Karin was standing at the little cabin’s rudimentary dresser, uncapping the bottle I’d set out, and served us from in moderation, before the situation had turned amorous. I watched her turn towards me, unselfconsciously naked, not one of your standard long-stemmed northern beauties, but small and strong and compact. I took the drink she handed me, and moved aside to give her more room to sit on the side of the bed.
She spoke absently: “I was afraid I was going to be seasick on this voyage, the way the wind was blowing when we drove aboard. I am not a very good sailor. But it is really just like being in a hotel, except that the rooms are smaller.”
There was hardly any motion to let us know we were afloat; just the pervasive, muted rumble of the ship’s machinery.
“They must have pretty good stabilizers,” I said. “We should be out in open water by this time.”
She said ruefully, “It is sad. I wanted you to like me; but I have been such a pure widow for so long, I had no control… Now you are thinking that I am a wicked, insatiable nymphomaniac.” She gave me a crooked little smile. “And I am sure that you are also thinking it is much nicer, at least for a man your age, with a dignified older woman than with an athletic and demanding child. You are in love with her, are you not? That is why you did not kill her with your gun that night at Torsäter.”
I stared at her indignantly. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Are you suggesting that I pulled my shots deliberately?”
Karin laughed softly. “It was a very good performance, Matthew. You sounded most convincing when you talked with her afterwards, pretending to be so distressed because you had shot so badly and failed to kill her.”
It was hard to evaluate the girl’s intelligence coldly, cute and blonde and nude as she was, but she did seem to see a lot she wasn’t supposed to.
I shrugged resignedly. “Well, maybe I have let myself get a bit too fond of Astrid. She’s a very attractive lady.”
Karin shook her head abruptly. “No, you are not that susceptible; you would not miss your shots if killing were indicated… That is the answer, is it not? It was never your intention to kill! You talked with her very freely that evening, very carelessly. She told me. You said too much; you let her guess that you were beginning to mistrust her. Of course. You did it intentionally, hoping she would take some action; and she did. But you had to make it convincing, drinking that adulterated whiskey like a gullible boy instead of an experienced agent. So you pulled out your gun as you were supposed to according to your agency’s rules, and you carefully shot her in the arm and drew a little blood from her ear, hurting her just enough so that she would feel she had missed death by a hair.”
“Actually, she did,” I said. “That damn’ automatic threw left; the ear was an accident. Another inch or two over, and the shot would have killed her. Shows what can happen when you try to get tricky with firearms. Scared me all to hell.”
“But it made your behavior very believable; no one suspected that you had taken that drugged drink willingly, as they might otherwise have done. Nobody guessed that you had wanted to be taken prisoner, so that you could learn all about them… us. What we were actually doing. Astrid and Olaf and I. How we were working together. What we were planning. The UFO Laxfors. Everything.”
“Give Joel credit; he extracted most of the important information.”
Karin shrugged. “You would have obtained it somehow without him, I am sure. But you are a brave man; you must have known that you might be questioned, painfully questioned, but you let yourself be captured anyway. Of course you knew that your associate would come to your rescue eventually; it was in his interest to do so for the information you held, although he might betray you later.” She hesitated. “Did you know that he was a traitor?”
I said, “That’s a big word, too big for use for a simple business accommodation such as Joel made. No, I didn’t know that he had switched allegiance, but I did know that he was supposed to be following another lead back in America. When he gave it up so easily and came rushing over here to join me, so cooperative and helpful, I decided that he could be useful, but he’d better be watched.”
“As I must be watched?” She was smiling faintly as she said it.
“Sure. At least until I figure out just why you’re really here. And don’t give me that stuff about keeping an eye on me for Olaf Stjernhjelm. I think you’re here for reasons of your own.” I grinned. “And please don’t tell me how you’ve been yearning for me passionately ever since the first moment you saw me back there in Hagerstown, Maryland.”
