No Deals, Mr. Bond

12

STRANGE MEETING

In the rapidly darkening landscape the forward lights of the grounded helicopter blazed down the main track, barring any exit there but a suicide dash. Smolin heaved the BMW away, swinging it over the uneven rutted meadow towards the rising ground. It lurched to right and left. At one point there was a thump and a bang which knocked the vehicle precariously to one side. Heather and Ebbie screamed, and for a second even Bond thought they would turn over. He recognised the impact of a heavy calibre bullet, and knew what it was capable of doing. Miraculously the BMW righted itself. The castle was to their left now and the helicopter a long way behind.

Three more shots reached them, one hitting the front passenger door but causing no damage. The long-range snipers were almost certainly using night scopes.

‘Should we try it on foot?’ Bond shouted to Smolin above the noise.

‘On foot they’d get us. There used to be a gap along this side – overgrown but not properly sealed off.’ He sounded perfectly calm as another shot from somewhere above them ricocheted past. ‘It’s our only chance.’ He drove without lights, craning forward to see into the darkness, the engine whining under stress.

‘There!’ he called triumphantly. ‘Now pray.’

The car slowed as he began to change down, pumping at the brakes. They were moving right, the wheels protesting and the back swinging violently.

‘Have you ever done any rallying?’ Bond called casually to divert the girls from the alarming experience.

‘No!’ said Smolin with a laugh. ‘But I’ve done the GRU course – Scheiss!’ It looked as though they were hurtling towards an impenetrable wall of trees.

‘Get down and hang on!’ Bond shouted.

There was a violent blow and a grinding noise as the underside of the car pulled across the roots of bushes and undergrowth; then the rustling of branches and foliage parting against the vehicle. While the dense growth had slowed them, the car did not stop. It crunched and bounced, then, as suddenly as they had struck the barrier, they were through and facing a barbed wire fence a good seven feet high.

Smolin changed up, accelerated and rammed the fence head on. This time the impact was more dramatic. Smolin and Heather were thrown against the dashboard and Bond catapulted hard against the back of Smolin’s seat. Ebbie came off best, having stayed on the floor. As Bond gave a small cry of pain when his injured arm hit the driving seat she called anxiously,

‘James? Are you . . . Ouch!’ as she was rolled back by the jolt.

Half way on to the road ahead, tangled in wire, the car spluttered and stopped. Smolin forced his door open, calling, ‘Get out if you can!’

Bond tried the door on his side but it became trapped in the wire so he followed Smolin. Once out, both men scrambled around the car, grappling at the wire with their bare hands. In moments they were cut and bleeding from the barbs, and each cursed in his respective language. Slowly the car was cleared of the tentacles that sprang up as each new strand was loosened.

‘Where now?’ asked Bond, breathing heavily.

‘We must dump this car, and get another one,’ said Smolin. He ducked to avoid a snake of wire that shot up and missed his face by inches.

‘Where?’

‘I have a good Rover Vitesse stashed away – that is correct, yes? Stashed?’

‘Yes,’ said Bond as he tugged the last piece of wire from around the rear bumper. ‘You’ve certainly got this country sewn up, Maxim, with cars stashed away and covert routes in and out.’

They got back into the car. ‘Not just me. I’m sure Chernov has more transport near by. We’ll be running another gauntlet.’

Smolin twisted the ignition key and the engine coughed and died several times. Eventually it fired. As though nothing had happened, Smolin slammed into gear and, still with no lights, he edged the car on to the road. He turned left towards the Dublin–Wicklow road.

‘They’ll send the Mercedes after us first, and there will probably be another couple of teams,’ said Smolin, ‘but our car switch should help. This one I kept up my sleeve. Nobody knows I have it. I did the whole thing alone.’

‘Is it far?’ Bond asked. He needed to get to a telephone.

‘It’s fifteen minutes as the crow flies. But have you noticed, the crows don’t seem to fly in this country? They litter the roads.’

They were moving swiftly through lanes that appeared to have been constructed from sets of left-over S-bends, overhung by bushes and hedges. Nobody spoke, though Ebbie’s hand stole softly into Bond’s palm, then was snatched back again as she peered in the half light at the blood flowing from so many cuts and gashes.

Without a word she reached down and lifted her skirt, exposing a generous segment of white thigh. She started to tear at her slip. When she had a sizable piece of light-coloured silk she put it to her mouth, biting to rip it into two pieces, which she then tenderly bound around both of Bond’s damaged hands.

‘Poor you,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll kiss them better.’

So saying, she bent her head and ran her lips over the exposed part of his fingers. First one hand, then the other, her tongue licking the flesh and her lips closing over the middle finger of one hand.

