James Bond - 031 - Cold

by John Gardner

  She gave a little nod and a wan smile. ‘The Rock Hotel, Gibraltar. After that bit of business inside the old rock itself.’

  ‘I still owe you a life for that, remember?’

  ‘You’ll pay, James.’

  ‘I always pay my debts – eventually. We could be approaching settlement day. I just hope that Eddie Rhabb manages to get those two thugs to say the right thing on the telephone to Angelo and Luigi.’

  ‘I’m sure he will. Old Eddie has a surprising knack of getting what he wants. He got you, James.’

  He smiled, genuinely amused, wondering who had actually asked for him: Rhabb or da Ricci? Aloud he said, ‘Eddie’s changed his tune a little, Beatrice. My first job working with him was to try and draw both Tempestas to the United States because he didn’t trust the Italians to do the right job. Now, he says he’d rather leave it to the Italians and work matters from a distance.’

  She thought for a moment. Then – ‘It’s probably circumstances. The COLD threat is very close. I’m sure of that, and I’ve given them a rundown on it. I believe Eddie’s genuinely scared. When they first briefed me, he mentioned that until recently he really didn’t take COLD seriously. It appears he takes them very seriously now. Sees them as a true threat to his country. What they’ve been planning could happen, and for the first time he’s come to see that.’

  The food arrived and they had agreed not to talk about the minutiae of the operation until later. They had tonight and tomorrow to get everything settled and in order. So now they ate Raclette, that very special appetizer of hot Gomser cheese spread over small cooked potatoes, served with baby gherkins and small white pickled onions; followed by Geschnetzeltes, delicious veal fillets on a bed of the inevitable Rösti which Bond said he always thought of as ‘the nursery of food of Switzerland’ – the golden savoury potato cakes which were a great @Atadcomplement to any meat dish.

  They drank a very good Beaune with the Raclette, deciding it was so pleasant that they would stay with it through the veal dish. Then, in spite of Beatrice’s good-natured attempts at refusal, the waiter insisted that they try at least a small slice of Zuger Kirschtorte with its distinctive alcoholic cherry flavour that burst delightfully on the tongue, infusing the taste buds and making a gastronomic fireworks display to end an exceptional meal.

  As they ate, Bond scanned the room. He knew that Eddie Rhabb would not allow them the luxury of being alone in the restaurant, but the surveillance team was invisible. Only later did they discover that an elderly couple – equipped with a communications package which gave them a direct line to a van parked up the street – had been loaned to the FBI by the local police. The pair were both former police officers who delighted in doing any work of this kind.

  They ordered coffee to be sent up to Room 504 and, while they waited for it, Beatrice went first to the ornamental bedhead, then to one of the large lamps which looked as though it had been fashioned from a stone jar.

  Bond watched, amused, as she prised a listening device from the bedhead, and removed another from the lamp. She took them into the bathroom, crushed them under her foot, then flushed them down the toilet. Going to the main closet, she removed her briefcase, opened it and took out a small handheld communicator which she looked at carefully, setting a small dial to the right frequency. ‘I checked out the wavelength they had those two bugs on.’ She smiled a catlike smile, pressed the Send button and spoke quietly, but clearly, into the business end of the device. ‘Eddie, or whoever’s wearing headphones and listening in, I’ll give you a shout through my own personal bug if we need help. See you all tomorrow.’

  Bond leaned back and applauded. Beatrice simply repeated her smile. ‘We’re going to do all the final bits and pieces tomorrow with Eddie,’ she said in her normal voice. ‘Before anything else, I have to tell you what I know, and lead you through what I think’s going to happen.’

  After the room service waiter brought the tray, she took a clipboard from the briefcase, allowing Bond to pour the coffee. ‘You remembered.’ She sounded pleased and looked happy. ‘You remembered that I like it black with sugar.’

  ‘You’re not easily forgettable, Beatrice. Now, let me in on all the secrets.’

  ‘First, I know you’ve been in the villa, but I don’t know how much of it you’ve seen. Tell me.’

  He described the entrance from the lake side, with its two boathouses and the gravel drive up to the hall entrance. Then the dining room, the room he had been given for that one disturbed night, and the main secretary’s office.

