The Blue Ice

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.