by John Gardner
"Okay, Peter. What's the score?" As Peter Amadeus came closer, Bond sensed more than saw that the small pistol, just visible, held away from the body, was waving around like a tree in a gale. The precise little man was clearly very nervous.
"The score, Mr. Bond, is that I want out. And as far away from here as possible. I gathered from your conversation that you're thinking of going as well."
"I'm going when I'm told - by your boss.
Does he know you're out, by the way?"
"If the gods happen to be on my side, nobody will notice. If the hue and cry is raised, I just pray they won't come looking here."
"Peter, you won't get out at all unless I go back the way I came pretty damned quickly. Wouldn't it be better for you to stay put?" The pistol sagged in Amadeus's hand, and his voice edged one more note towards hysteria. "I can't, Bond! I can't do it. The place, those people - particularly Finnes - terrify me. I just can't stay in the house any longer!"
"Right,' said Bond soothingly, hoping the young man's voice would not rise too high. "If we can think of a way, would you help? Give evidence if necessary?"
"I've got the best evidence in the world,' he said in a calmer voice. "I've seen the Balloon Game run. I know what it's about, and that's enough to terrify any large size policeman, let alone me."
"What's in it? Tell me."
"It's my only ace. You get me out and I'll give any help you might need. Is that a deal?"
"I can't promise." Bond was acutely aware that time was slipping by. Cindy would not be able to distract the two guards much longer.
He told Peter to put the gun away. "If they're letting me out to do a bit of their dirty work, it's pretty certain they'll go through the Bentley with the finest of toothcombs. You've also got to realise that your absence puts a lot of people at risk."
"I know, but. .
"Okay, it's "~ri,' now. Listen, and listen carefully As quickly as he could, Bond told Amadeus the best way to hide under the other cars in the garage. Then he pressed the keys into the young man's hand. "You use these only after they've played around with the Bentley.
It's a risk. Anything could happen, and I haven't any assurance they'll let me go in my own car. One other thing. If you're found here, you get no help. I completely deny having anything to do with you. Right?" Bond told Amadeus he should hide in the boot after the car had been examined - "For all I know they'll send one of their people with me, armed to the teeth." Then Bond gave him a final instruction should all else fail, or if Bond himself were prevented from going. He patted the little programmer's shoulder, wishing him luck, then climbed back on to the roof of the Mercedes and hauled himself up through the skylight.
Lying on the flat roof in the chill night air, pressed hard against the lead, he realised that Cindy had exhausted her repertoire.
The guards were very close, just below the garage roof. He could hear them mutterIng, commenting on what they had seen: all the usual soldiers' innuendoes.
He lay tense, listening, for about five minutes, until they moved away, following their routine pattern, covering the front of the house from all angles.
It took a further ten minutes for Bond to snake his way back to the window. After each move he stopped, lying still, ears strained for sounds of the returning guards, who passed under the garage twice during his uncomfortable crawl. At last he negotiated the sill, climbing back into Cindy's room.
"You took your time." She was stretched out on the bed, her dark body glistening, the gorgeous long legs moving as she rubbed thigh against thigh. Cindy was quit n.t'd, and Bond, with the tension released, went to her.
"Thank you. I've done all I can . . ." He was going to say something about Amadeus, but changed his mind; sufficient unto the day.
Cindy lifted her arms to his shoulders, and Bond found himself with no power to resist.
Only once, as he entered her, did Percy's face and body flash before him - a picture so vivid that he thought he could smell her scent on Cindy.
was almost dawn when he crept back to his own room. The house was still silent, as though sleeping in preparation for action. He ate some of the food, threw the rest down the lavatory and flushed it three times to clear it away. Only when that was done did Bond lie down on his own bed, still fully dressed, and drop into a refreshing sleep.
At the first noise he was awake, his right hand going for the ASP.
It was Cindy, looking as though even hard-boiled sweets would dissolve at the touch of her tongue. She carried a breakfast tray and was followed by Tigerbalm, who produced his inane grin, saying that Professor St. John-Finnes wished to see him at noon. "That's midday sharp,' he added. "I'll come and fetch yer.
"Please do." He moved on the bed, but Cindy was already halfway out of the door.
"Cindy,' he called.
She did not even look back. "Have a nice day' was flung sharply over her shoulder.
Bond shrugged, a little worried, and then began to help himself to black coffee and toast. It was ten-thirty by his watch. By eleven forty-five he was showered, shaved and changed, feeling better than the day before, and reflecting that even M could not leave it much longer before making a move against Endor.
At three minutes to twelve, Tigerbalm reappeared.
They went downstairs to the rear of the house, where Jay Autem Holy was waiting for him in a small room Bond had never seen before.
There was a table, two chairs and a telephone; no pictures, windows or any other furnishing. The room was lit by two long neon strips, and Bond saw immediately that the chairs and table were bolted to the floor. It was familiar ground: an interrogation room.
"Come in, friend Bond." The head came up in a swooping movement, the green eyes piercing, hostile as laser gun sights. He told Tigerbalm to leave, motioning for Bond to sit down. Holy wasted no time.
"The plan you outlined to me - the way to get your eyes on the current Epoc frequency "Yes."
