‘The superpowers can escalate millions of Cruise missiles, ICBMs, or rocket-delivered neutron bombs. Much good will it do them. Therefore they are not stockpiling these arms. The Particle Beam – once operational – will prevent any country from launching a conventional nuclear attack. Particle Beam means absolute neutralisation. Stalemate. Billions of dollars’ worth of scrap metal, sitting in silos all over the globe. If one superpower wins the Particle Beam race, then that power holds the entire world in thrall.
‘The arms race hinges on this super weapon of defence; time is at stake, and any nuclear action must be held off until the race is won. In turn, this means we must fully understand what nuclear action really means; and, to see this, we have to look, not at those dreaded missiles and bombs, but at the strategic devices which make their use possible.’
Bond shifted uneasily. He knew that all Luxor was saying made complete sense, even though, for a non-scientist, it did sound like highflown fiction. Bond had the advantage of having already been briefed, along with other Service officers. He had spent hours poring over pages of technical data, and reading long, if simplified, reports on the Particle Beam Weapon. As Luxor said, it was a fact, and both the United States and the Soviet Union were now neck and neck in this, the most important arms race in history.
Luxor now started to talk about the current, highly-advanced satellites actually in space, orbiting, or stationary, operational and fully active: that whole series of hardware which made an immediate nuclear confrontation and conflagration possible.
‘It is really a question of old military strategy,’ he continued. ‘History can always teach mankind. The problem is that to learn from history – particularly in military matters – man must adapt. For instance, World War Two began as a failure for the greater part of Europe because the military thinking of the so-called Allies, was based on the strategy of former wars. But the world had changed, and with those changes a new strategy became necessary.
‘Now, at this crucial point in history, we have to think, strategically, in a very different environment. An American Senator once said, “He who controls space, controls the world.” There is also an old military maxim which says you must always control the high ground. Both these statements are true. Now, the high ground is space; and space controls the nuclear potential of nations until the Particle Beam race is won or lost.
‘So, members of SPECTRE, it is our task to provide our present clients with the means to control space until that race is won.’
Luxor continued, giving a great deal of information about the present satellites in use – the reconnaissance satellites: Reconsats and electronic ferrets; Big Bird and Key Hole II; the radar satellites, such as the White Cloud system; the Block 5D-2 military weather satellites which carry banks of solar cells, giving each satellite a greater longevity, plus a broad, and very accurate, coverage of world weather conditions.
Bond’s anxiety increased. The facts – simple and incomplete – concerning these satellites, were easily obtainable, but Walter Luxor showed a knowledge far and above any published data. The information he now passed on to the SPECTRE audience was of the most highly classified variety.
The same turned out to be true when he came to talk about the military communications satellites – the DSCS-2s; DSCS-3s; and the Fltsatcom systems for naval communications. There was also highly confidential material on the SDS – the Satellite Data Systems – which tracked, and monitored, all the hardware of space. The man, Bond could hear, knew exactly what he was talking about; and the bulk of it was considered highly secret, and sensitive, on both sides of the Atlantic.
After about an hour and a half of the session, Luxor announced that they would break for some light refreshment. Bond again heard the footsteps move above him and listened, with ears straining, as the audience left the hall.
For a while, he had thought SPECTRE’S plan centred on the United States’ progress with the Particle Beam Weapon, but this, he now guessed, was wrong. They were after the satellite systems already in operation. The primary targets in any conventional nuclear war – which would all be changed on the advent of the Particle Beam Weapon – had to be the communications and reconnaissance satellites, for they were the heart of military strength in an age of long-range warfare.
But where would SPECTRE wish to strike? How, and what, would be their target? Slowly, James Bond realised the full implications of HOUND. Of course, HOUND. Why had he not thought of it before? Hound? Wolf? The Space Wolves, as they were called. The United States was well ahead there. SPECTRE’S target was the Space Wolves; but, before Bond could follow through this line of thought, there were sounds from the auditorium as people filed back. Then, within minutes, the complete target and plan of action were revealed.
Luxor quickly called the audience to order, and launched into the second part of his briefing in a brisk, concise manner.
‘The long preamble during our first session,’ he began, ‘was necessary for us to come to the heart of our project. The control of space, ladies and gentlemen, means the ability to neutralise the enemy’s eyes and ears in space. It has been thought, for a long time now, that the Soviets had a fair, if limited, capability for space control. They were able, in theory, to neutralise United States’ satellites within a twenty-four hour time-scale. It was also thought that the United States had no such capability. In the past eighteen months, however, this has proved to be incorrect. The killersats, as they have been called, have now emerged as the current essential weapons. Powerful weapons. That power, my good colleagues, lies totally with the United States.
‘It has, of course, been denied that any such satellites are in orbit. But there is no doubt that the United States has at least twenty laser-equipped killersats already in space, disguised as weather satellites. They also have the capability of launching over two hundred of these weapons in a matter of minutes.’
Luxor again paused. Bond felt the anxiety in his throat, and twanging, like a plectrum, at his nerve ends. Once more, he had seen the documentation and knew the truth.
