Trigger Mortis

by Anthony Horowitz

  Captain Lawrence had been short, from the moment Bond had walked into his office, not bothering to get up and examining him with the sort of disdain that he might reserve for a seasick Seaman Apprentice. Calhoun sat to one side, listening with a blank face as Bond told his story: the photographs found in Sin’s office, the link with SMERSH, the attempt to sabotage the race at Nürburgring and the possibility that something similar might happen here. Bond read the disinterest in the captain’s eyes and had to bite back his anger. He hadn’t travelled halfway round the world to be casually dismissed by some brass hat behind a desk. He’d been up against SMERSH before. He could sense the danger in the air. He knew things that this man didn’t.

  And now, in his own considered way, Lawrence summed it all up. ‘What it really comes down to is some photographs you said you saw in a castle in Germany. There could be all sorts of reasons for their being there, by the way, but putting that aside, what makes you think that this man Sin could have any reason to do us harm?’

  ‘I told you, sir. The day before I had seen him with—’

  ‘This Colonel Gaspanov. Has it not occurred to you, Commander Bond, that there could be a perfectly simple explanation for that, too? The Soviets were racing. Plenty of their top brass are into that sort of thing and you think some intelligence bigwig is going to pass on an excuse to get out of Moscow? Why, I bet you couldn’t wait to get out there either. Sure beats paperwork.’

  Bond ignored the insult. ‘There was still an attempt to kill the British driver.’

  ‘So you maintain. But again, in a court of law I’d say it was your word against theirs. And from what you tell me, the only act of violence on the racing circuit was committed by you.’

  ‘Ivan Dimitrov was employed by SMERSH, Captain. We have the intelligence—’

  ‘Which I haven’t seen.’ Lawrence glanced at Calhoun as if about to ask him his opinion, thought better of it, and turned back to Bond. ‘What exactly are you asking me to do?’

  ‘I came here to give you the facts, sir. Not to ask you to do anything. But if you’re asking my opinion, I think you should consider postponing the launch.’

  ‘That’s out of the question.’

  This time Calhoun agreed. ‘That’s true, Commander. And anyway, that decision would have to be taken at a much higher level.’

  ‘But if you recommended—’

  ‘We wouldn’t recommend any such damn thing,’ Lawrence cut in. There was a red flush on the sides of his neck. For a moment, he sat there. Then he tapped two fingers on the surface of his desk. ‘All right. Let’s see where this takes us. What exactly do you think these people – the reds, SMERSH, whoever – have in mind?’

  Bond knew he was being played with but he had no choice. ‘I think I’ve already explained myself, Captain. They may be planning to sabotage the rocket.’

  ‘And how exactly are they going to manage that? Let’s not forget that all three stages – engine, power plant and solid-propellant rocket – were all given thorough acceptance tests. Those were followed by systems tests. And then there were static tests for the propulsion systems, the stabilisation systems and all the controls. Are you telling me we overlooked something? There were alignment checks, system functional tests and a microscopic examination of all the instrumentation calibrations.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve been very thorough,’ Bond said, patiently.

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Commander Bond. But let’s imagine that we’ve made a mistake. We’re only dumb Americans, after all, and you’re telling us that we can’t look after our own security. So let us imagine that the commies pull it off. What exactly do they hope to achieve?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d tell me that.’

  Lawrence nodded at Calhoun who took over. He spoke with a tone of regret. ‘This is a test flight,’ he said. ‘The rocket won’t be carrying anything that’s particularly valuable. In fact, we’re loading on a grapefruit satellite. We call it that because that’s about the size of it: 6.4 inches in diameter and it weighs four pounds.’

  ‘All our rockets have to carry scientific equipment,’ Lawrence added. ‘That’s the deal we have with the NRL.’

  ‘We’re testing the new spin stabilisation system,’ Calhoun said. ‘These days, thanks to miniaturisation, even the smallest satellite can do useful work. But it’s true, Commander. There’s nothing to be gained by shooting down the Vanguard or blowing it up or whatever. It would be annoying, of course. And expensive. But the navy is committed to this programme and it’s going to continue.’

