by John Gardner
“Good. Now, make the blind see.” The major looked down at the disk and removed a piece of golden tape from the centre of the eye, revealing a circle where the pupil would have been.
“You know how the GoldenEye works?”
“Yes, General. When positioned correctly the disk allows a laser beam to lance through its centre, thus initiating the firing mechanism of the satellite.”
“Good.
You have done well, Major. I think that will be all we require.” He turned to Xenia. “Colonel. You take over.
Xenia almost lazily unslung her Uzi and put two quick bursts in the direction of the two officers. Then she walked unhurriedly to the door leading to the technicians’ area and sprayed everything in sight, changing magazines with an almost robot-like perfection.
Bodies were thrown back against equipment or spun violently, showers of sparks and smoke leaped from computer work-stations. The entire business took less than thirty seconds.
In the small kitchen, Natalya Simonova spilled her coffee and looked up, horror in her eyes.
Back in the main control room Xenia bent down and removed a second firing key hanging on a silver chain from around the dead Duty Officer’s neck and went over to the long console at which Ourumov had already taken his place, throwing switches and watching the long screen light up high above the instruments.
With great precision Ourumov slid the GoldenEye disk into a slot, not unlike a CD player. He placed the day’s code card in front of him and inserted the key into a lock to the right of the point where the golden disk had slid into place. Xenia had already inserted the key taken from the Duty Officer. “On my count,’ he rapped. “Three, Two, One, Zero.’ They turned their keys in unison and the rest of the console lit up, needles flicked and the screen above them showed a segment of the earth with one of the satellites in orbit.
“Set target acquisition for Petya. Severnaya,’ the general ordered.
High above the earth’s surface, a piece of what appeared to be space junk - possibly the burned out stage of a rocket - seemed to be tumbling around in orbit, but, as the command from Severnaya leaped silently through space to wake it up, so the satellite coded Petya emitted blasts from hidden propulsion units and began to change course.
Inside the control room, both Ourumov and Xenia looked at the screen above them and saw what Natalya had been watching, less than half-an-hour before. The red symbol that was the Petya began to move rapidly, shifting from its position over the Middle East and heading at an unthinkable speed towards northern Russia.
On a lower display screen information started to ribbon out: PETYA LOCATION: 80.31.160.17 TARGET: 78.08.107.58.
Then: TIME TO TARGET: 15.43.21 Ourumov, consulting the card containing the codes, began to punch in a series of numbers. The display now flashed a further message: WEAPON ARMED.
At that very moment, panic stricken at what she could hear, Natalya knocked over her cup. In the sterile silence the noise was like a hand-grenade exploding.
Both Ourumov and Xenia jerked back.
“Check it,’ the general said in a low voice and, as Xenia walked away, so the second-in-command, sprawled in his own blood on the floor, moved. Close to death it was almost a reflex action. His hand shot up and punched one of the many alarm buttons in the room. Xenia whirled around, giving him a quick final burst from the Uzi, but it came a fraction too late, and their ears were assaulted by a sudden shrieking of warning sirens and alarms.
Xenia, pausing, looked anxiously at the general who said, “Get on with it. Their best response time is seventeen minutes. This place will be hit in less than fifteen now.
Go.” In the kitchen, Natalya pulled a chair to a point directly under the maintenance grille in the room’s ceiling, and started to work on loosening the metal. She had pulled it I, halfway down when she heard the rapid footsteps of Xenia coming hell for leather down the passageway.
Miles away, at the Anadyr air base in Siberia, three MiG23MDL “Flogger-Ks’ - hurtled off the main runway. The pilots had only just come on duty when the alarm sounded, and they received the target information literally as they were taxiing from their bunkers. In seconds they would be on their way to Severnaya Station.
Below the earth, in the small kitchen, one of the cupboard doors squeaked and opened as Natalya crawled out.
In London, James Bond was just entering the Operations Room below the Secret Intelligence Service’s headquarters.
Xenia kicked the kitchen door open, saw the broken cup and the spillage of coffee, then looked at the chair and the metal grille above it, now dangling, ripped from its setting.
She smiled grimly and lifted the Uzi spraying the entire ceiling, changing magazines and blasting away again.
Nobody hiding up there could possibly live.
Back at the console, she told Ourumov that she had dealt with the matter. He nodded with a tiny smile on his lips, then gestured towards the timers ticking down at what appeared to be a very fast pace.
“Time flies, Colonel.”
“They have a saying in the West” She grinned ~ at him.
“Time flies, particularly when you’re having fun.” He nodded again, slipped the GoldenEye disk from the console and placed it in his briefcase which he closed with the finality of a coffin lid.
“I think we should get out of here.” Using the voice print security system again, they left, once more marching in step, up the concrete stairs and out into the cold.
In less than four minutes the Tigre helicopter was starting to lift off in a cloud of snow, from which it emerged, black and sinister.
Bond went down to the Operations Room with Moneypenny who, he had to admit, was looking more than usually ravishing in a simple black dress with a gold clasp just below her right shoulder.
“Dressed to thrill,’ he murmured to himself as they got into the lift.
“I beg your pardon?” She had just caught what he had said.