‘Our problem,’ Luxor continued, ‘or, I should say, our client’s problem, is that these satellite craft are hidden under one of the most successful security schemes ever mounted by the United States. We know the satellites are laser-armed; that they have a superlative chase capability; and that these facts are held on computer tapes and microfilm – their numbers, place, present orbital patterns, position of silos, order of battle. All this information exists, and is, naturally, required by our clients.
‘The full intelligence concerning these killersats is held in the Pentagon. But the Americans have been so careful to isolate each section of information that our two sources inside the Pentagon reported, some months ago, that theft was virtually impossible. In fact we have lost a great deal of time attempting to procure microfilm and other documentation in this manner. Each attempt has led to failure.
‘However, there is another way. By the year 1985, these weapons – known, in military jargon, as Space Wolves – will be controlled and operated through See-Sok, an abbreviation of the lengthy title North American Air Defence Command’s Consolidation Space Operations Centre.’
There was polite laughter, which seemed to ease the tension in the hall. Luxor went on to say that See-Sok was already under construction. Vast modifications were being carried out at Peterson Air Force Base, not far from the existing NORAD – North American Defence Command – Headquarters, deep within the Cheyenne Mountains of Colorado.
‘And, until See-Sok becomes operational,’ Luxor’s voice rose to its high pitch again, ‘until Peterson Field is converted, the Space Wolves are controlled from NORAD Headquarters, in Cheyenne Mountain. That, fellow members of SPECTRE, is the weak link.
‘Because NORAD HQ controls the Space Wolves, all information must be available to the Headquarters. And so it is. Where it has been hidden away, in segments, at the Pentagon, it lies open and collated, on the computer tapes in Cheyenne Mountain.’
/> It was all true enough, Bond could vouch for that. But the really big question still had to be answered. How did you walk into the well-screened NORAD HQ and lift computer tapes giving every detail of the Space Wolves? Bond had a feeling that, under Blofeld’s instructions, Luxor was about to answer the question. At least, Bond thought, he now knew that Blofeld equalled Bismaquer. Luxor was the specialist in many fields, but the final planning would go to SPECTRE’S leader: Markus Bismaquer, ice cream maker and squire of Rancho Bismaquer.
‘Operation Heavenly Wolf,’ Luxor intoned. ‘That is the name for project HOUND. Object: to penetrate NORAD Headquarters, and bring out all the computer tapes carrying information on the US Space Wolves.
‘Method? We have considered two possibilities, and rejected one, the obvious one: an assault using all SPECTRE’S forces. That would be doomed from the start. However, our Leader, Blofeld, has come up with something positively brilliant.’
As Luxor began to explain Operation Heavenly Wolf, many of the dark pieces of the jig-saw fell into place.
‘Simplicity,’ Luxor maintained, ‘is often the answer to all things. Here, at this very ranch, we have been doing two things which have now provided the key to Cheyenne Mountain. First, as you know, we have an ice cream manufacturing plant on the premises. We have also made many contacts, including distributors of foodstuffs to military bases. One such is the sole distributor to NORAD Headquarters.’
Luxor paused. Bond could almost see him smiling that ghastly gaping grin.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have just sent that distributor four days’ supply of ice cream. Apparently they consume a great deal of ice cream at NORAD – it must be the atmosphere within the mountain, and those long hours spent underground. We are told that over 90 per cent of the staff and technicians eat ice cream regularly.
‘The very large consignment which we have just conveyed is not, however, a normal brand. We have also developed the ultimate in happiness – a mild narcotic, harmless and with no side effects. It produces a state of euphoria and well-being, an ability to operate normally but with a suspended moral sense of right or wrong. Anyone taking even a minimum dosage will obey, without question, the orders of a superior. He, or she, would even kill his best friend, or most loved wife or husband.’
Bond nodded to himself, thinking of the two men he had seen in the padded cell off the laboratory.
‘What is more,’ Luxor sounded highly pleased with himself, ‘our most recent tests have proved that the effects of our happy cream last up to twelve hours. Tomorrow, at around noon, the shipment will go into Cheyenne Mountain. We are reliably informed that distribution will start tomorrow night. This means that Operation Heavenly Wolf begins after lunch on the day after tomorrow. We simply go in, ask for the Space Wolves computer tapes, and they will give them to us. They will also smile happily while they commit this gross act of treason.’
‘Is it really as simple as that?’ a voice called from the audience.
‘Not quite.’ Luxor’s voice generated confidence. ‘Naturally, there will be some officers, technicians, and enlisted men, who will spurn our dessert. Ten per cent, according to our latest information. We may well, therefore, encounter some slight unpleasantness. Also, you must remember, the drug works only if commands are given by somebody with authority and seniority. Therefore, we plan to give NORAD HQ a surprise inspection by a four-star general. In fact it will be the new Inspector-General of Air/Space Defence. I’ve arranged for the officer commanding NORAD HQ to be warned of his arrival roughly an hour before he makes an entrance – together with, say, twenty or thirty aides and military personnel. All will be armed, of course, and ready to handle the unlucky few who reject our ice cream. A sad prospect, I admit, to die for not liking such a delicious dessert.’
There were chuckles around the room, and one voice asked who was to wear the lucky four stars?
