the clock. ‘But you’re early.’
‘I’l have a coffee,’ I said. ‘It passes the time.’
She gave me the ticket and I paid for it, then she said, ‘Your luggage
is weighed over there.’
I touched the camera case. ‘This is al I have. I travel light.’
She laughed. ‘So I see, Mr Stewart. And may I compliment you on how you
speak our language.’
‘Thank you.’ I turned and saw a recognized face lurking close by ? my
watcher was stil watching. I ignored him and headed for the
coffee-counter where I bought a newspaper and settled down to wait.
My man had a hurried conversation at the reservation counter, bought a
ticket, and then came my way and both of us ignored each other
completely. He ordered a late breakfast and ate ravenously, his eyes
flicking in my direction infrequently. Presently I had a stroke of luck;
the announcement loudspeaker cleared its throat and said in Icelandic,
‘Mr Buchner is wanted on the telephone.’ When it repeated this in fluent
German my man looked up, got to his feet, and went to answer the cal .
At least I could now put a name to him, and whether the name was
accurate or not was real y immaterial.
He could see me from the telephone-box and spoke facing outwards as
though he expected me to make a break for it. I disappointed him by
languidly ordering another coffee and becoming immersed in a newspaper
account of how many salmon Bing Crosby had caught on his latest visit to
Iceland.
In airport waiting lounges time seems to stretch interminably and it was
a couple of eons before the flight to Akureyri was announced. Herr
Buchner was close behind me in the queue and in the stroll across the
apron towards the aircraft, and he chose a seat on the aisle just behind me.
We took off and flew across Iceland, over the cold glaciers of
Langjokul and Hofjokul , and soon enough we were circling over
Eyjafjordur preparatory to landing at Akureyri, a city of ful y ten
thousand souls, the metropolis of Northern Iceland. The aircraft lurched
to a halt and I undid my seat-belt, hearing the answering click as
Buchner, behind me, did the same.
The attack, when it came, was made with smoothness and efficiency. I
left the airport building and was walking towards the taxi rank when
suddenly they were al about me – four of them. One stood in front of me
and grabbed my right hand, pumping it up and down while babbling in a
loud voice about how good it was to see me again and the enormous
pleasure it would give him to show me the marvels of Akureyri.
The man on my left crowded hard and pinned my left arm. He put his mouth
close to my ear, and said in Swedish, ‘Don’t make trouble, Herr
Stewartsen; or you wil be dead.’ I could believe him because the man
behind me had a gun in my back.
I heard a snip and turned my head just as the man on my right cut
through the shoulder-strap of the camera case with a smal pair of
shears. I felt the strap snake loose and then he was gone and the camera
case with him, while the man behind me took his place with one arm
thrown carelessly over my shoulder and the other digging the gun into my
ribs.
I could see Buchner standing by a taxi about ten yards away. He looked
at me with a blank face and then turned and bent to get into the car. It
drove away and I saw the white smudge of his face as he looked through
the back window.
They kept up the act for two minutes more to give the man with the
camera case time to get clear, and then the man on my left said, again
in Swedish, ‘Herr Stewartsen: we’re going to let you go now, but I
wouldn’t do anything foolish if I were you.’
They released me and each took a step away, their faces hard and their
eyes watchful. There were no guns in sight but that didn’t mean a damn
thing. Not that I intended to start anything; the camera case was gone
and the odds were too great anyway. As though someone had given a signal
they al turned and walked away, each in a different direction, and left
me standing there. There was quite a few people around but not one of
the good people of Akureyri had any idea that anything untoward had just
happened in their line of sight.
I felt ruffled so I straightened my jacket and then took a taxi to the
Hotel Vardborg. There wasn’t anything else to do.
Chapter IV
Elin had been right; I was in rime to lunch at the Vardborg. I had just
stuck my fork into the mutton when Herr Buchner walked in, looked around
and spotted me, and headed in my direction. He stood on the other side
of the table, twitched his moustache, and said, ‘Mr Stewart?’
I leaned back. ‘Wel , if it isn’t Herr Buchner! What can I do for you?’
‘My name is Graham,’ he said coldly. ‘And I’d like to talk to you.’
‘You were Buchner this morning,’ I said. ‘But if I had a name like that
I’d want to change it, too.’ I waved him towards a chair. ‘Be my guest –
I can recommend the soup.’
He sat down stiffly. ‘I’m not in the mood for acting straight man to
your comedian,’ he said, extracting his wal et from his pocket. ‘My
credentials.’ He pushed a scrap of paper across the table.
I unfolded it to find the left half of a 100-kronur banknote. When I
matched it against the other half from my own wal et the two halves
fitted perfectly. I looked up at him. ‘Wel , Mr Graham; that seems to be
in order. What can I do for you?’
‘You can give me the package,’ he said. ‘That’s al I want.’
I shook my head regretfully. ‘You know better than that.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I can’t give you the package because I haven’t got it.’
His moustache twitched again and his eyes turned cold. ‘Let’s have no
games, Stewart. The package.’ He held out his hand.
‘Damn it!’ I said. ‘You were there – you know what happened.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was where?’
‘Outside Akureyri Airport. You were taking a taxi.’
His eyes flickered. ‘Was I?’ he said colourlessly. ‘Go on!’
‘They grabbed me before I knew what was happening, and they got clean
away with the package. It was in my camera case.’
His voice cracked. ‘You mean you haven’t got it!’
I said sardonical y. ‘If you were supposed to be my bodyguard you did a
bloody awful job. Slade isn’t going to like it.’
‘By God, he’s not!’ said Graham with feeling. A tic pulsed under his
right eye. ‘So it was in the camera case.’
‘Where else would it be? It was the only luggage I carried. You ought to
know that ? you were standing right behind me with your big ears
flapping when I checked in at Reykjavik airport.’
He gave me a look of dislike. ‘You think you’re clever, don’t you?’ He
leaned forward. ‘There’s going to be a Godawful row about this. You’d
better stay available, Stewart; you’d better be easy to find when I come
back.’
I shrugged. ‘Where would I go? Besides, I have the Scottish sense of
thrift, and my room here is paid for.’
‘You take this damned coolly.’
‘What do you expect me to do? Burst into tears?’ I laughed in his face.
‘Grow up, Graham.’
His face tightened but he said nothing; instead he stood up and walked
away. I put in fifteen minutes of deep thought while polishing off the
mutton and at the end of that time I came to a decision, and the
decision was that I could do with a drink, so I went to find one.
As I walked through the hotel foyer I saw Buchner-Graham hard at work in
a telephone-box. Although it wasn’t particularly warm he was sweating.
Chapter V
I came out of a dreamless sleep because someone was shaking me and
hissing, ‘Stewart, wake up!’ I opened my eyes and found Graham leaning
over me.
I blinked at him. ‘Funny! I was under the impression I locked my door.’
He grinned humourlessly. ‘You did. Wake up – you’re going to be
interviewed. You’d better have your wits sharpened.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Five a.m.’
I smiled. ‘Gestapo technique, eh! Oh, wel : I suppose I’l feel better
when I’ve shaved.’
Graham seemed nervous. ‘You’d better hurry. He’l be here in five minutes.’
‘Who wil ?’
‘You’l see.’
I ran hot water into the basin and began to lather my face. ‘What /was/