Bond - 18 - Role of Honor

by John Gardner

Sensitive signals and urgent messages are usually routed through the G.C.H.Q. complex outside Cheltenham, or one of its many satellites.

  From Cheltenham they are passed to the mysterious building known as Century House, or to the Regent's Park Headquarters.

  Ciphers for the Foreign Office go only then, not to Whitehall and Parliament Street, but to an unimposing, narrow, four-storey house off Northumberland Avenue.

  They are sent by a variety of methods ranging from the humble dispatch rider to teleprinter by land-line, or even through a closed telephone circuit, often linked to a computer modem programmed for deciphering.

  If the romantically minded were to imagine that someone with the title of Duty Security Officer, Foreign Office, prowls the great corridors of power with flashlight and uniformed accomplices, they would be wrong. The D.S.O.F.O. does not prowl. He sits in the house off Northumberland Avenue, and his job is to ensure that all ciphers for Foreign Office remain secure and get to the right person. He also deals with a whole mass of restricted information concerning communications from abroad, both from British sources, and from those of foreign powers. Leaders of friendly foreign powers, in particular, look for assistance from the Foreign Office.

  They usually find it with the D.S.O.F.O.

  It was to the little-noticed turning off Northumberland Avenue that James Bond was now heading in the Mulsanne Turbo.

  They had taken him out to the garage shortly after nine-thirty, made sure he had money, credit cards, his ASP, and petrol in the tank.

  Holy, Rahani and Zwingli had, in turn, clasped his hand, Zwingli muttering, "Good to have you on the team,' and promptly at nine forty-five the Bentley had eased its bulk on to the gravel turning circle, flashed its lights once, and swept on its stately way, up the drive and on to the road to Banbury.

  From Banbury, Bond followed the route they had ordered him to take - straight to the M4 motorway, and so into London.

  He did not spot any shadows, but had no doubt that they would be there. It did not worry him. The street where he would finally stop would be cleared of all but authorised vehicles so there was little chance of him being observed once the car had been parked.

  Risking the wrath of police patrols, Bond made the journey at high speed. From numerous telltale signs and bumps he was certain Peter Amadeus had managed to let himself into the boot. The little programmer would by now, be suffering considerable discomfort. Bond stopped once, at the service station near Heathrow Airport, to fill the tank. There he was able to let a little air into the boot and to satisfy himself that Amadeus was indeed alive and well. In a whisper, he explained that release just then was impossible, but it would not be long now.

  Less than forty minutes later, Amadeus was freed, speechless and stiff from the cramped ride, but all the same duly grateful.

  "Well, this is where you show your gratitude." Bond took his arm firmly, leading him towards the lighted doorway of the terraced house.

  Swing doors opened on to a marble-tiled hallway with a lift which took them to the second floor and a minuscule landing, watched over by a muscular government messenger, who half rose from his desk to ask what they required.

  "Predator,' Bond snapped at him. "Tell them, Predator and friend." He did not smile.

  Less than a minute later, they were led quickly through a passage and into a larger room. The red velvet curtains were drawn. A portrait of the Queen hung over the Adam fireplace and another of Winston Churchill adorned the opposite wall. A long gleaming boardroom table occupied a large portion of the available space.

  Six faces turned as one. M was at the head with Bill Tanner on his right and another officer Bond recognised to the left. Major Boothroyd, the Armourer, Head of Q Section, sat to Tanner's right with Lady Freddie Fortune next to him.

  Bond did not have time to be surprised at Freddie's presence, for the sixth member of the reception committee left her chair almost at a run.

  "James, darling. Oh, it's so good to see you.

  Percy Proud, oblivious to the officialdom, held him close, as though she would never let go again.

  "Commander Bond! Miss Proud!" M was genuinely embarrassed. "I, er, think we have important work to do." He detached himself from Percy, acknowledged the others, and introduced Peter. "I think Dr Amadeus will be able to contribute." Bond kept glancing suspiciously at Freddie Fortune - so often that M finally said, "Lady Freddie's been on the team for some years. Done good work, infiltrating. Sound woman, 007. Very deep cover.

