beyond recognition and, with luck, disguise the fact that Graham had
been stabbed. He would be a lone tourist who had had an accident.
So we put the body in the back of the Land-Rover, I picked up the
Remington carbine, and said, ‘Give me half an hour, then come along as
fast as you can.’
‘I can’t move fast if I have to be quiet,’ she objected.
‘Quietness won’t matter ? just belt towards the entrance as fast as you
can, and use the headlights. Then slow down a bit so I can hop aboard.’
‘And then?’
‘Then we head for Dettifoss – but not by the main road. We keep on the
track to the west of the river.’
‘What are you going to do about Slade? You’re going to kil him, aren’t
you?’
‘He might kil me first,’ I said. ‘Let’s have no il usions about Slade.’
‘No more kil ing, Alan,’ she said. ‘Please – no more kil ing.’
‘It might not be up to me. If he shoots at me then I’l shoot back.’
‘All right,’ she said quietly.
So I left her and headed towards the entrance to Asbyrgi, padding softly
along the track and hoping that Slade wouldn’t come looking for Graham.
I didn’t think it likely. Although he must have heard the shot he would
have been expecting it, and then it would have taken Graham a half-hour
to return after searching for the package. My guess was that Slade
wouldn’t be expecting Graham for another hour.
I made good time but slowed as I approached the entrance. Slade had not
bothered to hide his car; it was parked in ful sight and was clearly
visible because the short northern night was nearly over and the sky was
light. He knew what he was doing because it was impossible to get close
to the car without being seen, so I settled behind a rock and waited for
Elin. I had no relish for walking across that open ground only to stop a
bullet.
Presently I heard her coming. The noise was quite loud as she changed
gear and I saw a hint of movement from inside the parked car. I nestled
my cheek against the stock of the carbine and aimed. Graham had been
professional enough to put a spot of luminous paint on the foresight but
it was not necessary in the pre-dawn light.
I settled the sight on the driving side and, as the noise behind me
built up to a crescendo, I slapped three bullets in as many seconds
through the windscreen which must have been made of laminated glass
because it went total y opaque. Slade took off in a wide sweep and I saw
that the only thing that had saved him was that the car had right-hand
drive, English style, and I had shot holes in the wrong side of the
windscreen.
But he wasn’t waiting for me to correct the error and bucked away down
the track as fast as he could go. The Land-Rover came up behind me and I
jumped for it. ‘Get going!’ I yel ed. ‘Make it fast.’
Ahead, Slade’s car skidded around a corner in a four-wheel drift,
kicking up a cloud of dust. He was heading for the main road, but when
we arrived at the corner Elin turned the other way as I had instructed
her. It would have been useless chasing Slade – a Land-Rover isn’t built
for that and he had the advantage.
We turned south on to the track which paral els the /Jokulsa a Fjollum,/
the big river that takes the melt water north from Vatnajokul , and the
roughness of the ground dictated a reduction in speed. Elin said, ‘Did
you talk to Slade?’
‘I couldn’t get near him.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t kil him.’
‘It wasn’t for want of trying,’ I said. ‘If he had a left-hand drive car
he’d be dead by now.’
‘And would that make you feel any better?’ she asked cuttingly.
I looked at her. ‘Elin,’ I said. ‘The man’s dangerous. Either he’s gone
off his nut – which I think is unlikely -or . . .’
‘Or what?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said despondently. ‘It’s too damned complicated and I
don’t know enough. But I do know that Slade wants me dead. There’s
something I know – or something he thinks I know – that’s dangerous for
him; dangerous enough for him to want to kil me. Under the
circumstances I don’t want you around – you could get in the line of
fire. You /did/ get in the line of fire this morning.’
She slowed because of a deep rut. ‘You can’t survive alone,’ she said.
‘You need help.’
I needed more than help; I needed a new set of brains to work out this
convoluted problem. But this wasn’t the time to do it because Elin’s
shoulder was giving her hel . ‘Pull up,’ I said. ‘I’l do the driving.’
We travel ed south for an hour and a half and Elin said, ‘There’s
Dettifoss.’
I looked out over the rocky landscape towards the cloud of spray in the
distance which hung over the deep gorge which /the Jokulsa a Fjollum/
has cut deep into the rock. ‘We’l carry on to Selfoss,’ I decided. ‘Two
waterfalls are better than one. Besides, there are usual y campers at
Dettifoss.’
We went past Dettifoss and, three kilometres farther on, I pulled off
the road. ‘This is as close to Selfoss as we can get.’
I got out. ‘I’l go towards the river and see if anyone’s around,’ I
said. ‘It’s bad form to be seen humping bodies about. Wait here and
don’t talk to any strange men.’
I checked to see if the body was stil decently shrouded by the blanket
with which we had covered it, and then headed towards the river. It was
stil very early in the morning and there was no one about so I went
back and opened the rear door of the vehicle and climbed inside.
I stripped the blanket away from Graham’s body and searched his
clothing. His wal et contained some Icelandic currency and a sheaf of
Deutschmarks, together with a German motoring club card identifying him
as Dieter Buchner, as also did his German passport. There was a
photograph of him with his arm around a pretty girl and a fascia board
of a shop behind them was in German. The Department was always thorough
about that kind of thing.
The only other item of interest was a packet of rifle ammunition which
had been broken open. I put that on one side, pulled out the body and
replaced the wal et in the pocket, and then carried him in a fireman’s
lift towards the river with Elin close on my heels.
I got to the lip of the gorge and put down the body while I studied the
situation. The gorge at this point was curved and the river had undercut
the rock face so that it was a straight drop right into the water. I
pushed the body over the edge and watched it fall in a tumble of arms
and legs until it splashed into the grey, swirling water. Buoyed by air
trapped in the jacket it floated out until it was caught in the quick
midstream current. We watched it go downstream until it disappeared over
the edge of Selfoss to drop into the roaring cauldron below.
Elin looked at me sadly. ‘And what now?’
‘Now I go south,’ I said, and walked away quickly towards the
Land-Rover. When Elin caught up with me I was bashing hel out of the
radio-bug with a big stone.
‘Why south?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘I want to get to Keflavik and back to London. There’s a man I want to
talk to – Sir David Taggart.’
‘We go by way of Myvatn?’
I shook my head, and gave the radio-bug one last clout, sure now that it
would tel no more tales. ‘I’m keeping off the main roads – they’re too
dangerous. I go by way of the /Odddahraun/ and by Askja – into the
desert. But you’re not coming.’ ‘We’l see,’ she said, and tossed the
car key in her hand.
Chapter III
God has not yet finished making Iceland.
In the last 500 years one-third of al the lava extruded from the guts
of the earth to the face of the planet has surfaced in Iceland and, of
200 known volcanoes, thirty are stil very much active. Iceland suffers
from a bad case of geological acne.
For the last thousand years a major eruption has been recorded, on
average, every five years. Askja – the ash volcano – last blew its top
in 1961. Measurable quantities of volcanic ash settled on the roofs of
Leningrad, 1,000 miles away. That didn’t trouble the Russians overmuch
but the effect was more serious nearer home. The country to the north