Two dentex, carnivorous fish related to the sargo, appeared and swam behind Bond. Although they probably weren’t dangerous, he didn’t want to take the chance of one becoming curious and taking a bite out of him. He pushed a button and dark black smoke poured out of the hydrospeeder’s tail. It was enough to scare off the fish.
The vehicle sped out of the dark cloud and sailed over a bed of ascidians, which resembled soft tubes and grew in violet and red with a little black here and there. They undulated back and forth, suggestively beckoning to Bond with their oval, open lips.
The GPS signal indicated that he was close. Bond began his ascent slowly, for even on a hydrospeeder, a diver had to compensate for the changes in pressure. On the way up, a beautiful rainbow wrasse swam near him and studied him curiously. It seemed to be congratulating him for making it. Eventually Bond saw the dark shape of Collette’s boat above him and rose to the surface.
NINETEEN
THE INFILTRATION
NIGEL SMITH LOOKED AT THE PIECE OF MAIL THAT HAD ARRIVED FOR BOND. The envelope was addressed by hand, to “Commander James Bond.” Whoever had written it had also used 007’s subtle security code—a semicolon after the name and commas after every line in the address except the last one. This meant that the contents were “friendly” and/or “personal” and went straight to the addressee, going through only the obligatory X-ray upon its arrival in the post at M16 without being opened.
There was no return address, save for a single “M” with a circle around it.
Nigel knew that it wasn’t from M. Could it be … ?
He was dying to open it but thought it best to contact 007 first. Nigel picked up the phone and dialed Bond’s mobile number.
It went unanswered.
Bond had lost his mobile during his getaway from the film set. He was lucky to have his Walther, the Q-Branch camera, and the clothes on his back.
After loading Ariel onto the Outlaw and docking at Calvi, he and Collette spent the remainder of the afternoon resting at the Hotel Corsica, coincidentally the same establishment where René Mathis had stayed. Its location on the outskirts of town suited Bond nicely, just as it had his old French cohort.
“Bertrand, let me borrow your phone, would you?” Bond asked after he had rested, showered, and put on some clothes that Collette had brought with him. Collette tossed his mobile to him and Bond dialed M16.
Nigel was very relieved to hear from him.
“I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you,” he said. “I was just about to leave the office.”
“Everything is fine, I think. Bertrand Collette and I are in Calvi trying to decide how to proceed.”
“Well, perhaps I have something that will help you. You have a letter here from an ‘M’, and it’s not our inimitable chief. It was sent from Corsica, but it somehow got lost in the mail and just arrived here today.”
“Christ, that’s from Mathis!” Bond said. “What does it say?”
Nigel opened it and read it aloud. “ ‘James, I have tracked our friend to Corsica. I am going today to see if I can find his home. “Corse Shipping” near St. Florent is full of cobwebs, especially the cave below the cliff. If you do not hear from me in a few days, find the man they call the Sailor at the marina in Calvi. René.’ ”
“Full of cobwebs” was a code that meant the place was dirty, i.e., occupied by the opposition.
“What is the date on the letter?” Bond asked.
“Hmmm … over two weeks ago.”
“Oh no. Thanks, Nigel. I’m going to look into this.”
After he rang off, Bond and Collette looked at a map and pinpointed St. Florent and the best way to approach it.
“Corse Shipping figures in whatever Essinger is doing with the Union,” Bond said. “The firm was mentioned in documents I found at his office in Paris. They’ve been providing catering services and the like. I also saw the name stamped on the crates containing explosives for the film in Fripp’s trawler. If that was really the stolen CL-20 I found there, then Corse Shipping had its hands on that, too. I think we should take a look at the place.”
“I figure we can take the boat and approach the place by sea, what do you think?”
“We’ll go tonight, after dark,” Bond said. “But first there’s a man at the marina I have to see.”
Bond went alone to the harbor. He asked someone where he might find “the Sailor,” and the man pointed to a sailboat tied to the opposite side of the dock. Bond went over there and found the Sailor asleep on his boat.
