Seafire

17 – Busman's Honeymoon

"You're all aware," he started without preamble, not giving anyone a chance to relax. "You're all aware that Max Tarn has known our every move since before the start of this business."

There was a silent nodding of heads, and he noticed Commissioner Wimsey did not look him in the eye, though his face was flushed with anger.

"The police have worked in tandem with the Security Service, while the Minister controlled every action made in the field. Through him, Max Tarn has known the who, why, and when regarding law enforcement, security, and intelligence since long before we even started to take him seriously. He's literally got away with murder, and what's more, he's been playing a game with me, as your authorized agent in the field. In some ways he's been acting as a puppet master. He's led Fräulein von Grüsse and myself on a merry dance, luring us into places where he wanted us to be. In fact, we're very lucky to be alive. I believe it's possible that he wants to make an example of Flicka and myself, and show the world that he's not the diabolical agent we would like people to believe. I'm pretty certain, now, that I know exactly where he is, or at least where he will be within a few days. All I need is The Committee's permission to take certain actions.

"Within a short time, Tarn will be on the island of Puerto Rico," he finally declared. "Through this entire business, he has dropped hints which have put us exactly where he wanted us. I think it follows that he will be expecting me, at least, to be in Puerto Rico either just before or just after him. I believe he has chosen that island as the site for the final – what can I call it? – final showdown? Also some form of demonstration. Max von Tarn is a man desperate to do the trick of suddenly becoming moderately respectable before he announces his bid for political leadership of a new National Socialist Party in Germany. At the same time the world will be told that he has renounced his British citizenship and returned to his rightful place as a German. In simple terms, I need your permission for Fräulein von Grüsse and myself to be there. I know you'll say, why put ourselves in obvious danger?"

"Yes, why, Captain Bond?" Their new Chairman began to sound very reserved. "There is a technical point here, though. If Tarn has already reclaimed his German citizenship, the ball might well be out of our court."

"His lawyers, who seem to be mainly concerned in property matters, are the only people who know that – apart from the German authorities and myself." He had already sifted this one through his mind and knew it was a technicality that the bureaucrats could argue about for months. "I think, with all respect, sir, that we should ignore the change in citizenship, unless Tarn makes some early announcement."

"Well, possibly." Lord Harvey was obviously well versed in the tangled niceties of this kind of thing. "However, I did ask you why you required permission to hunt for him in Puerto Rico."

"Sir, what began as a relatively simple operation to prove that Sir Max Tarn was guilty of certain acts of fraud, and possible illegal arms dealing, has become a personal vendetta between the two of us."

The Chairman spoke softly, leaving nobody in doubt that he also carried a big stick. "I thought that went against all the tenets of your Service, Bond. You should never make any operation personal. It's the impersonality of such things that keeps you distanced, allows you to act only for your country, and remain detached from the people involved."

"Times are changing, sir. Also, there are moments in this business when you have to get close up and personal, as our American cousins would say."

"Talking of our American cousins," Bill Tanner spoke quietly. "If you're sent off to the Caribbean to operate in Puerto Rico, then the Americans will have to sanction this as well as The Committee."

"Puerto Rico is a Commonwealth of the United States." There was a trace of irritation in Bond's voice. "At their last referendum they refused to join the United States with full status."

"That doesn't mean we can just let the Americans go hang." Lord Harvey was no fool. "What you appear to be asking might not be in our power to give. The Yanks've turned us down before. They have the right to ask for complete details of any legal infringements and go after the party, or parties, concerned using their own agencies on their own turf, so to speak."

"And you won't consider turning a blind eye?"

"How could we, and where's your solid evidence regarding Tarn and Puerto Rico?"

"You can probably get that in twenty minutes flat. My people are working on the financial and legal aspects of this case, in Bedford Square. They can probably track down evidence that either Tarn himself or Tarn International owns property in Puerto Rico. Damn it all, his container ships are in and out of there all the time; his cruise ships call in regularly; he has friends in moderately high places and they turn a blind eye to what he's doing. I think it's the least you can do."

"This Committee cannot do that, Captain Bond. We're accountable. We're the ones who'll end up with empty rice bowls if things go wrong." Harvey smiled, as if he were saying, "Sorry old boy, but it's out of the question. Nothing personal."

"Again, with respect, sir, I'm the one who could well end up without his life."

"Add me to that." So far, Flicka had stayed silent. "You do realize what's going to happen if someone doesn't go after Tarn from here? If we don't take complete action and run him to earth? He's going to get away with it. Everyone will turn a blind eye, including the Americans. Our so-called civilization will be the loser, Tarn will emerge victorious, and we'll all be back in the dark ages. I have respect for our American allies, but even if they did take over, even if Tarn were arrested, we'd still be haggling over him ten years from now while he would be sitting on his own pile of wealth and possibly the power of the Chancellorship of Germany. The fact that several thousand deaths will lie at his door won't even cross his mind. Only Tarn will be the winner."

