Win, Lose or Die

by John Gardner

  ‘Okay. Do you know how he was handling communications with Washington?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Was it directly through our communications staff on board?’

  A lengthy pause. ‘No. I have a closed channel micro transmitter in my cabin. When Ed wanted to transmit he was to get onto me, and I’d give him the okay.’

  ‘How does it work?’

  ‘How does any of this stuff work? All damned magic to me. There’s a place for a small tape in the thing. I gather he simply inserted a tape with his message en clair, locked on to the FLATSCOM we used, and the message was squirted in cipher to another ship. They would pass it on to Washington. That’s the basics anyhow.’

  ‘FLATSCOM is generic for US Navy satellite communications, right, sir?’

  Gudeon gave a tiny nod, like someone had pricked him on the back of the neck.

  ‘Did he use it when you came aboard?’

  ‘No,’ a little tight-lipped. ‘Look, Captain Bond, I’m trying to co-operate, but I have quite a problem on my hands. Morgan wanted to use our communications link around dawn. I said I’d be down to unlock it and put the keys in. He didn’t confide in me, but he was concerned about something, something on board. Wanted it checked out by Washington before he would okay Dancer coming in for Stewards’ Meeting. Now I’m in the cold. I have to make the decision. And I have to make it without knowing what Morgan wanted.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t worry too much about . . .’ The telephone buzzed and Bond excused himself to take the call. It was Surgeon Commander Grant. ‘The place is cleaned up, sir; and I took the liberty of having some photographs done – you know the kind of thing: body in situ, face, wound, all that stuff. Seen it on the moving pictures. Can’t be accurate about time of death, but I’d say it was within an hour of my seeing the body.’

  ‘Mmm-huu. It wasn’t long before I saw it. Just keep everything on ice. I’ll see you later.’ He cradled the telephone and turned back to Gudeon. ‘Don’t bother yourself too much, sir. I’d okay Dancer coming in on schedule.’

  ‘Easy as that?’

  ‘Just as easy. I think I know what he wanted checked out. I think it was why he got chopped.’

  ‘If you know, then it’s your duty to share it with me.’

  ‘I said I think I know, sir, and that’s a long way from knowing.’

  ‘And you won’t even . . . ?’

  ‘Sorry, Admiral Gudeon, but, no. I carry the ball on this one. I think I know, and I’ll take steps to make certain and even secure matters before Dancer gets here. Anything strange, and I’ll have Stewards’ Meeting waved off. In the meantime, I’d suggest that you go back to the bridge and take Mr Israel with you. Also, I’d be grateful if you don’t talk to anyone else about this. And I do mean anyone, sir.’

  ‘If you say so, Bond.’ Gudeon did not look happy, but 007 wanted to leave it there. There was a lot for him to do before he could do something definite about the operation they called Stewards’ Meeting. First, he had to do his Sherlock Holmes imitation, and see everybody concerned, then it was essential for him to get his own people to check on the names Edgar Morgan had listed on the tape – even the Royal Navy people. He sat back, making quick decisions on whom he would speak to next. It was three o’clock in the morning. Nobody was going to be happy, but he considered it best for him to stick with people he knew were awake. He called the bridge and asked to see Admiral of the Fleet Sir Geoffrey Gould and his Flag Lieutenant, Mr Brinkley. They were with him in five minutes, and he broke the news, followed by the standard questions – had Brinkley been with the Admiral since dinner? Had they parted company at any time? The answers were yes, and no, respectively.

  Gould was shaken. ‘You do not get murdered on one of HM’s ships,’ he said, echoing Gudeon.

  ‘It seems that we are the exception that proves the rule,’ Bond said briskly.

  ‘Could we be of any help, James?’ Ted Brinkley asked.

  ‘Possibly, but not yet. I gather all the Russians are English speakers.’

  ‘Yes.’ Brinkley had got to that information very quickly. ‘First thing Moggy and I did. Try out their English. Bit funny, though.’

  ‘How funny?’

  ‘The leader of their pack – Stura, Yevgeny Stura. Fellow with the scar and the vodka nose.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He tried to play silly buggers. Pretended he had no English.’

