Cnut made some changes in the kingdom’s military structure, including the introduction of a kind of ‘Home Guard’ – the Huscarl, the professional household warrior, armed with the great two-handed Danish axe, ready to do battle with any possible commando raid launched by other Scandinavian countries.
It was this weapon which prompted those who chose pseudonyms – cryptos for agents, or operations – to name Michael Brooks and Emerald Lacy the Huscarl, for they were a new, two-handed assault upon the reigning regime at Moscow Centre.
With the scandals of the first British traitors undermining both effectiveness and morale in the mid-1960s, Bond’s Service had planned a fast counterstrike. Michael Brooks had long been involved with the brilliant cipher wizard, Emerald Lacy. Now, the Service let him go, dropping veiled hints that he was under a cloud, hints which paid off handsomely.
Brooks severed all his Service connections with the exception of Emerald. He also made oblique comments to people who were suspected of being close to KGB sources in the Russian Embassy. Then he sat back and waited. Eventually, KGB took the bait and he disappeared. In fact they had only taken him to Denmark where experienced KGB inquisitors gave him what they termed ‘deep analysis’. In plain language, they were drying him out, but Brooks had been very carefully briefed before leaving the Service. He had been seeded with what appeared to be first-rate intelligence concerning the NATO forces and the various connections they had with the main intelligence communities. The Moscow Centre inquisition was impressed by the ease with which Brooks passed on the information and finally they asked him to defect to Moscow.
Once the offer had been made, the trump card was played. Brooks said he would come to them only if his fiancée were included in the deal. When Moscow realised his fiancée was Emerald Lacy, they leaped at the prospect.
Emerald had also been prepared. Skilled psychiatrists had blanked out whole sections of her mind which held vital information. They did this over a lengthy period using the latest hypnotic techniques. After this, they gave her other information, what they called ‘costume jewellery’, because it looked real and glittered in the kind of gaudy manner beloved of KGB intelligence gatherers.
So Emerald Lacy had ‘defected’ to Moscow, where she had married Brooks, remaining to do much good work for the British until 1989, when their deaths were faked in a car crash. But that was another part of the story and their secret presence in Russia since their ‘deaths’ had been of major importance to the NATO countries.
In the small room at the top of the strange wooden building they had been told was the Hôtel de la Justice, they sat down to speak of this seemingly insoluble, inexplicable operation in which they had now become joined.
Michael Brooks began with a raw statement, arctic in its bleakness. ‘This business: the trial, the taping, the whole thing about this war criminal Vorontsov,’ he said, ‘is a blind, a sleight, a way to throw the Kremlin and the President off-balance. It’s only part of something greater, an evil which will have appalling consequences. We know some of it but not all. The gist is that hardline military people are about to launch a plot which will destroy America and probably Britain also. And I mean destroy. When the influence of those great nations has gone, the Old Guard will once more seize control of the USSR. They will have the ability to plunder the West and rebuild Russia as the only major power in Europe and the Middle East – a power more repressive than it was even in Stalin’s day. If this works, they will eventually overcome the entire world.’
15
STONES AND BONES
Michael Brooks told them that he felt this phase of the operation was almost over, ‘If we’re right in our assessment.’ He spoke in a correct, near military form, as if making a verbal report to the Ministry of Defence. While he talked, he leaned across, touching his wife’s arm to include her in his deliberations. ‘If we really have got it right, they have to make a significant move into their next phase before January 15th when the United Nations’ deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait runs out.’ Personally he could see nothing for it but war.
‘The Americans will be forced to lead the coalition forces and probably demolish Iraq. It’s the only way they’ll get them out of Kuwait.’
They sat close on the floor, in a circle. Bond thought of it as a ring of conspiracy.
‘James?’ Brooks said, ‘You’re behind the camera and must have some idea of how the taping’s gone. How much more do you think they have to do?’
‘A day. Maybe two. Possibly the whole thing, with editing, can be wrapped up in three. Certainly not more. I’d guess less than three. Why?’