There followed a terrible silence. It was as though the questioner suddenly realised he had, in his jesting way, put his foot in it – making a most ghastly error by even asking.
Bismaquer, Bond thought – Blofeld himself – would be the four-star general. Nobody else would do. Then came Luxor’s voice, chilling, like ice in the gullet.
‘We have someone very special in mind for that job,’ he rasped. ‘Someone very special indeed. Poor fellow. I’m afraid he will not survive the ordeal. Now, we must decide on schedules, times, weapons and escape routes. Can I have the map, please?’
It was almost noon. In twelve hours, Bond thought, Cedar would be at the roadside tunnel entrance with the Saab. If her luck held. Meanwhile, Bond had twelve hours to remain hidden, listening under the stage, sorting the facts in his mind. Then, once the hall emptied, he must find somewhere to wait until he could safely negotiate the trek back down the tunnel. After that, assuming Cedar was on time, they would either have to fight their way out or find some way for Bond to draw the fire, priming Cedar with the bare information so that she could get help.
In any case, one of them had to make it. Until the real arms race for the Particle Beam Weapon was won or lost, the United States – possibly all the Western powers – needed the Space Wolf satellites, for they gave the real edge over any aggressor.
In the middle of the tension induced by these thoughts, 007 recognised a chilling prospect: the one person in all the West who might yet be able to avert disaster was James Bond.
18
SHOCK TACTICS
Bond had looked forward to emerging from the tunnel into a deep velvet blue night, with stars like diamonds. In fact, he came out through the roadside opening into a steambath of hot air, with the sky at war. Far away, great sheets of lightning sizzled and cracked, while distant thunder rolled – as though heaven had taken a pre-emptive strike into its own hands.
He drew a deep breath, hoping for fresh air and inhaled only the cloying damp scents of the jungle area. Muttering belligerently, Bond operated the lever, restoring the slab of stone to its proper place.
Hidden for so long under the conference hall stage, Bond had been forced to remain still and silent, breathing stale air, for the better part of nine hours. Now, he felt in need of a shower and, not least, a change of clothes.
The day’s work had finally came to an end late in the afternoon, and, when the coast appeared to be clear, Bond had crept out – his head now crammed with details of Operation Heavenly Wolf: locations, method of transport, weapons, RV points, contingency plans. Now he had everything there was to know about the great, and dangerous, confidence trick to be played out at NORAD HQ in Cheyenne Mountain – everything except the vital role: who was to play the four-star general, the Inspector-General of US Air/Space Defence.
The hall was empty, and the urgency of Bond’s mission preyed on his mind. The Space Wolves were, certainly, the most important link in the current Western defence system. Alone, they could hold off the threat of any nuclear conflagration. Any crucial emergency would bring the Space Wolves into play, as they roamed high above the world – a cover for all continents. Every NATO power was secretly alert to the situation, as well as to the capability of other Space Wolves, ready to be hurled into orbit, with their chase tracks controlled and monitored from the operations rooms deep within Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado.
Bond had known of the plan to change the operational control centre, but it made sense. Nobody had any doubts – within the secret corridors of power – that the next few years, before the perfection of the Particle Beam System, were as crucial to the world as those which had passed when the early cannon took over from the siege catapult and ballista.
In hiding by the roadside – eyes straining for any sign of the Saab and Cedar – Bond thought of the moves now being made: of the refrigerated trucks ready to take the deadly cargo of innocent-seeming ice cream into NORAD HQ, and of the Space Wolves themselves, circling the earth.
It was almost midnight, and still no sign of Cedar. Bond’s agitation grew as he crouched close to the jungle edge. Then, at a
round ten minutes after midnight, he heard the growl of the Saab: the sidelights coming fast, from the direction of the wooded knoll.
Cedar’s face showed the same kind of strain which Bond felt. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her reactions fast, nervous, and jumpy. Like Bond, she was dressed in dark jeans and a sweater. As he leaped for the Saab’s door, Bond saw she had the revolver ready near the gear lever, easily within reach.
‘They’re looking for us. Everywhere,’ she gasped. ‘Do I go on driving?’
Bond told her to carry on and head for the mono-rail depot.
‘It’s no good saying that,’ her voice cracked. ‘They’ve got most of the roads blocked, and there are guards at the station.’
Bond unholstered the big automatic pistol. ‘Then we’ll just have to blast our way out. If you spot roadblocks, turn away. They can’t cover everything. If we have to shoot our way on to that mono-rail and then deal with the terrible twins at the other end, so be it. I’ve got the hottest information since the warnings about Pearl Harbor – only they’ll listen this time. Look, I’ve got to share it with you, Cedar, in case only one of us gets out.’
He began to talk, giving her the bare, but most important facts. When he was done, Cedar repeated what Bond had told her, adding, ‘Let’s both try and make it, though, James. I don’t feature doing it alone.’
She kept to side roads, sometimes slewing off tracks and roads, punishing the Saab on grass and rutted ground. Soon they were in sight of Tara. Great banks of floodlights were turned on all around the area, while the distant flashes of sheet lightning seemed to be slowly coming nearer. Even in the car they could hear the heavy, approaching thunder of the storm.