`Mr Sellers? Catherine Petrie here. I'm given to understand that you should wait at the entrance to the Town Hall at six o'clock.'
I said, 'Thank you.' And asked carefully, 'He's accepted what I said?'
Ì believe Miss Hay has spoken of you, Mr Sellers.'
, With Elliot on the line, I couldn't take it further. I just had to hope. Miss Petrie rang off and the second long wait began.
We went to the window and looked across the street. The Town Hall entrance was a mere thirty yards or so away, and
could easily be watched from where we stood. Willingham started watching at three thirty-five and kept up a shuffle of irritation as daylight died and the lights came on, inside and out. Elliot telephoned London again to say that things might be looking up now. I kept my fingers crossed and stared at my shoes, and wondered exactly where Alsa was. I no longer even considered the possibility that she might be dead. The phony Schmid had put an equation to me : that whether she was dead or not didn't matter, so long as we could hope she was still alive. The equation didn't hold any more. Anderson now had the transparency, and when he knew the rest of the story, he'd want to see Alsa alive and kicking before he even considered anything else. And the Russians would be well aware of that. They'd be here now, in the darkening streets, waiting for us to move, ready to make their play. So they had to keep Alsa somewhere near. On a fishing boat perhaps. Even one of those in the harbour. Several times I looked down the hill at the tied-up boats, and had to restrain myself from rushing out of the police station, down to the quay and on to the nearest vessel that was flying a hammer and sickle. Towards six o'clock, the streets were filling up. The UpHelly-Aa procession was scheduled to begin at seven and all Lerwick, plus half the rest of the population of the Shetlands and a hell of a lot of tourists, would be standing watching. People were coming from all directions, the pavements were already becoming crowded and the police had given up their forlorn search for Anderson after Miss Petrie's phone call. Tonight was whisky night, festivity night, and there were other matters demanding Lerwick's small force's attention.
At five minutes before the hour, the three of us left the room and crossed the road. People hurried past us, heading for the procession route, a little way inland from where we stood. Bottle shapes were visible in many of the passing pockets; some of the men wore elaborate fancy dress and carried long poles capped with sacking: torches to be lit for the galley procession.
We took up our position by the Town Hall entrance and waited, looking at our watches. At six the Town Hall clock boomed out above us and the carillon began to ring out a tune I didn't know. We looked at the hurrying faces, Elliot and Willingham hopefully, I no less anxiously. The difference was that I was praying no one would approach us.
`He's not coming,' Elliot said heavily at five past.
Ìt'll be difficult to move through the crowds,' I pointed out. 'He'll come. The message was clear enough.'
So we waited. High above us the clock chimed the quarter, then at last the half. I said, '
Perhaps there's a reason. Somebody else hanging about. Maybe he's watching us now. Maybe he's waiting to be sure.'
A few minutes later, I suggested we cross the street and come back, just to underline to Anderson, if he were watching, that the Town Hall, not the procession, was our intended location.
`Can't do any harm, I suppose,' Elliot said. 'Let's try it.' He sounded deeply depressed. We crossed the road and stood for a moment, on the other side. The crowds were thickening fast, moving around us, jostling.
Elliot said, 'Okay, let's go back.'
Ànother minute,' I said. There was a big, noisy group hurrying toward us up the hill from the quay, sixty or seventy men, laughing and shouting. I waited until they were almost on us, then said, 'On second thoughts we might as well.'
Elliot turned. Willingham turned. I began to turn, let them see me begin, then stopped, took three quick steps, slid in among the noisy crowd and hurried forward. Ahead were the two long roads on either side of the playing field where the galley would burn, and they were packed. Only minutes now remained before the procession was to begin and away to my right there were already scattered outbursts of cheering. I heard Willingham'
s voice shout 'Stop him!' a few yards behind, but I was in the middle of a rapidly-moving little phalanx of men and a few seconds later the whole
group was merging into the crowd in the streets.
I separated myself quickly, then, and began to slide through the crowd, knees bent a little to keep my head down, praying that I'd slipped away successfully and heading now for the spot I'd specified in the note I'd slipped into Miss Petrie's hand. Squads of men in fancy dress lined the roads as seven o'clock struck. I was too early. I moved deep into the crowd, trying to be inconspicuous, but for once in Lerwick, sweaters and work trousers weren't standard dress. People were in their best for UpHelly-Aa. For twenty minutes I stood sweating, before the music crashed and the marching began. I made myself unpopular, then, pushing my way to the front. Suddenly a Very light soared into the sky and all along the road little lights flared suddenly as matches were struck. Then the lights grew brighter as the matches lit torches and the torches were raised high. Up-Helly-Aa had begun! I stood there in the torchlight, in the front of the crowd, trying to stick my face out. This was the designated place and the appointed moment. Miss Petrie had been given the photograph to pass to Anderson. Would he recognize me?
A squad of men in Viking costume came proudly by, torches held high, flickering flames gleaming on horned helmets decorated with glossy ravens' wings, shields bearing battle signs. Despite myself, I watched. The scene was ancient, majestic, strangely moving as a silence fell and the men marched forward in the torchlight. I didn't see or hear him approach. One moment I was watching the marching men; the next somebody was whispering close.to my ear. 'Sellers?'
I nodded.
`Follow me.'
We slipped easily back through the crowd; people were only too anxious to let someone from the front move away. A couple of minutes later, we were clear, hurrying inland, then turning and turning again, down a narrow lane and finally into a darkly shadowed yard.
Anderson was a big, rawboned, rangy man. Serious looking; physically hard. We moved close to a wall and I said quickly, urgently, 'Have you— '
Anderson stared grimly at me. 'No questions. Tell me what you know.'
So I told him. About the Soviet Jews who'd made their futile plan, had been betrayed, had tried again .using Alsa as an unknowing courier. How she'd left the lens case in the shop, and the optician, presumably knowing only one Sandnes, must have added the word Norway before posting it and that it must then have been redirected by the Norwegian postal service. He listened closely and carefully as I explained it. Then I told him why the transparency mattered so much, why Alsa had been kidnapped, who Elliot and Willingham were and why it was vital to keep them at bay. I told him about Noss and the Russian who'd waited for him there.
Ìt was you there last night?' he asked.
`yes.'
saw you, from a distance. Maybe you saved my life.' `Maybe I did. It's Alsa's life that matters. Have you got it?'
Anderson hesitated, stared at me for a moment, then nodded.
`Here? With you?'
`Yes.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little plastic case. 'There was a note from Alsa inside : just a few words. It said her life depended on hiding it safely. I didn't know what it meant but —'
A light blazed suddenly from the mouth of the yard. There were rapid footsteps and a voice snapped, 'Keep still!' We were against a wall already. There might have been somewhere to run if we'd had time, but the speed and surprise left us helpless. Four of them. And Marasov's rimless glasses gleaming above the torch. 'Give it to me.'