Role of Honor jb-19

by John Gardner

  About forty men sat close together on the floor, held in a tight knot by three tripod-mounted machine guns trained on them, each with a crew of four.

  "These are the good men from Goodyear." He split the Good-year, as though trying a pun. "They will remain here until our mission is completed. They will be quickly dispatched - all of them - if one person makes an attempt to break out. They are being fed and looked after by the other team." He indicated four men placed between the guns. "It is uncomfortable for them. But if all goes well, they will be released unharmed. You will notice there is one lady." From the middle of the group, Cindy Chalmer gave Bond a wan smile, and Tamil Rahani lowered his voice.

  "Between ourselves, Commander Bond, I think the delightful Miss Chalmer does not have much chance of surviving. But we want no bloodshed yet; not even your blood. You see, it was SPECTRE'S intention that you should be put with this group of prisoners once you'd fulfilled your mission. The representative from SPECTRE did not trust you from the start, and is not at all happy with you now.

  However. . ." His lips drew back, not into a smile, but rather in a straight thin slash across his face.

  "However, I think you can be of use in the airship. You can fly, can't you? You have a pilot's licence?" Bond nodded, adding that he had no experience of airships.

  "You'll only be the copilot. The one who sees to it that the pilot does as he's told. There'll be a nice irony in it, if by any chance you have doubled on us, Commander Bond. Come!" They returned to the cars and drove swiftly over the few hundred yards to the office building. Inside, around forty of Rahani's trained men from Erewhon were sitting around, smoking and drinking coffee.

  "Our handling team, Commander Bond. They have learned by simulation. At Erewbon. It was something we did not show you, but they are very necessary when we weigh out the airship before takeoff and, to a great extent, when we get back from our short excursion." The only man who was out of place sat at a table just inside the door. He wore a navy blue pilot's uniform, and his peaked cap lay on the table in front of him. One of Rahani's men sat opposite, well clear of the table, with an Uzi machine pistol ready to blow the man's stomach out should he make a fuss.

  "You are our pilot, I presume?" Rahani smiled politely at the man, who looked at him coldly and said he was a pilot, but he would not fly under duress.

  "I think you will,' Rahani said confidently. "What do we call you?"

  "You call me Captain,' the pilot replied.

  "No. We're all friends here. Informal." Rahani added in a commanding snap: Your first name.

  The pilot realised it would be foolhardy to remain too stubborn.

  He cocked his head on one side.

  "Okay, you can call me Nick."

  "Right, Nick . . . " Tamil Rahani carefully explained what was going to happen. Nick was to fly the airship, just as he would have done under normal circumstances.

  Up to Geneva and along the lake front. After that he would change course, cutting straight over Le Richemond Hotel - "Where the Summit Conference is in progress. You will stay over the hotel for approximately four minutes." Rahani spoke like an officer used to being obeyed. "Four minutes at the outside. No more. Nothing will happen.

  Nobody will be hurt as long as you do what you're told. After that, you will bring the airship back here and land. You may then leave unharmed."

  "Damned if I will."

  "1 think you will, Nick. Someone else will do it if you don't. This gentleman here, for instance." He touched Bond's shoulder. "He's a pilot, without airship experience, but he will do it if we give him enough encouragement. Our encouragement to you is that we kill you straight away, here and now, if you don't agree."

  "He means it, Nick,' Bond interrupted. In a couple of minutes you'll just be a lump of meat. Useless to anyone.

  Best do as he says.

  The pilot thought for a moment, recognising his inescapable position.

  "Okay. Okay, I'll fly the blimp.

  "Good, Nick. And thank you, Commander Bond." Rahani went on in a level voice, "Now I'll tell you what we have in store for Commander Bond. He is to be your copilot. You will tell him now about the differences between flying an aircraft and handling an airship. We shall give him one round of ammunition for his automatic pistol. One round only. He can wound or kill only one person with that, and there'll be five of us on board; five, not counting Commander Bond and yourself. Bond here will do exactly as I tell him. If you try to be clever, I shall tell him to kill you. If he does not kill you, one of us will do it for him, and force him to take over. If he still resists, then we'll kill him too, and manage the best we can. I understand that this airship is filled with helium and ballasted so that it will stay up, unassisted, for some time, and is difficult to crash. Yes?"

