Seafire

13 – Hell of an Engagement Party

Flicka screamed, backing against the wall, as though trying to push her body through the lath, plaster, and stone, while Bond swung around, his flashlight's beam illuminating the empty doorway. Later he realized that, at that moment, he expected death to come hurtling in from either Cathy or Anna, but there was no one there, and the only sound was the macabre creaking of the rope around Trish Tarn's neck.

He allowed the flashlight to sweep completely around the room, the beam finally falling on a long black box in the corner. He went over to examine it and found it was a stereo tape machine, which clicked off as he reached it. From the back of the machine a wire had been stretched to another small gray square box screwed to the floor just inside the door. He recognized it immediately as an electronic eye, cheap but serviceable. The kind of thing you could buy at any electronics store to help fit a do-it-yourself security system. The eye had sent a signal to the tape machine as Bond and Flicka had crossed into the room, switching on a prepared tape.

"Meant to scare the pants off us." He played the light on Flicka and saw her relax.

"I know of better ways," she breathed, summoning a weak smile.

Neither of them could keep their eyes from the obscene corpse that swayed slightly on the rope, so he took her by the shoulders and gently led her from the room. In the passageway outside, he unhooked the radio from his belt and pressed the Send button. Within seconds a static-laden voice came faintly from the speaker:

"Micro One. Over."

"Brother James. Your SAS man is dead, and Lady Tarn is now really deceased. She's hanging in the attic at Hall's Manor. Over."

"Roger that, Brother James. Police and Security will be with you shortly. Over."

"Has The Committee broken up? Over."

"Roger that also, Brother James. You are to brief all interested parties at nine ack emma." He knew the voice at the distant end was Bill Tanner.

"Roger. Wilco and out."

Together they went downstairs to await the arrival of the authorities, Bond restless, moving from room to room, peeping into bare, moldy cupboards and examining doors and windows.

In what had once been a huge dining room he came across burned paper in the grate of an elaborate fireplace, so he stirred the black mess around, soiling his fingers but revealing a couple of small pieces of paper that had not been wholly consumed. One was the edge of a large sheet, and some numbers were still clearly visible. The other charred piece looked as though it had come from a memo pad – the kind of thing that executives carry around: little oblong pages that fit into a leather holder. The writing on this was only partly readable. He could make out Call, followed by the British Telecom get-out code and the German get-in code and a series of digits. There was a check mark against this telephone number and a scrawl that said, Book for four nights from and the day's date.

He went back into the hall and called the main headquarters, which overlooked Regent's Park. His work name was still registered there, and he would at least find a duty officer and a couple of secretaries in situ. Identifying himself as "Predator," he asked if someone could trace the number.

It took only forty seconds with the magic of the mainframe computers. The number was that of the Vier Jahreszeiten – Munich's best address. The hotel for the rich and famous.

Munich, he thought. Munich tonight; Munich, the old capital of Bavaria and within easy reach of Tarnenwerder and Wasserburg am Inn. At least he knew where they were heading, and this time they had not wanted him to know.

Fifteen minutes later three cars pulled up in front of the house, and both Bond and Flicka gave short statements before getting a ride to their car, stashed a mile away.

"So you think Cathy and Anna have sold out?" Flicka was restless and did not seem to be getting comfortable in the passenger seat. Usually she had that wonderful gift of being able to remain still and unmoving in any situation. Now she was all muscular tics, arranging and rearranging her body as though she could not find a restful position.

"That's certainly what we're meant to believe." He was driving fast, just within the limits, streaking up the M11 toward London. "With these people it's difficult to know what's the truth and what's just laid on for our benefit."

Presently he said that his gut reaction told him Cathy and Anna had belonged to Tarn almost from the word go. "Money, as they say, talks. It's possible they were originally hired by Trish, who admitted marrying the man for his money. Max Tarn appears to have a way to circumvent loyalty, and that way is almost certainly through his checkbook and ideology. Yes, I believe both of them are part of the Tarn organization, and have been for some time. Lord knows who else has been bribed."

