Never send flowers

`I wonder if that's where she grows the roses?" Fredericka was resting her head against his shoulder and he turned to kiss her lightly on the forehead, smelling the fresh scent of her hair. For a second his mind flashed away to other places, other times, and the distinctive scents of other women. Twice he had sworn never to get too involved again, for it always led to disaster. Yet Fredericka seemed different from the others. She demanded nothing of him, and gave only affection. Never once had either of them sworn undying love, or demanded commitment to any sort of lasting relationship. He gave her a squeeze and slowly they walked back to the car.

A kilometer or so along the road they came to a notice in German, Italian, Spanish, French and English. It told them `Private Road. To Schloss Drache Only. Unauthorized Persons Must Keep Out." The slip road, a little further on, was also marked, and, taking it, they found themselves descending towards the river, down a narrow road which zigzagged perilously, then plunged into a dark thicket of pine trees, emerging alongside the river, then turning until the castle was lowering down on them. Its mountainous walls appeared to be leaning in against the sky that strange optical illusion made when clouds move as you look up at tall buildings.

`Makes you wonder how many people died when they put this place together." Fredericka made no attempt to disguise her awe.

`Certainly puts the building of the pyramids to shame." He eased the car forward. The road narrowed, leading to a small bridge which opened on to a stone turning circle directly in front of a pair of magnificent arched doors reaching up for something like thirty feet.

They were old, but their immense brass hinges and fitments gleamed as though they were polished regularly, and the doors themselves were also slick with some kind of wood preserver.

`I wonder how you attract attention. Is there a bell pull? Does Igor come shuffling out?" As Fredericka spoke, the doors began to move, swinging back to reveal an open courtyard.

`I think they already know we're here." Bond took the car slowly through the gates and into the courtyard that contained two Range Rovers, a black Merc and a sleek Lexus. He pulled in beside the Lexus, the gates closed behind them, and he took a quick look at the surroundings. Three sides of this parking entrance looked like a classic monastic cloister, complete with arches and gargoyles. The wall facing them was cloistered, but split in two where a set of long stone steps ran up to another vast door: this one looking vaguely Victorian, complete with stained-glass panels.

As they climbed out, a butler, complete in tail coat, and two younger men in green livery, appeared from the doorway and descended on the car, opening the boot and removing luggage with the expertise of a pair of thieves.

`Welcome to Schloss Drache, sir-madam." The butler was essentially English, from the tone of his voice to the way he moved and directed his underlings. The whole thing smacked of a time quite out of joint, like stepping back into a long dead era.

`If you will come this way, the master is waiting for you in the library." He ushered them into a hallway which smelled of polished wood, and Bond had an immediate impression of trophies in glass cases, stags' heads mounted high on the walls, and some oil paintings which looked suspiciously like genuine Turners.

The butler led them up a small flight of steps an along a corridor lined with pictures, but these were more recognizable. Again they were oil paintings but their subjects were well known to even the most casual observer for they were all portraits of great actors and actresses, not from a time long gone by, but from the immediate past, or the present. He spotted Orson Welles, Olivier, Richardson, Gielgud, Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Monroe and a host of others, stage and screen mixed together in stunning colours.

The corridor led directly into a long, airy room lined with tier upon tier of books, all beautifully bound in leather, arranged by colour, so that there was an extraordinary illusion that you were looking at walls slashed with a rainbow. At the far end of the room, tall, leaded windows caught rays of light which seemed to fall in a prearranged pattern, catching Bond and Fredericka in cones of blinding brightness, so that, for a moment, they both blinked, Fredericka raising her hand to protect her eyes.

Then, almost as quickly as the light had caught them so it disappeared, leaving only a faint trace of real sunshine shafting in through the huge windows.

`Welcome, Mr Bond, and you also, Fraulein von Grusse." The voice was distinctive, with only a trace of David Dragonpol's true voice.

He stood directly behind a large globe which looked like a theatrical prop. One hand touched the globe, while the other rested at his waist. He was quite unrecognizable. Long, full dark hair fell to his shoulders, though in reality everyone knew that the man's hair was light, almost sandy in colour. The nose, usually so patrician, was now hooked and beaky, making him look like a predatory bird. Deepset eyes seemed to glow like burning coals, and his lips were twisted into a deformed curl, like an S lying on its side. He wore a black doublet and hose, the doublet slashed in gold and a huge medallion of a boar's head hung on a golden chain around his neck.

The hand on the globe was more claw than hand, the fingernails long, curling and obscene, while rings of gold, sparkling with jewels, seemed to weigh down the almost skeletal fingers.

`It's good to see you here." The voice was now completely unrecognizable. `If you have not realized it already, I am Richard of Gloucester.

Richard the Third of England." `Barking mad,' Bond whispered, but obviously not softly enough.

`Woof-woof!" said the apparition before it began to laugh, a hideous cackling sound that sent a chill down Bond's back and made Fredericka grasp for his hand, digging her nails into his flesh in fear.

`Richard's himself again,' screamed the strange creature, and with that he struck the globe which began to turn rapidly, making a heavy clunking sound with each revolution.

CHAPTER TEN

SCHLOSS DRACHE

The cackle turned into a soft laugh. The strange creature's hands moved, closing together, and the long-taloned fingers gripped the wrists, one after the other, seeming to snap off the skin, bone and nails. Now, latex gloves dangled from the fingertips of one hand, while the other moved upwards to rip the long black hair from his head.

The body appeared to change before their eyes, straightening up, growing.

`Oh, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't resist that. You should have seen your faces. My name's David Dragonpol. Fraulein von Grusse and Mr Bond, welcome to Schloss Drache.

He fiddled with his nose, pulling off the putty which had shaped the strange crooked beak. Half revealed before them was Dragonpol himself. Even the voice had returned to normal.

`You see, Hort fancies herself as a painter, and I'm posing for her. She has this idea that oil paintings of me in my best roles will look well in one of the museum rooms. I can't say I ,agree with her.

Hort, come and meet our guests.

They followed his eyes and for the first time saw a woman seated behind an easel set in a kind of niche to one side of the long book-laden left-hand wall. Putting down her palette, she rose gracefully-a poised hostess, dressed in paint-daubed jeans and a T-shirt, the front of which carried the words `Go For It! Life is not a dress rehearsal." She came towards them with a smile and a hand held out to be either kissed or shaken.

`Maeve Horton,' she introduced herself. `We spoke on the telephone, Mr Bond." Her hand was cucumber cool and the wide dark eyes seemed to be visibly stripping Bond of his clothes. She was very tall, almost a full six feet, with the slim agile body of a dancer, and a face which had the clear skin and regular features of an Irish girl. `I'd have talked for longer if I'd known how good looking you were.

`Come on, Hort, not so much of the blarney." Apart from the doublet and hose, Dragonpol was fully recognizable now, raking his fingers through the mane of straw-coloured hair, revealing the face which had captured the imagination of millions, the actor who could transform himself into any character he chose. `You probably know we have Irish family connections." He gave them both that winning smile, brimming with a near tangible charisma. `Hort plays the Irish colleen to the hilt.

Everyone calls her Hort, by the way, never Maeve." Maeve Horton made a tutting sound, part way between `whisht' and `ocht'. Then she turned to Fredericka, as Dragonpol took Bond's elbow and steered him away from the women, speaking softly.

`I always try to be delicate in these matters. In this day and age one has to be blunt. I wasn't certain of the sleeping arrangements, Mr Bond -` `Call me James." He was trying to take in as much as possible, from the obvious charms of Hort, to the concealed lighting around the bookshelves and forward of the tall window. He now understood why they had been almost blinded with light as they had come into the library, for there were two rows of baby spots, neatly concealed by a valance, one row pointing down, the others focused towards the library door.

`James, what I need to know is -. Well, to be blunt, sleeping arrangements ... are you and Fraulein von Grusse merely colleagues or are you an item, as they say?

`The latter, David I may call you David, yes?" `Of course. Glad I asked, because I can now give you the East Turret room. It's a regular bridal suite. Hort spent the bulk of her honeymoon there, poor dear..

`Mrs Horton is widowed, I believe?" Dragonpol gave him a wry smile. `It's a sad story, yes. Her husband was, oh, it's difficult.

Maybe I'll tell you the whole story later if we have time." He turned to the two women who seemed to be chatting amicably enough.

`Come along, I'll get Lester to show you to your quarters. Lester used to be my dresser. He really wanted to be an actor and I think he has now taken the butler's role quite well. He enjoys the snobbery of it all." He strode out down the corridor, shouting for Lester at the top of his voice an eccentric English country squire: or was that also a piece of role-playing? Over the years, Bond had known many actors, and had never met one who was averse to playing parts of his own choice in private.

Many of them could not really face normal everyday lives without putting on that second skin of a character, and he had quickly made the assessment that David Dragonpol was one of these. After all, Fredericka had pointed out that he sometimes travelled in disguise.

Lester appeared from some servants' quarters with his two flunkies looking like bodyguards.

`Two for the East Turret, Lester. You lads take the luggage up.

Lester gave a majestic bow and indicated, in a somewhat superior manner, that Bond and Fredericka should follow him. He was a tall, dignified man who seemed to think that smiling had become a mortal sin.

`It's good to have you here, James. And you, Fraulein von Grusse ... er.

`Oh, call me Fredericka, everyone does. It isn't every day that I get to meet a famous actor. It's a real thrill to be here, and to see you in the flesh." She almost simpered.

`An ex-actor, my dear. A former thespian.

Dragonpol even talked like some Edwardian actor-manager. `We'll see you both for dinner, then. Seven-thirty for eight o'clock. Please don't bother to dress, we're very informal here." He began to move away, then stopped, turning back.

`I'll send Lester, or one of the boys, to bring you down. You need an Indian guide to get around this place.The East Turret turned out to be anything but Edwardian. As they had judged when looking down on the castle from a distance, the turrets were exceptionally roomy, and the East Turret was particularly sumptuous, with its own private lift and two sets of rooms, one above the other, connected by a cleverly designed staircase which was totally enclosed. The treads were huge oblongs. As Fredericka said, `We could dance on these individually." The elevator took them directly into the circular sitting-room. The decor looked very expensive blue and white, with large easy chairs, a long settee and marble tables. The wall above the bar was decorated with theatrical drawings which looked like original charcoal sketches for stage sets.

The unusually wide flight of steps took Bond into the bedroom.

Here the design changed.

Instead of following the circular line of the walls, the bedroom had been squared off, the windows set very deeply into the walls. The bed itself was the centre piece a vast four-poster, like an island in the midst of a green and gold sea.

Bond prowled around, opening doors, and taking in the views from the windows. The bathroom, he realized, was slightly above the bedroom and at the very top of the turret. From its main window he could see right across the shallow-sloping roof to the great tower, with clear arched windows set in it at intervals. He returned to the circular sitting-room.

`It's a real thrill to be here, and to see you in the flesh." He imitated Fredericka's awed voice.

`Well,' she said. `What about you and the Irish flirt "I'd have talked for longer if I'd known how good looking you were" Jesus, this place is creepy, James." `All huge castles are creepy. What's so different about this one?" Fredericka stood close to the elevator doors.

`You do realize that we're virtually prisoners in this place." She demonstrated by pressing the buttons. The small indicator did not light up, neither could they hear the usual whirr of machinery. `What do you make of that, James?" `What do I make of the whole business?" he asked himself. `I'm beginning to wonder if some of those stories about Dragonpol's retirement are true." `Which ones in particular?" `That he had a complete breakdown. Was unable to perform: unhinged by his own talent. I mean that whole extraordinary business of the painting all that dressing up, the make-up and the lights shone directly in our eyes. That was for our benefit: an act for us. He knew we were on our way. Did you get a look at Hort's easel?" `No, she moved me right away from it." `Right. You want to know why? It was a daub, a squiggle of lines, paint splashed on to the canvas, no painting of the great man as Richard III. They were both playing with us. I think his first intention was to put the fear of God into us. Maybe he changed his mind at the last minute, but I think we should be prepared for some further bits of fantasy." `He's living in another world, that's for sure "Please don't bother to dress, we're very informal here." When did you last hear a line like that?" Bond walked back into the great circular room, his restless eyes looking for possible hiding places for security cameras, or listening devices. There were many and there was no way he could possibly sweep the suite without the proper equipment.

`And what about Lester and "the boys"?" he asked. `They look like ordinary servants to you particularly in this day and age when servants are a thing of the past?"

"`The boys" give off a certain something that I recognize. Fredericka was pacing around the room, brow creased and hands moving nervously.

`They're more like bodyguards than flunkies." `Quite. Bodyguards or male nurses. A pair of very tough bantam weights, and I'd put money on them knowing a lot of tricks designed to damage your health. Lester could well have been his dresser, but his own clothes leave much to be desired." `How?" `You didn't notice the bulge? The man's carrying.

Shoulder holster, and something pretty lethal in it. The other strange thing is that I've seen Dragonpol on stage and screen, admittedly cloaked in the great acting roles, but I don't really recognize him." `You don't? I'd recognize him anywhere." `I'm not talking about physical recognition.

There's something not quite right with the man.

That spark isn't there." `Oh, come on, James. You know actors, they're like watchers when they're off stage, nude, as it were. Mostly they appear to be terribly ordinary people when they're off. With watchers, it's the other way around. They go invisible when they're working and seem larger than life when they're off.

Surely it's normal enough?" Bond frowned. `Maybe. Maybe you're right, but David Dragonpol was not your run-of-the-mill actor, and this man just doesn't feel right. If I didn't know it was him, I'd swear he was a ringer." `Or, perhaps you're right about the mental collapse.

You've seen people after a breakdown: they look the same, but something vital has gone." `Could be." He did not sound convinced, nor, in fact, was he. While Fredericka went off to take a bath and, to use her words, `Pretty myself up,' he wandered around the rooms of the East Turret, poking and prying into every drawer and closet, his mind quietly wrestling with the enigma that was David Dragonpol. The truth, he considered, lay in the man's relationship with Laura March who had been, according to those who knew and worked with her, a person of high intellect and nobody's fool. If the facts were correct, she had loved this man unless the break-up was really of her making and because he had become so strange.

He thought again of Carmel Chantry's description of that very break-up. How she had been called here, to Schloss Drache .... she came into my office looking ill-white, unsteady. It was a Friday afternoon and she said D. D. had called her. There was some drama and he was sending his private aircraft for her. On the Monday she came in and told me it was all over." That was what Carmel had told him, so it was unlikely that Laura had taken the initiative. Private aircraft?

He wondered. Now where would he keep that?

Carmel had intimated that there was some kind of landing strip nearby. Well, it could not be within walking distance, the terrain was too rocky for that.

He continued to think, going round in circles until Fredericka called out that she was finished in the bathroom.

When he reached the bedroom, he saw that she had laid out a long, black, backless evening gown.

`So, you are going to be formal.

`Of course. What about you? Did you by chance bring a dinner jacket?" `Like certain credit cards, I never leave home without it,' he smiled. Then, `Flick, when your people spotted the Dragonfly passing in and out of Switzerland, did he travel by normal commercial airlines?" `Yes. Usually, that is.

`What do you mean, usually?" `He does have a private aircraft, but he's pretty sparing in its use. He also has problems with it." `What kind of problems?" `He hasn't got any clearance to bring it into Switzerland. I remember we checked that out. He has landing rights in England and France, but none of the other countries. Why?" `Why, yourself? Why hasn't he got landing rights?" `Because we nobbled him.

Look, James, we've been watching this guy for some time, and my immediate boss was convinced that he had contacts with terrorist groups and dodgy arms dealers. He's been up to no good, so we put the word out in certain quarters. He can use this country Germany France and the UK, but we managed to put a block on him elsewhere. If he wants to go into the Scandinavian countries, or Spain, Portugal and Italy, he has to fly the friendly skies by the nearest friendly carrier.

`What excuse did you give him?" `For not getting landing rights?

Oh, I guess the various countries used all kinds of excuses doubts about the safety of his aircraft, or the aircrew. He can huff and puff as much as he likes, but there's no law that says any country has to tell him the reason he's been banned. Sometimes, I guess they wouldn't tell him at all, they'd just reject his flight plan, and refuse any alternatives he presented. He'd soon get the message.

`But you have nothing solid against him? No really firm evidence?" `No, and as far as I know he's never made a fuss about being refused landing rights. I can check if you think the phones are safe." `Leave it for now." `I love Dragonfly. I think we should use that as his crypto.

Bond unpacked his garment bag, hung his spare suit and the dinner jacket, placed other articles in drawers and retreated into the bathroom.

They were both dressed and ready by seven-fifteen, and once more they tried to summon the elevator without success. At exactly seven-thirty they heard the mechanism whirr. The cage came up, stopped, and the door opened to reveal the grave Lester, his head tilted as if something unpleasant had been placed directly under his nose. He showed no surprise on seeing the guests dressed formally.

Without a word, he ushered them into the cage, and he remained silent through the lengthy trek along the many passages and corridors that took them finally into a large oval room: light, airy with a full twenty-five-foot bow window taking up the far end, which looked out on to the large walled garden they had seen from above.

`I said we dined informally." Dragonpol's voice was brimming with surprise, even though he wore a dark blue silk dinner jacket and Maeve, by his side, looked coolly exquisite in a white full-length gown into which she might have had to be sewn.

At her throat a single diamond drop hung from a heavy gold chain, while around half-a-million pounds' worth of rings flashed from her fingers.

`Isn't this informal?" Bond feigned surprise. `I naturally thought you meant I didn't have to wear tails." Dragonpol gave a little shrug, then turned to a nearby drinks table. `It's such a pleasant evening, I thought we might take our drinks into Maeve's garden. What will you have?" Fredericka asked for a screwdriver, while Bond chose his usual vodka martini. Dragonpol then led them through a small door to the right of the tall window. A few seconds later they emerged into the garden which seemed to be enveloped by the sweetest meld of smells.

Bond thought of England in June, and cloudless early July days among the most beautiful gardens in Europe. It was late August, the time when the scent of flowers fades, and dust settles across borders and trellises. Here, though, everything appeared to be in full bloom, and the odours were enhanced by that freshness which comes from well-watered lawns and bushes.

`You did all this, Maeve?" She stood quite close to him.

`Lord no. Our paternal grandfather did most of it." `David called it your garden.

`Only because I spend a lot of time out here, but we have two full-time gardeners. My passion is roses.

`Really,' from Fredericka, easing herself between Maeve and Bond, one hand resting protectivlly, on Bond's sleeve. `I also have a liking for roses.

Dragonpol led the way, along a paved path flanked with large circular beds and flowering bushes. `You had better allow me to show you the way to Maeve's passion. My grandfather had a sense of humour, and there are many water tricks in this place. In fact, I will show you one that you might have seen in America. Stand still for a moment." They had just passed a small birdbath set between bushes to the right. Dragonpol stepped forward and placed his foot squarely on a triangular piece of stone. With no warning a jet of water arced from the birdbath, passing over their heads to land in the middle of a small stone column forward and to the left of them. The jet seemed to hit the column and bounce upwards again, leaping forward and to the right where it struck the head of a piece of statuary. From the statue the jet leaped back forming a perfect arch over their heads, striking another column on their left, from which it gave the illusion of jumping again on to the birdbath, from whence it began its travels again.

`They have a giant version of this water trick at the Disney Epcot Center in Florida." Dragonpol laughed, like a child, delighted as the jet of water continued to jump from birdbath to column, to statue to column, and back to the birdbath, repeating the sequence again and again.

And your grandfather installed that?" Fredericka was also laughing delightedly.

