Bagley, Desmond - Running Blind

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by Running Blind


  From the bit of action with the watch it seemed that they not only knew the rendezvous I was supposed to keep but the time I was to keep it. They had pulled off duty at one o'clock like workmen clocking off the job. It wouldn't have surprised me overmuch if they knew the passwords as well.

  At the corner of Posthusstraeti two of them got into a parked car and drove away, but Ilyich turned smartly to the right across the street and headed at a quick clip towards the Hotel Borg, into which he disappeared like a rabbit diving into its hole. I hesitated for a moment and then drifted in after him.

  He didn't stop to collect a key at the desk but went immediately upstairs to the second floor, with me on his heels. He walked along a corridor and knocked at a door, so I did a smart about-turn and went downstairs again where I sat at a table in the lounge from where I had a good view of the foyer. This meant another obligatory cup of coffee with which I was already awash, but that's the penalty of a trailing job. I spread my newspaper at arm's length and waited for Ilyich to appear again.

  He wasn't away long - a matter of ten minutes - and when he came back I knew triumphantly that all my suspicions had been correct and that everything I had done in Iceland was justified. He came downstairs talking to someone - and that someone was Slade!

  They came through the lounge on their way to the dining-room and Slade passed my table no farther away than six feet. It was to be expected that he would wait in his room for a report, positive or negative, and then head for the fleshpots. I shifted in my chair and watched where they would sit and, during the brouhaha of the seating ceremony, I left quickly and walked into the foyer and out of sight.

  Two minutes later I was on the second floor and tapping at the same door Ilyich had knocked on, hoping that no one would answer. No one did and so, by a bit of trickery involving a plastic sheet from my wallet, I went inside. That was something I had learned at school the Department had trained me well.

  I wasn't stupid enough to search Slade's luggage. If he was as smart as I thought he would have gimmicked it so that he could tell at a glance whether a suitcase had been opened. Standard operating procedure when on a job, and Slade had a double advantage - he'd been trained by both sides. But I did inspect the door of his wardrobe, checking to see if there were any fine hairs stuck down with dabs of saliva which would come free if the door was opened. There was nothing, so I opened the door, stepped inside, and settled down to wait in the darkness.

  I waited a long time. That I expected, having seen the way Slade gourmandized, yet I wondered how he would take to the Icelandic cuisine which is idiosyncratic, to say the least. It takes an Icelander to appreciate hakarl - raw shark meat buried in sand for several months - or pickled whale blubber.

  It was quarter to three when he came back and by that time my own stomach was protesting at the lack of attention; it had had plenty of coffee but very little solid food.

  Ilyich was with him and it came as no surprise that Slade 'spoke Russian like a native. Hell, he probably was a Russian, as had been Gordon Lonsdale, another of his stripe.

  Ilyich said, 'Then there's nothing until tomorrow?'

  'Not unless Vaslav comes up with something,' said Slade.

  'I think it's a mistake,' said Ilyich. 'I don't think Stewart-sen will go near the travel agency. Anyway, are we sure of that information?'

  'We're sure,' said Slade shortly. 'And he'll be there within the next four days. We've underestimated Stewart.'

  I smiled in the darkness. It was nice to have an unsolicited testimonial. I missed what he said next, but Ilyich said, 'Of course, we don't do anything about the package he will carry. We let him get rid of it in the agency and then we follow him until we get him alone.'

  'And then?'

  'We kill him,' said Ilyich unemotionally.

  'Yes,' said Slade. 'But there must be no body found. There has been too much publicity already; Kennikin was mad to have left the body of Case where he did.' There was a short silence and then he said musingly, 'I wonder what Stewart did with Philips?'

  To this rhetorical question Ilyich made no answer, and Slade said, 'All right; you and the others are to be at the Nordri Agency at eleven tomorrow. As soon as you spot Stewart I must be notified by telephone immediately. Is that understood?'

  'You will be informed,' said Ilyich. I heard the door open. 'Where is Kennikin?' he asked.

  'What Kennikin does is no concern of yours,' said Slade sharply. 'You may go.'

  The door slammed.

