Free Running Blind / The Freedom Trap by Desmond Bagley Page B

and aimed. Graham had been professional enough to put a spot of luminous paint on the foresight but it was not necessary in the pre-dawn light.
    I settled the sight on the driving side and, as the noise behind me built up to a crescendo, I slapped three bullets in as many seconds through the windscreen which must have been made of laminated glass because it went totally opaque. Slade took off in a wide sweep and I saw that theonly thing that had saved him was that the car had right-hand drive, English style, and I had shot holes in the wrong side of the windscreen.
    But he wasn’t waiting for me to correct the error and bucked away down the track as fast as he could go. The Land-Rover came up behind me and I jumped for it. ‘Get going!’ I yelled. ‘Make it fast.’
    Ahead, Slade’s car skidded around a corner in a four-wheel drift, kicking up a cloud of dust. He was heading for the main road, but when we arrived at the corner Elin turned the other way as I had instructed her. It would have been useless chasing Slade—a Land-Rover isn’t built for that and he had the advantage.
    We turned south on to the track which parallels the Jökulsà à Fjöllum , the big river that takes the melt water north from Vatnajökull, and the roughness of the ground dictated a reduction in speed. Elin said, ‘Did you talk to Slade?’
    ‘I couldn’t get near him.’
    ‘I’m glad you didn’t kill him.’
    ‘It wasn’t for want of trying,’ I said. ‘If he had a left-hand drive car he’d be dead by now.’
    ‘And would that make you feel any better?’ she asked cuttingly.
    I looked at her. ‘Elin,’ I said, ‘The man’s dangerous. Either he’s gone off his nut—which I think is unlikely—or…’
    ‘Or what?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I said despondently. ‘It’s too damned complicated and I don’t know enough. But I do know that Slade wants me dead. There’s something I know—or something he thinks I know—that’s dangerous for him; dangerous enough for him to want to kill me. Under the circumstances I don’t want you around—you could get in the line of fire. You did get in the line of fire this morning.’
    She slowed because of a deep rut. ‘You can’t survive alone,’ she said. ‘You need help.’
    I needed more than help; I needed a new set of brains to work out this convoluted problem. But this wasn’t the time to do it because Elin’s shoulder was giving her hell. ‘Pull up,’ I said. ‘I’ll do the driving.’
    We travelled south for an hour and a half and Elin said, ‘There’s Dettifoss.’
    I looked out over the rocky landscape towards the cloud of spray in the distance which hung over the deep gorge which the Jökulsô ô Fjöllum has cut deep into the rock. ‘We’ll carry on to Selfoss,’ I decided. ‘Two waterfalls are better than one. Besides, there are usually campers at Dettifoss.’
    We went past Dettifoss and, three kilometres farther on, I pulled off the road. ‘This is as close to Selfoss as we can get.’
    I got out. ‘I’ll go towards the river and see if anyone’s around,’ I said. ‘It’s bad form to be seen humping bodies about. Wait here and don’t talk to any strange men.’
    I checked to see if the body was still decently shrouded by the blanket with which we had covered it, and then headed towards the river. It was still very early in the morning and there was no one about so I went back and opened the rear door of the vehicle and climbed inside.
    I stripped the blanket away from Graham’s body and searched his clothing. His wallet contained some Icelandic currency and a sheaf of Deutschmarks, together with a German motoring club card identifying him as Dieter Buchner, as also did his German passport. There was a photograph of him with his arm around a pretty girl and a fascia board of a shop behind them was in German. The Department was always thorough about that kind of thing.
    The only other item of interest was a packet of rifle ammunition which had