They drove back to the flat, took showers, and stretched out for a much-needed rest, for, by now, it was almost five in the morning. Bond could not sleep. His mind would not carry him off into the healing dreamless dark, while Flicka still seemed restless.

He had his back to her when she whispered, "You still awake, love?"

"Too much on my mind, Flick. Are you too tired to talk?"

"No, I'm haunted by that body. Unusual for me, I know, but I thought Trish was a nice person. In a way I looked forward to seeing her after all this was over. Women need women friends, James, and I've precious few of those left now that I've cut adrift from Switzerland."

"Give it time. Look, I've got to talk to you. Serious stuff."

"Work serious, or personal serious?"

"Work. I think we should leave the personal until all this is over."

"Well, we could keep it a secret."

He seemed lost in thought for a full two minutes. "My dear girl, I haven't felt like this about someone for a very long time. In fact, I don't think I've ever really felt what I feel for you. Never in my life. So when all this is over, will you marry me?"

Her lips brushed against his as he turned to face her. "James, you already know the answer. I've hoped for this ever since we first met. Yes, of course I'll marry you, and I'd like to shout it from the rooftops."

They kissed and moved closer.

"Pity it has to remain a secret," she said.

"I know, but I think we're probably going to need each other professionally in the next week or so. If we announce it formally, they'd take you off the active list quicker than hell would scorch a feather."

"Quicker than…? I've never heard that."

"Something my sainted old grandmother used to say."

"Then she had a fine turn of phrase."

"She was fine about most things. Just like you, my dear Flick." He paused. "Now, I have to talk about work, and you're not going to like what I have to say."

"Try me."

"I'm going to ask permission to go out in the field on my own."

"Over my dead body."

"Seriously, Fredericka. This is a one-man job, and it has to be done quickly."

"You mean I'd hold you up?" A tiny touch of irritation.

"No, but I don't think it would be wise for us to go together. Let me explain." He told her about the fragment of paper and what he had discovered. "If they're off to Munich today it probably means that Max is going to see his German lawyers in Wasserburg, and is also possibly taking a look around his ancestral home. I'd like to see exactly how things stand. You recall what Trish told us? That Max's quietly restoring Tarnenwerder; and there's the whole matter of his family claim to the place. We've even got the name of his lawyers – remember the dossier? Saal, Saal u. Rollen, who still have offices in the Marienplatz, Wasserburg am Inn. If I'm to do a swift search of their office, it's best that I do it on my own."

"Oh, James. Two's company."

"Two's also what they'll be looking for. Tarn and his buddies regard us as a team, and it's a mighty small team if he's already becoming the accepted leader of a resurrected Nazi Party. That's exactly why I'm going on my own. One against many works better than two."

"Let me think about it, James. It's bad enough not being able to sing, shout, and tell the world about our private lives."

"You've been in this game long enough to know -"

"Of course I have, you idiot. I know you're right about that. I just don't want to let you out of my sight."

"My love, it would be most unsafe for you to come with me."

"I bet The Committee will hum-and-ha about it for so long that Max'll be in the Caribbean by the time you get the okay."

"We'll see about that."

"Just let me think." She wrapped her arms around him and in less than five minutes was asleep.

The ghosts of past loves began to float in and out of Bond's mind. Only once in his life had he been truly and intensely in love with a woman: Tracy di Vincenzo, murdered only a few hours after their marriage. With Fredericka the emotion was different, perhaps because of the love he had felt for Tracy. His feelings for Flicka seemed to him to be an entirely novel experience. She was also responsible for a deeper commitment from him – a mature understanding of what a man and woman could share: something that had little to do with sex, and much more concerned with their entire lives. Two people blending together as one.

Yet, in the early hours of that morning, the specters of other women seemed to gather in the room, as though telling him to rid himself of all the emotions he had once felt for them and make a new start with Fredericka von Grüsse.

