But the ticket counter with its stack of blank forms was deserted, unlocked doors to the empty administration offices stood open, a steel grill blocked off the bar. The next plane was not due until dusk, and the airport personnel had gone back to town.

Bolan walked unchallenged past the immigration desk into the departure lounge. Through wide glass windows he stared at two Cessna executive jets parked on the apron. In the distance a lighthouse on the tip of the headland pointed a single finger at the cold sky.

Nearer, a tractor towing a string of baggage trailers trundled through the open doors of a maintenance hangar. A man in white coveralls rolled shut the hangar doors and left the field as deserted as the terminal.

Beyond the perimeter, a chain link fence enclosed a group of low yellow buildings marking the site of the US naval base built during the American occupation of Iceland in World War II.

The technicians stationed there now under a NATO agreement were part of a high-tech unit whose job was to monitor the movements toward the North Atlantic of Russian warships, nuclear submarines, trawlers and the huge fishing-factory ships that so often themselves were no more than covers for sophisticated electronic surveillance equipment.

Bolan hoped there were not too many spooks on detail there. He was, he knew, on the hit list not only of foreign agencies such as the KGB, the SDEC, and Britain's MI-6 but also of the CIA and the National Security Agency. It would sure cramp his style if any one of those guys knew he was in Iceland even if it was for a vacation.

He turned back into the waiting room.

It still smelled of cigar smoke and stale coffee. There was a copy of the country's biggest daily newspaper lying open on a bench. He picked it up and turned to the classified section. He found what he wanted on the second page an advertisement for a taxi service in the city. He went to a pay phone, dropped in a coin and dialed the number.