that much gun away from a man without kil ing him. I said, ‘Elin; those
men across the river were trying to kil me. The fact they didn’t
succeed doesn’t alter their intention. Now, I’m not going to kil anyone
– I said I’l discourage them.’ I held up the rifle. ‘And I didn’t kil
the man I took this from, either.’
I walked away down the track but veered away from it before I reached
the river. I hunted around until I found suitable cover and then lay and
watched Kennikin and his crew unsuccessful y trying to get at the
platform. A 30-power scope was a bit too much optical glass for a range
of a hundred yards but it had variable power so I dropped it to a
magnification of six which was as low as it would go. A rock in front of
me formed a convenient rest and I settled the butt against my shoulder
and looked into the eyepiece.
I wasn’t going to kil anyone. Not that I didn’t want to, but bodies you
can’t get rid of are inconvenient and lead to the asking of awkward
questions by the appropriate authorities. A wounded Russian, on the
other hand, would be eliminated just as much as a dead one. He would be
smuggled by his friends on to the trawler which was undoubtedly to hand,
probably already in Reykjavik harbour. The Russians have more
non-fishing trawlers than any other nation on earth.
No, I wasn’t going to kil anyone, but someone would soon wish to God he
were dead.
Kennikin had disappeared and the three other men were engaged in a
heated discussion about how to solve their little problem. I broke it up
by firing five spaced shots in thirty seconds. The first hit the man
standing next to the jeep in the kneecap, and suddenly there wasn’t
anyone else around to shoot at. He lay on the ground, writhing and
shouting, and he’d have one leg shorter than the other for the rest of
his life – if he was got into a hospital quickly. If . not, he’d be
lucky to have a leg at al .
I re-sighted and squeezed the trigger again, this time shooting at the
off-side front tyre of the jeep. The rifle was one of the best I’ve ever
handled and, at a hundred yards, the trajectory was so flat that I could
put a bullet exactly where I wanted it. The tyre wasn’t just punctured;
under the close-range hammer blow of that big .375 bullet it exploded
into bits, as did the other front tyre when I let fly again.
Someone popped off with a pistol. I ignored that and fed another round
into the breech. I centred the cross hairs on to the front of the
radiator and fired again, and the jeep rocked on its springs under the
impact. This rifle was chambered to shoot big game and anything that can
crack open the frontal skul bone of a buffalo wouldn’t do an engine
block much good. I put the last bullet in the same place in the hope of
putting the jeep permanently out of action and then withdrew, keeping my
head down.
I walked up to the Land-Rover, and said to Elin, ‘It’s a good rifle.’
She looked at me nervously. ‘I thought I heard someone scream.
‘I didn’t kil anyone,’ I said. ‘But they won’t be driving that jeep
very far. Let’s go on. You can drive for a bit.’ I was suddenly very tired.
Chapter I
We drove out of the /Obyggdir/ and hit the main road system. Even if
Kennikin was able to follow us we would have a good chance of losing him
because this was one of the main areas of population and there was a
network of roads harder to police than the simple choices of the
/Obyggdir./ Elin drove while I relaxed in the passenger seat, and once
we were on the good roads were able to pick up speed.
‘Where to?’ she asked.
‘I’d like to get this vehicle out of sight,’ I said. ‘It’s too damned
conspicuous. Any suggestions?’
‘You have to be at Geysir tomorrow night,’ she said. ‘I have friends at
Laugarvatn – you must remember Gunnar.’
‘Weren’t you running around with him before you met me?’
She smiled. ‘It wasn’t serious – and we’re stil friends. Besides, he’s
married now.’
Marriage, to a lot of men, doesn’t mean an automatic cancel ation of
their hunting licence, but I let it lie; a more-or-less civilized
butting match with Elin’s old boy-friend was preferable to a more deadly
encounter with Kennikin. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Head for Laugarvatn.’
We were silent for a while, then I said, ‘Thank you for what you did
back there when I was on Budarhals. It was a damned sil y thing to do,
but it helped.’
‘I thought it might distract their attention,’ she said.
‘It sure as hel distracted mine for a minute. Did you know you were in
the sights of a rifle al the way – and there was a” finger on the trigger?’
‘I did feel uneasy,’ she admitted, and shivered involuntarily. ‘What
happened up there?’
‘I gave headaches to a couple of men. One of them wil probably wind up
in hospital at Keflavik.’
She looked at me sharply. ‘Keflavik!’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They were Americans.’ I told her about Fleet, McCarthy
and the waiting helicopter. ‘I’ve been trying to make sense out of it
ever since – without much success.’
She thought about it too, and said, ‘But it /doesn’t/ make sense. Why
would the Americans co-operate with the Russians? Are you sure they were
Americans?’
‘They were as American as Mom’s apple-pie – at least Fleet was. I didn’t
get to talk to McCarthy.’
‘They could be sympathizers,’ said Elin. ‘Fel ow-travel ers.’
‘Then they’re travel ing closer than a flea to a dog.’ I took out
Fleet’s pass to the remoter recesses of Keflavik Air Base. ‘If they’re
fel ow-travel ers then the Yanks had better watch it – their furniture
is riddled with woodworm.’ I examined the pass and thought about the
helicopter. ‘It’s just about the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard of.’
‘Then what other explanation is there?’
The idea of a nest of communist sympathizers being convenient to hand at
Keflavik and able to lay their hands on a navy helicopter at a moment’s
notice was untenable. I said, ‘I doubt if Kennikin rang up Keflavik and
said, “Look, boys; I’m chasing a British spy and I need your help. Can
you lay on a chopper and a sharpshooter and stop him for me?” But
there’s someone else who could do it.’
‘Who?’
‘There’s a man cal ed Helms in Washington who could pick up a telephone
and say, “Admiral, there’l be a couple of guys dropping in at Keflavik
pretty soon. Let them have a helicopter and a crew – and don’t ask too
many questions about what they want it for.” And the Admiral would say,
“Yes, sir; yes, sir; three bags ful sir,” because Helms is the boss of the CIA.”
‘But why?’
‘I’m damned if I know,’ I said. ‘But it’s a bloody sight ‘ more likely
than Keflavik being white-anted by Russian agents.’ I thought of my
brief and unsatisfactory conversation with Fleet. ‘Fleet said that his
orders were to pin us down until someone – presumably Kennikin –
arrived. He said he’d never heard of Kennikin. He also said that when
Kennikin arrived his job was over and he could go home. There’s one more
question I should have asked him.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Whether his instructions cal ed for him to show himself to Kennikin or
whether they specifical y forbade it. I’d give a lot to know the answer
to that one.’
‘You’re sure we were chased by the Russians? I mean, you’re sure it
/was/ Kennikin?’
‘That’s a face I’l never forget,’ I said. ‘And there was a lot of
swearing in Russian back at the Tungnaa River.’
I could almost see the wheels whizzing round as Elin thought about it.
‘Try this,’ she said. ‘Supposing Slade is also chasing us, and suppose
he asked the Americans to cooperate – but what he didn’t know was that
Kennikin was closer to us. The Americans were supposed to hold us up
until Slade arrived ? not Kennikin.’
‘It’s barely possible,’ I conceded. ‘But it shows lousy liaison. And why
go to al the trouble of a sniper hidden on a hil ? Why not have the
Americans just make a simple pinch?’ I shook my head. ‘Besides, the
Department isn’t al that chummy with the CIA – the special relationship
has its limits.’
‘My explanation is the more reasonable,’ said Elin.
‘I’m not sure there if any reason involved ? it’s turning into a
thoroughly unreasonable situation. It reminds me of what a physicist
once said about his job: “The universe is not only queerer than we