  Forget you've ever seen her here." Bond caught Freddie's steady gaze, returning it with a sardonic smile and cocked eyebrow. Then, M drew the conference to order.

  "I trust you've gone into Endor, sir " Bond started.

  "Yes, 007. Yes, we went in about an hour after you drove out, but the birds had flown. I don't think many were left when you departed.

  The rest have vanished into thin air. Bag and baggage. We thought you could tell us - "I'm instructed to return there, by the same route as I came." Bond recalled the deserted feel of the place that morning, and the fact that he had seen only Cindy and the Arab first thing, and Tigerbalm, Holy, Rahani and Zwingli later.

  "The cars were there." He felt it was a lame comment.

  "Three of them, still in the garage."

  "Two when our people arrived." The officer Bond recognised but could not name was obviously running liaison.

  "How about my girl? How about Cindy?" Percy touched his sleeve, and Bond could not meet her eyes.

  "I'm not certain. She was a great deal of help, last night. Even tried to steal a copy of their main program the simulation of whatever they're doing." He turned to M. "It's on SPECTRE'S instructions, this business, sir, did you know?"

  "Is it, indeed?" M could administer the iceberg treatment when he had a mind to. "That villainous outfit is on the warpath again, eh?"

  "You still haven't told me about Cindy." Percy had her hand tightly on his arm now.

  "Just don't know, Percy. No idea." He told her about the previous night, leaving out all that happened after he got back to her room, but repeating the conversation with Holy in the morning.

  "So we have no ideas abut this simulation?" M sucked at his pipe.

  "If I could have a word." They all turned towards Amadeus. "I've seen the simulation running. It was a couple of weeks ago. The wee small hours. Couldn't sleep. I went down to the laboratory, and Jason was in what we call the War Room - Mr. Bond knows: it's at the far end.

  Jason was engrossed. Just didn't hear me." He passed a hand across his forehead. "That was before all those great oafs - gun-happy boys turned up. Before I got nervous about being there.

  M looked uncomfortable, spluttering over his pipe.

  "Well, thinks I, have a look, Pete. See what the crooks are after next. They refer to it as the Balloon "The Balloon Game, yes,' Bond interrupted.

  "I've seen it and you haven't. I have the floor, Mr. Bond, please." He looked around him revelling in the attention he was getting. "As I was saying, they call it the Balloon Game, but it's to do with something they've named Operation Down Escalator." M's brow creased as he repeated the words under his breath.

  "The simulation - Amadeus raised his voice appears to be set in a commercial airport. Not large.

  I didn't recognise it, but that's nothing to go by. The scenario begins in an office complex just to the left of the main terminal building. There's a lot of stuff with cars, and positioning men. As far as I could see, the idea was to lift one man.

  "Lift?" M enquired.

  "Kidnap, sir,' explained Bond.

  Amadeus shot them a glance, then scowled, letting them know he did not like being interrupted. "They lift this chap, and there's a lot of changing around in cars you know, he's taken to one point, then switched to another car.

  Then the location alters to a smaller field an airfield. It's tiny, with a mini control tower and one main building, a hangar, and guess what? An airship."

  "Airship?" Bond repeated in surprise.
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br />   "Hence Balloon Game. They get on to this field using the man they've lifted. It does appear to be terribly clever - there are three cars twelve men, and the hostage, if that's what he is. Result? They take over the whole shooting match. There is a final scenario and that's to do with flying the airship somewhere. It got very technical and "Chief of Station almost shouted. "Go and check it out. We know the thing's there, because it's on the itinerary. Saw it myself. They cleared it with the President's people, the Prime Minister and the Russians.

  Doing a sort of fly-past tomorrow morning." Bill Tanner was out of the room before he finished.

  Bond looked at his chief the questions clear on his face. "Sir, I haven't seen, or heard, any news lately. They even immobilised the car radio. Could you ?"

  "Yes,' M leaned back. "At least we've now got a small idea of what it's about. We know where, and how. What?

  Well, that's a very different matter."

  "Sir,' Bond prompted.

  "It's been kept under wraps for some time - a good few months in fact" M began. "These things always take the devil of a time to organise, and the participants wanted it to remain very low profile.