  "Guess you're right."

  "Well, Commander Bond will look after you, and we'll all have a pleasant trip. How long will it take?

  Half an hour?"

  "About that. Maybe three-quarters.

  "Commander Bond, talk to your pilot. Learn from him. We have things to get on board the gondola. He gave Bond a hard knock on the shoulder. "Learn, and do as you are bidden, eh?" Bond lowered his head as he sat down, letting it come near the pilot's, his lips hardly moving. "I'm working under some duress as well. Just help me. We have to stop them." Then he said aloud, "Okay Nick, just tell me about this ship." The pilot looked up, puzzled for a moment, but Bond nodded encouragement, and he began to talk.

  Around them, Rahani's men were carrying equipment out of the office. Among the hardware was one powerful shortwave transmitter and a micro. Bond listened attentively as Nick told him that flying the airship was more or less the same as handling an aircraft.

  "Yoke, rudder pedals, same flight instruments, throttles for the two little engines. The only difference is in trimming." He explained how the two small balloons, fore and aft in the helium-filled envelope, could be inflated with air, or have the air valved off. "It's more or less the same principle as a balloon, except, with the air-filled ballonets, you don't have to bleed off expensive gas. You just take on or dump air. The ballonets take care of the gas pressure, give you extra lift, or allow you to trim up or down. The only tricky bit is knowing when to dump the pressure as you come in to land, positioning the blimp, so that the ground crew can grab at the guy ropes. You need to bleed it all off at that point, like dumping ballast, so nobody gets lifted off the ground." It was all technically straightforward, and Nick even made a little drawing to show Bond where the valves lay, above the forward windshield, and how the ballonets were filled with air from scoops below the small engines.

  He had hardly finished when Simon came over, glancing at his watch. They looked up, to find the office almost deserted.

  "You're both needed at the ship." He held up one round of 9mm ammunition, and Bond saw that it was one of his original Glaser slugs.

  "You get this when we're aboard." His eyes showed no sympathy. "Come along, then. We've got to show the flag. One joy ride around the lake." Over at the airship, Rahani's men had prepared themselves to take up the strain on the forward guy ropes hanging from the great pointed sausage of the airship, which at the moment remained tethered to its mooring mast.

  As they reached the ship, they could see the others were already on board the curved gondola, which seemed to hang under the great gleaming envelope.

  Nick climbed up first through the large door which took up a third of the gondola's right-hand side. Bond followed, with Simon taking up the rear and pulling the door closed behind him.

  Tamil Rahani sat next to Holy at the back of the gondola. In front of them they had arranged the transmitters linked to the computer. The Arab boy sat directly in front of Holy, with General Zwingli across the narrow aisle from him. Bond went forward, taking his place on Nick's right. Simon now hovered between them.

  As soon as he was in his seat, Nick became the complete professional, showing Bond the instrumentation, and pointing out the all-important valves for the
ballonets.

  "Whenever you're ready,' Rahani called out, but Nick did not answer. He was busy with the preflight checks, sliding his window open to shout down to the man in command of the ground crew. "Okay,' he called. "Tell your boys to stand by. I'm starting up, and I'll give you a thumbs-up when they have to take strain." To Bond, he said he would be starting the port engine first, and immediately afterwards the starboard would fire. "We fill the ballonets straight away, and as they're filling I shall release us from the mooring mast.

  The chaps outside, if they've been trained correctly, will take the strain and dump the ballast hanging from the gondola. After that, I trim the ship, lift the nose and,' he turned, grinning, "we'll see if they have the sense to let go of the guy ropes.

  Reaching forward, Nick started both engines, one after the other, very fast, and set the air valves to fill. As Bond watched, Simon leaned forward, felt inside his jacket and removed the ASP. There was a double click as one round went into the breech, then the weapon was handed back. "You kill him, if the Colonel gives the order. If you try anything clever, I'll shoot you." Bond did not even acknowledge him. By now he was following everything that Nick was doing, opening the throttles, pulling the lever that moored them to the mast, monitoring the pressure.

