teeth by your own people. How does it feel?’
Vaslav Kennikin was a good man – a good agent ? and he gave nothing
away. He turned his head and looked at me. ‘I’ve listened to this
fairy-story with great interest,’ he said colourlessly. ‘The man, Slade,
I don’t know. You tel a fine tale, Alan, but it won’t get you out of
trouble. You’re not . . .’
The door opened and two men came in. Kennikin turned impatiently, and
said, ‘Wel ?’
The bigger of the men said in Russian, ‘We’ve just got back.’
‘So I see,’ said Kennikin emotionlessly. He waved at me. ‘Let me
introduce Alan Stewartsen, the man you were supposed to bring here. What
went wrong? Where’s Igor?’
They looked at each other, and the big man said, ‘He was taken to
hospital. He was badly scalded when . . .”
‘That’s fine!’ said Kennikin caustical y. ‘That’s marvelous!’ He turned
and appealed to me. ‘What do you think of this, Alan? We get Yuri safely
and secretly to the trawler but Igor must go to a hospital where
questions are asked. What would you do with an idiot like this?’
I grinned, and said hopeful y, ‘Shoot him.’
‘It’s doubtful if a bullet would penetrate his thick skul ,’ said
Kennikin acidly. He looked baleful y at the big Russian. ‘And why, in
God’s name, did you start shooting? It sounded like the outbreak of
revolution.’
The man gestured towards me helplessly. ‘He started it.’
‘He should never have been given the opportunity. If three men can’t
take another one quietly, then . . .’
‘There were two of them.’
‘Oh!’ Kennikin glanced at me. ‘What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know – he ran away,’ said the big man.
I said casual y, ‘It’s hardly surprising. He was just a guest from the
hotel.’ I seethed internal y. So Case had just run away and left me to
it. I wouldn’t sel him to Kennikin ‘ but there’d be an account to
settle if I got out of this mess.
‘He probably raised the alarm at the hotel,’ said Kennikin. ‘Can’t you
do anything right?’
The big man started to expostulate, but Kennikin cut him short. ‘What’s
Ilyich doing?’
‘Taking a car to pieces.’ His voice was sul en.
‘Go and help him.’ They both turned, but Kennikin said sharply, ‘Not
you, Gregor. Stay here and watch Stewart-sen.’ He handed his pistol to
the smal er man.
I said, ‘Can I have another drink, Vaslav?’
‘Why not?’ said Kennikin. ‘There’s no danger of you turning into an
alcoholic. You won’t live that long. Watch him, Gregor.’
He left the room, closing the door behind him, and Gregor planted
himself in front of it and looked at me expressionlessly. I drew up my
legs very slowly and got to my feet. Gregor lifted the pistol and I
grinned at him, holding up my empty glass. ‘You heard what the boss
said; I’m al owed a last drink.’
The muzzle of the pistol dropped. ‘I’l be right behind you,’ he said.
I walked across to the liquor cupboard, talking al the time. ‘I’l bet
you’re from the Crimea, Gregor. That accent is unmistakable. Am I right?’
He was silent, but I persevered with my patter. ‘There doesn’t seem to
be any vodka here, Gregor. The nearest to it is /brennivin,/ but that
comes a bad second – I don’t go for it myself. Come to that, I don’t
like vodka very much either. Scotch is my tipple, and why not, since I’m
a Scot?’
I clattered bottles and heard Gregor breathing down my neck. The Scotch
went into the glass to be followed by water, and I turned with it raised
in my hand to find Gregor a yard away with the pistol trained on my
navel. As I have said, there /is/ a place for the pistol, and this was
it. It’s a dandy indoor weapon. If I had done anything so foolish as to
throw the drink into his face he would have dril ed me clear through the
spine.
I held up the glass at mouth level. /’Skal ?/ as we say in Iceland.’ I
had to keep my hand up otherwise the cylinder of butane gas would have
dropped out of my sleeve, so I walked across the room in a pansyfied
manner and sat in my chair again. Gregor looked at me with something
like contempt in his eyes.
