in one week wasn’t doing too bad. Next up the scale ought to be a burp
gun or possibly a ful y-fledged machine-gun. I wondered how long it
would take me to graduate to something real y lethal, such as an Atlas ICBM.
McCarthy had been going somewhere when I thumped him. He had been trying
to contact someone by radio, but the walkie-talkie had been on the blink
so he’d decided to walk, and that put whoever it was not very far away.
I stared up towards the top of the ridge and decided to take a look over
the next rise. It was a climb of perhaps two hundred yards and when I
poked my head careful y over the top I caught my breath in surprise.
The yel ow US Navy helicopter was parked about four hundred yards away
and two crewmen and a civilian sat in front of it, talking casual y. I
lifted Fleet’s rifle and looked at them through the big scope at maximum
magnification. The crewmen were unimportant but I thought I might know
the civilian. I didn’t, but I memorized his face for future reference.
For a moment I was tempted to tickle them up with the rifle but I
shelved the idea. It would be better to depart quietly and without fuss.
I didn’t want that chopper with me the rest of the way, so I withdrew
and went back down the hil . I had been away quite a while and Elin
would be becoming even more worried, if that were possible.
From where I was I had a good view along the track so I looked to see if
Kennikin was yet in sight. He was! Through the scope I saw a minute
black dot in the far distance crawling along the track, and I estimated
that the jeep was about three miles away. There was a lot of mud along
there and I didn’t think he’d be making much more than ten miles an
hour, so that put him about fifteen minutes behind.
I went down the hil side fast.
Elin was squashed into the crack in the rock but she came out when I
cal ed. She ran over and grabbed me as though she wanted to check
whether I was al in one piece and she was laughing and crying at the
same time. I disentangled myself from her arms. ‘Kennikin’s not far
behind; let’s move.’
I set out towards the Land-Rover at a dead run, holding Elin’s arm, but
she dragged free. ‘The coffee pot!’
‘The hel with it!’ Women are funny creatures; this was not a time to be
thinking of domestic economy. I grabbed her arm again and dragged her along.
Thirty seconds later I had the engine going and we were bouncing along
the track too fast for either safety or comfort while I decided which
potholes it would be safe to put the front wheels into. Decisions,
decisions, nothing but bloody decisions – and if I decided wrongly we’d
have a broken half-axle or be stuck in the mud and the jig would be up.
We bounced like hel al the way to the Tungnaa River and the traffic
got thicker – one car passed us going the other way, the first we had
seen since being in the /Obyggdir,/ That was bad because Kennikin was
likely to stop it and ask the driver if he had seen a long wheelbase
Land-Rover lately. It was one thing to chase me through the wilderness
without knowing where I was, and quite another to know that I was
actual y within spitting distance. The psychological spur would
stimulate his adrenal gland just that much more.
On the other hand, seeing the car cheered me because it meant that the
car transporter over the Tungnaa would be on our side of the river and
there would be no waiting. I have travel ed a lot in places where water
crossings are done by ferry – there are quite a few in Scotland – and
it’s a law of nature that the ferry is always on the other side when you
arrive at the water’s edge. But that wouldn’t be so this time.
Not that this was a ferry. You cross the Tungnaa by means of a
contraption – a platform slung on an overhead cable. You drive your car
on to the platform and winch yourself across, averting your eyes from
the white water streaming below. According to the /Ferdahandbokin,/
which every travel er in the /Obyggdir/ ought to consult, extreme care
is necessary for people not acquainted with the system. Personal y, I
don’t recommend it for those with queasy stomachs who have to cross in a
high wind.
We arrived at the Tungnaa and the contraption was, indeed, on our side.
I checked that it was secured and safe, and then drove on careful y.
‘Stay in the cab,’ I said to Elin. ‘You can’t winch with that broken wing.’
I got out and began to operate the winch, keeping an eye open for
Kennikin’s imminent arrival. I felt very exposed and naked and I hoped I
had kept my fifteen minute lead because crossing the Tungnaa is a slow
job. But we made it without incident and I drove off the platform with a
great sense of relief.
‘Now we can stop the bastard,’ I said as we drove away.
Elin sat up straight. ‘You’re not going to break the cable!’ There was a
note of indignation in her voice. Being shot at was al right but the
wanton destruction of public property was unethical.
I grinned at her. ‘I’d do it if I could, but it would take a stronger
man than me,’ I pulled the car off the road and looked back; the river
was out of sight. ‘No, I’m going to chain up the platform so Kennikin
can’t pull it across. He’l be stuck on the other side until someone
going the other way can release it, and God knows when that wil be
-there’s not much traffic. Stay here.’
I got out, rummaged in the tool kit, and found the snow chains. It
wasn’t at al likely we’d need them in the summer and they could do a
better job keeping Kennikin off my neck than lying where they were. I
lifted them out and ran back down the track.
You can’t real y tie a chain into a knot but I tethered that platform
with such a tangle of iron that would take anyone at least half an hour
to free unless he happened to have an oxy-acetylene cutting torch handy.
I had nearly completed the job when Kennikin arrived on the other side
and the fun started.
The jeep came to a halt and four men got out, Kennikin in the lead. I
was hidden behind the platform and no one saw me at first. Kennikin
studied the cable and then read the instructions that are posted in
Icelandic and English. He got the hang of it and ordered his men to haul
the platform back across the river.
They duly hauled and nothing happened.
I was working like hel to finish the job and just got it done in time.
The platform lurched away and then stopped, tethered by the chain. There
was a shout from the other side and someone went running along the bank
so as to get into a position to see what was stopping the platform. He
saw it al right – he saw me. The next moment he had whipped out a gun
and started to shoot.
The pistol is a much over-rated weapon. It has its place, which is about
ten yards from its target or, better stil , ten feet. The popgun that
was shooting at me was a short-barrel ed . 38 revolver – a bel y gun –
with which I wouldn’t trust to hit anything I couldn’t reach out and
touch. I was pretty safe as long as he aimed at me; if he started to
shoot anywhere else I might get hit by accident, but that was a slim chance.
The others opened up as I snagged the last bit of chain into place. A
bullet raised the dust two yards away and that was as close as they
came. Yet it’s no fun being shot at so I turned and belted away up the
track at a dead run.
Elin was standing by the Land-Rover, her face ful of concern, having
heard the barrage of shots. ‘It’s al right,’ I said. ‘The war hasn’t
broken out.’ I reached inside and took out Fleet’s rifle. ‘Let’s see if
we can discourage them.’
She looked at the rifle with abhorrence. ‘Oh God! Must you kil them?
Haven’t you done enough?’
I stared at her and then the penny dropped. She thought I’d got hold of
that rifle by kil ing Fleet; she seemed to think that you couldn’t take