‘You’l have trouble in raising your arm above your shoulder for the
next week,’ I said. “Otherwise it’s not too bad..’
She seemed mesmerized by the amber light reflected from the jewel ed
pommel of the knife in Graham’s chest. ‘That knife – do you always carry
it?’
‘Always,’ I said. ‘We have to get it out of there.’ It had hit Graham in
the centre of the chest just below the sternum and it had an upwards
inclination. The whole of the blade , was buried in him and God knows
what it had sliced through.
I cut away his shirt, and said, ‘Get an absorbent pad ready,’ and then I
put my hand on the hilt and pulled. The serrated back edge admitted air
into the wound and made extraction easy and the knife came away cleanly.
I half expected a gush of arterial blood which would have been the end
of Graham, but there was just a steady trickle which ran down his
stomach and col ected in his navel.
Elin put the pad on the wound and strapped it down with tape while I
took his pulse again. It was a little weaker than it had been.
‘Do you know who he is?’ asked Elin, sitting back on her heels.
‘Yes,’ I said matter-of-factly. ‘He said his name is Graham. He’s a
member of the Department working with Slade.’ I picked up the /sgian
dubh/ and began to clean it. ‘Right now I’d like to know if he came
alone or if he has any pals around here. We’re sitting ducks.’
I got up and walked back into the trees and hunted about for Graham’s
rifle. I found it and took it back to the Land-Rover; it was a Remington
pump action carbine chambered for . 30/06 ammunition – a good gun for a
murderer. The barrel not too long to get in the way, the fire rapid –
five aimed shots in five seconds – and a weight and velocity of slug
enough to stop a man dead in his tracks. I operated the action and
caught the round that jumped out. It was the ordinary soft-nosed hunting
type, designed to spread on impact. Elin had been lucky.
She was bending over Graham wiping his brow. ‘He’s coming round.’
Graham’s eyes flickered and opened and he saw me standing over him with
the carbine in my hands. He tried to get up but a spasm of pain hit him
and the sweat started out on his brow. ‘You’re not in a position to do
much,’ I said. ‘You have a hole in your gut.’
He sagged back and moistened his lips. ‘Slade said . . .’ He fought for
breath. ‘. . . said you weren’t dangerous.’
‘Did he, now? He was wrong, wasn’t he?’ I held up the carbine. ‘If you’d
come empty-handed without this you wouldn’t be lying where you are now.
What was supposed to be the idea?’
‘Slade wanted the package,’ he whispered.
‘So? But the opposition have it. The Russians – I suppose they /are/
Russians?’
Graham nodded weakly. ‘But they didn’t get it. That’s why Slade sent me
in here. He said you were playing a double game. He said you weren’t
straight.’
I frowned. ‘Now, that’s interesting,’ I said, and sat on my heels next
to him with the carbine across my knees. Tel me this, Graham – who told
Slade the Russians hadn’t got it? I didn’t tel them, that’s for sure. I
suppose the Russkies obligingly told him they’d been fooled.’
A look of puzzlement came over his face. ‘I don’t know how he knew. He
just told me to come and get it.’
I lifted the carbine. ‘And he gave you this. I suppose I was to be
liquidated.’ I glanced at Elin, and then back at Graham. ‘And what about
Elin here? What was to happen to her?’
Graham closed his eyes. ‘I didn’t know she was here.’
‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘But Slade did. How the hel do you think that
Land-Rover got here?’ Graham’s eyelids flickered. ‘You knew damned wel
you’d have to kil any witnesses.’
A trickle of blood crept from the corner of his mouth. You lousy
bastard!’ I said. ‘If I thought you knew what you were doing I’d kil
you now. So Slade told you I’d reneged and you took his word for it –
you took the gun he gave you and followed his orders. Ever hear of a man
cal ed Birkby?’
Graham opened his eyes. ‘No.’
‘Before your time,’ I said. ‘It just happens that Slade has played that
trick before. But never mind that now. Did you come alone?’
Graham closed his mouth tightly and a stubborn look came over his face.
‘Don’t be a hero,’ I advised. ‘I can get it out of you easily enough.
How would you like me to stomp on your bel y right now?’ I heard Elin
gasp, but ignored her. ‘You have a bad gut wound, and you’re liable to
die unless we can get you to a hospital. And I can’t do that if someone
is going to take a crack at us as we leave Asbyrgi. I’m not going to put
Elin into risk just for the sake of your hide.’
He looked beyond me to Elin, and then nodded. ‘Slade,’ he said. ‘He’s
here . . . about a mile . . .’
‘At the entrance to Asbyrgi?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and closed his eyes again. I took his pulse and found it
very much fainter. I turned to Elin. ‘Start to load; leave enough room
for Graham to lie in the back on top of the sleeping bags.’ I stood up
and checked the load in the carbine.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Maybe I can get close enough to Slade to talk to him,’ I said. ‘To tel
him his boy is badly hurt. Maybe I won’t – in that case I’l talk to him
with this.’ I held up the carbine.
She whitened. ‘You’l kil him?’
‘Christ, I don’t know!’ I said exasperatedly. ‘All I know is that
apparently he doesn’t mind if I’m kil ed – and you, too. He’s sitting at
the entrance to Asbyrgi like a bloody cork in a bottle and this is the
only corkscrew I’ve got.’
Graham moaned a little and opened his eyes. I bent down. ‘How are you
feeling?’
‘Bad.’ The trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth had increased to
a rivulet which ran down his neck. ‘It’s funny,’ he whispered. ‘How
/did/ Slade know?’
I said, ‘What’s in the package?’
‘Don’t. . . know.’
‘Who is bossing the Department these days?’
His breath wheezed. ‘Ta . . . Taggart.’
If anyone could pull Slade off my back it would be Taggart. I said, ‘All
right; I’l go and see Slade. We’l have you out of here in no time.’
‘Slade said . . .’ Graham paused and began again. He seemed to have
difficulty in swal owing and he coughed a little, bringing bright red
bubbles foaming to his lips. ‘Slade said . . .”
The coughing increased and there was sudden gush of red arterial blood
from his mouth and his head fel sideways. I put my hand to his wrist
and knew that Graham would never tel me what more Slade had said
because he was dead. I closed his staring eyes, and stood up. ‘I’d
better talk to Slade.’
‘He’s dead!’ said Elin in a shocked whisper.
Graham was dead – a pawn suddenly swept from the board. He had died
because he followed orders blindly, just as I had done in Sweden; he had
died because he didn’t real y understand what he was doing. Slade had
told him to do something and he had tried and failed and come to his
death. I didn’t real y understand what I was doing, either, so I’d
better not fail in anything I attempted.
Elin was crying. The big tears wel ed from her eyes and trickled down
her cheeks. She didn’t sob but just stood there crying silently and
looking down at the body of Graham. I said harshly, ‘Don’t cry for him ?
he was going to kil you. You heard him.’
When she spoke it was without a tremor, but stil the tears came. ‘I’m
not crying for Graham,’ she said desolately. ‘I’m crying for you.
Someone must.’
Chapter II
We struck camp quickly and loaded everything into the Land-Rover, and
everything included the body of Graham. ‘We can’t leave him here,’ I
said. ‘Someone wil be sure to stumble across him soon – certainly
within the week. To quote the Bard, we lug the guts into the neighbour
room.’
A wan smile crossed Elin’s face as she caught the al usion. ‘Where?’
‘Dettifoss,’ I said. ‘Or maybe Selfoss.’ To go over a couple of
waterfalls, one the most powerful in Europe, would batter the body