Bagley, Desmond - Running Blind

by Running Blind

  Gunnar Arnarsson was a schoolteacher in the winter and in summer ran a pony-trekking operation. Very versatile people, these Icelanders. He was away when we arrived, but his wife, Sigurlin Asgeirsdottir, made us welcome with much clucking at the sight of Elin's arm in an improvised sling.

  One of the problems in Iceland is sorting out the single from the married people, because the woman does not change her name when she gets married. In fact, the whole problem of names is a trap into which foreigners usually fall with a loud thump. The surname just tells everyone who your father was; Sigurlin was the daughter of Asgeir, just as Gunnar was the son of Arnar. If Gunnar had a son and decided to name the boy after his grandfather he'd be called Arnar Gunnarsson. All very difficult and the reason why the Icelandic telephone directory is listed alphabetically under given names. Elin Ragnarsdottir was listed under ''.

  Gunnar appeared to have done well for himself because Sigurlin was one of those tall, leggy, svelte, Scandinavian types who go over big when they get to Hollywood, and what the hell has acting got to do with it, anyway? The widespread belief that the Nordic nations are populated exclusively on the distaff side by these tow-headed goddesses is, however, a regrettable illusion.

  From the way she welcomed us Sigurlin knew about me, but not all, I hoped. At any rate she knew a lot - enough to hear the distant chime of wedding bells. It's funny, but as soon as a girl gets married she wants to get all her old girlfriends caught in the same trap. Because of Kennikin there weren't going to be any immediate wedding bells - the tolling of a single funeral note was more likely - but, disregarding Kennikin, I wasn't going to be pressured by any busty blonde with a match-making glint in her eye.

  I put the Land-Rover into Gunnar's empty garage with some relief. Now it was safely off the road and under cover I felt much better. I saw that the collection of small arms was decently concealed and then went into the house to find Sigurlin just coining downstairs. She gave me a peculiar look and said abruptly, 'What did Elin do to her shoulder?'

  I said cautiously, 'Didn't she tell you?'

  'She said she was climbing and fell against a sharp rock.'

  I made an indeterminate noise expressive of agreement, but I could see that Sigurlin was suspicious. A gunshot wound tends to look like nothing else but, even to someone who has never seen one before. I said hastily, 'It's very good of you to offer us a bed for the night.'

  'It's nothing,' she said. 'Would you like some coffee?'

  'Thank you, I would.' I followed her into the kitchen. 'Have you know Elin long?'

  'Since we were children.' Sigurlin dumped a handful of beans into a coffee grinder. 'And you?'

  'Three years.'

  She filled an electric kettle and plugged it in, then swung around to face me. 'Elin looks very tired.'

  'We pushed it a bit in the Obyggdir.'1 That can't have sounded convincing because Sigurlin said, 'I wouldn't want her to come to any harm. That wound . . .'

  'Well?'

  'She didn't fall against a rock, did she?'

  There was a brain behind those beautiful eyes. 'No,' I said. 'She didn't.'

  'I thought not,' she said. 'I've seen wounds like that. Before I married I was a nurse at Keflavik. An American sailor was brought into hospital once - he'd been cleaning his gun and shot himself accidentally. Whose gun was Elin cleaning?'

  I sat down at the kitchen table. 'There's a certain amount ' of trouble,' I said carefully. 'And it's best you're not involved, so I'm not going to tell you anything about it for your own good. I tried to keep Elin out of it from the beginning, but she's headstrong.'

  Sigurlin nodded. 'Her family always was stubborn.'

  I said, 'I'm going to Geysir tomorrow evening and I'd like Elin to stay here. I'll want your co-operation on that.'

  Sigurlin regarded me seriously. 'I don't like trouble with guns.'

  'Neither do I. I'm not exactly shouting for joy. That's why I want Elin out of it. Can she stay here for a while?'

  'A gunshot wound should be reported to the police.'

  'I know,' I said wearily. 'But I don't think your police are equipped to cope with this particular situation. It has international ramifications and there is more than one gun involved. Innocent people could get killed if it's not carefully handled, and with no disrespect to your police, I think they'd be likely to blunder.'

