by John Gardner
`And?" `And he is nowhere near Athens, and not likely to be until December when he has agreed to take part in a joint meeting with other Arab leaders, together with representatives from the British and United States governments. Dame Kiri's going to be in Milan for the second week in December doing three performances of Tosca, and making one charity appearance in the Cathedral, on the night of the thirteenth.
Arafat is due to arrive in Athens on December the fourteenth. All that's a long time off, but if Dragonpol's up to his usual 202
form, he's planning to do those two in a row. Of course, there's always Paris." `I have one idea about Paris, but it really doesn't bear thinking about, and there's no way that Dragonpol could have any advance warning." `Then keep it to yourself until we've talked to Bodo." As if on cue, the telephone rang and within seconds Fredericka was having an animated conversation with the Swiss detective.
Finally she put the telephone down and turned to face him. `He will have all the information we need by tomorrow, and we are to meet him for lunch." `So?" `So, we're on holiday, unless David Dragonpol comes calling. Why don't I go and change into something loose and stimulating while you call down for room service?" As Fraulein von Grusse said the next morning, it was a night during which they both deserved to be awarded gold medals. `World champions,' Bond agreed with a sly smile.
They were seated at a small restaurant in Milan's famous Gallerie possibly the world's first shopping mall, Fredericka said lunching in style and watching all the girls go by. Bond had said that he thought the smartest women in the world were to be found in Milan, and Fredericka, after only a few minutes, said she felt positively dowdy.
LemPke arrived on the dot of twelve noon.
`You've got everything?" Fredericka asked.
`Funnies." Bodo made his clown's la' looked from side to side furtively. `For you. Don't know why I put my the lamb for you.
`I think you mean on a limb, Bodo, but I know you do it for me because you love me to distraction." Fredericka took a long sip of her wine, looking up at the fat cop from under batting eyelids.
Bodo followed her lead with his glass of red.
`Adds more to my little pink cells, eh?" He refused to say anything worth hearing until he had eaten. `If lam playing hockey from my job, then at least someone should buy me a good meal,' he announced.
It took Bodo a good ninety minutes to dispatch antipasto, minestrone, spaghetti alla Milanese, and a huge piece of disgustingly rich chocolate cake.
With thick cream. When the coffee was served he wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled back.
`I think I told you everything already, but your friend with the strange name, the David Dragonpol, isn't about to start killing anyone here in Milan, or Athens. Mind you, it would not surprise me if he tried to knock the pair of you into oblivion." `Contacts,' Fredericka prodded. `I asked you to fix up some discreet contacts for us here in Milan.
`Sure. I done it. Just like you asked. But, as I said, I'm not going tolose my pension for a couple of busybody funnies.
`So who is he?" `Who is who?" `The contact you've arranged?" `Ah, I have to take you to him. Cloak and dagger." He laid a pudgy finger against the side of his nose. `The pair of you should know all about cloaks and daggers." `One question. Bond, rightly, felt that somewhere along the way he had been left out.
`Just one small question to put me into the picture." `Sure." Bodo gave him another of his clown's faces.
`You seem to have done some snooping and also arranged things for us. How do we know Dragonpol's still here in Milan?" `Trust us, James." Fredericka laid a hand on his sleeve. `If Bodo's here, then Dragonpol is almost certainly still in town. Someone had to get in touch with authority, and that's just what I've done, through Bodo. We can't do this alone." She turned to Lempke who was looking at the bill with a face which spoke of heart attacks.
`You bought lunch for the entire restaurant." He passed the slip of paper over to Bond, who paid with a credit card.
`Okay,' Bodo appeared much relieved. `Okay, I take you to my man now. Come.
None of them even noticed the dapper Englishman dressed in navy blazer and slacks, one hand smoothing a mane of grey hair, the other clutching a stout walking stick with a brass duck's head handle. The Englishman had been sitting only a few tables from them. Now, as they left the restaurant, he too paid his bill and followed them, at a distance, as they walked out on to the street.
The traffic was snarled in a way unique to Milan, the air heavy with the smell of diesel and gasoline. Bodo sniffed. `The end of summer,' he said. `Soon, you won't be able to get a flight in or out.