`Oh, yes. This was working here long before Mr Disney was even born.

`The castle has been in your family a long time?" Bond asked, and it was Maeve who replied.

`It looks very old, I know, but it was built in the 1 840s on the site of a former castle, Schloss Barholtz, which had been destroyed by fire. Our great-grandfather built it and our grandfather finished it.

Then, when it became David's property, he started to modernize the interior. You like the East Turret suite?" `I'd like it more if we were not imprisoned there." This time Fredericka did not laugh.

`Imprisoned?" Dragonpol sounded sharp and a little angry. `What do you mean, imprisoned?" `The elevator would not respond. It was as though someone had left it at the bottom level with the doors jammed open." `That fool Lester. Sometimes he is too much. I apologize.

Lester has a habit of doing that to strangers visiting for the first time. The castle is large, as you know, also we have a great deal of renovation going on, particularly on the second and third floors where I'm setting up the museum.

He does not like to think of people getting lost. It's quite easy to get lost in Schloss Drache." His voice dropped at the last sentence, giving the impression that this was some kind of threat.

Bond laughed. `Bravo." `Bravo?" `"It's quite easy to get lost in Schloss Drache." You sounded just as menacing as you did when you played Shylock. The accent was almost the same. I could even see you standing there, sharpening your knife and talking about the pound of flesh you would take.

`Really?" For a second, Dragonpol seemed taken by surprise.

`Yes, really. You remember how you did that wonderful bit of business using your belt as a leather strop, and how the knife was shaped like an old-fashioned open razor." `Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry. In my time I have played many parts. One forgets. Yes, of course, I'm sorry.

They had come to the end of the path now and the garden opened up into a most wonderful trellised rose arbour.

`These are my favourites." Maeve ran forward, tiny steps because of the tightness of her gown.

Fredericka's eyes opened wide, and Bond's face froze. She was standing beside a set of four bushes placed symmetrically to one side of an archway thick with more roses, leading into the arbour. The four bushes glowed with a pulse of white and scarlet colour. Twenty or thirty roses decorated them. Each was the same, identical pure deep white, and each petal looked as though it had been dipped in blood, or that blood had been hand-painted on the petals.

`I have more in my greenhouses,' Maeve Horton began.

`Very beautiful." Bond spoke with a cold flatness, for he felt as though ice had entered his veins. `I've never seen a rose like this before,' he lied. `Do you sell them? Export them?" `Oh, no. No, my roses are strictly for family use,' she said, and Bond thought to himself that she was lying, just as Dragonpol had been lying when he acknowledged using a dagger shaped like an open razor, and his belt as a strop when playing Shylock.

Bond had seen Dragonpol's definitive Shylock. He had used an ordinary long stiletto, and had produced a sharpening stone from a leather bag at his waist. It had been an unforgettable moment.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE TRAIL OF BLOOD

They dined in the castle's magnificent great hall which, though David Dragonpol had obviously carried out major renovations, still retained the feel and atmosphere of an almost medieval refectory.

Thick wooden beams made it seem as though the hall were built in a post and lintel construction; while a false roof not only gave the impression of height, but also that it was held in place by four massive A frames, the old wood coarse and stained.

The walls appeared to be made of the original stone, and a huge open fireplace, complete with spit and other ancient iron artifacts, made Bond think of hunting dogs lying on skins before a roaring winter blaze, while men and women in roughly woven clothes made wassail at the long oak table.

To complete the illusion, swords, pikes, shields and halberds decorated the walls, while the whole was lit by four intricate candelabra on the table.

There was electric light, they were told, but it was pleasant, Dragonpol thought, to recreate an ancient setting.

Before dinner they had walked for another few minutes in the garden, and Maeve had insisted that they see her greenhouse a long and wide affair with its own heating system, run from an Edwardian iron stove. The greenhouse contained literally thousands of blooms her roses in various stages and she explained, in some detail, the work on her hybrid Bleeding Heart rose which had been going on for several years.

`It's a somewhat macabre venture,' she had said as they walked back to the house. `But you must admit that it is a very beautiful flower." Neither Bond nor Fredericka had replied or even reacted. The Bleeding Heart rose had become an almost frightening symbol to both of them.

They dined well, Dragonpol explaining that they preferred to eat English food when they were at the castle. `Essentially the Dragonpols are AngloSaxon, with a strong Irish underlay." He chuckled.

`In my grandfather's time, nobody would dare put German food on the table here, no matter how good.

So they were served a delicious vegetable soup, turbot, very rare roast beef with all the traditional English trimmings a Yorkshire pudding, correctly placed on the table in a large separate dish, Brussels sprouts and roast potatoes. The horseradish sauce was not the creamed variety, but real, making the eyes stream, and a truly hot English mustard banished all thoughts of the more bland Dijon or American varieties.

For dessert, a huge trifle was brought in with much ceremony. `An old recipe of my mother's, Maeve told them, and this was followed by an old-fashioned savoury, Angels on Horseback fat oysters, wrapped in bacon and grilled, set on fingers of toast before the cheese board and fruit made the rounds. The wines, however, were all German and of exceptional quality, while the entire meal was served by Lester with the assistance of one of the so-called `boys', whom Dragonpol referred to as Charles.

`You must have a very large staff. Unusual these days." Fredericka was fishing.

`No." Dragonpol appeared indifferent. `Apart from Lester and "the boys", plus the gardeners, of course, we have a general maid and a very good Irish cook whose mother was married to a German, and spent her entire working life in my father's employ. The Nazis left her alone, and she cared for this place during the Second World War.

It's an odd old family relationship, but it works well.

On four occasions during dinner, Bond tried to touch on Dragonpol's career and referred to some of his more famous individual performances. Each time, the actor if indeed he was such managed to deflect the conversation, turning it back to the one subject which appeared to be close to his heart, that of transforming Schloss Drache into what he called `the definitive theatrical museum in the world'.

It appeared that, while the servants lived in a set of rooms in the basement of the castle, both Maeve and himself occupied only this, the first the ground floor. `We have all we need here,' he said.

`There is this dining hall, the library, our drawing-room and two large suites of rooms which we have converted into private quarters.

The Turret suites are there for guests, and this leaves the remaining three levels at my disposal for the museum. Everything I own has been invested in the museum, and I have already amassed an incredible collection. It will draw experts and fans from all over the world." He went on at some length about how every stage in the development of theatre would be represented, from the ancient Kabuki theatre of Japan, and the staging of the early miracle plays in Europe, to the theatre of the present day in all its diverse forms.

Dragonpol claimed to have many unique and priceless exhibits upon which he had lavished millions.

`He's always dashing off after some new find,' Maeve chipped in, and Dragonpol gave her an evil little smile, then said he would take them through the completed rooms tomorrow.

`That will be most interesting,' Bond sounded offhand. `What I really want to see is the view from your main tower. Now that must be incredible.

There was a small but anxious silence, and he thought he detected a brief signal pass between Dragonpol and his sister.

`Unfortunately..." Dragonpol began, and his sister cut in with, `You can't. -` then closed her mouth like a trap.

`Unfortunately that is not possible, the actor continued as though nothing had happened. `The great tower is, alas, unsafe. We are waiting for a master builder to arrive from Cologne. It's going to need much work, and we are a little concerned. It requires at least scaffolding to be in place before the winter, and I am told the entire business will take some two years. Nobody-not even myself-is allowed into the tower. I'm sorry." `But you must have been to the top at one time or another?" `Oh, yes. It was only two years ago that we discovered the cracks, and the architects examined it last year well, really only eight months ago. It was put out of bounds immediately.

`And the view?" `Is, as you say, quite spectacular. You have a standing invitation to return when all the work is done. Then you, James, will be able to see for yourself." `I'm disappointed, of course, but I look forward to it.

When the port was placed on the table, Maeve Horton suggested that she and Fredericka should retire to the drawing-room, and for a few moments there was an embarrassed pause with Fredericka on the verge of protest, not willing to give up her liberated status. Several exchanges of eye signals eventually saved the day and, at last, Dragonpol and Bond were left alone. Lester also retired and there was a long charged silence between the two men until Dragonpol spoke.

`Obviously you want to talk to me about poor Laura." `That is the reason we re here, David. Do you mind?" `I'd be only too glad to help if I can." He hesitated, and there was a catch in his voice as he continued. `You see, I feel responsible somehow.

`In what way?" `If our engagement had not been broken off Well, she would have been here. That was what we planned. It was to be our wedding. If I hadn't..." He stopped and looked up. His eyes were distinctly moist.

`If you hadn't what?" `If I hadn't broken off the engagement ...

If I hadn't done that, she might still be alive today. Of course I feel responsible." `But you did break off the engagement, David?" `In the end we accepted it mutually." `But you said..

`I know. I said if 1 hadn't broken off... I said 1.

Sure. It was I who first brought up the problem.

We spent a weekend sorting it out, and I suggested that it might be the only answer. In the end, Laura agreed. It was a very painful parting, James. Very painful. We still loved each other. Even today, although she's gone, I still love Laura, and I'm sure that on the day she died she still loved me." `Then why ?` `Why was the engagement called off?" He gave a little shrug and an odd gesture, his head cocking from side to side. `It is difficult to explain. I don't know how much you know about Laura's background. I don't wish to break family confidences.

`She had no family left, so there are few confidences to break.

But I presume we're talking about her parents and her brother. Is that right?

Her brother who had the same name as yourself David?" `Ah." He raised his hands a few inches from the table, then quietly lowered them again. `Ah, you know about the skeletons in her family closet." `In some detail." Dragonpol took a deep breath which turned into a long sigh. `We were deeply in love and we both wanted children. The Dragonpol line, on the male side, runs out with me. There are no other male Dragonpols. I know this will seem old-fashioned, and not a little pretentious, James, but ours is an old family.

`You go back to the Domesday Book, yes, I know.

`The Domesday Book and a lot of other history as well. Dragonpols have served Crown and Country ,through the ages. We're a proud people..

`Yet you prefer to live here, in the Rhineland, far away from your roots?" `That must seem strange to you, I know. We have a place in Ireland..." `Drimoleague?" `The Dragonpols of Drimoleague as we're known, yes." `And there's also a manor house in Cornwall.

`Dragonpol Manor. Yes, you're well informed, James, but none of that's a secret. So, we have property. We also use it. Hort spends at least half of the year in Ireland. I use Dragonpol Manor, usually in the autumn, sometimes in the spring.

Part of the difficulty is the eternal British problem death and taxes, or I should say death duties and taxes. Also, this is the largest of our properties, and the Museum of Theatre is not a new concept to us. It began with my father. He was a great benefactor of the Arts particularly the theatre. He had the first dream of making this place into a museum. It's the right size. We had to do something with it." He paused again, his hand and arm moving in a sweeping gesture. `Schloss Drache, as it is or was is a great white elephant, my friend. We always knew that we would either have to sell it or make it into some kind of going concern. The world's greatest Museum of Theatre was my father's concept. I'm simply going to see that it becomes a reality.

`And is that why you suddenly retired from a huge and successful career in the theatre?" He frowned. `Partly. That was only one of many things. People have made wild guesses as to why I so suddenly gave up acting, when it wasn't as sudden as they seem to think. I'd been contemplating it for a while. I'm not going into all the details, but yes, the concept of this International Museum of Theatre was one reason; another concerned things within my family. For the Dragonpols, family comes first and there were certain matters I had to see to." Bond nodded. `So, what has this to do with your engagement to Laura?" `There has to be someone to carry on the family and its tradition. I wanted sons. Laura also wanted children. We talked of it many times, and we were both agreed. But. -` `But what?" `About a month before her death, she dropped a bombshell on me.

`She told you about her maniac brother.

`Quite. Yes, she told me about David March. It took a very strong character. She had held back the truth, but finally she told me everything out there in the garden. It's something I won't forget.

`And that was enough? You broke off the engagement because she happened to have a homicidal maniac as a brother?" `Oh, come, James.

If you've studied the business, you know it was more than that.

`What do you mean?" `Her father and mother. They were also strange, unbalanced people, far from normal. Laura lived in terror of suddenly finding out that she was also a little crazy." `And was she?" `She could become obsessive. She was obsessive about her job." `And you weren't? Being obsessive about one's work doesn't mean..

`It was slightly more than that. She spoke with doctors very eminent psychiatrists. Some had evaluated her family when her brother ... well, after he was arrested. The conclusion was that they were the cause of passing on the seed of madness to her brother, and, if that was the case, she could well carry similar genes. She was told that her children would have a seventy-thirty chance of being born with some kind of mental aberration.

`Isn't that the case with most people? Life's a lottery, David." He did not look Bond in the eyes. `She was already beginning to see signs of deterioration in herself." `Such as?" `When she told me about her past, her family, she admitted that, as well as her obsession with work, she had recently had experience of fugues.

`Memory loss?" `Yes, a fugue is a period of time lost in the memory. Often a blanking-off of the mind. She had lost the odd hour, but more recently days were missing. During her penultimate visit to this place, she admitted to losing almost an entire day, and she later regained a portion of that lost time. She said it was like a half-remembered dream, in which I had become her brother, and Hort was her mother. Laura was terrified convinced that she had begun a descent into abnormality." `And you could not risk having children with her?" `James, there is a little madness in all old families. The Dragonpols have experienced their share of it. To have gone on and produced children with Laura would have tempted fate. We decided to end it.

That's all there is to it. We were not about to play Russian roulette with the future." `Okay." He gave the impression of having accepted Dragonpol `5 explanation. `Forgive me, David, but I have to ask other q~~~~ `Go ahead.

`Where were you on the day Laura was murdered?" `Then you really believe she was murdered?" `Take my word for it." He gave a long shudder. `Where was I? You're not going to like the answer, James. I was in the air. I was flying from Washington to Zurich.

Bond looked up sharply, as if he had been stung.

`You were in Washington?" `For one night, yes. The Thursday night. I saw an eminent Professor of English. We met at the Folger Library and dined at the Willard Hotel. I took a flight direct from Dulles. It was slightly delayed, and I got into Zurich at around ten on the Friday night. You can check it if you want.

`You flew from here to Washington? I mean from Germany?" `No.

No, I went in from Paris. There were some papers-letters of the great Sarah Bernhardt-that I had purchased from a dealer. I did not want to risk having them sent by any normal means. So, as I was travelling.

`How long had you been travelling?" Dragonpol made some calculations, counting on his fingers. `I was away from here for almost a week. It was a quick and short trip. I arrived in Rome on the Sunday night, saw a collector of theatrical memorabilia, and bought some beautiful commedia dell'arte prints from him. On the Monday I flew to London..

`What time of day?" `The afternoon. I got into Heathrow, let me see, around six in the evening. Had dinner with a dealer and arranged for him to bid for me certain items of interest were coming up for sale at Sotheby's.

`You're sure it was on the Monday night?" `I'm positive. I have all the necessary information. I keep a very good filing system.

Every penny of my expenses is noted for tax purposes, because I can offset them against the museum as business. I have tickets, itineraries, everything. Yes, I arrived in London on the Monday night early evening.

`And from London?" `Paris." `When?" Already, Bond was doing agitated sums. David Dragonpol, it seemed, had followed the route of the killer, the assassin responsible for the deaths in Rome, London, Paris and Washington then, Switzerland.

`The Tuesday evening. Just for one night. In Paris I saw one of the directors of the Come die Francaise.

`Then you left for Washington?" `I arrived very late on the Wednesday. On Thursday night I met with my friend at the Folger, and from there we went out to dinner.

`And you were back in Zurich on the Friday night?" `About ten, yes. You wish to see my records?" `I think, David, the police might just want to see them." * `He was in all four cities, Flick. He made no bones about it. Rome, London, Paris, Washington. All the sites of those four assassinations. He was there.

`But a day late, yes? And why do you keep calling me Flick?" `Because Fredericka was a horse." `A horse?" `My Friend Fredericka a movie horse." `Oh my God, then call me Freddie." `I prefer Flick, Flick." She gave a resigned sigh. `But I am right, yes?

He was in all four cities, but a day late?" `Mainly only hours late. Hours after the assassinations. If he's telling the truth, he followed those murders as if he was chasing them." It was past midnight, and he had just been through Dragonpol's schedule with Fredericka, sitting close to her on the couch in the East Turret.

`You looked like a ghost when you came out of the dining-room,' she had said as soon as they were alone, and had as a precaution-checked that the elevator was now working. He had even joked about it with Dragonpol when the actor had shown the couple back to the elevator to wish them goodnight. Hort had disappeared a little earlier, making the excuse that she had some household duties to which she had to attend.

Once in their suite she had immediately asked what was wrong, and Bond sketched in the entire conversation with Dragonpol.

`It can't be coincidence. The roses are hers. His European jaunt. His presence in every city. He says that he has all the paperwork, but that kind of thing could be fiddled." `You think it's safe for us to stay here?" And risk being the next recipients of the Bleeding Heart award?" `It had crossed my mind." `He was very open about everything. I didn't really have to jog his memory. He just told me.

Even said I wouldn't like it when I heard where he was at the time of Laura's death. Though I fail to see his point, because, if he's telling the truth, he got to Zurich after she died and Interlaken's quite a trek from Zurich. No, if his schedule turns out to be exactly as he's told me, he arrived everywhere just after the deaths. But he did visit each city, which is quite extraordinary." `As though he followed a trail of blood?" `Exactly. Did you get anything more from Hort?" `She talked roses and the family. Boring to say the least, though there was one thing `Yes?" `The little tough, what's his name, Charles?" `What about him?" `He served the coffee and made a great show of having to speak privately with her. She excused herself and went out of the room with him. They had quite a long conversation. `Which you listened to.

`Not all. It wasn't safe, though she left the door open a little.

They spoke in almost whispers until she seemed to lose her temper.

Anyway, she raised her voice. Just for a moment.

`And said?" `Something to the effect that Charles was a buffoon.

That he should know better. I heard bits of that. Then she said, quite clearly, "They'll be gone by tomorrow night, but for God's sake, don't make that kind of mistake again. The telephone's only there to keep him from fussing. You don't let him use it, and you make sure it's cut off when nobody's with him. You know all this. Pray heaven he hasn't used it." That's pretty much word for word." `Perhaps they were talking about me us." He indicated the white, reproduction antique telephone which sat on one of the marble tables.

`We haven't tried to use it, but maybe we should." He rose and crossed to the telephone. Picking up the instrument he put it to his ear, then pulled a face. `Dead. Disconnected. I guess that's what the conversation was about." Fredericka bit her lip.

`Scared?" `Just a lot, James dear. Just bloody petrified." `Then maybe you're right. Maybe we should get out while the going's good-or at least in the small hours." They spent an hour getting themselves ready, dressing warmly in jeans, rollnecks and light shoes: packing their remaining clothes with care, Bond cursing from time to time that he had not come armed; but neither had Fredericka. After all, she was temporarily suspended from duty. `It's like the Dirty Harry movies,' she said in the one moment of humour. `You have to turn in your gun and badge.

At almost two in the morning, they had everything prepared, their two cases stood beside the elevator, and Bond was just about to press the button to summon the cage, when Fredericka touched his arm. `Sorry, James. I have to use the bathroom again." `Well, for heaven's sake hurry." She disappeared, and a few seconds later he heard her voice calling, agitated: `James, quickly.

Quick, come and look." He ran up the big stairs, through the bedroom to the bathroom where she stood, in the dark, on tiptoe peering out of the window.

