Bagley, Desmond - Running Blind

by Running Blind

  I sighed. 'Jack, did Taggart say anything about a girl?'

  'He said you'd referred to a girl. He didn't know whether to believe you.'

  'He'd better believe me,' I said. 'That girl isn't far from here, and she has a bullet wound in her shoulder that was given to her by Philips. He was within an ace of killing her. Now, there's no two ways about that, and I can take you to her and show you the wound. Slade says I ambushed him. Is it likely I'd do it with my fiancee watching? And why in hell would I want to ambush him?' I slid in a trick question. 'What did he say he'd done with Philips's body?'

  Case frowned. 'I don't think the question came up.'

  'It wouldn't,' I said. 'The last I saw of Slade he was driving away like a maniac - and there was no body in his car. I disposed of it later.'

  'This is all very well,' said Case. 'But it happened after Akureyri, and in Akureyri you were supposed to deliver a package to Philips. You didn't, and you didn't give it to Slade, either. Why not?'

  'The operation stank,' I said, and went into it in detail.

  I talked for twenty minutes and by the time I had finished Case was pop-eyed. He swallowed and his Adam's apple jumped convulsively. 'Do you really believe that Slade is a Russian agent? How do you expect Taggart to swallow that? I've never heard such a cock-and-bull story in my life.'

  I said patiently, 'I followed Slade's instructions at Keflavik and nearly got knocked off by Lindholm; Slade sent Philips after me into Asbyrgi - how did he know the Russians were holding a fake? There's the Calvados; there's Case held up his hands. 'There's no need to go through it all again. Lindholm might have been lucky in catching you - there's nothing to say all the roads around Keflavik weren't staked out. Slade says he didn't go after you in Asbyrgi. As for the Calvados. . .' He threw up his hands. 'There's only your word for that.'

  'What the hell are you. Jack? Prosecutor, judge and jury, too? Or have I already been judged and you're the executioner?'

  'Don't fly off the handle,' he said wearily. 'I'm just trying to find out how complicated a cock-up you've made, that's all. What did you do after you left Asbyrgi?'

  'We went south in the wilderness,' I said. 'And then Kennikin pitched up.'

  'The one who drinks Calvados? The one you had the hassle with in Sweden?'

  'The same. My old pal, Vaslav. Don't you think that was bloody coincidental, Jack? How would Kennikin know which track to chase along? But Slade knew, of course; he knew which way we went after we left Asbyrgi.'

  Case regarded me thoughtfully. 'You know you're very convincing sometimes. I'm getting so I might believe this silly story if I'm not careful. But Kennikin didn't catch you.'

  'It was nip and tuck,' I said. 'And the bloody Yanks didn't help.'

  Case sat up. 'How do they come into this?'

  I pulled out Fleet's pass and skimmed it across the room into Case's lap. 'That chap shot a hole in my tyre at very long range. I got out of there with Kennikin ten minutes behind.' I told Case all about it.

  His mouth was grim. 'Now you really have gone overboard. I suppose you'll now claim Slade is a member of the CIA,' he said sarcastically. 'Why should the Americans hold you up just so Kennikin could grab you?'

  'I don't know,' I said feelingly. 'I wish I did.'

  Case examined the card. 'Fleet - I know that name; it came up when I was in Turkey last year. He's a CIA hatchetman and he's dangerous.'

  'Not for the next month,' I said. 'I cracked his skull.'

  'So what happened next?'

  I shrugged. 'I went hell-for-leather with Kennikin and his boys trying to climb up my exhaust pipe - there was a bit of an affray at a river, and then I lost him. I suppose he's around here somewhere.'

  'And you've still got the package?'

  'Not on me, Jack,' I said softly. 'Not on me but quite close.'

  'I don't want it,' he said, and crossed the room to take my empty glass. 'The plan's changed. You're to take the package to Reykjavik.'

  'Just like that,' I said. 'What if I don't want to?'

  'Don't be a fool. Taggart wants it that way, and you'd better not annoy him any more. Not only have you loused up his operation but you've killed Philips, and for that he can have your hide. I have a message from him - take the package to Reykjavik and all is forgiven.'