"It is imperative that we have the frequency which comes into operation at midnight tonight, covering the next two days.
"I can get it, but "We'll do without any buts, James. SPECTRE are still most unhappy about using you. They have sent a message, which I am to give you, alone." Bond waited. There was a pause of a few seconds.
"Those who speak for SPECTRE say that you already know they are not squeamish. They also say that it is useless for us to threaten you with death or anything else, if you don't carry out orders to the letter." He gave the ghost of a smile. "I happen to believe that you're with us all the way. If you're doubling, then I'd have to admit you've fooled me. However, just so that we all know where we stand, I am to tell you the worst that can happen.
Again Bond did not reply, or allow any change in his expression.
"The operation to which we are all now committed has peaceful aims, I must stress this. True, it will alter history. Certainly it will bring about some chaos. There will undoubtedly be resistance from reactionaries. But the change will come, and with it Peace." He made it plain, by his tone that the word was given a capital P.
"So?"
"So, the EPOC frequency is a prerequisite to SPECTRE'S plan for the Peaceful solution. If all goes well, there will be little or no bloodshed. If anyone is hurt or killed, it will be the fault of those trying to make a stand against the inevitable." Holy clasped his hands together gently and placed them on the table in a gesture of open and frank paternal counselling.
"What I am instructed to tell you is that, should you fail us, or try any tricks to foil what cannot be foiled, the operation will still go ahead, but the Peaceful solution will have to be abandoned. Without the EPOC frequency there is one way only - the way of horror, terror and the ultimate holocaust.
"I . . . " Bond began, but was stopped short by Holy's glare.
"They wish me to make it clear to you that, should you be tempted to cut and run, not provide the frequency, or - worse - try to alter it, then the blood and deaths of millions will be on your head, and yours alone. They
aren't bluffing, James. We have worked for them, and they terrify me."
"Do they terrify General Zwingli as well?"
"He is a tough old bird,' Holy said, more relaxed. "A tough but disillusioned old bird. But, yes, they also frighten him." He spread his hands on the table, near the telephone, palms downwards. "Joe Zwingli lost all faith in his country roughly at the time that I too came to the conclusion that the United States had become a degenerate, self-serving nation, led by corrupt men. I deduced that America - like Britain could never be altered from the inside. It had to be done from without. Together we dreamed up the idea of disappearing, working for a truly democratic society, and world peace, from the obscurity of. .
. what shall I call it? . . . the obscurity of the grave?"
"How about the obscurity of a whited sepulchre?" Too late, Bond checked his impulse to be less than friendly with the devious doctor.
Epoc The green eyes hardened, diamonds reflecting light.
"Not worthy, James. Not if you're with us."
"I was thinking it was what the world might say."
"The world will be a very different place within the next forty-eight hours. Few will be concerned with what I did. Many will look with hope to what I have done." Bond swerved back to the matter in hand. "So I go tonight - if you've decided my idea's the best."
"You go tonight, and you set things in motion before you go. The Duty Security Officer's name is Denton Anthony Denton."
"Good."
"You know him?" Bond knew Tony Denton well.
They had attended courses together in the past, and, a few years ago, had been on a bring-'em-back-alive trip to secure a defector who had walked into the Embassy in Helsinki. Yes, he knew good old Tony Denton, though it would make no difference at all if his instructions had been taken to heart at the Regent's Park Headquarters.
"He goes on duty at six in the evening, I understand,' Holy prompted.
Bond said that certainly used to be the old routine.
Holy suggested he should make the telephone call at about six-thirty. "In the meantime, I think you'd better take some rest. If you do the job properly, as you must, for the sake of your own peace of mind, not to mention the millions who are unknowingly staking their lives on you, we can all look to a brighter future - to those broad, sunlit uplands of which a great statesman once spoke."
"I go in my own car." He was not asking but telling Holy.
"If you insist. I shall have to have the telephone disconnected, but you'll not object to that."
"Just leave me an engine and a complete set of wheels." Epoc Holy allowed himself the ghost of a smile. Then the face hardened again.
"James Bond knew suddenly that he was going to say something unpleasant.
"James, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. I understand the nubile Miss Chalmer was in your room last night. Come to that, you were in hers until the early hours. I must ask you, did Cindy Chalmer give you anything? Or try to pass something to you?"
"I trust not then he realised this was not the time for facetious remarks. "No.
Nothing. Should she have?" Holy stared at the table. "She says not.
Idiot girl.
Sometime yesterday she removed what she imagined to be a rather important computer program from the laboratory. She's shown signs of wilfulness before now, so I set a small trap for her. The program she stole was rubbish, quite worthless. She says that you knew nothing of her action, and I'm inclined to believe her. But the fact remains that she hid the disk among your clothes where, James, if has been found.
Cindy made quite a speech about it. She seems to think that we're - as she puts it - up to no good. So, she took the disk as some kind of evidence and hid it in your room until she could think of a way to use it against me." He became hesitant.