`He said nobody could use the tower. That it was unsafe." Bond swore under his breath. Looking out across the low roof, they had the same clear picture of the tower they had seen in daylight, only now, in the pitch darkness of a moonless night, the whole structure was illuminated from within, its huge clear windows lit up from top to bottom. Behind the windows figures moved people ran and gestured.

`Let's get out now, Flick. Something's really screwed up here." Quickly they went back to the sitting-room, and Bond was reaching out for the elevator button when suddenly they heard the clunk and whine of the machinery. The cage was on its way up.

`Stand back, Flick. Get to one side." The cage stopped and the doors opened.

`Mr Dragonpol is sorry for this intrusion, but he needs to see you now, quickly, in the library." Lester stepped into the room. In his right hand he carried a Colt .45 automatic. The safety was off, and he held the weapon like someone who was used to handling these things.

`He says now! He needs you in a hurry!" The wicked eye of the pistol moved slightly, beckoning them into the cage.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE TIME MACHINE

`Do you think we should take our luggage with us?" Bond spoke as though oblivious to the big automatic with which Lester was still gesturing.

`I hardly think that would be appropriate, sir." Even with the pistol, Lester retained the snobbish servility of the complete English butler.

As he asked about the luggage, Bond turned slightly, reaching down as if to pick up his garment bag. Now, frozen, with his hand on the bag, he gave a small shrug, as though acquiescing to Lester's suggestion. Then, in a blur, his fingers curved around the handle, lifting the bag and flinging it, with all his strength, straight at Lester's groin.

He heard the man grunt loudly in pain, beginning to double over, but his right hand came up and Bond saw that the big automatic was still very steady, with Lester's finger moving on the trigger.

Then, Fredericka moved. It was the first time he had seen her do anything violent. She closed on Lester, coming face to face, body to body, with him, slamming her left arm over his right with great force, crushing it against her raised left knee.

Lester's arm snapped audibly and there was a double cry of pain as her knee swivelled, crashing into the unhappy man's groin. The pistol clattered to the ground, followed by its owner who did not know which part of his body to clutch with his one good arm.

Fredericka kicked the pistol back into the room, leaned over and delivered a fierce chop to Lester's neck. The screaming stopped, he fell sideways and was still.

`You killed him, Flick?" Bond, very impressed, tried to sound calm as he scooped up the Colt.

`I hope not." She prodded the body lightly with her toe, and Lester moved, groaning.

`Better truss him up." Bond was down on one knee, fumbling for the butler's braces. They pulled the tail coat from his shoulders and the pain made him stir and begin to regain consciousness. Fredericka chopped him again on the neck, anaesthetizing him once more as they fastened his hands tightly with a handkerchief, then tied his ankles with the braces, stretching the elastic back and securing it around his bound hands. Finally he was gagged with a scarf, which Fredericka pulled from her own bag.

`He's going to try and make a lot of noise when he finally comes out of it." She even smiled a shade sadistically, he thought. `That arm's going to give him gyp, as my mother used to say." `You always as vicious as this, Flick?" `Only when I don't like someone." She gave him an angelic smile. For the first time, he realized how very well trained she was. If, at that moment, he had been allowed to pick a permanent partner from any of the major intelligence services, he knew that she would be his first choice. She was decisive, tough and uncompromising all the qualities someone in Bond's job looked for in a partner.

`I think we should go,' she said, pulling her own bag into the lift cage.

`Luggage and all?" `Well, I'm not leaving any of my personal belongings behind. Not in this place." He dumped his bag beside hers, checked the Colt .45 and pressed the `down' button. As the lift whined towards the ground floor, they were aware of more light than they had previously seen in the castle, and when the doors opened, the quiet, somewhat creepy calm they had become used to appeared to have gone for ever. There were shouts and noises coming from the main body of the building, echoing and fading-the thud of footsteps, and, from somewhere, music filtering in and out of the sounds which seemed to be all around them. These noises, and the reverberation of loud voices, had changed Schloss Drache into a Tower of Babel.

`This way, I think." Instead of heading straight down the corridor, Fredericka turned right, then right again to where the passage continued towards what they both knew could only be the castle's east side.

Finally, they reached a dead end, and a heavy door. She shrugged at Bond, who nodded and turned the doorknob. Light, even more brilliant than before, flooded out at them.

They were in a massive stairwell. The light was unnaturally bright, while the cacophony of sounds became louder, enveloping every corner of the building.

`I always hate it in those movies when people trying to escape go upwards and get cornered on the roof,' Fredericka whispered.

`There's nowhere else to go but up, except right to the centre of things and I don't want to come face to face with the Dragonfly and his rose-growing sister. This way we might at least get a look at the forbidden tower." Eventually they reached a long wide landing which seemed to run across the width of the castle interior, and turned at right angles at each end.

Facing them was a pair of oak double doors. The noise seemed to rise and fall: voices, chanting, conversation, mixed with music, as though the castle had suddenly become inhabited by an invading army of ghosts. If he had believed in the supernatural, Bond would have thought they were in the middle of some terrifying haunting.

He was about to put his hand on the doors when they heard Dragonpol's voice, clear and coming from the right and below them, rising above the rest of the clamour. Quietly Fredericka put down her case, and Bond leaned his garment bag against it.

Softly they moved, clinging to the wall. At the turn they stopped, inching their way out and along the passage.

From this end they could see that, just as the corridor ran for the width of the castle, it also she gasped.

disappeared almost out of sight along what had to be the length of the building. Only in the centre did it angle back into the square U shape, with a balustrade. Dragonpol's voice was coming from below a balcony which looked down on to a hallway, or room, at the castle front.

`I can't wait,' he was saying loudly. `Where's that fool Lester and the two meddlers?" Then he began to shout. `Hort! Hort! Where the hell's she got to? Surely it can't be taking her all this time?

Charles!" `She's just coming in." It was Charles' voice close and below. `Here!" he shouted.

`Hort? How many this time?" She was out of breath. `Three `Only three." `You're certain?" `Absolutely, and you have the key map.

There's still three too many." `I know it, and I'd better get going.

The rest of you Charles, William-get hold of Lester. Keep our guests safe. I want no stupidness. Just keep them here. Don't hurt them unless it's absolutely necessary.

They heard his footsteps thudding away into the distance.

`I'm glad he doesn't want to hurt us,' Fredericka whispered.

`Unless it's absolutely necessary. Come on, I'm going through those doors. I want to see what the hell's in that tower." It was only when they got back to where they had left their luggage that they realized most of the music and general hubbub was coming from directly behind the big double doors. Still with the automatic ready in his hand, Bond leaned against the doors, and they entered the strange disorienting world of Dragonpol's embryo Museum of Theatre.

The noise seemed to wrap itself around them in a jumble of sound.

As they walked forward into the light, they were both staggered by the sudden change which focused only one sound and one view on to their senses. It was so real that Fredericka gasped and clutched at Bond's sleeve. They stood, it appeared, at the very top of a huge Greek amphitheatre. Below them the stone steps were filled with an appreciative audience, which laughed and applauded. He could feel the breeze on his face, and the sun hot above them. He could even smell the crowd, a mixture of spices, bodies and an amalgam of scents.

Far below, in the stage area, actors proceeded with the play.

Long ago lessons at school slid from his memory and he suddenly even recognized the play. It was Aristophanes' The Frogs. He knew it because of the chorus which chanted, `Brekekekex Co-ax Co-ax." The Greek playwright's version of the modern `ribbit-ribbit'.

So, as if by magic, they had been brought to a Greek amphitheatre, and to a performance being given some four hundred years BC. The reality of the thing was extraordinary, and only his logic told him that they were really experiencing a clever use of modern hi-tech and old projection and optical effects, plus the use of advanced robotics.

It was quite enthralling and amazing until he spotted something slightly off-key. One of the actors, far below, had lifted a mask to his face. The mask had nothing to do with Greek theatre of 400 BC, but was of the kind used in Japanese Kabuki performances, which did not really flourish until some time in the early eighteenth century.

Just as he spotted this odd chronological error, so the whole picture in which they appeared to be standing, began to fade into darkness, and to their right a figure rose up from the darkness: a luminous, beckoning figure, so real that Bond turned, gun in hand, ready to shoot if necessary.

The apparition was dressed as an old jester, and it capered and beckoned another projection, or moving hologram, which bade them follow. Even with the glaring error in the Greek amphitheatre, Dragonpol's Museum of Theatre was certainly quite something: a trip into the past, as though in some kind of time machine.

He took Fredericka's elbow and guided her as they followed the strange dancing jester who suddenly disappeared, and, as he vanished, light came up around them and their ears were again assaulted by noise, their sense of smell detecting a melange of scents, some ripe and unpleasant, others sweet.

This time the change of aspect was more realistic than before.

They stood in an English market place, on the fringe of a crowd.

Facing them was a rough platform, an outdoor stage, with beams at each corner, set upon which was a crude upper level on which men and women were working machinery behind cloth cloud shapes.

The players on the stage were acting out some kind of religious story, which Bond realized must be one of the medieval mystery plays, for the actors spoke in an oddly accented English. A clap of thunder came from the people working the primitive special effects, and it was plain that the play was the story of Noah, for one of the actors was bidding his `Wife, come in,' as God Himself leaned down from tattered clouds and declaimed that the rain would begin at any moment.

Once more, the sense of reality was strong. They were there, present in an English town hundreds of years ago. People seemed to brush against them, and one actually spoke to Fredericka, asking if she recognized Dickon dressed as a girl. The Dragonpol set was exceptional. Yet, once more, just as the scene around them was dissolving, Bond saw one of the actors consult a relatively modern pocket watch.

Another figure came out of the darkness, this time a small man in Elizabethan dress. They could see right through his body, but, as he beckoned, he spoke clearly. `Come, there is plenty of room.

Come tonight to the Globe where they perform Master Shakespeare's comedy and delight, A Midsummer Night's Dream." They followed as though mesmerized.

A street rose up around them. There were cobblestones underfoot, and others pressing in towards the high curving wooden walls of the old Globe Theatre. Seconds later, they stood, surrounded by an audience, within what Shakespeare had called a Wooden 0.

Again, it was the sense of actually being there that amazed Bond, and he had to wrestle with his senses to move himself back out of the light, from the sixteenth-century audience enjoying the end of the Dream Puck, acted by a young boy, was just finishing the play. Bond literally had to drag Fredericka away, melting through `people' and `walls' into the darkness of what he knew had to be the huge, hangar-like second floor of Schloss Drache.

`But James..." She began to resist.

`We're losing time, Flick. Things are going on out there..." `But it's like a magic carpet ... time travel . a true Time Machine." `I know. But we have to.

The lights came up suddenly, brilliantly, bringing them up against reality with a terrible jolt.

The sounds and pictures had gone, and in their place was as Bond had presumed a massive warehouse, with catwalks leading through complicated pieces of equipment, huge cycloramas, automata and battens of floods, spots, odd-shaped mirrors and projectors.

They stood on a metal catwalk-grilled, and with a chain guard hanging from metal rods set at intervals of around six feet. The catwalk was solid and did not swing or move under them, yet it stood about twenty feet from the ground. This time, there was no insubstantial figure, projected by laser or hologramatic means, facing them.

`I told them you'd got into the display,' Charles said in excellent English. `Mr Lester is really very angry with you. Mrs Horton is driving him to the nearest hospital. Did you know you'd broken his arm?" `That was my intention." Fredericka's voice gave no sign of surprise or fear. `I also did my best to damage his future romantic prospects." `If it was up to me, I'd damage more than your romantic prospects." Charles held an automatic pistol very close to his hip. He also stood with legs slightly parted. All the signals were that this man was trained, and it is the training that separates the men from the boys. Lester had not struck Bond as being a trained bodyguard.

Charles, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was about. `Just put Mr Lester's gun down on the catwalk, Mr Bond.

Do it slowly please. Very slowly." Bond took a step forward, bent his knees and placed the Colt .45 carefully on the metal, just to his right and slightly behind him. `Your friend about, is he?" he asked, straightening up.

`William? Yes, sure, William's around somewhere. I wish we could both spend the odd hour in a locked room with you two. `But you're not going to do that, Charles, because your boss, Mr Dragonpol, says we have to be kept safe." He took another step forward, speaking softly, trying to get close enough for a move. It was like trying to tempt a wild animal.

`Unless it becomes necessary, Mr Bond. Far enough." The pistol moved very slightly in Charles' hand. `We don't want any accidents, do we?" He gave a cheeky grin. `Well, I wouldn't mind. We can always make it necessary. I wouldn't mind that, and you'd positively hate it.

Fredericka brushed against Bond's shoulder as she stepped in front of him. `Oh, Charles,' she all but cooed. `You don't think we'd be so stupid as to play games with you. We'll come quietly, won't we, James?" She turned her whole body back towards Bond, and, in doing so, her wide skirt flared up and snagged, for a moment, on one of the metal stanchions holding the guard chain in place.

For a spectacular few seconds, her upper thighs and lace-decorated hips were revealed, in all their glory, to Charles whose eyes bugged out at the unexpected sight. It was a perfect piece of distraction.

Fredericka had moved to Bond's right while doing her unveiling pirouette, and he was able to launch himself towards Charles, tackling him low, getting right under the gun hand, his right shoulder connecting with the bodyguard's knees.

Charles gave an uncharacteristic squeal as he pitched over Bond's shoulder. Fredericka moved in to grasp the pistol, twisting it and almost wrenching the wretched man's wrist from his arm. There was another scream as Bond dumped him on to the guard chain.

`Let him go, James,' she called, and he instinctively did as she instructed, giving the body a little help with his shoulder.

Charles twisted and turned, then fell from the catwalk, landing on the hard stone below with a thud that made Bond wince. The squeal stopped, and there was silence.

Bond retrieved the Colt, and saw that Fredericka already had Charles' pistol in her hand. `Anyone ever tell you how good you are, Flick?" He patted her shoulder, urging her forward.

`Many times, James. My instructors were always generous in their praise-I was head of the school." She winked, then walked quickly, with Bond at her heels. Every sixty feet or so, the catwalk expanded into a viewing platform with machinery, automata, lights, mirrors and scenery reaching out on each side. Whatever else, Dragonpol obviously possessed a wonderful imagination.

At the far end, they reached a single door. Thick metal with a large heavy lock: it stood half open, and they emerged into the far end of the long passage, which evidently ran right around the enclosed second floor. This time, however, they were facing another metal door that stood open to reveal a narrow stone spiral staircase.

`The tower,' Bond whispered, going straight towards the door and up the steps. He almost ran, using the balls of his feet, to deaden the sound, and he was only aware of Fredericka behind him because of her breathing, light but just audible.

The stone steps twisted upwards, finally coming to a bare flagged landing and yet another metal door. This time it was in two sections, a plain steel, hinged slab which contained two very serviceable locks.

In turn, this was hinged to an insert of solid bars which had its own lock, the whole forming a secure entrance into a very safe area, in which items, even a person, could be easily confined.

On the far side of this door a small lobby led to yet another set of bars. These were also equipped with a locking device, and the entire section was designed to slide to one side. It was half open, and they went through into a large chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. Great cathedral windows were set in two sides of the room, the glass very thick and clearly unbreakable, but it was the decor which stunned them. A large and comfortable bed occupied one corner.

There were a couple of leather easy chairs, and a very large rough working table, upon which papers were piled and scattered.

The wall directly opposite the entrance was completely taken up by a tall metal filing cabinet, the uppermost part of which could be reached from a ladder, anchored to the top section, and fitted on to a slider. Small wheels at the base of the ladder would allow it to be pushed easily to the required place, and it stood in a central position with one of the higher drawers open, as though the previous occupant had only just retrieved some required file.

Bond went straight to the table, bending and starting to look carefully through the papers. There were charts, drawings, photographs and even maps.

`Looks like the master plan for the museum." He gestured to Fredericka with his hand, calling her over.

Indeed, the topmost showed a view of the area they had just traversed. A quick glance showed they had missed seeing a performance at the Moscow Arts Theatre; one at a London theatre in the 1920s; the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford-uponAvon in the late 1960s; part of a performance of Wagner's Ring Cycle at Bayreuth; a modern musical in a Broadway theatre, together with about another six exhibits.

`This man's a genius." Bond began to thumb through another pile of papers which seemed to be the working drawings of the large scale electronics used in the museum.

`A genius, but I think a genius at murder also." Fredericka had lifted the larger plans from the table and was rummaging under them. `These look as though they've been thrown here to hide something else." She moved several more large plans until a series of maps, drawings and notes emerged. `Look here...

But Bond had already been distracted, walking over to the right of one of the high windows, where he stood looking in horror at a bookcase which was anchored to the wall above a deep glass-fronted cabinet.

`No, you look here.She went to him, and began to study the spines of the books, and the lower section of the cabinet, which contained various items marked with small cards. The books beautifully leather bound, with the symbol DD at the bottom of each spine were all works on the same subject political assassination. Here, there were volumes dealing with practically every famous public murder, from Caesar to JFK.

The objects in the cabinet mirrored the same subject. Fredericka caught her breath when she saw items neatly labelled, `Jacket belonging to Graf Claus von Stauffenberg, and worn on the day of his attempted assassination of Adolph Hitler July 20, 1944." Another claimed to be, `The pistol used to kill Mrs Ghandi'.

`He's into the assassination business with a vengeance,' she said quietly. `Come and look at what I've found over here." They returned to the table where, from under the other papers, Fredericka had retrieved several maps, street plans, and sheets of paper upon which were scribbled notes. The street plans were of Milan, Athens and Paris.

There was also a plan of the interior of Milan's famous La Scala Opera House; one of the Acropolis and the Parthenon, in Athens, and several jottings which appeared to depict a certain route leading from the centre of Paris to an unknown point near the city.

Among the scrawled notes, the words Milan, Athens and Paris were neatly underlined with initials next to each city. Milan equalled KTK; Athens showed the initials YA; while Paris had no less than three separate series of letters PD; H;W.

`Targets?" Bond looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

`Could be. Most certainly could be. I think we should get out and..." She stopped abruptly, and they both turned towards the door, sensing another presence near by.

It was only a slight scraping. The sound of leather against the stone outside, but it was enough to send Bond, pistol in hand, to the door.

`No!" he yelled. Then again, `Don't do it or I'll kill you where you stand." William moved, very fast, twirling backwards out of sight.

Bond squeezed the trigger twice, hearing the bullets ricochet off the walls. The outer steel door clanged and the locks clicked shut.

`Damn!" Bond cursed, running forward. The outer door was secure and it would take more than a simple lockpick to get them out.

`I rather think we should see if there's another way out of here." Fredericka calmly began to examine the wall of metal filing cabinets.

`We've outstayed our welcome and I don't particularly want to be here when they come back for us." `The windows?" He went over to the high arches and took a closer look at the glass. `We'd need an armour-piercing weapon to break this stuff, otherwise we could have abseiled down..

`If we had rope, James. Come on, let's be practical, there's some kind of space here around the filing cabinets." She was right. The entire wall of metal files appeared very solid, but, as Fredericka banged on them with her hand, there appeared to be some give, as though they made up a false wall protecting space on the far side.

Bond stood back, his eyes searching for any possible concealed opening.

For ten minutes Fredericka moved up and down the wall, while Bond sought a clue from the way the large cabinets were arranged. `It's no good, I can't see any weaknesses,' he said at last.

`Change places,' Fredericka commanded.

`Sometimes new eyes..." She stepped back and saw the answer immediately. `Yes. Look. This centre area here." As she pointed he saw what she meant. In the middle of the wall one section of the cabinets appeared to be surrounded by a darker line, the size and oblong shape of a door.