  ‘Right.’ She patted the sofa, indicating that he should come and sit beside her. On the clipboard she had several sheets of plans which he recognized immediately as the villa on Lake Massaciuccoli. ‘Then you don’t know about the extensive gardens at the back of the house, nor have you seen the truly enormous ballroom.’

  He shook his head. ‘Show me.’

  She turned to a plan view depicting a very large garden at the back of the property, augmenting the plan with photographs – cypress trees, shaded stone walks, statuary, fountains, a large rose garden, and – judging by some of the photographs – water tricks: secret fountains that sprayed out or upwards if you stepped on a particular flagstone.@

  19

  LAZARUS

  It was Beatrice who wept. After he had put down the telephone, Bond sat on the bed and told her. No frills, just ‘Freddie’s dead. About an hour ago.’ She began weeping, rocking backwards and forwards, a keening requiem for a woman she had never met.

  Between the tears she blurted, ‘Oh, God. We should have waited.’ Then she ran into the bathroom and locked the door, her sobs sounding, in the bedroom, like the stutter of a dying engine.

  He felt nothing. Later, he presumed that he had already done his grieving all those months ago when he had held her wrecked body in Puerto Rico, thinking she had died there and then. Even when he saw she was alive, he had been certain that she was dying, and now it was a sombre and sobering moment as he realized that whenever he had visited her in the clinic it was always to say goodbye.

  Eventually, Beatrice came out from the bathroom, her face clear, the tears washed away. He held her close, telling her of the conclusions to which he had come. When she spoke, there was no sign of emotion in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, James. It’s been so wonderful to be with you again, then I thought this, Freddie’s death, might change everything between us. It’s so horrible. She’s been lying there for so long, I guess it suddenly hit me that she had died instead of me.’

  For a moment he did not understand, then their earlier time came back to him and he remembered there was a period in 1989 when, for several days, he had thought she was dead also.

  A few minutes later, Eddie Rhabb arrived, blurting out, ‘James, I don’t know what we do. I can’t really have you flying back for a funeral. If you return now, they’ll almost certainly latch on to you – your own people, I mean, and maybe the Tempestas.’ He paused, as though breathless. ‘On the other hand, I have no real claim on you. I’ve asked you to go in, and we both know how dangerous it’s going to be . . .’

  ‘Eddie, it’s okay. Freddie wanted to be cremated. If you can get back to Sanusi, tell him to go ahead with the funeral. When this business is over, I’ll take her ashes and sprinkle them in the place she wanted just outside Interlaken. It sounds cold and ruthless, but it’s the only way.’

  ‘You’re a prince, James.’ Eddie was gone almost before he had finished talking.

  ‘Fast Eddie,’ Beatrice said, coming back to her normal self.

  They went back to bed, dozed some more, then woke and ordered breakfast which was brought by a waiter who looked at them disapprovingly.

  They had just finished eating when Eddie returned. ‘I didn’t bring any of the others,’ he grinned. ‘None of their business what you two do in your own time.’

  ‘Decent of you, Eddie.’ Bond was pretty certain that Rhabb had passed on the word.

  ‘I’ve talked to Sanusi again.’ Rhabb he
lped himself to some coffee. ‘It appears that your old boss has told them you’re somewhere abroad on vacation. So people are looking for you. You’ll have to keep your head down.’

  ‘How are your couple of bad guys?’

  ‘Being very co-operative. We’ve offered them some sort of immunity and I think they get the message. They’re being kept very secure and we’ve let them hear a couple of conversations. They’re starting to believe that the days of both COLD and their immediate bosses are numbered. They’re like all the other rats. The policy seems to be that they leave the sinking ship. Beatrice’s told you what she knows?’

  ‘About some ceremony for the bigwigs on Saturday, and a gathering of the clans on Sunday.’

  ‘That’s when we want to hit them. Sunday. But should anything go wrong, you’re going to have to call us in earlier.’

  ‘Who exactly is “us”?’

  ‘I thought you realized, or had at least worked it out. We’ve got full co-operation from the Leatherheads.’