  'It must be really important,' I said, and checked my fingers. 'Let's see - I've killed two men, damn near shot the leg off another, and maybe fractured a couple of skulls -and Taggart says he can sweep all that under the carpet?'

  'The Russkies and the Americans can take care of their own - they bury their own dead, if any,' said Case brutally. 'But Taggart - and only Taggart - can clear you on our side. By killing Philips you set yourself up as a legitimate target. Do as he says or he'll set the dogs on you.'

  I remembered I had used a phrase like that when speaking to Taggart. I said, 'Where is Slade now?'

  Case turned away from me and I heard the clink of glass against bottle. 'I don't know. When I left London Taggart was trying to contact him.'

  'So he could still be in Iceland,' I said slowly. 'I don't know that I like that.'

  Case whirled around. 'What you like has ceased to matter. For God's sake, what's got into you, Alan? Look, it's only a hundred kilometres to Reykjavik; you can be there in two hours. Take the bloody package and go.'

  'I have a better idea,' I said. 'You take it.'

  He shook his head. 'That's not on. Taggart wants me back in Spain.'

  I laughed. 'Jack, the easiest way to get to the International Airport at Keflavik is through Reykjavik. You could drop off the package on the way. What's so important about me and the package together?'

  He shrugged. 'My instructions are that you take it. Don't ask me why because I don't know.'

  'What's in the package?'

  'I don't know that either; and the way this operation is shaping I don't want to know.'

  I said, 'Jack, at one time I'd have called you a friend. But you've just tried to con me with this nonsense about being pulled back to Spain, and I don't believe a bloody word of it. But I do believe you when you say you don't know what's going on. I don't think anyone in this operation knows what's going on except, maybe, one man.'

  Case nodded. 'Taggart has his hands on the strings,' he said. 'Neither you nor I need to know much in order to do the job.'

  'I wasn't thinking of Taggart,' I said. 'I don't think he knows what's going on either. He might think he does, but he doesn't.' I looked up. 'I was thinking of Slade. This whole weird operation is warped to the pattern of his mind. I've worked with him before and I know how he thinks.'

  'So we get back to Slade,' said Case grimly. 'You're obsessed, Alan.'

  'Maybe,' I said. 'But you can make Taggart happy by telling him I'll take his damned package to Reykjavik. Where do I deliver it?'

  'That's better.' Case looked down at my glass which had been held, forgotten, in his hand. He gave it to me. 'You know the Nordri Travel Agency?'

  'I know it.' It was the firm for which Elin had once 'worked.

  'I don't, but I'm told that as well as running the agency they have a big souvenir shop.'

  'You were told correctly.'

  'I have a piece of wrapping paper from the souvenir shop; it's the standard stuff they gift-wrap with. You have the package neatly wrapped up. You walk in and go to the back of the shop where they sell the woollen goods. A man will be standing there carrying a copy of the New York Times, and under his arm will be an identical package. You make light conversation by saying, "It's colder here than in the States," to which he will reply . . .'

  '"It's even colder than Birmingham." I've been through the routine before.'

  'All right; once there's a mutual identification you put your package on the counter, and so will he. From then on it's a simple exchange job.'

  'And when is this simple exchange job to take place?'

  'At midday tomorrow.'

  'Supposing I'm not there at midday tomorrow? For all I know there may be a h
undred Russians spaced out along that road at one kilometre intervals.'

  'There'll be a man in the shop every midday until you turn up,' said Case.

  'Taggart has a touching faith in me,' I said. 'According to Slade the Department is afflicted with a manpower shortage, and here is Taggart being spendthrift. What happens if I don't turn up for a year?'

  Case didn't smile. 'Taggart brought up that problem. If you're not there within a week then someone will come looking for you, and I'd regret that because, in spite of that snide crack you made about friendship, I still love you, you silly bastard.'

  'Smile when you say that, stranger.'

  He grinned and sat down again. 'Now let's go through all this again, right from the beginning - right from the time Slade came to see you in Scotland.'

  So I repeated my tale of woe again in great detail, with all the pros and cons, and we talked for a long time. At the end of it Case said seriously, 'If you're right and Slade has been got at then this is big trouble.'