  ‘But he has?’

  ‘He’s been up with Admiral Pauker on the bridge all night. Speaks English like a native. Slight American accent, but he speaks and understands. Just wouldn’t let on to us when we were with them. The Attaché with all the honeypot trappings, aimed at you, did the translating. Rum.’

  ‘Not really,’ Bond cocked an eyebrow. ‘KGB games. They often try that kind of thing on. It’s almost a standard drill.’

  He asked them to get back on the bridge, talk to nobody and ask the Captain if he would request, most respectfully, if Admiral Pauker and Yevgeny, he with the vodka nose, would come down to see him.

  They arrived a few minutes later, and Bond went through the same routine. Oddly, Yevgeny Stura went through the charade of being a non-English speaker with the connivance of Pauker until Bond reminded them forcibly that they were on British territory and he, for one, would see to it that the most important part of Landsea ’89, namely Stewards’ Meeting, would be called off if they were not honest with him.

  Admiral Pauker became belligerent, shouting at Bond, telling him that he was the highest-ranking officer on board – ‘I am the entire head of the Soviet Navy. I will have you stripped of rank, ground to dust, for speaking like this!’ he ended.

  ‘Do as you will, Admiral, but as I am in charge of security for the whole of Stewards’ Meeting, I can also make demands, and I’m not putting up with Mr Stura’s games. He speaks English and understands it. I know it, he knows it. We all know it. So, no more games.’

  The Russians disappeared, slightly cowed, and Bond sent the marine guard to get Mr Camm.

  Moggy Camm bore out his partner’s story, and answered all the questions quickly and with no hesitation. They had agreed that Ted Brinkley would take tonight’s duty with Gould. Moggy was due to relieve him at dawn. He had seen and heard nothing out of the ordinary until the activity outside his cabin, then the marine and his sergeant wakening him.

  There were other obligatory questions. What time had he turned in? About eleven. Did you see anyone or anything before then? He had taken a drink with the other two Russians, and Bruce Trimble, the black American. They had a special little messdeck, with alcohol on tap – one of the small CPO messdecks which had been set aside for their relaxation. They had all retired about the same time. You all come down together? Yes.

  One at a time he went through the other bodyguards. Bruce Trimble backed Moggy and the two Russians. The Russians backed everybody else.

  The other American Secret Service man, Stanley Hare, had turned in early, ‘At the same time as Ed. We talked a while; Trimble came back and we all grabbed a few Zs.’ No, he had not heard Ed leave the cabin. In spite of the noise from the Tannoy system, Stan had heard nothing until the marine banged on the door. ‘In our job, you learn to sleep on a clothes line.’

  Everyone was exceptionally helpful, so he sent for the marine sergeant.

  Sergeant Harvey was your typical Royal Marines sergeant with no time for messing around with excuses.

  Bond put it to him straight, and he answered just as clearly.

  ‘I understand there was a problem over who was doing the guard duty down here, Sarn’t Harvey.’

  ‘Considerable problem, yes, sir.”

  ‘How considerable?’

  ‘When the balloon went up, as expected, at 23.59, all marines went to their action stations, sir. I, as duty sergeant, should have spotted the problem at once. I didn’t, sir.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Around 00.20 hours, I realised we had nobody down here. We’re stretched
as it is – 42 Commando not having to do anything unless there’s a real flap on – so I sent two marines down with instructions to do one hour, then report to me. I had meant to sort out a couple more, but I didn’t, sir. My fault, I take any blame. The two on duty down here were authorised to go back to their normal posts. When I remembered, I gave the orders on the bulkhead telephone. My fault, sir. Easy as that. I’ve questioned all concerned. Between them they reckon the posts were left without guard for ten minutes. Me, being what I am, would add another five for luck.’

  ‘There’s no blame, sarn’t. One of those things, but what you’re saying is that people would be free to come and go between the prohibited areas for at least fifteen minutes. From around what? 01.15 and 01.30 hours?’

  ‘About that, sir.’

  ‘Right. Thank you.’