  ‘Suppose it was redirected,’ Bond said. ‘Suppose it fell on a city.’

  ‘That can’t happen. Our safety officer will be following the launch from our central control office. He’ll be watching every inch of the journey and if the rocket shows any faults, if it swerves away from its appointed trajectory, if there is even the slightest danger of a land-based impact . . . well, that’s when he’ll hit Trigger Mortis.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘It’s our name for the panic button, Commander. One of the technicians dreamt it up and it kind of stuck. Every single vehicle launched from this base carries a self-destruct mechanism. If we have any reason to believe that something has gone wrong, we pull the trigger and blow it apart . . . and the pieces simply fall into the ocean.’

  Lawrence glanced at his watch. ‘I hope that answers your questions, Commander Bond. Now, if you’ll excuse me—’

  But Bond hadn’t come this far to be dismissed so abruptly. ‘You talk about checks,’ he insisted, ‘but there must be a hundred people working on this base. Any one of them could have been bribed, blackmailed, threatened. Even your safety officer could be working for the opposition—’

  ‘I happen to know Paul Glennan and his family and let me tell you I find that remark personally offensive. I have the recruitment files of every man jack on this island and I’ve gone through every one of them myself. That’s part of my remit. There isn’t one person I wouldn’t vouch for.’

  ‘And nothing has happened in the last few weeks or months? Nothing out of the ordinary?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  But as he spoke, Bond saw Calhoun flinch. He turned to him questioningly and the younger man blushed. ‘Well, sir,’ he muttered, ‘there was that business with Keller.’

  ‘Goddammit, Johnny!’ Lawrence’s fist crashed down on the desk. ‘What happened with Keller had nothing to do with this base. You know it. The police confirmed it. And I can’t believe you’re contradicting me in my own office.’ He came to a decision and when he turned back to Bond, there was a new coldness in his eyes. ‘Let’s get back to these photographs that you say you saw,’ he snarled. ‘That’s where this all started. But where exactly are they?’

  ‘I don’t have them with me.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘They were stolen.’ Something told Bond that Captain Lawrence already knew.

  Lawrence hesitated, enjoying the moment. And then, sure enough, he reached down and pulled open a drawer. With a flourish, he produced a handful of photographs and scattered them across the top of the desk. ‘Would these by any chance be the photographs you’re talking about?’ he demanded.

  Bond glanced at them and knew at once that they were. Not just copies but exactly the same photographs that he had taken from the Schloss Bronsart and which Jeopardy Lane had subsequently taken from him. He could tell from the water damage. They had been in his jacket pocket when he hit the lake. ‘I don’t suppose the name Jeopardy Lane means anything to you?’ he asked.

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Then where did you get these?’

  ‘I think that’s my business, Commander Bond.’ Lawrence was smiling now. ‘But you might like to know that I’ve had them for quite a few days and I’ve had a chance to examine them. As far as I can tell, they’re fake.’

  ‘Fake?’

  ‘The ones of the base are real. Any tourist with a decent camera can take p
ictures. But this one . . .’ He picked out the photograph taken inside the hangar, the one showing three Korean scientists and the upper section of the Vanguard. ‘I don’t know what you think this is, but it’s got nothing to do with us.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because there are no Japs on Wallops Island. None at all.’

  ‘These men are Koreans.’

  ‘No Japs, no Koreans and no Chinese, except, maybe, in the laundry. This is not our hangar. I can tell you that at a glance.’

  ‘But it’s a Vanguard rocket.’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t believe it is. It may look like one – it’s hard to say from this photograph – but America is the only country in the world that has the Vanguard and to the best of my knowledge we haven’t had one stolen recently or, indeed, ever. I guess even we might notice if one of our rockets went missing, Commander. So, it’s like I told you quite a while ago now, you’re wasting your time.’

