When the line was secure, Bond removed the safety pin at the rear of the carrying handle, then shifted his hand to the moulded grip behind the trigger guard. He dug the heels of his Mukluk boots into the snow and advanced four paces up the slope. The snow was soft and very deep to the right of the broad ski slope fall line – where it was packed rock hard and only negotiable with the aid of ice climbing equipment.
Four steps and Bond was sinking almost to his waist, but the position was reasonable for a good shot with the line – the far end of which trailed out behind him to the bumper of the Finlandia. Bracing himself, Bond held the cylinder away from his body, allowing it to find the correct point of balance. When he was certain the rocket would clear Rivke, he pressed the trigger.
There was a dull thud as the firing pin struck the igniter. Then, with spectacular speed and a plume of smoke, the rocket leaped into the clear air, its line threading out after it, seeming to gain speed as it went, a single-strand bow of rope curling high above the snow.
The rocket passed well clear of Rivke’s body, but right on course, taking the line directly above her, to land with a dull plop. For a second, the line appeared to hang in its arc, quivering in the still air. Then, with an almost controlled neatness, it began to fall – a long brown snake running from a point high above where Rivke lay.
Bond fought his way through the thick snow, back to the others, taking the loud-hailer from one of the policemen. ‘Raise your arm if you can pull the rope above you down to your body.’ Bond’s voice once more echoed off the slopes.
In spite of the freezing weather, several people had come out to watch. Others could be seen peering through the hotel windows. The sound of an ambulance’s klaxon was increasing as it approached.
‘Binoculars, please.’ Bond was commanding, not asking. Tirpitz handed over the glasses, and Bond adjusted the knurled wheel, bringing Rivke into sharp focus.
She appeared to be lying at an odd angle, waist deep in snow, though there were traces of cracked, hard snow and ice around the area in which she lay. From what little he could see of the girl’s face, Bond had the impression that she was in pain. Laboriously she hauled back on the line, pulling the far end towards her from above. The process seemed to take a very long time. Rivke – obviously in distress, and suffering from cold as well as pain – kept stopping to rest. The simple job of hauling the linedown had turned into a major battle. From his view through the binoculars, it seemed to Bond as though she were pulling a heavy dead weight on the line.
From time to time, when he could see she was flagging, he urged her on, his loud voice throwing great bouncing echoes around them. Finally she pulled the whole line in and began the struggle of getting it around her body.
‘Under the arms, Rivke,’ Bond instructed. ‘Knot it and slide the knot to your back. Then raise your hands when you’re ready.’
After an age, the hands lifted.
All right. Now we’re going to bring you down as gently as we can. We will be dragging you through the soft snow, but don’t forget, if it becomes too painful, raise both arms. Stand by, Rivke.’
Bond turned to the others, who had already unknotted the line from the Finlandia’s bumper, and slowly pulled in the slack from Rivke to the bottom of the slope.
Bond had been aware of the ambulance arriving but now registered its presence for the first time. There was a full medical team on board, complete with a young, bearded doctor. Bond asked where they would take her, and the doctor – whose name turned out to be Simonen – said they were from the small hospital at Salla. ‘After that,’ he raised his hands in an uncertain gesture, ‘it depends on her injuries.’
It took the best part of three-quarters of an hour to pull Rivke to within reaching distance. She was only half conscious when Bond, pushing through the snow, came near her. He guided those who pulled on the line to bring her gently right down to the edge of the run out.
She moaned, opening her eyes as the doctor got to her, immediately recognising Bond. ‘James, what happened?’ The voice was small and weak.
‘Don’t know, love. You had a fall.’ Under the goggles and scarf muffling his face, Bond felt the anxiety etched into his own features, just as the telltale white blotches of frostbite were visible on the exposed parts of Rivke’s face.
After a few moments the doctor touched Bond’s shoulder, pulling him away. Tirpitz and Kolya Mosolov knelt by the girlas the doctor muttered, ‘Both legs fractured, by the look of it.’ He spoke excellent English, as Bond had discovered during their earlier exchange. ‘Frostbite, as you can see, and advanced hypothermia. We have to get her in fast.’
