Role of Honour

  ‘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 USSR 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 US 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 USA 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 USA 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.

  ‘Get us down,’ Bond rapped at the pilot. ‘Just get us down!’ In the confusion, he made for the nearest target, Simon, who, with his back to the flight deck, was moving towards the tangle of bodies piled across the seats. Bond landed hard on Simon’s back, one arm locking round his neck, the other delivering a mighty chopping blow which connected a fraction below the right ear.

  Caught off balance, Simon fell to the left. His hand, scrabbling for some kind of hold, hit the gondola door’s locking device so that the door swung open, bringing in a sudden draught of air. As Simon went limp, the Arab boy fired at Bond, a fraction of a second late, for the bullet hit Simon’s chest. At the moment of his death, a great power seemed to force itself through his muscles, so that he broke free from Bond’s grasp, the body turning as it crumpled, the reflexes closing his hand around the grip and trigger of the Uzi machine pistol. Half a burst of fire rapped out, cutting the Arab almost in two.

  Simon did not let go of the gun, but merely fell backwards. His hands did not claw air, no sound came from his throat. He simply fell through the gondola door, through a thousand feet of clear air, his last long journey to hit the water below.

  Bond
made to grab at the Arab’s Walther, now lying on the floor. He felt the sting of a bullet cutting a shallow furrow along the flesh above his right hip and another sing past his ear.

  He reached the Walther, but as he turned instinctively towards where Tamil Rahani should be, his finger on the trigger, he realised the instigator of this whole drama was not there.

  ‘Parachute,’ Nick said calmly. ‘Little bastard had a parachute. Took the dive.’

  Bond moved to the gondola door and, hanging on to the grab rail, leaned out.

  Below, against the blue-grey water of the lake, was the white shape of Rahani’s parachute, a light breeze carrying him away from Geneva, towards the French side of the lake.

  ‘They’re bound to pick him up,’ Bond said aloud.

  ‘Could you close the door, please.’ Nick’s voice was as calm as only an experienced pilot’s can sound under stress. ‘I’ve got to find somewhere to drop this blimp.’

  He switched on the flight radio, flicking the dial with finger and thumb, adjusting the headset he had not been allowed to wear throughout the flight. A few seconds later, he turned his head slightly as Bond slumped into the seat beside him.

  ‘We can go back to the strip. Apparently the Swiss military cleared it soon after we left. Looks as if we’ve had guardian angels watching over us.’

  They sat together on the balcony of a private room in the lakeside hotel: M, Bill Tanner, Cindy Chalmer, Percy and Bond, whose side still stung from the long bullet burn, although it was now dressed.

  ‘You mean,’ Bond said with cold anger, ‘that you already knew they had taken over the airstrip? You knew when you sent me off from London?’

  M nodded. He had told Bond how, because of the tight security surrounding the Summit Conference, anyone who was authorised had been given identifying ciphers.

  On the night Bond had visited the house, off Northumberland Avenue, Bill Tanner’s call to the Goodyear people had not elicited the correct sequence.

  ‘We knew something had gone wrong,’ said M calmly. ‘We alerted everyone with need-to-know, arranged with the United States and the Soviet Union that any messages on their current emergency satellite frequencies should be accepted, but not passed on. Just a precaution. I mean, you can always be trusted, 007.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Bond said with icy calm.

  ‘Now look, 007,’ M said sharply. ‘It’s no good running away with the idea you’re indispensable.’

  ‘I was to be thrown to the wolves then,’ Bond almost shouted. ‘It wasn’t necessary to leave me in outer darkness, as you once so neatly put it, but you let me go, knowing full well . . .’

  ‘Come, come. How dare you reproach your superiors in this way,’ M put in tartly. Suddenly he leaned forward and placed a hand gently on Bond’s arm and said in an uncharacteristic tone of paternal concern, ‘It was for your own good as much as ours, James. After all, you might have found a way of bringing in Holy – or Rahani, come to that. But that wasn’t uppermost in our minds. We had to find a way of restoring your good name. Look on it as a sort of rehabilitation.’

  ‘Rehabilitation?’ Bond spat the word out with scorn.

  ‘You see,’ M went on quietly, ‘there had to be some role you could play for the sake of your public image. The Press could hardly fail to notice high jinks on an airship directly over the place where the Summit talks were going on. Geneva’s been stiff with journalists these past few days. We told the Swiss authorities they could let a certain amount of reporting through. Saves us a tricky hushing-up job in a way. I think you’ll be pleased with what the papers say tomorrow. Might not be a bad idea to get another question tabled in the House.’

  Bond was silent. He gazed at M, who gave his arm a couple of reassuring pats before withdrawing his hand.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to take some sick leave because of that scratch,’ M said distantly.

  Bond and Percy exchanged looks. ‘If it wouldn’t inconvenience the Service, sir.’

  ‘A month, then? Let all this fuss die down. We can’t have the whole Department going public for the sake of your honour, 007.’

  Cindy spoke for the first time. ‘What about Dazzle? Mrs St John-Finnes?’

  Tanner told them there had been no trace of the lady who called herself Dazzle; just as Rahani had disappeared into thin air. A launch picked up his ’chute. He had drifted well inshore, on the French side.

