been nice to see you again, Mr Stewart.’
‘I wish I could say the same,’ I said, and he laughed jol ily.
I walked with him to his car and pointed to the rocks from where I had
watched him waiting outside the cottage. ‘I had you in rifle sights from
up there. I even squeezed the trigger. Unfortunately the rifle wasn’t
loaded.’
He looked at me, his face ful of confidence. ‘If it had been loaded you
wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. You’re a civilized man, Stewart; too
civilized. I sometimes wonder how you lasted so long in the Department ?
you were always a little too soft-centred for the big jobs. If it had
been my decision you’d have been out long before you decided to . . . er
. . . retire.’
I looked into his pale cold eyes and knew that if it /had/ been his
decision I would never have been al owed to retire. He said, ‘I trust
you remember the terms of the Official Secrets Act.’ Then he smiled.
‘But, of course, you remember.’
I said, ‘Where are you in the hierarchy now, Slade?’
‘Quite close to the top, as a matter of fact,’ he said cheerful y.
‘Right next to Taggart. I /do/ make the decisions now. I get to have
lunch with the Prime Minister from time to time.’ He gave a
self-satisfied laugh and got into the car. He rol ed down the window,
and said, ‘There’s just one thing. That package ? don’t open it, dear
boy. Remember what curiosity did to the cat.’
He drove away, bumping down the track, and when he had disappeared the
glen seemed cleaner. I looked up at Sgurr Mor and at Sgurr Dearg beyond
and felt depressed. In less than twenty minutes my world had been
smashed to pieces and I wondered how the hel I was going to pick up the
bits.
And when I woke up the next morning after a broken night I knew there
was only one thing to do; to obey Slade, carry out his orders and
deliver the damned package to Akureyri and hope to God I could get clear
without further entanglement.
Chapter III
My mouth was dry with talking and smoking. I pitched the cigarette butt
from the window and it lay on a stone sending a lonely smoke signal to
the North Pole. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘I was blackmailed into it.’
Elin shifted in her seat. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me. I was wondering why
you had to fly to Akureyri so suddenly.’ She leaned forward and
stretched. ‘But now you’ve delivered this mysterious package you have
nothing more to worry about.’
That’s it,’ I said. ‘I didn’t deliver it.’ I told her about the four men
at Akureyri Airport and she went pale. ‘Slade flew here from London. He
was annoyed.’
‘He was /here -/ in Iceland?’
I nodded. ‘He said that I’m out of it, anyway; but I’m not, you know,
Elin. I want you to stay clear of me – you might get hurt.’
She regarded me intently. ‘I don’t think you’ve told me everything.’
‘I haven’t,’ I said. ‘And I’m not going to. You’re better out of this mess.’
‘I think you’d better complete your story,’ she said.
I bit my lip. ‘Have you anywhere to stay – out of sight, I mean?’
She shrugged. ‘There’s the apartment in Reykjavik.’
‘That’s compromised,’ I said. ‘Slade knows about it and one of his men
has it tagged.’
‘I could visit my father,’ she said.
‘Yes, you could.’ 1 had met Ragnar Thorsson once only; he was a tough
old farmer who lived in the wilds of Strandasysla. Elin would be safe
enough there. I said, ‘If I tel you the ful story wil you go and stay
with him until I send for you?’
‘I give no guarantees,’ she said uncompromisingly.
‘Christ!’ I said. ‘If I get out of this you’re going to make me one hel
of a wife. I don’t know if I’l be able to stand it.’
She jerked her head. ‘What did you say?’
‘In a left-handed way I was asking you to marry me.’
Things immediately got confused and it was a few minutes before we got
ourselves untangled. Elin, pink-faced and tousle-haired, grinned at me
impishly. ‘Now tel !’
I sighed and opened the door. ‘I’l not only tel you, but I’l show you.’
I went to the back of the Land-Rover and took the flat metal box from
the girder to which I had taped it. I held it out to Elin on the palm of
my hand. ‘That’s what the trouble is al about,’ I said. ‘You brought it
up from Reykjavik yourself.’
She poked at it tentatively with her forefinger. ‘So those men didn’t
take it.’
I said, ‘What they got was a metal box which original y contained
genuine Scottish fudge from Oban – ful of cotton wadding and sand and
sewn up in the original hessian.’
Chapter IV
‘What about some beer?’ asked Elin.
I grimaced. The Icelandic brew is a prohibition beer, tasteless stuff
bearing the same relationship to alcohol as candyfloss bears to sugar.
Elin laughed. ‘It’s al right; Bjarni brought back a case of Carlsberg
on his last flight from Greenland.’
That was better; the Danes real y know about beer. I watched Elin open
the cans and pour out the Carslberg. ‘I want you to go to stay with your
father,’ I said.
‘I’l think about it.’ She handed me a glass. ‘I want to know why you
stil have the package.’
‘It was a phoney deal,’ I said. ‘The whole operation stank to high
heaven. Slade said Graham had been tagged by the opposition so he
brought me in at the last minute. But Graham wasn’t attacked – I was.’ I
didn’t tel Elin about Lindholm; I didn’t know how much strain I could
put upon her. ‘Doesn’t that seem odd?’
She considered it. ‘Yes, it is strange.’
‘And Graham was watching our apartment which is funny behaviour for a
man who knows he may be under observation by the enemy. I don’t think
Graham had been tagged at al ; I think Slade has been tel ing a pack of
lies.’
Elin seemed intent on the bubbles glistening on the side of her glass.
‘Talking of the enemy – who is the enemy?’
‘I think it’s my old pals of the KGB,’ I said. ‘Russian Intel igence. I
could be wrong, but I don’t think so.’
I could see by her set face that she didn’t like the sound of that, so I
switched back to Slade and Graham. ‘Another thing – Graham saw me being
tackled at Akureyri Airport and he didn’t do a bloody thing to help me.
He could at least have followed the man who ran off with the camera
case, but he didn’t do a damned thing. What do you make of that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Neither do I,’ I admitted. ‘That’s why the whole thing smel s rotten.
Consider Slade – he is told by Graham that I’ve fallen down on the job
so he flies from London. And what does he do? He gives me a slap on the
wrist and tel s me I’ve been a naughty boy. And that’s too bloody
uncharacteristic coming from Slade.’
Elin said, ‘You don’t trust Slade.’ It was a statement.
I pointed over the sea towards Grimsey. ‘I trust Slade as far as I can
throw that island. He’s cooked up a complicated deal and I’d like to
find out where I fit in before the chopper falls because it might be
designed to fall right on my neck.’
‘And what about the package?’
‘That’s the ace.’ I lifted the metal box. ‘Slade thinks the opposition
have it, but as long as they haven’t there’s no great harm done. The
opposition think they have it, assuming they haven’t opened it yet.’
‘Is that a fair assumption?’
‘I think so. Agents are not encouraged to pry too much. The quartet who
took the package from me wil have orders to take it to the boss
unopened, I think.’
Elin looked at the box. ‘I wonder what’s in it?’
I looked at it myself, and it looked right back at me and said nothing.
‘Maybe I’d better get out the can-opener,’ I said. ‘But not just yet.
Perhaps it might be better not to know.’
Elin made a sound of exasperation. ‘Why must you men make everything
complicated? So what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to lie low,’ I said mendaciously. ‘While I do some heavy
thinking. Maybe I’l post the damned thing to /post restante,/ Akureyri,
and telegraph Slade tel ing him where to pick it up.’
I hoped Elin would swal ow that because I was going to do something
quite different and infinitely more dangerous.
Somebody was soon going to find out he’d been sold a pup; he was going