  The Leatherheads is the nickname for the Italian counterterrorist unit: the NOCS – Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza. This is the special force that deals with anything from terrorist operations to hostage rescue. Made up from an elite group of highly trained members of the Carabinieri, this force comes under Italy’s COMSUBIN who are charged with military operations first, and counterterrorist action only if it is thought to be a danger to the country. The NOCS arm is expert, disciplined, and a definite force to be reckoned with. Rhabb had obviously presented the Italian administration with enough information to convince them that COLD was as much a danger to Italy as it was to America.

  ‘You think they’ll eventually extradite the General to the States, Eddie? Strikes me that’s what is bound to happen in the long run.’

  ‘We’ll face that when and if it does happen. The main object of what we’re going to call Antifreeze is to secure and cut off the main leaders of COLD which, we’re pretty@ the maad dle certain, include Luigi and Angelo Tempesta. Once they’re out of it, we’ll almost certainly have the foot soldiers of COLD neutralized.’ He inclined his head towards Beatrice, ‘She’s shown you the plans and photographs?’ Bond nodded.

  ‘Okay, we’ll go over the main points – your infiltration, communications and our main link to the Italian Special Forces – later. When Beatrice has gone back into the bosom of the Tempesta family, we’ll have five days to get you up to full speed, James. You go in during the early hours of Saturday morning.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By parachute, of course. The DZ is that open ground behind the Tempestas’ garden. We’re going to be dead accurate.’

  ‘The accent being on accurate, not dead, I presume.’

  ‘There’ll be people ahead of you, James. The Italians are putting a troop of their people into that space about three hours before you arrive, and they’re not going to have the luxury of parachutes. They’re walking in – your Royal Marine Commandos call it “yomping” – then they’ll be digging in. None of those nice folks in the Tempesta household are going to have a clue.’

  ‘Talking about that, how much muscle’s in the villa?’

  It was Beatrice who answered. ‘You killed two of them on the lake. At least that’s what I understood . . .’

  ‘Yes. Got in our way. Was it a guy called Filippo, and another . . . ?’

  ‘Filippo and Carlo, yes. They were old muscle, old retainers.’

  ‘So who’s there now?’

  ‘Head of security is a guy called Alessandro. Under him there are five – no, six thugs.’ She began counting them off on her fingers – ‘Roberto, Tomaso, Edmundo, Giorgio, Enrico and Saul. They’re all young, big men. Muscles on their muscles. Tomaso is a body builder. All of them have been trained in most of the black arts: silent killing; knives; all weapons and plenty of the other stuff: feet, hands and the rougher forms of karate. They’re an intimidating bunch. Oh, and Saul has a thing about me. I have to be very careful with him.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten one,’ Eddie nudged her.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The guy our two little friends sprung from London.’

  ‘Oh, my god, yes. Kauffburger. He’s the main bodyguard for the brothers. He’d kill you with two fingers; the guy’s a psycho. Give him a funny look and he’d kill you. Very big, exceptionally nasty, but he seems to respect the brothers and does as he’s told. He’s the kind of monster who strangles cats just for the hell of it.’

  ‘Chews nails and spits fire for the encore. Know the type well.’ Already, in his mind, Bond was going through the arsenal he wanted to take with him. Now he only hoped that Eddie would be able to get his hands on everything.

  He asked Beatrice if he was going to be safe, holed up in her cottage, and she said he would be. ‘Anyway, it’ll only be for the rest of Saturday, and over the Saturday night. I’m taking in a little package Eddie’s fixing for me. At around the time of your jump, it’s going to make a big bang in the boathouse, okay, Eddie?’

  ‘Sure, it’s your basic flash-bang. Lots of sound and fury but no damage. It should draw the duty hoodlums away from the DZ.’

  ‘How many guard the house at night?’ Bond looked at Beatrice.

  ‘Two are on constant patrol of the grounds, though they don’t usually come right to the back of the garden. They always seem to suspect a frontal attack. But two outside and there’s usually one other guy patrolling the inside of the house.’

  ‘Communications, Eddie?’ His mind was really working now. Later, he thought, he would make a list.