  There were still three people he needed to talk with. Clover, the luscious Nikki, and one other mentioned in the disturbing list of naval personnel the late Ed Morgan had wanted checking out. He could leave getting reports back on the Russians, but his own kind would have to be looked into now.

  He was dog-tired, and there was little likelihood of getting any sleep for at least another twenty-four hours, so he stretched, jammed his cap on and went up to the highly secure holy of holies, the Communications Room, set on the first deck, directly below Flight Operations and the bridge. An aggressive marine challenged him and he showed the pass which had been issued to him, together with other materials on joining Invincible. Apart from Sir John Walmsley, the communications staff would probably be the only ones who realised their special Security Officer was really a disguised ‘funny’. The Duty Communications Officer certainly did, you could tell by his eyes, and the quick flick of his head when Bond showed him his authority for using the Intelligence Computer which had a direct satellite link with GCHQ, Cheltenham.

  They exchanged code words, and a few heads were raised as the Communications Officer took him across the busy room to the little sealed-off area, opening the door and following him in to boot up the big Cray Computer. Once done, the DCO tactfully left him alone.

  The beast’s screen shimmered green, and Bond typed in the first set of digits that would wake up the lads in Cheltenham.

  STATE AUTHORITY the computer asked him in large black letters.

  Bond typed in MERRY-GO-ROUND.

  GIVE BACK-UP flashed on to the computer.

  26980/8 Bond typed.

  TYPE OF INFORMATION REQUIRED? queried the silent machine.

  DATA ON ROYAL NAVY PERSONNEL SERVING NOW BIRDSNEST TWO he told it.

  WHAT OPS? it asked.

  LANDSEA ’89 AND POSSIBLY STEWARDS’ MEETING. SPECIFICS:

  STATE FULL DOSSIERS OR RELEVANT SECURITY CLEARANCE BOTH INPUT NAMES – SURNAME FOLLOWED BY GIVEN NAME AND RANK IF KNOWN

  Bond methodically typed in the list recalled from Ed Morgan’s last words on earth.

  In a matter of seconds, the machine began to throw dossiers at him on the screen. One at a time they came, and he could scroll up and down them, reading the official lives of all those Morgan had requested. He went through six dossiers and selected the ‘OK’ on each when he had finished.

  The seventh was LEADING WREN DEELEY, SARAH.

  The response came up, fast and flashing—

  NO LEADING WREN DEELEY, SARAH ATTACHED TO BIRDSNEST TWO PLEASE WAIT

  He waited. Then—

  NO LEADING WREN DEELEY, SARAH SHOWS ON RECORD. PLEASE REPORT YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER IMMEDIATELY

  The name had rung a bell. Yes, he recalled the pyjamad figure as he hurried towards the heads with Clover. Clover had sharply told her to get back into her cabin.

  So, he would now see Clover and Nikki. Then, last of all, the non-existent Leading Wren Sarah Deeley. There was no way he could report anything to his superior officer.

  Bond went back to his cabin and sent a message out that he required to see First Officer Pennington WRNS, immediately.

  12

  WILL YOU JOIN THE DANCE?

  He had sent for coffee, and now sat sipping the strong, black brew. Across the desk, Clover Pennington, looking nervous, picked up her cup – white; no sugar.

  ‘Clover, the situation is quite simple. The guards were off for about ten minutes. I know that. Then one of them, with you in tow, came banging at my door just after twenty-five past one. So, in those ten minutes two things happened. First Ed Morgan left the cabin he was sharing with two other American bodyguards and went to the Wrens’ heads. We don’t know why. Maybe he had a date. Maybe he wanted to be somewhere he was unlikely to be disturbed, the Wrens’ heads was the most likely place he could be alone.’ The second choice, Bond knew, was the most probable truth.

  ‘While he was there, someone came in behind him and slit his throat. Quickly, quietly, and very efficiently. It could have been one of his buddies, or one of the Russians, even Moggy Camm, one of Admiral Sir Geoffrey Gould’s Flag Lieueys. On the other hand, it could have been the Russian lady . . .’

  ‘Nikki the Rat?’ she said it with no trace of humour.