‘I don’t think anyone’s ever made love to my hands before,’ Bond whispered. ‘Thank you, Ebbie.’

Breaking the spell, she looked up at him, her eyes wide with innocence. ‘I hope your tetanus shots are up to date,’ she murmured.

After a couple of miles they turned off abruptly on to a narrow road leading to a large forest. It was completely dark now and the trees were grey against the headlights. Every few hundred yards there were stacks of timber on wooden bunkers. Half a mile farther on they turned on to a track leading directly into the trees. A notice clearly proclaimed: NO MOTOR VEHICLES. PEDESTRIANS ONLY.

‘Do you see that, Maxim?’ Bond asked.

‘We’re in Ireland, James. Notices like that don’t mean what they say. Anyway, I figured a car-free zone would be the best place to hide a car.’

‘Did the GRU teach you that as well?’

‘I suppose so. But I’m pretty certain that for all their clever ways Chernov’s lads will be looking for this BMW, not for the pretty lady over here.’

He flung the car sideways on, almost grazing the thick trunks of the fir trees before the headlights revealed a mound of branches in the centre of a small clearing.

‘Okay, everybody get out. Uncover that car, then use the stuff to hide this one. I have to look to my maps.’

In under ten minutes a dusty, but patently new black Rover Vitesse stood in the clearing, while the pile of branches covered the BMW. Smolin walked a few paces from the nearside front wheel of the Rover, dug into the moss-covered ground and retrieved a small package containing two sets of keys. Bond, standing over him, spoke in a low voice.

‘Get the girls into the car, Maxim. We need to talk.’

Smolin nodded. He carefully ushered Heather into the front and Ebbie to the back. Then he walked over to Bond, a short distance from the Rover, where the girls could not hear them.

‘First,’ said Bond moving very close to him, ‘when you were in Berlin, did you have a sidekick called Mischa? Because, if you didn’t, Maxim, you should look to your lady.’

Smolin nodded. ‘Yes, Mischa was around, but he was a KGB plant. You should know, James, that nothing can ever be straightforward between KGB and GRU. We are up to our ears in suspicion concerning one another. You ask about him because he’s one of Chernov’s killing party. He was in London, wasn’t he?’

‘That’s right. Now, further plans. I just about trust you, Maxim, but I need to know what we’re up to. You mentioned throwing them off the scent and getting to west Cork.’

Smolin smiled in the gloom. ‘You have special contacts, James. I too. I run two people in Skibbereen. They have a light aircraft. By night we can fly very low. We can escape detection and land, without anyone knowing, in a field in glorious Devon. I have done it several times.’

Bond knew it was feasible. Hadn’t Special Branch and ‘Five’ suspected illegal entry by light aircraft for some years now? No place had ever been pinpointed, yet they knew the lads from the North came in and thought other interlopers did too.

‘All right. Chernov wants us, the girls, and presumably Jungle and Dietrich. If we drive to Skibbereen now we won’t make it until the very small hours. That’ll mean holing up close to our departure point, not the best thing. We all need some rest. There are also things I have to do . . . the telephones at the castle. You follow?’

Smolin nodded.

‘Why don’t we drive part of the way tonight?’ Bond peered at his watch. ‘It’s eight-thirty now. We could be in Kilkenny by ten o’clock. We could stay there overnight, then continue the journey late tomorrow afternoon. I presume you can get hold of your people by telephone. Are they contained?’

‘How contained?’

‘From KGB doubling.’

‘KGB cannot know them. They’re mine. This will be the first time I’ve taken anyone in with me. Okay?’

‘Okay. They won’t be looking for a black Rover, but they will be on the trail of four people. Once we’re on the road we could telephone ahead and book in at two different hotels. You can drop Ebbie and me off near one and take the car to yours. We’ll have to arrange a meeting for the morning.’

‘That seems good. I have two cases in the boot. There’s nothing that will fit you, but it will make the right impression, yes? The girls can shop in Kilkenny tomorrow, as long as they’re careful. Ebbie has some clothes in that big shoulder bag, so she may be all right.’

‘What kind of papers are you carrying, Maxim?’

‘A British passport, international driving licence and credit cards.’

‘Are they good?’

‘The best forgeries ever to come out of Knamensky Street. My name is Palmerston. Henry J. Temple Palmerston. Do you like it?’

‘Oh yes.’ Bond’s voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You just have to pray that no Passport Control officer is a student of nineteenth-century politics.’