`The ladder." He went across and drew the sliding ladder over until it was level with the right-hand section of the darker outline.

`No. No, that's not it." Fredericka stepped to the files on the left of the now obvious door, and began to move the sliding metal drawers in and out. `I'm sure there's a simple way." As she spoke they both heard a click from the file she was pulling out.

`That's it..." She pushed and pulled and the drawer seemed to click into some hidden position, but nothing else happened. She tried the drawers above and below. They also clicked and stuck in place.

`I'm sure..." she began, then Bond leaned against the oblong of cabinets and they moved, swinging inwards.

`Open Sesame,' he whispered, as they walked through into a cold and clinically white chamber, one side of which was given over to a long console with an array of inlaid computer monitors, controls, a switchboard and two large TV monitors. The wall facing this large control panel contained row upon row of large mainframe computer tape machines, while in the wall in front of them was a door marked `Gantry.

Danger High Voltage." Conversation was superfluous. It was obvious that they stood in the main control room for Dragonpol's theatre museum. In the centre of the long console a glass panel covered a detailed electronic map of the exhibits, with winking lights to show exactly where the various sections lay in relation to the entire display. It was now clear that each of the many spectacles was activated by heat and movement sensors, so that the approach of visitors immediately turned on the various projections, holograms, sound, smell and the lifelike automata. At the moment the master switch was in the `off' position and the two large TV monitors gave a panoramic view of what seemed like a jumble of small theatres, cycloramas and lighting battens, all joined together by the walkway over which the unhappy Charles had been pushed.

`Look." A flicker of movement caught Bond's eye. His hand hesitated over the controls until he found a small joystick that operated one of the many closed-circuit TV cameras. He gently moved the stick, focusing and then zooming in on the movement. There on the walkway, William was climbing down to help Charles to his feet. The latter looked shaky and a little stunned, while the pair of them were obviously talking and trying to decide what should be done.

The walkway itself broadened and sloped on to firm ground at each exhibit, so that visitors were able to move directly from this main path around the museum into each presentation which would come to life at their approach and, cunningly, direct them back on to the higher metal path when the show was over. Groups of people would be automatically led from one exhibit to the next, probably in a state of disorientation which would lead to a greater sense of wonder.

Bond's hand worked the joystick again, tilting the hidden camera up to view the walls of the museum. High above the exhibits was a second catwalk obviously the gantry which would be used for maintenance and possibly security. At intervals, metal ladders led straight down from the gantry giving access to the main walkway and the complex set pieces.

`The man's got a goldmine here once it's completed." Fredericka moved behind him, her voice almost a whisper of awe, adding, `If it's ever completed." `I vote we use the master switch, turn on all the fun of the fair and go down to hunt that pair of heavies on their own ground." Bond bent over the controls memorizing the layout and making sure he could lead them through the maze of exhibits.

`It says, "Danger, high voltage" ` Fredericka inclined her head towards the door to the gantry.

`So have you got some other magic way out of here?" `No, but I'm not really partial to getting a ,few thousand volts of electricity run through me.

`Then don't touch anything. Keep away from the wall. Look...

He began to carefully outline his plan, moving the closed-circuit TV camera around with the joystick to show her exactly which way they should go.

`I always wanted to be in a big Broadway musical,' she said, for the plan was to surface from the rear of the display which took visitors on to the stage of a musical-one of the exhibits they had not seen on their short tour which had been interrupted by Charles.

Once more Bond moved the camera to focus on to the area in which he had last seen the two supposed male nurses. They were still there, with Charles rubbing a bruised shoulder and testing the strength of an injured leg.

`William's on the ball." Fredericka nodded at the screen as William handed a spare automatic pistol to his colleague. `Thinks of everything. I imagine you want to get this show on the road before they both come dashing up here and do unspeakable things to us?" `I think it would be the wisest move. Ready?" She nodded, and Bond's hand once more hovered over the console, finally stopping just above the lever that bore the legend `master switch'. He hesitated again. `Just for the hell of it, Flick, cold you make sure that door to the gantry is open." She opened the door and found herself looking down into an elevator shaft.

`There's a call button,' she nodded back towards Bond. `How very thoughtful. If we had rushed in, we would've been clawing air." She pressed the button and they heard the whine of machinery.

Bond kept one eye on the TV monitor to check on Charles and William who seemed undecided about the next course of action and appeared to be arguing. William, he considered, was probably all in favour of doing away with them, while Charles probably wanted to at least wait until Maeve was back before taking any drastic action.

The cage rose and Fredericka pulled back its sliding door.

`Okay, let's go.

He pulled the master switch, saw the museum plunged into darkness on the monitor and walked quickly into the cage, which smoothly descended at a touch of the `down' button. The elevator stopped and they found that they were in a narrow sloping passage which would clearly lead down into the main part of the castle, and the gantry high above the museum.

They went forward at a jog trot. `Remember we have no spare ammunition. If they start shooting, make every round count." Bond checked the Colt, and saw Fredericka glance down at the handgun she had taken from Charles.

On reaching the door leading on to the gantry they paused, Bond telling her to move as quietly as possible. Then they crossed through into darkness, standing for a few seconds to allow their eyes to adjust.

Below them, far off to the left there was noise and action from the Globe Theatre exhibit near which they had been stopped by Charles.

Slowly they traversed the catwalk, very much aware that they were suspended, dangerously high, above the vast cavern that was the museum.

Bond's eyes were quickly conditioned to the darkness, and he led the way, feeling the safety bar to his left, trying to judge the distance to the metal ladder that would take them down, close by the Broadway musical exhibit. He counted four chained-off ladder sections, stopping when he came to the fifth, turning and whispering to Fredericka, making downward motions with his hands.

He saw her nod, then he swung out on to the ladder, slipping the Colt into his waistband, momentarily wondering how she would cope with her weapon. The narrow rungs were cool and firm to the touch and he gradually increased his speed, descending rapidly into the blackness below, waiting at the bottom for Fredericka to join him, gesturing with his arm towards where he considered the exhibit to be.

They were behind a high curving stone wall, the cyclorama at the back of the display. Silently they moved, crabbing their way to the end of the wall.

Bond nodded to her, took a deep breath and they plunged forward.

Neither of them was prepared for the effects which suddenly assaulted all their senses. As they stepped into the dark area, so it became alive. For a few seconds they were almost blinded by the light and deafened by the noise: it was as though they had walked through some magic looking-glass on to a stage full of prancing, dancing figures, lit by floods and full battens of theatrical lighting, and singing their hearts out: `There's no business like show business." The figures moved with precision following a set pattern of dance steps, the men in white tie and tails, the girls in silver tail coats, top hats and abbreviated spangled briefs. The noise was deafening, and Bond could just see an orchestra conductor through the glaring light.

Close up, the dancing automata had a bizarre appearance with sparkling staring eyes, rouged cheeks, set smiling faces, their mouths opening and closing like ventriloquists' dummies, the dance steps prescribed by the patterns set in their computerized, robotic brains.

The impact of the whole slowed both Bond and Fredericka who lost precious moments as they stood, almost confused by the spectacle.

Then the shooting began.

A male automaton was lifted off its feet, almost at Bond's side as two bullets ripped in from somewhere beyond in the darkness. He had been aware of the muzzle flashes from the darkness, and fired twice in the general direction from which the shots had come as he blundered forward, nudging one of the female dancers so that the robot was pushed out of alignment and continued to go through her dance steps moving away from the other females.

He saw and heard Fredericka fire into the black hole behind the lights and thought he heard a screech of pain above the din of music and singing. Another bullet cracked past his head, and the face of a second male robot disintegrated into wires and microchips as Bond leaped forward through the lights and into the cavern of darkness beyond. The music and singing did not stop, but he was aware of the robotic confusion now reigning on the stage. From the corner of his eye he saw Fredericka jump across what was supposed to be the orchestra pit, firing as she went. Then he was also on the far side of the lights looking at Charles, spreadeagled on the ground, his shirtfront a bloody gushing mess where one of their bullets had struck him.

`There!" Fredericka shouted, swivelling to the right and getting off two rounds, aimed at the fleeing figure of William who ran, clattering along the walkway.

Bond followed and, on reaching the metal path with Fredericka close on his heels, the din of the Broadway show cut off, the music suddenly silenced and the lights going off as they crossed the invisible electronic eyes which operated the display. Now the only sound was of William's feet on the metal as he ran from the fight.

They followed, Fredericka slightly behind Bond, who fired once at the retreating man just as he momentarily activated another of the displays-a modern play, set on a proscenium arched stage.

Dialogue and movement began and was then stopped as William reached the far side of the display.

The scene came alive again as Fredericka and Bond went past, then, ahead, they saw the stocky little William run into the next exhibit as though he were trying to make it to the area behind the displays.

Again there was noise, a huge overpowering burst of music recognizable immediately as Wagner's Sieried. William was attempting to get across the stage which was a full-sized model of the famous opera house Richard Wagner's great dream theatre at Bayreuth, built especially for the performance of the composer's gargantuan operas.

Bond stopped, legs parted, the Colt an extension of his arm, sighting it on the figure of William as he blundered forward towards the automaton of Siegfried singing his microchip heart out and raising the legendary magic sword which is such an integral part of the massive Ring Cycle of operas.

He fired once and saw William lifted off his feet as the bullet struck him, sending him curving towards the half rising sword, then, in a flurry of arms and legs, William crashed down upon the operatic automaton. Sparks flew from under his body, and a small burst of smoke immersed both man and robot for a few seconds. When the smoke lifted, William lay impaled on the sword, while the opera continued, the tapes playing on even though the reproduction of Wagner's stage remained still, with the macabre bundle of corpse and electronics at its centre, the very real sword reaching bloodily up through William's back.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY

`Don't you think we should wait for Maeve?

Sweat her?" Fredericka stood in the great hall. They had seen this part of the castle on their arrival, therefore only getting an impression of a heavily decorated Victorian-like entrance. Now, for the first time, they noticed the long minstrels' gallery, high above.

`That's how we heard the Dragonfly talking to his sister." Bond pointed to the balustraded U shape above them.

`Yes, but don't you think we should wait?" `No, for one thing I don't particularly want to do any explaining concerning two dead bodies. Also, if we're to catch up with Dragonpol, we should head for Milan. That's his first stop, isn't it?" `According to the notes, yes.

But, James, how do we set about finding him?" `We might have to get a little help, Flick. What I do know is that the longer we hang around here, the more time it gives Dragonpol." He went up to the place where they had left their luggage, carrying it down to the hall and then out to the BMW, which he checked meticulously before letting Fredericka near it. He had read the full report of how Archie and Angela Shaw had died in London, and one thing was certain: Dragonpol knew about explosives just as he knew about other kinds of weapons and more exotic ways to death.

The car was clean so they just drove away, leaving Schloss Drache lit up as though for some festival.

They went as fast as the law would allow, heading for Bonn, and stopping only for Fredericka to make one international call to Switzerland from a public telephone.

`I won't be long, my dear, but I have an idea and it might just make all the difference when we get into Italy,' she told him, refusing to say more.

Bond sat, irritably, in the car, wondering silently on the amount of time it took women to make quick telephone calls, or dress for dinner yet seemed to be able to get out of their clothes in the wink of an eye when occasion demanded.

In all, Fredericka spent over half an hour in the phone booth.

`Getting back into your service's good books?" Bond asked, when they were on the road again.

`Not likely, my dear. I called our old chum Bodo." `Lempke? The Swiss cop with the turnip head?" `The same. He's a damned good policeman, and he also owes me a favour." `Will he pay up?" `We'll see when we get to Bonn." So, when they reached the airport and turned in the BMW, she made another call, while Bond got them on to a flight to Milan.

`All set,' Fredericka told him. `We have a booking at the Palace.

`Oh, you couldn't get us in at the Principe e Savoia?" The Palace in Milan is sister hotel to the Principe, and regarded mainly as a good, but no frills, hotel used by businessmen and provincials in town for one or two nights. The Palace was not noted for being an hotel of the grand school, but a resting place without luxury and with rooms designed in the utilitarian manner.

`I didn't even try the Principe,' she snapped. `If you want kitsch, over-decorated five-star places, you can go and stay there on your own. Anyway, Bodo will know where to find us." `He's repaying your favour?" `More, he's coming to see us. With information, I hope." He did not press for explanations. Already he had learned that Fredericka von Grusse liked to do things her way, and she would tell him only when she was good and ready. Bond respected that, for he knew it mirrored his own attitude in arcane matters.

They arrived in Milan at a little after six in the evening, and by seven were settled into the Palace, amidst chrome and furnishings which were serviceable, though far from the luxury Bond would have preferred.

However, the mini-bar was well stocked, and it was Fredericka who suggested that they break out the champagne.

`We have something to celebrate?" `Getting away from Schloss Drache in one piece is enough for me. But this might be a case of "we who are about to die" `What a charming idea. Why are we about to die, Flick?" `Work it out for yourself, James. It's quite simple really.

We're both marked men well, you are. I, on the other hand, am a marked woman." `But shouldn't we begin to try and find the Dragonfly?" `You like looking for needles in haystacks?" He thought for a minute.

She was right, of course. Without some official assistance, they would be unlikely to track down Dragonpol. He had even suggested that they make contact with some kind of authority. Yet something else was nagging away in the back of his mind, there just out of reach.

Something they had overheard during that last conversation between Dragonpol and his sister.

`I suspect he might well come looking for us.

The Dragonfly, I mean." `With a little homicide on his mind?

Hence, we who are about to die?" `Possibly, but Bodo doesn't think he's out to kill anybody at this point." She paused, gave him her most beautiful smile and added, `With the exception of the meddlers that was what he called us, wasn't it? The meddlers?" `He also said we should be kept unharmed.

Again the overheard conversation swirled around his mind, with something significant hovering off stage.

`Unharmed until he returned, presumably. We have to face the fact, James, that friend Dragonpol, actor extraordinary with a great eye for detail, does not really like us. So, unless he gets lucky and sees us, he's unlikely to start killing anybody.

`No? What about the bloody list? Milan equals KTK and so forth." `If Bodo's correct, KTK is not even in Milan.

Think of La Scala, James. Then think about who KTK could be.`I already have. Milan equals one of the greatest opera houses in the world La Scala-and there's only one KTK connected with opera. The beautiful Dame Kiri Te Kanawa.. `Quite, and she's nowhere near Milan at the moment, though she will be in December. You worked out who YA is, in Athens?" `Arafat?" `Give the man a cigar. Yes, Yasser Arafat, the Old Man, the PLO leader with a thousand lives, or so it seems.

`And?" `And he is nowhere near Athens, and not likely to be until December when he has agreed to take part in a joint meeting with other Arab leaders, together with representatives from the British and United States governments. Dame Kiri's going to be in Milan for the second week in December doing three performances of Tosca, and making one charity appearance in the Cathedral, on the night of the thirteenth.

Arafat is due to arrive in Athens on December the fourteenth. All that's a long time off, but if Dragonpol's up to his usual 202

form, he's planning to do those two in a row. Of course, there's always Paris." `I have one idea about Paris, but it really doesn't bear thinking about, and there's no way that Dragonpol could have any advance warning." `Then keep it to yourself until we've talked to Bodo." As if on cue, the telephone rang and within seconds Fredericka was having an animated conversation with the Swiss detective.

Finally she put the telephone down and turned to face him. `He will have all the information we need by tomorrow, and we are to meet him for lunch." `So?" `So, we're on holiday, unless David Dragonpol comes calling. Why don't I go and change into something loose and stimulating while you call down for room service?" As Fraulein von Grusse said the next morning, it was a night during which they both deserved to be awarded gold medals. `World champions,' Bond agreed with a sly smile.

They were seated at a small restaurant in Milan's famous Gallerie possibly the world's first shopping mall, Fredericka said lunching in style and watching all the girls go by. Bond had said that he thought the smartest women in the world were to be found in Milan, and Fredericka, after only a few minutes, said she felt positively dowdy.

LemPke arrived on the dot of twelve noon.

`You've got everything?" Fredericka asked.

`Funnies." Bodo made his clown's la' looked from side to side furtively. `For you. Don't know why I put my the lamb for you.

`I think you mean on a limb, Bodo, but I know you do it for me because you love me to distraction." Fredericka took a long sip of her wine, looking up at the fat cop from under batting eyelids.

Bodo followed her lead with his glass of red.

`Adds more to my little pink cells, eh?" He refused to say anything worth hearing until he had eaten. `If lam playing hockey from my job, then at least someone should buy me a good meal,' he announced.

It took Bodo a good ninety minutes to dispatch antipasto, minestrone, spaghetti alla Milanese, and a huge piece of disgustingly rich chocolate cake.

With thick cream. When the coffee was served he wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled back.

`I think I told you everything already, but your friend with the strange name, the David Dragonpol, isn't about to start killing anyone here in Milan, or Athens. Mind you, it would not surprise me if he tried to knock the pair of you into oblivion." `Contacts,' Fredericka prodded. `I asked you to fix up some discreet contacts for us here in Milan.

`Sure. I done it. Just like you asked. But, as I said, I'm not going tolose my pension for a couple of busybody funnies.

`So who is he?" `Who is who?" `The contact you've arranged?" `Ah, I have to take you to him. Cloak and dagger." He laid a pudgy finger against the side of his nose. `The pair of you should know all about cloaks and daggers." `One question. Bond, rightly, felt that somewhere along the way he had been left out.

`Just one small question to put me into the picture." `Sure." Bodo gave him another of his clown's faces.

`You seem to have done some snooping and also arranged things for us. How do we know Dragonpol's still here in Milan?" `Trust us, James." Fredericka laid a hand on his sleeve. `If Bodo's here, then Dragonpol is almost certainly still in town. Someone had to get in touch with authority, and that's just what I've done, through Bodo. We can't do this alone." She turned to Lempke who was looking at the bill with a face which spoke of heart attacks.

`You bought lunch for the entire restaurant." He passed the slip of paper over to Bond, who paid with a credit card.

`Okay,' Bodo appeared much relieved. `Okay, I take you to my man now. Come.

None of them even noticed the dapper Englishman dressed in navy blazer and slacks, one hand smoothing a mane of grey hair, the other clutching a stout walking stick with a brass duck's head handle. The Englishman had been sitting only a few tables from them. Now, as they left the restaurant, he too paid his bill and followed them, at a distance, as they walked out on to the street.

The traffic was snarled in a way unique to Milan, the air heavy with the smell of diesel and gasoline. Bodo sniffed. `The end of summer,' he said. `Soon, you won't be able to get a flight in or out.

Always the same in Milan. Come autumn and the place gets socked in.

Soon it will be time for the smog again." He lifted a hand, and a sleek Ferrari seemed to materialize out of the banked-up traffic, snaking over and pulling up by the curb.

`Have to be quick or we'll get a ticket." Bodo hustled them in, and the driver, a short young man with the eyes of a pickpocket, smiled and nodded.

`Just going for a little ride, like the old gangster movies say.

A ride in the country." On the pavement, outside the Gallene, the very obvious Englishman, with his military blazer and the stick with the duck's head handle, watched them drive away. He saw other cars, weaving behind them in the traffic and he frowned. There was no way he would be able to follow them now.

He made a small, petulant gesture with his head, then turned back to find a telephone. The meddling Swiss woman and her English boyfriend would have to return to their hotel, and he had plenty of time. Everyone would wait, but one person had to know what was going on if the whole business was to be pulled off with a minimum of fuss.

Somebody had to be lured, and he knew just the woman to do the luring.