  I waited and heard a rustle as of paper and a creak followed by a metallic click. I eased open the wardrobe door a crack and looked into the room with one eye. Slade was seated in an armchair with a newspaper on his knee and was applying a light to a fat cigar. He got the end glowing to his satisfaction and looked about for an ashtray. There was one on the dressing-table so he got up and moved his chair so that the ashtray would be conveniently to hand.

  It was convenient for me too, because the action of moving the chair had turned his back to me. I took my pen from my pocket and opened the wardrobe door very slowly. The room was small and it only needed two steps to get behind him. I made no sound and it must have been the fractional change of the quality of the light in the room that made him begin to turn his head. I rammed the end of the pen in the roll of fat at the back of his neck and said, 'Stop right there or you'll be minus a head.'

  Slade froze, and I snaked my other hand over his shoulder to the inside of his jacket where I found a pistol in a shoulder holster. Everyone seemed to be wearing guns these days and I was becoming exceptionally competent at disarming people.

  'I don't want a move from you,' I said, and stepped back. I worked the action of the pistol to make sure it was loaded, and threw off the safety catch. 'Stand up.'

  Obediently he stood, still clutching the newspaper. I said, 'Walk straight forward to the wall in front of you, lean against it with your hands high and your arms held wide.'

  I stepped back and watched him critically as he went through the evolution. He knew what I was going to do; this was the safest way of searching a man. Being Slade, he tried to pull a fast one, so I said, 'Pull your feet out from the wall and lean harder.' That meant he would be off-balance to begin with if he tried anything - just enough to give me that extra fraction of a second that is all-important.

  He shuffled his feet backwards and I saw the telltale quiver of his wrists as they took up the weight of his body. Then I searched him swiftly, tossing the contents of his pockets on to the bed. He carried no other weapon, unless you consider a hypodermic syringe a weapon, which I was inclined to do when I saw the wallet of ampoules that went 'with it. Green on the left for a six-hour certain knock-out; red on the right for death in thirty seconds equally certainly.

  'Now bend your knees and come down that wall very slowly.' His knees sagged and I brought him into the position in which I had had Fleet - belly down and arms wide stretched. It would take a better man than Slade to jump me from that position; Fleet might have done it had I not rammed his rifle in the small of his back, but Slade was not as young and he had a bigger paunch.

  He lay with his head on one side, his right cheek pressed to the carpet and his left eye glaring at me malevolently. He spoke for the first time. 'How do you know I won't have visitors this afternoon?'

  'You're right to worry about that,' I said. 'If anyone comes through that door you're dead.' I smiled at him. 'It would be a pity if it was a chambermaid, then you'd be dead for nothing.'

  He said, 'What the devil do you think you're doing, Stewart? Have you gone out of your mind? I think you must have - I told Taggart so and he agrees with me. Now, put away that gun and let me stand up.'

  'I must say you try,' I said admiringly. 'Nevertheless, if you move a muscle towards getting up I'll shoot you dead.' His only reaction to that was a rapid blinking of the one eye I could see.

  Presently he said, 'You'll hang for this, Stewart. Treason is still a capital crime.'

  'A pity,' I said. '
At least you won't hang, because what you are doing isn't treason - merely espionage. I don't think spies are hanged - not in peacetime, anyway. It would be treason if you were English, but you're not; you're a Russian.'

  'You're out of your mind,' he said disgustedly. 'Me - a Russian!'

  'You're as English as Gordon Lonsdale was Canadian.'

  'Oh, wait until Taggart gets hold of you,' he said. 'He'll put you through the wringer.'

  I said, 'What are you doing consorting with the opposition, Slade?'

  He actually managed to summon up enough synthetic indignation to splutter. 'Dammit!' he said. 'It's my job. You did the same; you were Kennikin's right-hand man at one time. I'm just following orders - which is more than you are doing.'

  That's interesting,' I said. 'Your orders are very curious. Tell me more.'

  'I'll tell nothing to a traitor,' he said virtuously.