‘As quick as you can.’ Bond caught hold of the doctor’s sleeve. ‘Can I come to the hospital later?’
‘By all means.’
She was unconscious again, and Bond could do nothing but stand back and watch, his mind in confusion, as they gently strapped Rivke on to a stretcher and slid her into the ambulance. Pictures seemed to overlap in his head: the present cold, the ice and snow, and the ambulance, crunching off towards the main hotel car park exit, flashed between visions which came, unwanted, from his memory bank: another ambulance; a different road; heat; blood all over the car; and an Austrian policeman asking endless questions about Tracy’s death. That nightmare – the death of his only wife – always lurked in the far reaches of Bond’s mind.
As though the two pictures had suddenly merged, he heard Kolya saying, ‘We have to talk, James Bond. I have to ask questions. We must also be ready for tonight. It’s all fixed, but now we’re one short. Arrangements will have to be made.’
Bond nodded, slowly trudging back towards the hotel. In the foyer, they agreed to meet in Kolya’s room at three.
In his own room, Bond unlocked his briefcase, and operated the internal security devices which released the false bottom and sides – all covered by Q’ute’s ingenious screening device. From one of the side compartments he took out an oblong unit, red in colour, and no larger than a packet of cigarettes – the VL34, so-called ‘Privacy Protector’, possibly one of the smallest and most advanced electronic ‘bug’ detecting devices. On his arrival the previous night, Bond had already swept the room and found it clean, but he was not going to take chances now.
Drawing out the retractable antennae, he switched on the small machine and began to sweep the room. In a matter of seconds, a series of lights began to glow along the front panel. Then, as the antennae pointed towards the telephone, a yellow light came on, verifying that a transmitter and microphone were somewhere in the telephone area.
Having located one listening bug, Bond carefully went over the entire room. There were a couple of small alarms, near the radio and television sets, but the failsafe yellow signal light did not lock on. Within a short time, he had established that the only bug in the room was the first one signalled – in the telephone. Examining the instrument, he soon discovered it contained an updated version of the old and familiar ‘infinity bug’, which turns a telephone into a transmitter, giving a twenty-four hour service. Even at the other end of the world, an operator can pick up not only telephone calls, but also anything said within the room in which the telephone is located.
Bond removed the bug, carried it to the bathroom and ground it under the heel of his Mukluk before flushing it down the lavatory. ‘So perish all enemies of the state,’ he muttered with a wry smile.
The others would almost certainly be covered by this – or similar – bugs. The questions remained: how, and when, had the bug been planted, and how had they so neatly timed the attempt on Rivke’s life? Paula would have had to move with great speed to act against Rivke – or any of them. Unless, Bond thought, the Hotel Revontuli was so well-penetrated that things had been fixed up well in advance of their arrival.
But to do that, Paula, or whoever was organising these counter-moves, would have had to be in on the Madeira briefing. Since Rivke had become a victim, she was already in the clear.But what of Brad Tirpitz and Kolya? He would soon d
iscover the truth about those two. If the operation connected with the Russian Ordnance Depot, Blue Hare, was really ‘on’ tonight, perhaps the whole deck of cards would be laid out.
He stripped, showered and changed into comfortable clothes, then stretched out on the bed, lighting one of his Simmons cigarettes. After two or three puffs Bond crushed the butt into the ashtray and closed his eyes, drifting into a doze.
Waking with a start, Bond glanced at his watch. It was almost three o’clock. He crossed to the window and looked out. The snowscape appeared to change as he stood there, the sudden sharp white altering as the sun went down. Then came the magic of what in the Arctic Circle they call ‘the blue moment’, when the glaring white of snow and ice on ground, rocks, buildings, and trees, turns a greenish-blue shade for a minute or two before the dusk sets in.
He would be late for the meeting with Kolya and Tirpitz, but that could not be helped. Bond quickly went to his now bug-free telephone, and asked the operator for the hospital number at Salla. She came back quite quickly. Bond got the dialling tone and picked out the number. His first thought on waking had been Rivke.
