Black Ice (26 page)

He was wondering how many more Bottgers  there were and what it would  take to bring them all up here.

Bottger,  thank God, didn't seem to find anything odd in this lugubrious young  black man standing there not speaking. Happily he went on: 'That is out of the question, young man. We must get proper  transport. You were lucky this man spoke English.'

'Why?'  I didn't care what  he said. I only wanted  to keep the air filled with normal, unexciting sounds.

'Why?  It is obvious,  is it not? If you spoke  Esperanto you could  have shouted for help. Helpu!  That is the word  if you need it again.  Helpu!'

Without speaking, Oscar  backed towards  his bike, mounted it and  kicked it into life.

'Young man.' Oh no. Bottger was actually  calling him back.

'Young man,  would  you ask someone  with a Land  Rover or similar to come and  help us. Thank you.'

We watched  him roar and slither  away down  the track.

'He  will not remember,' Bottger said. 'Young people today. No manners. It is the same everywhere.'

'You  don't know a Mr Batty  by any chance,  do you?'

'Please?'

'Forget it. But if a sneezing  man offers you a part-time job with history,  tell him where he can nudge  it.'

41

'I don't know how you stayed  on,'  Petursson  said.

'That's what  Hazel always  used to say.'

'Hazel?'

'Sorry. Private  joke. God save us!' I spluttered on a mug of soup  that  Hulda had  brought me. She'd  been having a lovely time  with  an  invalid  in the  house.  'What's this - condensed polar-bear droppings?'

Even  after  ten  hours' sleep  I still  felt groggy.  As soon  as Oscar had got out of sight,  whatever it was that  had  kept  me going  had  snapped, and  I'd  collapsed. I'd  stayed that  way while Bottger organised transport and  had me shipped back to Reykjavik. The  doctor  and  Hulda had  battled over who got to play with my remains. Inevitably, Hulda  won.

I'd  come round  for long enough  to tell Petursson what  had happened. In another lucid interval, I'd  found  Ivan  and Christopher sitting beside my bed. Eyes brimming with  tears, Ivan   had   gone   all  soppy:   clasping  my  hand   and   saying whatever would he have told Sally ... he embarrassed half the island. Christopher, his gypsy face bright with relief, could only say how lucky I was to have chanced  upon- or been chanced upon  by- the ambassador for Esperanto.

The  next time I slept a hot, troubled sleep shot through with dreams that  were hardened with reality.  I kept seeing Oscar's face, a hopeless mixture of sentiment and madness, as he talked about his baby.  I could see the stream he'd  talked  about, with all the faces I knew- his and  Palli's, Solrun's, the baby's, her mother's, even  Petursson and  the  American, Dempsie  - all floating in  the  water,   mingling   and  drifting together, then parting again.  And I couldn't get into the stream. I don't know how,  but  I was trying  to dive  in  but one of those  mysterious dream-powers held me back and  I was crying  as I watched it flow past.  Next,  I wasn't crying  at  all. I was being  my usual arrogant self (  'As a matter of fact,'  I was saying,  to Ivan  of all people, 'I never join streams. I'm  not a stream sort of person.' When  I woke again,  more  rested  this  time,  Petursson was back at my bedside.

'I could go for one of your  pepper  steaks.'

'Invite me to London  and  I'll  make you one.'

'You're on.'

It was  neatly  done.  For some  reason,  bachelor gents  have problems with  social  preliminaries. I  was  absurdly glad  to think  we'd salvaged  something from this meeting.  I've  always found friendship even trickier to manage than love because you don't have sex to fill in the blank  bits.

'You  must  be quite  a tough chap,' Petursson went on. 'That waterfall  business  wasn't just  a whim,  you know.'

'No,  I don't. How'd you mean?'

'Sensory deprivation, dislocation of time and  place, water, sudden physical   shock . . .  these  are  all  established torture techniques.'

'That's okay,  then.  I wouldn't want  him trying any un- established ones on me.'

'You  held  up very well.'

The  truth was, I couldn't remember most of it.

'I wonder  where they are,'  I said. All that high wild country, a population the size of Southampton scattered in a country  as big as England ... they could  be anywhere.

'We are looking. He has always been one step ahead of us. At Palli's. And  wherever he is now.  Of  course  he is trained  in survival techniques, he's got that  bike, he's got a car and a van somewhere too.  He  got  back  to you  so quickly  we think  he must've been keeping  the bike at one of the summer-houses.'