  Eddie went quiet, becoming focused on the communications. ‘You’re both going in with homers implanted. We did Beatrice’s in Rome, a week ago . . .’

  ‘In my rear end,’ she pouted.

  ‘That’s what that lump is,’ Bond smiled.

  ‘There’s a lump? You have a lump there?’ Eddie sounded worried.

  ‘Joke, Eddie.’

  ‘In rather poor taste, I thought.’ She stuck her nose in the air.

  ‘It’s a tiny thing. You have a little sore patch for a couple of days. We’re doing you tomorrow, James.’

  ‘Hurts like hell.’ Beatrice massaged her right buttock. ‘Just kidding,’ she added when she saw Eddie’s look of concern.

  ‘So, we get implanted homing devices, what else?’

  ‘You’re both going to carry small communication packs with you. Beatrice already has hers. It’s disguised as a lipstick holder. That’s the first one and she knows exactly how to work it. There’s an anti-clockwise movement at the base. This releases a small plunger which she presses. Immediately it is set, the thing broadcasts a constant Mayday signal. Once that goes off, we capture it. There’ll be someone listening from the moment she goes back tomorrow, just in case something comes up before the weekend.’

  On the Mayday call, he told them, the troop of special forces behind the house would go in – ‘Straight away, no messing around. They’ll all know who Beatrice is, so she won’t get hit. But, if necessary, they’ll take anyone and everyone out.’

  At the same moment two transport aircraft would take off from Pisa, parachuting in another batch of élite forces, while a pair of high speed police motor launches would come in from the lake.

  ‘So she gets the lipstick. What’s for me, some of that lip salve?’ Bond asked.

  Eddie held up his hand. ‘She has a secondary emergency pack built into a belt. We have a similar one for you, James. That’s a twist and bang thing as well. Somewhat like a scaled-down parachute or pilot’s safety release. So, you both have belts that do the same job. You, James, also have a nice ball-point pen. Not one of those silver or gold, expensive-looking things you see in the movies. This is just a cheap plastic pen, but it contains everything.’

  ‘All the gubbins.’

  ‘Gubbins? What’s with gubbins?’

  ‘The doobries.’

  ‘James, come on. You Brits slay me with your funny words. Gubbins and doobries.’

  ‘The wor
ks, Eddie.’

  After a little more gentle pulling of Eddie’s leg, they worked out the rest of the day. Beatrice would get her final briefing that afternoon. ‘Give the two of you a chance to have dinner tonight. Just you two alone.’

  ‘You’re all heart, Eddie.’

  ‘Sure, that’s what they all say. Then we pick up Beatrice at nine o’clock sharp in the morning.’

  ‘You’re taking her to the airport?’

  20

  A CLOSE CALL

  ‘We both know this lady, here in the picture, is dead.’ Eddie looked at Bond as though he were crazy. ‘But she was there, by the lakeside, this morning. She was going out to the villa.’

  ‘Washington Dulles International. Same day as the London flight got bombed. Bradbury Airlines.’ He stopped and glared angrily at Rhabb. ‘You were there too! I knew this woman, Eddie. She was a dear friend. I saw the car and I saw her charred and burned body – what was left of it. Eddie, get the hell out of here and check it out.’ He stopped, catching his breath, realizing he had been shouting.

  ‘Hey, James, calm down.’ MacRoberts put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘It’s all very well telling me to calm down!’ He shook the hand from his shoulder. ‘If this lady is still alive, I’ve been conned and she’s not what I’ve always thought. There’s some connection they probably wanted to keep hidden all these years.’

  ‘Okay, James, okay,’ muttered Eddie. ‘We’ll get back to the safe house where Prime, Drake and Long are looking after the greaseballs. I’ll make the call from there. If you’ll get yourself ready to check out of here, we’ll get one of our drivers over to pick you up.’

  Bond nodded, still angry. ‘How many people have you actually got here, Eddie?’

  ‘Only the guys you’ve seen, plus two drivers. Prime and Drake have both been working on our two fake junior G-men, preparing a script for the call to the villa. Drake’s a doctor, by the way. We weren’t taking any chances. The car’ll be here in about ten minutes.’