"Maybe." Thickness, of the Security Service, spoke for the first time. "But the Chairman's right. Puerto Rico is not in The Committee's bailiwick. Before we could even discuss letting you go, the American agencies would have to be brought in."

"It's going to take months if you do that." Bond was truly angry. This is what happens when you allow a series of committees and the by-the-book attitude of frightened politicians to take over. "Next thing, you'll be saying that permission'll also have to be granted by the EEC."

"Could very well be," muttered the Chairman.

"So you're all prepared to sit here, hold meetings with the American intelligence agencies and their law enforcement people, before you allow us to go and deal with the business?"

"I see no other way."

"Look, James." Bill Tanner used his most conciliatory voice. "There is a way. What if we promised to give you an answer in, say, a week's time? You could take seven days' leave and just wait it out. I don't suppose a week's going to make any difference, is it?"

The look that passed between the Chief of Staff and Bond spoke volumes. Bill Tanner knew how, in the old days, at the height of the Cold War, their old Chief, M, had got around red tape by simple and direct means. Tanner was telling Bond to get on and do it, in his own time, without getting tied hand and foot by the same red tape that M snipped through, putting his own position on the line.

Bond opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Finally he said, "Bill, you're right, of course. Just as The Committee is right. Fredericka and I cannot expect any of you to put yourselves in jeopardy over this, and a week probably won't make any difference. I change my plea. Might we have a week's leave while you sort matters out with the American services?"

"Granted." Lord Harvey looked relieved. "Get a good rest, Captain Bond, and leave us a number where we can contact you – and Fräulein von Grüsse as well, of course."

"How?" Flicka asked when they were settled in the car.

"How?" he parroted. "How d'you think, Flick? We just go and do it."

"So where do we go first?"

"Get some lunch, then go for a sick visit. We see M, because if we don't there'll be one hell of a stink. I have to let him know where we'll be. I also want his okay to use things over which he still has control."

They stopped for lunch on the way to the M4 and, eventually, Quarterdeck.

Halfway through the meal, she leaned over and took one of his hands in both of hers. "James, darling," she spoke in almost a whisper, "I love you as I've loved no other man. I took your side in there with those idiots who would see the whole of Europe down the drain rather than compromise themselves."

"They don't mean to be like that, Fredericka. I'm sure that in about five days they'll have it all sorted out. Deep down they know I'm right. It's just the whole idea of a committee being responsible for intelligence and security that bothers me, and in five days it will almost certainly be too late."

"Just let me say one thing, James," she persisted. "I feel like you, and I'll do whatever you say. Tarn has got to be brought down, but please don't feel it's necessary to take huge risks simply because you've had to act over a matter of principle. I'll stand by you all the way, but you can back down if you feel it's wiser. You certainly won't lose face in my eyes."

He thought for a few seconds. Then: "Flick, I truly mean this. I'll be honest with you. We could both quite easily die when we get close to Max Tarn again, but I have to try and topple the man. The world's a dangerous enough place without people like him who make it even more hazardous and unhealthy. Neither of us know what he's got going out there in the Caribbean, and it could be something more horrific than either of us could dream about. No, I couldn't sleep peacefully in my bed unless I at least make a final attempt to get him. You don't have to risk your life by coming with me. In fact, I'd rather that you stayed here in the comparative safety of London."

"Enough!" She squeezed his hand. "If you're set on going, you're not leaving here by yourself. Where you go, I go, no matter the risk."

He knew that any argument he put forward would be useless. When Fredericka von Grüsse made up her mind, there was no way of stopping her.

They pulled off at the first service station on the M4 so that he could call Quarterdeck from a public telephone booth and comparative safety. Nurse Frobisher sounded quite excited at the news he was coming to visit the Admiral – until he told her he would be bringing a lady friend.

M, still propped up in his sickbed, seemed delighted to see both of them, and after a little small talk asked the reason for their visit. "I don't believe that you would both come down here just to see an old and sick man."

"I think you already know why we're here, sir. I'd be surprised if The Committee has not already told you, via Bill Tanner most probably."

M grunted. "Well, Tanner did telephone me. Said The Committee had turned down a request from you, or some such. I didn't truly understand what he was talking about."

"Then the conversation we're about to have has never taken place, if you follow me, sir."

"What conversation?" Bond could not be certain that M's eyelid closed in a wink, or whether he simply imagined it.

Carefully, leaving nothing out, he went through the entire story. Then he outlined what he proposed to do about Tarn.

