the blue. True, that was because of the radio bug planted on the
Land-Rover, but it had happened. Fleet had lain in wait and had shot up
the Land-Rover in a deliberate ambush, the purpose of which was stil a
mystery. Yet he, like Lindholm, had known /where/ to wait. Kennikin had
jumped me at Geysir and I’d got away from that awkward situation by the
thickness of a gnat’s whisker.
And now I was expected to cal at the Nordri Travel Agency. It was a
thin chance but it seemed logical to suppose that if past form was
anything to go on then the place would be staked out. So I took a more
than ordinary interest in those below who window-shopped assiduously,
and I hoped that if Kennikin was laying for me I’d be able to recognize
his man. He couldn’t have brought a whole army to Iceland and, one way
or another, I’d already laid eyes on a lot of his men.
Even so, it was a ful half-hour before I spotted him, and that was
because I was looking at him from an unfamiliar angle ? from above. It
is very hard to forget a face first seen past the cross hairs of a
telescopic sight yet it was only when he lifted his head that I
recognized one of the men who had been with Kennikin on the other side
of the Tungnaa River.
He was pottering about and looking into the window of the shop next to
Nordri and appeared to be the perfect tourist complete with camera,
street map and sheaf of picture postcards. I whistled up the waitress
and paid my bil so that I could make a quick getaway, but reserved the
table for a little longer by ordering another coffee.
He wouldn’t be alone on a job like this and so I was ‘interested in his
relationship with the passers-by. As the minutes ticked on he appeared
to become increasingly restless and consulted his watch frequently and,
at one o’clock exactly, he made a decisive move. He lifted his hand and
beckoned, and another man came into my line of sight and crossed the
street towards him.
I gulped my coffee and went downstairs to lurk at the newspaper counter
while observing my friends through the glass doors of the bookshop. They
had been joined by a third man whom I recognized immediately – none
other than Ilyich who had unwittingly provided me with the butane bomb.
They nattered for a while and then Ilyich stuck out his arm and tapped
his wrist-watch, shrugging expressively. They al set off up the street
towards Posthusstraeti and I followed.
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 wel .
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 col ect 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 al 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 wal et, I
went inside. That was something I had learned at school ? the Department
had trained me wel .
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 tel 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. Hel , 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 wil
go near the travel agency. Anyway, are we sure of that information?’
‘We’re sure,’ said Slade shortly. ‘And he’l 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 wil carry. We let him get rid of
it in the agency and then we follow him until we get him alone.’
‘And then?’
‘We kil him,’ said Ilyich unemotional y.
‘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 wil 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
metal ic 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 smal 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’l be minus a