‘Correct.’ You could feel Smolin’s broad smile in the dark. ‘They are mainly people whose interests lie elsewhere – aeroplane modelling, railway trains, the novels of Dick Francis and Wilbur Smith. Very few of them graduate to Margaret Drabble or Kingsley Amis. We ran a thorough check through the mail. Simple questions but effective. Eighty-five per cent filled in our little forms. We said it was for market research and offered a prize of £5,000 sterling. A man working at Heathrow won the lucky draw, and all the others got small consolation prizes – Walkmans, pens, diaries. You know the kind of thing.’

Bond sighed. At least the Soviets were sometimes thorough. ‘Well, Mr Palmerston, don’t you think we should get going?’

‘If you say so, Mr Boldman.’

They arranged that Smolin and Heather should stay, not in Kilkenny, but at the Clonmel Arms Hotel, thirty minutes’ drive away. Bond and Ebbie were booked into the Newpark, near the famous castle, in Kilkenny. In Smolin’s opinion it was best that they were completely separated. Surprisingly, they had come across an unvandalised white and green booth marked Telefon only fifteen minutes after leaving the dense wood and had been able to make the reservations from there.

‘You can have the bed,’ Bond told Ebbie in the back of the car. ‘I’ll sit up and keep watch.’

‘Let’s wait and see.’ Ebbie’s hand slid into his. ‘I do know you’re a gentleman, James. But perhaps I don’t want a gentleman.’

‘And I have certain professional duties,’ he replied calmly.

Ebbie grinned. ‘Duties I might like. I’m sure you do everything in a professional style.’

Smolin and Bond arranged a simple code for telephone contact, and just before ten they arrived in Kilkenny. Smolin passed the Newpark and stopped a hundred yards farther on. He got out, unlocked the boot and hauled out a black travel bag, which he handed to Bond.

‘There are a few clothes of mine in there, together with a razor and toothbrush,’ he said smiling.

Ebbie had a large shoulder bag which she had taken with her from the Ashford Castle Hotel to what she imagined was to be sanctuary at the castle. As Mr and Mrs Boldman, they were greeted with great friendliness at the hotel. The receptionist told them that the restaurant was closed, but the chef could ‘Knock you up anything you might fancy, so.’ Bond suddenly realised he was ravenous.

Ebbie began in polite restraint, ‘Well, perhaps a light snack. A steak, maybe with potatoes and a green salad; possibly some mousse or profiteroles to follow – oh, and coffee, bread, some wine?’

‘Anything at all, madam,’ said the receptionist with a smile. ‘Anything so long as it’s Escalope Holstein, French fries, green salad and fruit salad.’

‘That’ll do nicely,’ Ebbie said quickly. Bond realised she was starving too. He nodded agreement and chose a white Burgundy of dubious vintage and nomenclature. Ebbie asked for some bandages and disinfectant.

‘We had a little trouble with the car, and my husband burned his hands.’

All in all, Bond decided, Ms Ebbie Heritage was a treasure. But treasure or not, he could not wait to get at the telephone once they were shown to their room, which was pleasant, if somewhat lacking in originality. That did not surprise him, for the hotel’s foyer was decorated in adobe style with a distinct Spanish influence.

‘I must do those hands,’ Ebbie pleaded, ‘and, James, they’ll be here with the food any minute.’

Bond gestured to her to keep quiet, reached up to the top button of his Oscar Jacobson jacket and with his thumbnail prised off a strip of grey plastic about an inch long and a quarter of an inch thick. He dialled for an outside line and then the number of Three Sisters Castle, which he had committed to memory. He heard the automatic exchange click through and a second before the ringing tone began he put the piece of plastic on the mouthpiece and pressed hard. For two seconds it emitted a tiny piercing beep not unlike the sound of a muted harmonica. Through the earpiece he heard a small responding beep, meaning that the black grains of plastic wheat he had planted in the castle telephones had reacted to the tone. With the tiny ‘harmonica bugs’ coming to life he could now listen in not only to telephone conversations but to any sound within thirty feet of each bug. He could have been as far away as Australia or South Africa and have received the same transmission. These tiny, powerful instruments can be activated from thousands of miles away making the telephone a live, ever-ready microphone. At that moment Bond could hear only odd, far away noises, probably from one of the many rooms without a telephone. Softly, he put down the receiver and glanced at his watch. He knew he must continue to activate the bugs until he got a result. Ebbie had been hovering, looking perplexed. She was holding the bandages and disinfectant.

‘James, will you let me do your hands? Please.’

Bond nodded, still preoccupied as he debated whether to telephone Smolin. Somebody would certainly be in the castle, if only to tend the injured Ingrid. But the fact that he could pick up nothing meant one thing, that Chernov had every available man, including himself, scouring the countryside for them.

