wouldn’t be too clever – there were other, and better, ways of using it.
Slade knew I was bugged, I knew I was bugged, but Slade didn’t know that
I knew, and that fact might yet be turned to account. I bent down and
leaned under the Land-Rover to replace the bug. It attached itself to
the bumper with a slight click.
And at that moment something happened. I didn’t know what it was because
it was so imperceptible – just a fractional alteration of the quality of
the night silence ? and if the finding of the bug had not made me
preternatural y alert I might have missed it. I held my breath and
listened intently and heard it again – the faraway metal ic grunt of /a/
gear change. Then there was nothing more, but that was enough.
Chapter I
I leaned over Elin and shook her. ‘Wake up!’ I said quietly.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, stil half-asleep.
‘Keep quiet! Get dressed quickly.’
‘But what. . . ?’
‘Don’t argue – just get dressed.’ I turned and stared into the trees,
dimly visible in the half light. Nothing moved, nor could I hear
anything – the quiet of the night was unbroken. The narrow entrance to
Asbyrgi lay just under a mile away and I thought it likely that the
vehicle would stop there. That would be a natural precaution – the
stopper in the neck of the bottle.
It was likely that further investigation of Asbyrgi would be made on
foot in a known direction given by radio direction finder and a known
distance as given by a signal strength meter. Having a radio bug on a
vehicle is as good as il uminating it with a searchlight.
Elin said quietly, ‘I’m ready.’
I turned to her. ‘We’re about to have visitors,’ I said in a low voice.
‘In fifteen minutes – maybe less. I want you to hide.’ I pointed. ‘Over
there would be best; find the closest cover you can among the trees and
lie down – and don’t come out until you hear me cal ing you.’
‘But . . .’
‘Don’t argue – just do it,’ I said harshly. I had never spoken to her
before in that tone of voice and she blinked at me in surprise, but she
turned quickly and ran into the trees.
I dived under the Land-Rover and groped for Lindholm’s pistol which 1
had taped there in Reykjavik, but it had gone and al that was left was
a sticky strand of insulation tape to show where it had been. The roads
in Iceland are rough enough to shake anything loose and I was bloody
lucky not to have lost the most important thing ? the metal box.
So al I had was the knife – the /sgian dubh./ I stooped and picked it
up from where it was lying next to the sleeping bag and tucked it into
the waistband of my trousers. Then I withdrew into the trees by the side
of the glade and settled down to wait.
It was a long time, nearer to half an hour, before anything happened. He
came like a ghost, a dark shape moving quietly up the track and not
making a sound. It was too dark to see his face but there was just
enough light to let me see what he carried. The shape and the way he
held it were unmistakable – there are ways of holding tools, and a man
carries a rifle in a different way from he carries a stick. This was no
stick.
I froze as he paused on the edge of the glade. He was quite stil and,
if I hadn’t known he was there, it would have been easy for the eye to
pass over that dark patch by the trees without recognizing it for what
it was – a man with a gun. I was worried about the gun; it was either a
rifle or a shotgun, and that was the sign of a professional. Pistols are
too inaccurate for the serious business of kil ing – ask any soldier –
and are liable to jam at the wrong moment. The professional prefers
something more deadly.
If I was going to jump him I’d have to get behind him, which meant
letting him pass me, but that would mean laying myself wide open for his
friend ? if he had a friend behind him. So I waited to see if the friend
would turn up or if he was alone. I wondered briefly if he knew what
would happen if he fired that gun at Asbyrgi; if he didn’t then he’d be
a very surprised gunman when he pulled the trigger.
There was a flicker of movement and he was suddenly gone, and I cursed
silently. Then a twig cracked and I knew he was in the trees on the
other side of the glade. This was a professional al right – a real y
careful boy.
i Never come from the direction in which you are expected, even if you
don’t think you’l be expected. Play it safe. He was in the trees and
circling the glade to come in from the other side.
I also began to circle, but in the opposite direction. This was tricky
because sooner or later we’d come face to face. I plucked the /sgian
dubh/ from my waist and held it loosely ? puny protection against a
rifle but it was al I had. Every step I took I tested careful y to make
sure there was no twig underfoot, and it was slow and sweaty work.
I paused beneath a scrawny birch tree and peered into the semi-darkness.
Nothing moved but I heard the faint click as of one stone knocking
against another. I remained motionless, holding my breath, and then I
saw him coming towards me, a dark moving shadow not ten yards away. I
tightened my hold on the knife and waited for him.
Suddenly the silence was broken by the rustle of bushes and something
white arose at his feet. It could only be one thing – he had walked
right on to Elin where she had crouched in hiding. He was startled,
retreated a step, and raised the rifle. I yel ed, ‘Get down, Elin!’ as
he pulled the trigger and a flash of light split the darkness.
It sounded as though a war had broken out, as though an infantry company
had let off a rather ragged volley of rifle fire. The noise of the shot
bounced from the cliffs of Asbyrgi, repeating from rock face to rock
face in a diminishing series of multiple echoes which died away slowly
in the far distance. That unexpected result of pulling the trigger
unnerved him momentarily and he checked in surprise.
I threw the knife and there was the soft thud as it hit him. He gave a
bubbling cry and dropped the rifle to claw at his chest. Then his knees
buckled and he fel to the ground, thrashing and writhing among the bushes.
I ignored him and ran to where I had seen. Elin, pulling the flashlight
from my pocket as I went. She was sitting on the ground, her hand to her
shoulder and her eyes wide with shock. ‘Are you al right?’
She withdrew her hand and her fingers were covered in blood. ‘He shot
me,’ she said dully.
I knelt beside her and looked at her shoulder. The bullet had grazed
her, tearing the pad of muscle on top of the shoulder. It would be
painful later, but it was not serious. ‘We’d better put a dressing on
that,’ I said.
‘He shot me!’ Her voice was stronger and there was something like wonder
in her tone.
‘I doubt if he’l shoot anyone again,’ I said, and turned the light on
him. He was lying quite stil with his head turned away.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Elin, her eyes on the haft of the knife which
protruded from his chest.
‘I don’t know. Hold the light.’ I took his wrist and felt the quick beat
of the pulse. ‘He’s alive,’ I said. ‘He might even survive.’ I pulled
his head around so that I could see his face. It was Graham – and that
was something of a surprise. I mental y apologized for accusing him of
having been wet behind the ears; the way he had approached our camp had
been al professional.
Elin said, ‘There’s a first-aid box in the Land-Rover.’
‘Carry on,’ I said. ‘I’l bring him over.’ I stooped and picked up
Graham in my arms and followed Elin. She spread out the sleeping bag and
I laid him down. Then she brought out the first-aid box and sank to her
knees.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You first. Take off your shirt.’ I cleaned the wound on
her shoulder, dusted it with penicil in powder, and bound a pad over it.