Suddenly I remembered. 'That's where  he thought  Solrun was.'

Petursson shrugged. 'We're looking,  but there are so many. Who's this?'

Dempsie, swearing several oaths not to tire, distress or upset me  in  any  way  whatsoever, was  reluctantly  ushered  in  by Hulda.

'Great security  you've  got here,'  he said.

After saying  all the  usual  things .you say  to people  who've been   pushed    off  waterfalls,    the   big  American    turned   to Petursson. He only had to raise his eyebrows.  Pete only had to shake  his  head.  There was only  one  question  anyone  cared about  now.

'You're still watching the trawler?'  he said to Petursson, and was answered with a curt  nod.

He sat examining his shoes for a while. He was strangely festive  in all  the  bright  pastel  shades  of the golf course  that seemed  to be his style. Pete, stiff in his spotless  tweeds, looked formal  beside  him.  Then   I suddenly realised.  The  Icelander hadn't got his hat.

'What's happened -your hat?'

'Don't worry,' he said, thinking  I was pulling his leg. 'Hulda is keeping  an eye on it for me.' Then  I understood: it must be something of an office joke for him to catch on so quickly.

'You  know that  destroyer they've  got sitting on the twelve mile limit?'  Dempsie's voice wasn't  much  more than  a growl.

'They've got two Helix choppers on board.'

'That is not so surprising.' Petursson looked uncomfortable.

'That means  they can be on the island inside fifteen minutes and maybe that will be surprising,' Dempsie snapped. Then  he sat  back and  slapped  his belly twice. 'Look,  Pete, for Christ's sake. I'm  not sitting  on your tail on this.'

'I hope not.'

'But  these guys are going to pull a big stroke.  It's all building up for one. There was the  business  of Kirillina and  the girl, there's the trawler  down in the harbour with those two ghouls on board,  and now we've got a Soviet destroyer parked outside the  front  door  with  a  couple  of helicopters warmed   up and ready  to go. And all we know for sure is that  Oscar  Murphy's out  there on the rampage and we don't know where.'

'He  is an American,' Petursson  reminded him, quietly.

They  were into all that  again,  each furiously  flying his own flag. I was glad  that  I'd  never got around to developing team spirit.

That reminded  me of my dream about  the stream, and I was puzzling  over  that  when  I saw  that  Hulda   had  put  all  the contents of my pockets on the bedside-table while she tried  to rescue  the remains  of my precious  cord suit.  And in amongst the pile- the keys I'd  used to catch  Doris and  the rest- was a piece of paper  with writing  that didn't look like mine.

I picked it up. It was an Icelandic bar bill. The writing on the front,  in ink,  had gone  into  a  blue smear  where  it  had  been soaked  and  dried.  The  writing  on  the  back,  in  pencil,  was almost  legible.  Then   I  remembered. I'd   pushed  it  into  my pocket when I was in the boot of the car.

It looked like two columns  of figures, each one crossed  out, and it was familiar  in a way I couldn't place.

'Did   you   know   about    this   kid?'   Dempsie   was   asking Petursson.

'No.  It was a very well-kept secret.  Hulda  tells me- now of course  - that  many  people  did  know  but  they  kept  it  from people like me, naturally.'

'For  the same  reason as the marriage?' I asked.

'Yes. They  thought she wouldn't be allowed to become Miss World. Here,  of course,  there  is no shame  about  that.  It has been a custom  for many  years  for girls  to have  babies  before they  marry. Her  mother  used to look after it. That's why she was tortured - by people looking for the child.'

Even the thought of that  made  me feel sick. 'By Murphy?' I asked. It had to be him, I supposed, but I still couldn't see it. In his heart  he was still a soldier,  and  that wasn't soldier's work. I saw Petursson's eyes slide across to Dempsie,  then back to me.

'No.  Not Oscar. You've  forgotten, haven't you?'

'What the neighbour said. The old lady with the brush. She said  two men in dark  clothes like uniforms,  and  a third  man.' This  time it did sink in. The  two men in dark  clothes had to be the military  blokes off the Russian  trawler. So who was the other  man? The  two of them sat looking at me as I repeated  the question to them.

'We  kinda  hoped  you might  tell us,' Dempsie  said, gently. Both  their  faces were  turned  to mine, waiting.  I knew what they meant. I'd known all along. Only it was something I chose not to think  about. People  pick their own loyalties.

