Running Blind / The Freedom Trap by Desmond Bagley Page B

anomaly, the well-known secret service agent. I crept awayto a Scottish glen to lick my wounds. I thought I was safe until Slade showed up.’
    ‘And blackmailed you with Kennikin. Would he tell Kennikin where you are?’
    ‘I wouldn’t put it past him, on his past record. And it’s quite true that Kennikin has a score to settle. The word is that he’s no good to the girls any more, and he blames me for it. I’d just as soon he doesn’t know where to find me.’
    I thought of the last encounter in the dimness of the Swedish forest. I knew I hadn’t killed him; I knew it as soon as I had squeezed the trigger. There is a curious prescience in the gunman which tells him if he has hit the mark at which he aims, and I knew the bullet had gone low and that I had only wounded him. The nature of the wound was something else, and I could expect no mercy from Kennikin if he caught up with me.
    Elin looked away from me and across the little glade which was quiet and still in the fading light apart from the sleepy chirrup of birds bedding down for the night. She shivered and put her arms about her body, ‘You come from another world—a world I don’t know.’
    ‘It’s a world I’m trying to protect you from.’
    ‘Was Birkby married?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘One thing did occur to me. If Slade had thought that Birkby had a better chance of getting next to Kennikin, then he’d have told him to kill me, and for the same reason. Sometimes I think it would have been better that way.’
    ‘No, Alan!’ Elin leaned forward and took my hand in hers. ‘Never think that.’
    ‘Don’t worry; I’m not suicidally minded,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you now know why I don’t like Slade and why I distrust him—and why I’m suspicious of this particular operation.’
    Elin looked at me closely, still holding my hand. ‘Alan, apart from Birkby, have you killed anyone else?’
    ‘I have,’ I said deliberately.
    Her face seemed to close tight and her hand slipped from mine. She nodded slowly. ‘I have a lot to think about, Alan. I’d like to take a walk.’ She rose. ‘Alone—if you don’t mind.’
    I watched her walk into the trees and then picked up the bottle hefting it in my hand and wondering if I wanted another drink. I looked at the level of liquid and discovered that four of my unmeasured slugs had nearly half-emptied the bottle. I put it down again—I have never believed in drowning my problems and this was no time to start.
    I knew what was wrong with Elin. It’s a shock for a woman to realize that the man accepted into her bed is a certified killer, no matter in how laudable a cause. And I had no illusions that the cause for which I had worked was particularly commendable—not to Elin. What would a peaceful Icelander know about the murkier depths of the unceasing undercover war between the nations?
    I collected the dirty dishes and began to wash them, wondering what she would do. All I had going for me were the summers we had spent together and the hope that those days and nights of happiness would weigh in the balance of her mind. I hoped that what she knew of me as a man, a lover and a human being would count for more than my past.
    I finished cleaning up and lit a cigarette. Light was slowly ebbing from the sky towards the long twilight of summer in northern lands. It would never really get dark—it was too close to Midsummer Day—and the sun would not be absent for long.
    I saw Elin coming back, her white shirt glimmering among the trees. As she approached the Land-Rover she looked up at the sky. ‘It’s getting late.’
    ‘Yes.’
    She stooped, unzipped the sleeping bags, and then zipped them together to make one large bag. As she turned her head towards me her lips curved in a half-smile. ‘Come tobed, Alan,’ she said, and I knew that nothing was lost and everything was going to be all right.
    Later that night I had an idea. I unzipped my side of the bag and rolled out, trying not to disturb