to mean anything at al I had to tel her the truth and to hel with
Slade and to hel with the Official Secrets Act.
I slowed down and left the road to bump over turf, and stopped
overlooking the sea. The land fel away in a rumble of boulders to the
grey water and in the distance the island of Grimsey loomed hazily
through the mist. Apart from the scrap of land there wasn’t a damned
thing between us and the North Pole. This was the Arctic Ocean.
I said, ‘What do you know about me, Elin?’
‘That’s a strange question. You’re Alan Stewart – whom I like very much.’
‘Is that al ?’
She shrugged. ‘What else do I need to know?’ * I smiled. ‘No curiosity,
Elin?’
‘Oh, I have my curiosity but I keep it under control. If you want me to
know anything, you’l tel me,’ she said tranquil y, then hesitated. ‘I
do know one thing about you.’
‘What’s that?’
She turned to face me. ‘I know that you have been hurt, and it happened
not long before we met. That is why I keep my questions to myself – I
don’t want to bring the hurt back.’
‘You’re very perceptive,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think it showed. Would it
surprise you to know I was once a British agent -a spy?’
She regarded me curiously. ‘A spy,’ she said slowly, as though rolling
the word about her mouth to taste it. ‘Yes, it surprises me very much.
It is not a very honourable occupation – you are not the type.’
‘So. someone else told me recently,’ I said sardonical y. ‘Nevertheless,
it is true.’
She was silent for a while, then she said, ‘You /’were/ a spy. Alan,
what you were in the past doesn’t matter. I know you as you are now.’
‘Sometimes the past catches up with you,’ I said. ‘It did with me.
There’s a man cal ed Slade . . .’ I stopped, wondering if I was doing
the right thing.
‘Yes?’ she prompted me.
‘He came to see me in Scotland. I’l tel you about that -about Slade in
Scotland.’
Chapter II
The shooting was bad that day. Something had disturbed the deer during
the night because they had left the val ey where my calculations had
placed them and had drifted up the steep slopes of Bheinn Fhada. I could
see them through the telescopic sight ? pale grey-brown shapes grazing
among the heather. The way the wind was blowing the only chance I had of
getting near them was by sprouting wings and so, since it was the last
day of the season, the deer were safe from Stewart for the rest of the
summer.
At three in the afternoon I packed up and went home and was scrambling
down Sgurr Mor when I saw the car parked outside the cottage and the
minuscule figure of a man pacing up and down. The cottage is hard to get
to -the rough track from the clachan discourages casual tourists – and
so anyone who arrives usual y wants to see me very much. The reverse
doesn’t always apply; I’m of a retiring nature and I don’t encourage
visitors.
So I was very careful as I approached and stopped under cover of the
rocks by the burn. I unslung the rifle, checked it again to make sure it
was unloaded, and set it to my shoulder. Through the telescopic sight
the man sprang plainly to view. He had his back to me but when he turned
I saw it was Slade.
I centred the cross-hairs on his large pal id face and gently squeezed
the trigger, and the hammer snapped home with a harmless click. I
wondered if I would have done the same had there been a bullet up the
spout. The world could be a better place without men like Slade. But to
load was too deliberate an act, so I put up the gun and walked towards
the cottage. I should have loaded the gun.
As I approached he turned and waved. ‘Good afternoon,’ he cal ed, as
coolly as though he were a regular and welcome guest.
I stepped up to him. ‘How did you find me?’
He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t too hard. You know my methods.’
I knew them and I didn’t like them. I said, ‘Quit playing Sherlock. What
do you want?’
He waved towards the door of the cottage. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me
inside?’ _ ‘Knowing you, I’l bet you’ve searched the place already.’
He held up his hands in mock horror. ‘On my word of honour, I haven’t.’
I nearly laughed in his face because the man had no honour. I turned
from him and pushed open the door and he followed me inside, clicking
his tongue deprecatingly. ‘Not locked? You’re very trusting.’
‘There’s nothing here worth stealing,’ I said indifferently!
‘Just your life,’ he said, and looked at me sharply.
I let that statement lie and put up the rifle on its rack. Slade looked
about him curiously. ‘Primitive – but comfortable,’ he remarked. ‘But I
don’t see why you don’t live in the big house.’
‘It happens to be none of your business.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, and sat down. ‘So you hid yourself in Scotland and
didn’t expect to be found. Protective coloration, eh? A Stewart hiding
among a lot of Stewarts. You’ve caused us some little difficulty.’
‘Who said I was hiding? I am a Scot, you know.’
He smiled fatly. ‘Of a sort. Just by your paternal grandfather. It’s not
long since you were a Swede – and before that you were Finnish. You were
Stewartsen then, of course.’
‘Have you travel ed five hundred miles just to talk of old times?’ I
asked tiredly.
‘You’re looking very fit,’ he said.
‘I can’t say the same for you; you’re out of condition and running to
fat,’ I said cruel y.
He chuckled. ‘The fleshpots, dear boy; the fleshpots – al those lunches
at the expense of Her Majesty’s Government.’ He waved a pudgy hand. ‘But
let’s get down to it, Alan.’
‘To you I’m Mr Stewart,’ I said deliberately.
‘Oh, you don’t like me,’ he said in a hurt voice. ‘But no matter – it
makes no difference in the end. I . . . we . . . want you to do a job
for us. Nothing too difficult, you understand.’
‘You must be out of your mind,’ I said.
‘I know how you must feel, but . . .’
‘You don’t know a damn thing,’ I said sharply. ‘If you expect me to work
for you after what happened then you’re crazier than I thought.’
I was wrong, of course; Slade knew perfectly wel how I felt ? it was
his business to know men and to use them like tools. I waited for him to
put on the pressure and, sure enough, it came, but in his usual oblique
manner.
‘So let’s talk of old times,’ he said. ‘You must remember Kennikin.’
I remembered – I’d have to have total amnesia to forget Kennikin. A
vision of his face swam before me as I had last seen him; eyes like grey
pebbles set above high Slavic cheekbones, and the scar running from his
right temple to the corner of his mouth standing out lividly against the
suddenly pale skin. He had been angry enough to kil me at that moment.
‘What about Kennikin?’ I said slowly.
‘Just that I hear he’s been looking for you, too. You made a fool of him
and he didn’t like it. He wants to have you . . .” Slade paused as
though groping for a thought. ‘What’s that delicate phrase our American
col eagues of the CIA use? Oh, yes ? Kennikin wants to have you
“terminated with extreme prejudice.” Although I daresay the KGB don’t
employ that exact wording.’
A damned nice term for a bullet in the back of the head one dark night.
‘So?’ I said.
‘He’s stil looking for you,’ Slade pointed out.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘I’m no longer with the Department.’
‘Ah, but Kennikin doesn’t know that.’ Slade examined his fingernails.
‘We’ve kept the information from him -quite successful y, I believe. It
seemed useful to do so.’
I saw what was coming but I wanted to make Slade come right out with it,
to commit himself to plain language -something he abhorred. ‘But he
doesn’t know where I am.’
‘Quite right, dear boy – but what if someone should tel him?’
I leaned forward and looked closely at Slade. ‘And who would tel him?’
‘I would,’ he said blandly. ‘If I thought it necessary. I’d have to do
it tactful y and through a third party, of course; but it could be
arranged.’
So there it was – the threat of betrayal. Nothing new for Slade; he made
a life’s work out of corruption and betrayal. Not that I was one to