The Blue Ice

Jill stared. 'I don't understand.'

'Those samples — didn't you give them to Gansert?'

'I never received any samples. Mr Gansert got some, but that was from Sir Clinton Mann.'

'They were delivered to us as the result of an advertisement,' I explained. 'The address on the package had been obliterated by blood.'

'Oh. So that's what happened.' He looked across at Jill again. 'I'm sorry. I thought — '

He rubbed his hands across his face. He was dead with tiredness.

'Why don't you trust Mr Gansert?' Jill said again. 'Please, George.'

She moved towards him. But he waved her back. 'Keep there against the table, Jill. And throw me a sandwich from that packet.'

She tossed him the packet. He took another swig at the flask of brandy and then began to eat. 'He could get you out of Norway,' Jill went on, pleadingly. 'He's got his yacht here. Everything could be arranged. We could start again. Please, George — trust him.'

'I'll trust nobody,' he snarled, his mouth full.

I was watching Jill and I saw her lower lip tremble. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. Dahler began to agitate his withered arm. His right hand plucked at his ski suit. 'Mr Farnell,' he said. 'I wish to speak to you. I want to ask something of you. Once you saved my life, you know. Now I wish for your help again. I want you to tell them how I escaped. Tell them that I didn't sell any secrets to the Germans. Tell them — '

'Shut up!' Farnell shouted violently. 'I'm trying to think.'

'But — please — they,must be told. They will not let me into Norway.'They say I am a traitor. I am not. I gave no secrets away. Tell them that, please. Tell them how you helped me escape from Finse.'

'Shut up — damn you!' Farnell almost screamed.

I looked across at Dahler. His face was no longer cunning and there was no sardonic smile on his lips. He looked just like a child that has been refused a sweet. And that moment I saw Lovaas's heavy body tense. Jill must have seen it too, for she cried, 'George! Look out!' And then Lovaas plucked Dahler up in his hands and, using him as a shield, flung himself at Farnell.

Farnell didn't hesitate. His Luger came up and he fired from the hip. The noise was shattering in that confined space. Lovaas dropped Dahler with a cry and spun round clutching at his left shoulder. Farnell crammed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. 'Next time I shoot to kill,' he said. Blood was oozing between Lovaas's fingers. His face looked white and his teeth were bared with pain. 'Gansert,' Farnell said. 'Come over here. I want a word with you.'

I crossed the room towards him. He watched me. The gun, still smoking, followed me. 'Where did you say your boat was?'

'Aurland,' I answered.

He came closer to me. Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear. 'Take it round to Bjorne Fjord, south of Bergen. Contact Olaf Steer. Wait for me there. I may come or I may not.'

'Why not accept my offer?' I suggested. 'Or at least give B.M. & I. a chance to negotiate.'

'Do as I say,' he answered. 'We'll talk about that later. Now get back over there.' He turned to Dahler who was getting up off the floor where Lovaas had dropped him. 'Go outside and slide all the skis except mine down the slope. Go on, move.'

Dahler hesitated. But the violence in Farnell's eyes sent him out. 'My skis are by themselves to the left of the door.' Farnell picked up his rucksack and thrust his arms through the straps.

'You're being a fool,' Jorgensen said angrily. 'I can save you from all this trouble. We could have a development company, half English, half Norwegian if you like.'

'And you dictating your own terms — blackmailing me for Schreuder and this.' He nodded at Lovaas. 'By God, you must take me for a fool, Jorgensen,' he suddenly cried. 'Do you think I don't know who Schreuder was working for? No, I'll handle this my own way. And nothing you can do now will stop me.'

'George!' Jill took a step forward. 'You haven't a chance. The police — '

'To hell with the police.' He glanced at his watch. 'Have you got rid of those skis, Dahler?' he called.

'Yes,' came the faint answer, brought in by the cold wind that entered from the open door. Drifts of light snow were whitening the boards near the entrance.