Always the same in Milan. Come autumn and the place gets socked in.
Soon it will be time for the smog again." He lifted a hand, and a sleek Ferrari seemed to materialize out of the banked-up traffic, snaking over and pulling up by the curb.
`Have to be quick or we'll get a ticket." Bodo hustled them in, and the driver, a short young man with the eyes of a pickpocket, smiled and nodded.
`Just going for a little ride, like the old gangster movies say.
A ride in the country." On the pavement, outside the Gallene, the very obvious Englishman, with his military blazer and the stick with the duck's head handle, watched them drive away. He saw other cars, weaving behind them in the traffic and he frowned. There was no way he would be able to follow them now.
He made a small, petulant gesture with his head, then turned back to find a telephone. The meddling Swiss woman and her English boyfriend would have to return to their hotel, and he had plenty of time. Everyone would wait, but one person had to know what was going on if the whole business was to be pulled off with a minimum of fuss.
Somebody had to be lured, and he knew just the woman to do the luring.
`There are a couple of cars on our tail,' Bond said as they pulled away. `A black Fiat, and a dark green Lamborghini. Possibly a taxi as well." `Good." Bodo turned to him and smiled. `We don't want unauthorized vehicles on our tail, do we?" Within minutes they were taking the road out of Milan, heading towards Lake Como and Cernobbio.
`We wouldn't be going to the Villa d'Este by any chance?" Bond asked.
`You know Milan well?" Bodo gave him another smile.
`I know the Villa d'Este. It's pretty high profile for a secret meeting with your contact. Also, your man must be a very well-connected Italian policeman if we're meeting him there." `Who said he was a policeman? Anyway, you'd be surprised who stays at the Villa d'Este these days." With that, Bodo made himself comfortable and appeared to go to sleep.
The Villa d'Este is, arguably, one of Italy's greatest hotels.
For almost five centuries it was a private estate on the shores of Lake Como, some thirty miles from Milan. For over a hundred years it has been a summer oasis for the rich and noble: a refreshing gem set in parkland, with tennis courts, swimming pool, horses, an eighteen-hole golf course and amazing Lombardian food. Its famous park and terrace have been the meeting place for deposed and reigning royalty, politicans, and people whose names are legends, while the service approaches the grandeur of a lost age.
They were expected. Bond spotted two security men watching in the parkland, and a small black van placed strategically near the main entrance.
Ten miles from the hotel, a pair of nondescript bikers had pulled in front of their car, while the other vehicles he had spotted, as they left Milan, now closed up in convoy. They swept up to the main entrance like a visiting presidential party, and an overtly plainclothed policeman opened the door.
`Straight through to the elevators. Suite one-twenty on the first floor." He spoke in almost unaccented English and escorted them through the grand foyer and up to one-twenty, where he tapped softly at the door, and ushered them in.
`James, how nice to see you. And this must be the lovely Fraulein Von Grusse." M sat, looking incongruous, behind a delicate Louis XV desk. Bill Tanner stood beside one of the windows, and a short Armaniand Gucci-clad Italian hovered in the back
ground. Bond quickly introduced Fredericka to his Chief, and M took her hand, holding it for considerably longer than necessary.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AT THE VILLA D'ESTE
`Do sit down, the pair of you." M waved them towards chairs, and they realized that Bodo Lempke had somehow disappeared along the way.
`I did say that I'd be in touch, James." He was in a suspiciously good humour, and Bond must have shown surprise. `Incidentally, your nice Swiss policeman's returned to his duty. Good man, Lempke. As soon as he was able to answer Fraulein von Grusse's questions, he did the right thing and got straight on to us. Filled us in with all the details we did not know, and arranged the little clandestine runaround, so that we would be able to have a talk without any interruptions." He smiled as though this were all a game. `You didn't think we'd let you get into difficulties in that odd German castle, did you?" `I didn't notice any surveillance, sir.
`Good. You failed to spot anyone at Brown's, I recall, which means my people are much better than MIS's Watcher Section. Rest assured, though, we have been tracking you all the way.