  'This trouble, as you call it - is it criminal?'

  'Not in the normal sense. You might call it an extreme form of political action.'

  Sigurlin turned down the corners of her mouth. 'The only good thing I've heard about this is that you want to keep Elin out of it,' she said waspishly. 'Tell me, Alan Stewart; are you in love with her?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are you going to marry her?'

  'If she'll have me after all this.'

  She offered me a superior smile. 'Oh, she'll have you. You're hooked like a salmon and you won't get away now.'

  'I'm not so sure of that,' I said. 'There are certain things that have come up lately that don't add to my charms in Elin's eyes.'

  'Such as guns?' Sigurlin poured coffee. 'You don't need to answer that. I won't probe.' She put the cup before me. 'All right; I'll keep Elin here.'

  'I don't know how you're going to do it,' I said. 'I've never been able to make her do anything she didn't want to do.'

  'I'll put her to bed,' said Sigurlin. 'Strict medical supervision. She'll argue, but she'll do it. You do what you have to do and Elin will stay here. But I won't be able to keep her long. What happens if you don't come back from Geysir?'

  'I don't know,' I said. 'But don't let her go back to Reykjavik. To go to the apartment would be extremely unwise.'

  Sigurlin took a deep breath. 'I'll see what I can do.' She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. 'If it weren't for the concern you show for Elin I'd be inclined to . . .' She shook her head irritably. 'I don't like any of this, Alan. For God's sake get it cleared up as quickly as you can.'

  'I'll do my best.'

  HI

  The next day seemed very long.

  At breakfast Sigurlin read the paper and suddenly said, 'Well, well! Someone tied up the cable transport on the Tungnaa just the other side of Hald. A party of tourists was stranded on the farther side for several hours. I wonder who could have done that?'

  'It was all right when we came across,' I said blandly. 'What does it say about the tourists? Anyone hurt?'

  She looked at me speculatively across the breakfast table. 'Why should anyone be hurt? No, it says nothing about that.'

  - I changed the subject quickly. 'I'm surprised that Elin is still asleep.'

  Sigurlin smiled. 'I'm not. She didn't know it, but she had a sleeping draught last night. She'll be drowsy when she wakes and she won't want to jump out of bed.'

  That was one way of making sure of Elin. I said, 'I noticed your garage was empty - don't you have a car?'

  'Yes. Gunnar left it at the stables.'

  'When will he be back?'

  'In two days - providing the party doesn't get saddle-sore.'

  'When I go to Geysir I'd just as soon not use the Land-Rover,' I said.

  'You want the car? All right but I want it back in one piece.' She told me where to find it. 'You'll find the key in the glove locker.'

  After breakfast I regarded the telephone seriously and wondered whether to ring Taggart. I had a lot to tell him but I thought it would be better to let it go until I heard what Jack Case had to say. Instead I went out to the Land-Rover and cleaned Fleet's rifle.

  It really was a good tool. With its fancy hand-grip and free-style stock it had obviously been tailor-made to suit Fleet, whom I suspected of being an enthusiast. In every field of human endeavour there are those who push perfection to its ultimate and absurd end. In hi-fi, for example, there is the maniac who has seventeen loud-speakers and one test record. In shooting there is the gun nut.

  The gun nut believes that there is no standard, off-the-shelf weapon that could be possibly goo
d enough for him and so he adapts and chisels until he finally achieves something that looks like one of the more far-out works of modern sculpture. He also believes that the ammunition manufacturers know damn-all about their job and so he loads his own cases, carefully weighing each bullet and matching it with an amount of powder calculated to one-tenth of a grain. Sometimes he shoots very well.

  I checked the ammunition from the opened box and, sure enough, found the telltale scratches from a crimping tool. Fleet was in the habit of rolling his own, something I have never found necessary, but then my own shooting has not been of the type necessary to get a perfect grouping at x-hundred yards. It also explained why the box was unlabelled.

  I wondered why Fleet should have carried as many as fifty rounds; after all, he was a good shot and had brought us to a standstill with one squeeze of the trigger. He had loaded the rifle with ordinary hunting ammunition, soft-nosed and designed to spread on impact. The closed box contained twenty-five rounds of jacketed ammunition - the military load.