  I must say that at that moment I admired Slade for the first time. Lying in a most undignified position and with a gun at his head he wasn't giving an inch and was prepared to fight to the end. I had been in his position myself when I had got next to Kennikin in Sweden and I knew how nerve-abrading a life it was - never knowing from one day to another whether one's cover had been blown. Here he was, still trying to convince me that he was as pure as the latest brand of detergent, and I knew that if I let up on him for a fraction of a second so that he could get the upper hand I would be a dead man in that very second.

  I said, 'Come off it, Slade. I heard you tell Ilyich to kill me. Don't tell me that was an order passed on from Taggart.'

  'Yes,' he said, without the flicker of an eyelash. 'He thinks you've gone over. I can't say I blame him, either, considering the way you've been behaving.'

  I almost burst out laughing at his effrontery. 'By God, but you're good!' I said. 'You lie there with your face hanging out and tell me that. I suppose Taggart also told you to ask the Russkies to do the job for him.'

  Slade's exposed cheek wrinkled up into the rictus of a half smile. 'It's been done before,' he said. 'You killed Jimmy Birkby.'

  Involuntarily my finger tightened on the trigger, and I had to take a deep breath before I relaxed. I tried to keep my voice even as I said, 'You've never been nearer death than now, Slade. You shouldn't have mentioned Birkby -that's a sore point. Let's not have any more comedy. You're finished and you know it quite well. You're going to tell me a lot of things I'm interested in, and you're going to tell it fast, so speak up.'

  'You can go to hell,' he said sullenly.

  'You're a great deal nearer hell right now,' I said. 'Let me put it this way. Personally, I don't give a damn if you're English or Russian, a spy or a traitor. I don't give a damn for patriotism either; I've got past that. With me this is purely personal - on a man-to-man basis, if you like. The foundation for most murders. Elin was nearly killed in Asbyrgi on your instruction, and I've just heard you tell a man to kill me. If I kill you right now it will be self-defence.'

  Slade lifted his head a little and turned it so that he could look at me straight. 'But you won't do it,' he said.

  'No?'

  'No,' he said with certainty. 'I told you before - you're too soft-centred. You might kill me under different circumstances; if I were running away, for instance, or if we were shooting at each other. But you won't kill me while I'm lying here. You're an English gentleman.' He made it sound like a swearword.

  'I wouldn't bet on it,' I said. 'Maybe Scots are different.'

  'Not enough to matter,' he said indifferently.

  I watched him look into the muzzle of the pistol without a quiver and I had to give the devil his due. Slade knew men and he had my measure as far as killing was concerned. He also knew that if he came for me I would shoot to kill. He was safe enough while lying defenceless, but action was another thing.

  He smiled. 'You've already proved it. You shot Yuri in the leg - why not in the heart? By Kennikin's account you were shooting accurately enough across that river to have given every man a free shave without benefit of barber. You could have killed Yuri - but you didn't!'

  'Maybe I wasn't feeling in the mood at the time. I killed Gregor.'

  'In the heat of action. Your death or his. Any man can make that kind of decision.'

  I had the uneasy feeling that the initiative was passing from me and I had to get it back. I said, 'You can't talk if you're dead - and you're going to talk. Let's begin by you telling me about the electronic gadget - what is it?'

  He looked at me contemptuously and tightened his lips.

  I glanced at the pistol I held. God knows why Slade carried it because it was a .32 - a popgun just as heavy to lug about as a modern .38 but without the stopping power. But maybe he was a crack shot and could hit his target every time so that wouldn't matter much. What would matter when shooting in a populous place was that the muzzle blast was much less and so were the decibels. You could probably fire it in a busy street and no one would take much notice.

  I looked him in the eye and then put a bullet into the back of his right hand. He jerked his hand convulsively and a strangled cry broke from his lips as the muzzle of the pistol centred on his head again. The noise of the shot hadn't even rattled the windows.

  I said, 'I may not shoot to kill you but I'll cut you to pieces bit by bit if you don't behave yourself. I hear from Kennikin that I'm a fair hand at surgical operations too. There are worse things than getting yourself shot dead. Ask Kennikin some time.'

  Blood oozed from the back of his hand and stained the carpet, but he lay still, staring at the gun in my hand. His tongue came out and licked dry lips. 'You bloody bastard!' he whispered.