  He stood up, signalling the end of the interview. Bond took one last look at the images strewn across the desk. Was it possible that Jeopardy Lane had been working for the NRL or even for the base itself? But if so, why hadn’t Lawrence told him as much? He would surely have wanted to boast about recovering the photographs. The navy liaison man was standing ramrod straight. There was to be no parting handshake.

  ‘I want you to know that I take particular exception to British Intelligence trying to undermine my authority,’ he said. ‘It’s bad enough that you guys kicked us out of Barbados. It hasn’t taken you very long to forget what we did for you in the war. But coming here like this, with your damn impertinent questions? Mr Calhoun will show you back to your car and make sure you leave the base.’

  That was it. Johnny Calhoun walked over to the door and opened it and Bond followed him out of the office. Neither of them spoke until they were back in the open air and the sunshine. Then Calhoun broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry about that, Commander.’

  ‘Well, I can’t say you didn’t warn me. He was certainly tired. What was that jibe about Barbados?’

  ‘It’s actually true, sir. The NRL wanted to build a launch site in Barbados. When you launch a rocket, you always head for the east. You have to take advantage of the earth’s rotation and the closer to the Equator you are, well, it would have been useful to have the equatorial kick but the British government refused. Environmental reasons, I guess, but it ruffled a few feathers.’

  ‘How about that man – Keller?’ Calhoun looked uneasy and Bond knew that he didn’t wish to appear any more disloyal than he already had been. ‘I can go to the local police if you don’t want to talk about it. But it would help to get the facts from you and I can be discreet.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ Calhoun glanced back in case Lawrence had somehow followed them. There was nobody in the road. ‘Thomas Keller was one of our supervisors.’ Bond noticed the ‘Thomas’. Not Tom or Tommy. There was no familiarity here. ‘I hardly knew him and he didn’t mix in very well,’ Calhoun went on, confirming what Bond had already guessed. ‘He was German, and the truth is, if the navy had its way there wouldn’t be any Germans in the Vanguard Operations Group. They’ve got long memories. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago we were all very shocked because he was killed.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘According to the police, it was a domestic incident. His wife stabbed him and set fire to the house. She used to be a cocktail waitress – well, that’s what the newspapers said – and she simply got fed up with him. She took the car and crossed the state line. The whole thing sounds like a cheap thriller, but the fact is that Captain Lawrence is right. It didn’t have anything to do with us.’

  ‘What was Keller’s job here?’

  ‘General Supervisor.’

  ‘With access to the Vanguard?’

  ‘Well, yes. Of course. But it’s like I said. He was stabbed with a kitchen knife, the house was set on fire, and the wife disappeared, taking the car with her. As far as I know, they haven’t found her yet.’

  ‘Do you have his address? I still might take a look at his house.’

  ‘Rainbow Lane, Salisbury. I don’t recall the number but you can’t miss it. How long are you planning to hang around?’

  ‘I haven’t really decided.’ As far as Bond could see, there was no point kicking his heels in eastern Virginia but at the same time he had nowhere else to go. He would have to appeal to Captain Lawrence’s superiors. At the very least, they might be able to tell him something about Jeopardy and her part in all this.

  They had reached the car.

  ‘Well, if you do decide to come for the launch, let me know and I’ll fix you up with a pass.’ They shook hands. ‘Good to meet you, Commander Bond.’

  Half a mile away, a man stood leaning against a four-door sedan. As James Bond drove through the gates at Wallops Island, the man took out a pair of Bausch + Lomb Zephyr 9x35 binoculars and raised them to his eyes. He focused until he had a clear view of the driver. Yes. That was the face he had been shown. Just as his employer had suspected, the British secret agent had followed the photographs here.

  The man had been doing a crossword. The newspaper was still lying, half folded, on the bonnet of his car. He quickly threw it onto the back seat, then climbed in. A few moments later, Bond drove past. The man started his own car, turned round and followed.