There were so many other  things jumbled  in my mind after the chaos  of the last few hours.  Trying to find them and  haul them  up into  the daylight was like fishing in mud. And  I was tired,   tired.   Even   the  sky's   light   flooding   in  through   the unguarded window  couldn't keep sleep away.

42

As they say in the Bible, she came  to me in a dream.

The  first I knew was the ice-hard  touch of her cheek against my burning flesh, the cold marble of her hands  against mine. I dragged my eyes half-open.

She was beside  me, sitting on the bed. She was wearing- I think- a padded white jacket and a loose white scarf. I hardly noticed  because  I was fascinated by the way the lifeless light of the night had drawn all the colour and vigour from her, so that she  was  blanched  to  a  bloodless   beauty. She  was  the  Ice Maiden.

Yet at  the same  time  I knew  that  it was the gruelling ordeal  I had  been  through, together  with  the doctor's drugs, that freed my imagination to see her in this form. I was back in the car boot, locked inside my own skull. I was pounded under the waterfall. I was rocking to the rhythms of Doris,  the horse. Whether she  was  real  or  not  was of no importance. She  was here, at least in my mind she was here, and that was all that mattered.

'I had  to come.'

'Thanks. I'm  glad.'

'You  know about  my baby now.'

'Yes.'

'Asti.  She is called  Asta.  My mother's name  was Asta.'

'Have you been in hiding?'

In  the  half-light  I saw  her give a quick  sharp nod.  'It was Oscar. I was afraid  what  he might do.'

'He  thought  you were going  to join  him in the States. You know, because of marrying Palli and  the stamp money.'

'Maybe I was. Maybe  I still am.  Isn't that  where everyone wants to go-America? In any case, I had to have the money for a new life.'

'So that  was it. The  two men. Oscar and  Nikolai. America and  Russia.'

I could feel her cold fingers tightening and slackening around my  hand.  I felt there  was  more  meaning in that  than  in the words  which were echoing  like gongs in my head.

'Or  London,' she said, in a whisper  so low it hardly  rippled the night's quiet surface.

'London?'

She  moved so that  she bent down a little towards  me. 'Yes. That was why I had  to make sure you knew about  the child.' Then  I remembered. I remembered what she'd said that first night,  when she'd  asked  me if I would  take her away. But she knew  how  useless  I  was  with  my  own  kid,  let  alone  other people's, so she was making  it quite  clear.

'If you want  to get out of this mess, then come to London.' I

was sorry  I couldn't drive my enthusiasm into my words. But I

was tired  and,  perhaps, a little afraid. Then, weakly, I added:

'While you work out  what  you want.'

'I want  a home  and  a father  for my daughter.'

I didn't know what  to say to that.  A silence like a wall stood between  us. 'What does  Nikolai say?'

I  felt  more  than  saw  her  shoulders slump  a  fraction  and thought I could hear defeat in her voice. 'Kolai? He said he was going  to defect  to live in Europe with me. Now he says it is not possible.  I must  go to Moscow.'

'And  Asta?'

'He is a kind  man.  He says he will be her father.  I think he means  it. But 'if I go with him I will have to do certain  things.'

'What things?'

She rose and  walked over to the window and I saw the light, pale on her hair and the planes of her face. She looked out of the window, speaking at the same time. 'Propaganda things. There will  be  a  ceremony. A  public  ceremony. They  want  you  to come. Will you?'

'Why me?'

'They want a neutral observer. A journalist to write about it. Will you?'

'Yes,  of course.'

'You understand?' She turned  towards me again. 'That is the price I have to pay to go there.  I have to say certain  things. You do understand?'

'Don't worry.'

'It is all arranged. They  have been ready for days now.'

'Weren't you sure  what  you wanted?'

She  came  back  down  the  room  towards  me and  took  my hand  again. 'No.  I knew what  I wanted. Asti’s  father.'

I thought of the big crazy man running around the island on his desert-bike waving his Colt .45, and there didn't seem much I could say. Anyway,  it was her decision.  It had to be hers. So I said  nothing.

'Will  you come  to me, if I send  a message?'

'Yes, I'll come.'

'I may need a friend.'

'I'm your friend.'

I lay there like a dreaming corpse. She sat  like a colourless ghost. After some more time had died, she burned  me with her iced lips. I had drifted  back to sleep again when I heard  her last word ...