  Tonight, members of a Summit Conference are to arrive in Geneva.

  In fact, the first main session is this very night. They've taken over the whole of Le Richemond Hotel for three days "Who, sir?"

  "Russia, the United States, Britain, France and West Germany. The President of the United States, the French President, the Chairman of the U.S.S.R the German Chancellor, and our Prime Minister - with all advisers, secretaries, military, the entire circus. The discussions will be on arms control and a more positive and prosperous future. The usual pie-in-the-sky."

  "The airship?" Bond's heart was sinking. The more he heard, the less he liked it.

  "Goodyear. They have their ship, Europa, in Switzerland at the moment. When they heard about the Summit, Goodyear asked permission to fly what they called a goodwill mission, taking them straight over Le Richemond. They've got the Europa tethered just up the lake on a small strip - a tiny satellite field you can approach only from the lake itself. Mountain rescue boys and some private flyers use it."

  "But when did Goodyear arrange this?" Bond had not heard a whisper about any Summit Conference.

  M grunted. "You know what it's like, 007. They arrange their flights a year in advance. The Europa would have been there in any case. Would have been flying.

  However, they had to get permission once the Conference was announced." Percy had caught on. "Dr Amadeus, when did you first hear about the Balloon Game?" About four months ago, he told her, four or five.

  "And the Summit. . .?"

  "It's been pencilled in for almost a year, said M. "The information was available only through diplomatic channels. The Press have been good boys for a change. Not a whisper, even though they must have known." Bill Tanner returned with the news that he had been in contact with Geneva.

  "I talked to the Goodyear security man out at the strip.

  No problems, and we've alerted the Swiss police. They're going to close the field to everyone but accredited Goodyear staff. That means around thirty to thirty-five people, handlers, publicity and PR, mechanics, two pilots. Nobody's going to get in unless the Goodyear representatives okay the bona fides. It's sewn up, sir.

  "Right. Well, 007, all we have to do now is sew up the remainder of this unpleasant lot. Any ideas?" Bond had one idea, and one only.

  "You give me the EPOC frequency, sir - the real one, just in case they already have it, because I wouldn't put anything past SPECTRE and this crowd who are doing their dirty work for them."Oh yes, the EPOC frequency. That was mentioned in your message. Made us think. Tell me about that, 007." Bond went through the essentials of the story, from start to finish, leaving out nothing.

  "They claimed to have the Russian equivalent, sir, and the emergency ciphers for both Russia and the U.S.A.

  I'm inclined to believe them." M nodded. "Yes, SPECTRE S never been backward in acquiring information. Good job we've got the Goodyear field under wraps, Chief-of-Staff. Chivvy the Swiss would you, and keep in contact with the Goodyear people." M fiddled with his pipe as he began to expand on his own theory. If they did have the emergency ciphers of the United States and Russia, together with the frequencies and if SPECTRE'S agents were able to get near either of the leaders, they could activate that country'S cipher.

  "The way to do it,' Bond cut in, "would be to hijack the airship and load enough shortwave hardware. Then take the Europa right over the very spot where heads of state are gathered together "That's it, 007! Directly overhead would be enough for the United States' communications satellite to recognise the cipher, and, I presume, the Russian one as well." There were two possibilities: full nuclear strikes by one of the superpowers, or a simultaneous strike by both, knocking each of them out, leaving nothing but desolation on the two great continents for years to come. It was unthinkable. M said so, loudly. Bond pointed out that Jay Autem Holy had talked only of peace.

  "There would be the danger of their using a reserve plan if I failed to return with the EPOC frequency."

  "There's one alternative.

  Ploughshare." M said it as though this were the answer to everyone's dreams.

  "Ploughshare, and whatever the Russian equivalent is." Percy asked what Ploughshare was, and M told her with a smile that it was a way of consigning all nuclear weapons - the bulk of them anyway - to the scrap heap.

  Quietly he informed the assembly of the cipher which could be sent over the EPOC frequency that would set in motion the destruction of all arming codes, and the disarming of all nuclear weapons, strategic and tactical.

