Flat against the roof, his body pressing down as if to merge with the lead surface, Bond lay silent, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he froze, hearing first the sound of feet on gravel, then the voices. There were, as Cindy had said, two of them, speaking in heavily accented English. One made a hushing sound.
‘What?’
‘The roof. Didn’t you hear it?’
‘What?’
‘Sounded like someone on the garage roof . . .’
Bond willed his body into the flat surface, pressing down, his head turned away, pulses thudding in his ears.
‘On the roof? No.’
‘Move back. Take a look. You know what he said – no second chances.’
The sound of feet on the gravel again.
‘I can’t see any . . .’
‘You think we should go and . . .’
Bond’s hand inched towards the ASP.
‘There’s nobody there. Might have been a cat . . . Hey, Hans, look at that.’ The scuffle of feet could be heard moving back off the gravel.
Bond turned his head, and saw the clear silhouettes of the two guards below, in front of the house. They were close to one another, looking up like a pair of astronomers studying a new planet, eyes fixed on the windows, out of sight to his right.
Carefully he started to move towards the centre of the roof, where he knew the skylight lay. Then, suddenly, he dropped flat again as the guards also moved – his own breathing sounding so loud that it must draw them to him. But the two men were now backing away from the house, heads tilted, trying to get a better view of what was happening just inside Cindy’s lighted open window.
Again Bond edged forward, going as fast as safety would allow, conscious of each minute slipping away.
Though probably less than a minute, it seemed to take an eternity to reach the skylight, which moved at his first touch. Very gently he slid it back, staring down into the darkness below.
They had made it easier for him by parking the white Mercedes directly underneath. One swing and he was down, feet on the car’s roof, head less than a foot below the edge of the skylight.
Crouched there, Bond slipped the ASP from its holster. If they had put a man inside the garage, plans might just have to change. Once more he waited, stock still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. No sound could be heard but the beating of his own heart. The long outline of the Mulsanne could just be made out parked to his right.
He dropped to the floor, padded around the rear of the Mercedes, one hand still grasping the ASP, the other now clutching the keys to the Bentley.
The lock thumped open, and there was that solid, satisfying sound as the catch gave way to his thumb and the heavy door swung back.
The Bentley’s interior came alive with light, and he slid into the driving seat, leaving the door open as he checked the connections around the Super 1000 long-range telephone, which Communications Control Systems had provided for the electronics wizards at Rolls-Royce to wire in. Closing the door, he picked up the handset, letting out a breath of relief as the small pin of red light came on to show the telephone was active. His main fear had been that Holy’s men had cut the connections. Now, all he could do was pray that nobody was monitoring the closed waveband.
Quickly he punched out the number, and, before the distant end had time to say ‘Transworld Exports,’ he rasped out, ‘Predator! Confuse!’ hitting the small blue scramble button as he said it, then counting to twenty, waiting for the distant to come up again.
‘Confused!’ the voice of the Duty Officer at the Regent’s Park Headquarters said clearly.
‘I say this once only. Predator, emergency . . .’ and Bond launched into a fast two-minute message which he hoped would be clearly intelligible if Jay Autem Holy really intended to send him out from Endor to steal the United States EPOC frequency within the next few days.
Putting the telephone back into its cradle between the seats, he retrieved the ASP which had rested above the polished wooden dashboard only inches from his hand, and returned it to his holster.
Now he had to get back to Cindy’s room as fast as possible. The thought of the girl slowly stripping, singing to herself, was highly erotic in his heightened state of mind, bringing the picture of Percy Proud to him quickly, as though she were very close. A trick of the subconscious he decided, closing the Bentley’s door as quietly as its weight allowed and locking the car.
The interior lights remained on for a few seconds, then the garage was once more consigned to darkness. He turned, to head back to the Mercedes, when a sharp double metallic click brought him to a halt.
There was an old game – remembered from his training back in the Second World War – which they still played in the school. You sat in darkness while tapes of noises were run. The object was to identify each noise. Often they ran the distinctive cocking action of an automatic pistol with the sounds of door handles, toys, even metal snap fastenings. The sharp double click which he heard now came from the far side of the Mercedes, and Bond would know it anywhere. It was that of an automatic pistol being cocked.
He had the ASP in his hand again, like a master conjurer producing a wand from mid-air. But as the gun came up, a spotlight flashed on and a very familiar voice spoke softly.
‘Put that nasty thing away, dear. It’s not really worth it, and neither of us wants to get hurt, do we?’
16
EPOC
Bond could see him quite clearly, outlined against the lighter colouring of the wall. In a fraction of a second, his brain and body calculated the situation and made a decision.
Normally, with all his training, and the long built-in reflexes, Bond would have taken him out with one shot, probably straight from the hip. But several factors were weighed in an instant and stayed his hand.
The voice was not aggressive, indicating room for negotiation; the words had been plain, simple and to the point – ‘. . . neither of us wants to get hurt, do we?’ More important, there was no silencer fitted to the ASP. A shot from either side would bring Holy’s people into the garage. Bond reckoned that Peter was as anxious as he was himself to keep the wolves at bay.
‘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 toothc
ombs. You’ve also got to realise that your absence puts a lot of people at risk.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘Okay, it’s done 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 quite naked, 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.
It 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 do not 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 are not 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.
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.’
&nb
sp; ‘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.’
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, it 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.’