Moneypenny’s hearing was almost unnaturally acute.
The old M used to say that she could hear the rumours from the powdervine directly from her office.
“I was observing that I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”
“Well, thank you, James.”
“Got some special assignment on tonight?”
“Well, I don’t sit around all the time waiting for you to call. I have a date, if you’re really interested. A date with a gentleman. We’re going to the theatre.”
“Nothing too taxing, I trust”
“Shakespeare actually.
Love’s Labours Lost”
“I’m devastated. What will I ever do without you?” She gave a coy little smile. “So far as I recall, James, you’ve never had me.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “No, but it’s often been my midsummer night’s dream.” Moneypenny turned her head away. “James, you know that kind of talk could easily be classed nowadays as sexual harassment.
“So what’s the penalty?” The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. As she stepped out, Moneypenny tossed a look over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Some day, James, you have to make good on your innuendoes.’ She led the way through to the Operations Room.
All the screens were active and the men and women who work below ground for the SIS sat at desks with smaller monitors, or listening through headphones, while senior officers examined maps and spoke quietly to each other.
Bond’s closest friend in the world of secrets, Bill Tanner, the old M’s faithful Chief of Staff, detached himself from the knot of senior officers and headed for Bond and Moneypenny, his hand stretched out. “Good to see you again, James.
“What’s going on, Bill? This looks like the old days.” He gestured at the satellite pictures coming in and the large video wall.
They all showed similar views - barren, snow-covered land with ruins and the big radio telescope dish.
“It’s more than like the old days. This time it looks very unpleasant. About ten minutes ago we intercepted an alarm signal
from the supposedly abandoned radar station at Severnaya..
“Right up north?”
“Just about as far north as you get. Just look at what our satellite intelligence picked up.” He gave an order to one of the technicians and the picture on the video wall rewound itself, froze screen and then enlarged.
“We’ve got a match. Your missing Tigre.” There it was, the black shape quite clear against the snow. The technician opened up a smaller screen next to the video screen and up came the helicopter again, shown in both plan and section.
“From Monte Carlo to the far north of Russia. That’s quite a leap.’ “Personally, I think that it completes your own theory about the Janus syndicate. Pity the Evil Queen of Numbers won’t let you run with the ball.”
“You were saying?” M’s voice came from right behind them.
“I was just
“Making an unnecessary comment on a nickname I have already heard, Mr. Tanner. I happen to believe in numbers. Numbers are more accurate than human beings.”
“With respect, Ma’am, numbers are only as pure and accurate as the person who’s inputting them.”
“That goes without saying.” She gave Tanner a look that would cause concern to the toughest of men. “Now, the Prime Minister’s waiting for an update on the situation, so please proceed with your briefing, Mr. Tanner.” Bill Tanner paused for a moment, then walked across to the video wall. Bond had never seen Bill Tanner fazed by anyone, and the new M, hard as she was, seemed to have little effect on him.
“After the distress signal, James, the helicopter took off.
Seconds later the Russians scrambled three “Flogger-Ks” from the Anadyr base. They’re heading towards Severnaya, as is some unidentified piece of space junk - at least that’s what we’ve always thought it to be.’ “Severnaya’s supposed to have been dormant since “90, you think it’s operative again?”
“I think it’s been operative all the time. The ruins and general mess around it are, I believe, merely cosmetic.”
“So what’re they using it for?”
“There was a time,’ Tanner looked very troubled as he spoke, “when we suspected that Severnaya might just be the ground control station for that secret space-based weapons programme they coded GoldenEye. But M chipped in. “But our statistical analysis; our electronic and satellite intelligence could see they had neither the funds nor the technology to implement it.”
“Statistics, Ma’am, were never my strong point. Elint and Satint only go so far. With respect, you can read numbers from these sources, you can analyse them, but you can’t get into the heads and hearts of the people operating whatever your target happens to be. These pictures live?” M gave a short, dismissive laugh. “Unlike the American government we prefer not to get bad news from CNN. Of course they’re live.” She looked up and, like the rest, saw the pulsing red icon, the highlit area of Severnaya, and the moving pinpoints of light that were the Russian aircraft, heading towards the facility.
Below the ground at Severnaya, Natalya stood in the doorway, looking at the ripped and sprawled bodies of her friends. She felt shock and disgust, also a terrible fear seemed to clutch at her, icing her heart and sending her into a momentary depression.
She looked up at the map, saw the counters below it ticking off their numbers, took in the various icons and symbols, knowing what it meant. With that knowledge came action. She turned and dashed for the door that led towards the sleeping quarters. She had to get out of here very quickly indeed, and, if she had to face the snow and ice above ground, she needed more than the black skirt, the shirt and the skimpy underwear she wore with comfort in the air conditioned, underground facility which had been her natural habitat.
In her room she quickly changed into thermal underwear, jeans and her stout leather boots which she had bought during her last leave.
She shrugged herself into a thick fur coat, jammed a fur hat onto her head and was already drawing on fur-lined gloves as she ran back to the charnel house that had been the work area.
She could not hear the three jets, now in tight formation, at four thousand feet above the complex, their leader talking to base, saying that all seemed normal.