I sipped from the glass and then transferred it from one hand to the
other. When I had finished wriggling about the butane cylinder was
tucked in between the cushion and the arm of the chair. I toasted Gregor
again and then looked at the hot-burning peat fire with interest.
On each refil cylinder of butane there is a solemn warning: *EXTREMELY
INFLAMMABLE MIXTURE. Do NOT USE* *NEAR FIRE OR FLAME. KEEP OUT OF THE
REACH OF CHILDREN.* *Do NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE*. Commercial firms do
not like to put such horrendous notices on their products and usual y do
so only under pressure of legislation, so that in al cases the warnings
are thoroughly justified.
The peat fire was glowing hot with a nice thick bed of red embers. I
thought that if I put the cylinder into the fire one of two things were
likely to happen – it would either explode like a bomb or take off like
a rocket – and either of these would suit me. My only difficulty was
that I didn’t know how long it would take to blow up. Putting it into
the fire might be easy, but anyone quick enough could pull it out –
Gregor, for instance. Kennikin’s boys couldn’t possibly be as
incompetent as he made them out to be.
Kennikin came back. ‘You were tel ing the truth,’ he said.
‘I always do; the trouble is most people don’t recognize it when they
hear it. So you agree with me about Slade.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t mean that stupid story. What I am looking for is
not in your car. Where is it?’
‘I’m not tel ing you, Vaslav.’
‘You wil .’
A telephone bel rang somewhere. I said, ‘Let’s have a ‘ bet on it.’
‘I don’t want to get blood on the carpet in here,’ he said. ‘Stand up.’
Someone took the telephone receiver off the hook.
‘Can’t I finish my drink first?’
Ilyich opened the door and beckoned to Kennikin, who said, ‘You’d better
have finished that drink by the time I get back.’
He left the room and Gregor moved over to stand in front of me. That
wasn’t very good because as long as he stood there I wouldn’t have a
chance of jamming the butane cylinder into the fire. I touched my
forehead and found a thin film of sweat.
Presently Kennikin came back and regarded me thoughtful y. ‘The man you
were with at Gey sir – a guest at the hotel, I think you said.’
That’s right.’
‘Does the name -John Case – mean anything to you?’
I looked at him blankly. ‘Not a thing.’
He smiled sadly. ‘And you are the man who said he always told the
truth.’ He sat down. ‘It seems that what I am looking for has ceased to
have any importance. More accurately, its importance has diminished
relative to yourself. Do you know what that means?’
‘You’ve lost me,’ I said, and I real y meant it. This was a new twist.
Kennikin said, ‘I would have gone to any length necessary to get the
information from you. However, my instructions have changed. You wil
not be tortured, Stewartsen, so put your mind at ease.’
I let out my breath. ‘Thanks!’ I said wholeheartedly.
He shook his head pityingly. ‘I don’t want your thanks. My instructions
are to kil you immediately.’
The telephone bel rang again.
My voice came out in a croak. ‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘You are getting in the way.’
I swal owed. ‘Hadn’t you better answer that telephone? It might be a
change of instructions.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘A last minute reprieve, Alan? I don’t think so. Do
you know why I told you of these instructions? It’s not normal y done,
as you know.’
I knew al right, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of tel ing
him. The telephone stopped ringing.
‘There are some good things in the Bible,’ he said. ‘For instance – “An
eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” I had everything planned for
you, and I regret my plans cannot now be implemented. But at least I can
watch you sweat as you’re sweating now.’
Ilyich stuck his head around the door. ‘Reykjavik,’ he said.
Kennikin made a gesture of annoyance. ‘I’m coming.’ He rose. ‘Think
about it – and sweat some more.’
I put out my hand. ‘Have you a cigarette?’
He stopped in mid-stride and laughed aloud. ‘Oh, very good, Alan. You