  The airship's nose tilted upwards, and Nick waved to the ground crew as he gave the engines full throttle. The nose slid higher and there was a tiny sensation of buoyancy, then, very slowly they moved forwards and upwards - rock-steady, no tremor or vibration as they climbed away from the field. It was like riding on a magic carpet.

  PLOUGHSHARE IN HIS TIME

  James Bond had either flown, or flown in, most types of aircraft, from the old Tiger Moth biplane to Phantom jets. Yet never had he experienced anything like the Europa.

  The morning was clear and sunny. With its two little engines humming like a swarm of hornets, its single blade wooden airscrews blurring into twin discs, the fat silver ship glided out from the wide cleft in the mountains, over the road and railway lines, and climbed above the lake. It would have been an enchanted moment for anyone, like Bond, who loved machines. At a thousand feet, gazing out at the spectacular view of lake and mountains he even forgot for a few seconds the horrifying and dangerous mission they were embarked upon.

  It was the stability of the ship that amazed him most.

  There was a complete lack of any buffeting experienced at that height and over that type of terrain in a conventional aircraft. No wonder those who travelled on the great airships of the 1920s and 1930s fell in love with them.

  The Europa dipped its nose, almost stood on it, turning a full circle. At fifteen hundred feet they had a panoramic view of the lake: the mountain peaks touched with snow against the light blue sky, Montreux in the distance, the French side of the lake with the town of Thonon looking peaceful and inviting.

  Then Nick eased the ship around so that they could see Geneva as they approached at a stately fifty miles per hour.

  Bond turned his head to look at the rear of the gondola. Rahani and Jay Autem Holy ignored the view, hunched over the transmitter.

  They had folded down some of the seat backs, so that Bond had a good view of the radio, seeing that it was linked to the micro.

  Holy appeared to be muttering to himself as he tuned to the frequency. Rahani watched him closely, like a warder, Bond thought.

  General Zwingli was half-turned in his seat, giving advice. Both Simon and the Arab boy stood guard, the boy never taking his eyes off the pilot and Bond. Simon was leaning against the door, almost as though he were covering his masters.

  Below them, the lakeside of Geneva slid into view. The airship slowed, tilted forward and turned gently.

  "No playing around, Nick,' Rahani called in warning.

  "Just do what you normally do. Then take her straight over Le Richemond."

  "I'm doing what I normally do. I'm doing it by the book,' the pilot said laconically. "That's what you wanted and that is just what you're getting."

  "And what,' Bond called back, "are we really doing, anyway? What is this caper that's going to change history?" Holy lifted his eyes towards the flight deck.

  "We are about to put the stability of the world's two most powerful nations to the test. Would you believe that the ciphers directly transmittable to the emergency networks of the American President and the Chairman of the U.S.S.R. include programs to deactivate their main nuclear capabilities?"

  "I'd believe anything." Bond did not need to hear any more. M was right. The intention was to send the U.S. Ploughshare program, and its Russian counterpart, into their respective satellites, and from there into irreversible action. It was at this moment that Bond made up his mind.

  His whole adult life had been dedicated to his country; this time he knew it would be forfeit. There was one Glaser slug in the ASP.

  With luck, in the confined gondola it would blow any one of the men in half. But only one. So what was the use of a human target? Kill one, then be killed. That would serve no purpose. If he chose the right time, and the Arab boy could be distracted, the one Glaser slug, placed accurately, would blow the radio and possibly the micro as well.

  He would die very soon after taking out the hardware, but for Bond this was as nothing compared to the satisfaction of knowing he would once more have smashed SPECTRE'S plans. Maybe they would try again.

  But there were always other men like himself; and the Service had been alerted.

  Geneva, clean, ordered and picturesque, now lay to their right, as Nick gently turned the ship. Mont Blanc towered above them. The airship began to descend to a thousand feet for its short journey along the lakeside.

  "How long?" It was the first time Zwingli had spoken to the men at the controls.

  Nick glanced back. "To Le Richemond? About four minutes.

  "Are you locked onto that frequency?" The General was now addressing Holy.

  "We're on the frequency, Joe. I've put the disk in. All we have to do is press the Enter key, and we shall know whether comrade Bond has been true to his word."