  ‘Nikki, yes. Or, First Officer Pennington, it could have been you, or one of your girls. We still have to discuss the question of how Morgan’s body was found. You said it was one of your Wrens. Which one?’

  ‘Leading Wren Deeley.’ Her hand shook, lifting the cup. So much so that she had to put her other hand up to steady it.

  ‘Okay, Clover. We both know whose side you’re on, because you came storming into the villa on Ischia, having almost had me killed . . .’

  She suddenly appeared to steady herself. ‘I saved your life as it happens. We blew the BAST girl to hell and gone. You were there. We triggered that explosion before you could get close. It was, as they say, a button job.’

  ‘Right, Clover. After spending time with me at Northanger you went back to Yeovilton and collected your girls. Girls you’d already worked with.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then how do you explain Leading Wren Deeley? The girl who found friend Morgan’s body?’

  She took another sip of coffee, then said, ‘James, I just can’t explain her. Those last few weeks at Yeovilton were spent going through all the drills with the girls – all the stuff we would have to do for Stewards’ Meeting. I came back from Northanger and one of my Leading Wrens had gone sick. They had simply put Deeley in her place. I had a bit of a row with the Executive Officer about it. I also had to go through the training with Deeley on her own. Thank God, she’s smart and a quick study, as they say in the theatre.’

  Bond looked into her eyes. They were steady and nothing stirred or moved within them. ‘You baby-sat me in Ischia with a team, right?’

  ‘You know it’s right.’

  ‘And you’re still watching my back here, in Invincible?’

  ‘Part of my orders, yes. It isn’t easy, James.’

  He let the pause hang between them for almost a minute. ‘I’ve checked you out, Clover. You appear to be absolutely clean.’

  ‘What d’you mean? Checked me out?’

  ‘I’ve been onto our records in London with a list of names. You come out clean, and you’ve done all the courses for my particular service.’

  ‘Of course I have. Damn it, I’ve been in the Royal Navy for six years.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you run a check on Deeley?’

  ‘I didn’t think it . . .’

  Bond hit the desk with the flat of his palm. ‘Who do you think was responsible for Ed Morgan’s death?’

  She gave a long sigh, ‘Nikki the Rat. She arrived in the heads very conveniently, just after Deeley found the body.’

  ‘Don’t be naïve, Clover. You saw the state of those heads, they were awash with blood. We made one hell of a mess in the corridors just getting the body looked at and moved. Footprints all over the place. When we arrived – you, me and the marine – there was one set of smudged footprints leading out. Deeley, you say, found the body, followed quickly by Nikki Ratnikov. Deeley actually went
into the heads, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ A very small voice.

  ‘Nikki stood outside the bulkhead and screamed her head off, right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then Deeley came out. In a state? You haven’t told me any of this, yet. But I’m presuming it. Am I right?’

  She took a long sip of coffee. ‘The screaming woke me. After all, my cabin’s almost opposite the heads.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I came out and there was Nikki screaming . . .’

  ‘Standing just outside the bulkhead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Deeley was inside, with her feet paddling in blood?’

  A quick, almost reluctant, nod. ‘She was in a state. Just standing there looking at the body and the blood. Frozen there. I thought she’d have hysterics. She could have caught them quite easily from the Russian, who was making one hell of a din.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘The marine guard came running. He said something about reporting to you.’

  ‘Which he did, with you on his heels. You got to me a couple of minutes after him. What happened in that couple of minutes?’

  ‘Nikki faded away, sobbing her heart out.’

  ‘And you told Deeley to come out?’

  ‘Yes.’ Again the little nod.

  ‘You saw she was dripping blood all over the place from her feet?’

  ‘I told her to wait a minute and got a towel from my cabin. She wiped off her feet and I told her to get back to her cabin. I said I’d talk to her later.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen her. She seems to be in shock. There are three other girls in her cabin, they’re helping to calm her down. Actually I got the doc to give her something. Sedative.’

  ‘You realise that, unless the killer got out very quickly, Deeley’s your main suspect? One set of smudged, bloody footprints, which ended suddenly along the passage, when we got there. Deeley’s, we presume, with her feet wiped off with your towel. What was she wearing?’