Above the aircraft, things were far from normal. The piece of space junk was changing shape, a hundred kilometres up. It appeared to detach pieces of charred and blackened metal that were merely outer covering. Petya was revealing itself as a hard steel core, while around it, a series of shields fanned out, like the ruff which opens up on some threatened reptile. Then, as it rolled slightly downwards, it detonated.
The immediate area around Severnaya was suddenly lit up by a cone-shaped blinding light. Within the light there were hundreds of writhing electrical charges, like long blue snakes.
Two of the “Flogger-Ks’ - one stationed just above the other were immediately engulfed in coils of electricity.
The upper aircraft seemed to be slammed down by the charge. The two aircraft merged together as one in a brilliant flash and explosion.
The lead “Flogger-K’ was hit by a similar bolt of electricity. It simply turned on its back and began to plunge earthwards, the pilot desperately pulling on the eject handle. He was still pulling when the machine bulleted into the huge radio telescope dish and burst into a fireball.
Below ground, Natalya Fyodorova Simonova thought there had been an earthquake. The entire complex shook violently and was plunged into darkness so that she found herself in the middle of the technical area with crackling blue lights circling and in constant movement around the masses of electronics which were scattered across the once pristine, hygienic computer room.
Her fear fed on the already obvious need to escape, and by the flickering deadly lights she dodged across the room, through what had been the main control section, stepping over the Duty Officer’s body, then running to the voice recognition unit. Twice she called out her name, but nothing happened. She thought of Boris and again crossed the minefield of ceaseless electrical charges, making her way towards the now blocked utility escape door.
At one point, when she had almost reached the door, Natalya screamed as a great creaking started above her.
She leaped to one side as two wall-mounted monitors came hurtling down. Then the creaking began in earnest and she saw in the dim light that the ceiling had begun to cave in.
She had never known dread or claustrophobia like this before. Her years of working in closed off facilities had never once produced anxiety or the horrible vision of being buried alive. Now it had changed. If she had to claw her way out, she would do it. Above her the groaning of weight against stressed concrete became louder; grit began to fill the air, stinging her eyes and drying her throat. She clasped a hand over nose and mouth, and when the final crash came she pushed her back against the wall as though it might be possible to physically penetrate the brick, steel and concrete.
Blood pounded in her ears and the rending, tearing, sliding sound of a whole section of the bunker finally giving way removed, for a moment, all her senses.
With a final grinding explosion half the roof collapsed, and with it the electronics and part of the huge radio telescope dish, mingled with pieces of the aircraft.
It was only when the dust started to clear and she felt the cold night air descending into what could have been her tomb, that Natalya began to move forward. Slowly at first, and then, as some of her courage returned, more surefooted. She climbed and thought of her grandfather’s big old apple tree she had climbed as a child. For a few moments she seemed to be fantasising that it was the tree itself, not flat and unstable concrete slabs, that it was summer again and her grandfather was chuckling, calling her a little monkey as she went upwards through the branches and leaves.
Then she remembered Boris, and recalled he was going out for an illegal smoke. She began to call, as she climbed into winter high above her -“Boris! … Boris Ivanovich!
Boris, can you hear me?” She was out in the cold, fresh, clear night air, standing alone in
the snow.
Tanner was still standing with M and Bond when the screens went blank with a searing white flash.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Tanner jumped visibly; M flinched, and Bond moved, as though ready to throw himself to one side.
Seconds later both M and Tanner had grabbed telephones.
(Far away, Xenia Onatopp and General Ourumov, in the Tigre, felt themselves thrown from side to side as the machine bucked to the snarling rhythms of the dancing snakes of blue electrical fire which reached them, even fifty miles away. Xenia thought to herself that the French had done well. The Tigre was indeed invincible.) Bill Tanner called out from the telephone -“Our satellite’s been knocked out; so have two of the Americans’.
We’ve got one coming into range any second.” The screens cleared and the satellite images were replaced on the screen. Severnaya dark, except for odd spot fires. Then the dish, tilted and askew, with the wreckage of the burning “Flogger-K’.
“Good God,’ someone said.
“Two of the “Floggers” are down. Power’s out.
M moved closer. “Looks as though the third aircraft went into the dish.” She turned her head and asked Bond, “What do you think, 007?” He had been standing calmly trying to analyse what he could see. “Well, the buildings are standing. No car or truck movement. Not even a headlamp. I’d say EMP.” Tanner nodded. “That would account for the aircraft and satellites..
“And the cars,’ Bond added.
Bill Tanner turned to M. “EMP, Ma’am. ElectroMagnetic-Pulse. A first strike weapon developed by.
M cut in, “I know what EMP is, Mr. Tanner. Developed by both the Americans and the Soviets during the Cold War. Someone wrote about the theory after Hiroshima.
Set off a nuclear device in the upper atmosphere; this creates a pulse - a radiation surge actually - that destroys anything with an electronic circuit.” As she paused, so Tanner spoke again, “The idea was a weapon with which to knock out the enemy’s communications before he… she … they — - could retaliate.” M turned to Bond.