She laughed. “You mean, back where you almost spanked me?”
“Life is full of missed opportunities.”
Her smiled faded. “All right. I will tell you. I wish to accompany you up into Norden—the North—as we planned; and then I wish you to do me a big favor.”
“What favor?”
“When you have learned what you need in Lysaniemi, and done what you need to do—and if there is any way for me to help you I will be happy to do so—then I would like you to help me. I think there will be time, even traveling by this indirect route, if your business does not take too long. I want to be at Laxfors to watch the protest demonstration, but I do not want to be part of it. Please do not ask my reasons. I want to see, but I do not want to be seen. A man like you should be able to find us a good, concealed observation point.”
I would have loved to know what was going on inside that tousled blonde head. “It depends on the terrain,” I said. “But I guess I’m kind of curious about this demonstration myself. I’m particularly curious about your contribution to it. In fact, let’s say that’s the price I’ll charge for seeing that you get where you want to go. Tell me about it.”
“My contribution?”
“Don’t play dumb; you’re about as stupid as Einstein,” I said. “You are also Karin Segerby, grieving widow of Segerby Vapenfabriks AB, or a prominent member thereof. SVAB for short. Obviously this UFO gang had that in mind when they recruited you and flattered you and pampered you—Olaf told me as much—even though you’re not really the grim-faced idealist type they seem to go for normally, if Karl and Greta are typical specimens.”
“Well, they are not quite typical; they love each other,” Karin said dryly. “Most of the others have no love at all, not for people. They only love their cause, the cause of peace.”
“Sounds harmless enough,” I said. “In fact quite worthy. But Christianity was supposed to be a gentle, loving religion; and how many have been killed for that?”
“It is never the cause or the religion itself, it is the fanatics who adopt it who make it dangerous.” She hesitated. When she spoke again, it was in a totally different tone of voice. She said, “You wish to know my contribution to the great cause? My contribution was HG(E)Typ7F.”
Well, actually what she said was Hoa Geh Eh Teep Sju Eff, and it took me a moment or two to convert the Swedish pronunciation into comprehensible English symbols in my head. Then it took a little longer to translate them into militarese.
I said, “Let me guess. HG, that would be a hand grenade, handgranat in Swedish. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“What does E stand for?”
She licked her lips again. “Eld.”
“Fire? An incendiary grenade, Type Seven. We’re gaining on it. And F?”
“Försvars.”
“Defensive? What’s the difference between a defensive and an offensive grenade? I’m afraid I don’t know as much about military weapons as I ought to.”
“The offensive grenade is less powerful. You are running forward, attacking, and you do not want to run into the effective field of your own granat. With the defensive one, you are presumably fighting from a trench or other type of cover, and you can take shelter after you throw so the blast will not hurt you. So it can be designed to take effect over a larger area. But as a matter of fact, this is not primarily an antipersonnel grenade. It is made for use against armored vehicles, person
nel carriers, tanks up to a certain size. It will burn—melt—its way through the armor and incinerate anybody inside.”
“Must be quite a gadget.”
“Yes, it is a new design. Grenades employing thermite have been made, and of course napalm; but this one employs a new incendiary ingredient that is particularly hot and unpleasant. There is also an ingenious adhesive cover that, before it burns away, makes the grenade stick to any object at which it is thrown long enough to take effect. SVAB is very proud of it.” Her voice was dry.
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“I have spent the year since Frederik was killed learning about this and other weapons.”
“I thought you were employed by an outfit called Nordic Textiles.”
She laughed. “A Segerby company. The family was very pleased when the young widow began to take an interest in the other, less peaceful, branches of the business. They helped me keep busy to prevent me from dwelling on my grief. Of course I had been instructed by the UFO, once I had attained a trusted position, not to concentrate on one SVAB product in particular; it might have drawn attention that way. Do you wish the specifications of our new recoilless rifle? The cyclic rate of our improved SVAB submachine gun?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I do not disapprove, you understand. Not anymore. I have learned what some people are like. And if some people are like that, other people must have the means to shoot them.”
