Death Is Forever

by John Gardner

  ‘And when the American and British Services became concerned, you took out the controllers?’

  ‘Of course. Your Ford Puxley and the American, Liz Cearns, were getting dangerously close.’

  ‘Who did kill them?’

  ‘Harry, of course.’ He looked surprised, as though it was a foregone conclusion, then he gave a little laugh. ‘A clever man, Heini Spraker. He said to me, “Wolfie, if we’re going to take them out, let’s do it in a way that’ll leave a message: in a manner which stamps Cold War all over them.” I agreed, naturally. So, Puxley went by a flyswat, and that nice Liz Cearns died from a cyanide pistol.’ His eyes became dreamy. ‘You know, the Cearns business was an historic event. The pistol Harry used was the last of its kind. I picked it up at Moscow Centre some years ago as a museum piece. KGB haven’t made things like that recently. It’s probably worth thousands to a collector of Cold War memorabilia.’

  ‘And what about Easy St John and myself?’

  ‘Ah.’ His head rocked to one side, the pink face assuming a mask of apology. ‘We had no quarrel with you or the girl. I never intended that you should be killed.’

  ‘But you tried.’

  ‘Not really. The spiders were a kind of warning. We thought you’d get the message. That was an off-the-cuff thing. A bit of macabre humour.’

  ‘Yes, very droll.’

  ‘Oh come, James. It was fun for us. We really did think you’d take it as a caution.’

  ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘No. No, of course you didn’t. I should have known better. Anyway, I had you under control very quickly.’

  ‘Putting Axel Ritter in to pose as Tester – Heini Spraker?’

  ‘It worked . . .’

  ‘For a while, yes.’

  ‘James. Oh, James.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘If only you had not been so violent. Axel made sure you would be on the train to Paris, and we had a nice little operation going. I used two of my very best boys . . .’

  ‘Felix Utterman and Hexie Weiss?’

  Weisen’s tubby chest expanded and contracted in a heavy sigh. ‘Felix and Hexie, yes. They were so good, and, truly, James, we still didn’t intend to hurt you. Neither you nor the girl. You were to have been taken from the train and hidden away until my current business was completed.’ The pink billiard ball of a head shook very slowly. ‘If only you hadn’t been so impetuous. I began to get very cross with you after Felix and Hexie were – well, killed. You shouldn’t have done that, James. No, it was very wrong, particularly as we meant you no harm.’

  I bet, Bond thought. He also contemplated the truth. He did not believe for a moment that someone like Wolfgang Weisen would not have disposed of Easy and himself.

  ‘Yes, very cross. Yet I still didn’t intend to have you killed. You must know that. After all, Claude Gaspard and Michelle let you go. They allowed you to walk away in Paris.’

  He recalled having been surprised, on reflection, that Cold Claude and Big Michelle had just let him go. ‘But old Claude came looking for us again, pretty quickly.’

  ‘I was somewhat discomposed with Claude over that.’ He sounded like an affected parson giving the text for his sermon.

  ‘Because he came after us again?’

  ‘No. James, you can be very dense.’ His petulant voice. ‘I was angry with Claude because he did a botched job. He should’ve taken you inside the hotel. Never, never try and take people illegally in the street: too many bystanders, too much room. I thought Claude knew better.’

  ‘By then you had decided to do away with us?’

  ‘Not altogether, no. But you were with Praxi. I wanted her. Oh dear, yes. I wanted her very badly. And I think my dear Monika was also keen to assist in debriefing her. James, it’s a pity you didn’t have time to get to know Monika. She’s changed my life. The things that woman can do for a man.’ His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, then he switched, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Praxi really was good. Very good. She evaded everyone. Clever. Clever as a monkey. But I have her now, so that’s all right.’ The beam again. He could have been practising to play Santa at a Christmas party.

  ‘What of Axel Ritter and the little fellow? The one we called The Jockey? Dmitri?’

  ‘Dmitri Druvitch, yes. Pity about him. Dmitri was quite efficient. I used him a great deal. Family settled in Paris. Originally Ukrainians. Oh, it would have been Dmitri’s grandfather who left Russia and went to France a long while ago. Poor little Dmitri, he didn’t even speak any Russian, but he was a true member of the party. Worked hard.’