"And what if the fellow's not in Puerto Rico, eh? You thought about that?"

"He'll be there, sir. I'd bet my job on it."

"That's what I think you're probably doing. I can't say that I blame The Committee for their action, though I do understand your own point of view – even though I haven't heard it."

"There's no alternative really, sir," Flicka joined in. "We either do this now or forget about it. Tarn has his own timetable, and he's not going to hang around waiting for someone to show up."

"So what do you want from me?"

Turning his face away so that his smile was not visible to the old man, Bond cleared his throat. "Who said anything about wanting things?"

"My dear chap." M seemed to blossom with goodwill. "When people're in a meeting where the walls have no ears, and there's nobody to give evidence, because we can make this little threesome into an event that never happened, somebody wants something, and I don't believe you merely want the blessing of your old boss. So fire away, James. What do you need?"

"A meeting with Ann Reilly for a start, sir." Be bright and straightforward, he told himself. "Preferably within a few hours. She should also have your tacit instructions to provide us with anything for which we ask – within reason, of course."

"Oh, of course, within reason, yes indeed. What else?"

"That's about it, sir. That and your word that, should things get very difficult, you'll inform on us, tell The Committee where we are."

"So your bodies can be brought home for burial, eh?"

"Something like that, sir."

"You have it, but on one condition."

"Sir?"

"They'll be putting me out to grass soon. Bond, and I need to be certain of my successor. I'd like your assurance that you would consider the job when I step down."

"Consider it, yes, sir. But that's all I can do. Consider it."

"Understood. Enough said. You can meet Ms. Reilly by the bandstand in Green Park at four o'clock sharp. Now go, James, Fredericka, before an old man gets stupidly sentimental."

It was Flicka who bought the tickets on their Busby identities. The following morning's Delta flight direct into Atlanta, with a connection to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Bond had explained that he did not want to take a direct flight into San Juan. "It's a little bit of insurance," he told Flicka. "Nobody in their right mind would fly into the States to connect with a flight to Puerto Rico, so it will leave a small, but efficient, paper trail. Also, if the boys and girls on The Committee get onto us, I think we can say that we held the onward tickets in case they gave us the okay. Small point, but worth it."

The journey was going to be a slog, but going in via Atlanta, Georgia, was less risky than entering the United States via New York, Miami, or Dulles – the other possibilities. She paid in cash that Bond drew from his personal account.

After taking care of financial business he took a walk in Green Park, and there, close to the bandstand, bumped into the trim figure of Ann Reilly, Q'ute as they called her in the trade, now the head of Q Branch.

"And what can I do for you, Mr. Bond? I've been given instructions to give you anything within my power, but that rules out my body, I'm afraid."

For years, Bond had made a steady stream of passes at Ms. Reilly, with one in three being successful. Now he was able to smile, but could not tell her why.

"Now, what can I do for you?" she asked briskly.

He went through his list, and she checked off items telling him either yes or no.

"The wet suits and diving gear you can buy openly when you're there," she said. "I can get the two briefcases in and delivered to the hotel before you even arrive, there's no problem with that. We've been working on a new design, and they'll carry the bulk of what you'll need. As for the other thing, I don't really know. This is a large item; you sure you're going to need it?"

"I'm not certain we'll require any of the stuff except the weapons, but I'd feel happier if everything was there, on tap."

"Well, I'll do my best. There'll be a cryptic note in one of the briefcases. If I can get the other thing in, it'll tell you exactly where it's been dropped off. That's all I can promise."

They talked for another ten minutes, then he gave her a farewell embrace and they went their different ways.

He insisted on traveling light, and in the flat that night there was much argument regarding what could, and even should, be taken. Though she was probably the most efficient field agent he had known, Flicka had a tendency to take far too much luggage.

"If we were going on a camping holiday, you'd take at least three evening gowns," he chided her.

"Well, one must have something to wear."

"It'll be denims and sneakers most of the way." He came over, put an arm around her shoulder, and held her close.

"Just between the two of us, think of it as a busman's honeymoon."

The following morning, they drove to Gatwick, put the car into the long-term lot, and began the process of getting to the air side of the terminal.

As they reached the passport control desk, the officer took their passports, looked at them, then began asking questions: "How long are you going to be out of the country?" "Are you carrying return tickets?"

It was a small delaying tactic that served to give some time to the two burly men who, as if by magic, appeared, one on either side of them.

"Now, we don't want to make a fuss," one of them said quietly. "Just come with us. There's no way either of you is going to get on that flight. Sorry."

Bond asked to see their authority, and they both flashed Security Service laminated cards. He had no way of knowing if these were the real things or part of a ploy by Max Tarn, whose influence seemed to reach into the very heart of the establishment.