He sighed. ‘Yes, okay, Ebbie. Do your worst.’

In fact, she did her best. She was soothing, gentle and very disconcerting. In the middle of her ministrations the food arrived, and they started eating as soon as she had finished.

‘I shall bathe after this.’ She spoke with her mouth half full. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t wait. I was so hungry.’

‘That’s all right, Ebbie. You’ve been very kind.’

She looked across the little table that had been brought in for them. Her head was bowed, but she lifted her eyes, half closed, then opened them wide. ‘I want to show you every kindness, James. You were wonderful back at that awful castle.’

‘I don’t need payment, my dear.’

‘Oh, but I liked you all those years ago on the submarine. You’ve bugged the telephones at the castle, yes?’

‘You’re very astute, Ebbie.’

‘Astute? What’s astute? Is it sexy? I find you very . . .’

‘It means you’re very shrewd . . . clever at spotting things.’

‘But it was obvious, what you were doing just now. We were taught about it when we prepared for Cream Cake – that is such a stupid name. You have listening devices in the castle, yes?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘Then you’re a clever little bugger, James, to be able to listen to things in the castle from this telephone.’

‘I think you have the wrong word, Ebbie, but not to worry.’ He smiled and her face lit up.

‘James, dear man, I hope you don’t have to listen to them all night?’

‘It depends. At the moment there’s nobody there.’

‘I hope you don’t. Oh, I do hope you don’t.’

‘We shall see. I must keep trying.’

They finished eating and Ebbie disappeared into the bathroom. Bond wheeled the dining table into the corridor. He was about to dial the castle again when Ebbie came out of the bathroom, dressed only in what she would have called her Unterkleider, and very fetching she looked as she grinned unselfconsciously, gathered up her bag and disappeared again.

He tried the castle once more and this time caught a short conversation. A man was talking in Russian to Ingrid, who was obviously very weak. It amounted to nothing and although he waited for fifteen minutes, there was no other sound. He put down the telephone and lay back on the bed feeling tired and now acutely aware of the pain in his arm and hands.

Closing his eyes, he wondered what the next move should be. Like it or not, he would have to reactivate the bugs at regular intervals, and his experience told him that if he heard no more from the castle they should all be on the move within a few hours. If they got back to England in one piece he could take the girls to one of his own safe houses, which he kept well hidden from the Service. He would then report to M with Smolin. At least two-thirds of the mission would have been accomplished. While he was composing his apologia to M, Ebbie returned to the bedroom, her hair glistening and her body only partially covered by an oyster satin négligé.

‘The bathroom’s free now, James.’ She allowed the négligé to slip from her shoulders. ‘Unless you have something better to do.’

Bond looked at the young fresh body, which held for him that same urgent attraction of innocence he had felt earlier. Slowly, he moved from the bed and into her arms. Their first kiss seemed to last a lifetime. His hands slid down to the neat silky little buttocks, and he felt his mind shrinking to one great need as Ebbie returned his kiss, her tongue darting and reaching hard into his mouth. He pulled away and looked into the wide open blue eyes.

‘With these bandages on, it might be difficult for me to take a bath.’ His throat felt dry. ‘I wonder if you could . . .’

‘Why don’t we have a bath together?’

Ebbie’s hand closed around his wrist and she led him unprotesting into the bathroom. She turned on the taps and Bond allowed her to undress him. When he was lying in the warm water she stood over him, naked, to soap his body, her hands and fingers exploring him as she did so. When he was washed clean she stepped into the narrow tub, sliding on to her side and lifting one leg over his so that he took her beneath the warm water.

When it was over, Ebbie dried him with a rough towel, and redressed his hands. This time, he led her back to the bedroom. For all her innocent looks, it was obvious that she was far from inexperienced, for she showed not only great stamina, but also imagination and invention. Through that night they made love to one another three more times, once with a stormy wildness; then with passion – Ebbie above him, reciting a sensuous poem to the rhythm of her own body; and finally with intense tenderness which made Bond think almost sadly of his dead wife, Tracy.

Bond tried the castle several times throughout the night, still with no result. In the end he gave up and drifted to sleep with Ebbie twined around him.

He woke with a start, realising that dawn was not far away. Gently he disentangled himself from Ebbie’s smooth body and looked at his watch. It was five-thirty. Sliding from the bed, he padded quietly to the bathroom. His hands felt less sore, though the arm mangled by Fafie still throbbed. Washing was easier than he expected and by six o’clock, with dim light starting to show outside, Bond was dressed and equipped with the ASP, baton and his hidden weapons.