Over the years many of his former lovers had remained more than simply fond memories from the past. He still regularly visited the cemetery at Royale-les-Eaux where Vesper Lynd lay at peace – the peace she had sought for so long. There were times when old dreams caught him unawares, sending pictures of once-loved girls and women skittering through his brain – the wild, almost tomboy Honeychile Ryder, with her broken nose and firm body; Domino Vitali, she of the slight limp and sensual mouth. More often than not the picture was faint, though the sensual memory was strong – a beloved Asian face swimming above him, and the voice, soft and tender, of Kissy Suzuki. Now all these past loves seemed to smile upon him in his happy, half-conscious state of a true obligation to Fredericka. Man and woman joined by the invisible but inescapable bond of love and duty, one to the other.

They arrived at the Home Office, refreshed in a new warmth to one another, happy but somber, at exactly nine o'clock. The Committee was assembled in its entirety but for M, who – Bill Tanner said – was as well as could be expected.

Bond sensed some hostility from the likes of Thickness, Ms. Smith, and Ms. Jameson, not to mention Commissioner Wimsey, but the other members seemed pleased enough to see him again. The Minister appeared neutral, though as ever he remained stiff and a shade cold.

Both Bond and Flicka made statements, which resulted in a general clamoring regarding the whereabouts of Tarn and his cohorts. There was little doubt that this final act of brutality had put fire under the bulk of the Committee members, and it was Wimsey who provided the possible clues.

Once more, right under everyone's noses, it seemed that the entire gang had flown out of Stanstead.

"I was under the impression that all ports and airports were under a red alert for the man." The Minister was more than chilly toward Wimsey, who countered that this time they had almost certainly left, in disguise, under new – probably forged – passports. Two of the men, presumably Tarn and Goodwin, had boarded a flight bound for Berlin, while the two women and several other men had almost certainly left as members of a tour group heading for Corfu. This last had only just emerged, and the tour company – WellRun Tours Ltd. – had been questioned.

"This particular company," Wimsey reported with a trace of sheepishness, "has admitted they were five places short of the full complement on their reasonably priced nine-day trip around the Greek islands. Late yesterday afternoon, they apparently jumped with joy when they received an inquiry about availability on any tour leaving Stanstead last night. It was a night flight, and the man who telephoned them had given a valid credit-card number for all five free places. They've been in touch with their guide in Corfu. Only one of the last-minute bookings reported to her at Corfu airport. A man – undoubtedly Spicer – told her they had been forced to return home immediately because of a family crisis. As yet we have not been able to check out what other flights they boarded, though two are thought to have gone on to Athens." He paused as if for applause. "My private theory is that they're heading to a prearranged meeting place in Europe."

Bond interrupted. As yet he had not mentioned the charred paper discovered at Hall's Manor. "I can tell you exactly where they are, for the next four nights at any rate."

This remark got everyone's attention very quickly, so he took them through the entire story.

"Then we get the German authorities to pick up the lot of them in Munich," the Minister snapped.

"I doubt if that would work, Minister," Bond told him quietly.

"Why in heaven not?"

"Well, Minister, to be fully truthful you'd probably get them arrested, though Germany isn't exactly cooperating with us at all levels at the moment. Arrested, they're of no further use to us. Arrest Tarn and those close to him and you charge him with murder, the others with being accomplices -"

"Then we can slap the other serious charges on them when your department's fully sorted out the papers and provided hard evidence. Nothing more simple."

"Maybe, Minister, but there're still loose ends to be tied up. I would like The Committee to grant me one more request."

"We've already given you one hell of a lot of leeway, Bond," Wimsey began.

"With respect, Commissioner, I think that if you grant my new request, it'll save a lot of time in the long run."

"Get on with it, then, Captain Bond. What're you suggesting? That we allow you to go charging to Munich and dash in with guns blazing?"