  ‘His death, Wolfie? Axel seemed to think Cabal was responsible. Do you know what happened? What really happened?’

  Weisen raised his head, and Bond could have sworn there were tears in his eyes. ‘Such good men, and you were the cause of their deaths. Felix, Hexie, Axel Ritter, the two men I sent to winkle you out of the Cipriani – yes, they both died. I have friends with the emergency services here. Both are dead. Then there was Carlo, and little Dmitri. Good men, and because of you, James, and Gus Wimper, they’re dead.’

  ‘You, Wolfie, did away with a lot of good men and women.’

  Weisen’s face showed a mask of surprise, as though Bond was falsely accusing him. ‘That was very different, James, and you know it.’

  ‘Who killed Dmitri, Wolfgang?’

  ‘Axel didn’t know what to do when he got to Paris. He expected to arrive on his own, and little Dmitri was at the station to meet him. Of course, you and the American girl were still around. I think it was all very confusing for both of them. But there was another small problem. Axel and Dmitri were very close. Almost too close, if you follow me.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I really couldn’t tell the truth to Axel. It would have upset him. Possibly turned him against me.’

  ‘And the truth?’

  There was a long pause. Somewhere, far off it seemed, a bell tolled. ‘You’re right, I have to be honest with you. Dmitri’s death had absolutely nothing to do with you, or Ms St John, or Cabal. It was a necessary internal discipline. You see, Dmitri was a thief. He stole from both Harry and myself. Money mostly. A great deal of money. Operational funds that I’ve built up over many years.’

  Yes, Bond thought to himself, you built up your so-called operational funds as a comfortable fallback, a hedge against hard times.

  Weisen was still speaking. ‘You say he looked like a jockey, well, he liked horses – the old story: slow horses and fast women. We had known for a month. In fact he had been a dead man for a month, only we were worried about Axel’s reaction. I couldn’t afford to lose him as well – though I did lose him in the end, didn’t I?’

  ‘So, you had Dmitri killed.’

  ‘It was the only way. He knew – as all my people know – that I am a strong disciplinarian. I believe he knew that death was near for him. Claude set it up. A feint at Axel, then the stabbing of Dmitri. As his man, who was very expert, ran off, he shouted, “That’s from Bruin.” It certainly hardened Axel’s heart towards Cabal. From that point of view, it was a success. It stiffened Axel Ritter’s resolve. Next question.’

  ‘Your plans? What are you planning now?’

  ‘James.’ Admonishing. ‘James, James, James. Even though you are a condemned man, I can’t possibly talk about that. This is a technical matter. We just don’t discuss operational moves. If the tables were turned, you’d be the same. We cannot talk about . . . There, I nearly said a name. But I just can’t talk about it. Not even with a dead man like yourself.’

  One more try, he thought. The devil in cherub’s clothing obviously wanted desperately to show off, explain how clever he was, or even tell more. ‘Wolfie, if I’m a dead man, then it won’t hurt. Just give me a hint.’

  ‘One tiny hint, then. By tomorrow night, Europe will be rocked on its heels. The Stock Markets of the European Community – and heaven knows they’re in difficulties as a Community already – will cry havoc. Destabilisation will sweep across Europe like the Black Death. T
here, that’s all. Now, I think, it’s my turn to ask the questions.’

  He sounded very firm. The only thing to be done was effect some kind of escape, then drive Weisen to reveal what he was up to. Bond nodded in agreement.

  ‘Good.’ The beam broadened across Weisen’s face and he jiggled up and down like an excited child, drumming his feet again. ‘This is fun. Now, I don’t require much. All I really need to know is, are either your Service, or the Americans, aware of this place? Do they know I’m in Venice?’

  ‘Probably. They’ve almost certainly put two and two together by now. I can’t give you details, but I’d say the answer was yes. Yes, they know you’re in Venice.’

  ‘How will they react to that?’

  ‘I really have no idea.’

  ‘Will they send in a back-up team when they find you and the lady are missing?’