  'I don't think he's been got at,' I said. 'I think he's been a Russian agent all along. But there's something else worrying me just as much as Slade - where do the Americans fit in? It's not like them to be cosy with people like Kennikin.'

  Case dismissed the Americans. 'They're just a problem of this particular operation. Slade is different. He's a big boy now and has a hand in planning and policy. If he's gone sour the whole department will have to be organized.'

  He made a sudden sweeping motion with his hand. 'Jesus, you've got me going now! I'm actually beginning to believe you. This is nonsense, Alan.'

  I held out my empty glass. 'I could do with a refill this is thirsty work.' As Case picked up the depleted bottle, I said, 'Let me put it this way. The question has been asked and, once asked, it can't be unasked. If you put my case against Slade to Taggart, just as I've put it to you, then he'll be forced to take action. He can't afford not to. He'll have Slade under a microscope and I don't think Slade can stand close inspection.'

  Case nodded. 'There's just one thing, Alan. Be sure -be very, very sure - that your prejudices aren't shouting too loud. I know why you left the Department and I know why you hate Slade's guts. You're biased. This is a serious accusation you're making, and if Slade comes out of it cleaner than the driven snow then you're in big trouble. He'll demand your head on a platter and he'll get it.'

  'He'll deserve it,' I said. 'But the problem won't arise. He's as guilty as hell.' I may have sounded confident but there was the nagging fear that perhaps I was wrong. Case's warning about bias and prejudice was sound, and I hastily re-examined the indictment against Slade. I found 'no flaw.

  Case looked at his watch. 'Eleven-thirty.'

  I put down the whisky untasted. 'It's late - I'd better be going.'

  'I'll tell Taggart all about it,' said Case. 'And I'll also tell him about Fleet and McCarthy. Maybe he can get a line on that angle through Washington.'

  I retrieved the sgian dubh from the dressing-table and slipped it into my stocking-top. 'Jack, you really haven't any idea of what this operation is all about?'

  'Not the faintest clue,' he said. 'I didn't know anything about it until I was pulled out of Spain. Taggart was angry, and justifiably so, in my opinion. He said you refused to have anything to do with Slade, and you wouldn't even tell him where you were. He said you'd agree to meet me here. All I am is a messenger boy, Alan.'

  'That's what Slade told me I was,' I said morosely. 'I'm getting tired of running blind; I'm getting tired of running. Maybe if I stood my ground for once in a while I'd be better off.'

  'I wouldn't advise it,' said Case. 'Just follow orders and get the package to Reykjavik.' He put on his jacket. 'I'll walk with you to your car. Where is it?'

  'Up the road.'

  He was about to unlock the door when I said, 'Jack, I don't think you've been entirely frank with me. You've dodged a couple of issues in this conversation. Now there have been some bloody funny things going on lately, such as a member of the Department coming after me with a gun - so I just want to tell you one thing. It's likely that I'll be stopped on the way to Reykjavik, and if you have any part in that I'll go right through you, friendship or no friendship. I hope you understand that.'

  He smiled and said, 'For God's sake, you're imagining things.'

  But the smile was strained and there was something about his expression I couldn't place, and it worried me. It was only a long time afterwards that I identified the emotion. It was pity but by then the identification had come too late.

  Chapter I

  We went outside to find it was as dark as it ever gets in the Icelandic summer. There was no moon but there was visibility of sorts in a kind of ghostly twilight. There was a soft explosion among the hot pools and the eerie spectre of Strokkur rose into the air, a fading apparition which dissipated into wind-blown shreds. There was a stink of sulphur in the air.

  I shivered suddenly. It's no wonder that the map of Iceland is littered with place names which tell of the giant trolls who dwell in the roots of the mountains, or that the old men still hand down the legends of man in conflict with spirits. The young Icelanders, geared to the twentieth century with their transistor radios and casual use of aircraft, laugh and call it superstition. Maybe they're right, but I've noticed that they tend to force their laughter sometimes and it has a quality of unease about it. All I know is that if I had been one of the old Vikings and had come upon Strokkur unexpectedly one dark night I'd have been scared witless.