The hospital receptionist spoke an easy English. He enquired about Rivke and was asked to wait.
Finally the woman came back on the line. ‘We have no patient of that name, I’m afraid.’
‘She was admitted a short time ago,’ Bond said. ‘After an accident at the Hotel Revontuli. On the ski slopes. Hypothermia, frostbite, and both legs fractured. You sent an ambulance and doctor . . .’ he paused, trying to remember the name, ‘. . . Doctor Simonen.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. This is a small hospital and I know all the doctors. There are only five, and none is called Simonen . . .’
‘Bearded. Young. He told me I could call.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but there must be some mistake. There have been no ambulance calls from the Revontuli today, I’ve just checked. No female admissions either; and we have no Doctor Simonen. In fact we have no young bearded doctors at all. I onlywish we had.’
Bond asked if there were any other hospitals near by. No. The nearest hospital was at Kemijärvi, and they would not operate anemergency service in this area any more than the hospital at Pelkosenniemi. Bond asked for the numbers of both those hospitals, and the local police, then thanked the girl and beganto dial again.
Within five minutes he knew the bad news. Neither of the hospitals had attended an accident at the hotel. What was more, the local police did not have a Saab Finlandia operating on the roads that day. In fact, no police patrol had been sent to the hotel. It was not a mistake; the police knew the hotel very well. So well that they did their ski training there.
They were very sorry.
So was Bond. Sorry, and decidedly shaken.
10
KOLYA
James Bond was furious. ‘You mean we aren’t going to do anything about Rivke?’ He did not shout, but his voice was cold, brittle as the ice decorating the trees outside Kolya’s window.
‘We’ll inform her organisation.’ Kolya appeared unconcerned. ‘But later, after this is over. She could’ve turned up by then anyway. We haven’t got time to go snow-shoeing around the countryside after her now. If she doesn’t surface, Mossad will have to look for her. What does it say in the Bible? Let the dead bury the dead?’
Bond’s temper was frayed. Already he had been within an ace of losing it a couple of times since joining the remnants of the Icebreaker team in Kolya’s room. Kolya had opened up at his knock, and Bond had pushed past him, a finger to his lips, the other hand holding up the VL34 detector like a talisman.
Brad Tirpitz gave a sarcastic grin, which changed to a withering look of displeasure as Bond unearthed another infinity device from Kolya’s phone, plus some additional electronics from under the carpet and in the toilet roll holder.
‘Thought you dealt with the sweeping,’ Bond snapped, looking suspiciously at Tirpitz.
‘I did all our rooms when we first got here. Checked yours out as well, buddy.’
‘You also claimed the rooms were clean in Madeira.’
‘So they were.’
‘Well, how come they – whoever they are – were able to pinpoint us here?’
Unruffled, Tirpitz repeated he had swept the rooms for electronics. ‘Everything was hygienic. In Madeira, and here.’
‘Then we’ve got a leak. One of us – and I know it’s not me,’ Bond said acidly.
‘One of us? Of us?’ Now Kolya’s voice turned nasty.
As yet Bond had not been able to give Kolya the full details of the warning telephone call that he supposed came from Paula. He did so now, watching the Russian’s face alter. Mosolov’s features were like the sea, he thought. This time the change was from anger to placidity, then concern, as Bond outlined how the trick could have been managed. Whoever was operating against them knew a great deal about their private lives.
‘That was no ageing land mine out there,’ he stated bleakly. ‘Rivke is good on skis. I’m not bad myself, and I should imagine you’re not exactly a novice, Kolya. Don’t know about Tirpitz . . .’
‘I can hold my own.’ Tirpitz had assumed the expression of a surly schoolboy.
The explosion on the slopes, Bond continued, could have been operated by a remote control system. ‘They could also have used a sniper, in the hotel. It’s been done before – a bullet activating an explosive charge. Personally, I go for the remote control because it ties in with everything else: the fact that Rivke was on the slopes, that I got a telephone call which must have coincided with her leaving the top of the run.’ He spread his hands. ‘They have us bottled up here; they’ve taken one of us out already, which makes it easier for them to close in on the rest . . .’