  FOURTEEN

  Dead of Night

  After his meeting with Calhoun, Bond went back to the motel where he was staying and made a phone call to the local police station. He was interested in Thomas Keller and wanted to know more. He arranged to meet an officer later that evening and went out to have an early supper of steak and fries in a nearby diner – a chilly little place called Lucie’s. The waitress poured him coffee, which he hadn’t asked for and didn’t drink. American coffee, the standby of every diner, was barely more than brown water as far as Bond was concerned. But the food was good and after a cigarette – a Chesterfield, which made him think briefly of Pussy Galore – he paid and left. The car he had rented was parked outside. He checked the map, then drove up to Salisbury.

  The burned-out remains of Keller’s house were particularly shocking, an insult to the whole neighbourhood. It was as if a truck had come in the middle of the night and unloaded a great pile of charred wood and twisted metal. It had no right to be here. Bond drove slowly past the surrounding houses, all bright colours and perfect lawns. He could imagine children playing in each other’s backyards, watched over by grandparents sitting out on the porch, the whirr of a lawnmower on a warm summer’s evening. And if there were fights, if there was violence, it would be done quietly, behind drawn curtains. 1261 Rainbow Lane gave the lie to all that. It was a black, ugly advertisement for hatred, violence and desperation; all those things that had no place in the American dream.

  There was nobody in sight as Bond climbed out of his rented car and stood there, taking in the charred, sooty smell that lingers long after a fire. The grass had already begun to grow wild, the weeds gleefully grabbing the opportunity to break out. Someone had put up a sign: KEEP OUT. But there was no point in going any further. Bond could see at a glance that all the furniture and anything of any value had been removed. Eventually the bulldozers would come and remove the rest and soon Thomas Keller and his wife, along with all their secrets, would be forgotten.

  A car pulled in behind him. Bond turned and saw that it was a Chevrolet Cruiser with the words ‘Salisbury Police Department’ printed on the door. A stolid, round-faced officer got out, wearing a shirt and tie with his badge pinned to his breast. He seemed to exude reliability and experience. He was exactly the sort of man that law-abiding citizens would want to have around.

  ‘Mr Bond?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right. Thank you for coming out.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. How can I help you?’

  ‘Did you investigate what happened here?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The Kellers . . . Thomas and Gloria. They’d been here quite a while. Kept them
selves to themselves, but even so, plenty of people knew them. Met them in church or down at the mall. They seemed happy enough together. No financial worries, nothing like that. Nobody had anything bad to say about them.’ The officer was utterly matter-of-fact, showing no emotion at all and Bond imagined he would be the same whether he was dealing with a murder or a parking offence. ‘Mrs Keller came from Texas originally, but I believe they met in Mexico. He was German. No kids.’

  ‘And you’re sure she killed him?’

  ‘It sure looks that way, sir. Mr Keller was stabbed in the kitchen and although it’s hard to be sure, there doesn’t seem to have been any struggle. He came home from work and she was here, waiting for him. And if it wasn’t her who put the knife in, you have to ask why else would she take off like that?’

  ‘Well, it seems strange to leave everything behind.’

  ‘One of the neighbours actually saw her head off in a blue station wagon. That was just minutes after the house caught fire. Of course, we looked into her financial details. Turns out she’d remortgaged the property, taken a certified cheque made out to her. The two of them had a joint savings account and she’d walked into the bank and withdrawn the whole lot, in cash. This was the same morning it all happened.’

  ‘Sounds pretty cold-blooded.’

  ‘I agree. It looks like she had the whole thing worked out. You have to wonder – why now?’

  And that was indeed the question, Bond reflected as he drove back to the motel. Why now? Or more precisely, why just a couple of weeks before the launch of the Vanguard? There was absolutely no evidence to tie Thomas Keller in with Jason Sin – for that matter, an attack on the rocket launch was still only a matter of conjecture. But everything in Bond’s experience told him to look out for the unusual, for the little bump in the rhythm of life that demanded investigation. It could be that Gloria Keller had decided to get rid of her husband on the spur of the moment. Years of resentment could have finally led to a moment of violence that had been as sudden as it was unplanned. But wasn’t it more likely that something in their lives had changed and that whatever it was had directly led to the murder? That’s how it seemed to him.