Farnell backed away, easing the weight of the pack on to his shoulders. He stood for a moment in the doorway, his teeth bared in a smile in his stubble beard. 'I'll be on the Oslo train, Jorgensen, if you want me but your policemen won't find me.'

Then suddenly he was gone and we were staring at the closed door. And I became conscious again of the weight of the wind against the hut and the snow piling up against the windows.

CHAPTER TEN The 'Blaaisen'

It was a moment, after Farnell had left, before anyone in the hut moved. It wasn't so much that we were stunned by the suddenness of his exit as the fact that none of us had any plan. Lovaas was half bent over the table, holding his shoulder. Halvorsen was cutting his jacket away with a large jack knife. Jorgensen, usually so quick, stood motionless, staring at the closed door. I met Jill's eyes. She looked away as though it hurt her to look at me. Her face looked pinched and cold. Her jaw was set firmly like a man's. 'Come on, Bill,' she said suddenly. 'We must do something. If the police get him — ' She didn't finish the sentence, but started for the door.

I followed her, sliding up the zip of my windbreaker. As she opened the outer door, a swirl of fine, powdery snow swept up into my face. Outside, the force of the wind was driving the snow almost parallel with the top of the ridge on which the hut stood. The whole world seemed moving, the myriad snow-flakes showing as dark specks against the dismal grey light. Dahler looked up as we came out of the hut. He was fixing his last ski. I called to him. 'Where are our skis?' But he made no reply. He was working feverishly at the binding of his ski. Then he straightened up, pulling his sticks out of the snow and, with one last glance at us, turned and thrust himself forward into the driving snow.

'Mr Dahler!' Jill called. 'You'd better wait for us.'

He glanced back over his shoulder. Perhaps it was the light, but it seemed to me that his face was contorted in a frenzy of hate. Then he pressed forward. An instant later he was no more than a vague shadow. Then he was gone, swallowed up in the storm.

Jill caught my arm. 'Quick!' she said. 'Our skis are down there.' She caught hold of the sticks still leaning against the side of the hut, thrust a pair into my hands and then started off down the slope, skiing forward like a skater on her feet. I followed. Below the loose surface the snow was a hard, frozen crust. The wind whipped blindingly into my face as I descended. The exertion and the cold brought my circulation back. By the time I caught up with Jill she had already fixed one of her skis. Fortunately all the skis had come to rest in a pile on a drift. I found mine and fitted them to my boots. As I straightened up, Jorgensen joined us. 'Be careful, Miss Somers,' he said. 'It is dangerous now. You may get lost.'

'I'll risk that,' she answered and started off up the slope towards the hut.

I followed her. My limbs had stiffened so that they felt like boards with rusted joints. But by the time I reached the top of the slope, they had loosened up a bit and I was feeling warm with the exertion. There was no sign of the hut. The marks of our descent were already obliterated. Jill had a compass in her hand. 'We shall never find the post in this snow,' she said. 'We must go by compass. Finse is just west of due south. Ready?'

I nodded.

She thrust her sticks into the snow and glided off along the ridge. 'Keep close to me,' she called. 'And go slowly. It may be dangerous.'

So began one of the craziest trips I have ever done. The snow was so thick that visibility was reduced to a few yards. The wind cut like a knife. There were no markers now. Jill was leading us by compass and intuition. And I'll say this, she led well. She had a feel for the lie of the country which was instinctive rather than reasoned. We kept to ridges where possible. But every now and then we dropped steeply only to have to climb again on the far side. But as we went on the proportion of downhill to uphill work increased and in consequence the going became easier. Several times we found ourselves faced with, drops into nothingness. Probably they were only a matter of twenty or thirty feet. But in the snow it was impossible to tell. Once we climbed a long, sloping snow-field only to find ourselves stopped by a sheer cliff of black rock splodged with patches of snow. We worked round this and then had a good run down a long cutting in the mountain.