This was a different girl from the one who’d been unable to watch me being burned. I said, “You’re pretty tough for a little girl with a weak stomach.”
“What makes you think… Oh, because I simply could not bear to see you in pain? That was the other Karin Segerby, the timid and obedient one. The one to whom nobody paid very much attention because she was so obviously harmless. Naturally I acted shocked and horrified; it would have been out of character not to. The character I had created for their benefit.” She shook her head quickly. “I know you have questions, but please do not ask them. What I do, it does not concern you; it will not affect your business up north. It is a very private affair.”
“Sure. May I ask about the Laxfors demonstration, or is that out of bounds, too?”
“Ask.”
“Are these UFO people crazy? Are they expecting the Swedish Army complete with tanks to join the party; and, if so, are they going to try to fight back with these incendiary whizbangs of yours? How many did you get for them?”
“I have obtained for them secretly one case of twenty-five grenades.”
“That won’t last long in a real combat situation, and most of those pacifist kids don’t know anything about combat except that they’re against it, do they? Any halfway respectable military force will walk right over them, grenades or no grenades; and I gather the Swedes are pretty good soldiers for all their love of neutrality. Staging a pitched battle is idiotic, anyway. How can even a bunch of screwballs think that’s going to advance the cause of peace?”
Karin shook her head quickly. “You have jumped to the wrong conclusion. All I said was that the Type 7 grenade was designed for use, primarily, against tanks. I did not say that they planned to use it so. They do not expect the army to intervene. They will stage a big rally, with banners and angry slogans, with shouting and speeches, outside the fence of the LSA, the Laxfors Signalanstalt, literally the Laxfors Signal Institute. The so-called communications center. While the attention of the security guards is held by this disturbance, a small striking force will cut the wire on the far side of the installation and slip inside to attack the true objective. Mörkrummet.”
“The Darkroom? That mysterious concrete blockhouse, or whatever you want to call it?”
“Yes. It has no windows, but it does have ventilators leading underground to where the equipment is located. The ventilators are, of course, protected by grills; but a device that will penetrate armor will make short work of those flimsy grills as well as any other obstacles it may encounter as it drops down a ventilation shaft.” She shrugged. “I have watched a demonstration. In addition to melting, practically vaporizing, anything with which it is in contact, even durable metal, the Type 7 also creates a fireball that consumes any organic material it envelops. Outdoors, it is not a very big fireball for obvious tactical reasons; you do not want to burn up the soldier who threw the grenade. However, it will turn an enclosed space into a raging furnace.”
“What’s supposed to be down there worth burning up? Do they think we sinister Yankees have smuggled a nuclear device into your country and persuaded you to build a camouflaged silo for it?” I made a face. “If that’s the case, setting fire to it doesn’t seem like a very bright idea; and I’m not sure I want to help you find a spot from which to watch the radioactive pyrotechnics.”
She laughed shortly. “You have a point, but the idea that our government would permit the secret installation of a foreign missile with a nuclear warhead anywhere within our borders is not very plausible. However, the constant probing of our coastal defenses by the Soviets over the past few years, and the repeated invasion of our waters by their submarines, could have caused our military people to take a few unpublicized steps towards cooperation with America. There have been many rumors to the effect that American assistance, or at least American advice, was involved in the construction of the Laxfors facility. And with those fields of antennas… The thought that LSA may be a forward control station of some kind for missile guidance, American missile guidance, nuclear missile guidance, chills the blood of the ordinary Swedish citizen, who likes to feel secure in his country’s neutrality. And of course our anti-war and anti-nuclear movements, like the UFO, are capitalizing, loudly and energetically, on this feeling.”
“What is there besides rumor to indicate that Laxfors serves our evil American interests?”
“The best evidence in the world. The Russians are trying to discredit and destroy it. Or have it destroyed by others.”