"We've kept it in the family, James - by which I mean that we've not let it go beyond Dazzle and myself. My partners, Rahani and Zwingli, could become alarmed, might even pass it on to the representatives of SPECTRE. I don't think we'd want that, not a domestic thing. None of their business." So, thought Bond, as serious a matter as stealing even a dummy back-up program of the Balloon Game on which, he presumed, the whole operation for SPECTRE was based could be overlooked and kept "in the family'.
It was an interesting turn of events. What it did show was that Jay Autem Holy lived in terror of SPECTRE, and that was a piece of deduction which may well be put to valuable use later.
"Cindy?" Bond mused. "What. ?"
"Will happen to her? She is regarded as one of my family. She will be disciplined, like a child, and kept under lock and key. Dazzle is seeing to it."
"I haven't set eyes on your wife recently.
"No, she prefers to remain in the background, but she has certain tasks to perform, tasks necessary to success.
What I really wish to ask of you, James, is that we keep this business about Miss Chalmer to ourselves. Keep it as a personal matter. I mean, we don't mention it to anybody. Personal, between us, eh?"
"It's personal enough already." Bond clamped his mouth shut. What else was there to say?
Tigerbalm came for him shortly after six o'clock. They had not locked him in, though food was served on a tray, brought up by a young Arab. Tigerbalm was very polite.
They went to the same room as before, with its bolted-down table and chairs. The only difference this time was that a tape recorder, with a separate set of earphones, had been hooked up to the telephone.
"It's time, then." Holy was not alone. Tamil Rahani stood beside him, while the large, craggy face of General Zwingli peered out from behind them.
"I can't promise this part will work." Bond's voice was flat and calm. So calm that it appeared to activate something deep within General Zwingli, who pushed his way through his partners, sticking out a leathery hand.
"We haven't met, Commander Bond." The voice had a slightly Texan tang to it. "My name's Joe Zwingli, and I just want to wish you luck, son. Get in there and make it happen for us. It's in a great cause - to put your country and mine back on their feet; give them some new order in the midst of their present chaos." Bond did not want to disillusion the man. But a scheme of SPECTRE'S that was not for their good alone, he reckoned, would never see the light of day.
He played it to the hilt. "I'll do what I can, sir." Then he sat down and waited for Holy to set the tape monitor, put on the headphones and indicate they were ready.
He picked up the handset and punched out the digits to access the small complex where the S.I.S. Duty Security Officer to the Foreign Office spent his twelve hour watches, together with specialist teleprinter, cipher, radio and computer operators. Two shifts a day, twelve hours apiece.
The number which Bond had in fact punched was a screened telephone number known only to the field officers of his Service. It was also manned day and night, and paraded many identities, depending upon what operations were being run. That night it was a Chinese Laundry based in Soho, a radio cab firm, a French restaurant, and - if the need arose - the Foreign Office Duty Security Officer's direct line. For that purpose it had been alerted for special action ever since Bond's radiophone call from the Bentley on the previous evening. If the call came, it would be passed to one person only. The telephone rang four times before anyone picked it up. "Hallo?" The voice was flat, disguised for safety.
"Tony Denton - the D.O. please.
"Who wants him?"
"Predator."
"Hang on please.
Bond saw Holy give a wry smile, for when outlining his plan, he had refused to give the cryptonym he had used as a member of the Service. Apparently Jay Autem Holy thought this one very apt.
They waited while the call was being switched through to Bill Tanner, and it was his old friend Tanner's voice which next came on to the line.
"Denton. I thought you were out, Predator. This is an irregular call. I'm afraid I have to terminate."
"Tony! Wait!" Bond hunched over the table. "This is priority. Yes, I'm out - as f
ar as anyone can be out - but I have something vital to the Service. But really vital."
"Go on." The voice at the other end sounded doubtful.
"Not on the telephone. Not safe. You're the only person I could think of. I must see you. I have to see you.
Imperative, Tony. Consul." Bond used the standard cipher word for extreme emergency. At the far end there was a fractional pause.
"When?"
"Tonight. Before midnight. I can get to you, I think.
Please, Tony, give me the all clear." Again there was a long pause. "If this isn't straight I'll see you in West End Central by morning, charged under the Official Secrets Act. As quickly as you can. I'll clear you. Right?"
"Be with you before midnight.
Bond sounded relieved, but the line was closed long before he took the handset from his ear.
"First hurdle." Holy jabbed down on the recorder's stop button.
"Now, you have to be convincing when you get there."
"So far, it's playing to packed houses." Tamil Rahani sounded pleased. "The dispatch rider brings the frequency up from Cheltenham at around eleven forty-five?"
"If the U.S. President is away from his own country, yes.
Bond held the man's eyes, trying to discern his state of mind.
Rahani laughed. "Oh, he's out of the country. No doubt about that, Commander Bond. No doubt at all."
"If you leave here at nine forty-five you should make it with time to spare." Holy removed his headset. "We'll be with you all the way, James. All the way."
DOWN ESCALATOR
THE METAL FORESTS of antennae which rise above the massive pile of government buildings running from Downing Street along Whitehall and Parliament Street, conjure up thoughts of communications flying through the night; of telephones waking ministers, calling them to deal with some important crisis; or the fabled telegrams crossing the airwaves from distant embassies.
In fact, only open messages run into those government offices.