  It's always seemed odd to me that the bullet one shoots at an animal is designed to kill as quickly and as mercifully as possible, whereas the same bullet shot at a man is illegal under the Geneva Convention. Shoot a hunting load at a man and you're accused of using dum-dum bullets and that's against the rules. You can roast him to death with napalm, disembowel him with a jump mine, but you can't shoot him with the same bullet you would use to kill a deer cleanly.

  I looked at the cartridge in the palm of my hand and wished I had known about it earlier. One of those going into the engine of Kennikin's jeep was likely to do a hell of a lot more damage than the soft-nosed bullet I had used. While a .375 jacketed bullet with a magnum charge behind it probably wouldn't drill through a jeep from end to end at a range of a hundred yards, I wouldn't like to bet on it by standing behind the jeep.

  I filled the magazine of the rifle with a mixed load, three soft-nosed and two jacketed, laid alternately. Then I examined McCarthy's Smith & Wesson automatic pistol, a more prosaic piece of iron than Fleet's jazzed-up rifle. After checking that it was in order I put it into my pocket, together with the spare clips. The electronic gadget I left where it was under the front seat. I wasn't taking it with me when I went to see Jack Case, but I wasn't going empty-handed either.

  When I got back to the house Elin was awake. She looked at me drowsily, and said, 'I don't know why I'm so tired.'

  'Well,' I said judiciously. 'You've been shot and you've been racketing around the Obyggdir for two days with not much sleep. I'm not surprised you're tired. I haven't been too wide awake myself.'

  Elin opened her eyes wide in alarm and glanced at Sigurlin who was arranging flowers in a vase. I said, 'Sigurlin knows you didn't fall on any rock. She knows you were shot, but now how or why and I don't want you to tell her. I don't want you to discuss it with Sigurlin or anyone else.' I turned to Sigurlin. 'You'll get the full story at the right time, but at the moment the knowledge would be dangerous.'

  Sigurlin nodded in acceptance. Elin said, 'I think I'll sleep all day. I'm tired now, but I'll be ready by the time we have to leave for Geysir.'

  Sigurlin crossed the room and began to plump up the pillows behind Elin's head. The heartless professionalism spoke of the trained nurse. 'You're not leaving for anywhere,' she said sharply. 'Not for the next two days at least.'

  'But I must,' protested Elin.

  'But you must not. Your shoulder is bad enough.' Her lips compressed tightly as she looked down at Elin. 'You should really see a doctor.'

  'Oh, no!' said Elin.

  'Well, then, you'll do as I say.'

  Elin looked at me appealingly. I said, 'I'm only going to see a man. As a matter of fact, Jack Case wouldn't say a word in your presence, anyway - you're not a member of the club. I'm just going to Geysir, have a chat with the man, and then come back here - and you might as well keep your turned-up nose out of it for once.'

  Elin looked flinty, and Sigurlin said, 'I'll leave you to whisper sweet nothings into each other's ear.' She smiled. 'You two are going to lead interesting lives.'

  She left the room, and I said gloomily, 'That sounds like the Chinese curse - "May you live in interesting times.'"

  'All right,' said Elin in a tired voice. 'I won't give you any trouble. You can go to Geysir alone.'

  I sat on the edge of the bed. 'It's not a matter of you giving trouble; I just want you out of this. You disturb my concentration, and if I run into difficulties I don't want to have to watch out for you as well as myself.'

  'Have I been a drag?'

  I shook my head. 'No, Elin; you haven't. But the nature of the game may change. I've been chased across Iceland and I'm pretty damn tired of it. If the opportunity offers I'll turn around and do a bit of chasing myself.'

  'And I'd get in the way,' she said flatly.

  'You're a civilized person,' I said. 'Very law-abiding and full of scruples. I doubt if you've had as much as a parking ticket in your life. I might manage to retain a few scruples while I'm being hunted; not many, but some. But when I'm the hunter I can't afford them. I think you might be horrified at what I'd do.'

  'You'd kill,' she said. It was a statement.