“Pardon?” Bond asked, waking him.
“Huh? Who is it?”
Bond explained that he was looking for a Frenchman who may have befriended him a few days ago.
“Oh yes, Monsieur Mathis,” the Sailor said, climbing out of the boat and standing on the dock. “Would you like to buy me dinner, too?”
Bond shrugged. Why not? “If you can help me, I’d be happy to do so.”
Over pastis, a strong aniseed flavored aperitif and a couple of pizzas, the Sailor explained that Mathis had been asking about Emile Cirendini and the mysterious blind man known as Pierre Rodiac. The Sailor said that Mathis had traced Rodiac to Sartène and had gone down that way over two weeks ago. He hadn’t heard from Mathis since.
“Did he say anything about Corse Shipping?” Bond asked.
“Apparently this Rodiac fellow has dealings with Emile Cirendini. Cirendini owns the boat Rodiac uses to travel to the mainland.” He pointed to the Princess. “That’s it. I know that your friend went to Corse Shipping to snoop around. I don’t know what he found.”
Bond bought the man a bottle of wine and bid him adieu.
After the sun set, Bond and Collette took the Outlaw back out to sea and sailed eastward toward Cap Corse. They passed St. Florent and soon found Corse Shipping on the coast. It was a forbidding place, perched high up near the coastal highway.
“There doesn’t seem to be much activity right now,” Bond said, studying the coastline with binoculars. “All the lights are off.”
Then he saw the cave.
“Bertrand, pull in a little closer. Do you see that cave there?”
Collette threw the engine into gear and headed to shore. “That must be what Mathis was talking about. I’m taking Ariel into it,” Bond said.
Collette stopped some fifty meters out, dropped anchor, and cut the lights. It took them a few minutes to drop the hydro-speeder in the water and for Bond to change into a black wet suit. He put on the facemask and jumped in.
“If I’m not back in an hour, call the marines,” Bond said.
He climbed aboard Ariel and started the engine. Breathing regularly with the self-contained oxygen unit, Bond dived, manipulated the controls, and began traveling toward the cave some fifteen feet below the surface.
The inside of the cave was dark and ominous when he brought Ariel to the surface. Bond flicked on the high-intensity headlamps and pointed the hydrospeeder at the back of the cavern. At first glance, it appeared to be a natural cave big enough for a small tugboat. After a bend in the tunnel, the water passed between two stalagmites that stood like sentinels guarding whatever was beyond. Keeping low, Bond noticed that some machinery had been attached to the stalagmites. They were electric eyes, placed four feet above the surface. Trespassers would be caught before they could go any further. Bond submerged again and propelled Ariel forward through the passageway until he came to a larger cavern that was probably manmade. Sure enough, there was a dock there. Several speedboats were tied to it, as well as a craft that looked similar to a coast guard’s patrol boat, but without markings.
Bond tied Ariel to a post on the dock and climbed up. Barefoot, but armed with his gun in a waterproof holster, his knife, and the camera, Bond stepped across the dock to metal doors that presumably led to a lift. There was an elaborate alarm system incorporated in the doors, so he pulled the camera from his belt and activated the laser.
He aimed it at the alarm box and made two quick cuts
across the mechanism, burning it out and deactivating it. Bond replaced the camera and tried the doors. They opened freely.
A wide hallway led to a freight lift. It was open cage style, with a sliding mesh gate for a door. How noisy would it be? Bond slid open the gate, got inside, and pressed the top button. The machinery whirred and clanged, but it wasn’t as loud as he had feared. Still, it was possible that the noise would alert someone.
He took the lift to the top level, deep inside the Corse Shipping complex. It opened to the warehouse, which was full of crates, boxes and barrels. He stepped out and got his bearings. He could see the outside lift, the one that faced the sea, on the other side of the warehouse. To his right he found the exit leading to the complex offices. He peeked into the brightly lit corridor and heard voices somewhere down the hall. Should he risk going farther?