And now we've reached the really dangerous part, James, bearing in mind that we now know what we're up against." `We do?" `Tell them, Chief of Staff." M moved his head slightly in the direction of Bill Tanner.
`Friend Dragonpol needs to be corralled." Tanner spoke in a low voice, as though he were about to let them into some terrible and highly confidential secret. `Unhappily we have no solid evidence.
Nothing on which to pull him in. What we're dealing with here is a man with a deadly aberration, only we can't prove it, which means we have to catch him in the act." `What kind of aberration?" from Bond.
`In some ways the man is almost certainly a serial killer, but one with a particularly nasty quirk." He took a deep breath. `We've run everything through records, the computers, and the Americans at Quantico who deal with serial killer profiles. What we've finally come up with is a real ticking bomb." He paused again as though waiting for some signal. M nodded.
`Dragonpol announced his retirement at the end of eighty-nine, and it took effect in nineteen-ninety." Tanner spoke as though he had learned a lesson by heart. `Here are the statistics.
February nineteen-ninety, in the space of three days, a known terrorist was shot dead on the street in Madrid; a Scandinavian politician died in a bomb blast in Helsinki; and an elderly, revered musician was killed when the brakes of his car failed a few miles outside Lisbon. Later, it was proved beyond doubt that the brakes had been bled purposely. The Portuguese police are still investigating that one as murder, the other two have been presumed acts of terrorism, but no group has claimed responsibility.
`And...?" Bond began, but M held up a hand.
`Let him finish!" he commanded sharply.
`November nineteen-ninety,' Tanner continued.
`In the space of two days there were terrorist acts in Berlin and Brussels. Two known members of the Abu Nidal organization were killed by some kind of silenced weapon as they sat in the lounge of the Steigenberger Hotel. Nobody saw it happen, nobody heard it, nobody claimed responsibility.
On the following morning a senior American officer died when a bomb totalled his car during the rush hour in Brussels. Again, nobody claimed responsibility.
`But do we `Please, James, there's more.
Bond shrugged, resigned to waiting out the list of deaths and disasters.
`April ninety-one,' Tanner consulted a clipboard. `London, New York and Dublin. Three days this time. A close friend of the British Royal Family run down by a Mercedes Benz which was never identified.
Happened in the Strand at ten in the morning. The car was found two miles away.
There is no doubt that this was not a normal hit and run. The man was murdered. Again, no responsibility. On the following afternoon, outside the Waldorf Astoria, in New York, an American diplomat was wait for it shot dead with a bolt from a high-powered hunting bow. On the sidewalk and in front of at least thirty people. No -leads and no claims. On the next afternoon, a woman entered a bar just off Stephen's Green in Dublin, pulled a pistol out of her handbag and shot an Irish politician dead. Everyone thought it was the Provos, because the fellow was outspoken against the Provisional IRA. But they denied having anything to do with it. Neither was it some extra-marital scandal.
`December ninety-one. A double header: Paris and Monaco. A diplomat in his Paris office and an internationally famous lawyer leaving his hotel after lunch in Monaco. Both shot in the head at close range. No witnesses. No responsibility.
`Lastly we have this year's little series of tragedies. The General in Rome; Archie Shaw in London; Pavel Gruskochev in Paris, and the CIA man in Washington. Followed, of course, by the tragic death of Laura March in Switzerland..." Bond could not hold back any longer.
`This is all very well, but can we tie them to...
`To David Dragonpol, James? Yes. Or I should say that we know he was not in Schloss Drache, or the place in Ireland, or in Cornwall, at the relevant times. The rest is hazy. We have documented proof that he was in the countries concerned either on the days of all these killings, or within a few hours of the killings. The man used two passports blatantly his own in the name of David Dragonpol, and the one he used when taking little weekend trips with the late His March, under the name of her brother, David March. It's as though he wanted us to know he was around at the times of the killings.
Bond nodded. `When I questioned him, he admitted to being in Rome, London, Paris and Washington, but not at the actual time of those murders. He also said he was in the air, flying from Washington to Zurich when Laura March was killed. Do we know any more about that, and the presumed attempt on His Chantry at Brown's?" `We do actually." Bill Tanner seemed to brighten up. `The stabbing at Brown's had no connection.