  The telephone rang.

  We stared at each other for the time it took to ring four times. I walked around him, keeping clear of his legs, and I picked up the telephone whole and entire complete with base. I dumped it next to him, and said, 'You'll answer that, and you'll remember two things - I want to hear both ends of the conversation and that there are plenty of other parts of your fat anatomy I can work on.' I jerked the gun. 'Pick it up.'

  Awkwardly he picked up the handset with his left hand. 'Yes?'

  I jerked the gun again and he held up the telephone so that I could hear the scratchy voice. 'This is Kennikin.'

  'Be natural,' I whispered.

  Slade licked his lips. 'What is it?' he asked hoarsely.

  'What's the matter with your voice?' said Kennikin.

  Slade grunted, his eye on the gun I held. 'I have a cold. What do you want?'

  'I've got the girl.'

  There was a silence and 1 could feel my heart thumping in my chest. Slade went pale as he watched my finger curl around the trigger and slowly take up the pressure. I breathed, 'Where from?'

  Slade coughed nervously. 'Where did you find her?'

  'At Keflavik Airport - hiding in the Icelandair office. We know her brother is a pilot, and I had the idea of looking for her there. We took her out without any trouble.'

  That made it true. 'Where now?' I whispered into Slade's ear and put the gun to the nape of his neck.

  He asked the question, and Kennikin said, 'In the usual place. When can I expect you?'

  'You'll be right out.' I pressed the muzzle harder into his fat and felt him shiver.

  'I'll leave straight away,' said Slade, and I quickly cut the contact by depressing the telephone bar.

  I jumped back fast in case he tried to start something but he just lay there gazing at the telephone. I felt like screaming, but there was no time for that. I said, 'Slade, you were wrong - I can kill you. You know that now, don't you?'

  For the first time I detected fear in him. His fat jowl developed a tremor and his lower lip shook so that he looked like a fat boy about to burst into tears. I said, 'Where's the usual place?'

  'He looked at me with hatred and said nothing. I was in a quandary; if I killed him I would have got nothing out of him, yet I didn't want to damage him too much because I wanted him fit to walk the streets of Re
ykjavik without occasioning undue attention. Still, he didn't know my problem, so I said, 'You'll still be alive when I've finished with you, but you'll wish you weren't.'

  I put a bullet just by his left ear and he jerked violently. Again the noise of the shot was very small and I think he must have doctored the cartridges by taking out some of the powder to reduce the bang. It's an old trick when you want to shoot without drawing notice to yourself and, if done carefully and the gun is fired at not too great a range, the bullet is still lethal. It's much better than using a silencer which is a much overrated contraption and dangerous to the user. A silencer is good for one quiet shot - after that the steel wool packing becomes compressed and the back pressure builds up so high that the user is in danger of blowing off his own hand.

  I said, 'I'm a good shot, but not all that good. I intended to put that bullet exactly where I did, but only you know the accuracy of this popgun. I'm inclined to think it throws to the left a bit, so if I try to clip your right ear you stand a fair chance of stopping one in the skull.'

  I shifted the gun a little and took aim. He broke - his nerve gone completely. 'For God's sake stop!' This sort of Russian roulette wasn't to his taste.

  I sighted on his right ear. 'Where's the usual place?'

  There was a sheen of sweat on his face. 'At Thingvallavatn.'

  'The house to which I was taken after Geysir?'

  'That's it.'

  'You'd better be right,' I said. 'Because I have no time to waste in chasing about Southern Iceland.' I lowered the gun and Slade's expression changed to one of relief. 'Don't start cheering yet,' I advised. 'I hope you don't think I'm going to leave you here.'

  I went to the stand at the bottom of the bed and flipped open the lid of his suitcase. I took out a clean shirt and tossed it to him. 'Rip some strips off that and bind up your hand. Stay on the floor and don't get any smart ideas such as throwing it at me.'

  While he tore up the shirt awkwardly I rummaged about in the suitcase and came up with two clips of . 32 ammunition. I dropped them into my pocket then went to the wardrobe and took out Slade's topcoat, the pockets of which I had already searched. 'Stand up facing the wall and put that on.'

 

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