  ‘Not immediately. In a day or two, possibly.’

  He leaned forward, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘Not immediately. Oh, wonderful. You’re telling me the truth? Not immediately.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘And have either your Service or the Americans suggested they have intelligence on any operation I might – just might, mind you – be planning in Europe?’

  ‘No.’ Firm and unequivocal.

  ‘Good. You’re a great agent, James. The British will be losing an experienced, fine and loyal man. I hope they appreciate this. If all goes well for me, I shall personally see to it that you are honoured in some small way. Unlike the present regime in Germany, I do not intend to hound those who have done sterling service for my one-time enemies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do before I leave tonight. It’s been a pleasure talking with you and, I hope, putting your mind at rest.’

  Bond rose with a shrug. ‘How long have we got?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. An hour. Maybe a little longer. I don’t leave until tonight, but, unfortunately, I think all my people here will have to come with me. I had not planned it that way. So I shall go out for a turn through the streets, when the time comes. When Dominic and Dorian . . . You know?’

  ‘I’m sure we can all compose ourselves in an hour.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He raised his voice a fraction, calling for Harry Spraker, who was through the door with the pair of fair-haired heavies before Bond even turned to meet them.

  Weisen stuck out a chubby hand, with its small fat fingers. ‘A pleasure to have met you, Captain Bond.’

  He turned away, not giving Weisen a nod, let alone a handshake.

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re going to be like that. Go, and good riddance to you.’ Wolfgang issued some rapid orders. Dominic and Dorian could not wait to get their hands on him, hustling him from the room, down the stairs, then into the kitchen, through the door and into the cellar.

  They unlocked the gate to the cell and Dominic threw him in, Dorian standing back threatening – or more likely inciting – the others with his Uzi.

  Easy, Praxi, Gus and Bruin stood against the far wall of the cell.

  ‘See you soon.’ Dominic turned the key and the deadlock went home with a clunk.

  ‘See you very soon,’ Dorian parroted. Then, ‘See you for the last time.’

  They left, switching off the main light, then the bulb in the stairwell, leaving only a small nightlight bulb burning high above their heads, behind the bars of the cell.

  The place felt damp and depressing. The anxiety came off the others in a great wave, and, in its wake a sense of desolation. This, he thought, was what it would have been like for many in the Lubyanka waiting for death; or further back, in the cells housing those earmarked for the Guillotine during the French Revolution.

  Easy was the most upset. She threw her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder, sobbing. He made soothing noises and gradually she pulled back. ‘I didn’t expect to fall in love with you so quickly, James, my dear. Sorry about the floodgates. It’s just all so unfair. I’ve found you, now I’m going to lose you.’

  ‘We’re all going to lose everything,’ Praxi said softly. ‘Unless . . . ?’ Her eyes were bright with what was probably the last remnant of hope as she looked at Bond, who turned to Gus, making signals with his hands, asking, in effect, if he thought the cell was bugged.

  Gus shook his head. ‘No way, James. They’re all too busy anyhow.’

  ‘You got a plan?’ Bruin asked eagerly.

  ‘Maybe not a plan.’ He spoke very low, the others craning in to hear him. ‘But I do have the means if they give us enough time, and if luck’s with us.’ He bent and kissed Easy lightly on the neck, whispering, ‘You know, I didn’t expect to fall in love either.’ He felt his own emotions well up as he realised he meant it, knowing that this was the woman for him. ‘But I did fall in love with you, Easy – funny little toughie that you are. It’s only really happened once or twice in my life.’ This was crazy. He had hardly talked with her about anything but the job they were doing; he did not know if she liked hard rock, jazz or Wagner; they had spent one night together on a train; he knew nothing of her background, and all the other things one should know. Yet, there he was: looking at her and loving her.

  ‘Truly?’ She looked at him, eyes shining. ‘Then we must get out.’