Ebbie still lay in a deep sleep, her fair hair spread across the pillow, her face tranquil. She would probably need all the rest she could get that day, so Bond pocketed the room key and went silently into the corridor. The room service table had gone, and the whole hotel was wrapped in silence. As he made his way down to the main lobby, the calm was broken by occasional sounds of the kitchen staff preparing breakfast below. Nobody was on duty at the reception desk so he made his way to the coin-operated telephone, dragging a pile of Irish change from his pocket.

A decidedly sleepy and disgruntled voice answered from the Clonmel Arms Hotel, and he had to repeat his request to be put through to Mr and Mrs Palmerston. There was an unduly long wait before the operator came back on the line.

‘I’m sorry sir, but they’ve checked out.’

‘When?’ Alarm bells sounded in his head.

‘I’ve just come on duty myself, sir. But some friends of theirs arrived unexpectedly, so I’m told. Mr and Mrs Palmerston left around a half hour ago.’

Bond’s nerves shrieked as he thanked the operator and quickly hung up. What ‘friends’? But he already knew the answer. Blackfriar – General Chernov – had caught up with Smolin, and it would not be long before he reached Bond and Ebbie. Whether he had half an hour or ten minutes, it was essential that Bond put himself back in control of the situation. Instantly he dialled a Dublin number. It rang for several minutes before the voice answered sharply.

‘Murray.’

‘Jacko B. There are problems. I have to make this official.’

‘Where are you?’ Norman Murray sounded on edge.

‘Kilkenny. The Newpark Hotel. I think your friend and mine, Basilisk, has been lifted with the girl you saw at the airport. The rumour about Blackfriar is true. There’s a place called Three Sisters Castle . . .’

‘We know all about Three Sisters. We have no jurisdiction. It’s Embassy property. Bit of a fracas there, Jacko. Was that you, now?’

‘Some of it, but I’m here with the girl from the Ashford Castle Hotel. Got me?’

‘Right.’

‘We’re also due to be lifted. If you can . . .’

But Murray was way ahead of him. ‘I know all about Basilisk, and it’s a lash-up. I’ll do what I can, Jacko. Watch your back. Official now, you say?’

‘Very official and very dangerous.’

‘I doubt it, but get out and head for Dublin. We don’t have orders to lift you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We were lifting Basilisk and it’s gone sour. Now, will you get going?’

‘No transport.’

‘Well, you’ll have to steal something, Jacko. I hear you’re good at that kind of thing.’ Murray gave a quick laugh and rang off, leaving Bond looking at the dead telephone in his hand.

Ebbie, he thought: I must get her out, even if we have to hide in the hedgerows. As he turned to leave the telephone, another thought struck him. He should try the ‘harmonicas’ in the castle once more. He dialled the number and pressed the tiny plastic strip on to the earpiece. Suddenly it was filled with a confusion of sounds. Several people were talking in different parts of the castle. What he could hear made him tighten his grip on the telephone.

‘They’ve lost the traitor Smolin and his girl. Shit!’ This was in Russian.

There was a sinister laugh, then Ingrid’s voice. ‘The General’s going to be very happy.’

A clearer conversation in German probably came from the Communications Room.

‘Yes, message received and understood. Hans,’ the voice shouted loudly and an answer came from far away, then closer. ‘Hans, the team in Rome have tracked them down at last. Dietrich and the man Belzinger took a flight out last night. Can you get the Chief?’

‘He’s trying to locate the other pair – radio silence.’

‘Break it. Dietrich and Belzinger are headed for Hong Kong.’

‘God, I don’t believe it.’

‘Neither will the General, but get him. Get him quickly.’

Hong Kong, thought Bond. Jungle and Dietrich were really distancing themselves from Europe. The sooner he got Ebbie out the better it would be for all of them. He turned and took the stairs at a run. Reaching their room, he unlocked the door and headed straight for the bed.

‘Ebbie! Ebbie, wake up . . .’ His voice trailed off, for the bedclothes were pulled back and Ebbie was gone.

Before he could react to the prickle of danger, a voice whispered close to his ear, ‘Don’t even think about going for the gun, Mr Bond. You are of little use to me and I’d blow you away, now, in this room, if I had to. Hands on your head and turn around slowly.’

He had heard the voice once before on tape so he knew that as he turned he would be gazing into a face seldom seen in the West – the clean-cut, almost French-looking features of General Konstantin Nikolaevich Chernov, Chief Investigating Officer of Department 8 of Directorate S, KGB. Blackfriar himself.

‘A strange meeting, eh, Mr Bond? After following each other in office paper chases all this time.’

Chernov had a smile on his face and a large automatic pistol in his hand, while behind him three large men crowded in, like hounds gathered for the kill.