Careful not to make a sound, Bond inched down the corridor until he found the office the voices were coming from. Next to it was another office. Bond listened at the door, heard nothing, tried the knob and opened it.
There was no one in the office. It contained a worktable and a desk. Bond switched on the light and locked the door behind him. He removed the camera from his belt again and pulled out the two earpieces that were attached to thin, flexible tubes. Bond flicked a switch on the bottom of the camera, out of which he pulled a stethoscope-like suction cup, also attached to a flexible tube. He licked the cup and stuck it to the wall, then put the earpieces in his ears.
He could hear the conversation clearly, and, in fact, recognized one of the voices.
“Now that the bastard is dead, we don’t have anything to worry about,” Julius Wilcox said. “What a mess. They’ll have to completely rebuild that damn tanker and film the sequence all over again. Essinger is pretty upset. But at least we got rid of the spy.”
“Let’s hope so. We’ve come too far to abort the project,” the other man said. Emile Cirendini, perhaps?
“Oh, we won’t abort, believe me. Once Le Gérant accepts a client’s money, he goes through with the project, no matter how risky. Besides, this one will be a piece of cake. All of the parts are coming together nicely. Are you on schedule?”
“As soon as the detonator is completed, we’ll be ready,” Cirendini said. “I’ll have the entire assembly shipped out by the usual method to the studios in Nice.”
“Excellent,” Wilcox said.
“Have you spoken to Le Gérant? ”
“Yes, a few minutes ago. I’m sure he’ll be staying put at his house until the project is completed.”
“If you ask me, he’s been very careless lately.”
“How do you mean?” Wilcox asked.
“Gambling at the casino in Monte Carlo. Going out in public. It’s not going to be long before someone figures out who he is.”
“Le Gérant can do whatever the hell he wants to do. Nothing the Union has ever done can be traced back to him. He’s perfectly clean. The man’s a goddamned genius.”
Bond glanced around the room while he listened. On the floor next to the worktable was a stack of large film cans, the kind that contained 35mm motion picture prints. Bond took a look inside the top one and saw that it was empty. Next to these were empty pressurized soft drink canisters, the kind seen in bars with hoses attached to them. A means of smuggling, perhaps? On top of the worktable was an odd-looking device that Bond was almost positive was the detonator Cirendini was talking about. By examining the pieces and the various small boxes that the parts came in, Bond determined that the device contained a servo receiver connected to an electric detonator, manufactured by a Canadian company. It was a high-strength unit designed for use in explosive initiation applications where there was no need for a delay between charges.
It was something that anyone could purchase over the internet.
What the hell were they planning to blow up? What was the significance of the film cans? What about the soft drink canisters? This must all be related to the radio transmitter he had seen on Fripp’s trawler. Was Fripp assembling the transmitter to these devices, the receiver and detonator?
Bond was tempted to smash the pieces with the butt of his gun then and there but he froze when he heard a knock next door.
“What?” he heard Cirendini ask. There was activity outside the door.
“Monsieur, there is a strange boat not far from the cave. It’s been there for half an hour.”
Damn! They’ve seen Collette’s boat.
“Well, get out there and find out who it is. Use your discretion,” Cirendini said. “If you think that it’s warranted, kill whoever it is and get rid of the boat.”
“Yes, sir.”
No time to lose. Bond pulled the suction cup from the wall, replaced the earpieces, and hooked the camera back on his belt. He listened at the door and waited until he heard the guards walk away.
The corridor was clear. Bond slipped out of the office and made his way back to the warehouse without being detected. He carefully looked inside the swinging doors before entering and saw that three guards inside were blocking his way to the lift.
So far, no one knew that he was there. If he could cause a diversion … ?
Bond drew his gun and peered inside again. Along one wall were stacks of more soft drink dispenser tanks. Perhaps these were full of pressurized soda? Bond took a bead and fired. One of the tanks burst, spewing cola in a steady, high-pressured stream.