‘We should be ready for the end to come very quickly. If Emerald and I are right, they won’t want any witnesses left. I mean they won’t leave anyone who has taken part in, or assisted with, the making of this so-called trial video.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right.’
Emerald joined in. ‘Have you tried to count the number of armed troops they have on the spot?’
‘They come and go,’ Bond shrugged. ‘I don’t mean physically leave and return. They get changed around a lot. Today there seemed to be more around than yesterday.’ He went on to tell them what he had felt when they were outside.
Natkowitz agreed. ‘You get to sense things in this business,’ he began, then, ‘Sorry, you two know more about that than any of us. But out in the dark the other night, I was sure there were troops in the forest.’
Nina nodded her accord.
‘So how many?’ Brooks pressed.
‘Maybe fifty or sixty in the building.’ Bond’s voice was confident, though he was far from certain. Natkowitz and Nina agreed.
‘Heaven knows how many are out in the forest. Father, there’s no way we can take on this lot.’ His daughter was almost pleading with him.
‘It wouldn’t be a question of taking them on.’ Emerald spoke with authority so that they all turned to her, waiting, as though listening to a guru.
She wore a long, caftanlike, shapeless black garment. When she smiled it was as though the young woman of her past returned in spirit. ‘Michael and I have been doing little night forays. Reconnaissance. We put Natasha on to this room and there are other secret hidey-holes. Well, there would be in this kind of monastery, wouldn’t there?’
‘Why d’you call it that?’ Bond came back sharp and quick, as though Emerald had read his mind.
She gave her beautiful smile again. ‘You’re thinking, what’s this stupid old biddy know about this building? Right?’
‘No. It’s only the place has a feel to it. That and the architecture, if you can call it architecture.’
‘But that’s exactly what it is. A bloody monastery for soldiers. Or didn’t you know? We’re less than ten miles from the Finnish border and this clearing in the forest has been here for centuries. It’s the site of a very ancient monastery. We know all this because we worked for the buggers at Moscow Centre when they started to build this place – the Lost Horizon they call it now, because nobody really wants it. Originally it was going to be the nearest thing to religion ever seen in the Red Army.’
‘Religion?’
‘Well, sort of. It was to be a kind of grand hôtel-cum-monastery for the general staff of the Red Army.’ She pronounced ‘hôtel’ like the old school, ’ôtel. She paused. ‘You see, they found this place. This old site. Used to be revered by the Lapps. A holy place. When the building began they even found some remains. Stones and bones. Michael and I came up here, remember, darling?’
‘In summer,’ Brooks sounded far away. ‘Yes, they’d just cleared the site when we first visited.’ He took up the narrative, telling them it had been a sound military idea. Senior officers would spend time out in what would seem to be a wilderness. ‘Not far from civilisation really, but it’s stuck in the middle of a bloody great forest so they’d be corralled here; they’d feel apart from the world. For a week or so each year, the general staff of the Soviet armed forces would spend some time in silent con
templation of military affairs. The idea was to make them meditate, in strict silence, on the great writings of military tactics and strategy, much as monks and nuns reflect on the works of Saints Augustine and Ignatius. When they’d done their stint, they’d have some kind of a conference, share their thoughts with one another. Then, if I know the Russians, they’d all get pixillated and falling-down drunk. In the end, they built the place, poured a fortune into it, then decided against the “retreats” or whatever they were going to call them.’
Bond nudged his way in. ‘With respect, what’s this got to do with our present situation?’
Emerald’s eyes twinkled. ‘We were just trying to explain why you might have vibes here. It is a little odd. The Lapps always said it was haunted, but that’s probably because the land used to belong to Finland, and, by inference, them. The Lapps, I mean. The point is there are tunnels, hidden rooms, sliding panels – the kind of thing you find back home in old country houses. Priest’s holes, escape routes. And we’re both pretty sure none of the present inhabitants knows about them.’
