conversation. Now there have been some bloody funny things going on
lately, such as a member of the Department coming after me with a gun –
so I just want to tel you one thing. It’s likely that I’l be stopped
on the way to Reykjavik, and if you have any part in that I’l go right
through you, friendship or no friendship. I hope you understand that.’
He smiled and said, ‘For God’s sake, you’re imagining things.’
But the smile was strained and there was something about his expression
I couldn’t place, and it worried me. It was only a long time afterwards
that I identified the emotion. It was pity but by then the
identification had come too late.
Chapter I
We went outside to find it was as dark as it ever gets in the Icelandic
summer. There was no moon but there was visibility of sorts in a kind of
ghostly twilight. There was a soft explosion among the hot pools and the
eerie spectre of Strokkur rose into the air, a fading apparition which
dissipated into wind-blown shreds. There was a stink of sulphur in the air.
I shivered suddenly. It’s no wonder that the map of Iceland is littered
with place names which tel of the giant trolls who dwel in the roots
of the mountains, or that the old men stil hand down the legends of man
in conflict with spirits. The young Icelanders, geared to the twentieth
century with their transistor radios and casual use of aircraft, laugh
and cal it superstition. Maybe they’re right, but I’ve noticed that
they tend to force their laughter sometimes and it has a quality of
unease about it. All I know is that if I had been one of the old Vikings
and had come upon Strokkur unexpectedly one dark night I’d have been
scared witless.
I think Case caught something of the atmosphere because he looked across
at the thinning curtain of mist as Strokkur disappeared, and said
softly, ‘It’s real y something, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said shortly. ‘The car’s over there. It’s quite a way.’
We crunched on the crushed lava of the road and walked past the long row
of white-painted pil ars which separate the road from the pools. I could
hear the bubbling of hot water and the stench of sulphur was stronger.
If you looked at the pools in daylight you would find them al colours,
some as white and clear as gin, others a limpid blue or green, and al
close to boiling point. Even in the darkness I could see the white
vapour rising in the air.
Case said, ‘About Slade. What was the . . . ?’
I never heard the end of that question because three heavier patches of
darkness rose up about us suddenly. Someone grabbed me and said,
/’Stewartsen, stanna! Forstar Ni/?’ Something hard jabbed into my side.
I stopped al right, but not in the way that was expected. I let myself
go limp, just as McCarthy had done when I hit him with the cosh. My
knees buckled and I went down to the ground. There was a muffled
exclamation of surprise and momentarily the grip on my arm relaxed and
the movement in a total y unexpected direction dislodged the gun from my
ribs.
As soon as I was down I spun around fast with one leg bent and the other
extended rigidly. The outstretched leg caught my Swedish-speaking friend
behind the knees with a great deal of force and he fel to the ground.
His pistol was ready for use because there was a bang as he fel and I
heard the whine of a ricocheting bullet.
I rolled over until I was prone against one of the pil ars. I would be
too conspicuous against that painted whiteness so I wormed off the road
and into the darkness, pulling the pistol from my pocket as I went.
Behind me there was a shout of /’Spheshite!’/ and another voice in a
lower tone said, /’Net! Slushayte!’/ I kept very stil and heard the
thudding of boots as someone ran towards the hotel.
Only Kennikin’s mob would have addressed me as Stewartsen and in
Swedish, and now they were bel owing in Russian. I kept my head close to
the ground and looked back towards the road so I could see anyone there
silhouetted against the paler sky. There was a flicker of movement quite
close and a crunch of footsteps, so I put a bullet in that direction,
picked myself up, and ran for it.
And that was damned dangerous because, in the darkness, I could very
wel run headlong into a bottomless pool of boiling water. I counted my
paces and tried to visualize the hot pools area as I had often seen it
in daylight under less unnerving conditions. The pools vary in size from
a piddling little six inches in diameter to the fifty-foot giant economy
size. Heated by the subterranean volcanic activity, the water
continual y wel s out of the pools to form a network of hot streams
which covers the whole area.
After I had covered a hundred yards I stopped and dropped on one knee.
Ahead of me steam rose and lay in a level blanket and I thought that was
Geysir itself. That means that Strokkur was somewhere to my left and a
little behind. I wanted to keep clear of Strokkur – getting too close
would be dicey in the extreme.
I looked back and saw nothing, but I heard footsteps following in the
line I had come, and others away to the right and getting closer. I
didn’t know if my pursuers knew the lie of the ground or not but,
intentional y or accidental y, I was being herded right into the pools.
The man on the right switched on a flash lamp, a big thing like a
miniature searchlight. He directed it at the ground which was lucky for
me, but he was more troubled about turning himself into goulash.
I lifted my pistol and banged off three shots in that direction and the
light went out suddenly. I don’t think I hit him but he had come to the
acute realization that his light made a good target. I wasn’t worried
about making a noise; the more noise the better as far as I was
concerned. Five shots had been fired, five too many in the quiet
Icelandic night, and already lights were popping on in the hotel and I
heard someone cal from that direction.
The man behind me let fly with two shots and I saw the muzzle flare of
his pistol very close, not more than ten yards away. The bullets went
wide; one I don’t know where, but the other raised a fountain in the
pool of Geysir. I didn’t return the fire but ran to the left, skirting
the pool. I stumbled through a stream of hot water, but it was barely
two inches deep and I went through fast enough not to do any damage to
myself and being more concerned that the splashing noise would give away
my position.
There were more cries from the hotel and the slam of windows opening.
Someone started up a car with a rasping noise and headlights were
switched on. I paid little attention to that, but carried on, angling
back towards the road. Whoever started that car had a bright idea ? and
no pun intended. He swung around and drove towards the pools, his
headlamps il uminating the whole area.
It was fortunate for me that he did because it prevented me from running
headlong into one of the pools. I saw the reflections strike from the
water just in time to skid to a halt, and I teetered for a moment right
on the edge. My balancing act wasn’t improved much when someone took a
shot at me from an unexpected direction ? the other side of the pool –
and something tugged briefly at the sleeve of my jacket.
Although I was il uminated by the lights of that damned car my attacker
was in an even worse position because he was between me and the light
and marvel ously silhouetted. I slung a shot at him and he flinched with
his whole body and retreated. Briefly the headlights of the car swung
away and I hastily ran around the pool while he put a bullet in roughly
the place I had been.
Then the lights came back and steadied and I saw him retreating
backwards, his head moving from side to side nervously. He didn’t see me
because by this time I was flat on my bel y. Slowly he went backwards
until he put a foot into six inches of boiling water and jerked
apprehensively. He moved fast but not fast enough, because the big gas
bubble which heralds the blasting of Strokkur was already rising in the