`There are a couple of cars on our tail,' Bond said as they pulled away. `A black Fiat, and a dark green Lamborghini. Possibly a taxi as well." `Good." Bodo turned to him and smiled. `We don't want unauthorized vehicles on our tail, do we?" Within minutes they were taking the road out of Milan, heading towards Lake Como and Cernobbio.

`We wouldn't be going to the Villa d'Este by any chance?" Bond asked.

`You know Milan well?" Bodo gave him another smile.

`I know the Villa d'Este. It's pretty high profile for a secret meeting with your contact. Also, your man must be a very well-connected Italian policeman if we're meeting him there." `Who said he was a policeman? Anyway, you'd be surprised who stays at the Villa d'Este these days." With that, Bodo made himself comfortable and appeared to go to sleep.

The Villa d'Este is, arguably, one of Italy's greatest hotels.

For almost five centuries it was a private estate on the shores of Lake Como, some thirty miles from Milan. For over a hundred years it has been a summer oasis for the rich and noble: a refreshing gem set in parkland, with tennis courts, swimming pool, horses, an eighteen-hole golf course and amazing Lombardian food. Its famous park and terrace have been the meeting place for deposed and reigning royalty, politicans, and people whose names are legends, while the service approaches the grandeur of a lost age.

They were expected. Bond spotted two security men watching in the parkland, and a small black van placed strategically near the main entrance.

Ten miles from the hotel, a pair of nondescript bikers had pulled in front of their car, while the other vehicles he had spotted, as they left Milan, now closed up in convoy. They swept up to the main entrance like a visiting presidential party, and an overtly plainclothed policeman opened the door.

`Straight through to the elevators. Suite one-twenty on the first floor." He spoke in almost unaccented English and escorted them through the grand foyer and up to one-twenty, where he tapped softly at the door, and ushered them in.

`James, how nice to see you. And this must be the lovely Fraulein Von Grusse." M sat, looking incongruous, behind a delicate Louis XV desk. Bill Tanner stood beside one of the windows, and a short Armaniand Gucci-clad Italian hovered in the background. Bond quickly introduced Fredericka to his Chief, and M took her hand, holding it for considerably longer than necessary.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AT THE VILLA D'ESTE

`Do sit down, the pair of you." M waved them towards chairs, and they realized that Bodo Lempke had somehow disappeared along the way.

`I did say that I'd be in touch, James." He was in a suspiciously good humour, and Bond must have shown surprise. `Incidentally, your nice Swiss policeman's returned to his duty. Good man, Lempke. As soon as he was able to answer Fraulein von Grusse's questions, he did the right thing and got straight on to us. Filled us in with all the details we did not know, and arranged the little clandestine runaround, so that we would be able to have a talk without any interruptions." He smiled as though this were all a game. `You didn't think we'd let you get into difficulties in that odd German castle, did you?" `I didn't notice any surveillance, sir.

`Good. You failed to spot anyone at Brown's, I recall, which means my people are much better than MIS's Watcher Section. Rest assured, though, we have been tracking you all the way.

And now we've reached the really dangerous part, James, bearing in mind that we now know what we're up against." `We do?" `Tell them, Chief of Staff." M moved his head slightly in the direction of Bill Tanner.

`Friend Dragonpol needs to be corralled." Tanner spoke in a low voice, as though he were about to let them into some terrible and highly confidential secret. `Unhappily we have no solid evidence.

Nothing on which to pull him in. What we're dealing with here is a man with a deadly aberration, only we can't prove it, which means we have to catch him in the act." `What kind of aberration?" from Bond.

`In some ways the man is almost certainly a serial killer, but one with a particularly nasty quirk." He took a deep breath. `We've run everything through records, the computers, and the Americans at Quantico who deal with serial killer profiles. What we've finally come up with is a real ticking bomb." He paused again as though waiting for some signal. M nodded.

`Dragonpol announced his retirement at the end of eighty-nine, and it took effect in nineteen-ninety." Tanner spoke as though he had learned a lesson by heart. `Here are the statistics.

February nineteen-ninety, in the space of three days, a known terrorist was shot dead on the street in Madrid; a Scandinavian politician died in a bomb blast in Helsinki; and an elderly, revered musician was killed when the brakes of his car failed a few miles outside Lisbon. Later, it was proved beyond doubt that the brakes had been bled purposely. The Portuguese police are still investigating that one as murder, the other two have been presumed acts of terrorism, but no group has claimed responsibility.

`And...?" Bond began, but M held up a hand.

`Let him finish!" he commanded sharply.

`November nineteen-ninety,' Tanner continued.

`In the space of two days there were terrorist acts in Berlin and Brussels. Two known members of the Abu Nidal organization were killed by some kind of silenced weapon as they sat in the lounge of the Steigenberger Hotel. Nobody saw it happen, nobody heard it, nobody claimed responsibility.

On the following morning a senior American officer died when a bomb totalled his car during the rush hour in Brussels. Again, nobody claimed responsibility.

`But do we `Please, James, there's more.

Bond shrugged, resigned to waiting out the list of deaths and disasters.

`April ninety-one,' Tanner consulted a clipboard. `London, New York and Dublin. Three days this time. A close friend of the British Royal Family run down by a Mercedes Benz which was never identified.

Happened in the Strand at ten in the morning. The car was found two miles away.

There is no doubt that this was not a normal hit and run. The man was murdered. Again, no responsibility. On the following afternoon, outside the Waldorf Astoria, in New York, an American diplomat was wait for it shot dead with a bolt from a high-powered hunting bow. On the sidewalk and in front of at least thirty people. No -leads and no claims. On the next afternoon, a woman entered a bar just off Stephen's Green in Dublin, pulled a pistol out of her handbag and shot an Irish politician dead. Everyone thought it was the Provos, because the fellow was outspoken against the Provisional IRA. But they denied having anything to do with it. Neither was it some extra-marital scandal.

`December ninety-one. A double header: Paris and Monaco. A diplomat in his Paris office and an internationally famous lawyer leaving his hotel after lunch in Monaco. Both shot in the head at close range. No witnesses. No responsibility.

`Lastly we have this year's little series of tragedies. The General in Rome; Archie Shaw in London; Pavel Gruskochev in Paris, and the CIA man in Washington. Followed, of course, by the tragic death of Laura March in Switzerland..." Bond could not hold back any longer.

`This is all very well, but can we tie them to...

`To David Dragonpol, James? Yes. Or I should say that we know he was not in Schloss Drache, or the place in Ireland, or in Cornwall, at the relevant times. The rest is hazy. We have documented proof that he was in the countries concerned either on the days of all these killings, or within a few hours of the killings. The man used two passports blatantly his own in the name of David Dragonpol, and the one he used when taking little weekend trips with the late His March, under the name of her brother, David March. It's as though he wanted us to know he was around at the times of the killings.

Bond nodded. `When I questioned him, he admitted to being in Rome, London, Paris and Washington, but not at the actual time of those murders. He also said he was in the air, flying from Washington to Zurich when Laura March was killed. Do we know any more about that, and the presumed attempt on His Chantry at Brown's?" `We do actually." Bill Tanner seemed to brighten up. `The stabbing at Brown's had no connection.

The police have the man and he's confessed. It was not a murder of mistaken identity, but a rather nasty love affair that went very sour. We've also talked at great length with His Chantry. It would seem that, on reflection, her impression is that Laura March called off her engagement to Dragonpol. She was upset, of course, but that would give him a motive.

`Doesn't tie in with what Dragonpol told me.

`Would he want you to know the truth?" `Maybe not. Is Carmel Chantry still being kept safe?" `She's out of a job. They've got rid of everyone who worked closely with Grant. The man really wasn't up to it, so it's spring-cleaning time.

Chantry's been given a handsome golden handshake, and sent on her way. After all, she's in no danger now. Bond frowned. `I'm still concerned about the March killing. It really doesn't tie in. I think we should run some kind of check on Dragonpol's movements. Go through the travel records..." M stirred. `We've come to the conclusion, James, that he does have some kind of accomplice-witting or unwitting who travels quite close to him, within hours as a rule. It's the only thing that makes sense." `Why?" Bond thumped his knee with one hand.

`Why an accomplice, or why is he executing people?" M cocked his head towards Bill Tanner again.

`It would seem that he was always a kind of obsessive." Tanner flicked through the papers on his clipboard. `In his career he was so meticulous that he got carried away. In fact, that's an oddity, a quirk. He would make errors-usually rather stupid historical errors.

When they were discovered, he'd fly into towering rages and blame everyone but himself. Why does he kill in this fashion? The psychiatrists all agree that it is part of his obsession with detail, combined with his need to express himself by some devastating act. The serial profile people at Quantico maintain that he really gets his kicks in the planning stages. The actual killings are like curtain calls. They doubt if he realizes the importance of killing." Bond asked if that made sense.

`They say it does." Tanner began to quote written reports by psychiatrists, and a long paper by the head of the psychological profile people.

`We have absolutely no doubt that he's a dangerous crazy. He is also a very clever crazy, and I don't think we could put him away with what we've got. `But how in the hell does he get his information?

I mean just take the death of Generale Carrousso.

Nobody but those really close to the Holy Father had the slightest hint that Carrousso would be in the Vatican at that time. And the Russian what about the Russian? His Press conference was called only hours before it took place." `Quite." M stirred again. `You should know that, earlier this year, in the spring, Dragonpol visited Rome, London, Paris and Washington. It is as though he were doing a dry run as we believe he is now for Milan and Athens. As to how he gets his information, I think you must understand that, during his peak years as an actor, David Dragonpol made many friends in high places. The German police have already begun to check back on the telephone logs in and out of Schloss Drache. He gets calls from the most unlikely places.

Also he makes calls in the same way." `And how do we know he's here, in Milan, at this moment?" Bond's mind had slipped far away, to the conversation about telephones which Fredericka had heard at Schloss Drache.

`Be assured that he is, Signor Bond." The beautifully dressed Italian spoke for the first time.

`Oh, James,' M actually half rose from his chair, `I'd like you to meet Gianne-Franco Orsini.

Gianne-Franco is, for want of a better word, my opposite number in Italy, and he's been very cooperative. We owe him a lot, and, by the time we're finished, you might even owe him your life." Gianne-Franco Orsini made a polite little bow.

`Believe me, Mr Bond and you, my dear Fraulein von Grusse this man, this Dragonpol, flew into Milan only a few hours before yourselves, and I have very good reason to believe he is still here.

`Casing the joint in order to kill Dame I&in in December?" M winced. `James, please try not to use criminal slang. It can offend people terribly. But, yes, it appears that he has approached one person in an attempt to get a private guided tour of La Scala.

We, or I should say, Gianne-Franco, happens to control that particular person. So the tour is on hold for a couple of days, though he could easily go with the normal daily tours. We suspect that he's seeing the sights. We also believe that, should he catch sight of you, or Fraulein von Grusse, he will switch his plans and dispose of you either here or in Athens." `So you think he'll definitely go to Athens?" `If his December timetable is going to work, he has to go to Athens, but, of course, it could all have changed by now.

`Because of Paris?" `Maybe. We sincerely hope not, but maybe.

No, he really has nowhere else to go." `Not even back to Schloss Drache?" `Most certainly not back to Schloss Drache. The German police have that tied up, and his sister, the rose-growing Maeve Horton, is being questioned..

`Has she talked?" It was Tanner who replied. `Unfortunately she won't say a thing. I understand that she's screaming bloody murder and asking for lawyers.

She just will not say a word about her brother. By the way, there's one odd thing about Charles and William that you might not know." `I know they were trained bodyguards." `Yes, they were, but also trained nurses. They'd seen action in some of the best high-class mental institutions in the world." Nobody spoke. The silence twisted around the room. Bond glanced at Fredericka, and she raised her eyebrows at him. Finally he opened his mouth.

`Basically, what you're saying is that you'd like us to do a trick that I've had to perform several times before?" `And what trick would that be, James?" Coolly, from M.

`The one where I go out and play at being a tethered goat. A target for the crazy Dragonpol." M nodded like a Buddha. `That was the general idea. You won't, of course, be in any danger..

`Of course not." `Gianne-Franco `5 ladies and gentlemen will always be near at hand." He smiled his foxy smile.

`There's no danger at all." `If you'll forgive the expression, sir, balls." M grunted. `Ideally,' he continued as though Bond had never spoken, `ideally it would be nice for you and Fraulein von Grusse to take in a bit of sightseeing together, here in Milan, and then, when Gianne-Franco tips you the wink, in Athens.

But I cannot order you to do that. I can ask you, James, but I really can't even ask Fraulein von Grusse for she is a completely,free agent." `With respect again, sir, there's no such thing as a free agent.

`Oh, there is in Fraulein von Grusse's case, but she probably doesn't even know about it yet." He turned to Fredericka with the look of a saint. `Has your former service been in touch, Fraulein?" `No, sir." `They will be. As of yesterday you ceased to work for them.

Discharged for acts prejudicial to good order and discipline, etc.

Fredericka gave a little, `Oh,' and looked as though she might burst into tears.

`However, I can offer you a job." `A job? With your service?" `Naturally. My Chief of Staff brought along the necessary forms, just in case you fancied coming aboard.

`And if I took the job, I would remain on the current assignment with Captain Bond?" `Officially, Captain Bond is on leave awaiting the result of a board of enquiry, but as he well knows that's a bit of a bluff." It was Bond's turn to grunt.

`Well, my dear, what do you say? You and Captain Bond seem to make a nice team. When this business is over, we have plans for reorganization. You could be a great asset to us." `I would still work with Jam-Captain Bond?" `A consummation devoutly to be wished, to quote the Bard." `Then I'll take the job, sir." `Good. Then you'll both go and do some sightseeing, yes?" `Give us the guidebook, sir." Bond knew it was no good arguing. `But what happens if we haven't got him after his stay in Athens?" `Do not even think about that, James." M had gone deathly serious, all good humour dropping away like a snake shedding its skin. `If you have to go on to Paris, then we're all in trouble.

The target there is unmistakable, and refuses to alter plans.

We have four days before Mr Dragonpol's one possible kill on this particular outing." `Don't you mean three possible kills?" Bill Tanner asked.

`One or three, it's all the same. If it came to that, we would face a terrible decision, and the target for Paris just will not budge." `Then Fli Fraulein von Grusse and I will have to drag him out either here or in Athens, sir." `Your head's in a noose if you don't, 007 M, Bond thought, was all heart.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MY BROTHER'S KEEPER

Before they left, Bill Tanner produced an expensive-looking briefcase, `With the armourer's compliments, James. He says there's nothing new or special. But he claimed you'd know what to do with it." Bond nodded and treated the case as though it contained gold bullion.

M, looking very serious, delivered the final instructions. `We'll stay here until it's all over, but you must not attempt to contact anyone, unless there is another death, of course. This man is very dangerous and, if it weren't for the Security Service's involvement, we'd have left it all to the police. Give it three days here,' he said. `Three, and three only. In fact, I think you should reserve seats on a flight to Athens, and do it as openly as possible. Go about your business, loiter, behave as tourists, but do not look for our own people, or Gianne-Franco's ladies and gentlemen. They'll be there.

Just try to be unaware of them. Your focus must be on Dragonpol, and he's likely to be doing aLon Chaney." `What is Lon Chaney?" Fredericka asked, and Bond explained that he was a famous movie actor of the twenties and thirties. `Man of a Thousand Faces." `So, why don't you just say Dragonpol will probably be in disguise?" `You have a very literal mind, Fraulein von Grusse,' M smiled. `I like that in a woman.

All right, Dragonpol will probably be in disguise; and he's the only one you have to look out for. When, and if, you do spot him, your job is to lead him to a place of your choosing. Somewhere public, where Gianne-Franco's people can take him. I want him alive, James, you understand?" He understood all right. He also understood that Dragonpol would probably be harder to spot than Gianne-Franco Orsini's watchers.

Now Bond sat close to Fredericka in the back of a cab with the unopened briefcase between his knees. It was very late.

`I feel naked." She leaned towards him, half whispering. The taxi was an ordinary saloon and had no partition, so the driver had already tried to make light conversation, first in Italian, and later in fractured English. They had pretended to know neither.

The Italian driver with the pickpocket's eyes had taken them along the lake, dropping them off in Como itself, where, for a few hours, they forgot the dangers lurking in the shadowy world in which they now found themselves. `I never thought I'd end up as some kind of superdetective,' Bond said with the hint of a smile.

`What they call a hardboiled dick, eh?" `If you say so.

Hand in hand they wandered around like young lovers, even buying the kind of souvenirs they would normally not touch with a barge pole: little pots and ashtrays with `Lake Como' printed on them, and a pen and ink drawing of Como.

At one point, Fredericka slipped away, returning with a small box containing a pair of exquisite cufflinks: narrow strips of what looked like woven gold with a large clasp at each end. Bond opened his gift as they sat outside a small bar. She sipped a Campari and he nursed his usual vodka martini.

His pleasure in the gift was like that of a small child on Christmas morning. `People don't often actually give me presents,' he said, then told her to stay where she was as he strolled off up the street.

He returned with a gold ring containing a magnificent sapphire, in a claw setting, surrounded by a circlet of diamonds.

`Oh, James, you darling man." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. `Please, you put it on my finger." She stretched out her left hand and indicated the third finger. For a moment he hesitated, then took her right hand, whispering, `Not until this is all over.

Tenderly, almost erotically, he slipped it on to the third finger of her right hand. `I don't want to tempt fate. Women with whom I get deeply involved have a tendency to meet what bad novelists call an untimely end.

He kissed her gently, and they walked down to the lakeside where they found a small restaurant.

The sky was like velvet, speckled with stars. Out on the lake there seemed to be a thousand lights from the small coracle-like fishing boats which trawl the waters of Lake Como and the neighbouring Maggiore.

It was a night of magic, and during dinner they spoke to each other more with their eyes than voices.

Then, suddenly it was over, and they were haggling with a cab driver over the price of a ride back to Milan.

`I still feel naked,' she said.

`Soon you will be." `No. No, I didn't mean that. I feel we're going back into a war zone and I'm not armed.

`We can probably change that." He indicated the briefcase which he lifted on to his lap, taking care their driver could not see them through his mirror.

Inside the case were documents, a couple of files, and a diary, but that was mere window dressing. He touched the hidden pressure points and lifted out the false bottom to reveal a pair of weapons, ammunition and two holsters: a shoulder rig for himself, and a thigh strap for Fredericka.

The guns were Browning 10 mm automatic pistols. Both were loaded, and the false bottom of the briefcase contained a shielded partition which meant it could be safely carried through any security checks.

Keeping the pistols below the driver's sight lines, Fredericka transferred one to her shoulder bag while Bond stuck his into his waist band, behind his right hip.

`Like carrying a cannon,' she whispered.

`They're not peashooters. These things're real stoppers. The FBI are using them now instead of the old 9 mm." They pulled up in front of the Palace at a little after midnight.

As he paid off the driver, Bond spotted at least two of the Italian team. He did not notice the smart Englishman who was out for a late stroll, still wearing slacks and a navy blue blazer, striding out with the aid of his walking stick which sported a brass duck's head as its handle.

At reception, the duty manager smiled at them and spoke in his near flawless English. `Mr and Mrs Bond. A nice surprise for you.

Your sister, Mr Bond. She has arrived earlier this evening.

Naturally I allowed her to wait in your room. She's there now, and said you'd be delighted to see her." `Your sister?" Fredericka asked once they were in the elevator cage.