  "It's been reckoned that the process would take around twenty-four hours in the U.S.A. I should imagine it would be a little longer in the Soviet Union. Just as there's always been a Doomsday Machine, we've had a Swords to Ploughshare Machine for the last three decades." M pursed his lips and waited for this to sink in before continuing.

  "It's there in case of some catastrophe, like a 67 percent paralysis of the armed forces by nerve gas, or a genuine stalemate. Of course it's always been hoped that if the Ploughshare option were taken, it would be by mutual understanding. But it's there. And it's just as potentially dangerous as blowing two great nations to pieces, because using it would be the easiest way to destabilise the two superpowers, by removing their nuclear balance at a stroke. Do that, and the stage is set for real revolution, economic disaster and chaos." Bond was right. Let him be supplied with the EPOC frequency, and a homing device, one or two of the Armourer's more fancy pieces of equipment, and a good surveillance team. "You can then go back from whence you came, 007. Somewhere along the way, they'll pick you up, and we'll track you - safe enough if the team stays well back." Without further ado the meeting broke up and they took Bond off into a side room, where Major Boothroyd wired three homing devices into his clothes, and one for luck into the heel of his right shoe. The Armourer then handed Bond a couple of small weapons, and they gave him five minutes with Percy.

  She clung to him, kissed him and told him to take care.

  There would be time enough once this was over, Bond said, there was no doubt about it, and the haymaking season would last all summer.

  Percy smiled the knowing smile women the world over smile when they've got what they really want.

  Back in the conference room, they gave him the EPOC frequency that had come into effect at midnight. It was now one in the morning, and Bill Tanner gave the final hasty briefing.

  "We've already got your homers on two scanners' he said. "Don't worry, James, they've a range of almost ten miles. The car behind will stay only a mile or so away.

  The one riding point is already on his way. We know the route, so as soon as you go astray, we'll be in action. One S.A.S. team standing by. They'll be anywhere you want in a matter of minutes, in a straight line, as the chopper flies. Good luck." Even the centre of London was beginning to slow down. Bond had the Bentl
ey on the Hammersmith Flyover, heading towards the M4, in less than twelve minutes. They had calculated that Holy and Rahani wouldn't try anything until he was well off the motorway.

  It happened just after the Heathrow Airport turnoff.

  First, a pair of cars, travelling very fast, forced the Bentley to give up the outside lane. Bond cursed them for a couple of fools and pulled into the middle lane. Before he realised what was happening the two cars reduced speed, riding beside him, keeping him in the centre, while two heavy goods lorries came up in the slow lane.

  Bond increased speed, trying to slip away in the centre lane, but both cars and lorries were well tuned, and, too late, he realised the way ahead was blocked by a big, slow-moving refrigerated truck.

  He braked and saw incredulously the rear doors open and a ramp slide out, its end riding on buffered wheels, fishtailing to the road surface, the whole contraption being driven with great precision.

  The cars to the right and lorries on the left crowded him, like sheep dogs working together until he had no option left. With a slight jerk, the Bentley's front wheels touched the ramp. With the steering wheel bucking in his hands, Bond gave the engine a tweak and glided into the great white moving garage.

  The doors clanged shut behind him. Lights came on, and the door was opened. Simon stood beside the car, an Uzi tucked under one arm.

  "Well done, James. Sorry we couldn't give you any warning. Now, there's not much time. Out of those clothes. We've brought the rest of your gear. Everything of it, shoes as well, just in case they smelled a rat and bugged you.

  Hands grasped at his clothing, tearing it from him, handing over other things - socks, underwear, grey slacks, white shirt, tie, blazer, and soft leather moccasins.

  When he turned round, Simon was behind him, now dressed in a chauffeur's uniform, and the van seemed to be slowing down and taking one of the exits. The ASP was handed back to him - a sign of good faith? He wondered if it was loaded.

  The team had worked with such speed and proficiency that Bond hardly had time to take in what was going on.

  As the truck shuddered to a halt, Simon opened the Bentley's rear door, half pushing Bond into the back, and in a second the truck's doors were again open, and they were reversing out. Simon was in the driving seat.