  "You're activating the States first, then?"

  "Yes, Joe." Rahani replied this time. "Yes, the United States get their instructions in a couple of minutes." He craned forward to look from the window. "There it is, coming up now.

  Bond gently slid the safety catch off the ASP.

  "Ready, Jay. Any minute." Rahani did not raise his voice, yet the words carried clearly over the length of the gondola.

  The luxurious hotel with its perfectly laid out gardens was coming up below them. Nick held the Europa on a true course which would take them straight over the palatial building.

  "I said ready, Jay.

  "Any second . . . Okay,' Holy answered.

  At that moment, Bond, gripping the ASP, turned towards the Arab boy and shouted, "Your window. Look to your window." The Arab turned his head slightly, and Bond, knowing there was one chance, and one chance only, brought his hand up and squeezed the trigger. In the whirling engine noise, the solid clunk of the pistol's firing mechanism crashing forward obliterated everything.

  For a second he could not believe it. Was it a misfire?

  A dud round? Then came Simon's laugh, echoed by a grunt from the Arab boy.

  "Don't think of throwing it, James. I'll cut you down with one hand. You didn't honestly think we'd let you on board with a loaded gun, did you? Too much of a risk."

  "Damn you, Bond." Rahani was half out of his seat.

  "No gunplay - not in here. Have you given us the frequency, or is that as false as your own loyalty?" The bleep and whir from the back of the gondola indicated that Holy had activated the cipher program.

  He gave a whoop of joy.

  "It's okay, Tamil. Whatever else Bond's tried, he has given us the frequency. The satellite's accepted it." Bond dropped the pistol, a useless piece of metal. They had done it. At this moment, the sophisticated hardware in the Pentagon would be sorting the digits at the unbelievable rate of today's computers
. The instructions would be pouring out to compatible machines the length and breadth of the U.S.A.

  and to the NATo) forces in Europe. Now it was done, Bond felt only a terrible anger and a sickness deep in his stomach. What happened in the next few seconds took time to sink in. Holy was still whooping his joy as he half rose, stretching out a hand, fingers snapping, towards Rahani.

  "Tamil, come on, the Russian program. You have it. I've locked on to their frequency . . ." His voice rose with urgency. "Tamil!" Now shouting, "Tamil! The Russian program. Quickly." Rahani gave a great bellowing laugh. "Come on, yourself; Jay. You didn't think we were really going to allow the Soviet Union to suffer the indignity of being stripped of her assets as well?" Jay Autem Holy's mouth opened and closed, like a dying fish. "Wha. . .? Wha . . .? What do you mean, Tamil? What . . ?"

  "Watch them!" Rahani snapped, and both Simon and the Arab boy appeared to stiffen to his command. "You can begin the return journey, Nick,' Rahani said, so quietly that Bond was amazed he could be heard above the steady motor buzz.

  "I mean, Jay, that long ago I took over as the Chief Executive of SPECTRE. I mean that we have done what we set out to do. I even gambled on the pawn, Bond, getting the EPOC frequency. Down Escalator was always intended simply to deal with the imperialist power of the United States, which we shall now be able to hand on a plate to our friends in the Soviet Union. You were brought in only to provide the training programs. We have no use for emotionally motivated fools like Zwingli and yourself. You understand me?" Jay Autem Holy let out a wail of despair echoed only by General Zwingli's roar of anger.

  "You bastard!" Zwingli started to move. "I wanted my country strong again, by putting Russia and the U.S.A. on the same footing. You've sold out - you. . . He launched himself at Rahani.

  The Arab boy shot him, once, fast and accurately. He toppled over without a sound. While the blast of the boy's weapon continued in a long bell-like boom, echoing in the confined space, Jay Autem Holy leaped towards Rahani, arms outstretched to claw at his throat, his scream turning to a banshee wail of hate.

  Rahani, with no room to back off' shot him in mid-leap, firing two rounds from a small hand gun. But Holy's powerful spring, strengthened by his fury, carried his body on so that he crashed lifeless on top of SPECTRE'S leader, the man who had inherited the throne of the Blofeld family.