Icebreaker

21

THIS CAN’T BE HEAVEN

The tunnel was very long, its sides white. Bond wondered if he was back in the Arctic Circle. Then he was swimming. Warm and cold by turns. Voices. Soft music, and the face of a girl leaning over him, and calling his name, ‘Mr Bond . . . ? Mr Bond . . . ?’

The voice seemed to sing, and the girl’s face was truly beautiful. She had blonde hair and appeared to be surrounded by a halo. James Bond opened his eyes and looked at her. Yes, a blonde angel with a shining white halo.

‘Did I really make it? I couldn’t have. This can’t be heaven.’

The girl laughed. ‘Not heaven, Mr Bond. You are in hospital.’

‘Where?’

‘In Helsinki. And there are people here to see you.’

He suddenly felt very tired. ‘Send them away,’ he said in a slurred voice. ‘I’m too busy now. Heaven is great.’ Then he retreated, back down the tunnel which had turned dark and warm.

He could have been asleep for hours, weeks, or months. There were no guidelines. But when Bond finally woke, he was conscious only of the pain down the right side of his body. The angel had gone. In her place a familiar figure sat quietly in a chair near the bed.

‘Back with us, 007?’ asked M. ‘How do you feel?’

The memories returned like a series of clips from an old movie. The Arctic Circle; snow scooters; Blue Hare; the Ice Palace; Paula’s observation post; the bombs; then the last hours in Helsinki. The eye of the Luger.

Bond swallowed. His mouth was very dry. ‘Not bad, sir,’ he croaked, then remembered Paula, prostrate on the bed. ‘Paula?’

‘She’s fine, 007. Right as rain.’

‘Good,’ Bond closed his eyes, recalling all that had happened. M remained silent. In spite of himself, Bond was impressed. It was rare enough for his boss to leave the safe confines of the building overlooking Regent’s Park. Eventually, Bond opened his eyes again. ‘Next time, sir, I trust you’ll give me a full and proper briefing.’

M coughed. ‘We thought it better for you to find out for yourself, 007. Truth is we weren’t sure about everyone ourselves. The general idea was to put you in the field and draw the fire.’

‘There you appear to have been successful.’

The blonde angel came in. She was, of course, a nurse. ‘You’re not to tire him,’ she chided M in impeccable English, then disappeared again.

‘You stopped two bullets,’ M said, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Both in the upper part of the chest. No serious damage done. On your feet again in a week or two. I’ll see you get a month’s leave after that. Tirpitz was going to bring Tudeer to us, but you had no alternative in that situation.’ M, uncharacteristically, leaned over and gave Bond’s hand a fatherly pat. ‘Well done, 007, Good job well done.’

‘Kind of you, sir. But I was under the impression that Brad Tirpitz’s real name is Hans Buchtman. He was a crony of von Glöda’s.’

‘It was what I had to let you think, Jimmy.’ For the first time, Bond realised that Tirpitz was also in the room. ‘I’m sorry about the way it turned out. Everything went wrong. I had to stay with von Glöda. I guess I waited a hair too long. It was pure dumb luck that we weren’t killed with the rest. The Russian Air Force did some kind of number on us. Jesus Christ Almighty. It was the worst I’ve ever been in.’

‘I know. I watched it,’ said Bond, feeling, in spite of his condition, an irritation with the American. ‘But what about the whole Buchtman business?’

Tirpitz went into a lengthy explanation. About a year before, the CIA had instructed him to make contact with Aarne Tudeer, whom they suspected of doing arms deals with the Russians. ‘I met him in Helsinki,’ Tirpitz said. ‘I speak German well enough, and I had a phony background all set up, under Hans Buchtman. I got to know him under the name of Buchtman and insinuated myself as a possible arms source. I also dropped some pretty heavy hints that I bore a strong physical resemblance to a CIA guy called Brad Tirpitz. That was for insurance, and it paid off. I guess I’m one of the few people living who got to kill themselves, if you see what I mean.’

The nurse returned with a large jug of barley water and warned them they only had another few minutes. Bond asked if he could have a martini instead. The nurse gave him an official smile.

‘There wasn’t a hell of a lot I could do about the torture, or getting you out any earlier,’ Tirpitz continued. ‘I couldn’t even warn you about Rivke, because I knew nothing. Von Glöda didn’t confide much, didn’t tell me about the hospital set-up until too late. And the information from my own people was pretty half-assed, to say the least.’

Half-assed indeed, Bond thought vaguely. Then he drifted off again, and when he came to, a few moments later, only M was in the room.

‘We’re still rounding up the remnants, 007,’ M was saying. ‘The N-S-Double-A, We’ve scuttled them for good, I think.’ M sounded pleased. ‘I can’t see anyone else reactivating what’s left of it now – thanks to you, 007. In spite of the lack of information.’

‘All part of the service,’ Bond replied sarcastically.

But the remark ran off M’s back like water from the proverbial duck.

After M left, the nurse returned to make sure Bond was comfortable.

‘You are a nurse, aren’t you?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Of course. But why, Mr Bond?’

‘Just checking.’ Bond managed a smile. ‘How about dinner tonight?’

‘You are on a restricted diet, but if you fancy something I’ll bring you our menu . . .’

‘I meant you – dinner with me.’

She took a step away from the bed and looked him full in the eyes. Bond thought she was built from a mould long broken. Rarely did they make figures like that any more. Only occasionally. Like Rivke. Or Paula.

‘My name’s Ingrid,’ the nurse said coolly. ‘And I’d love to have dinner with you as soon as you’re fully recovered. And I mean fully recovered. Do you remember what you said to me when you first became conscious after you were shot?’

Bond shook his head on the pillow.

‘You said, “This can’t be heaven.” Mr Bond – James – maybe I’ll show you it is heaven. But not until you’re quite better.’

‘Which will not be for a very long time.’ The voice came from the door. ‘And if anyone’s going to show Mr Bond what heaven Helsinki can be, it will be me,’ said Paula Vacker.

‘Ah.’ Bond smiled weakly. He had to admit that, even next to the impressive nurse Ingrid, Paula had the edge.

‘Ah, indeed, James. The minute I turn my back, there you are, getting shot at, flirting with nurses. This is my city, and while you’re here . . .’

‘But you were asleep.’ Bond gave a tired grin.

‘Yes, but I’m wide awake now. Oh James, you had me so worried.’

‘You should never worry about me.’

‘No? Well, I’ve arranged things. Your chief – he’s rather cute, by the way – he says I can look after you for a couple of weeks once they let you out of here.’

‘Cute?’ Bond said, incredulous. Then he put his head back, drifting off once more as Paula bent over to kiss him.

That night, in spite of all the memories – the Arctic, the terrors, the double and triple crosses – James Bond slept without dreams or nightmares.

He woke around dawn, then drifted into sleep again. This time, as always when content, he dreamed of Royale-les-Eaux. As it had been.