The police have the man and he's confessed. It was not a murder of mistaken identity, but a rather nasty love affair that went very sour. We've also talked at great length with His Chantry. It would seem that, on reflection, her impression is that Laura March called off her engagement to Dragonpol. She was upset, of course, but that would give him a motive.
`Doesn't tie in with what Dragonpol told me.
`Would he want you to know the truth?" `Maybe not. Is Carmel Chantry still being kept safe?" `She's out of a job. They've got rid of everyone who worked closely with Grant. The man really wasn't up to it, so it's spring-cleaning time.
Chantry's been given a handsome golden handshake, and sent on her way. After all, she's in no danger now. Bond frowned. `I'm still concerned about the March killing. It really doesn't tie in. I think we should run some kind of check on Dragonpol's movements. Go through the travel records..." M stirred. `We've come to the conclusion, James, that he does have some kind of accomplice-witting or unwitting who travels quite close to him, within hours as a rule. It's the only thing that makes sense." `Why?" Bond thumped his knee with one hand.
`Why an accomplice, or why is he executing people?" M cocked his head towards Bill Tanner again.
`It would seem that he was always a kind of obsessive." Tanner flicked through the papers on his clipboard. `In his career he was so meticulous that he got carried away. In fact, that's an oddity, a quirk. He would make errors-usually rather stupid historical errors.
When they were discovered, he'd fly into towering rages and blame everyone but himself. Why does he kill in this fashion? The psychiatrists all agree that it is part of his obsession with detail, combined with his need to express himself by some devastating act. The serial profile people at Quantico maintain that he really gets his kicks in the planning stages. The actual killings are like curtain calls. They doubt if he realizes the importance of killing." Bond asked if that made sense.
`They say it does." Tanner began to quote written reports by psychiatrists, and a long paper by the head of the psychological profile people.
`We have absolutely no doubt that he's a dangerous crazy. He is also a very clever crazy, and I don't think we
could put him away with what we've got. `But how in the hell does he get his information?
I mean just take the death of Generale Carrousso.
Nobody but those really close to the Holy Father had the slightest hint that Carrousso would be in the Vatican at that time. And the Russian what about the Russian? His Press conference was called only hours before it took place." `Quite." M stirred again. `You should know that, earlier this year, in the spring, Dragonpol visited Rome, London, Paris and Washington. It is as though he were doing a dry run as we believe he is now for Milan and Athens. As to how he gets his information, I think you must understand that, during his peak years as an actor, David Dragonpol made many friends in high places. The German police have already begun to check back on the telephone logs in and out of Schloss Drache. He gets calls from the most unlikely places.
Also he makes calls in the same way." `And how do we know he's here, in Milan, at this moment?" Bond's mind had slipped far away, to the conversation about telephones which Fredericka had heard at Schloss Drache.
`Be assured that he is, Signor Bond." The beautifully dressed Italian spoke for the first time.
`Oh, James,' M actually half rose from his chair, `I'd like you to meet Gianne-Franco Orsini.
Gianne-Franco is, for want of a better word, my opposite number in Italy, and he's been very cooperative. We owe him a lot, and, by the time we're finished, you might even owe him your life." Gianne-Franco Orsini made a polite little bow.
`Believe me, Mr Bond and you, my dear Fraulein von Grusse this man, this Dragonpol, flew into Milan only a few hours before yourselves, and I have very good reason to believe he is still here.
`Casing the joint in order to kill Dame I&in in December?" M winced. `James, please try not to use criminal slang. It can offend people terribly. But, yes, it appears that he has approached one person in an attempt to get a private guided tour of La Scala.
We, or I should say, Gianne-Franco, happens to control that particular person. So the tour is on hold for a couple of days, though he could easily go with the normal daily tours. We suspect that he's seeing the sights. We also believe that, should he catch sight of you, or Fraulein von Grusse, he will switch his plans and dispose of you either here or in Athens." `So you think he'll definitely go to Athens?" `If his December timetable is going to work, he has to go to Athens, but, of course, it could all have changed by now.