‘Ah.’ Natkowitz nodded. ‘You mean we should lie up when it’s over?’
‘Something like that. Though unless we had food . . .’
‘And weapons.’ Bond added.
‘It’s an idea,’ Michael Brooks said the three words as though he really meant it was the only way any of them would get out alive. He bit his lip as though trying to make up his mind whether to tell them more. Then he said, ‘I’ll be honest. We’ve organised things. Not much, but enough for a few days if we’re forced to hide. This tunnel . . .’
‘You’ll show us the way?’ Bond again.
‘The truth, and the light, dear, yes.’ Emerald Lacy gave the impression she was enjoying this immensely. ‘I think we should all know exactly where to hide. Just in case the world caves in unexpectedly.’ She stopped for a moment, then looked at Bond again. ‘James, do you have any way of communicating with the outside world?’
‘Why?’ Bond’s suspicion would not allow him to share everything with these people.
Michael Brooks nodded. ‘It’s all right, James. We understand you.’
Emerald went on speaking, almost over her husband. ‘If you do have communication facilities, however primitive, try to keep them hidden and near at hand. Michael and I have the map co-ordinates for this place. You might wish to send them out.’ She gave him a quizzical, near comic look. ‘That is, if you have the means.’
Bond nodded, but remained silent, and Emerald rattled off a string of numbers – standard map reference coordinates. ‘Got it?’ She sounded like a severe teacher making certain her star pupil knew all the answers. Bond gave her a little flick of the eyes.
‘So what’s the time?’ Michael asked nobody in particular as he looked at his watch, a cheap Russian military affair, functional and probably accurate. ‘Almost two thirty in the morning. Right.’ Brooks looked at his wife, asking, ‘Shall we take them down?’
‘There’s time. Why not?’ She had remained remarkably composed. Bond wondered at the dangers this woman had faced in her life – almost three decades of being under cover, existing in secret with a hidden present, a sequestered future, yet at all times with the true knowledge of another person within her, someone who had lived a different kind of history, one to which she would like to return, but in all probability never would. She rose from the floor and began to instruct them in what was about to happen.
‘There are usually guards in the main foyer, but they don’t seem to be running patrols or even security checks anywhere else. The area close to the sound stage has never been guarded since we’ve been here.’ Her grin brought back the girl she once used to be. ‘Michael and I have spent whole nights roaming the place without interruption.’
‘Except when we’ve engineered it.’ For a second, Michael Brooks looked like a cold, hard and calculating operator.
‘Meaning?’ Natkowitz asked.
‘You’ll see.’ He gave a tight little smile. ‘We’re going to take you down to the tunnel which was here several hundreds of years ago. When the balloon goes up, I would suggest all of us try to make it to this place. It’s easy enough and near the sound stage. We’ll walk down.’
He cautioned them to remain silent and stay absolutely still if they encountered any of their Russian jailers.
They went in single file. You could feel their alertness, tangible in the dark, as they retraced their steps to the emergency stairwell, then down, right to the ground floor.
They exited near the elevators and crept along the passage leading to the sound stage. The huge sliding doors were open, and away to their right, the sound of voices floated from the main foyer, but they saw nobody.
Along the wall facing the sound stage doors were the entrances to rest rooms, marked by the usual simple men and women symbols. A third door seemed barred by an ‘absolutely no admission’ sign.
Michael Brooks winked, removed a key from his pocket and inserted it into a lock next to a solid-looking brass knob. The key turned silently and they crowded into what seemed to be a large closet, the kind of place that would normally store vacuum cleaners and other domestic requirements. It was empty and felt unused.
There was just enough room for the six of them to stand inside as Brooks relocked the door. Shelves ran around the entire space, and it was Emerald who, in sign language, told them to watch what she did.
