swells and occasionally burying her bows in the water and shaking free a shower of spray when she came up. I’m not any kind of a seaman and it didn’t look too safe to me, but Valtyýr took it calmly enough, and so did Elin. The engine, which appeared to be a toy diesel about big enough to go with a Meccano set, chugged away, aided by a crack from Valtyýr’s boot when it faltered, which it did too often for my liking. I could see why he was pleased at the prospect of having a new one.

  It took six hours to get to Surcey, and Valtyýr circled the island, staying close to shore, while I asked the appropriate questions. He said, ‘I can’t land you, you know.’

  Surtsey, which came up thunderously and in flames from the bottom of the sea, is strictly for scientists interested in finding out how life gains hold in a sterile environment. Naturally they don’t want tourists clumping about and bringing in seeds on their boots. ‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘I didn’t expect to go ashore.’

  Suddenly he chuckled. ‘Remember the Fishing War?’

  I nodded. The so-called Fishing War was a dispute between Iceland and Britain about off-shore fishing limits, and there was a lot of bad blood between the two fishing fleets. Eventually it had been settled, with the Icelanders making their main point of a twelve-mile limit.

  Valtyýr laughed, and said, ‘Surtsey came up and pushed our fishing limit thirty kilometres farther south. An English skipper I met told me it was a dirty trick—as though we’d done it deliberately. So I told him what a geologist told me; in a million years our fishing limit will be pushed as far south as Scotland.’ He laughed uproariously.

  When we left Surtsey I abandoned my preten
ded interest and went below to lie down. I was in need of sleep and my stomach had started to do flip-flops so that I was thankful to stretch out, and I fell asleep as though someone had hit me on the head.

  IV

  My sleep was long and deep because when I was awakened by Elin she said, ‘We’re nearly there.’

  I yawned. ‘Where?’

  ‘Valtyýr is putting us ashore at Keflavik.’

  I sat up and nearly cracked my head on a beam. Overhead a jet plane whined and when I went aft into the open I saw that the shore was quite close and a plane was just dipping in to land. I stretched, and said, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ said Valtyýr. ‘You slept well.’

  ‘I needed it after a session with you,’ I said, and he grinned.

  We tied up at eight-thirty, Elin jumped ashore and I handed her the wrapped rifles. ‘Thanks for the ride, Valtyýr.’

  He waved away my thanks. ‘Any time. Maybe I can arrange to take you ashore on Surtsey—it’s interesting. How long are you staying?’

  ‘For the rest of the summer,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know where I’ll be.’

  ‘Keep in touch,’ he said.

  We stood on the dockside and watched him leave, and then Elin said, ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘I want to see Lee Nordlnger. It’s a bit chancy, but I want to know what this gadget is. Will Bjarni be here, do you think?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Elin. ‘He usually flies out of Reyjkavik Airport.’

  ‘After breakfast I want you to go to the Icelandair office at the airport here,’ I said. ‘Find out where Bjarni is, and stay there until I come.’ I rubbed my cheek and felt unshaven bristles. ‘And stay off the public concourse. Kennikin is sure to have Keflavik Airport staked out and I don’t want you seen.’