‘And Count von Glöda was here for breakfast, with his woman.’ Tirpitz came out of his sullen mood. He pointed at Kolya Mosolov. ‘Do you know anything about that?’
Mosolov gave a half nod. ‘I saw them. Before the business on the slopes. Saw them when I got back to the hotel.’
Bond followed up what Tirpitz had started. ‘Don’t you think it’s time, Kolya? Time you came clean about von Glöda?’
Mosolov made a gesture meant to convey that he was at a loss about all the fuss. ‘The so-called Count von Glöda is a prime suspect . . .’
‘He’s the only suspect,’ Tirpitz snapped.
‘The probable power behind the people we’re all trying to nail,’ added Bond.
Kolya sighed. ‘He was not mentioned in previous meetings because I’ve been waiting for positive proof – identification of his command headquarters.’
‘And you have that proof now?’ Bond moved close to Kolya, almost menacing him,
‘Yes.’ Clear and unshakable. ‘All we need. It’s part of the briefing for tonight,’ Kolya paused, as though pondering the wisdom of going any further with the information. ‘I suppose you both know who von Glöda really is?’ It was as though he intended to deliver some coup de grâce.
Bond nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And the relationship with our missing colleague,’ added Tirpitz.
‘Good,’ said Kolya in a slightly peeved tone. ‘Then we’ll get on with the briefing.’
‘And leave Rivke to the wolves.’ The thought still stung Bond.
Very quietly Kolya turned his head, eyes clashing with Bond’s. ‘I suggest that Rivke will be okay. That we leave her in – what’s your expression – leave her in baulk? I predict that Rivke Ingber will reappear when she’s ready. In the meantime, if we are to collect the evidence that will eventually smash the National Socialist Action Army – which is our sole reason for being here – we must go into tonight’s operation with some care.’
‘So be it,’ Bond said, masking his anger.
The object of the exercise, Kolya Mosolov had already put forward, was that they should view, and possibly photograph, the theft of arms from ordnance depot Blue Hare, located near Alakurtii. Kolya spread a detailed survey map on the floor. It was covered in ma
rks – crosses in red, various routings in black, blue and yellow.
Kolya’s forefinger rested on a red cross just south of Alakurtii, about sixty kilometres inside the Russian border and some seventy-five kilometres from where they now sat.
‘I understand’, he said, ‘that we’re all fairly expert on snow scooters.’ He looked first at Tirpitz, then at Bond. Both men nodded their assent. ‘I’m glad to hear it, because we’re all going to be under pressure. The weather forecast for tonight is not good. Sub-zero temperatures, rising a little after midnight when light snow is expected, then dropping to hard freezing conditions again.’
Kolya pointed out that they would be travelling through difficult country, by snow scooter, during much of the night.
‘As soon as I realised Rivke would be in the hospital . . .’ he began again.
‘Where she is not,’ interrupted Bond. Kolya ignored him.
‘. . . I made other arrangements. We need at least four bodies on the ground for what we have to do. We must cross the Russian border without help from my people, following a route which I suspect will also be used by NSAA vehicles. The intention was to leave two of us as markers along the route while Bond and I went all the way to Alakurtii. My information is that the NSAA convoy will be arriving, by arrangement with the officer in command of Blue Hare and his subordinates, at about three in the morning.’
The loading of whatever vehicles were to be used would take only an hour or so. Kolya guessed that they would employ amphibious tracked APCs, probably one of the many variants of the Russian BTRs. ‘They have everything ready, so my people tell me. Bond and I will take VTR and still pictures, using infra-red if necessary: though I presume there’ll be a lot of light. Blue Hare is in the back of beyond and nobody’s going to bother much during the loading. The care will be taken on the way in, and, more especially, during the transportation out. At Blue Hare itself, I expect all the floodlights to be on.’