The guards immediately snapped out of their reverie. One of them went over to the tanks to see what had happened. The two others walked toward the swinging doors, certain that the gunshot had come from that direction. As soon as they were two feet from the doors, Bond swung them open as hard as he could, hitting them both in the face. Bond spun inside, elbowed one guard in the stomach, leaned to the side, and kicked the other guard in the chest. He then grabbed hold of the first guard’s arm and threw the man over his back into the second guard. They toppled to the floor.
Bond ran to the lift before the third guard could stop him. He got into the cage, slammed the gate shut, and pushed the button for the lower level. The third guard drew a handgun and fired down into the lift as it descended. Bond hugged the metal wall, just beyond the guard’s aim. In just a few seconds, the lift had disappeared to a lower level.
Then the alarms went off.
When the lift got to the bottom, Bond could see several guards lining the corridor that led to the cave-dock. Luckily, they were facing the opposite direction and the alarms had covered the noise of the lift descending. Nevertheless, it was a thirty-foot gauntlet that he had to run through in order to get out of the place.
Bond waited a few seconds before opening the gate. He knew that timing was everything. Gun in hand, he sprang out of the lift and ran like the devil, firing shots above the guards’ heads. The men immediately jumped for cover behind boxes and crates that lined the corridor, too surprised to react in any other way. By the time Bond got to the door he had disarmed earlier, one of the guards found the wherewithal to fire back. Bullets zinged around Bond’s head, boring holes into the metal door. He dropped to the floor, rolled and shot back at the several guards running toward him. He hit the two men in front and they fell back into the others. That gave Bond the time he needed to get to his feet and open the door.
The “patrol boat” was gone. Bond rushed to the edge of the dock and was relieved to see that no one had discovered Ariel tied there underwater. He quickly got aboard, untied her and submerged.
Bond used minimal lighting to navigate his way out of the cave and into the open sea. Once he was clear of the cavern, he cut the lights and surfaced.
Oh no! Cirendini’s patrol boat was alongside Collette’s Outlaw, which was on fire and sinking fast. He heard the men on the patrol boat whooping and hollering as a burning figure, obviously bound, fell over the side of the Outlaw into the water.
Bond quickly dived again and sped at top speed toward the wreckage. It took him nearly three minutes—far too long, he feared. He put o
n the high intensity lamps and swerved the hydrospeeder back and forth, searching frantically for Collette’s body.
There! The lifeless figure was floating toward the bottom, a weight attached to his feet. His arms were bound behind his back. When Bond got close enough with the vehicle, the illumination revealed that his friend was badly burned.
Bond cut the engine and slipped off Ariel so that he could grab Collette. He immediately shoved the second re-breather into the Frenchman’s mouth. Bond laid him over the hydro-speeder, started her up, and began to ascend.
When they broke the surface, Bond did his best to revive Collette. He removed the re-breather and laid Collette on his back over the vehicle. He then performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and CPR.
“Come on, Bertrand!” he whispered. Bond glanced up and saw that the patrol boat was headed back to the cave. They hadn’t seen him. The burning Outlaw had all but sunk completely.
Bond continued working on Collette for another three minutes but his friend showed no signs of life.
Damn it! You’re alive! I know it!
Bond blocked out everything around him and concentrated fully on Collette. He didn’t believe in miracles, but he prayed for one now.
Was yet another ally going to die while serving with him? Bond had seen it happen too many times. It seemed to be a curse. He brought death wherever he went, which was why he preferred to work alone.
Come on, damn it!
When Collette unexpectedly coughed up water, Bond thought that there might really be a God.
TWENTY
THE SECOND VISIT
BOND DITCHED ARIEL IN THE BAY OFF ST. FLORENT AND RODE IN THE ambulance with Collette back to Calvi. Although the coastal port didn’t contain a hospital, it had an emergency treatment center affiliated with the main hospital in Bastia. The Antenne Médicale d’Urgence handled all but the worst cases on site; otherwise a patient would be sent to Bastia by helicopter or ambulance. It was a small facility with three patient rooms, a treatment room, and an administration office.
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