The secret lay in the third shelf from the ceiling. She ran her hand under the shelf, then stopped, telling them in mime to look. At the far right, hidden under the shelf close to the wall was a brass ring about an inch in diameter. She pulled on the ring and there was an audible click as the entire wall detached itself and swung slightly inwards. Only when they had all passed through did Emerald signal for them to watch her next move. She closed the wall behind her and reached down. There was another solid click as the wall locked back into place and the lights came on.
She spoke in a normal voice. ‘We’ve tested all this. It’s absolutely soundproof once you’re in. The light switch is right down here on the inner wall. You can find it easily in the dark and the other brass ring is here, on the inside.’ She showed them. ‘Familiarise yourselves with the mechanism and the lighting switch. One of the reasons we’re sure nobody’s used this tunnel since we’ve been here is that the actual light bulbs are old and some of them are dead. There are other things which indicate nobody’s been here for years.’
They were standing in a passage some ten feet wide and seven feet high, the walls covered with white antiseptic looking tiles which curved in an arch above them. The floor was made of simple concrete.
‘Come,’ Brooks led the way. The floor sloped sharply downwards, then after ten or eleven paces, the white tiles gave way to rough walls of large dry-stone blocks. There was no curve in the roof now. Instead the ceiling was of wood which looked very old, solid black beams laid sideways and covered in hard pitch.
There was no echo when Brooks spoke again. ‘Unfortunately there’s been a cave-in about half a mile down, but we presume this is an original vault. At one time it probably ran right off into the forest.’
The passage suddenly widened, forming a large chamber. It was cold, but not unduly so. ‘Look around,’ Emerald beamed. ‘This is where the monks buried their dead, or at least their important dead.’
There were long ledges cut into the stone walls and Bond felt Nina shiver involuntarily as she saw the bones stretched out in their last resting places, bones so old that some were starting to fossilise. There were other artifacts – metal crosses on chains, rusted and lying over ribcages – symbols of office.
‘We’ve managed to store a little food here.’ Michael Brooks spoke as though they had been doing this over a lengthy period. ‘Also, my dear wife carefully stole a small heater and a supply of paraffin. There are a few in the storerooms on each floor, presumably in case their generators go on the blink. Next, weapons. Are any of you armed?’
All except Nata
sha shook their heads.
‘I know about you, Tashinka,’ Brooks nodded, and explained that, as Natasha had been a long-trusted member of the Russian team, she carried a weapon. ‘We’ve managed to get three automatic pistols and a little ammunition. I suspect James, Mr Natkowitz, and you, dear,’ looking at his daughter, ‘should have these. He groped among the bones in one of the burial slots and retrieved three P6 automatics, each with the noise reduction system in place. The ammunition was non-standard 9mm which Bond recognised immediately as an offshoot of the British Research and Developments’ ‘Spartan’ rounds, designed for close-in fighting: bullets which break up on impact, do not overpenetrate or travel too far. Brooks showed them that all three weapons contained a full clip and he handed out another three clips apiece.
‘Where in . . . ?’ Bond began, and Brooks gave him a chilling look, lowering his voice. ‘I wouldn’t go too far into the tunnel from this point,’ he all but whispered. ‘The holy monks have company, but I don’t think we’ll be troubled by any nasty smells just yet. It’s much colder along there, near the point where a fall’s blocked us in.’
‘You mean?’ Bond raised an eyebrow.
Brooks nodded. ‘Yes. Can’t work out how they haven’t been missed. Emerald lured them into following her. I did the business. We did two the night before last and one last night. Should be a hue and cry, but they possibly get the odd idiot going over the wall here. Either that or their organisation’s porous.’
Bond did not recall the old expression, ‘porous’, for a moment, then smiled as it came back to him. Porous stood for ‘Porous piss’.
There were spare keys for the outer door, remodelled and fashioned from other keys which Brooks and his wife had filched. Enough for all of them. They went over the situation one more time. When the balloon went up, each person would be responsible for himself. ‘No hanging back, or heroics,’ Brooks said. ‘It’s better to get yourself down here than to lose out on a foolish rescue. We can do no more until something happens.’