  'I might do worse,' I said grimly, and she shivered. 'It's not that I want to - I'm no casual murderer; I don't want to have any part of this but I've been conscripted against my will.'

  'You dress it in fine words,' she said. 'You don't have to kill.'

  'No fine words,' I said. 'Just one - survival. A drafted American college boy may be a pacifist, but when the Viet Cong shoot at him with those Russian 7.62 millimetre rifles he'll shoot right back, you may depend on it. And when Kennikin comes after me he'll deserve all he runs into. I didn't ask him to shoot at me on the Tungnaa River - he didn't need my permission - but he can't have been very surprised when I shot back. Hell, he would expect it!'

  'I can see the logic,' said Elin. 'But don't expect me to like it.'

  'Christ!' I said. 'Do you think I like it?' ' 'I'm sorry, Alan,' she said, and smiled wanly.

  'So am I.' I stood up. 'After that bit of deep philosophy you'd better have breakfast. I'll see what Sigurlin can offer.'

  Chapter IV

  I left Laugarvatn at eight that night. Punctuality may be a virtue but it has been my experience that the virtuous often die young while the ungodly live to a ripe age. I had arranged to meet Jack Case at five o'clock but it would do him no great harm to stew for a few hours, and I had it in mind that the arrangement to meet him had been made on an open radio circuit.

  I arrived at Geysir in Gunnar's Volkswagen beetle and parked inconspicuously quite a long way from the summer hotel. A few people, not many, were picking their way among the pools of boiling water, cameras at the ready. Geysir itself - the Gusher - which has given its name to all the other spouters in the world, was quiescent. It has been a long time since Geysir spouted. The habit of prodding it into action by tossing rocks into the pool finally proved too much as the pressure chamber was blocked. However, Strokkur - the Churn - was blasting off with commendable efficiency and sending up its feathery plume of boiling water at seven-minute intervals.

  I stayed in the car for a long time and used the field-glasses assiduously. There were no familiar faces to be seen in the next hour, a fact that didn't impress me much, however. Finally I got out of the car and walked towards the Hotel Geysir, one hand in my pocket resting on the butt of the pistol.

  Case was in the lounge, sitting in a corner and reading a paperback. I walked up to him and said, 'Hello, Jack; that's a nice tan you must have been in the sun.'

  He looked up. 'I was in Spain. What kept you?'

  This and that.'

  I prepared to sit down, but he said. 'This is too public -let's go up to my room. Besides, I have a bottle.' 'That's nice.'

  I followed him to his room. He locked the door and turned to survey me. 'That gun in your pocket spoils the set of your coat. Why don't you use a shoulder holster?'

  I grinned
at him. 'The man I took the gun from didn't have one. How are you, Jack? It's good to see you.'

  He grunted sourly. 'You might change your mind about that.' With a flip of his hand he opened a suitcase lying on a chair and took out a bottle. He poured a heavy slug into a tooth glass and handed it to me. 'What the devil have you been doing? You've got Taggart really worked up.'

  'He sounded pretty steamy when I spoke to him,' I said, and sipped the whisky. 'Most of the time I've been chased from hell-and-gone to here.'

  'You weren't followed here?' he asked quickly.

  'No.'

  'Taggart tells me you killed Philips. Is that true?'

  'If Philips was a man who called himself Buchner and Graham it's true.'

  He stared at me. 'You admit it!'

  I relaxed in the chair. 'Why not, since I did it? I didn't know it was Philips, though. He came at me in the dark with a gun.'

  'That's not how Slade described it. He says you took a crack at him too.'

  'I did - but that was after I'd disposed of Philips. He and Slade came together.'

  'Slade says differently. He says that he was in a car with Philips when you ambushed it.'

  I laughed. 'With what?' I drew the sgian dubh from my stocking and flipped it across the room, where it stuck in the top of the dressing-table, quivering. 'With that?'

  'He says you had a rifle.'

  'Where would I get a rifle?' I demanded. 'He's right, though; I took the rifle from Philips after I disposed of him with that little pig-sticker. I put three shots into Slade's car and missed the bastard.'

  'Christ!' said Case. 'No wonder Taggart is doing his nut. Have you gone off your little rocker?'