Bond paused, looking around the long table, taking in the reactions of every member of The Committee, capturing each person's eyes briefly with his own almost accusatory stare. "Please correct me if I'm wrong," he began, his eyes still roving around the various members and noting that, while M and the Director General of the Security Service were absent, it was the latter organization that was represented by three people. His own old service had only Bill Tanner as its delegate, and he was wearing the Secretary's hat as well as being M's deputy.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he repeated. "My understanding of the rules and regulations of MicroGlobe One, the watchdog committee over my department, state that the Minister and one other member can recommend a course of action being taken over short-range activities. If the Minister rubber-stamps some action, he is not required to give an entire quorum of The Committee the details of that action.

"But must do so after four days of the recommendation," the Minister barked.

"After four days, yes," Bond agreed. "Therefore, I would like a meeting, in camera, with the Minister and the representative from the Intelligence Service – now." He knew that he was well within his rights, and as he left the room with Tanner and the Minister, he tried to avoid the pleading eyes of Flicka von Grüsse, who had more than a glimmer of an idea regarding what he was going to ask.

They went straight to the Minister's office, a bare, uncluttered room, one floor above The Committee's reading room.

"Well, what is it you want to request in such secrecy, Captain Bond?" The Minister showed signs of frustration and not a little irritation before they were seated.

"Simple, sir. I want four days' leave, with nobody asking awkward questions as to where I am or what I'm doing."

"And where will you be?"

"I'll be in Germany. Bavaria. Looking over the old Tarn estate, Tarnenwerder, and probably talking with Maximilian Tarn's lawyers in Wasserburg."

"You know The Committee wouldn't sanction that, Bond. You know they wouldn't even discuss it. So why should I recommend it to them?"

"Because somebody close to this Committee – probably a member – has a link to Tarn that goes back a very long way."

"That's outrageous!" The Minister's complexion went from shock white to purple anger. "Can you support these unconscionable accusations?"

"I think I can. Tell me, what time did Sir Max and his crew arrive at Heathrow the day they came back in?"

"On the Dublin flight that gets in at around five."

"And when were you alerted?"

The Minister's jaw dropped. "Not until seven. After we lost them the first time. Or I should say after the police and Security Service lost them."

"Who else knew about the place behind Harrods?"

"Nobody. The Committee and a few officers in the field – and then only after the Security Service discovered that he owned the place."

"Yet Tarn and his group were long gone before anyone moved in to take them. I must say that Max Tarn is either a psychic or he's very well informed."

"This seems ludicrous." The Minister sounded like a man who did not really believe what he was hearing.

"I don't see how he can be operating without help from the inside. I mean the blatant arrival at Heathrow and the way he was lost. Doesn't happen like that, Minister, and you know it. There are other things as well. The only way it makes sense is if somebody is feeding them information."

"Can you point a finger?"

"Not really. If I were asked to bet on it I'd say one of the Security Service people – Thickness, Smith, or Jameson. They'd be our most obvious targets."

"So you really believe that someone on The Committee has been taking backhanders from Tarn? Passing him information?"

"I think it's a matter of common sense. From the beginning Tarn's been tipped off. Just tell me whose idea it was for Fräulein von Grüsse and I to lay some news on him in Cambridge? You must know as well as I do that there was absolutely no way that Tarn could've planned that phony car accident without previous knowledge. He's been playing us for fools right down the line. He even knew exactly when I was to pick up Dolmech. He had a getaway planned for last night. He's not psychic. It has to be someone in that reading room. Tarn's too well informed. Think about it, sir."

"Oh, my God." The Minister had gone white again. "You may well be right. I really have no other option but to recommend that you take a look around Germany. They won't learn anything from me. Go to it, Bond, and good luck."

He asked Bill Tanner to send Flicka out to him, and Tanner nodded, muttering a quick "Take care, James."

He saw the sadness in Flicka's eyes as she came in to join him. "I presume you've convinced him? You're really going on your own?"

"I told you, Flick. It's the only way to work this."

"I love you, James."

"And I you, dear Flicka. Come and help me get organized."

"You will come back?"

"I always come back, my dear. I'm like the RCMP, I always get my man."

"So do I."

"Hell of an engagement party." She almost smiled.