I said, “The Soviets are famous for their paranoia. Remember that Korean airliner. Any time a housewife in Cincinnati picks up a paring knife to peel a potato, it’s actually a secret dagger aimed directly at the heart of Mother Russia. And how do we know how the Russians feel about it, anyway? Even if they talk indignant, that’s just their normal way of conducting a conversation on practically any subject.”
Karin hesitated. “They have done more than talk, with respect to Laxfors. They have sent people to make certain the place is put out of action. You do not think all this unfavorable publicity is accidental, do you? They are the world’s greatest rumor-mongers. They are using UFO and other groups as unwitting tools with which to achieve their purpose.”
I studied her face for a moment. “What people have they sent?”
“At least one person.” Karin looked back at me without expression. “I do not know about Olaf Stjernhjelm. I do not know if he is betraying his country deliberately or if he is merely a dupe for an attractive woman.” Karin stared at me defiantly. “An attractive woman named Astrid Watrous. An attractive woman who is a Soviet agent!”
There was a short silence; then I grinned and said, “This is a hell of a serious discussion for two people of opposite gender sitting on a bed without any clothes on.”
“You do not believe me!”
I shrugged. “Sure I believe you. So what else is new?”
Karin frowned in a bewildered way. “I do not understand… You are not surprised?”
I laughed shortly. “After all the years I’ve spent in this business, I’m supposed to be surprised because a pretty lady isn’t what she pretends to be? Hell, you’ve been pretending, one way or another, ever since I met you waving that toy gun in that Maryland motel. Fine. Everybody tries to con dumb Helm. It’s an international sport, and I’m hardened to it. So why should I flip my lid because of Mrs. Watrous’ little deception?”
“But you knew?”
“Let’s say I guessed.” I hesitated. “What else do you know about her?”
“What else is there to k
now that is important? She is working for the Russians. She is a traitor to the country of her birth, your country, the United States of America.”
“No,” I said.
“What do you mean? You just admitted—”
“I admitted what she is. Sure. But let’s consider what she isn’t.”
“I do not understand what you mean.”
I said, “Astrid Wastrous is a Soviet agent. But she isn’t Astrid Watrous.”
20
It seemed too bad to land in Finland at night. You like to get your first view of a new country by daylight; but the sun was down by the time we got the word to return to our cars. Presently we felt the ferry settle into its slip at the eastern end of its voyage. Customs was as casual as it always seems to be in those Scandinavian lands, I suppose because they don’t have our obsession with drugs, or the weapons-sensitivity of the newer and more insecure nations, forever concerned about arms and insurrection. I’d found my arsenal back in my suitcase, courtesy of Olaf Stjernhjelm, and I’d done my usual half-ass job of hiding it around the car, but they didn’t even look.
Then we were driving through Turku, which even at night looked very new and clean like most cities in that part of the world, even those that were founded long before young Chris Columbus first got his feet wet; and most of them were. The odd thing was that, for the first time on this cockeyed overseas mission, I felt that I was really on foreign soil—more foreign than any I’d visited in a long time. I suppose this was due to the total incomprehensibility of the Finnish words on the lighted signs and billboards we passed. It’s an orphan language spoken nowhere else in the world. It seems to employ an awful lot of k’s, both singly and tandem. Even the Coca Cola signs looked weird.
“Can we talk now?” Karin asked.
She was mad at me; she’d wanted to spend the whole day on shipboard eagerly discussing Astrid Watrous and kindred subjects. A sleepless night, and a vigorous sex session, had apparently had no effect on her vitality; but I’d cut our morning conference short by telling her there would be plenty of time for further conversation after we got off the boat. Right at the moment, I’d said, with a bed handy and a five-hundred mile drive ahead of me, on foreign roads and mostly in the dark, I wanted to recharge the human batteries, good night, wake me in time for dinner.
The Vanishers Page 20