  I think Case caught something of the atmosphere because he looked across at the thinning curtain of mist as Strokkur disappeared, and said softly, 'It's really something, isn't it?'

  'Yes,' I said shortly. 'The car's over there. It's quite a way.'

  We crunched on the crushed lava of the road and walked past the long row of white-painted pillars which separate the road from the pools. I could hear the bubbling of hot water and the stench of sulphur was stronger. If you looked at the pools in daylight you would find them all colours, some as white and clear as gin, others a limpid blue or green, and all close to boiling point. Even in the darkness I could see the white vapour rising in the air.

  Case said, 'About Slade. What was the . . . ?'

  I never heard the end of that question because three heavier patches of darkness rose up about us suddenly. Someone grabbed me and said, 'Stewartsen, stanna! Forstar Ni ?' Something hard jabbed into my side.

  I stopped all right, but not in the way that was expected. I let myself go limp, just as McCarthy had done when I hit him with the cosh. My knees buckled and I went down to the ground. There was a muffled exclamation of surprise and momentarily the grip on my arm relaxed and the movement in a totally unexpected direction dislodged the gun from my ribs.

  As soon as I was down I spun around fast with one leg bent and the other extended rigidly. The outstretched leg caught my Swedish-speaking friend behind the knees with a great deal of force and he fell to the ground. His pistol was ready for use because there was a bang as he fell and I heard the whine of a ricocheting bullet.

  I rolled over until I was prone against one of the pillars. I would be too conspicuous against that painted whiteness so I wormed off the road and into the darkness, pulling the pistol from my pocket as I went. Behind me there was a shout of 'Spheshite!' and another voice in a lower tone said, 'Net! Slushayte!' I kept very still and heard the thudding of boots as someone ran towards the hotel.

  Only Kennikin's mob would have addressed me as Stewartsen and in Swedish, and now they were bellowing in Russian. I kept my head close to the ground and looked back towards the road so I could see anyone there silhouetted against the paler sky. There was a flicker of movement quite close and a crunch of footsteps, so I put a bullet in that direction, picked myself up, and ran for it.

  And that was damned dangerous because, in the darkness, I could very well run headlong into a bottomless pool of boiling water. I counted my paces and tried to visualize the hot pools area as I had often s
een it in daylight under less unnerving conditions. The pools vary in size from a piddling little six inches in diameter to the fifty-foot giant economy size. Heated by the subterranean volcanic activity, the water continually wells out of the pools to form a network of hot streams which covers the whole area.

  After I had covered a hundred yards I stopped and dropped on one knee. Ahead of me steam rose and lay in a level blanket and I thought that was Geysir itself. That means that Strokkur was somewhere to my left and a little behind. I wanted to keep clear of Strokkur - getting too close would be dicey in the extreme.

  I looked back and saw nothing, but I heard footsteps following in the line I had come, and others away to the right and getting closer. I didn't know if my pursuers knew the lie of the ground or not but, intentionally or accidentally, I was being herded right into the pools. The man on the right switched on a flash lamp, a big thing like a miniature searchlight. He directed it at the ground which was lucky for me, but he was more troubled about turning himself into goulash.

  I lifted my pistol and banged off three shots in that direction and the light went out suddenly. I don't think I hit him but he had come to the acute realization that his light made a good target. I wasn't worried about making a noise; the more noise the better as far as I was concerned. Five shots had been fired, five too many in the quiet Icelandic night, and already lights were popping on in the hotel and I heard someone call from that direction.

  The man behind me let fly with two shots and I saw the muzzle flare of his pistol very close, not more than ten yards away. The bullets went wide; one I don't know where, but the other raised a fountain in the pool of Geysir. I didn't return the fire but ran to the left, skirting the pool. I stumbled through a stream of hot water, but it was barely two inches deep and I went through fast enough not to do any damage to myself and being more concerned that the splashing noise would give away my position.

  There were more cries from the hotel and the slam of windows opening. Someone started up a car with a rasping noise and headlights were switched on. I paid little attention to that, but carried on, angling back towards the road. Whoever started that car had a bright idea and no pun intended. He swung around and drove towards the pools, his headlamps illuminating the whole area.