He shook his head. `I'm an only child. Could even be friend Dragonpol in drag. He's done it before the Russian in Paris." At the door to their room, he cautioned her to wait, flat against the wall to one side. Then, slipping the lock he went in, crouching low, the pistol ready at his side.

`I'm sorry to arrive like this." Carmel Chantry sat in the one easy chair facing the door. She was dressed in a white silk suit and looked as though she had just stepped from the pages of Vogue.

The introductions were embarrassingly stilted, with Fredericka watching Carmel's every move, speaking only when necessary.

`Your Chief asked me to come,' Carmel began.

`I went through everything with him, and his people in London.. ` `Yes, he told me." Bond was also suspicious and wary of this sudden intrusion. `He gave me a rundown on what you had said.

Carmel shook her head. `I have to tell you, face to face, James.

You see I did not tell your people everything. This afternoon, my conscience Well, I felt bad about it, so I got in touch with your office. They put me through to your Chief and I gave him the gist of what I had left out. He told me to contact you, tell you everything.

You see, I might possibly be able to lead you to David. To Dragonpol." `Really?" Fredericka remained cool and distant. `How could you do that, His ... er ... Chancy?" `Chantry,' Carmel said with a sweetness that could have withered flowers.

They raided the bulging mini-bar again and opened a couple of half bottles of wine, drinking while Carmel Chantry told her story.

`When they debriefed me-after the business at Brown's Hotel I was quite frightened,' she began. `I knew far more than I even told you, so I let them have a little of it." `According to my Chief, you said that it was Laura who broke off the engagement." `Yes, that was part of it. What I didn't tell him was that I really became quite close to Laura, and to David. I visited the castle with her several times.

Got to know David and Maeve quite well. Yes, it was Laura who broke it off..

`You were with her that weekend?" `No. No, I didn't go, though she asked me to come along as moral support. The point was that David finally told her there was a history of mental instability in his family. He even confessed the full reason for giving up acting. David Dragonpol had a complete nervous breakdown. During the year before he announced his retirement he had twice gone through memory losses, and on occasions, he would completely lose control of his temper." `And?" `He was afraid. Very frightened of what might happen, but he did hope that Laura would help him. He felt that, with her as his wife, he could return to normality. He really needed care and treatment.

`He wasn't getting treatment?" `Only a self-imposed treatment. He had a pair of male nurses...

`We met them,' Fredericka murmured.

`A pair of male nurses who were with him, or near him, at all times. Also he had a secure room built into the Great Tower at Schloss Drache `We saw that as well.

`When he began to get hyperactive, or there were signs that he was about to go into what he called one of his "lost phases", they would take him up to the secure room in the tower and make sure he was looked after and kept safe. But Laura couldn't take the strain. They really did care for each other, and they wanted children, though when she found out the extent of his condition, she knew the engagement had to be broken off as soon as possible. David was fine for ninety percent of the time, but the other ten percent was truly frightening. And it was dangerous. There's no doubt about that, it was very dangerous." `So the only new things you're telling us are that you know him quite well and that it was Laura who broke off the engagement? You've told nobody else about your side of the relationship?" She gave a little nod. `I knew him very well. Too well, in fact, and he knew me, in all senses. He also knew about my ... well, my preferences. Laura never had any idea that there was a kind of relationship between David and myself, but I went out to see him the weekend after she broke it off.

He was becoming very hyperactive. Charles that was one of the nurses-said he was concerned.

David had begun saying that if he couldn't have Laura, nobody else would. James, I knew he had killed Laura as soon as I heard the news of her death. I then got worried that he might just come after me.`So why are you really here, Carmel? You haven't flown all the way to Milan, just to unburden your soul, and make your confession to me." `No. I think this all has to end. I talked to Maeve on the telephone before I spoke to your Chief. I have a pretty good idea where David will be." `Then tell us, and we can do something about it." She shook her head again. `No. I don't want him hurt, or hunted down." `He won't be hurt. The orders are to get him alive." `He won't know that, nor will he believe it. But I can probably lead you to him. If anyone can talk him down, I can. Maeve never could. Laura was good with him, but I can really do the trick." `So what do you propose?" `I'm going to try to contact him. Then I'll bring him to you. I'll arrange things so that he'll suspect nothing, and I'll bring him to somewhere open; a public place." `You really think you can do this?" `I'm a hundred percent certain I can." `Where do you plan to spend the night?" Fredericka asked, making it perfectly clear that she wanted the girl out of their room.

`I have somewhere. It's okay, I'm going now. I'll be in touch tomorrow: probably some time in the afternoon. If I'm lucky, I'll have got hold of him and talked him into a meeting with you." There was silence for a full minute, then Bond asked, `Carmel, what's your true relationship with him?" `With David? I suppose I'm now like a sister different to Maeve, because she could never control him. I can calm David when the going gets rough for him. It really works. I can influence him in a way that neither Maeve nor the nurses ever could nor Laura really." She gave a bitter little laugh. `I suppose he looks on me as a sister, and, as such, I am my brother's keeper." `Do we trust her?" Fredericka asked after Carmel Chantry had left.

`We have no other option." `I don't buy her whole story." `Neither do I. But we can't check her out, and we re on our own. I suggest that, in the morning, we do what we've been told to do. We go out and behave as though nothing has happened. We buy ourselves tickets on the first flight out to Athens on Thursday which will give us the full three days.

Maybe we can take one of the Scala tours as well.

Then we come back here and wait. If Carmel doesn't get in touch by, say, three tomorrow afternoon, then we go out again. Show ourselves, and hope that we spot him before anything desperate happens." Below them, Carmel Chantry walked slowly across the foyer of the Palace Hotel. She wore a stylish white, belted, thin trenchcoat that had cost her a fortune in Paris.

Outside, the doorman asked if she wanted a cab.

`No,' she nodded to him, looking left and right up and down the street. Even at this time in the morning there was still a fair drizzle of traffic. `No, I'm waiting for someone.

`I'll stay out here, until your friend arrives, signorina." The doorman thought she might possibly be a high-class whore, and he was really letting her know that she should move on.

Five minutes later, she saw the car flash its headlights as it approached. When it came to a stop, the doorman ran across to open the passenger-side door for her. She tipped him with a smile.

`It worked?" the driver asked as she settled next to him.

`I did just as you told me. They bought most of it, I think." He nodded, put the car in gear and smoothly pulled out into the traffic.

`Then we only have to draw all the threads together.

`You think it's going to work?" `I hope so. It's a last chance.

Possibly the only chance we're going to get. Thank you for coming at such short notice." She looked at him in the dim light. Nobody would recognize him now, dressed and disguised as he was. He had become an expert in disguise, and had learned a great deal, she thought.

Glancing towards the rear of the car, she saw the long walking stick with the brass duck's head handle.

`You brought it then,' she said.

`As a last resort, yes. For proof, if necessary." `And you'd use it?" `Only if I have to. If there's no other way.

`We'll have to be very careful." `I think we've been careful for too long. My fault really. This should have been done months ago.

With luck it'll all be over by tomorrow night."

*

*

*

The morning came, bright and cheerful, another lovely day. It was hard to believe that the summer was almost over. There were still plenty of tourists around, savouring the last days of the holiday season, bracing themselves for the journey home and the return of autumn and winter.

As they had planned, Bond and Fredericka strolled through the streets.

They did not take taxis, or any other form of public transport, but walked everywhere, considering that, should Dragonpol be looking out for them, he would be more likely to spot them on the streets.

First they went to one of the larger travel agencies where they booked seats on an Alitalia flight direct to Athens for the Thursday morning.

They even lingered, bombarding a harassed girl with questions about the best place to stay, and gathering up as many brochures as they could.

Fredericka carried a little pile of leaflets with the name Athens in full view and they walked into the Piazzale San Giornate and towards the wonderful lasade of the opera house, the Teatro alla Scala.

Inside, they joined a tour and admired the building; had the wonderful acoustics demonstrated to them; looked at the statues of Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti and Verdi in the foyer.

Neither saw anyone who could be remotely identified with Dragonpol, though Bond was aware of Orsini's watchers everywhere. They arrived back at the Palace after a light lunch, just before two-thirty.

By a quarter past three, Bond was saying that Carmel would not call, that it was some kind of runaround, when the phone began to ring.

`You know who this is?" Carmel asked at the distant end.

`Yes. Anything for us?" `He'll come to meet you, with me, at four-thirty.

`Where?" `The Duomo. On the roof." `We'll be there." Bond closed the line.

`She says he'll be on the roof of the cathedral at four-thirty,' he told Fredericka.

`You believe her?" `I have no reason not to believe her. You want to stay behind? Wait for me here?" `You must be joking. If you're going to be face to face with Dragonpol high up above Milan, then I want to be with you." `Then we'd better try to make it ahead of time.

I'd rather be waiting for him, than find he is waiting for us." They reached the Duomo at twelve minutes past four, when the light had begun to take on a wonderful filtered reddish glow. It was, they heard a passing guide remark, the best time to visit the Cathedral.

* The Duomo, Milan's great cathedral, is one of the wonders of Europe. It dominates the city, colossal in size, yet somehow almost ethereal, with its statues, belfries, pinnacles and gables; a monster cake built in white marble to the glory of God, standing at the far end of an imposing esplanade.

Fredericka went up by the elevator, while Bond took the stairs. Both were conscious that Dragonpol, with ease, could be waiting for them, or even lurking on that hard spiral climb.

When Bond reached the top, he saw Fredericka viewing the exit points from the far side of the roof.

Above them towered the famous Tiburio, the central tower, dominated by the statue of the Blessed Virgin.

It was almost four-twenty-five and, following a quick conference, they spread out to right and left so that they both had clear views of the stairs and elevator cage: relatively safe in the knowledge that even Dragonpol could not look in two directions at once.

On the dot of four-thirty, Carmel Chantry, still wearing the white silk suit of the previous night, emerged from the cage. She stood blinking in the sunlight for a moment, then she reached back and took the arm of a distinguished, grey-haired, tall man wearing the uniform of the retired English officer the double-breasted navy blue blazer and grey slacks.

Bond peered at the man, who also looked around him suspiciously.

Then Carmel saw him and waved, her voice just carrying across the space.

`James. We're here, James." They began to walk towards him, and he now saw that her companion could well be Dragonpol, but in baffling disguise. Then he saw the thick walking stick with the brass duck's head handle.

Carmel's companion faltered slightly. His expression changed, looking first towards Bond and then, sharply it seemed, at Carmel.

He moved on the balls of his feet, one hand reaching for his hip and the big automatic pistol.

His hand had just touched the gun when the shooting and screaming began.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RISE OF A DEAF MUTE

Bond heard Carmel cry out, `No! James, No!

He's.. ` Then the front of the white silk shirt and jacket blossomed crimson, her head went back and she flew forward, arms outstretched as though taking a plunge into a swimming pool. For a split second he thought of Maeve Horton's Bleeding Heart rose, then he was dragging the pistol from his waistband, hearing the crash of shots echoing across the roof, aware of people throwing themselves to the ground, and the distinguished grey head of hair levitating under a fine mist of blood, while the deadly walking stick went flying through the air. The man who had been with Carmel went down, pitching forward, hitting the stone with a crash, leaving blood smearing the ground.

Gianne-Franco's men and women were suddenly very visible. At least six of them two women and four men-had weapons out: one of them carried an Uzi, and they were closing in on a tall man who stood just outside the stair entrance. Bond could not believe his eyes at first. The man had an automatic pistol held in the two-handed grip. The shots had hardly crashed out when he simply opened his hands, dropped the pistol, then straightened up, placing his hands on his head.

Later Bond had difficulty in reconstructing the entire incident, for everything happened within seconds, and it was not until the man placed his hands above his head, that he saw it was David Dragonpol.

`I didn't mean to hurt the girl!" Dragonpol was shouting almost hysterically. There were tears running down his face, and he moved towards the two bodies, in spite of the Italians threatening and ordering him to stand still.

Nobody was stupid enough to fire on Dragonpol as he bent over the male corpse. He was now openly weeping, and by the time Bond reached him, he had started to mutter, `Oh, David. David.

I'm sorry but it had to end like this. There was no other way.

No other way. You'd have just gone on killing and killing. It was already too much.

Enough." Other words, from some recent time, flashed through Bond's mind. There for a moment then gone. `Three's still three too many,' the voice in his head called out.

Now, close to the sprawled body, Bond took in two things. First, in spite of the wound to the top of the head, the face was identical to that of Dragonpol who now bent over him. An obscene-looking bloody mass of what had once been a grey wig, lay a few feet from the body.

`David?" He put out a hand and rested it on Dragonpol's shoulder, though his mind had yet to take in the strange mirror-image that seemed to pass between living and dead.

Dragonpol looked up and shook his head.

`James,' he said. `I'm so sorry about the girl. I had to take out David. He would have killed you with that damned thing,' his foot kicked at the walking stick. `Then he would have gone on and killed more people.

`I wasn't expecting..." Bond began, then peered at Dragonpol's face. `David?" he asked again, and Dragonpol slowly shook his head once more.

`That's David." His hand caressed the shoulder of the corpse.

`That's my brother, David. I should've told you when you were at Schloss Drache, but I didn't have the guts. In the end, Laura knew about him, but she thought like you. She believed I was David. I was the one who was to marry Laura.

Give me a minute and I'll tell you everything." The police had joined the Italian security men by now, and people were being shepherded from the roof. Someone snapped handcuffs on the living Dragonpol and led him away. He went very quietly, dignified and without protest.

`What in the name of. ..?` Fredericka began, standing very close to Bond. `James, what's...?" He cut her off with a sharp, `I don't know.! * As the activity on the roof began to take shape and settle into a crime scene pattern, Gianne-Franco suggested they all go to a safe house which would be used for the debriefing. `You're both expected there,' he told them, and neither Bond nor Fredericka had the will to argue.

The house was large and set in its own grounds, somewhere on the outskirts of Milan. There was ample security. A plain van blocked the gates leading to a drive, and had to be backed out in order for them to get through. Other cars were already drawn up in front of the building a pink and white two-storey villa. Men prowled the grounds, and two police cars and another van were parked almost out of sight behind a clump of trees.

Inside, the furnishings were bare and without frills, the walls painted in an institutional green.

Telephones purred and low conversations drifted from half-open doors. Unsmiling, silent men and women moved between offices, carrying files.

They were escorted into a large room which had a rough table as a centre piece. M sat near what had once been an ornate fireplace, while Bill Tanner stood looking out of the window.

`I wanted him alive, James." M's eyes were full of reproach.

`I know, sir. I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do. Why didn't anybody know there was a brother?" `That's what we're waiting to find out." Tanner spoke quietly, as though distracted. `The Italians are getting a statement from him now, then we're going to be allowed to interrogate him." `Somewhere along the line everybody slipped up." M gazed into the empty fireplace. `It appears there were identical twins. David and Daniel, but even the theatre Press didn't get on to Daniel, so I fail to understand it. Someone as famous as David Dragonpol must have been investigated by the Press. The media are pretty hot about these things.

Usually they can quote every relative, living and dead." He made an angry little noise through his teeth. `But that doesn't really excuse any of us.

Nobody, not even myself, bothered to check out the family. We all simply believed what was printed by the Press, and what appeared in the biographies. The Dragonpols of Drimoleague.

Two children, the last of the line. Maeve and David.

An orderly came in with coffee and sandwiches slices of baguettes stuffed with cheese and ham but none of them seemed to have an appetite. Then Gianne-Franco Orsini arrived, looking as neat and clean as though he had just dressed for a party.

`Well, he saved your life, Captain Bond. This is for certain. I have forensics people-ballistics and weapons experts who will bring the weapon up in a moment. Diabolical. This brother, the Daniel Dragonpol, has told us much. David made the weapon with his own hands.

Diabolical.

They saw just how diabolical it was a few minutes later, when a pair of white-coated ballistics and firearms experts brought the thick walking stick into the room, placed it on the table and, with a nod from Gianne-Franco, demonstrated exactly how deadly it was.

`There was a second handle tucked into a specially made holster, on the deceased man's body." One of them, speaking good English, placed another brass duck's head on the table next to the complete stick.

Close up, they could see that the handles were much larger than any ordinary walking stick with such a decoration. The stick was also much thicker than normal, and made of a hard, highly polished smooth wood.

It was in reality made up of three sections, each hollowed out to a 9 mm bore. One of the men unscrewed a length of some eighteen inches from the bottom of the stick, revealing that this was plainly a noise-reduction unit. The next long section also unscrewed. This was undoubtedly the barrel of the gun, while the last six inches, together with the heavy brass carving, made up the real works of the weapon.

The six inches of metal, encased in wood, was larger than the barrel and contained a chamber, and a side opening for the ejection of used cartridge cases, while the duck's head could be stripped down, showing a cunning magazine and breech mechanism. There was room for three Equalloy rounds one in the chamber and two in the duck's head.

The breech was operated in a standard manner, and the workmanship was precise and hand-turned.

The duck's bill moved, forming the trigger, and there was even a safety catch built into one of the brass eyes. When the bill was squeezed, a firing pin made contact with the chambered round, and the gases threw the entire mechanism back, ejecting the used casing, automatically reloading with the second round, and so on for the third.

`We assume the noise-reduction system would have to be replaced after three rounds have been fired,' the ballistics man told them. `We have yet to test the thing, but my guess is that it would be accurate up to around a hundred and thirty metres in yards, about one hundred fifty." `And it was loaded, just like this?" Bond asked.

`Loaded with the safety off, sir,' the other expert said gravely.

`As I understand it, he was bringing the thing up to his hip and aiming directly at you.

If he hadn't been taken out, you would have been." Fredericka's fingers dug into Bond's arm.

`You always had the devil's own luck, James." M did not sound impressed. `What of the second mechanism?" pointing to the other duck's head.

`Even more cunning." The expert began to dismantle the brass and wood. There was no doubt what this had been used for. The head again contained a breech block, but this time of a much smaller bore, while the mechanism contained a CO2 cartridge. In the chamber they could just see a tiny gelatin capsule.

The two firearms men both agreed that there had to be another, smaller bore, barrel somewhere, and that the capsule would have to be examined by forensics. `But with the information we have been given, I think it's obvious what this one does, gentlemen, and what the capsule contains. We're handling it with great care." `Diabolical!" Gianne-Franco used his favourite word again. When the firearms people had left, Bond decided it was time to eat. He bit into one of the large ham-filled baguettes and M winced at the crunching noise.

Eventually they all ate, as it was obviously going to be a long night. They had almost cleared the large plate of sandwiches when several security men and two senior police officers came in with the man they now knew as Daniel Dragonpol. He looked tired and haggard, but it was quite clear that, as far as build and features were concerned, he was identical to his brother, David. He looked around the room, and gave Bond a bleak smile of recognition.

Nobody tried to restrict his movements, and one of the police officers passed a small stack of typewritten pages over to Gianne-Franco Orsini.

`I have told these gentlemen everything,' Dragonpol said, sitting down at the table as though holding a Press conference. The voice had the same timbre known to theatre and movie aficionados all over the world as that of the great actor. `I'm quite willing to answer any questions, and I realize that I might well have to stand trial for the murder of my brother, and the, admitted, manslaughter of Carmel Chantry. I don't know what happened. I was aiming at my brother and she shouted something. It must have been a reflex.: He hesitated. `I was very fond of His Chantry who like you, James-thought I was my brother, David." `And I must thank you for saving my life, Day Daniel.

Is that correct? Daniel?" Daniel Dragonpol nodded. `Quite correct, James. I'm very sorry to have misled you, and a lot of other people.

Our family is close and proud.