  ‘Damn. I wanted a little time alone with that bastard.’ The delightful Cindy Chalmer could be lethal when roused.

  Percy gave her a wicked smile. ‘You, Cindy, are going straight back to Langley. The order came through this, morning.’

  Cindy pouted, and Bond tried hard not to catch her eye. ‘And what about Dr Amadeus?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, we’re taking care of him,’ Bill Tanner said a little earnestly. ‘We’ve always room for good computer men in the Service. Anyway, Dr Amadeus turned out to be a brave young man.’

  ‘There is something else,’ M grunted. ‘The Chief-of-Staff did not know this but in checking back through the files when you alerted us to Rahani, 007, we found some interesting information. You recall we’ve been keeping surveillance on him for some time?’

  Bond nodded as M slid a matt black and white print from the folder on his lap.

  ‘Interesting?’

  The photograph showed Tamil Rahani locked in an embrace with Dazzle St John-Finnes. ‘Looks as though they had plans for the future.’

  Bond asked about Erewhon and was told that the Israelis had pinpointed the site. ‘Nobody there. Deserted. But they’re keeping an eye on it. I doubt if Rahani will visit it again. But he’ll probably show up somewhere.’

  ‘Yes.’ Bond’s voice was flat. ‘Yes, I don’t think we’ve heard the last of him, sir. After all, he boasted that he was Blofeld’s successor.’

  ‘Come to think of it,’ M mused, ‘I wonder if you should forgo that leave, 007. It may be vital to follow up . . .’

  ‘He’s got to rest, sir, for a short time at least.’ Percy was almost ordering M. This was something the Head of Service rarely experienced. He looked at the willowy ash-blonde, astonishment on his face.

  ‘Yes. Yes. Well, if you put it like that ... I suppose . . . Yes.’

  20

  END OF THE AFFAIR

  They first flew to Rome, and stayed for a week at the Villa Medici. Percy had never been to Rome and Bond enjoyed showing her as much as one can fit into seven short days.

  From Rome they travelled to Greece, to take an island-hopping tour, starting in the Aegean with a couple of nights on Naxos. They stayed only one night on Rhodes, because of the tourist hordes, and then doubled back, spending a night here, two nights there.

  Another week took them to the Ionian sea, where they managed to find some secluded beaches and tavernas, off the package-holiday routes.

  It was a time of distant voices from the past. The couple exchanged life-stories, told the long tales of their youth, made their separate confessions, and became totally immersed in each other’s bodies. For Percy and Bond, the world became young again and time stood still, as only time can within the dark, secret mysteries of the Greek islands.

  They ate lobster fresh from the sea and drank their fill of retsina. Sometimes the evenings ended with them dancing with the waiters under the vines of a roadside taverna, arm-stretching and calf-slapping. They discovered, as many have before, that the taverna-owners of the islands recognise the signs of love and take lovers to their hearts.

  And during all their joy, Bond kept a wary eye on strangers, assuming that Percy, being a lady of the same trade, was doing likewise.

  They did not spot the same face – or even the same jewellery, which can be more important – once. Vehicles, even motorcycles, did not show up twice. They were free.

  But SPECTRE’S teams were numerous and clever. Neither James Bond nor Percy Proud could know of shadows creeping in around them.

  The teams were usually five strong, and they changed daily, nev
er using the same car twice, always having a tail ready to follow on to the next island. A girl in one place, a happy Greek boy in another; first a student, then a middle-aged English couple; old Volkswagens, brand-new Hondas, staid Peugeots. It was all the same to them. The leader’s orders were clear, and when the right moment came, he too arrived.

  Bond and Percy spoke much of the future, yet, in the last week, while heading for Corfu, from where they planned to fly to London direct, they still could not come to any decision even though they had talked of marriage.

  As the trip drew to an end they found a small bungalow hotel, away from beehive modern glass and concrete palaces. It was close to a secluded beach, which could be reached only by clambering over rocks. Their room looked out on a slope of dusty olive trees and oddly Victorian-looking scrub.

  Each day, in the late afternoon, they would return to their room, and, as dusk closed in and the cicadas began their endless song, the couple would make love, long and tender, with a rewarding fulfilment of a kind neither remembered experiencing before.

  On their last night, with their packing to be done, and a special dinner ordered at the taverna, they followed their usual pattern, walking hand in hand up the slope from the beach, entering their room from the scrubby olive grove, and leaving the windows open and the blinds drawn.

  They soon became lost in each other, murmuring the sweet adolescent endearments, enjoying a private island of physical pleasure.

  They were hardly aware of the darkness or the song of the night coming from the cicadas. Neither of them heard Tamil Rahani’s car pull up quietly on the road below the hotel. Nor were they aware of his emissary, who moved, sure-footed in rope-soled sandals up from the road, treading softly through the olives until he reached the window.

  Tamil Rahani, the successor to the Blofelds, had decreed they should both die, and he would be in at the death. His only regret was that it must be quick.

  The short, sallow-faced man who was the most accomplished of SPECTRE’S silent killers, peered through the lattice of the blinds, smiled and carefully withdrew a six-inch ivory blowpipe. With even greater care he loaded the tiny wax dart filled with deadly pure nicotine and began to slide the end of the pipe through the lattice. Percy lay, eyes closed, nearest the window.