  ‘Yes, my thoughts exactly.’ He looked at each one of them in turn, holding their eyes in his for a few seconds, willing himself to pass hope into their hearts and minds. Gus, who had proved to be such a staunch ally; big Bruin, with his daft face and huge muscles; Praxi, who had been through so much already, and Easy, who, almost in a second, had come to mean something very dear to him. ‘Now, this is what I’m going to try and do,’ he began. ‘It’s only going to work if they give us the time, and if I manage to pull it off, you’ll all have parts to play. If it works, we have to act in harmony, and we’ll only get the one chance.’ He spoke, fast and decisively, going through the part each would have to play. Then he began to work on the first moves that could just give them the edge on Weisen’s death squad.

  The small bulb, high above them, gave the most light towards the back of the cell. He found the ideal spot and slipped off his belt.

  The buckle was an unusual design: a silver square D-ring with two tines, instead of the usual one. The strong metal tines unscrewed easily, and once out they proved to be just as Ann Reilly of Q Branch had described. Made of hard steel, both were telescopic so that, fully extended, they each formed a metal probe, a little under four inches long.

  He went to the other end of the belt, found the dividing line in the stitching, and pulled the two overlapping pieces of leather apart. The stitches broke easily, and on the inside, cushioned by soft material, were a series of other small metal objects, so skilfully hidden that even a detailed examination of the belt had not revealed them.

  Choosing two of these thin hard-tempered steel tips, Bond screwed them onto the extended tines, then lifted the objects, smiling with relief. They were instantly recognisable. One was a typical lock pick, with a slightly curved end; the other, a tension wrench, curved at a 90 degree angle, with an almost flat end.

  The pair of tools could be the first way to escape, for they were the only instruments required to pull back the bolt on the gate lock.

  It took almost ten minutes of probing within the keyhole. The tools were small, but strong, and Bond finally managed to hold the pick lock and tension wrench in the exact position to simulate the key. For a second, as he was moving the picks to draw back the bolt, he thought they might break under the strain, but slowly the bolt came back and at last slipped free with a heavy thump.

  ‘Now, the rest is going to be really tricky. Bruin.’ He opened the gate.

  The tall, strong Bruin smiled, nodded and walked softly into the main cellar. Within thirty seconds he was back, having reached up and unscrewed the light bulb which was the main illumination outside the cell. The switch was at the bottom of the stairs, and on both occasions he had been into the cellar, Bond noted th
at they tripped the switch at the top of the stairs first, then, the last man down would flip the second switch, lighting the cellar.

  He took the bulb gently, whispering that should he make a mess of what he was attempting, they would have to resort to a more simple, and definitely more dangerous method. He held the metal screw portion in one hand and the glass bulb in the other, gently turning and twisting, trying to loosen glass from metal. It can be done, and he had practised it many times in a recent training refresher course on booby traps. He did not tell the others that only about one attempt in four had been successful. With care, you can separate the glass at the neck of the bulb from the metal. The vacuum within the glass also goes, but the filaments remain on the stem, and the stem keeps contact with the metal base. A bulb, thus tampered with, will spark and fuse when switched on, but that spark is enough to ignite a charge. After a few minutes the glass began to crunch away at the neck. He was able to turn the rest of the bulb and draw it down so that a gap showed between the neck and the metal. The filaments were still intact.

  In this case, the charge would come from the flash powder and explosive in the small cartridge-like stun grenade he had palmed before the search. Using the pick which he had used on the lock, he eased away the thick waxed cardboard ring at the base of the grenade, then pressed the cylinder to form a pouring lip. Slowly the sand-like substances were transferred from the grenade to the inside of the light bulb.

  It took almost twenty minutes. He did not want to lose a grain of the mixture, for he had devised this method because it would be the most simple way of shocking and distracting Dominic and Dorian as they came into the cell. If they had been forced into using the cartridge-like grenade by itself, it would have meant throwing it through the bars, thus alerting the pair long before he, and the others, could expect to overpower them. Now, the pouring finished, he jammed the glass neck back into the metal stem, and, whispering a word of caution to Bruin, handed the doctored bulb back to the big man.

  They could not see Bruin rescrewing the bulb into place, though the soft scraping sounds made them collectively hold their breath. Bond realised that his palms were now soaked with sweat as he waited. The final test would come when the bulb was in place, and the glass had not fallen to shatter their chances on the stone flagged floor.