Wrongly, we tried to keep David's condition hidden." Something stirred in Bond's mind.

Daniel, he thought, sounded as though he was on autopilot.

Perhaps it was some kind of shock. He remembered Dragonpol at Schloss Drache talking about his family's pride.

`That's what I want to know about." M had moved to the table, shoulders hunched, and his chin in his hands. `Why did nobody know that the famous David Dragonpol had an identical twin?" `Many people did know. It was a fact to everybody in Drimoleague, where we were born, and older folk in Cornwall knew. But they were also very loyal, and after a couple of years the family put it about that one of the twins had died.

Anybody who cared to take a good look through the public records-births, deaths, that sort of thing could have found out." He paused, looking around the table, as though seeking support. `It amazed me that the fact of us being identical twins never once appeared in the Press. Later, of course, it became very useful. You see, David was born without the power of speech, and was unable to hear. He was born a deaf mute.

While I, on the other hand, was a normal little boy.

The family, being what they always were, found that facing the fact of David's huge handicap was more than they could bear. Doctors, at that time, were convinced and my family believed it that David would spend a short life within a world of his own. They regarded him as a vegetable, utterly lost to all of us. So, they did what so many old aristocratic families used to do. They covered their embarrassment by hiding it; refusing to accept it." `So, they put him away?

Institutionalized him?" Dragonpol slowly shook his head. `No,' he said in almost a whisper. `Telling the story makes it sound like one of those old Victorian melodramas.

David became the little boy shut away in an attic: the Grace Poole of Jane Eyre or the boy Colin in The Secret Garden. He was an embarrassment, cared for by three nurses until the accident." `Accident?" `As children, Maeve and myself were educated by a series of governesses. We moved between Ireland and Cornwall. Wherever the family went, so David was brought along. Nobody dared leave him behind. If we were in Cornwall, so was he. In Ireland, he was also there. The accident happened in Ireland when we were three years old David and I, that is. Three years old,' he repeated, as though momentarily lost.

`You would see your brother regularly?" M asked.

`Yes. Yes, I saw him, though I don't remember a great deal about it. I have a vague recollection of this other little boy who was kept apart, but most of our childhood was spent together. After the accident.

`You want to tell us about that?" M used his best interrogator's voice, as if it did not matter to him one way or the other.

Dragonpol asked if he could have a cup of coffee. More coffee was ordered, and until it arrived he simply sat there, looking sad. Bond recalled his Hamlet, and almost saw him sitting with the same melancholy look on his face. Then he realized that it had not been this man, but his brother.

When he had taken a few sips of coffee, Dragonpol started again.

`Most of what I can tell you is from family talk the family tradition, if you like. Though I do recall the sense of drama and of wonder. My life also changed after the accident." Once more he sipped the coffee, and it was as though he were playing for time, building tension.

`We were in Ireland. At the house in Drimoleague, and a cold, stone, dreary place that was. David was kept, literally, at the top of the house. There were two attics, one on either side of a large landing, and two sets of stairs. One went right down to the front of the house, but there was a little trap door with a kind of ladder that dropped to a tiny landing with a narrow flight of stairs that went right down to the servants' quarters.

`The three nurses looked after him very well, but I can't remember this, it's what I was told later one of them had to leave. Someone sick in her family or something. David needed constant attention because he was a danger to himself. Two people were not enough to manage him. It was tiring, trying work.

`Odd, I do remember a woman's name Bella.

You don't often hear the name Bella nowadays.

Well, Bella was supposed to be on duty and she fell asleep, it appears. David somehow got to the trapdoor and the ladder contraption-it's not there now, we had it taken out years ago. He fell. What?

Twelve? Fifteen feet? Fell right on to his head. I do remember the fuss. The local doctor coming out, and I recall being told to be very quiet. Told that David was probably dying.

`But he didn't die." M sounded as though he were accusing Daniel of some gross and terrible act. `Instead of dying, he got better, didn't he? Got completely better?" `Yes. You sound as though you know all of this." `It's a good old Victorian novelist's plot, Mr Dragonpol." `Maybe. But it's true. All of it's true, and, yes.

Yes, by some miracle he came out of the coma. He was unconscious for almost a week, I was told.

Yes, when he came out, he could hear, and he made noises. Within a year he could speak. Within two years he was like all other little boys. He could read, play, get into scrapes.. ` `Is there any supporting evidence of this?" `Yes. Plenty. At Schloss Drache we have letters, and our parents' diaries. I've only briefly looked at them.

I like to live with what I can remember, but Maeve's read them." `So, suddenly, all was changed. You had a playmate. Your brother." `We had a wonderful childhood together.

Except `Except what?" This time it was Bond's turn to sound doubtful.

`He was a little obsessive ... And he was cruel.

Very cruel." `In what way?" `Obsessive?" `If you like, that first.

`Well, the family did not make any fuss about David and his newfound normality. They didn't even deny the stories that he was dead. In a way, I think my parents had some idea that he was not truly normal, even though they didn't say anything to suggest abnormality.

You see, David liked to work to a routine. He set himself tasks, goals, and if he did not or could not meet the goal, then he would fly into terrible rages. Later, of course, he became obsessive about being an actor. As with everything else he had to be the best actor ever.

He could not settle for second best. If something he did was not quite right, he would become uncontrollable with rage. He learned to check it in time, but in private it could be very frightening." `So you rather played second fiddle to him?" M again.

`Very much so. He was a brilliant man. In the end, I suppose I was the only one who really knew him. He learned to control himself in public, and even among his peers, but never in front of me. I suppose I became his real keeper.

Bond remembered Carmel Chantry on the previous night `I suppose he looks on me as a sister, and, as such, I am my brother's keeper." `And the streak of cruelty?" Daniel Dragonpol let out a long sigh. `Animals to start with. He would invent the most terrible traps and snares for animals, and revel in it when he caught one birds, squirrels, sometimes a dog or cat. They were like old-fashioned man traps.

Awful things, which caused distress and pain, but usually did not kill the creatures." Another pause.

`He would do that. He would kill them.

`And eventually, the animals became human beings?" `Yes, something like that. With the traps, he became elated while he was designing them. The actual catch was something he looked forward to.

But the killing? Well, that seemed to be nothing." `But, eventually, the animals became people?" M repeated.

`I've told you. Yes." Sharp, on the brink of anger. `Yes. He killed people. But that only happened recently." He closed his eyes, shook his head. Then, softly, `I think it was only recently.

There might have been something during the height of his success.

I know of one actor and a theatre technician who died by accident while working with him. Those accidents could have been planned traps.

But I really believe all the rages, the obsessions, and the cruelty were mainly contained by the brilliance of his career, because he was bloody brilliant." He stared about him, as though challenging them.

`Oh, he was bloody all right. Yes, bloody brilliant,' M snapped.

`Your problem, Daniel, is that you knew. You knew what he was up to, and you said nothing. You reported nothing." `I know. I take full responsibility for it. They'll probably lock me up`And throw away the key, I hope." M had become very angry. `Now tell us about his retirement from the theatre. This time the truth.

What happened. How it happened. Who did what?" Dragonpol nodded, meekly. `I believe that my brother was, in some ways, insane from birth. Or maybe it was simply a case of what happened when he had that fall at three years old. It brought back his hearing, loosened his vocal cords, but left him ... oh, I don't know left him some kind of emotional cripple. A very dangerous emotional cripple." `The retirement,' M prodded.

`In that final year I spent a lot of time with him come to that I've spent most of my life with him. But in that last year he began to crack. The strain of performing, even of rehearsing and learning, became too much. By then, of course, he was channelling a lot into his dream of the theatre museum at Schloss Drache. In the end, he did have a breakdown. Completely. Maeve and I nursed him. Lester his dresser-came with him, and we brought in the two nurses: Charles and William. Eventually, I persuaded him to stay at Schloss Drache and just work on the museum. I don't think he even realized that he had retired from the theatre.

`But he'd gone into a new line of business as well, hadn't he?

The assassination business.

This time the pause was even longer than before.

`You want to tell us about your brother's penchant for organizing public executions, Daniel? You want to tell us why you didn't even try to stop him?" `There are two sides to everything." Daniel seemed to have gathered strength and was prepared to fight back. `Yes. Sure.

I'll tell you what happened, and I'll tell you how I tried to stop it.

I did everything I could. I.. ` `You did everything short of actually bringing it to the attention of the police, I think." `Well, you know it all, I suppose." Now he suddenly changed. It was the third or fourth time that Bond had sensed a sudden mood swing.

They didn't break for another four hours. M went meticulously through every suspected killing: from the February 1990 shooting of the terrorist in Madrid; the bomb blast that had killed the Scandinavian politician in Helsinki, followed by the musician whose brakes had failed outside Lisbon, right through to the series of recent deaths, ending in the murder of Laura March.

`She was your fiancee, after all,' M thundered.

`You must have known that he killed her, and you still didn't do anything about it." `That was his revenge,' Daniel said quietly; he looked ready to drop with fatigue. `I was shattered because Laura had called off the engagement and quite rightly, once I'd told her the truth about David." `But she thought you were David, right?" from Bond.

`Yes. Yes, I played the part of David for most people.

Especially Laura. He knew. There was no doubt about that. It was his revenge and, yes, it was the last straw. I knew it couldn't go on after that. I'd already made up my mind that David would have to disappear. To tell you the truth, I was going to do away with him.

But your Captain Bond and Fraulein von Grusse suddenly turned up.

We knew he was planning something else, and..." `You knew what he was planning?" `A December spree. He came here to make his arrangements and d? a dry run. I was sure of that." `Tell us about it.

`You know already.

`All the same, we'd like to hear it again.

`I'm pretty certain he was planning to kill Dame Kiri Te Kanawa on the stage of La Scala; then go on and do away with Arafat in Athens.

He came here to set it up. Another day and he would have gone on to Athens." `How do you think he chose his victims?" `Publicity. Most were famous politicians, terrorists. Now he was out for one of the great sopranos of our time, and the leader of the PLO. I think he chose at random, or when a good idea for a target presented itself. As simple as that." `Then what? Then what was he going to do after the dry run in Athens?" Daniel stalled. You could see it. He was so like his brother, but this was real life, not acting. You could see almost into his brain, as if he were asking himself if they really knew, or if they were guessing.

`After Athens. ` M prompted.

`There wouldn't have been an after Athens. I had him pinned down this time." `He didn't know that. Tell us about what was to happen this coming Sunday, outside Paris." Again, a sigh of capitulation, followed by a deep breath. Then he jibbed again and remained silent.

`His notes,' Bond said. `His notes indicate Paris with the initials PD, W and H. Does that jog your memory?" Daniel Dragonpol gave a tight-lipped nod.

`Okay. Right. Yes, I think it was probably his idea of a big coup. What do the terrorists call it? A spectacular? A royal princess, together with her two children, who are direct heirs to the British throne, are to be entertained at the Euro Disney complex outside Paris on Sunday. I think he planned to kill them as a kind of public spectacle.

In his mind it would be the ultimate irony, for a princess and two little princes to die at Disneyland." `And I wonder how you know all that?" M questioned, almost to himself. `I wonder how you both knew that she was taking her children to Euro Disney on Sunday? It hasn't exactly been advertised."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE DRAGONS ARE LOOSE

It went on until after five in the morning, with everybody but M getting more and more exhausted. The Old Man seemed to thrive on the long and hard question and answer routine. His interrogation techniques were a copybook lesson to everyone present, and he dragged every last piece of information, and then more, from the cowed Daniel Dragonpol.

Brother David, it seemed, had carefully kept up all his old contacts, in government as well as the Arts. According to Daniel, he had informers everywhere in financial areas, big business and highly regarded social groups, as well as among his old colleagues in the theatre. He knew many friends of friends, and even had the ear of insiders within royal circles. So information regarding the schedule of the princess and the two young princes would be no problem.

`David set great store by the telephone,' Daniel told them. `We tried all kinds of tricks, but in the end there was no way we could keep him from a phone." He made a gesture of hopelessness. `Nor could we keep him under lock and key. We knew when he was brewing up for some kind of expedition, just as we knew when he became deflected from his preoccupation with the museum.

`Did he make those silly little errors when his mind moved to other things?" Bond asked.

`What little errors?" `Well, he's got a Greek actor, four hundred years BC, putting on a Kabuki mask. Then there's the watch on..

`I haven't noticed anything like that!" A shade sharp.

`Well, the mistakes are there.

`Then they'll have to be put right before the museum is opened to the public." Daniel seemed to stop, as though realizing his predicament for the first time. `If it is ever opened,' he added.

`But you found it impossible to keep him confined, or away from telephones? That what you're telling us?" M sounded alert and relaxed; his mind razor sharp.

`That's exactly what I'm saying.

Bond recalled the conversation about telephones which Fredericka had overheard between Maeve and the nurse Charles-who was more than a nurse, though Daniel never mentioned that side of things.

`Let's go over it again,' M prodded. `You tried to catch up with him during the terrible killing spree which included the death of your former fiancee?" `I've told you. Yes. I tracked him down, but on each occasion I was too late." `How do you think he knew where to find Laura March?" `He listened at doors a lot: in the castle. I mean it was creepy. He moved around the place like a ghost, when we didn't have him locked in the Tower Room. When Laura was there for the last time, she told me she'd try to get to Interlaken to rest and ... well, put herself straight. We were both in a very emotional state. David knew we had spent time in Interlaken. I have photographs, and I talked to him about it. He knew we liked going up to First and sit looking at the view." `So, you followed him on that last occasion, and tried to catch up with him. What of his other little trips?" `I didn't really find out what was happening until ninety-one. I found some notes which indicated what he'd been up to during the previous year. I did try and catch him in April ninety-one, when he did the London, New York and Dublin ones. In fact I almost got him in Dublin. He was staying at the Gresham and I really thought I had him, but that was the occasion he disguised himself as a woman. He walked right past me in the foyer of the hotel, and it wasn't until he came back that I realized what had happened.

Around four-thirty they came to the question of the flowers and the notes left at each funeral.

Daniel seemed bewildered at first. When he started to talk, it was about Maeve's attempts to create her perfect hybrid rose. Bond stopped him.

`Daniel, we know what Maeve was doing with her roses, and we're all aware that she has only recently managed, to produce the perfect Bleeding Heart. What we re asking is did David do the business with flowers from the start?" `Yes." `Then what did he use before the last outing, when he was able to get his hands on Maeve's Bleeding Heart?" `She had come quite close. He used what was available at least he did on the April ninety-one sortie." `And how did he manage that trick?

First, how did he keep the roses fresh; second, how did he set up delivery?" `He had a small cooler: like a miniature version of the ones you take on picnics. He always took buds with him roses that were a few days from being ready. You know, Maeve..." He was off again, telling them how Maeve had roses in varied conditions; how she had her greenhouse set up with the flowers in different stages of development, rambling on until they stopped him.

`Yes, but how did he get them to the funerals?

He was always long gone by the time his victims were buried." `I think he anticipated the funerals. I'm not sure, but I'm pretty certain he left a rosebud, with a suitable message, in the hands of someone else.

Someone he paid to deliver them when the time came. Children, I suspect. To be honest, I'm not absolutely certain." `But you knew he took Maeve's roses?" `Of course. `And she knew as well?" `Naturally." Bond stepped in again. `On this, the final trip, did you know what he had taken? I mean when he left Schloss Drache while we were there." `Sure. Maeve went out to the greenhouse, I think. Worked out what was missing.

`Three,' Bond half murmured, remembering the overheard conversation between Dragonpol and his sister.

`Three?" `This time he took three." `Six." `I was there, Daniel.

I heard you talking to your sister before you went after David.

She told you he had taken three." `You have to be mistaken. He took six..." He trailed off, then brightened. `Oh, yes. I remember now.

On the previous jaunt we discovered, for the first time, that he always backed up on the roses.

You heard Maeve tell me three?" `Clearly." `Then she meant there were three targets. He always took double the amount. She would have said three, meaning three targets which, in turn, meant six buds." A picture of Maeve Horton came into Bond's mind. Tall, agile with the slim dancer's body and the predatory dark eyes, her skin smooth and clear.

Everyone called her Hort, he recalled, yet all through the interrogation, Daniel had spoken of her as Maeve.

`Daniel?" he asked. `When I first met you, at Schloss Drache, you indicated to me that there was something funny about Hort's husband.

Actually, you said that you'd tell me about it if you had time.

Would you care to share that with us now?" `Hort,' he repeated, as though savouring the word. `Yes, poor old Hort. I only call her that when I'm around her. Yes, there was a problem regarding her husband." `Killed in an accident, as I understand it,' M broke in. He shuffled through some papers that Bill Tanner had placed in front of him. `Yes.

Killed in a riding accident near the Dragonpol house in Drimoleague, West Cork, Republic of Ireland.

January sixth nineteen-ninety. So what was the problem, Daniel?" `Please, I'm very tired. I need to rest." `What was the problem?" `Only a suspicion.

`What kind of suspicion?" `David was there when it happened.

Maeve's husband .. They were having difficulties. He was talking about a divorce. My sister used to be a little headstrong as far as men were concerned." `Meaning that she put it about?" Bond remembered Maeve's X-ray eyes, wide and dark, looking at him as though she was undressing him.

`That's a crude way of putting it.

`How else should I put it?" `She liked men. Yes. Okay.

`And her husband was talking about a divorce?" `Yes." `And she didn't want one?" `No. No, she didn't.

`Why?" `Look, I'm exhausted. I...

`Just a little longer. Please answer Mr Bond." M leaned forward over the table.

`He had money. Was very wealthy. She would've been the guilty party. Wouldn't have got a cent." `And you think your brother David had something to do with his death? You were going to tell me about it during my visit?" He sounded almost shocked.

`I've already told you. I was on the verge of putting an end to my brother when you and Fraulein von Grusse arrived at Schloss Drache.

I was off balance. It was in my mind to say something to you ...

But Well Yes, okay.

David was there, and when I went dashing over for the funeral, there was some whispering and giggling between him and Maeve. It didn't feel right, that's all. Maeve hinted later, but they were only hints, so I don't know for certain. Anyway, it's all over now. `I hardly think it's all over, Mr Dragonpol. You knew what David was doing, though you did little to stop him." `Please. I'm...

`Tired, yes. Yes, we're all tired. One more question." M had become peevish. `A question regarding your sister, Maeve. What did she think of David?" `She'd have done anything for him. She adored him." `Even though she also had more than an inkling about his killing trips?" `Yes. Naturally she wanted that to stop. She wanted him treated. But she really would have done anything to help him.

`Like yourself?" `No. I saw only one way. To have him permanently removed. Maeve ... Hort ... would never have condoned that. She loved him very much." `And she did know he was a killer?

That he went out, planned assassinations, and then came back to get on with building the museum?" `Yes, she knew. I think she would have killed for him: to keep him safe." `Really." M looked at his watch and seemed surprised by the time. `Enough for now. We'll convene again at midday. You can take him away.

Crisp, as though on the bridge of a Royal Navy ship.

Daniel Dragonpol sagged with fatigue and allowed himself to be led from the room.

`This is all very interesting." M scanned the papers Tanner had put in front of him. Then he looked up at Bond. `You know that we had an address from Daniel Dragonpol? I mean an address for David?" `No, sir." Bond felt waves of fatigue rolling in over him. He thought his old Chief's stamina was quite extraordinary for a man of his age.

`When the Italians first brought him in, they asked if he knew where his brother had been staying. It was some hole-in-the-wall hotel tucked away behind La Scala. They searched it. Found odd clothes, bits of disguise, but no flowers either in or out of a cooler." `Really?" He could not summon up a great deal of enthusiasm.

