Running Blind / The Freedom Trap. Desmond Bagley
to be on the main track where we have some choice of action. Let’s move!’
‘Breakfast?’
‘Breakfast can wait.’
‘And the radio antenna?’
I paused, indecisive and exasperated. We needed that antenna – I had to talk to Taggart – but if we had been spotted from the air then a car full of guns could be speeding towards Askja, and I didn’t know how much time we had in hand. The antenna could be close by but, on the other hand, it might have dropped off somewhere up the track and miles away.
I made the decision. ‘The hell with it! Let’s go.’
There was no packing to do beyond collecting the coffee cups and my shaving kit and within two minutes we were climbing the narrow track on the way out of Askja. It was ten kilometres to the main track and when we got there I was sweating for fear of what I might find, but nothing was stirring. I turned right and we headed south.
An hour later I pulled up where the track forked. On the left ran the Jökulsá á Fjöllum, now near its source and no longer the mighty force it displayed at Dettifoss. I said, ‘We’ll have breakfast here.’
‘Why here particularly?’
I pointed to the fork ahead. ‘We have a three-way choice – we can go back or take either of those tracks. If that plane is going to come back and spot us I’d just as soon he did it here. He can’t stay up there forever so we wait him out before we move on and leave him to figure which way we went.’
While Elin was fixing breakfast I took the rifle I had liberated from Graham and examined it. I unloaded it and looked down the bore. This was no way to treat a good gun; not to clean it after shooting. Fortunately, modern powder is no longer so violently corrosive and a day’s wait before cleaning no longer such a heinous offence. Besides, I had neither gun oil nor solvent and engine oil would have to do.
I checked the ammunition after cleaning the rifle. Graham had loaded from a packet of twenty-five; he had shot one and I had popped off three at Slade – twenty-one rounds left. I set the sights of the rifle at a hundred yards. I didn’t think that if things came to the crunch I’d be shooting at much over that range. Only film heroes can take a strange gun and unknown ammunition and drop the baddy at 500 yards.
I put the rifle where I could get at it easily and caught a disapproving glance from Elin. ‘Well, what do you expect me to do?’ I said defensively. ‘Start throwing rocks?’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ she said.
‘No, you didn’t,’ I agreed. ‘I’m going down to the river to clean up. Give me a shout when you’re ready.’
But first I climbed a small knoll from where I could get a good view of the surrounding country. Nothing moved for as far as I could see, and in Iceland you can usually see a hell of a long way. Satisfied, I went down to the river which was the milky grey-green colour of melt water and shockingly cold, but after the first painful gasp it wasn’t too bad. Refreshed, I went back to tuck into breakfast.
Elin was looking at the map. ‘Which way are you going?’
‘I want to get between Hofsjökull and Vatnajökull,’ I said. ‘So we take the left fork.’
‘It’s a one-way track,’ said Elin and passed me the map.
True enough. Printed in ominous red alongside the dashed line which denoted the track was the stern injunction: Adeins faert til austurs – eastward travel only. We wanted to go to the west.
I frowned. Most people think that because Greenland is covered with ice and is wrongly named then so is Iceland, and there’s not much ice about the place. They’re dead wrong. Thirty-six icefields glaciate one-eighth of the country and one of them alone – Vatnajökull – is as big as all the glaciated areas in Scandinavia and the Alps put together.
The cold wastes of Vatnajökull lay just to the south of us and the track to the west was squeezed right up against it by the rearing bulk of Trölladyngja – the Dome of Trolls – a vast shield volcano. I had never been that way before but I had a good idea why the track was one way only. It would cling to the sides of cliffs and be full of hair-pin blind bends – quite hairy enough to negotiate without the unnerving possibility of running into someone head on.
I sighed and examined other possibilities. The track to the right would take us north, the opposite direction to which I wanted to go. More damaging, to get back again would triple the mileage. The geography of Iceland has its own ruthless logic about what is and what is not permitted and the choice of routes is restricted.
I said, ‘We’ll take our chances going the short way and hope to God we don’t meet anyone. It’s still early in the season and the chances are good.’ I grinned at Elin. ‘I don’t think there’ll be any police around to issue a traffic ticket.’
‘And there’ll be no ambulance to pick us up from the bottom of a cliff,’ she said.
‘I’m a careful driver; it may never happen.’
Elin went down to the river and I walked to the top of the knoll again. Everything was quiet. The track stretched back towards Askja and there was no tell-tale cloud of dust to indicate a pursuing vehicle, nor any mysterious aircraft buzzing about the sky. I wondered if I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Perhaps I was running away from nothing.
The guilty flee where no man pursueth. I was as guilty as hell! I had withheld the package from Slade on nothing more than intuition – a hunch Taggart found difficult to believe. And I had killed Graham! As far as the Department was concerned I would already have been judged, found guilty and sentenced, and I wondered what would be the attitude of Jack Case when I saw him at Geysir.
I saw Elin returning to the Land-Rover so I took one last look around and went down to her. Her hair was damp and her cheeks glowed pink as she scrubbed her face with a towel. I waited until she emerged, then said, ‘You’re in this as much as I am now, so you’ve got a vote. What do you think I should do?’
She lowered the towel and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I should do exactly what you are doing. You’ve made the plan. Meet this man at Geysir and give him that … that whatever-it-is.’
I nodded. ‘And what if someone should try to stop us?’
She hesitated. ‘If it is Slade, then give him the gadget. If it is Kennikin … ’ She stopped and shook her head slowly.
I saw her reasoning. I might be able to hand over to Slade and get away unscathed; but Kennikin would not be satisfied with that – he’d want my blood. I said, ‘Supposing it is Kennikin – what would you expect me to do?’
She drooped. ‘I think you would want to fight him – to use that rifle. You would want to kill him.’ Her voice was desolate.
I took her by the arm. ‘Elin, I don’t kill people indiscriminately. I’m not a psychopath. I promise there will be no killing unless it is in self defence; unless my life is in danger – or yours.’
‘I’m sorry, Alan,’ she said. ‘But a situation like this is so alien to me. I’ve never had to face anything like it.’
I waved towards the knoll. ‘I was doing a bit of thinking up there. It occurred to me that perhaps my assessment of everything has been wrong – that I’ve misjudged people and events.’
‘No!’ she said definitely. ‘You’ve made a strong case against Slade.’
‘And yet you would want me to give him the gadget?’
‘What is it to me?’ she cried. ‘Or to you? Let him have it when the time comes – let us go back to living our own lives.’
‘I’d like to do that very much,’ I said. ‘If people would let me.’ I looked up at the sun which was already high. ‘Come on; let’s