`Really, James, yes. Not even a petal, let alone a bud, or six buds. By the way, I'm truly sorry about the Chantry girl. Decent member of our sister service, I think. Really pretty terrible." `I haven't completely bought the accidental shooting, sir." `No. Neither have I, to tell the truth.

`Why did you send her directly to us last night, sir?" `Send her.?` `She was at the hotel when we got back from Como. Said you'd sent her." M looked grimly concerned. `Said I'd sent her?

No. I didn't even know she was here in Milan.

That's rum. `Very." Bond passed a hand over his brow, and M looked at him closely, like a doctor examining a patient.

`You look all in, James." He peered closer.

`Look, why don't you and that nice von Grusse girl take some tine off. You've been working quite hard after all.

Through the fog of his weariness, Bond felt surprised. It was unlike M to even suggest something like this, for he strongly disapproved of his agent's way of life. It struck him as being particularly odd now that Fredericka had been welcomed into the service over which M held total authority. The Old Man rarely condoned anything even hinting at a liaison between two members of the service unless he had some ulterior motive.

`Are you sure, sir?"

"Course I'm sure, James. Wouldn't give you time off if I wasn't sure. Take the rest of the week.

It's only, what? Tuesday morning? Report back to me in London on Monday. Leave your whereabouts with the Duty Officer, though, just in case. Right?" `Thank you, sir. Yes. He turned and nodded Fredericka towards the door.

`Oh, James?" `Sir?" `Maeve Horton?" `What about her, sir?" `She strike you as being odd?" `Not really. Gave me a bit of a come-on.

Attractive enough, in a gipsyish kind of way. Why?" `I'm unhappy about what Dragonpol said. Just a hunch. A thought." He sniffed the air, as an old seaman will sniff for signs of a change in the weather.

`I'm going to have her pulled in by our German friends. Maybe get them to take her to London. We'll be moving Daniel back as well, if the Italians are cooperative." `Right, sir." He thought it was not for him to reason why. The words, `but to do or die' came into his head and he went deathly cold. Tiredness, he thought.

One of the Italian uniformed men drove them back to the hotel, and on the way, he suggested to Fredericka that they should leave Italy. `We have seats booked on that flight to Athens on Thursday. Why don't we see if we can change them? Get out now?

I don't know about you, Flick, but I'm fed up with Milan. Fed up with the Dragonpol business as well.

`Oh, yes please. Please let's do that.

`Then can we do it before we pass out? Just get our stuff, check out and head for the airport." `Gladly. I've never been to Athens." * By eleven-thirty that morning, they were driving into Athens, in a hired white Porsche. From the airport, they had tried to get bookings at the famous Grande Bretagne, and the equally famous Le King George.

Eventually they settled for the Hilton which he assured Fredericka was the most beautiful of all that chain's hotels.

She believed him only when they arrived and walked through the brown and white marble entrance into the lavish interior with its never-ending halls, restaurants, arcades and the two beautiful atria.

She was even more ecstatic about the suite which had everything, it appeared, in triplicate.

`Oh, darling, I'm going to have a lovely time here." `Yes, Flick.

We can do the Acropolis and the Parthenon..

`Yes, I suppose we could fit those in as well." She gave him a dazzling smile and said she was going to freshen up. Why, he thought, did everyone else seem to be fit and wide awake when he felt absolutely shattered?

He picked up the telephone and dialled the international number for the screened line which would put him in touch, in complete privacy, with the Duty Officer at the headquarters building in London.

`Predator,' he announced when the other end picked up.

`Yes, Predator?" `The boss wanted me to leave an address. I'm at the Hilton in Athens.

`Lucky somebody." The Duty Officer was a woman. She was also, he considered, not politically correct.

There were two bathrooms, so he took a shower, then briskly rubbed himself down with a towel, slipped into the bathrobe and went out into the bedroom.

Fredericka was lying on the bed wearing next to nothing.

`I've put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, darling. Come and disturb me.

It was almost two hours later before they both fell into a deep and contented sleep.

He was wakened by the telephone and, for a moment, did not know where he was. Forcing himself up from the ocean bed of sleep, he reached out for the phone, while Fredericka grumbled as she came awake.

`Predator?" the voice at the distant end asked.

`Who wants to know?" `Levon.

`What's your occupation?" `I make cartoon balloons.

`Then you're a good man." `Predator?" `Yes." `Flash urgent from M.

Return London soonest.

The dragons are loose. You want me to repeat that?" `The last sentence." `The dragons are loose." `Is that dragons plural?" `Yes, sir. You copy?" `Tell him I'll be back soonest." He replaced the instrument and cursed. Twice.

`What is it?" Fredericka, naked, leaning up on one arm.

`Get yourself dressed. We have to get to London." Already he was dialling the airport to see if they could get a flight out that night.

It was already eight-thirty.

Seconds later he was pulling on clothes, and throwing things into the garment bag, checking the shielded section of the briefcase, and calling for - Fredericka to hurry. `We've got just over an hour and a half to get a plane to Heathrow via Paris." `Why this?" He told her and she queried dragons just as he had done.

They had the bill ready for him at Reception. `If you miss the flight, there'll be a room for you here tonight, Mr Bond,' the girl at the desk told him.

Outside, one of the car valets asked for the number and Bond gave him the little brass ticket.

The boy retrieved the keys and walked the fifty yards or so to where they could see the little white Porsche was parked.

Bond tapped his foot, willing the boy to get the thing going. The streets out of Athens are nearly always a race track no matter what time of day or night. The boy was sliding behind the wheel. Then the whole area lit up. A great crimson flame shot from within the car before anyone's eardrums were assaulted by the explosion.

Bond pushed Fredericka to the ground, covering his head and flattening himself across her as pieces of metal clattered around them.

Then came the silence followed by the screams and the terrible scent-a mixture of gasoline and the sweet sickly odour of incinerated flesh.

Fredericka was just behind him as he raced to what was left of the car. `Dear God,' she said, with a curious little sob. `Oh, dear God,' pointing.

His eyes followed her finger. Something had been thrown out, landing intact just to the right of the shattered and burning wreck that had been their car.

`Jesus,' he said.

There, on the ground, almost at his feet, was a pure white rose, its petals tipped in blood red.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE WHITE KNIGHT

In spite of urgent appeals by M, the Greek police did not let Bond and Fredericka leave for London.

Instead, they were subjected to lengthy interrogations, and it was almost thirty-six hours before they were allowed to sign statements and go. As with anything else in Greece, time appeared to have no meaning.

So it was not until late afternoon on the Thursday that they attended what amounted to a Council of War in M's office.

Bill Tanner drove them in from Heathrow, talking the whole way, briefing them on the situation.

The villa, on the outskirts of Milan, in which they had interrogated Daniel Dragonpol, belonged to the local police, who shared it with the Italian equivalent of the Security Service. For several years they had used this house as offices and a special briefing centre for police and troops preparing for VIP visitors. Because of the limitations of its use, the facility had no truly secure area in which to keep anyone under detention.

During Dragonpol's long debriefing, the Italians had argued about the relative merits of preparing some makeshift accommodation on the spot, or driving Daniel five miles or so to a police precinct with cells. In the end, it was decided to secure an area on the spot, so new locks and some bars were fitted to one of the outbuildings. They reasoned that, if they left a pair of police officers with the subject, he could be kept safe until midday, when M had asked for the next session to begin. There was no cause for alarm. After all this was not a high-risk suspect.

Unfortunately the bulk of those who had been working the case had done almost twenty-four hours on duty by the time M stopped the interrogation. The result was some very tired people who wanted sleep, and only sleep.

The two police officers detailed to act as guards for Daniel Dragonpol were as tired as anybody else. They locked themselves into the specially prepared outbuilding which had been equipped with two bunks and a chair. Their instructions were to see that Daniel got as much rest as possible, and they planned to watch over him in shifts one man sleeping on the spare bunk while the other remained awake. They had taken two flasks of coffee in with them, and nobody seriously considered Daniel Dragonpol to be dangerous. As one of the senior police officers later said, `He seemed relieved that his brother was dead, and untroubled about the future. He appeared to have grasped the fact that he would probably serve some kind of a prison sentence for manslaughter, but that didn't seem to worry him." At just before nine-thirty in the morning, several well-rested police officers were bused out to the facility from the centre of Milan. Two of these fresh men were immediately instructed to relieve the Dragonpol guards.

When they reached the outbuilding, they found the door open and the two police guards dead.

One had burns on his face, and had been garrotted with his own tie. The other had died from gunshot wounds, killed at close range with his own pistol.

In all probability this man was already unconscious when his killer had placed a pillow over his head and fired through it twice, thereby reducing the noise but in no way impeding the deadly progress of the bullets.

The strangled policeman had been stripped of his uniform. There was no trace of Dragonpol and few clues as to where he had gone.

Neither was there any way to determine the sequence of events. A spilled flask of coffee indicated that Dragonpol, most likely, had been allowed to pour his own beverage which he had flung into the face of one cop, turning and felling the second man with a blow to the head.

One thing had been proved definitely. When the strangled cop went down, his watch had struck the floor and smashed, giving investigators a time frame. The deaths, and following escape, had taken place at six-thirty, barely an hour after the interrogation finished. The only other certainty was that Daniel Dragonpol was loose and dangerous.

`Looks like our Daniel was really David,' Bond mused.

`We consider that an absolute certainty,' Tanner agreed. They had just come off the M4 motorway, and were heading into the centre of London.

`So who did Carmel think she was bringing to us?" Fredericka asked.

The bomb incident in Athens had shaken her considerably.

`Yes, what did Carmel think she was doing?" The scene on the rooftops of the Duomo replayed in Bond's mind. Carmel waving and calling. Then the lethal walking stick coming up. Carmel shouting, `No! James, no! He's.

He saw the stick again. Heard the shout in his head for a second time. Now, in retrospect, he wondered if the man lifting the stick was really only raising it in greeting, just before the shots crashed out.

`Maybe... he began. Then, `Maybe we all made some terrible mistake." The more he thought the scene through, the more he became convinced that Carmel, and the man they thought was David, came in peace. Presently he asked, `And Maeve?" The Chief of Staff gave a long sigh. `The German police did not do as we asked. They did not even have one man watching Schloss Drache.

When the orders went out to pull Maeve, they found she had flown-probably two days ago.

`And one or the other of them took a shot at us by filling the Porsche with explosives, killing an unfortunate Greek boy instead." Bond did not seem to be talking to anyone in particular.

`Did he have time to catch up with us?" Fredericka was now more animated.

Tanner sashayed the car between a bus and a taxi. The cabby did not like being cut up and made it clear. `And you, mate,' Tanner said quietly, then carried on as if nothing had happened. `If Daniel were really David then we can't rely on anything he's told us. The place behind La Scala, where David was supposed to be hiding out, for instance.

That's almost certainly a red herring. Yes, David probably could have caught up with you. It's even possible that he has another bolt hole, complete with the means for a disguise, and a cache of weapons and explosives. He might even have spotted you out at the aimort and decided to have a go a spur of the moment kind of thing." `That's not his usual MO." Bond still sounded distant.

`Who knows? He went for high-profile targets of opportunity and usually made longterm preparations. But in your case he would certainly have made an exception. Time is on his side. After all, he's got until Sunday morning before he pulls off the royal assassination.

`You still think he's going for that?" `It's the reason some of the best people in the business are sitting waiting for you in M's office at this very moment. And you, James, are the designated slayer of dragons.

Indeed, the group sitting and standing around the glass and chrome desk in M's office did consist of the best. He recognized a senior Special Air Service officer, and a commander from the Metropolitan Police. The latter, whose name he thought was Robb, controlled the Diplomatic Bodyguard Section, which included the so-called Royal Detectives. There was also a roly-poly little man with a constant smile-introduced simply as Ben who turned out to be Head of Security for the Euro Disney complex, some twenty miles east of Paris. Yet another member of the group had sham, chiselled features and looked distinctly French. He also did not seem at ease in civilian clothes.

`This is Colonel Fontaine, of GIGN,' M introduced them, and the Frenchman gave a little nod of recognition. `Captain Bond, you've worked with GIGN beJore I think. Colonel Veron speaks highly of you.

There was a slight release of tension in the room which Bond put down to the stiff attitude Fontaine had obviously been taking. The French Special Forces Unit-GIGN-is not known for willing cooperation, even with its allies, and particularly on its home ground.

`The French authorities have kindly agreed to members of the SAS and, of course, detectives from the royal bodyguard to assist in this operation." In spite of this, M did not appear to be a happy man.

There had probably been a battle of wills before Bill Tanner had brought them into the office.

`Then Her Royal Highness is definitely taking the princes to France on Sunday?" Bond tried to make it sound matter-of-fact, but the news was worrying. `Doesn't she realize...?" `No, Captain Bond." It was the policeman, Commander Robb, who answered. `We've put it to Princess Diana. Her answer was completely uncompromising. She says that they're always possible targets for terrorists and to quote her "nut cases," so why should this be any different? She also said she had complete faith in her detectives, the GIGN, and the SAS." `The point is,' M sounded as though he were about to become highly sarcastic. `The point is, we have yet to ask her if she has faith in you, James." `Me, sir?" `Mmmm. You see we've come to a kind of decision in your absence. You ever play that game Tag when you were at school?" `Yes, sir, only we called it He. There was a dangerous variation known as Chain He." `Well, be that as it may, to quote from our various childhoods, you, James, are He or It, or whatever other designation. You're the one who's going to get us out of this.

`I don't suppose I have any right of appeal?" `None at all.

You're going to be the white knight who saves the beautiful princess.

After all, you know the man Dragonpol better than we do.

You've been close; sniffed his lair and all that. So you get the plum job." `And what I am to do, sir? Specifically, I mean.

`Catch the blighter. Kill him if you have to.

`There are no alternatives?" `Tell me what else we can do if we're not going to see an assassination on Sunday morning?" `There is one other way, sir. We could remove the target.

`No. We try to remove the assassin." `Everybody really believes this man Dragonpol will attempt an assassination?" Commander Robb sounded dubious. `I mean he must know that their Royal Highnesses'll be protected in an unprecedented..

`With all due respect,' Bond's eyes hardened, you could put every member of the NATo Forces, plus the SAS and GIGN into the theme park.

You could even dress Her Royal Highness, and the princes, in bullet-proof underwear, and Dragonpol would still probably hit them.

`With him it's a vocation. It's what he does best.

I've simply got to look at the thing logically. We know what he's done before. We had him though we didn't realize it at the time and we've let him go. He's a specialist, and he does this for the fun of it. It's his job, and he takes pride in it. The killing is a by-product. The main thrill for him is setting things up. For David Dragonpol this is better than any drug high, better than sex, better than anything. He's going to kill the Princess and the two young princes...

`Unless we stop him; or I should say, James, unless you stop him, and beat him at his own game. Now, do you think that can be done?" Bond heard himself, as though from a long way off, saying, `Possibly." `Then we have some kind of a chance. As I said before, we came to an understanding before you arrived, James. If you cannot, or do not, take Dragonpol before the royal party actually arrives at Euro Disney, then we will force a change of schedule. The GIGN, SAS and her own detectives will head her off at the pass, so to speak-it's our only fail-safe. They'll manufacture a problem with the aircraft, or the helicopter: something which makes it impossible.

`If that has to be done, sir, then I shall not be alive to see it.

You should know that, in all probability, if she does not put in an appearance, he'll only get her somewhere else. Now, let me look at the arrangements for Sunday.

Once more, within the room, there was a sense of tension released, and Bond knew what many of them were thinking-'Thank God it's not me." `What do you need, James? Ask for anything.

`A few hours alone with Ben, here." He indicated the roly-poly Head of Disney Security. `Then, when we've talked, I want a couple of hours on my own to work it out. After that can we talk again, sir?" * * * They were given a large empty office on the third floor where Ben spread out a chart of the entire Disney area, and began to recite the arrangements which had been coordinated between the Disney organization and those who advised the Princess.

He talked for a long time, showing exactly where the royal party would arrive, and what exhibits and rides had been selected. He added that the bulk had been chosen by young Prince William and Prince Harry.

`Our own people and the French police will be there for crowd control...

`You mean the park is going to be open to the public as usual?" Bond looked up sharply.

`Oh, yes. It's one of Princess Diana's stipulations. She wants her party to mingle with the public for as long as possible. We, of course, are arranging that one car of each ride is specially set aside, and decorated, for her and the children, but the rides will run normally and there will be other people on them at the same time as the royal party. Naturally, they get to queue-jump." He gave a nervous little laugh, which Bond did not return.

`The Disney Board of Directors is very worried about all this." Ben did not lose his smile. `It would be terrible publicity for the entire company.

`It wouldn't actually make the Royal Family's day either." He gave Ben a sham, unsmiling look, but the security chief maintained his cheerful expression. Probably the happy face came with the territory.

`You know, the first time I went to the Magic Kingdom, in Orlando, I didn't think I was going to like it." Bond thought he might put the man at ease by telling him the truth. `Funny, I went with a girlfriend and we only booked for two days. I thought the whole thing would be tasteless, tawdry and a bit phony. In the end we stayed for a week.

The great thing about Disneyland is that it works.

The moment they walk through those gates and find themselves in the Town Square and Main Street, the visitors know that they're going to have one hell of a good time. The rides are a knockout, and it does become wonderful.

`I'm pretty case-hardened, Ben, but there's a child in all of us, and that place brings out all the wonder of childhood. I noticed then that there were as many adult couples having a good time as there were children. I tend to get a bit angry when people knock your outfit.

`You don't work there unless you feel like that. Ben's smile broadened.

`Is the Euro complex the same as the others Orlando, Anaheim, Tokyo?" `If you know the layout of those, then you'll recognize Euro Disney. We have the same distinct areas Main Street USA, Adventureland, Frontierland, Fantasyland, Discoveryland, with the Sleeping Beauty's Castle dominating the whole thing though it's called Le Ghdteau de la Belle all Bois Dovmant, like we've also got Blanche-Neige et les Sept Na ins, and La Cabine des Robinsons. But you'll recognize it all, even with the few additions Star Tours which is a terrific ride through the Star Wars experience, with a novice robot at the controls of your space vehicle." `So, which areas will the royal party be seeing?" Ben went through his list: they were to arrive at eight-thirty on the Sunday morning, an hour before the park opened.

The tour was to include Main Street USA; the Euro Disney Railroad, which circles the entire hundred and thirty-six acres; Phantom Manor-the Euro Disney name for the Haunted Mansion Star Tours; Pirates of the Caribbean; the Carousel and a trip on the sternwheel steamboat Mark Twain.

`That's a two-hour schedule,' Ben told him, `but we've left a half-hour at each end in case the princes persuade their mama to let them go on something else.

Bond questioned him about the way security worked, learned about the underground tunnels which allowed maintenance and emergency access to any part of the park, while employees also kept a strict eye on each of the rides and experiences.

`There are people down there watching all the time tending the TV monitors, the computers that run the main shows, and the audio-animatronics, the robot people and animals.

The accent on everything down there is smooth and efficient running. The visitors and their safety come first." As he talked, Ben pointed out the various routes and sights on the large plan. They went on for over two hours, after which Bond asked to be left alone with the chart.

Now it starts, he thought, and for the next hour and a half, he examined the map, thinking himself into David Dragonpol's mind, trying to follow the serial assassin's logic. What would he do? How would he go about something as calculated and cold-blooded as this particular killing?